Chapter 3 Chapter 2 A Bengali in America (1)

I always imagined myself as a teacher.From a young age, I always loved to discipline my younger brothers and insisted that they only get the highest grades in school. When I was 21 and just graduated from university, my alma mater in Chittagong offered me a position as an economics teacher.Founded by the British in 1836, the university is one of the most respected in the subcontinent, and I taught there from 1961 to 1965. During this time, I also tried to build my own personal business.I noticed that the packing materials are all imported from West Pakistan, we don't have a facility to produce boxes or packing materials in the eastern half of the country.I convinced my father to allow me to set up a packaging and printing factory.I prepared a project proposal and applied for a loan from a state-owned industrial bank.At that time, few Bangladeshi entrepreneurs wanted to set up industrial facilities and loans were approved right away.I soon established a packing and printing factory, employing a hundred workers.The project was a quick success with good profits every year.

My father was the chairman of the board and he was extremely reluctant to take out a loan from the bank.The concept of commercial credit made him so nervous that he pushed me to pay back the loan early.We were probably one of the few new businesses at the time that repaid the loan early.The bank immediately offered to provide an additional ten million taka (Bangladesh currency) loan for us to set up a paper mill, but my father would not listen to it. The center of the packaging industry is Lahore in West Pakistan, but as a nationalist Bangladeshi, I know that we can produce cheaper products in East Pakistan.Our products include cigarette cases, cases, cartons, cosmetic cases, cards, calendars and books, and many more.I never worried about making money.And the success of this packing plant convinced me and my loved ones that I could make it in the business world if I wanted to.

Despite my commercial success, I still wanted to learn and teach.So when I received a Fulbright fellowship in 1965, the opportunity to get a Ph.D. in the United States jumped at me.This is my third trip abroad.I went to the World Scout Convention in Niagara Falls, Canada as a Boy Scout in 1955, and to Japan and the Philippines in 1959.But this time I was traveling alone.At first, the campus of the University of Colorado in Boulder really blew me away.In Bangladesh, students never dare to address professors by their first names.If a student speaks to "sir", he can speak respectfully only after "sir" allows him to speak.But in Boulder, teachers seem to consider themselves friends of their students.I often see teachers and students sitting barefoot and stretched out on the grass, sharing food, joking, and chatting.Such intimacy is totally unimaginable in Bangladesh.As for the female classmates in Colorado, I was so embarrassed that I didn't know where to look.There are very few girls at Chittagong University, and there are no more than 150 girls out of 800 students.Girls are also segregated, and they are usually confined to the ladies' lounge, which is off limits to male students.They are also restricted in their participation in student politics and other activities.For example, when we act, women are not allowed to participate, so boys wear women's clothing and make-up to play female roles.

My female students at Chittagong University were extremely shy.They would always huddle outside the teachers' common room towards the end of class and then follow me to class, clutching books and keeping their eyes on their feet to avoid the stares of the boys.In the classroom, they sat separately from the boys, and I learned not to ask them questions so as not to embarrass them in front of their classmates.I never talk to them outside the classroom. In fact, I'm pretty shy around women myself, so I try to ignore them as much as possible.Imagine my dismay when I arrived in the US in the summer of 1965! There was rock music playing on campus, and the girls sat on the grass with their shoes off, basking in the sun and laughing.I was so nervous that I even tried not to look at them.But I still love sitting in the student center and watching the weirdly dressed college students come and go, talk, flirt, and eat.America's youth look so strong, healthy, and full of life.It was an era of narcotics, and drinking was common.However, my shy personality prevented me from going to those noisy parties.I'd rather study or watch TV in my room.

Television only appeared in Dhaka in 1964, and I was quite new to it before I came to America.In Boulder I quickly became hooked on television.My favorite show is 60 Minutes, but I also watch all the boring soap operas like I Love Lucy, Gilligan's Island, and Hogan's Heroes.I have found that I can speak and think more clearly with the TV on, and still do. It was the height of the Vietnam War, and I participated in anti-war rallies and protest marches with other foreign students.Although I also expressed my opposition to the Vietnam War, I tried to keep an open mind and avoid getting involved in the trendy popular thinking.My Bangladeshi friends on the left couldn't understand some of my affirmative views about America.In Dhaka, anti-American sentiment is running high, and on all campuses, students call America a dirty capitalist, shouting all day long: "Yankee, go back!"

