1971: The Forgotten Genocide of Bangladesh
Uncovering the Brutality, Silence, and Struggle for Recognition.
Abstract:
This paper investigates the genocide committed in Bangladesh during 1971, a period marked by extreme violence, mass killings, and widespread sexual violence orchestrated by the Pakistani military. Despite estimates that over three million people were killed and countless women raped, documentation of these atrocities remains scarce or fragmented. Unlike other historical genocides, the Bangladesh case suffers from a significant lack of formal recording and academic attention. In response, this work compiles and presents the most significant and accessible records, gathered from online sources and archived materials. It includes testimonies and detailed accounts of key events such as the massacres at Chuknagar, Sriramshi, Faidabad, and Dhaka University. While some eyewitnesses are known, many remain anonymous, reflecting the chaos and silencing of that era. Entire villages were wiped out, their stories lost with the people who perished. This paper is an attempt to piece together fragments of history to acknowledge and preserve the memory of one of the most horrific yet underreported genocides of the 20th century.
This paper was not supported by any specific grant from public or commercial funding agencies. Additionally, this paper declares no conflicts of interest with any individual or entity.
Note: Many of the materials used in this paper, including texts, testimonies, and data, have been collected from various online and archived sources. Full credit goes to the original contributors, many of whom remain anonymous due to the nature and context of the events.
Introduction:
The genocide in Bangladesh in 1971 began with Operation Searchlight, a brutal and meticulously planned military campaign launched by the Pakistan Army on 25 March 1971. Lorraine Boissoneault says it is “The Genocide the U.S. Can’t Remember, But Bangladesh Can’t Forget.” (Lorraine Boissoneault, 2016) Its objective was to suppress the Bengali nationalist movement by swiftly capturing major urban centers by March 26, followed by the elimination of all political and military resistance within a month. In preparation, the regime expelled all foreign journalists from East Pakistan to prevent international scrutiny of the impending atrocities.
Operation Searchlight marked the beginning of one of the darkest chapters in South Asian history. The violence that erupted in Dhaka and beyond was swift and indiscriminate. According to reports published shortly after the operation, The New York Times (28 March 1971) estimated 10,000 deaths; its 29 March report cited between 5,000 and 7,000 deaths in Dhaka alone. The Sydney Morning Herald (29 March 1971) reported casualties ranging from 10,000 to 100,000. By 1 April 1971, The New York Times estimated that 35,000 had been killed in Dhaka during the initial phase of the crackdown.
These systematic killings marked the onset of the broader atrocities committed throughout 1971, which would eventually lead to the independence of Bangladesh in December. While the precise number of victims remains debated, with estimates ranging from 200,000 to as many as 3,000,000, what remains indisputable is the scale and intensity of the violence. The campaign was not only aimed at armed resistance but also targeted civilians, students, intellectuals, and entire communities in an effort to erase the Bengali identity.
This paper explores these atrocities through documented events, survivor testimonies, and historical records to shed light on a genocide that, despite its scale, remains underrepresented in global narratives.
There is only one word for this: Genocide
“We were told to kill the Hindus and Kafirs (non-believer in God). One day in June, we cordoned a village and were ordered to kill the Kafirs in that area. We found all the village women reciting from the Holy Quran, and the men holding special congregational prayers seeking God’s mercy. But they were unlucky. Our commanding officer ordered us not to waste any time,” confession of a Pakistani Soldier.
“It is Mujib’s home district. Kill as many bastards as you can and make sure there is no Hindu left alive.” “I was ordered,” Colonel Nadir Ali, a retired Pakistan Army Officer, Punjabi poet, and short story writer.
The mass killings in Bangladesh (then East Pakistan) in 1971 rank among the most concentrated and brutal acts of genocide in the twentieth century, standing alongside the annihilation of Soviet prisoners of war by the Nazis, the Holocaust against the Jews, and the genocide in Rwanda. In a desperate and violent attempt to suppress the Bengali independence movement, the West Pakistani military regime launched a carefully orchestrated campaign of terror and mass murder. This operation was not a spontaneous outbreak of violence but a deliberate strategy designed to eliminate political opposition, intellectual resistance, and ethnic identity.
The objective was to decimate the Bengali population to the point of submission, with the ultimate goal of silencing the call for self-determination. Over the course of just a few months, the military targeted civilians on a massive scale, intellectuals, students, women, and children, leaving behind a trail of devastation. It is widely believed that this campaign succeeded in killing millions of Bengalis, marking one of the darkest and most harrowing episodes of the modern era.
Background:
In the landmark national elections held in December 1970, the Awami League, under the leadership of Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, secured an overwhelming victory throughout Bengali-majority East Pakistan. This electoral triumph reflected the democratic aspirations of the Bengali people and their widespread support for the League’s Six-Point Programme, which demanded significant autonomy for East Pakistan within the Pakistani federation. However, this resounding mandate was met with hostility by the political and military elite in West Pakistan, who were unwilling to cede power to the Bengali majority.
On February 22, 1971, during a high-level meeting, the West Pakistani generals made a fateful and brutal decision: to crush the Awami League and its supporters by force. It became clear from the outset that the suppression of Bengali political aspirations would involve the systematic use of violence and terror on a massive scale. The military’s intent to annihilate resistance through genocide was made explicit in the chilling words attributed to President Yahya Khan during the February conference: “Kill three million of them,” said President Yahya Khan at the February conference, “and the rest will eat out of our hands.” (Robert Payne, 1972, p. 50.)
On the night of March 25, 1971, this genocidal plan was set in motion with the launch of Operation Searchlight, an organized and premeditated campaign of terror and extermination. The offensive began with a ruthless assault on the University of Dacca (now Dhaka), a stronghold of political activism and intellectual dissent. Students were targeted and killed in their hundreds, with entire dormitories reportedly turned into charnel houses. In the streets of Dacca, death squads moved systematically, executing civilians indiscriminately. It is estimated that approximately 7,000 people were killed in a single night, marking only the beginning of a broader genocidal campaign.
The scale and ferocity of the violence rapidly escalated. “Within a week, half the population of Dacca had fled, and at least 30,000 people had been killed. Chittagong, too, had lost half its population. All over East Pakistan people were taking flight, and it was estimated that in April some thirty million people [!] were wandering helplessly across East Pakistan to escape the grasp of the military.” (Robert Payne, 1972, p. 48.) This mass exodus and internal displacement reflected both the terror inflicted by the military and the sheer scale of civilian vulnerability.
As the brutality intensified, the humanitarian crisis spilled across international borders. An estimated ten million refugees crossed into neighboring India, placing enormous strain on that country’s infrastructure and resources. The refugee influx generated international attention and catalyzed geopolitical consequences, eventually leading to India’s military intervention in December 1971. At the time of the genocide, the population of East Pakistan (modern-day Bangladesh) was approximately 75 million, underscoring the magnitude of the atrocity.
The Guinness Book of Records lists the Bangladesh Genocide as one of the top five genocides of the 20th century, an acknowledgement of both the unprecedented speed and sheer scale of the carnage.
The Gendercide Against Bengali Men:
The genocidal violence in East Pakistan was marked not only by its scope but also by its calculated targeting of specific demographic groups, particularly men. The campaign proceeded in a manner that closely followed the patterns of classic genocide, with clearly defined targets, a strategic rationale, and operational precision. According to journalist Anthony Mascarenhas, who defected from Pakistan and bravely exposed the truth to the world:
There is no doubt whatsoever about the targets of the genocide. They were:
(1) Bengalee Officers: The Bengali militarymen of the East Bengal Regiment, the East Pakistan Rifles, police and para-military Ansars and Mujahids.
(2) The Hindus: “We are only killing the men; the women and children go free. We are soldiers, not cowards to kill them…” I was to hear in Comilla. (Site of a major military base) Comments by R.J. Rummel: “One would think that murdering an unarmed man was a heroic act” (Rummel, 1994, p. 323)
(3) The Awami Leaguers: All office bearers and volunteers down to the lowest link in the chain of command.
(4) The students: College and university boys and some of the more militant girls.
(5) Bengali intellectuals: Such as professors and teachers whenever damned by the army as “Militant.” (Mascarenhas, 1972, pp. 116–117)
These targets demonstrate how the genocide was designed not only to eliminate resistance but also to decapitate the socio-political leadership and undermine the foundations of future Bengali governance and intellectual development. The systematic targeting of military men, politicians, students, and intellectuals, professions and roles overwhelmingly held by men, reveals a distinct pattern of gendercide, aimed at annihilating the male segment of the population deemed most capable of resistance.
Mascarenhas’s summary makes clear the linkages between gender and social class (the “Intellectuals,” “Professors,” “Teachers,” “Office bearers,” and — obviously — “Military men” can all be expected to be overwhelming if not exclusively male, although in many cases their families died or fell victim to other atrocities alongside them). In this respect, the Bangladesh events can be classed as a combined gendercide and elitocide, with both strategies overwhelmingly targeting males for the most annihilatory excesses.
The ideological underpinnings of the genocide were also laid bare by West Pakistani officials. The systemic goals of the campaign were exposed in the June 13, 1971 edition of The Sunday Times (London), which published a revealing and disturbing statement obtained from a senior official at the Eastern Command headquarters in Dacca:
“The Government’s policy for East Bengal was spelled out to me at the Eastern Command headquarters in Dacca. It has three elements:
The Bengalis have proved themselves unreliable and must be ruled by West Pakistanis;
The Bengalis will have to be re-educated along proper Islamic lines. The “Islamization of the masses” — this is the official jargon — is intended to eliminate secessionist tendencies and provide a strong religious bond with West Pakistan;
When the Hindus have been eliminated by death and flight, their property will be used as a golden carrot to win over the underprivileged Muslim middle class. This will provide the base for erecting administrative and political structures in the future.”
This excerpt illustrates the ideological dimension of the genocide, rooted in ethnic chauvinism, religious nationalism, and economic opportunism. The attempt to re-educate the Bengali population, the forced Islamization, the targeting of Hindus, and the calculated redistribution of Hindu-owned property reflect an integrated plan for the long-term restructuring of East Bengal’s demographic, cultural, and political fabric.
Taken together, the West Pakistani military regime’s actions in 1971 constitute not only one of the most brutal genocides of the 20th century but also a deliberate and multi-pronged campaign to erase the political, cultural, and intellectual identity of the Bengali people.
