Waiting for a round number

Stories, books, events and memories of the weeks and months of the previous twelve months are often discussed at this time of the year. As I read stories of what made 2022 special, read about the best books of the year, and reflected on personal highs and lows, I wondered: what was I thinking at this time twelve months ago? What were some of my peers saying? What was in the news and in the op-eds? I went back to my diaries and my notes. It seemed like a lifetime away.

In December 2021, and some months prior to that, there was discussion in the media and the newspaper about the 50^th year since the 1971 war and the creation of Bangladesh. There was some hope that we would reflect, perhaps ask ourselves some hard questions, perhaps seek forgiveness, and perhaps resolve to do better for the stateless Bengalis among our midst. There was a tiny sliver of hope that maybe we would think about an inclusive future for everyone in the country — above gender, race, religion and ethnicity. All of it seemed to end as the clock struck twelve on midnight of December 31^st, 2021. None of the hype, it is now clear, was rooted in honesty. It was a commemoration because of a round number, not a resolution to reflect or change. The conferences and symposia on the topic — at least the ones that were allowed to take place — were simply an opportunity to get together, mingle and network. They recycled the same speakers and same discussion points. There was little discussion or rigorous debate. Serious historians were marginalised from debates and were replaced by those who spoke a particular party line. Bengali eye-witnesses were of course not welcome to talk about what they saw. These conferences and seminars were a photo-op. An opportunity to waste money and time.

Too often our Decembers and Januaries are separated not by a few days but by light years. The resolve to start anew on 01-01 often means no longer remembering the promises of the past twelve months. The clockwise motion of the dial at 11:59 on December 31^st is akin to the wave of the magic wand that helps erase the past. The discussion these days is what would 2023 bring in politics but little time is spent on the promises made to the flood victims of 2022. Apparently, this is the season for predicting the future, not worrying about the past. It is the season to bet whether the elections will be on time or not, whether there will be a technocratic setup or not. It is time to think about a discrete 2023 future, not the moment to view time as a continuum. The only exception is to plan conferences about things that happened in 1923, 1973 or 2013.

Around this time last year, the message was clear: 2022 was going to be a brand new year. New beginnings and new ideas were to take hold. But what about leftover business from 2021? Did we reach the great destination of self-reflection and sought forgiveness? I went back to the news stories and op-eds to see if it was just me who felt that the discussion about our past, and about the events leading up to 1971 and during 1971, suddenly disappeared in 2022. Unfortunately, it was not just me. Everyone had moved on. Apparently coming to terms with our past works best when viewed from the narrow telescope of round numbers. If it did not happen in 2022, it is not going to happen in 2023. Maybe we will now wait until 2046 or perhaps 2071 to organise another series of impotent symposia. Until then, our memories and reflections can wait.

Published in The Express Tribune, January 3^rd, 2023.

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