Soon, I learned to take advantage of America's personal freedom.I'm starting to have fun.The studies went well, and I even had time to learn the square dance of four couples.I'm not surprised to see people drinking wine, beer and hard liquor.Every day there are little unexpected little things that leave a deep impression on me.I'll never forget the first time I walked into a restaurant in Boulder and the waitress said, "Hi, my name is Cheryl." Lots of ice cubes of water.No one in my home country or South Asia is so open and candid with a stranger. As for American food, I really miss my mother's spicy food.As much as I love french fries, hamburgers, chips and ketchup, I'm heartily sick of American food and would pay anything for rice and dal, or Bengali sweet meat .

On the sunny campus, surrounded by students from all over the world, my summer in Boulder flew by.In the fall, on a scholarship, I went to Vanderbilt University in Tennessee to continue my studies, and the experience there was completely different.In contrast to the broader landscape of Colorado, Nashville is depressing and uninteresting.Plus, Vanderbilt had only recently been desegregated, and even the tiny restaurant I frequented, Campus Grill, was open “whites only” until six months ago.Foreign students are few and far between, and there are no Bangladeshis at all.I feel lonely and homesick.The winters were cold and my dorm, Wesley Hall, smelled so smoky that we quickly renamed it Wesley Hell.The radiators were banging all night.The shower is an old-fashioned open cubicle, and I am shy and cautious, so I have to take a long Lungi to the shower, which is a kind of waist-length skirt that people wear in Bangladesh.

I was the only Fulbright Scholar at Vanderbilt that year.The first lessons bored me.My postgraduate program in economic development was superficial compared to the much more mature work I had done in Bangladesh.Fortunately, however, I was soon on the track of pursuing a Ph.D. under the tutelage of Nicholas Georgescu-Roegen, a well-known Romanian professor. Professor Georgescu-Rogen was a well-known fearsome figure on campus.He failed many students and it is rumored that he ruined the academic careers of many students.But I think he's great.He taught me some simple lessons that I will never forget, and taught me some precise economics models that eventually helped me establish Grameen Bank.Through him, I learned that it is not necessary to memorize the formulas of economics by rote, but more importantly, to understand the basic principles that drive them to work.He also taught me to realize that things are not as complicated as they seem, and that our arrogance drives us to unnecessarily complicated answers to simple questions.

When I got a Fulbright scholarship to study in America, I definitely had no intention of finding an American wife.I imagined that when it was time to marry, the marriage contract would be made through the words of the matchmaker, as everyone around me did.I have no experience with women and am extremely shy around them.Generally speaking, Bangladesh is quite well-behaved and quite conservative, but in the Chittagong area where I grew up, there is a strong religious atmosphere.In my family, such personal matters were never openly discussed. When a beautiful girl with shoulder-length red hair and blue eyes approached me in the Vanderbilt library in 1967, I was totally unprepared.She asked where I was from.

"Pakistan," I replied nervously. The girl was friendly and natural, and she was extremely curious about me and my background.Her name is Vera Forostenko, and she is doing a master's degree in Russian literature.Vera was born in the Soviet Union, but she and her relatives came to the United States shortly after World War II.They settled in Trenton, New Jersey, and I liked her right away. Two years after we met, in 1969, Vera left Tennessee and returned to New Jersey.I was already planning to go back to Bangladesh. "I want to live with you there," Vera said. "You can't," I replied.I was very stubborn: "It's a tropical country, a completely different culture. Women are treated differently there than here."