Massacred by the West Pakistani regime:
Younger men and adolescent boys, of whatever social class, were equally targets. According to Rounaq Jahan, “All through the liberation war, able-bodied young men were suspected of being actual or potential freedom fighters. Thousands were arrested, tortured, and killed. Eventually, cities and towns became bereft of young males who either took refuge in India or joined the liberation war.” Especially “during the first phase” of the genocide, he writes, “young able-bodied males were the victims of indiscriminate killings.” (Genocide in Bangladesh, n.d., p. 298) R.J. Rummel likewise writes that “the Pakistan army [sought] out those especially likely to join the resistance — young boys. Sweeps were conducted of young men who have never been seen again. Bodies of youths would be found in fields, floating down rivers, or near army camps. As can be imagined, this terrorized all young men and their families within reach of the army. Most between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five began to flee from one village to another and toward India. Many of those reluctant to leave their homes were forced to flee by mothers and sisters concerned for their safety.” (Rummel, 1994, p. 329) Rummel describes a chilling genocidal ritual, reminiscent of Nazi procedure towards Jewish males: “In what became province-wide acts of genocide, Hindus were sought out and killed on the spot. As a matter of course, soldiers would check males for the obligated circumcision among Moslems. If circumcised, they might live; if not, sure death.” (Rummel, 1994, p. 323)
Robert Payne describes scenes of systematic mass slaughter around Dacca (Dhaka) that, while not explicitly “gendered” in his account, bear every hallmark of classic gender-selective roundups and genocidal slaughters of noncombatant men:
“In the dead region surrounding Dacca, the military authorities conducted experiments in mass extermination in places unlikely to be seen by journalists. At Hariharpara, a once thriving village on the banks of the Buriganga River near Dacca, they found the three elements necessary for killing people in large numbers: a prison in which to hold the victims, a place for executing the prisoners, and a method for disposing of the bodies.
The prison was a large riverside warehouse, or godown, belonging to the Pakistan National Oil Company, the place of execution was the river edge or the shallows near the shore, and the bodies were disposed of by the simple means of permitting them to float downstream. The killing took place night after night.
Usually, the prisoners were roped together and made to wade out into the river. They were in batches of six or eight, and in the light of a powerful electric arc lamp, they were easy targets, black against the silvery water. The executioners stood on the pier, shooting down at the compact bunches of prisoners wading in the water. There were screams in the hot night air, and then silence.
The prisoners fell on their sides and their bodies lapped against the shore. Then a new bunch of prisoners were brought out, and the process was repeated. In the morning the village boatmen hauled the bodies into midstream and the ropes binding the bodies were cut so that each body drifted separately downstream.” (Payne, 1972, p. 55)
Strikingly similar and equally hellish scenes are described in the case-studies of genocide in Armenia and the Nanjing Massacre of 1937.
How many died?
Bangladeshi authorities claim that approximately 3 million people were killed during the conflict, while the Hamoodur Rahman Commission, which was an official investigation conducted by the Pakistan Government, put the figure as low as 26,000 civilian casualties. Despite these widely differing estimates, the fact remains that the number of people who died in Bangladesh in 1971 was almost certainly well into the seven-figure range. This tragic loss of life makes it one of the worst genocides in the era following World War II, far surpassing the death toll in Rwanda, where approximately 800,000 people were killed, and probably even exceeding the number of deaths in Indonesia during the period of 1965 to 1966, when estimates suggest between 1 million and 1.5 million people lost their lives.
As R.J. Rummel writes:
“The human death toll over only 267 days was incredible. Just to give for five out of the eighteen districts some incomplete statistics published in Bangladesh newspapers or by an Inquiry Committee, the Pakistani army killed 100,000 Bengalis in Dacca, 150,000 in Khulna, 75,000 in Jessore, 95,000 in Comilla, and 100,000 in Chittagong. For eighteen districts the total is 1,247,000 killed. This was an incomplete toll, and to this day no one really knows the final toll. Some estimates of the democide are much lower — one is of 300,000 dead — but most range from 1 million to 3 million… The Pakistani army and allied paramilitary groups killed about one out of every sixty-one people in Pakistan overall; one out of every twenty-five Bengalis, Hindus, and others in East Pakistan. If the rate of killing for all of Pakistan is annualized over the years the Yahya martial law regime was in power (March 1969 to December 1971), then this one regime was more lethal than that of the Soviet Union, China under the communists, or Japan under the military (even through World War II).”(Rummel, 1994, p. 331)
People often consider that the best approach is to view the figure “3 million” not as an exact or absolute number but rather as an arbitrary or symbolic estimate. Determining the precise proportion of men versus women who were murdered during that period is an extremely difficult task, and exact data is unavailable, though some speculation can be attempted based on available figures and reasonable assumptions. If we take the highest estimates for both the number of women raped and the total number of Bengalis killed, 400,000 and 3 million, respectively, and if we assume that half as many women were killed as were raped, then add to that double the number of murdered children of both sexes, arriving at a total of 600,000, we are still left with a death toll that is approximately 80 percent adult male, which translates to 2.4 million out of the total 3 million deaths. Such a significant disproportion, which is almost certainly an underestimate rather than an overestimate, would qualify Bangladesh as one of the worst cases of gendercide targeting men in the last five hundred years.
Who was responsible?
“For month after month in all the regions of East Pakistan the massacres went on,” writes Robert Payne. “They were not the small casual killings of young officers who wanted to demonstrate their efficiency, but organized massacres conducted by sophisticated staff officers, who knew exactly what they were doing. Muslim soldiers, sent out to kill Muslim peasants, went about their work mechanically and efficiently, until killing defenseless people became a habit like smoking cigarettes or drinking wine… Not since Hitler invaded Russia had there been so vast a massacre.” (Payne, 1972, p. 29)
There is no doubt that the mass killing in Bangladesh was among the most carefully and centrally planned of modern genocides. A cabal of five Pakistani generals orchestrated the events: President Yahya Khan, General Tikka Khan, chief of staff General Pirzada, security chief General Umar Khan, and intelligence chief General Akbar Khan. The U.S. government, long supportive of military rule in Pakistan, supplied some $3.8 million in military equipment to the dictatorship after the onset of the genocide, “and after a government spokesman told Congress that all shipments to Yahya Khan’s regime had ceased.” (Payne, 1972, p. 102)
The genocide and gendercidal atrocities were also perpetrated by lower-ranking officers and ordinary soldiers. These “willing executioners” were fuelled by an abiding anti-Bengali racism, especially against the Hindu minority.
“Bengalis were often compared with monkeys and chickens,” said Pakistan General Niazi, “It was a low lying land of low lying people.” The Hindus among the Bengalis were as Jews to the Nazis: scum and vermin that [should] best be exterminated. As to the Moslem Bengalis, they were to live only on the sufferance of the soldiers: any infraction, any suspicion cast on them, any need for reprisal, could mean their death. And the soldiers were free to kill at will. The journalist Dan Coggin quoted one Punjabi captain as telling him, “We can kill anyone for anything. We are accountable to no one. This is the arrogance of Power.” (Rummel, 1994, p. 335)
The webpage titled “Pakistani Army Desecrated Churches in 1971” on the Bangladesh Genocide Archive provides a firsthand account by Jerome D’Costa detailing the atrocities committed by the Pakistani military against Christian communities during the Bangladesh Liberation War. D’Costa recounts the attack on Rangamatia village in late November 1971, where 14 villagers, including his father Dr. Peter D’Costa, were killed, and approximately 90% of the homes were destroyed by fire.
The Sacred Heart Catholic Church, along with the parish priest’s residence and the nuns’ convent, were looted and desecrated. Sacred religious items were stolen, and a statue of Christ was destroyed. Additionally, during the initial crackdown on March 25, 1971, St. Thomas Anglican Church in Old Dhaka was damaged by shelling, and a Protestant church in Akhaura was repurposed as a detention and torture center for Bengalis. These incidents highlight the targeted violence against religious minorities and the broader campaign of terror during the conflict.
Eyewitness accounts:
In 1971, the accounts of massacres, genocides, and rapes were countless and overwhelmingly tragic. The scale of violence and suffering during that period was so vast that many of the events could never be fully recorded or captured in the pages of history books. Instead, they live on vividly in the memories and minds of those who bore witness to the horrors firsthand. While many stories remain untold or lost to time, there are still some eyewitnesses whose testimonies offer a direct and powerful connection to the realities of what transpired during those dark days.
Case: Massacre at Narail:
An excerpt from an article written in the Azad, dated January 15, 1972, underscores the inhuman atrocities of the Pakistani troops and their associates, the razakar and al-Badr forces:
The people of Narail can bear witness to the reign of terror, the inhuman atrocities, inflicted on them after Yahya let loose his troops to do what they would. After March 25, many people fled Jessore in fear of their lives and took refuge in Narail and its neighboring localities. Many of them were severely bashed by the soldiers of Yahya and lost their lives. Very few people ever returned.
Bhayna is a flourishing village near Narail. Ali Akbar is a well-known figure there. On April 8, the Pakistani troops surrounded the village on the pretext that it was a sanctuary for freedom fighters. Just as fish are caught in a net so too were the people of this village all assembled, in an open field. Then everyone- men, women, and children-were all forced to line up. Young men between the ages of 25 and 30 were lined up separately. 45 people were shot to death on the spot. Three of Ali Akbar’s brothers were killed there. Ali Akbar was able to save himself by lying on the ground. But no one else of that group was as fortunate. Nadanor was the Killing field.
Every day 20 to 30 people were taken there with their hands tied behind their backs and killed. The dead bodies would be flung into the river. Apart from this, a slaughter house was also readied for Bengalis. Manik, Omar, and Ashraf were sent to Jessore Cantonment for training and then brought to this slaughter house. Every day they would slaughter 9 to 12 persons here. The rate per person was Taka ten. On one particular day, 45 persons were slaughtered here.
From April 15 to December 10, the butchery continued. It is gathered that 2,723 people lost their lives here. People were brought here and bashed, then their ears were cut off, and their eyes gouged out. Finally, they were slaughtered… The Chairman of the Peace Committee was Moulana Sulaiman. With Dr. Abul Hussain and Abdul Rashid Mukhtar, he assisted in the genocide. Omar would proudly said during the day I am Omar, at night I am Shimar ( Legendary executioner famous for extreme cruelty). Don’t you see my dagger? There are countless Kafirs (heretics) on it.”
Case: Chuknagar: The largest genocide during the Bangladesh Liberation War in 1971:
Chuknagar is a small business town located in the Dumuria Thana of Khulna district and very close to the India-Bangladesh border. In 1971, thousands of refugees gathered in Chuknagar to go to Kolkata. According to a conservative account, around ten thousand people were in Chuknagar waiting to cross the border.
In the early morning of May 10, the fatal day, around 10 am two trucks carrying Pakistani troops arrived at Kautala (then known as Patkhola). The Pakistani forces were not many in number, most possibly a platoon or so. As soon as the Pakistani trucks stopped, the soldiers alighted from the trucks carrying light machine guns (LMGs) and semi-automatic rifles and opened fire on the public. Within a few minutes, a lively town turned into a city of death.
