THE land of Bengal remains a part of our heart, yet it is also an enigma. There are many questions to ask, though one question overshadows all the others. Before turning to it, however, another question deserves attention. When my friend Saghir Qamar travelled to Bangladesh during the recent elections, his interest was not confined to the excitement and intrigue of electoral politics. He also tried to understand the visible and invisible forces shaping the future of the country. This search led him to Sangram, a well-known newspaper in Dhaka. Coincidentally, its Managing Editor, Dr Noor-ul-Amin, was in Islamabad a few days ago. My dear friend and distinguished journalist, Mian Muhammad Munir, organized a gathering in his honour at the National Press Club, attended by a number of scholars and intellectuals who were eager to revisit old memories and understand the new realities of Bangladesh. Dr Noor-ul-Amin began his career as a journalist. In the days of united Pakistan, he worked for the Pakistan Observer. He later joined the civil service, but after retirement he returned to journalism. Now eighty years old, he remains remarkably active. Why had Dr Noor-ul-Amin chosen to visit Pakistan in such hot weather? The question was on everyone’s mind, and the guest himself provided the answer.
He explained that old age had overtaken him and that nobody knew what tomorrow might bring. He had, therefore, brought along his son, Dr Hasan al-Banna and another relative, Professor Ashiq-un-Nabi, so that they could see the country which, in 1947, their elders had created in pursuit of a dream. The audience listened with moist eyes and warm applause. There was something deeply moving in the thought that those Bangladeshis who had once helped build Pakistan still wished to pass on their memories and aspirations to the next generation. Dr Noor-ul-Amin then said that although many questions must be troubling our minds, he too wished to ask one: “More than half a century has passed. What feelings do Pakistanis still hold for Bangladesh?” At that moment, I recalled the late poet Mushir Kazmi, who, after the tragedy of 1971, lamented the pain of separation and imagined Allama Iqbal grieving over the division of the homeland. As I referred to those sentiments, my voice faltered. I replied that our shortcomings and mistakes may have been many, but the land of Bengal remains dear to our hearts. Bangladesh has undergone a profound political transformation. Sheikh Hasina has departed for India, the country with which she has long been ideologically associated. Elections have been held and the people have chosen their leaders. Yet one important question still lacks a convincing answer.
Naturally, Dr Noor-ul-Amin was asked why Jamaat-e-Islami had re-emerged so strongly after years of suppression. Sheikh Hasina, like her father before her, had left no stone unturned in trying to crush the party. Why, then, did Jamaat not only survive but also manage to secure a significant presence in parliament—something that remains little more than a dream in Pakistan? Bengalis are often considered emotional people. Dr Noor-ul-Amin himself acknowledged this during the discussion. Yet he answered the question with the composure of a serious student of history. He explained that when Pakistan was divided in 1971, Jamaat-e-Islami in East Pakistan consisted of only a few dozen members and a few thousand supporters. Today, however, its membership numbers in the thousands, while its supporters and sympathizers number in the tens of millions. According to his estimate, the figure may be as high as forty million.
These statistics only deepened the mystery. How had a party subjected to relentless state repression managed to flourish so dramatically? One aspect of the question concerned the source of its resilience; another stemmed from the fact that ideological movements usually place greater emphasis on quality than on numbers. Dr Noor-ul-Amin offered a surprising explanation, saying that, over time, Jamaat-e-Islami had altered its strategy. Rather than merely inviting people to join the organization, it had invited them to Islam itself. It had maintained communication even with those on the far left who openly opposed religious beliefs. As a result, the number of people sympathetic to Jamaat had increased significantly. According to him, the party had avoided creating enemies during its years of persecution. Even today, he argued, it had far more friends than adversaries.
As the discussion continued, my friend Obaidullah Abid asked whether the ruling Bangladesh Nationalist Party might one day become for Jamaat what the Awami League had once been. Dr Noor-ul-Amin listened with surprise and looked thoughtfully at the questioner. His expression suggested that such assumptions reflected Pakistan’s political experience and mindset rather than the realities of Bangladesh. The conversation provided some answers to the questions that continue to occupy our minds about Bangladesh. Yet it would be naïve to believe that an entire society can be understood through one or two discussions alone. One lesson, however, emerges clearly: success is not achieved through division and self-created enmities. It requires a language of goodwill, dialogue and invitation—a tradition whose foundations were laid by the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) through his unparalleled wisdom and selfless compassion.
—This writer is former advisor to the President of Pakistan, author & mass media theorist.
(farooq.adilbhuta@gmail,com)