"But I'll definitely get used to it," she insisted. She is constantly writing to me, calling me, and discussing the issue.Every time I found a reason why such a move wouldn't work, she would find a reason to counter it. Finally, I changed my mind. We married in 1970 and moved to a town called Murfreesboro, 50 miles south of Nashville, where I taught at Middle Tennessee State University.Life is calm and peaceful. On March 25, 1971, I went back to my apartment to have lunch and turned on the radio to listen to the news from Dhaka. A brief report said that in order to block all political activities against the Pakistani government, the Pakistani army had moved in. Independence leader Sheikh · Sheikh Mujibur Rahman fled. I was changing clothes at the time.I stopped, rushed to pick up the phone, and dialed Dr. Zillur Rahman Athar in Nashville.I told him to turn on the radio and immediately contact all the Bangladeshis he knew in the area.I was at Ziller's house in less than an hour.By this time there were already six Bengali from East Pakistan in the Nashville area.We started gathering news from various sources, and there was no consensus on the situation, but one thing was clear: the Pakistani army wanted to crush Bangladesh once and for all.One of us, who supports the conservative, pro-Islamic Jamaat party, kept saying, "We really don't know what's going on, let's wait for more details." I disagree. "We have all the details we need," I said, "Bangladesh has declared its independence and now we must decide whether we consider ourselves citizens of this new country. Everyone has the right to choose. I declare that I Choice: My choice is Bangladesh. I declare my allegiance to Bangladesh and if anyone else wishes to join my side, he is free to do so. Those who do not join Bangladesh, I will consider them as Pakistani and mine Enemy of the State." There was silence.The way I offered my allegiance surprised everyone.I proposed that we form the Bangladesh Citizens' Committee and immediately draw up a press release for dissemination in the Nashville print media and radio, television, etc. media. We decided on three things: 1. We will seek to meet the journalists of all the local TV stations and the editors of the local dailies to articulate our decisions and seek support for the cause of Bangladesh. 2. We will each immediately donate $1,000 to establish a fight fund. 3 We donate 10% of our salary to this fund every month until Bangladesh becomes independent.We will increase the percentage donated if needed. Everyone pulled out their checkbooks, or borrowed from others, and deposited their first money in the fund. The next day, March 27, we made appointments with local TV stations and newspapers.I was chosen as Secretary and Speaker of Bangladesh Citizens' Committee.For the excited local TV stations, which rarely get the chance to be the first to break international news, we represent a breaking hot international story with a local perspective.I was a teacher at a local university, and five others were doctors at the municipal hospital, where we declared ourselves citizens of a state that had not yet been born. We gathered again that afternoon at Ziller’s house to watch the local evening news, which carried my interview in its entirety on television.The interviewer asked, "Do you have anything to say to Tennesseans?" "Yes," I replied, "please write to your representatives and senators demanding an immediate cessation of military aid to Pakistan. Your weapons and ammunition are being used to kill unarmed and innocent citizens of Bangladesh. Please Ask your President to put pressure on Pakistan to stop the genocidal massacre in Bangladesh." The six of us, with different political leanings and different socioeconomic backgrounds, acted immediately and in unison, which made me happy.Now we want to know what other Bangladeshis in America are doing.We decided to get in touch with Enayet Karim, a Bangladeshi official at the Pakistan embassy.He told us an important news: On March 29, a demonstration will be held on Capitol Hill in the Washington area to protest against the suppression of civilians by the Pakistani army.The largest group of Bangladeshis in the United States will be coming from New York.He urged us to participate. Although my doctor friends were unable to go due to their work in the hospital, I announced that I would be leaving the next day.I decided to go at my own expense.If there is a need in Washington, I can also use the six thousand dollars we have raised. But where do I live in Washington? I don't know anyone.Although I never met Enayat Karim, he sounded friendly.Why not try it? I called him again and asked if he would mind if I visited him the next day and he asked me to come right away.I was pleasantly surprised by his hospitality.I think this crisis has united all Bangladeshis. We monitored every station on Ziller's big shortwave radio until midnight.In between news breaks, we speculated about Sheikh Mujib over meals provided by Ziller's American wife, Joanne. In 1970, a general election was held in Pakistan under a military regime, and Sheikh Mujib The East Pakistan-based Awami League, led by Mujibur Rahman (“Sheikh Mujib”), won an overwhelming majority in Congress.But the army, composed almost entirely of West Pakistani officers and soldiers, refused to allow the Awami coalition to form a government. On March 25, 1971, they launched a military crackdown.The people of East Pakistan responded by declaring East Pakistan independence and resisting the Pakistani army.The war of liberation for a new country called "Bangladesh" began.situation.Finally, word came that he had been arrested