The accounts of the two hundred interviewees were the same. They differed only in details. “There were piled-up dead bodies. Dead kids on dead mothers’ laps. Wives hugging their beloved husbands to protect them from killer bullets. Dads hugging their daughters to shield them. Within a flash, they all were just dead bodies. Blood streamed into the Bhadra river, turning it into a river of corpses. A few hours later when the Pakistani bastards ran out of bullets, they killed the rest of the people with bayonets.” (Mamun, n.d.)
Case: Massacre at Raniganj Bazar:
It was the 31st of August, 1971.
Every part of the country contributed to the Liberation War in its own way. One such region was Jagannathpur upazila in the Sunamganj district, which had a long history of being actively involved in political movements and struggles. During the war for independence, Jagannathpur played a proud and significant role. The people of the Raniganj area within this upazila made a remarkable contribution by fighting courageously against the Pakistani occupying forces. Many gave their lives to defend the sovereignty and freedom of the nation. At the same time, expatriates from the region collected considerable funds, which they donated to the Provisional Revolutionary Government based in Mujibnagar.
Two terrible genocides happened in Jagannathpur during the Liberation War, marking tragic yet important chapters in Bangladesh’s history. One massacre occurred at Raniganj Bazar, a well-known commercial hub in the Bhati region, and the other at Siramishi, a remote village in Mirpur Union on the upazila’s eastern border. These two brutal killings took place just one day apart.
Raniganj Bazar was a key place in the upazila. Situated on a river, it served as a major port for the Bhati region and was important for trade and commerce. During the Liberation War, Raniganj became a vital stronghold for freedom fighters from Bhati. Though it was not directly on the frontline, both guerrilla fighters and the Pakistani military valued it for naval communication and strategic reasons.
The local people naturally supported the freedom fighters. Traders in the market often helped by providing money and supplies. When the occupying forces learned about this support, they responded with a cruel and devastating massacre at Raniganj market, punishing the people for aiding the freedom fighters.
Despite the war and tension, people from nearby areas still came to Raniganj market for daily needs. On Wednesday, 1st September, Pakistani soldiers arrived as usual, asking questions about the freedom fighters. The people thought everything was normal and did not suspect the tragedy that would unfold. Most were unaware that a massacre had already occurred the previous day in Siramishi.
The soldiers and their local collaborators gathered the market people at Rozak Miah’s shop and proposed forming a peace committee. When the traders refused, the soldiers took them out one by one, lined them up in an alley, and tied them with ropes. Those inside the shop had no idea what was happening outside.
After tying everyone, the army unloaded sacks of ammunition from a boat. Realizing their fate, some captives asked to pray before death, but the soldiers denied even this final request. The terrified people recited whatever parts of the Quran they knew as they sat on the ground. Then the soldiers opened fire. The screams of the dying filled the air. Some who survived the initial shooting struggled desperately to breathe, moving their tied hands and feet. The soldiers dragged the captives like animals and threw many into the nearby rivers Kushiyara and Ratna. The river waters ran red with blood. Afterward, the soldiers set the entire market ablaze with petrol, destroying hundreds of shops. Flames could be seen from far away.
As the news of the massacre spread, the Pakistani army retreated by boat to their camp. Villagers rushed to the market to recover bodies and tend to the injured, mourning the enormous loss. More than a hundred people were killed, and while some bodies were retrieved by families, many were lost to the river’s current.
The names of many martyrs are remembered from local records and the Muktijoddha Command, including Shahid Aklu Mia, then chairman of the market committee, and numerous others from surrounding villages. There were also survivors who suffered bullet wounds but lived to tell the tale. (Akmol, 2021)
Case: Massacre at Siramishi:
The massacre in Siramishi happened on 31st August 1971. That morning, local collaborators brought Pakistani soldiers to Siramishi village, where they stationed themselves in the high school under the pretense of maintaining peace. Around 150 people gathered, including teachers, scholars, local officials, and ordinary villagers.
When the people refused to form a peace committee as demanded by the Pakistani forces, the army rounded them up, tied their hands behind their backs, and took them to a nearby pond by Abdur Rahim and Nazir Miah’s house. There, they were shot indiscriminately while standing on the canal bank. Some tried to escape by jumping into the water, but the soldiers pulled them out and shot them again. The bodies were dumped into the pond and canal. The killers did not stop at the massacre; they looted extensively and set fire to the village, burning about two hundred houses.
The full list of victims is not complete, but many names are known, including local leaders, teachers, and community members such as Sad Uddin Ahmed, the high school headmaster, and several others. Some villagers survived despite being shot, carrying the scars of that horrific day.
Case: Massacre at Faiz Lake:
This testimony is from Abdul Gofran’s “Faiz Lake-Gonohataya” (“Massacreat Faiz Lake”), which first appeared in Rashid Haider (ed.), 1971: Terrible Experiences, which was translated by Sohela Nazneen:
I own a shop near Akbar Shah mosque in Pahartali. On November lOth, 1971, at 6. A.M. about forty to fifty Biharis came to my shop and forced me to accompany them. I had to comply as any form of resistance would have been useless against such a large number of people. They took me to Faiz Lake. As we passed through the gates of Faiz Lake I saw that hundreds of non-Bengalis had assembled near the Pump house and wireless colony. The Bengalis who had been brought in were tied up. They were huddled by the side of the lake which was at the north side of the Pump-house. Many of the Biharis were carrying knives, swords and other sharp instruments.
The Biharis were first kicking and beating up the Bengalis brutally and then were shoving their victims towards towards those carrying weapons. These other group of armed Biharis were then jabbing their victims in the stomach and then severing their heads with the swords. I witnessed several groups of Bengalis being killed in such a manner… When the Biharis came for me one of them took away my sweater. I hen punched him and jumped into the lake… I swam to the other side and hid among the bushes… The Biharis came to look for me but I was fortunate and barely escaped their notice. From my hiding place I witnessed the mass murder that was taking place. Many Bengalis were killed in the manner which had been described earlier.
The massacre went on till about two o’clock in the afternoon. After they had disposed off the last Bengal victim, the Biharis brought in a group of ten to twelve Bengali men. It was evident from their gestures that they were asking the Bengalis to dig a grave for the bodies lying about. I also understood from their gestures that the Biharis were promising the group that if they completed the task they would be allowed to go free. The group complied to their wish. After the group had finished burying the bodies, they were also killed, and the Biharis went away rejoicing. There were still many dead bodies thrown around the place.
In the afternoon many Biharis and [the] Pakistani army went along that road. But the Pakistani soldiers showed no sign of remorse. They seemed rather happy and did nothing to bury the dead.
When night fell I came back to my shop but left Chittagong the next day. (Jahan, 1997)
Case: Horror Documentary:
This testimony is from Amita Malik’s The Year of the Vulture:
At the professors’ funeral, Professor Rafiq-ul-Islam of the Bengali Department whispered to me, “At the television station you will find that there is a film record of the massacre of professors and students at Jagannath Hall. Ask them to show it to you.” This sounded so incredible that I did not really believe it. However, I wasted no time in asking Mr. Jamil Chowdhury, the station manager of TV, whether he did, indeed, have such a film with him. “Oh, yes,” he said, ”But we have not shown it yet because it might have dreadful repercussions.” He was, of course, referring to the fact that the Pakistani army was still very much in Dacca in prisoner-of-war camps in the Cantonment, and it would have been dangerous to show them gunning down professors and students at Dacca University. The people of Dacca had shown tremendous restraint so far, but this would have been going a bit too far. However, I had it confirmed that N.B.C. NEWS and other international networks had already obtained and projected the film. “But who shot the film?” I asked in wonder. “A professor at the University of Engineering, who had a video tape-recorder and whose flat overlooks the grounds of Jagannath Hall,” said Mr. Chowdhury. It was therefore by kind courtesy of Dacca TV that I sat in their small projection room on January 5 and saw for the first time what must be a unique actuality film, something for the permanent archives of world history.
The film, lasting about 20 minutes, first shows small distant figures emerging from the hall carrying the corpses of what must be the students and professors massacred in Jagannath Hall. These are clearly civilian figures in lighter clothes and, at their back, seen strutting arrogantly even at that distance, are darker clad figures, the hoodlums of the Pakistan army. The bodies are laid down in neat, orderly rows by those forced to carry them at gun-point. Then the same procession troops back to the Hall. All this time, with no other sound, one hears innocent bird-song and a lazy cow is seen grazing on the university lawns. The same civilians come out again and the pile of bodies grows. But after the third grisly trip, the action changes. After the corpses are laid on the ground, the people carrying them are lined up. One of them probably has a pathetic inkling of what is going to happen. He falls on his knees and clings to the legs of the nearest soldier, obviously pleading for mercy. But there is no mercy. One sees guns being pointed, one hears the crackle of gunfire and the lined up figures fall one by one, like the proverbial house of cards or, if you prefer, puppets in a children’s film.
At this stage, the bird-song suddenly stops. The lazy cow, with calf, careers wildly across the lawn and is joined by a whale herd of cows fleeing in panic. But the last man is still clinging pathetically to the jack-boot of the soldier at the end of the row. The solider then lifts his shoulder at an angle, so that the gun points almost perpendicularly downwards to the man at his feet, and shoots him. The pleading hands unlink from the soldier’s legs and another corpse joins the slumped bodies in a row, some piled on top of the very corpses they had to carry out at gunpoint, their own colleagues and friends. The soldiers prod each body with their rifles or bayonets to make sure that they are dead.
A few who are still wriggling in their death agony are shot twice until they also stop wriggling. At this stage, there is a gap, because Professor Nurul Ullah’s film probably ran out and he had to load a new one. But by the time he starts filming again, nothing much has changed except that there is a fresh pile of bodies on the left. No doubt some other students and professors had been forced at gun-point to carry them out and then were executed in turn. In so far as one can count the bodies, or guess roughly at their number in what is really a continuous long-shot amateur film, there are about 50 bodies by this time. And enough, one should think.
Professor Nurul Ullah’s world scoop indicated that he was a remarkable individual who through his presence of mind, the instinctive reaction of a man of science, had succeeded in shooting a film with invaluable documentary evidence regardless of the risk to his life. I immediately arranged to trace him down and he very kindly asked me to come round to his flat.
Professor Nurul Ullah is a Professor of Electricity at the University of Engineering in Dacca. I found him to be a quiet, scholarly, soft-spoken, and surprisingly young man with a charming wife. He is normally engrossed in his teaching and students. But he happened to be the proud possessor of a video tape-recorder which he bought in Japan on his way back from a year at an American university. He is perhaps the only man alive who saw the massacre on the lawns of Dacca University on the first day of the Pakistani army crack-down. He took his film at great risk to his personal life. It was fascinating to sit down in Professor Nurul Ullah’s sitting room and see the film twice with him, the second time after he had shown me the bedroom window at the back of his flat which overlooked both the street along which the soldiers drove to the university and the university campus.
