Being Bangali: The issue of identity

Every person has multiple identities. Take me, for example, a person with multiple identities: I am South Asian, I am Bangali, I belong to a particular age cohort, I am a man, I am an admirer of art and literature, I am the father of two daughters, and so on.

These multiple identities have many implications. One is: The more we expand the parameters of our identities, the more diverse our identity becomes. And if we accept this diversity, and each of us respects whatever identity another person may possess, then the diversity in society becomes our strength. 

The problem, however, is that we often select only one of our multiple identities and treat it as our sole and unique identity. We then consider it our highest or most important identity, and regard those who do not share that identity as inferior and unacceptable to us. Once that happens, division, disagreement, and conflict become inevitable.

This picture becomes most pronounced in the case of religious identity. Religious identity is founded upon a person's deeply personal beliefs and understanding. If we accept this and remain respectful, tolerant, and accepting of everyone else's religious identity — at the individual, community, and state levels — then peaceful coexistence among different religious communities is possible. And traditionally, that is how it has been in our society.

Over time, however, such religious tolerance, respect, and acceptance have disappeared in many societies and those values have been replaced by religious fanaticism, fundamentalism, instability, intolerance, and hostility. 

Yet a question remains: divisions exist in other areas of human lives as well, but they do not necessarily turn into fanatical and intolerant conflict. For instance, despite their differences, I have never heard of diabetic people engaging in fights with people who consume sugar. 

Nor have lovers of classical music sought to eliminate people who enjoy other forms of music. Why, then, does the issue become so fanatical, intolerant, and hostile when it comes to religion?

There are probably many reasons, but one may be particularly compelling. In the case of diabetics versus sugar eaters, reason, judgment, evidence, data, and scientific thinking create a space where meaningful debate can take place without anyone taking an extreme position. 

Neither diabetics nor those who do not have diabetes identify their dietary status as their sole and unique identity, let alone claim its superiority. Consequently, peaceful coexistence is possible.

Religious identity, on the other hand, is different. Some people subordinate all their other identities and identify their religious identity alone as their sole and unique identity. They go further and take an extreme position regarding its superiority. 

As a result, these individuals adopt an inflexible and uncompromising view concerning the superiority, purity, and legitimacy of their own religion. In this context, their flexibility, respect, and tolerance toward the religious beliefs and identities of others disappear completely, giving rise to religious fanaticism, intolerance, and conflict.

Against this backdrop, we can examine our Bangali identity from an objective perspective. 

First, we often view Bangali identity in fragmented, isolated, and external terms. For example, we speak of Bangali identity in attire, Bangali identity in food, and so forth. In reality, genuine Bangali identity is rooted much more deeply than these outward manifestations. 

Being Bangali is a realisation, a set of values, a consciousness, and a view that has emerged from our thousand-year history, heritage, culture, and intellectual traditions. Ultimately, to carry these within our hearts and minds is what being Bangali truly means.

Thus, someone may appear outwardly Bangali by wearing a pajama-panjabi, but if that person's thoughts and views are racist, can we really call that person a bearer of Bangali identity? Similarly, many Bangali writers living abroad may eat foreign food regularly, but does that diminish their genuine Bangali identity?

It is sometimes said that religion and Bangali identity are inherently in conflict with one another. This idea is mistaken. I believe this confusion arises because both sides sometimes adopt extreme positions regarding Bangali identity and religion. Hard-line advocates of Bangali identity take the extreme position that "religion has no place in Bangali identity", or that "Bangali identity is secular and free of religion". 

From that perspective, certain practices traditionally followed by ordinary people in Bengal are deemed unacceptable. On the other hand, for religious hardliners, everything in life must be governed by religious rules, leaving no room for something called Bangali identity. 

This is particularly evident among religious fundamentalists in Bangladesh. Consequently, expressions of Bangali identity, such as women wearing teeps — the traditional decorative mark on the forehead — are rejected by them.

But if we move away from such extreme positions on both sides and examine the matter through a rational and objective lens, we will see that religion and Bangali identity are not inherently contradictory. 

Consider, for example, a farmer in rural Bengal who says "Bismillah" before taking the first bite of his meal. There is certainly a religious dimension to this act, but it does not diminish his Bangali identity. Likewise, when people of different religions participate in the Mangal Shobhajatra procession on Pahela Baishakh, their religious identity is not harmed in any way.