at the Chittagong railway station while fleeing the army (he was actually arrested at his home in Dhaka).We were all in tears when we heard the news.All illusions that Sheikh Mujib would lead the country to victory have been shattered.What will the Pakistani army do to him? Take him back to Dhaka, burn him? Hang him? Torture him to death? On the morning of March 28, I left for Washington, D.C., and arrived at Enayet Karim's beautiful house in the evening.Mrs. Karim, also a Chittagong native, welcomed me warmly.It was a busy day, with phones ringing incessantly, from local calls, from some distant Pakistani embassy abroad, or from some Bangladeshi officials seeking policy direction.In the center of this excitement, I felt like a member of an independent Bangladesh.There is no trace of Pakistan in the hearts of those in Karim's family. While intoxicated, I noticed a serious man who was busy writing. He was Mr. SA Karim, Deputy Permanent Representative of Pakistan to the United Nations. He had just arrived from New York that morning.Then he wanted to read aloud what he had written, and everyone gathered around him.He has just drafted an appeal to heads of government urging them to put pressure on Pakistan to stop the genocidal massacre in Bangladesh. I don't want the demonstration to be a bad show, I keep trying to figure out who is going to be running Capitol Hill the next day and what preparations are being made? Is there anyone putting up some placards, To hold it up in front of the cameras? No one in Enayat Karim's house, it seems, knew about it.I think I should take action.I went to the store and bought stacks of colored paper, paints, and brushes, and immediately started making festoons, which I had learned to do when I was a student at Chittagong University. Shamsul Bari arrived.He taught Bengali at the University of Chicago.We were nodding acquaintances when we were at college in Dhaka, but the War of Liberation brought us close, and we worked hand in hand throughout the war. In the evening, more people gathered at Enayet Karim's house.Some were concerned for their loved ones in Bangladesh, others wanted more information on the situation in Dhaka and what needed to be done.All night, people analyzed the situation and decided on a strategy for the next day: first, send an appeal to all embassies and heads of government, and second, organize a demonstration on Capitol Hill.Mrs. Karim treated us like her closest friends, serving us steaming hot meals, cursing the Pakistani army here and there, or reciting Tagore's poems. On the morning of the next day, March 29th, I was awakened by the noise, dressed hastily, and went downstairs to the vestibule.There were five or six people crammed into the small room, and a short, bony man with sideburns was lecturing Karim. The thin man behaved very disrespectfully, constantly scolding Karim and other embassy officials as traitors.Others in the room wore badges with bold "Bengali" letters. The guests, who had driven from Harvard and other academic institutions in Boston to march on Capitol Hill, were furious when they discovered that officials from the Bangladesh embassy had decided not to march.The thin man did not hesitate to attack Karim with any vulgar language.His name was Mohiuddin Alamgir, he had just received his PhD from Harvard, and he became a close friend of mine.I tried to defend my hosts by explaining that embassy officials kept in touch with senior officials in the U.S. State Department so they could be briefed on the real situation and it was a good strategy to keep our senior positions in the government so that Pakistan could not has arbitrarily exercised its government powers against the Bengali people of East Pakistan. Aram Gill disagreed with me, saying it was nothing more than "sweet talk" from cowards who didn't want to take part in the cause of liberation and just wanted to keep their own comfortable lives.The meeting ended in a stalemate, and it was not until August 4 that Bangladeshi diplomats at the Pakistani embassy in the United States finally announced their separation from Pakistan and joining the Bangladeshi government in exile. That afternoon, we gathered on the steps of the U.S. Capitol for a demonstration.Bangladeshis came from far and wide, with the largest numbers coming from Washington, New York and Detroit.I was amazed to see how many factory workers in Detroit came from the Sylhet District of Bangladesh. No one knew exactly what to do and where to go.We cannot start without an official rally permit.When Shamsul Bari finally arrived with the necessary permits, we were still trying to figure out how to organize ourselves.I opened my throat and shouted: "This is our leader, everyone line up behind him, let's start our demonstration!" It worked miraculously.Demonstrating on the steps of Capitol Hill is a big deal, and we have the attention of American lawmakers.Congressional aides were briefed on the situation and our request.The news media was particularly active, with cameras following the rally and conducting interviews from the scene. We all gathered that evening at the home of Mr. AMA Muhith, Economic Counselor, another official of the embassy, ​​and had a heated debate on the coordination of various Bangladeshi activities in the United States and the immediate change of position of Bangladeshi diplomats. debate.The yelling that had begun that morning was repeated with greater intensity in this large gathering—why didn't the Bangladeshi diplomats leave the Pakistani embassy immediately? We left after dinner knowing that we had to find a a way to coordinate the activities of all Bangladeshis in the United