When he realized what was happening, he slipped his microphone outside [through] the window to record the sounds of firing. The film was shot from a long distance and under impossible conditions. Professor Nurul Ullah’s description of how he shot the film was as dramatic and stirring as the film itself: On March 25, 1971, the day of the Pakistani crack-down, although I knew nothing about it at the time, my wife and I had just had breakfast and I was looking out of my back windows in the professors’ block of flats in which I and my colleagues from the Engineering University live with our families. Our back windows overlook a street across which are the grounds of Jagannath Hall, one of the most famous halls of Dacca University. I saw an unusual sight, soldiers driving past my flat and going along the street which overlooks it, towards the entrance to the University. As curfew was on, they made announcements on loudspeakers from a jeep that people coming out on the streets would be shot. After a few minutes, I saw some people carrying out what were obviously dead bodies from Jagannath Hall. I immediately took out my loaded video tape recorder and decided to shoot a film through the glass of the window. It was not an ideal way to do it, but I was not sure what it was all about, and what with the curfew and all the tension, we were all being very cautious. As I started shooting the film, the people carrying out the dead bodies laid them down on the grass under the supervision of Pakistani soldiers who are distinguishable in the film, because of their dark clothes, the weapons they are carrying and the way they are strutting about contrasted with the civilians in lighter clothes who are equally obviously drooping with fright.
As soon as firing started, I carefully opened the bedroom window wide enough for me to slip my small microphone just outside the window so that I could record the sound as well. But it was not very satisfactorily done, as it was very risky. My wife now tells me that she warned me at the time: “Are you mad, do you want to get shot too?” One flash from your camera and they will kill us too.’ But I don’t remember her telling me, I must have been very absorbed in my shooting, and she says I took no notice of what she said.
It so happened that a few days earlier, from the same window I had shot some footage of student demonstrators on their way to the university. I little thought it would end this way.
Anyway, this macabre procession of students carrying out bodies and laying them down on the ground was repeated until we realized with horror that the same students were themselves being lined up to be shot. After recording this dreadful sight on my video tape-recorder, I shut it off thinking it was all over only to realize that a fresh batch of university people were again carrying out bodies from inside.
By the time I got my video tape-recorder going again, I had missed this new grisly procession but you will notice in the film that the pile of bodies is higher.
I now want to show my film all over the world, because although their faces are not identifiable from that distance in what is my amateur film, one can certainly see the difference between the soldiers and their victims, one can see the shooting and hear it, one can see on film what my wife and I actually saw with our own eyes. And that is documentary evidence of the brutality of the Pak army and their massacre of the intellectuals. (Malik, 1972)
Case: Tale of the Darkest Nights:
Excerpt from the Daily Star News (Bangladesh), 6 September 2002:
A forty-five-minute-long documentary film directed by Kawsar Choudhury rained tears and shock at the auditorium of the Russian Cultural Centre in Dhaka during its three day long shows.
The audience, of which most were people aged fifteen to twenty five experienced pain and revulsion over the panic and horror, created by the aggressive and brutal Pakistani army, which gunned down hundreds of lives. The Dhaka University had been the centre of many upheavals; it has succeeded till this date to keep its tradition. This university was one of the prioritized targets to the occupation forces during 1971. When the news of the ensuing crackdown reached the campus DU students along with the DU staff and common people barricaded the streets to stop the march of the advancing army. From the then Iqbal Hall the army faced retaliation. Students fought for hours, with whatever they had, with the trained army backed by tanks and heavy machine guns.
History has always helped people to survive. Kawsar searched out the witnesses, recorded their words and tears that were suppressed for so long. The film shows the true picture of the brutality of the Pakistani army that killed hundreds of unarmed and innocent university teachers, students, and stuff and their family. An Engineer, Mr. M. M. Hossain, was able to hear the exchange of wireless messages among the Pakistani troops busy in the rampage and massacre around the University of Dhaka. At the end of the blood-laden night, a responsible authority demanded the exact number of the dead, wounded, and taken into prison. “Three hundred killed, over.” This was the only answer the soldier could make. They killed ruthlessly and mercilessly, regardless of the mounting number of the dead. They killed as if they were facing a serious challenge from the unarmed. Tracers flashed and slashed the dark sky; machine guns and tanks fired innumerable shots. One night witnessed hundreds of murders. On that single night all the resident halls were smeared in thick blood, as the genocide had just begun. It would continue through nine months.
The director and the filmmaker Kawsar Chowdhury had to go from one place to the other in search of the victims. Many are old now. But the memory is green. How can a father forget the murder of his daughter? The father and brother were killed before an adolescent. ‘This stairway is holy to me, it was thick with blood that night’ said a witness while feeling the place. Such moving scenes are not few, the short documentary is replete with them. If in one night such a number of people could be killed, the film documented only the carnage in the DU campus, how many more were killed in nine months? This remains the question. Killing-fields are still being discovered in Bangladesh. A clerk sleeping with his family at the Rokeya Hall lost everyone that night. A nineteen-year-old child of his was gunned down. “I wanted to die when I saw my daughter, my son, and my wife soaked in blood”, he could not finish his words, and sobs jammed his throat. Like him the documentary includes many characters who saw their family being gunned down before their eyes. As they have gone there is nothing that can call them back. But one thing could be done. The killers should be brought to justice. The people who miraculously survived that night wonder why they were left when the family and friends were gone. The mother wrapped in widowhood waits for one thing, justice. She saw her husband and son die; she tried to satisfy their unquenchable thirst with a few drops of water. “There were my relatives lying beside my son, they cried ‘water’, I ran from person to person,” said the old woman.
Sohel Islam tells about that that horrifying night:
March 25, 1971 is a night when the then Pakistani occupied forces tried to suppress and destroy the voices of the unarmed innocent Bengalees and thereby to impose their jungle rule on East Pakistan for good. As we all know, they carried out the notorious Operation Search Light in order to implement their evil design. Numerous Benaglee men and women including intellectuals had to embrace death on that fateful night. This operation was centred around Razarbag Police Line, former EPR Barracks of Pilkana, Bongsal, Dhamondi, Mohammadpur and Dhaka University. Those who were brutally killed on March 25 left their loved ones, relatives and acquaintances to bear the scar and pain of colossal loses. The deadly night has been characterised from different dimensions in books, photographs and movies. Since our liberation in 1971, many tales of Pak Army’s savagery have been unfolded through these different media. A lot of facts relating to March 25 are yet to be uncovered owing to multiple constraints. Besides, many victims do not want to speak of their agonies; rather want to dwell upon these silently. Recently, a documentary based on the genocide on the night titled Shei Rater Kotha Boltey Asheychy, directed by Kawsar Chowdhury, was screened at the Russian Cultural Centre in Dhaka. This film vividly depicts some of the untold episodes of sufferings, perpetrated by the occupation army in a planned way.
Referring to the idea behind naming the film, Kawsar Chowdhury said, “During my visit to Shaheed Minar on March 25, I was interviewing the people who gathered there to pay homage to the martyrs of 1971. Among the crowd, Nazia Jabin, a victim of 1971 along with her child was approaching the Shaheed Minar. During the conversation, she uttered, Shei Rater Kotha Boltey Aseychy (I have come to tell the story of that night). From this conversation, this name of the film has been picked.”
This film has presented a wide range of individuals who witnessed the killings of the defenceless citizens of the then East Pakistan and some of them fortunately escaped the attack with minor injuries. They narrate their appalling experiences in the film. A good number of teachers of Dhaka University (DU) were attacked and killed by the Pakistani forces. Dr Jyotirmoy Guha Thakurta was on the list of those meeting death. Meghna Guha Thakurta, his daughter, describes, “The heart-wrenching wailing and imploring did not stop the blood-thirsty Pakistan armed forces. Sadly enough, before shooting my father, they inquired about the religion. Because of a different religion, they shot my father with incessant bullets.” Meghna, also a teacher of the DU, shows some pieces of used bullets which presumably hit her father’s body. Like other interviewees, Meghna demands indictment of killers of her father as well as others killed that night. Interestingly enough, M M Hussein, a Bengalee engineer recorded the army wireless messages while tuning the BBC Bangla service on March 25, 1971.
The recorded cassettes are preserved in our Liberation War Museum and are subtlety incorporated in the film with the help of the Bangladesh Army. The way the messages are inserted into the film seems to be an endeavour that has consolidated the objective of highlighting the dark episode of the genocide that preceded our independence.
The director of the film said, “The harrowing tale of that deadly night cannot be confined to a single film. The dark episode that took place 31 years ago still has its wounds in the mind of the people. Thus, each day is a journey towards the road to freedom. Layers of rust smear the pages of history. The younger generation seems to be oblivious of the past. An unseen and hidden wall separates the youth from the facts and ordeals of 1971. This film is an endeavour which offers a window to history for the young.”
Case: Our Mothers and Sisters
The following testimony is from M. Akhtaurzzaman Mondol’s “Amader-Ma Bon” (“Our Mother and Sisters”) which appears in Rashid Haider (Ed.) 1971: Terrible Experiences, p. 197, which was translated by Sohela Nazneen:
We started our fight to liberate Vurungamari from the Pakistani occupation forces on November 11. 1971. We started attacking from West, North and East simultaneously. The Indian air forces bombed the Pakistani stronghold on November 11 morning. On November 13 we came near the outskirts of Vurungamari, and the Indian air force intensified their air attack. On November 14 morning the guns from the Pakistani side fell silent and we entered Vurungamari with shouts of “Joy Bangla” (Victory to Bangladesh). The whole town was quiet. We captured fifty to sixty Pakistani soldiers. They had no ammunition left. We found the captain of the Pakistan forces, captain Ataullah Khan, dead in the bunker. He still had his arms around a woman-both died in the bomb attack in the bunker. The woman had marks of torture all over her body. We put her in a grave. But I still did not anticipate the terrible scene I was going to witness and we were heading toward east of Vurungamari to take up our positions. I was informed by wireless to go to the Circle Officer’s office.
After we reached the office, we caught glimpses of several young women through the windows of the second floor. The doors were locked. so we had to break them down. After breaking down the door of the room, where the women were kept, we were dumbfounded. We found four naked young women, who had been physically tortured, raped, and battered by the Pakistani soldiers. We immediately came out of the room and threw in four lungis [Dresses] and four bedsheets for them to cover themselves. We tried to talk to them, but all of them were still in shock.
One of them was six to seven months pregnant. One was a college student from Mymensingh. They were taken to India for medical treatment in a car owned by the Indian army. We found many dead bodies and skeletons in the bushes along the road. Many of the skeletons had long hair and had on torn saris and bangles on their hands. We found sixteen other women locked up in a room at Vurungamari High School. These women were brought in for the Pakistani soldiers from nearby villages.