The problem actually arises when we take either religious identity or Bangali identity to an inflexible, supremacist extreme, where everything else becomes unacceptable. Both forms of identity-based rigidity are dangerous. 

One gives rise to religious fanaticism; the other gives rise to toxic nationalism. Religious fanaticism produces religious extremism, while extreme nationalism denies ethnic diversity. From such conditions, violence and conflict become inevitable.

Many people ask whether knowing the Bangali language is essential to being Bangali. I believe it is important and necessary, but it is neither indispensable nor unavoidable. This issue is even more sensitive in the diaspora, because many people worry about whether the future of Bangali identity abroad is fragile when children growing up outside of Bangladesh do not know the Bangla language.

The first thing worth saying here is that we have a powerful emotional attachment to the Bangla language. The reason for that emotion is entirely legitimate. The Language Movement of 1952 was the principal source of Bangladesh's struggle for self-determination, and people gave their lives for the language. But we must remember that, as time and circumstances evolve, we need to approach this matter not emotionally but realistically.

First, the younger generation of Bangalis living abroad does not have the same emotional attachment to the Bangla language that earlier generations had. We older people naturally want our children abroad to know Bangla because of our emotional connection to the language. But will that happen automatically given the realities of their lives abroad? Is it reasonable to expect it simply because they are children of Bangali families? No, it will not, and such an expectation cannot reasonably be made.

When children spend most of their days speaking English at school, college, or work, it is not natural to expect them to return home and automatically switch to Bangla. Making this happen will require a long-term, careful, and well-planned effort by parents and families. I am not a language specialist, but language experts can explain what such an effort should look like. I only know that it will not be easy.

Second, the problem of young people not knowing Bangla is not merely a diaspora problem; it is also a problem within Bangladesh itself. English-medium schools are accorded a distinct social status in Bangladesh because of prevailing social attitudes. In today's society, English is associated with privilege, prestige, social status, and the upper classes. 

As a result, many children in Bangladesh themselves speak English both at home and outside, much like their relatives living abroad. This is another dimension of the problem. Does anyone remember Bhabaniprasad Majumdar's poem "Banglata Thik Ashe Na" ("I Can't Quite Speak Bangla Properly")?

Third, Bangali men and women are increasingly entering into inter-ethnic and inter-racial marriages, both at home and abroad. Therefore, one or two generations from now, children born from such marriages may know that one of their ancestors was Bangali, while the presence of the Bangla language in their lives may be non-existent. That is reality, and there is little point in lamenting it emotionally.

Given this situation, I believe parents need to make decisions about two things. The first is setting priorities. Given the realities of life abroad, expecting our children to read, write, and speak Bangla — all three — is probably unrealistic. Why not lower our expectations instead? Why not focus on helping these children learn to speak the Bangla they need for everyday life and encourage them to use it, at least at home and among their Bangali friends? 

For the time being, perhaps we can set aside reading and writing Bangla. If they begin speaking basic Bangla and are encouraged to do so, perhaps that frontier will gradually expand one day. Why not begin with the basics?

Second, why can't they learn the various dimensions of Bangali identity through relevant books written in English and other languages? Why shouldn't they read, in English translation the Bangla poems, short stories, novels, and plays? Why shouldn't they learn in English about the history, culture, and heritage of Bangladesh? I know that the number of such books is limited, but why not begin with what is available? At the same time, translators and literary figures should be encouraged to do more work in this area.

Let us encourage Bangali children living abroad to watch Bangla plays and listen to Bangla music. Let them listen to Bangali bands at home. Let them taste Bangali food. Let them wear Bangali attire on special occasions. And let them visit Bangladesh by themselves, not accompanied by their parents, to explore and experience the country on their own. At first, all of these things may be uncomfortable for them, but gradually they will begin to enjoy them as well.

This is how, step by step, they will absorb Bangali identity and become its bearers. Their inability to read or write Bangla need not stand in the way of their Bangali identity. They too can become proud of their Bangla heritage.

Dr Selim Jahan is the former Director of the Human Development Report Office (HDRO) of the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) in New York . 

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions and views of The Business Standard.