States, and was convinced that those Bangladeshi diplomats could no longer provide the leadership we needed.I'm also starting to wonder if diplomats should continue to hang out with Pakistanis. On March 30th, Shamsul Barry and I were tasked with visiting all embassies, meeting ambassadors or their representatives, explaining our cause, and demanding recognition of Bangladesh as an independent state.It was a very interesting experience.We visited many embassies in one day, and each embassy received us differently, but there were many common questions: Who do you represent? Do you have a US-based organization? If you don't have a government , how can we "recognize" your country? Are there any foreign governments supporting you? What position do your diplomats take in the US? Do they support you? When are they going to come out publicly? Want independence for Bangladesh How many people account for the population of "East Pakistan"? Only one question overwhelmed us: "Do you have a government of your own?" Barry and I decided that we must form our own government right away, but how can we form a government in Bengal in Washington? I have an idea: I can fly to Calcutta, find a few people to form a cabinet, and tell the whole country The world declares that a government of Bangladesh has been formed.We shall then have both a country and a government.Barry liked the idea.We decided that I would fly to Calcutta the next day. Another crucial strategy comes to mind - setting up a radio station for Bangladeshis, so that the people of Bangladesh can know what is happening and what they need to do.A radio transmitter should be mounted on a mobile vehicle, I thought.It will be broadcast in Bangladesh and, if pursued by the Pakistani army, can move to the side of the Indian border.I have $6,000, which should be enough for an upfront payment for a transmitter. We also made special requests to some embassies.At the Burmese embassy, ​​we asked Burma to open its borders to those fleeing the Pakistani army, and we raised funds to support Bangladeshi refugees.At the Sri Lankan embassy, ​​we demand that Sri Lanka deny the landing of all Pakistani military and civilian aircraft flying between Bangladesh and Pakistan.Pakistan is known to transport soldiers and equipment ammunition from Karachi to Dhaka by civilian aircraft.At the Indian embassy we were greeted by senior diplomats and the officials there wanted to know what happened to the Bangladeshi diplomats in the pakistan embassy, ​​what happened to our leaders and if we were already based in the US Organization established.We demand that India open its borders to refugees, allow fleeing Bangladeshis free access to Calcutta, and ease visas for Bangladeshis holding Pakistani passports. That night we again had an excited discussion about how to create a government.We slightly changed our earlier plan and decided that MA Hasan would immediately leave for Calcutta and Agartala to get in touch with the fugitive Bangladeshi political leaders.Then he informed me to join him and form a new government. The Pakistani ambassador, Aga Hilali, paid a courtesy call at Enayet Karim's house that night, and we were being rushed into a top-floor room along with our food while we were having dinner .We sat there in silence for two hours so that the ambassador would not know that three anti-state activists were hiding in the home of his Bangladeshi colleague. The next day, Hassan left for Calcutta and Agartala as planned.His telegram from Calcutta was bitter, expressing his disappointment with the leaders and urging me not to go.Soon the Mujibnagar government was formed.Bangladeshis in the United States and Canada are focused on campaigning for world recognition of Bangladesh and calling for an end to military aid to Pakistan and the restoration of Sheikh Mujib's freedom. The Bengali American League was formed in New York under the leadership of Physician Dr. Mohammad Alamgir; in Chicago, the Bengali Resistance League was founded by Dr. FR Khan, a Bengali architect He designed the Sears Tower in Chicago.Shamsul Barry became the general secretary of that organization.He published the first issue of the Bangladesh Newsletter.I took over from him to publish the newsletter regularly from my apartment at 500 Paragon Mills Road in Nashville.The apartment was turned into a communication center, the phone was ringing non-stop, people were calling from North America and England, all Bengalis wanted the daily latest news about the war. As a result of the efforts of the Bangladeshis in Washington, the Bangladeshi Information Center was also established to lobby the House and Senate.I ran the initial operations of the information center, and then I hit the road, organizing campus seminars at colleges and universities across the country. In the nine months that followed, we painted a very clear picture of the future Bengal.We want to uphold the democratic system, we want to ensure people's right to free and fair elections, we want to ensure people's freedom from poverty.We dream of a great and prosperous nation, erected majestically among the nations of the world, where all its citizens are happy and happy. On December 16, 1971, Bangladesh won the War of Independence.This war has paid a heavy price.Three million Bangladeshis lost their lives, 10 million fled to neighboring India to escape the fighting, and millions more were raped and maimed by Pakistani forces.By the end of the war, Bangladesh was a devastated country with its economy devastated and millions of people homeless. I knew that I had to go back and participate in the building of my motherland.I think I'm going to do this for myself.