We found evidence in the rooms of the Circle Officers office which showed that these women were tied to the windowbars and were repeatedly raped by the Pakistani soldiers. The whole floor was covered with blood, torn pieces of clothing, and strands of long hair… “ (Mondol, 1971, as cited in Haider, 1971, p. 197)
Case: The Officer’s Wife:
Another pathetic case is that of a woman of about 25. Her husband was a government officer in a subdivision and she has three children. They first took away the husband, although she cried and pleaded with them. Then they returned him half-dead, after brutal torture. Then another lot of soldiers came in at 8 or 9 A.M. and raped her in front of her husband and children. They tied up the husband and hit the children when they cried.
Then another lot of soldiers came at 2.30 P.M. and took her away. They kept her in a bunker and used to rape her every night until she became senseless. When she returned after three months, she was preg-nant. The villagers were very sympathetic about her but the husband refused to take her back. When the villagers kept on pressing him to take her back, he hanged himself. She is now in an advanced stage of pregnancy and we are doing all that we can do to help her. But she is inconsolable. She keeps on asking, “But why, why did they do it? It would have been better if we had both died.” (Malik, 1972, pp. 141–142)
Case: The Maulvi’s Story:
This testimony appears in Amita Malik’s The Year of the Vulture:
On April 19, 1971, about 35 soldiers came to our village in a launch at about 8 A.M. A couple of days earlier, I had asked the Sheikh’s father and mother to leave the village, but they refused. They said, “This is our home and we shall not go away.” Soon after I heard the sound of the launch, a soldier came running and said, “Here Maulvi, stop, in which house are the father and mother of the Sheikh?” So first I brought out his father. We placed a chair for him but they made him sit on the ground. Then Sheikh Sahib’s amma [mother] was brought out. She took hold of my hand and I made her sit on the chair. The soldiers then held a sten-gun against the back of the Sheikh’s abba [father] and a rifle against mine. “We will kill you in 10 minutes,” said a soldier looking at his watch.
Then they picked up a diary from the Sheikh’s house and some medicine bottles and asked me for the keys of the house. I gave them the bunch of keys but they were so rough in trying to open the locks that the keys would not turn. So they kicked open the trunks. There was nothing much inside except five teaspoons, which they took. They saw a framed photograph and asked me whose it was. When I said it was Sheikh Sahib’s, they took it down.
I tried to get up at this stage but they hit me with their rifle butts and I fell down against the chair. Finally, they picked up a very old suitcase and a small wooden box and made a servant carry them to the launch.
Then they dragged me up to where the Sheikh’s father was sitting and repeated, “We shall shoot you in 10 minutes.” Pointing to the Sheikh’s father, I asked: “What’s the point of shooting him? He’s an old man and a government pensioner.” The soldiers replied, “Is liye, keonki wohne shaitan paida kiya hai” [“Because he has produced a devil.”]. “Why shoot me, the imam of the mosque?” I asked. “Aap kiska imam hai? Aap vote dehtehain” [“What sort of an imam are you? You vote.”] They replied. I said: “The party was not banned, we were allowed to vote for it. We are not leaders, we are janasadharan. [The masses] Why don’t you ask the leaders?” The captain intervened to say that eight minutes were over and we would be shot in another two minutes. Just then a major came running from the launch and said we were to be let alone and not shot.
I immediately went towards the masjid (Mosque) and saw abour 50 villagers inside. Three boys had already been dragged out and shot. The soldiers asked me about a boy who, I said, was a krishak (Cultiva-tor). They looked at the mud on his legs and hands and let him go. Khan Sahib, the Sheikh’s uncle, had a boy servant called Ershad. They asked me about him. I said he was a servant. But a Razakat Maulvi, who had come with them from another village, said he was the Sheikh’s relative, which was a lie. The boy Ershad was taken to the lineup. He asked for water but it was refused.
Another young boy had come from Dacca, where he was employed in a mill, to enquire about his father. He produced his identity card but they shot him all the same. They shot Ershad right in front of his mother. Ershad moved a little after falling down so they shot him again.
Finally the boy who had carried the boxes to the launch was shot. With the three shot earlier, a total of six innocent boys were shot by the Pakistani army without any provocation. They were all good-looking and there-fore suspected to be relatives of the Sheikh.
After this, the Sheikh’s father and mother were brought out of the house. Amma was almost fainting. And the house was set on fire and burnt down in front of our eyes until all that remained was the frame of the doorway which you can still see. Altonissa, the lady with the blood-stained clothes of her son, is the mother of Torab Yad Ali who was shot. They did not allow her to remove her son’s body for burial, because they wanted the bodies to be exposed to public view to terrorize the villagers. They also shot Mithu, the 10-year old son of this widowed lady. She had brought him up with the greatest difficulty-they never had anything to eat except saag-bhaat (Spinach and rice). They shot little Mithu because he had helped the Mukti Bahini. You can now ask the ladies about their narrow escape.
Shaheeda Sheikh, Sheikh Mujib’s niece, then added that fortunately all the wonen were taken away to safety across the river to a neighbouring village three days before the Pakistani soldiers came. For months they had lived in constant terror of Razakars pouncing on them from bushes by the village pond. Beli Begum, Mujib’s niece, a strikingly lovely woman, told me how she had fled from the village when seven months pregnant and walked 25 miles to safety. Pari, a girl cousin, escaped with a temperature of 104 degrees. Otherwise they would all have been killed. (Malik, 1972, pp. 102–104)
Case: Massacre at Dhaka University:
The following eyewitness accounts of the 1971 genocide depict different incidents. The first two eyewitness accounts describe the mass murders committed on March 25 night on Dhaka University campus. The first account is by a survivor of the killings in one of the student dormitories (Jagannath Hall) where Hindu students lived. The second account is by a university professor who witnessed and videotaped the massacres on Dhaka University campus. The third and fourth eyewitness testimonies describe the mass rape of women by the Pakistanis.
The fifth testimony describes the killings in the village of Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, the leader of the nationalist movement. The last account describes the atrocities of the non-Bengali Biharis who collaborated with the Pakistan army.
The testimonies are taken from two sources; one is a Bengali book entitled 1971: Terrible Experiences (Dhaka: Jatiya Shahitya Prakasheni, 1989), which was edited by Rashid Haider and is a collection of eyewitness accounts. Sohela Nazneen translated the accounts from Bengali to English. The other source, The Year of the Vulture (New Delhi: Orient Longmans, 1972), is an Indian journalist’s (Arnita Malik) account of the genocide. In the Malik book Dhaka is spelled as Dacca, which was the spelling used in 1972.
This testimony is taken from Kali Ranjansheel’s Jagannath Hall e-Chilam (“I Was at Jagannath Hall”), originally published in 1971: Vayabaha Ovigayata [1971: Terrible Experiences], edited by Rashid Haider and translated by Sohela Nazneen (Ranjansheel, 1989, p. 5):
I was a student at the Dhaka University. I used to live in room number 235 (South Block) in Jagannath Hall.
On the night of 25th of March, I woke up from sleep by the terrifying sound of gunfire. Sometimes the sound of gunfire would be suppressed by the sound of bomb explosions and shell-fire. I was so terrified that I could not even think of what I should do! After a while I thought about going to Shusil, assistant general secretary of the student’s union. I crawled up the stairs very slowly to the third floor. I found out that some students had already taken refuge in Shusil’s room, but he was not there. The students told me to go to the roof of the building where many other students had taken shelter but I decided (rather selfishly) to stay by myself I crawled to the rest rooms at the northern end of the third floor and took refuge in there. I could see the East, the South and the West from the window. I could see that the soldiers were searching for students with flashlights from room to room, were taking them near the Shahid Minar (Martyr’s memorial) and then shooting them. Only the sound of gunfire and pleas of mercy filled the air. Sometimes the Pakistanis used mortars and were shelling the building. The tin sheds in front of assembly and some of the rooms in North Block were set on fire.
After some time about forty to fifty Pakistani soldiers came to the South Block and broke down the door of the dining room. The lights were turned on and they were firing at the students who took shelter in that room…When the soldiers came out they had Priyanath (the caretaker of the student dormitory) at gunpoint, and forced him to show the way through all the floors of the dormitory. During this time I was not able to see them as I left the restroom by climbing up the open window and took shelter on the sunshed of the third floor. But I could hear the cracking sounds of bullets, the students pleading for mercy and the sound of the soldiers rummaging and throwing things about in search of valuables. The soldiers did not see me on the sunshed.
After they left I again took refuge in the washroom. I peeked through the window and saw that the other students’ dormitory, Salimullah Hall, was on fire. The Northern and the Eastern parts of the city was on fire too as the North and East horizon had turned red. The whole night the Pakistani soldiers continued their massacre and destruction. Finally I heard the call for the morning prayer.
The curfew was announced at dawn and I thought that this merciless killing would stop. But it continued. The soldiers started killing those who had escaped their notice during the night before.
It was morning and I heard the voices of some students. I came out of the washroom, and saw that the students were carrying a body downstairs while soldiers with machine guns were accompanying them. It was the dead body of Priyanath. I was ordered to help the students and I complied. We carried bodies from the dormitory rooms and piled them up in the field outside.
There were a few of us there-students, gardeners, two sons of the gates-keeper and the rest were janitors. The janitors requested the Pakistanis to let them go since they were not Bengalis. After a while the army separated the janitors from us.
All the time the soldiers were cursing and swearing at us. The soldiers said “We will see how you get free Bangladesh! Why don’t you shout Joy Bangla (Victory to Bengal)!” The soldiers also kicked us around. After we had finished carrying the bodies, we were divided into groups. They then took my group to one of the university quarters and searched almost every room on the fourth floor and looted the valuables. Downstairs we saw dead bodies piled up, obviously victims from the night before. They also brought down the flag of Bangladesh.
After we came back, we were again ordered to carry the dead bodies to the Shahid Minar. The soldiers had already piled up the bodies of their victims and we added others bodies to the piles. If we felt tired and slowed down, the soldiers threatened to kill us.
As my companion and I were carrying the body of Sunil (our dormitory guard), we heard screams in female voices. We found that the women from the nearby slums were screaming as the soldiers were shooting at the janitors (the husbands of the women). I realized that our turn would come too as the Pakistanis started lining up those students who were before us, and were firing at them. My companion and I barely carried the dead body of Sunil toward a pile where I saw the dead body of Dr. Dev [Professor of Philosophy]. I cannot explain why I did what I did next. Maybe from pure fatigue or maybe from a desperate hope to survive!
I lay down beside the dead body of Dr. Dev while still holding onto the corpse of Sunil. I kept waiting for the soldiers to shoot me. I even thought that I had died. After a long time I heard women and children crying. I opened my eyes and saw that the army had left and the dead bodies were still lying about and women were crying. Some of the people were still alive but wounded. All I wanted to do was to get away from the field and survive.
