Where Do Bangladeshi Writers Stand Today?

While slurry remarks of the kind mentioned make even the most informed of us doubtful of proven literary antecedents, erasure of women's literary history in such discussions seems endemic.

Approaching International Women's Day 2022, the unnerving visual of the Ukrainian parliamentarian Kira Rudyk wielding a Kalashnikov that she finds both "scary and powerful," is in reality a dynamic redefinition of women's participation in national struggles. Extensive media coverage of Rudyk and her likes striving to save their 'Private Ryans,' in this case the ground beneath their feet, adds new knowledge of gender roles within civic nationalism. As women in our own rights, and irrespective of diplomatic/political ramifications at that, we perceive how an unequal battle has finally challenged Virginia Woolf's experiential notion that 'a woman has no country.' A woman then, does have a country, where she needs to (pro)claim her ground within citizenry at large. I take this as an overture to claim the ground for writers in Bangladesh, irrespective of gender identities. Do I, as a reader, have a claim on their ground?

At a recent event in Dhaka organized by some social welfare organization that vouchsafes fostering space for public reasoning, the main speaker, a distinguished scholar, was discussing why Bangla never gained its envisaged ground against English as the medium of education in Bangladesh. The debate is not new; what is striking is the slur of a remark that post-1971 Bangladesh has produced no worthwhile 'literature.' According to the speaker, anything that is not 'uttam' (having finesse, if he meant that) must then be counted as 'adham' (of no quality or consequence), and hence not to be counted upon at all. When such deprecatory attempts in elite circles go uncensored, the common reader must rise to foreground to contend and show how iconic literary texts have defined the self and the nation in Bangladesh. As a female reader I hold additional interest in the position of women writers in this purview.

Random thoughts bring to mind works like Chilekothar Sepai or Khwabnama that are enough to nullify remarks of the sort I mentioned above. With generations of writers like Syed Shamsul Haq, Shawkat Osman, Selim Al Deen, Ahmed Sofa or Hasan Azizul Haque in post-1971 Bangladesh as our literary mentors, how can one erase the contribution of more contemporary and living writers? I then come to authors writing in English, who are eventually upholding Bangladeshi cultural history on the wider arena of contemporary world literature. One can debate on questions of relative merit, but to comment with a broad sweep is perjury.

While slurry remarks of the kind mentioned make even the most informed of us doubtful of proven literary antecedents, erasure of women's literary history in such discussions seems endemic. Selina Hossain, Rabeya Khatun, Rizia Rahman, Quazi Rosy, Jharna Rahman, Anwara Syed Haq, Nasreen Jahan, Shaheen Akhter, Jharna Das Purkayastha - the list one can recall is endless, as are their themes. Life and problems in Bangladeshi society, environment, liberation war, Indian Partition, rural landscape, industrialization, cityscape, human mind – our female authors have an amplitude that can be reckoned through fifty years of independence. The steady growth of literature in Bangla and in/from Bangladesh since liberation cannot be written off, since our writers have relentlessly talked about emergent issues in the newly constituted democratic venture of the infant nation. A nation that has a history to respect cannot obfuscate her conscience keepers.

To come to a related point, as women contributed significantly in the liberation war, their expectations of equal rights are a justifiable demand. On ground however, the nation has witnessed a divided policy. Gender binaries have proliferated our distribution of labour, women being majorly envisaged as nurses, teachers in primary schools, and in sectors that did not 'need' highest levels of education. It is still a wonder how women in Bangladesh have progressed under such patriarchal values, making a mark in professions across the board. The stories of women rising against domestic and societal violations represented by our women writers are not all fabricated to say the least. From their role in the liberation war to their aspirations as garment factory workers, what triumph and trauma of our women have their sister authors not reflected upon, whatever the medium or language of expression? It is time we introspect with honesty if there is ever a need to go elsewhere for a more poignant representation of real life.

Let it also go on record that our women writers writing in English have as much created a respectable space and are gradually growing. It is interesting to follow writers like Tahmima Anam whose endeavors to comprehend the women's perspective in the rise of a nation, do not run counter to tradition or ethos, despite being a post-1971 generation. In Anam and her likes, I see ideological continuity with anthologies of Bangladeshi stories edited by Niaz Zaman, like When the Mango Tree Blossomed, or The Demoness and Other Stories published last year along with Our Many Longings edited by Sohana Manzoor. Cumulatively, the impression of how independent Bangladesh has been a fertile ground for producing literature of significant value, is assuring, whatever pundits might make of it. Besides, in a global world, whether you acknowledge them or not, diasporic writers too have created a mark with their representation of Bangladesh. As a fledgling genre, Bangladeshi writing in English is showing a potential to enrich the cultural-linguistic register of global literature, and this needs encouragement.

One is definitely not claiming a point of perfection in our literary exuberance as yet. All the same, informed readerly position of constructive criticism is the way to empower our writers. Conversely, public reproach is like self-willed aggression that readers must call out unequivocally. Let us read more of our literature, analyse with an open mind, and be ready to recognise the 'scary' journeys that writers undertake to produce literature that is 'powerful.' Let informed criticism and not canards be our contribution as readers with positivity. Writings by women or men will stand on their own merits; they solicit neither sympathy or patronization, nor do they deserve our disdain.

Sabiha Huq teaches English literature at Khulna University.