What is most
jarring at first sight is the juxtaposition of natural beauty and human misery:
Waves from the Bay of Bengal lapping at sandy beaches while desperate refugees
fleeing genocide next door are packed 1,000 per square mile into unhygienic
camps.
I am in Cox’s
Bazar in the southern tip of Bangladesh, where more than 655,000 Rohingya
Muslims fled to Bangladesh since August of last year after Myanmar’s military
and Buddhist mobs carried out a genocide against them. As an American of
Bangladeshi origin who grew up in the port city of Chittagong 100 miles north,
I was compelled by conscience to see firsthand the current situation and the
future of the most persecuted minority on earth.
Visiting one of
the most congested settlements, in a place called Ukhiya, the first thing that
struck me was that no Rohingya was starving. As Commissioner of Relief Control
Mustafizur Rahman explained, the months from August to October were rough
because the government and the NGOs were unprepared for the massive exodus. Now
food was plentiful and Rohingyas were eating rice, lentils, vegetables, fish
and fruit. What has helped was the takeover of camp management by the
Bangladesh army from corrupt civilian administration that mismanaged aid while
doing nothing to prevent local predators from exploiting the vulnerable
Rohingyas.
Health
organizations have also found their stride. I saw a physician named Dr. Mohsin
treating patients for anemia, high fever, pneumonia and respiratory diseases.
He lauded UNICEF for vaccinating children, Bangladesh-based BRAC for providing sanitation, and People’s Health Center for providing pre- and post-natal care
for pregnant women. A surgeon named Dr. Tahmina identified Florida-based HOPE Foundation and Doctors without Borders for providing critical surgery and OB-GYN services.
The problem, I found, was not humanitarian but political. The Rohingyas have stirred the conscience of humanity, but their political status is in limbo. Chemon Begum, a woman in her mid-20s who was violated but escaped death, told me of her dreams of returning to Rakhine, Myanmar, where her ancestors had lived for hundreds of years but doesn’t see it ever happening. China, eyeing the Rakhine State’s reserves of timber and gas, has threatened to veto any Security Council resolution critical of Myanmar. India, which has turned Bangladesh into a captive market for its products and policies, has sided with Myanmar, as has Russia. U.S. Secretary of State Rex Tillerson and some congressional members have labeled the Rohingya crisis as ethnic cleansing, but as Usman Sarwar, a camp administrator, told me, everyone finds it a cruel joke that President Trump will help Muslim refugees from Myanmar while imposing a travel ban on Muslims to America.
Bangladesh and Myanmar have formed a joint commission on repatriation
but with no clout at the negotiating table, Bangladesh has meekly accepted
terms dictated by Myanmar. Two points make any meaningful repatriation risible:
1) Returning Rohingyas must offer proof of residence, an absurdity since they
have lost everything, and 2) Even if some are accepted, they will be confined
to concentration-like camps.
The Rohingyas I
met, particularly adolescent and pregnant girls, seemed stuck at the threshold
between life and death. Thanks to the generosity of members of San Jose’s
Evergreen Islamic Center, I was able to distribute some clothes and blankets to
the neediest of them. But as heartbreaking as my interaction with them was, my
moment of truth came when I distributed some candies to the children.
Eleven-year-old Jannat smiled through tears and said, “I have never tasted
anything sweet in my life.”
She meant
“until now” and she was obviously being literal but unknowingly, in a single spontaneous
sentence, she summed up the sorrow and the tragedy of her hapless people.