I crawled towards the slums. First I went to the house of the electrician. I asked for water but when I asked for shelter, his wife started crying aloud and I then left and took refuge in a restroom. Suddenly I heard the voice of Idu who used to sell old books. He said,
“Don’t be afraid. I heard you are alive, I shall escort you to safety.” I went to old Dhaka city. Then I crossed the river. The boatman did not take any money. From there, I first went to Shimulia, then, Nawabganj and finally I reached my village in Barishal in the middle of April. (Ranjansheel, 1989, p. 5)
Case: Countless Rapes:
This testimony is from Bina D’Costa about how an Australian doctor tried to help rape victims of Bangladesh .
Dr. Bina D’Costa of Australian National University fulfilled a historic task by interviewing Dr. Geoffrey Davis of Australia on his tasks performed in 1972 in helping rape victims through abortions. The interview was conducted in 2002 and Dr. Davis died in 2008. This is a great service done because Dr. Davis performed a unique task and remains one of the most authentic witnesses of 1971 war’s brutality.
There are several elements of the issue that comes out in the interview. That rape was endemic in 1971 contrary to some contentions that it was isolated. According to him, the numbers were high and many were forced to get abortions. “It is difficult to put a figure in it. About 100 a day in Dhaka and in variable numbers in lot of other towns. And some would go to Calcutta (for abortions)…”
Dr. Davis’ interview suggests that abortion camps were held in different parts of the country. Many were extremely risky abortions that threatened life and health of the women. As a specialist in late abortions, he was brought in at the behest of several agencies.
Rape was not the only issue but war babies were also a major problem that needed addressing. There were several agencies that became involved in organising these war children’s transfer to Europe where babies in new homes were very welcome. It had coincided with restrictions on availability of babies for adoption there.
While rape was a victimisation process that involved the Pakistanis, the response to the raped and the impregnated by the Bangladeshis were horrific. According to Dr. Davis these mothers of raped children were treated in the worst possible way by many of their husbands or family members. He says, “And the men didn’t want to talk about it at all! Because according to them the women had been defiled. If they had been defiled they had no status at all. They might as well be dead. And men killed them. I couldn’t believe it!”
Of course, one of the most chilling testimonies given by Dr. Davis is about the attitude of the rapists, the Pakistani soldiers. Taking about the rape strategy, Davis says, “They’d keep the infantry back and put artillery ahead and they would shell the hospitals and schools. And that caused absolute chaos in the town. And then the infantry would go in and begin to segregate the women. Apart from little children, all those were sexually matured would be segregated while the rest of the infantry tied… And then the women would be put in the compound under guard and made available to the troops.”
Dr. Davis adds, “The West Pakistani officials didn’t get why there was so much fuss about that. I interviewed a lot of them. And they were saying, “What are they going on about? What were we supposed to have done?” It was a war.”
Dr. Davis’s interview also sheds light on the efforts of the new government regarding the rape victims such as organising shelters, abortion clinics and even counselling for rape victims. Admittedly, these were inadequate compared to need but there doesn’t seem to be shortage of good intentions at that point of time. The role of the people who were involved deserve to be mentioned more and when located, they need to interviewed.
They need to be interviewed because as Dr. Bina D’Costa says, “Our national narrative is being affected by the historical amnesia.” Herself a scholar on the impact of violence on ordinary lives particularly in war and conflict situations, she has done a tremendous work by documenting this information. Her PhD. thesis is on the Bangladesh rape victims and how traditional society responded to it. She has continued to work on similar topic as it affects other cultures and societies and she is a significant voice on the 1971 discourses.
We hope the interview will be illuminating and educative to all who wish to know about the event as it happened in 1971. It will do well to remember that this is not a document to demonise a people that is Pakistanis but demonises a process which the Pakistan army and the government adopted in 1971.
Interview:
Bina D’Costa: What made you interested to volunteer for this service?
Geoffrey Davis: I had a technique for terminating advanced pregnancy. I received training mainly from the UK. However, I usually terminated under 30 weeks pregnancy.
Bina D’Costa: Where in Dhaka did you work?
Geoffrey Davis: I worked at the clinic in Dhanmondi. I also worked in most of the other towns in what was left of hospitals. What I was doing mainly…the numbers were so huge…I set out to train people in those towns to do what I was doing and as soon as they got the hang of it, I moved on to the next place.
Bina D’Costa: For the purpose of the record will you please specify what exactly were you doing over there?
Geoffrey Davis: The women’s rehabilitation organisation had been formed just before I headed for Bangladesh. Justice Sobhan was in charge of the organisation. They were trying to keep all the pregnant women together somewhere safe and all those who were feasible, we were to abort and the others who had delivered, we were to get their children to International Social Services (ISS).
Bina D’Costa: Do you remember the others who worked with you at that time?
Geoffrey Davis: Justice Sobhan headed the War Rehabilitation Organisation and the main active person was Von Schuck…I can’t remember his first name. I think his wife’s name was Mary. They helped with finances. The names of the Bengali officials I don’t remember…besides, nobody wanted to know about this history…
Bina D’Costa: What makes you say that?
Geoffrey Davis: Oh, because it involved abortion and adoption of babies. And one aspect was that West Pakistan was a commonwealth country and all the officers were trained in England. It was hideously embarrassing for the British government. The West Pakistani officials didn’t get why there was so much fuss about that. I interviewed a lot of them. They were in a prison in Comilla and in pretty miserable circumstances. And they were saying, ‘What are they going on about? What were we supposed to have done? It was a war!’
Bina D’Costa: How did they justify raping the women?
GD: They had orders of a kind or instruction from Tikka Khan to the effect that a good Muslim will fight anybody except his father. So what they had to do was to impregnate as many Bengali women as they could. That was the theory behind it.
Bina D’Costa: Why did they have to impregnate the women? Did they tell you?
Geoffrey Davis: Yes, so there would be a whole generation of children in East Pakistan that would be born with the blood from the West. That’s what they said.
Bina D’Costa: Numerous documents from Pakistan still suggest that the number of rapes had been grossly exaggerated. Do you think that’s true?
Geoffrey Davis: No. Probably the numbers are very conservative compared with what they did. The descriptions of how they captured towns were very interesting. They’d keep the infantry back and put artillery ahead and they would shell the hospitals and schools. And that caused absolute chaos in the town. And then the infantry would go in and begin to segregate the women. Apart from little children, all those were sexually matured would be segregated while the rest of the infantry tied… the rest of the town, which would involve shooting everybody who was involved with the East Pakistani government or the Awami League. And then the women would be put in the compound under guard and made available to the troops.
Bina D’Costa: Did you have any conversation with the men and women or the social workers at the clinic about their experiences of the war, especially the women about rape camps in particular?
Geoffrey Davis: Yes, we used to hear about it all the time. Some of the stories they told were appalling. Being raped again and again and again. By large Pathan soldiers. All the rich and pretty ones were kept for the officers and the rest were distributed among the other ranks. And the women had it really rough. They didn’t get enough to eat. When they got sick, they received no treatment. Lot of them died in those camps. There was an air of disbelief about the whole thing. No body could credit that it really happened! But the evidence clearly showed that it did happen.
Bina D’Costa: Yes, I see what you mean. Because you know I myself over the last four years have tried to locate the women. The numbers were huge and one would expect to find a lot of them. But I myself could only find a very limited number of women.
Geoffrey Davis: Yes, there had been lot of denial. And they just blocked it out. That happens.
Bina D’Costa: Was it different at that time, immediately after the war? Did anyone share their experiences?
Geoffrey Davis: No, no body wanted to talk about it. You could ask questions and get an answer. But quite often it would be that they couldn’t remember. And the men didn’t want to talk about it at all! Because according to them the women had been defiled. If they had been defiled they had no status at all. They might as well be dead. And men killed them. I couldn’t believe it!
Bina D’Costa: You couldn’t obviously speak Bengali. Was it difficult to communicate?
Geoffrey Davis: No, I had an interpreter. They got fairly organised very quickly. They provided me with a Land Rover, a driver and a field officer who was also my interpreter. The driver’s name was Mumtaz. But I can’t remember the field officer’s name… a government official. An amazing number of them speak English. I didn’t have any difficulty that I faced in Tunisia (Dr. Davis also worked extensively with the Tunisian population policy programme).
newwpaper clipping of Pakistan brutality on Bangladeshi women on 1971
Pakistan brutality on Bangladeshi women
Bina D’Costa: In your opinion, why do you think the women remained silent?
Geoffrey Davis: Horror, you see. They all had nightmares. You never get over it! A lot of them had tremendous anxiety. Because we were foreign and they didn’t trust anybody who was foreign. They didn’t know what we were going to do to them…
Bina D’Costa: Did you visit any areas where the rape camps were situated?
Geoffrey Davis: Rape camps had been disbanded and the Rehabilitation Organisation was trying to get the women back to their village or town. But what was happening in a lot of instances was that they’d get a wife back to the husband and he would kill her. Because she had been defiled. And in some cases they didn’t want to know about what happened. And there were bodies in Jamuna right up to the distant parts of the country. And it was that what got people excited in Europe in what was going on.
Bina D’Costa: Do you remember the women? How many you were performing abortion on?
Geoffrey Davis: It’s hard to recall the exact statistics. But about hundred a day.
Bina D’Costa: In Dhaka or in other parts of Bangladesh?
Geoffrey Davis: It is difficult to put a figure in it. About 100 a day in Dhaka and in variable numbers in lot of other towns. And some would go to Calcutta…
Bina D’Costa: Do you recall the percentage? For example, class-wise, religion-wise how many women you saw?
Geoffrey Davis: It was right across the classes. We didn’t care what they were religion-wise…we had to get them out of trouble. In general, of course the rich ones were able to leave the country as soon as there was an armistice and go to Calcutta to get abortion and they did that…
Bina D’Costa: Were the women asked if they wanted to have abortion? Were they given the choice?
Geoffrey Davis: Yes. Certainly. All the women we received wanted to have abortions. On the other hand, the women, who had delivered, handed the newborn babies over to the rehabilitation organisation. And that’s how they got to the ISS and other countries. How many, I have no idea.
Bina D’Costa: Do you recall women crying or being visibly upset during the abortion procedure?
Geoffrey Davis: No, none of them cried. They were very impressive. They didn’t cry at all. They just stayed very quiet. That made it easier for us!
Bina D’Costa: You mentioned that you only provided treatment to the women who chose to abort their babies. I just want to return to that point. Who did the women give their consent to: the involved doctors, nurses or social workers about terminating their pregnancies?
Geoffrey Davis: Oh, Yes.
Bina D’Costa: Did they have to sign a paper?
Geoffrey Davis: I think they had to sign a document of consent. I am not sure though. The government indirectly organised that. It was organised largely by the Rehabilitation Organisation. And the women who were helping with that. No body got near the clinic who hasn’t agreed to have an abortion, that’s for sure. So, that was not an issue.
Bina D’Costa: Did you perform abortion till the very end? Wouldn’t that be at a stage of advanced pregnancy?
Geoffrey Davis: Yes, I terminated pregnancy for all six months I had been there. They had such a degree of malnutrition that a term foetus of 40 weeks was about the same size as 18 weeks anywhere else.
