Written by Philippe Depoorter
Published 14.12.2019 • Published 16.12.2019
The blaze is smouldering on the once lush heights of Cox’s Bazaar: the fate of the Rohingyas challenges us on the dignity of the human condition. Philippe Depoorter (Friendship Luxembourg) shares his impressions after a memorable trip to Bangladesh.
After returning from a tenth trip to Bangladesh, what I saw, learned, heard and understood about the situation of the Rohingya people touched me to my core.
When I go to Bangladesh, I usually go to the north, to the impoverished neglected Chars region, home to what Friendship calls the ‘ultra-poor’. I’ve seen the extreme poverty of their living conditions. But I’ve also seen light in their eyes, a spark of hope that one day they may get their dignity back – often thanks to the admirable work of Friendship.
So as I stood on the hills above Cox’s Bazar, I wondered why I suddenly, and inexplicably, felt an overwhelming sense of unease and anger. After all, the actual living conditions of those I met in the camps were really no worse than those of the people living in the north. The vast amount of emergency aid from so many (too many?) NGOs in the region seemed more than what many other Bangladeshis have access to. We’ll come back to that later. So where was rap this emotion coming from?
It was when I saw the drawings of children at a Friendship school that I began to understand why the situation of Rohingya people was so particular.
The brutality of their representations of what they had lived through reminded me of the more insidious brutality of the Burmese authorities who had allowed these decimated families to return without passports or status, and of the Bangladeshi authorities, whose only solution today is to offer these families intermediate, temporary status.
It occurred to me then that between a traumatic past that was impossible to forget and a future that was just as impossible to imagine, the Rohingya refugees were caught in a vice. And that perhaps the greatest of all human precariousness is not physical but mental imprisonment, when you lose all ability to think never mind see a way out for the future. An obscure lack of hope and dignity buried forever.
Having become migrants against their will, rather like the inhabitants of the Chars fleeing incessant floods, the Rohingya people now also find themselves without a land. Therein lies an important difference. Because although the inhabitants of the Chars have been forced to move from island to island due to flooding, at least they have their own land, albeit a hostile one, to which they are welcome to return. And so the suffering of the Rohingya comes not so much from being dispossessed of what once belonged to them, but from having been uprooted in the true sense of the word, deprived of a native land, a homeland and landmarks to cling to when everything around them begins to falter.
I spent our last few evenings talking with the Friendship teams to better understand how this all came about and what hope remained. I felt that they, like us, had a cathartic and almost therapeutic need to talk about what we had seen, before we could make sense of it.
Through their stories and sometimes their tears, even after two years, and despite holding back, we learned of the horrors of the Rohingya people’s journey and how they were deliberately discriminated against for years before becoming victims of the worst deeds that mankind can commit.
We learned that the most generous form of aid came from within the communities where the Rohingya sought refuge. Before the international aid started pouring in, pitting them awkwardly, but unintentionally, against one another, the host communities suddenly realising they were worse off than those to whom they had given so much.
We were also confronted with the relative pessimism of our friends on the ground when it came to the future, despite their unwavering dedication and determination never to give in. As long as China and Burma continue to prioritise their economic relations, as long as Bangladesh fails to find a way out of this deadlock, and as long as the international community waits for the next humanitarian crisis so it can turn away from this one, the sun will never return to the hills of Cox’s Bazar.
We know what comes next. Because all that’s missing is a lid on the Cox’s Bazar pressure cooker. Sooner or later, NGOs will leave with money that will go to the next humanitarian crisis, wherever that may be. Everything will inevitably, and gradually, be rationed. Drugs, sex and then weapons will enter the camps. Because when there is no economic activity, and when you are constantly receiving but never giving nor producing, an unbearable feeling of dependence sets in, followed by an ever-increasing sense of injustice and despair. Hatred then violence will replace the treasures of hope and life that rose from the ashes of the atrocities two years ago, having been produced by the extraordinary commitment of Bangladeshis either living in the region or who had joined the humanitarian aid teams, including Friendship.
That said, a few days after my visit, Cyclone Bulbul (force 10), which was expected to decimate all of Southern Bangladesh, including the Cox’s Bazar region, finally weakened before moving on to the Sundarbans forest. It was a reminder that the worst can always be avoided.
Runa Kahn likes to remind us that “realisation leads to responsibility”.Responsibility for this crisis and how it will, or will not, be addressed, is clearly, and primarily, political. Unfortunately in that regard, as I mentioned a moment ago, there is little light at the end of the tunnel. As for NGOs, I won’t go any further, except to say that they must not go beyond their remit, especially if doing so would cast suspicion or raise accusations that they are using their influence. The way things are going, more than one could be facing a conflict of loyalty.
So, it comes down to us. Because even if this tragedy seems very far away or we think it’s now ‘under control’ thanks to humanitarian aid, it is first and foremost the dignity of our human condition that is at stake. Combating oblivion is our first duty before any of us takes the time individually to reflect on how we can exercise our responsibility as men and women who are all part of the same humanity.
I left Bangladesh with the memory of this young teenager who came to meet me in the Rohingya camp. He could have been my son; he could have been your son if fate had decided otherwise. He asked me, in perfect English, what I had come to do. I told him that I had simply come to visit him. He smiled. When I asked him what he hoped for in the future, he told me with maturity and aplomb that he wanted to go home, but that the leaders of his country were bad and that he would have to find other ways to build his life. Then he said that his greatest strength would come from the pursuit of a serious education. So I closed my eyes and began to hope that he would keep the conquering flame of childhood alight for a long time to come… and that he would never be caught up in the unrest that is now smouldering there, a few thousand kilometres from us, on the once lush hills of Cox’s Bazar.
Philippe Depoorter, Member of the Board of Friendship Luxembourg
November 2019*
*This text opened the conference « Restoring Dignity, Sustaining Hope: How much can a humanitarian organisation do? » organised on 12 November by Friendship Luxembourg. The text was also published in French in Paperjam, newspaper of Luxembourg.
An exhibition on the same subject, entitled « I am a Rohingya », is in running until 21 December at Galerie Clairefontaine, Espace 1.