Bina D’Costa: Do you recollect the women or the children receiving any kind of counselling?
Geoffrey Davis: Counselling, yes with the rehabilitation organisation. There were women social workers who talked to them. I don’t think it helped them. Because they were all malnourished, had horrible deficiency diseases…and they all had venereal diseases of one kind or another. It was pretty dreadful. The country had very little resources, medicines and facilities to deal with this problem. And the limited resources were kept for the war veterans, etc. There was not much left for the women. We had to bring our own stuff in.
Bina D’Costa: Where did you get your supplies? Was it enough?
Geoffrey Davis: From England. I was told to bring my own supply. I also took two sets of instruments and the antibiotics.
Bina D’Costa: Have you used only these two sets of instruments for six months to terminate pregnancy?
Geoffrey Davis: Yes. The instruments in the local hospitals were destroyed and there wasn’t much. And medicinal stuff was only for the wounded men.
Bina D’Costa: Was it medically safe?
Geoffrey Davis: Yes. It was lot less dangerous than going into term with all those diseases, particularly the younger ones.
Bina D’Costa: So you were involved in both the abortion programme and the adoption?
Geoffrey Davis: Yes. But with regard to the adoption programme, only in handing the babies over to the ISS. Any little ones, even up to toddlers… That was all a bit much. But the numbers involved having abortion or newborn were huge. The compound where the women had been kept during the war must have been enormous. But they all had been disbanded by the time I got there.
Bina D’Costa: What about outside of Dhaka city, in the areas where you had been? What kind of facilities were made available?
Geoffrey Davis: Hospitals and the rehabilitation organisation…I can’t remember what it was called! The Bangladesh National Women’s Rehabilitation Organisation or something like that. That was operating in most of the large centres. And the numbers being done prior to me going there was negligible because no body wanted to do that. Most of the medical staff in the hospital thought it was illegal. However, I had a letter from the Secretary of the State, Rob Chowdhury authorising my work there. It mentioned that anything I wanted to do was perfectly legal and they will give me all assistance. I can’t find the letter now. It is probably somewhere…Lots of papers from Bangladesh…I thought it was important since I was never going to see anything like that ever again as long as I lived. So, I better keep those. It was very hard, horrific at that time.
Bina D’Costa: Did all the women generally agree to have abortion or give up their babies for adoption? Were any of them interested to keep the baby?
Geoffrey Davis: Well… A few of them did…
Bina D’Costa: Do you know what happened to them?
Geoffrey Davis: I have no idea. ISS was there to get as many babies as they could. Because there were less and less babies available for adoption in America and Western Europe and they wanted to get as many babies as they could get.
Bina D’Costa: International Social Services?
Geoffrey Davis: Yes. It’s based in Washington DC. A major organisation involved for adoption.
Bina D’Costa: What happened to the mothers?
Geoffrey Davis: After abortion or delivery they stayed for a little while and then went off to the accommodation provided by the Relief and Rehabilitation Centre. They could stay there for as long as they liked. And then the women went into training programmes. I saw a few of them, making clothes on a promotional basis. In Dhaka, Dinajpur, Rangpur, Noakhali.
Bina D’Costa: My sincere thanks to Dr. Davis for sharing his account. Before I left, we had an extensive discussion about his revisiting Bangladesh. Our discussion naturally led to future possibilities of a war-crimes tribunal. Geoff held my hand tightly and placed it on his chest. He had tears in his eyes. He said he’d do anything in his power to help Bangladesh in its effort to seek justice. As a preliminary step, I genuinely hope that this interview will inspire interested groups to organise for an official documentation of his story. (D’Costa, 2010)
Skewing the history of rape in 1971: A prescription for reconciliation?
Nayanika Mookherjee runs a critical eye over Sarmila Bose’s controversial analysis of the violence committed during the Liberation War.
This is a discussion of Sarmila Bose’s article: “Anatomy of Violence: Analysis of Civil War in East Pakistan in 1971” (EPW, Oct 8, 2005). A version of this paper was first presented by Dr Bose at a two-day conference, on June 28–29, 2005, organized by the historian branch of the United States Department of State titled “South Asia in Crisis: United States Policy, 1961–1972.” This was arranged to mark the release of declassified US records relating to the theme of the conference:
As an Indian working in Bangladesh for nearly a decade on the public memories of sexual violence during the Bangladesh war of 1971, I was particularly struck by the author’s use of the phrase “Civil war” to refer to the Bangladesh war. Most Bangladeshis denounce the use of the term “Civil war” to refer to the Bangladesh war as it deflects attention from its genocidal connotations. Instead, they semantically and politically distinguish the Bangladesh war as either Muktijuddho (Liberation war) or ShadhinotarJuddho (Independence war).
It is also important to note that occurring at the juncture of Cold War politics, with the United States government supporting Pakistan during 1971, and the Indian government assisting the East Pakistani guerrilla fighters, the genocidal connotations of the Bangladesh war remains unacknowledged, till date. The use of the phrase “Civil war” in the title of the article suggests that the author was in agreement with the Pakistani and US government’s version of events of 1971. Yet the paper was claiming to provide “An impartial account.” I was intrigued.
Through what Bose refers to as “Case studies,” she tries to highlight how violence was inflicted by both sides, the Pakistani army and the East Pakistani liberation fighters, during the 1971 war. She also refers to the lack of incidents of rape during the Bangladesh war in her “Cases” in a small paragraph found at the end of her long article. She suggests a prescription for reconciliation through an acknowledgement of violence inflicted by all parties involved.
Soon after the Washington conference, the points made in her paper were promptly picked up by the Pakistani newspapers: The Daily Times (Hasan, June 30,2005; Editorial, July 2, 2005) and Dawn (Iqbal, July 7, 2005). Both refer to the violence inflicted by both sides, and the absence of rape during the Bangladesh war. The entry on Sarmila Bose in Wikipedia, the popular internet encyclopedia, reiterates only the brief paragraph on rape.
In a response to Uttorshuri, a Bangladeshi web mail group, on July 2, 2005, Bose said: “The heading given to the Daily Times, Pakistan, report is incorrect and not the finding of my study.” Her work unleashed a barrage of criticism in Bangladesh and her research methods have been attacked as being shoddy and biased.
Collingwood (1945) has shown that historical “Facts” are the reconstitution of the past in the historian’s minds, involving the selection and interpretation of the past, as history is the choice of a particular expository style that is itself determined historically.
My discussion of Bose’s article here, nearly ten months after the publication of her article in EPW, is an attempt to show the various responses to Bose’s work, her response to these feedbacks and to highlight Bose’s expository style which is appropriated by varied configurations.
In this discussion, I critically address Bose’s exposition about: a. violence being inflicted on both sides, b. the lack of instances of rape in her “Cases,” and c. interrogate her formulation of reconciliation and highlight its implications on sub-continental politics.
Violence inflicted on both sides
All parties involved are shown to “Commit acts of brutality outside accepted norms of warfare, and all had their share of humanity… with Bengalis, Biharis and West Pakistanis helping one another in the midst of mayhem,” in Bose’s article. This is evidenced by the Pakistan army targeting adult males while sparing women and children. However, local Bengali “Loyalists,” and not the Pakistani army, are involved in inflicting violence on their fellow Bengalis and the killing of intellectuals.
According to these accounts the Pakistani army did not inflict all the violence. This decontextualized account of Bengali collaborators does not recognize the triggers and advantages that the presence of, and collaboration with, the Pakistani army created. It misses the analytical point that in all wars local collaborators become the indispensable foot-soldiers of the institutionalized military paraphernalia.
The Pakistani army is portrayed as kind, but violent when provoked, whereas the Bengalis inflict violence “For unfathomable reasons.” The situation in Bangladesh during 1971 is described through phrases like: “Widespread lawlessness during March,” “Encouraged to break the law,” “Urban terrorism,” and “Rebels.”
The treatment of the Pakistani army namely: “Refusal of Bengalis to sell them food and fuel, being jeered and spat at… and the widespread disregard of curfew orders, murder of army personnel,” are not considered to be examples of resistance and opposition, but are cited as instances of the suffering of the Pakistani army and an exhibition of “Extraordinary restraint of the army under provocation.”
The “Rule of law” remains with the Pakistani army as they “Secure” and “Gain control” over territories. Army reaction is cited as “Overwhelming” while the rebels are “Disorganised and amateurish” who for “Unfathomable reasons… take pot-shots at the advancing units in the bazaar which triggered an overwhelming reaction from the army.”
There is no commentary on the contestations that exist in Bangladesh in relation to the varied national narratives of 1971. As a result, the observation by the former liberation fighter Iqbal: “This must be the only country in the world where there are two views on the independence of the country,” remains unanalysed.
As in-depth reading of various critical literature on war and violence (Butalia 1998; Das 1995; Nordstrom 2004) would show liberation and independence of countries are not homogenous narratives, and contain within their folds multiple contesting interrogations of wars through which countries become free. This is more so the case in Bangladesh (Hitchens 2001), given its fractured histories of partitions and independence.
Also, Nixon’s reference to Bangladesh as the “God-damn place” remains uncommented upon. This article, which was first presented in a conference hosted by the US department of State, is particularly conspicuous in the absence of any critical examination of the US support for Pakistan’s role in the Bangladesh war of 1971, in the context of Cold War calculations.
The article is helpful in addressing the ethnicization of the army as “Punjabis,” and in bringing out some of the nuances of the Pakistani army. That wars and conflicts are rife with instances of violence, kindness, cowardice, complicity, contradictions by the same individuals is not anything new and has been highlighted by various feminists, critical researchers and filmmakers within Bangladesh (Akhtar et al. 2001; Choudhury 2001; Kabir 2003; Masud 1999, 2000).
They show the multiple, contradictory, subjectivities of the Bangladesh war experience, and the violence inflicted upon the poor, women, Biharis, and adivasis. In my own work, I have encountered similar complicities and contradictions. Rather than citing these experiences as ahistorical and apolitical “Facts,” they need to be located at the crossroads of local and national politics and histories.
The earlier mentioned formulation by Collingwood is significant here. In her other writings, Bose has attempted to go beyond Indo-Pakistani enmities. She highlights the various symbolic roles of a flag, and the possible repercussions of possessing a Pakistani flag in India (Bose 2003). In the Christian Science Monitor she argues (Bose and Milam 2005) in support of the sale of F-16s to Pakistan as a stabilizing factor within world and sub-continental geo-politics. In the EPW article, the nature of her expository style and presentation of “Facts” make her “Cases” representative of war-time experiences of all in Bangladesh.
The small paragraph, located in the last page of the article, relating to the absence of rape in the “Cases” has been highlighted as evidence that the Pakistani army did not rape. In her response to Uttorshuri, Bose says: “The issue of rape amounted to about 100 words out of a nearly 6,500 word paper on the subject of patterns of violence in 1971.” An issue as contentious as the “patterns” of violence of rape can be claimed to be absent, through only 100 words! Bose explicates: “As I pointed out in the discussion that followed, there is evidence elsewhere that rape certainly occurred in 1971. But it seems — from this study and other works — that it may not have occurred in all the instances it is alleged to have occurred.”
Bose’s comment that rapes did occur elsewhere in 1971 is absent in her EPW article. In it she emphasizes the need to distinguish between the instances where rape occurred and where it did not. Throughout, it shows that the Bengalis raped Biharis while the Pakistani army did not rape anyone during the war. Also, it is not very clear which “Cases” are being referred to in the statement: the rapes “May not have occurred in all the instances they are alleged to have occurred.” Rather than this generalized statement, it would have been more transparent scholarship to cite the specific “Cases” where the rapes were alleged which the research instead finds, is absent.
Bose shows, in the case of “mutinies” by “Rebels,” that “There was assault and abduction” of women. The Pakistani army however, “Always” targeted adult males while sparing women and children. The Hamdoodur Rahman Commission (2000) established by the Pakistani government, while referring to the attack and rape of pro-Pakistani elements by Bengalis, also cites various instances of rape.
Eyewitness accounts can also be found in the eighth volume of the Dolil (Rahman 1982–85: 106, 192, 385). There is literature from the 1970s (Greer 1972; Brownmiller 1975) and recent scholarship and films based on oral history from within Bangladesh (Akhtar 2001; Choudhury 2001; Guhathakurta 1996; Ibrahim 1994, 1995; Kabir 2003; Masud 2000) which shows that the Pakistani army committed rapes and highlights the complexities of these violent encounters. Bose makes no reference to any of these documentations.
Recently, in Bangladesh, various women from different socio-economic backgrounds have narrated their violent experiences of rape by the Pakistani army and local collaborators. The well-known sculptor, Ferdousy Priyobhashini, has been vocal about her war-time experiences and the role of Pakistani army and Bengalis. My own work with various women who were raped during the war shows the contradictions of the war-time experiences while highlighting their violent encounters. All these documentations emerge as important counter-narratives to the various prevalent Bangladeshi nationalist accounts of the war. Emphasizing these war-time contradictions is not tantamount to a denial of the incidents of rape perpetrated by Pakistani army and their local collaborators.
A prescription for reconciliation?
Reconciliation, according to Bose, is possible through an acknowledgement of violence inflicted by all parties involved. However, for her, this is hinged on an unequal reliance on literally accepting the various viewpoints of the Pakistani army and administration, drawn from secondary sources (only one interview with General Niazi is briefly quoted).
While referring to the innumerable publications on 1971 as a “Cottage industry,” Bose seems to negate the emotive expressions of her informants as “The cultivation of an unhealthy victim culture” and a “Ghoulish competition with six million Jews in order to gain international attention.” This highlights a lack of empathy with her informants, and insensitivity to their comprehension of violence.
Primo Levi’s work on Auschwitz shows that individuals who have encountered and survived violence make various complicated, competitive and contradictory negotiations to inhabit their survival and “Victimhood.” Here, Bangladeshi testimonials are ironically the means through which war-time narratives are negated.
The various individual accounts of violence, in turn, become muted with the prescription of “Reconciliation.” Significantly, for many Bangladeshis, “Reconciliation” has a jarring resonance, as it is perceived to be the objective of various war-time collaborators, who are currently rehabilitated in the Bangladeshi political landscape.
Seen only as a “God-damn place” (Nixon), a “Basket case” (Kissinger), Bangladesh is stereotypically viewed internationally, and in South Asia, as a country ravaged only by poverty, floods, cyclones and, hence, in need of the saviour, interventionist, developmental paradigms.
Here, Bangladeshi histories and politics are again delegitimized as a result of sub-continental dynamics, as there is no engagement with the wider picture in Bangladesh.
The expositions in this article itself stand in the way of reconciliation between Bangladesh and Pakistan, and cannot provide a prescription to resolve these hostilities. War-time contradictions, complicities, nuances can be highlighted without negating the foundational violence of the history of rape of the Bangladesh war perpetrated by the Pakistani army and the local collaborators.
While the Bangladesh war might be a “Civil war,” or Indo-Pakistan war for India and Pakistan, for most Bangladeshis it is the war of liberation and independence, even though that liberation might be interrogated in post-colonial Bangladesh. Only by recentring the issues which concern Bangladesh, along with highlighting the contradictions of wartime experiences, rather than proffering an argument which caters to Indo-Pakistan geo-political concerns, could one help the cause of reconciliation between Pakistan and Bangladesh.
Denial:
According to Gregory H. Stanton, President, Genocide Watch there are eight stages of a genocide.(Stanton, 1998) All of them are evident in the genocide committed by the Pakistan forces. The last of the eight stages is denial:
It is among the surest indicators of further genocidal massacres. The perpetrators of genocide dig up the mass graves, burn the bodies, try to cover up the evidence and intimidate the witnesses. They deny that they committed any crimes, and often blame what happened on the victims.
Undermining Liberation: The Erosion of Bangladesh’s Founding Spirit:
After Bangladesh gained its independence in 1971, a small but persistent group has always opposed acknowledging the grim realities of the Liberation War. These dissenting voices often disguised themselves as champions of religious conservatism or misguided Pakistani nationalism. While they may have been few in number and influence for many years, their ideological resistance to the fundamental truths of 1971 has never truly faded.
However, everything began to shift dramatically after the July Incident and the fall of the modern Awami League government on August 5 2024. These events sparked a fragile glimmer of hope for many Bangladeshis, a chance for a new government that could be more accountable, inclusive, and focused on reform. Unfortunately, that hope was short-lived. The emergence of an interim government, seemingly associated with Nobel Laureate Muhammad Yunus, coincided with a troubling rise in Islamic extremism and mob violence. While the interim government faced its own set of administrative hurdles and contradictions, that’s not the main focus here. What’s crucial is the ideological shift it brought about, whether through negligence or intent.
Since August 5, the essence of the Liberation War has been systematically undermined. Take Lalmonirhat, for example, where the District Administrator decided to remove and deface murals honoring the war, reportedly to appease the so-called “July Sentiments.” (Dhaka Tribune, 2025) Initially, these sentiments were championed by everyday citizens, but they have since been co-opted by Jamaat-e-Islami and other political groups known for their opposition to 1971. In a deeply symbolic and troubling move, the photo of Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, the founding father and first President of Bangladesh,was taken down from the Darbar Hall of the President’s House (Bangabhaban). (The Daily Star, 2024) This erasure of history sends a chilling message: those who fought for the nation are now seen as burdens.
Freedom fighters have faced harassment, imprisonment, and public humiliation. It seems like the interim government, swayed by extremist Islamic groups, especially Jamaat, is punishing them for their involvement in the war. In this campaign of distortion and erasure, they’re trying to rewrite history, making 1971 seem irrelevant while pushing their own narrative about the so-called “Uprising” of 2024, which they’ve opportunistically seized upon.
Through social media, particularly YouTube, they’ve spread fake or manipulated content to paint the Awami League’s actions against war criminals as unjust. They often exploit religious sentiments in these narratives to rally support. It’s shocking how many people now buy into these fabricated stories. Jamaat has cleverly labeled supporters of the Liberation War as “Shahbaghis,” a term now tinged with scorn. Many everyday citizens today don’t even know what Shahbagh truly stood for. They’re unaware that the movement kicked off in 2013 as a collective demand for justice against the war criminals of 1971, the Razakars. They don’t realize it reignited Bangladesh’s unfinished mission: accountability, truth, and national dignity.
Instead, many dismiss Shahbagh as just a gathering of secularists and women in large black “tips,” chanting slogans. This oversimplified portrayal has been ingrained in the national consciousness, eroding public memory and distorting historical truth.
This needs to change.
The people of Bangladesh must be reminded of what Shahbagh really was, what the genuine spirit of Liberation War was, a grassroots movement for justice, patriotism, and the moral continuation of the ideals from 1971. This isn’t just a political issue; it’s existential. Bangladesh was built on the principles of secularism, justice, and freedom. There’s no room here for neo-Razakars or their supporters.
One of the most shocking recent examples of this ideological betrayal is the acquittal of war criminal ATM Azharul Islam. He was found guilty by the International Crimes Tribunal (ICT) for, among other heinous acts, taking part in the gang rape of a 17-year-old pregnant woman during the war. The ICT, established in the 2010s, had sentenced him to death based on solid evidence. Yet, under pressure from the interim government, he was inexplicably acquitted. (The Hindu, 2025) The government’s legal adviser even went so far as to label this verdict “One of the greatest achievements of the July uprising.” In reality, this was a blatant distortion. The July uprising had nothing to do with this miscarriage of justice.
The betrayal of 1971 is playing out right before our eyes, not through outright opposition, but through subtle erasure, political co-option, and a rewriting of history. If this trend continues, the ideals that gave birth to Bangladesh will fade into obscurity, replaced by false narratives and opportunistic extremism.
The struggle for truth and justice must carry on. Now more than ever.
Additional Resources:
Mamun, M. (n.d.). The archive of liberation war. Bangabandhu and Bangladesh Research Institute.
Rummel, R. J. (n.d.). Statistics of Pakistan’s democide: Estimates, calculations, and sources. Retrieved from https://www.hawaii.edu/powerkills/SOD.CHAP8.HTM
Muktadhara.net. (n.d.). Genocide 71. Retrieved from http://muktadhara.net/page35.html
Muktadhara.net. (n.d.). Massacre of Dhaka University students. Retrieved from http://muktadhara.net/dumassacre.htm
Muktadhara.net. (n.d.). Torture cells. Retrieved from http://muktadhara.net/torturecells.htm
Muktadhara.net. (n.d.). Killing zones. Retrieved from http://muktadhara.net/killingzones.htm
Muktadhara.net. (n.d.). Operation search light [PDF]. Retrieved from http://muktadhara.net/seachlight.pdf
Tribune India. (1999, August). Mass grave found in Bangladesh. Retrieved from http://www.tribuneindia.com/1999/99aug08/world.htm#7
Genocide Bangladesh. (n.d.). An army insider’s honest expose of atrocities in East Pakistan debacle. Retrieved from https://www.genocidebangladesh.org/?p=221
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Images:
Note: The following images contain graphic and disturbing content related to genocide and wartime atrocities. They may not be suitable for all audiences. Proceed with caution.
Boissoneault, L. (2016, December 16). The genocide the U.S. can’t remember, but Bangladesh can’t forget. Smithsonian Magazine. https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/genocide-us-cant-remember-bangladesh-cant-forget-180961490
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Tasin Mahdi, a devoted knowledge seeker based in Dhaka, Bangladesh, exhibits a profound commitment to the betterment of his home nation and a keen interest in international policy.