INSUBCONTINENT EXCLUSIVE:
On his first day at high school, Khalid Hussain was accused of being the son of a war criminal
“A group of Bengali kids surrounded us and made it clear that we were not welcome
The incident still shocks me to this day,” says Hussain, who was 12 at the time
“But we just wanted to learn.”It was not the last time Hussain, now a lawyer at the Council of Minorities, a human rights organisation
he founded in 2013, experienced discrimination in his native Bangladesh.As a member of the Bihari community, the Urdu-speaking non-Bengalis
who migrated from north-east India to what became East Pakistan and eventually Bangladesh after the partition of India in 1947, he has grown
used to being viewed with distrust and hostility.In 1971, the Biharis found themselves in a diplomatic dilemma
Linguistically tied to Urdu-speaking West Pakistan (now Pakistan), they were living in Bengali-speaking East Pakistan when a brutal
nine-month war broke out between the two states
During the war, many Biharis sided with West Pakistan, which resulted in repercussions for the whole community, including their homes being
This forced the Biharis into temporary settlements, where most remain to this day.A sign at an entrance to the CRO camp in central Dhaka
Photograph: Farzana Hossen/The GuardianDespite repeated calls for repatriation, the Pakistani government refused to facilitate their
full-scale return, in effect rendering the Biharis stateless – or “stranded” as they are often referred to in Bangladesh
For years, the Biharis could not get work or an education; in 1994, Hussain was among the first Bihari children to be admitted to a state
school.“We are not stranded Pakistanis,” says Hussain
We were born here, we live here, and we have the right to live in dignity – just like everyone else.”Biharis continue to live on the
fringes of Bangladeshi society, mostly in 116 squalid camps scattered across the country
The largest of these is the Geneva camp in Mohammadpur, central Dhaka, a sprawling settlement that is home to more than 40,000 Biharis
The living conditions are poor: housing is cramped and dilapidated and whole families, with six or more members, often live together in a
single room.For decades, poverty in the camps was exacerbated because Biharis, deprived of citizenship, were unable to work in an official
This changed in 2008, when Biharis were granted citizenship, but subsequent progress has been slow and many Biharis are now entering the
workforce for the first time.Geneva camp is the largest temporary Bihari settlement in Dhaka
Photograph: Farzana Hossen/The GuardianDiscrimination is still a huge barrier for Biharis, and informal jobs such as rickshaw driver, tea
stall owner and market vendor continue to be the forms of employment most accessible to them
There are no official figures on unemployment in the Bihari community but jobs and income were cited among Biharis’ most urgent needs in a
recent survey – second only to safe drinking water.At university, Fatema Parveen would typically hide her Bihari identity, only revealing
it to friends once they had gained her trust
“People always judge you, so sometimes it’s just easier to hide who you are,” says Parveen, a quiet 20-year-old who lives in Town Hall
camp, a mile south of Geneva camp, which is home to 10,000 Biharis.Fatema Parveen, 20, lives with her family in Town Hall camp, Dhaka, and
hopes to pursue a career in finance
Photograph: Farzana Hossen/The GuardianDespite her youth, Parveen needed a job to boost her family’s finances
“I am the eldest of three daughters and living in the camp can be extremely difficult.” She says she has lost out on work opportunities
because of her ethnicity but her high grades recently landed her a job as a part-time assistant at a local politician’s office
“I feel extremely lucky,” she says, as the first in her family to enter formal employment.Parveen hopes to graduate soon and pursue a
She also wishes to one day travel the world, though that dream is on hold as she is still waiting for a passport
Although Biharis are increasingly granted national identity cards, many are routinely denied passports.Mohammad Parvez, 41, is tall with a
From an early age, he knew he wanted to be his own boss and after doing various jobs for 16 years, in 2015 he finally made the leap
The father of three now runs his own construction company
Every morning he wakes early for prayer, has breakfast and drops his daughter off to school before heading into work
“Running your own business can be difficult but as the main breadwinner, it’s important to me that my earning potential is not
limited,” says Parvez, who works on average more than 10 hours a day.skip past newsletter promotionSign up to Global DispatchGet a
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We use Google reCaptcha to protect our website and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply.after newsletter promotionParvez is
the first in his family to live outside the Bihari camps
Every day he passes Geneva camp and is reminded of how hard his family had to work for him to get to where he is now.Mohammad Parvez runs a
He is the first in his family to live outside the Bihari camps
Photograph: Farzana Hossen/The Guardian“I know many Biharis who have the motivation and skills to lead a successful career,” says Parvez
“But sadly many still face discrimination when trying to enter the workforce
This can really knock a young person’s confidence.” He says he was constantly undermined because of his Bihari identity
“People would often talk behind my back, but it made me work harder to prove myself,” he adds.Parvez is a strong believer in
entrepreneurship and thinks it holds the key for the Bihari community in Bangladesh
“Entrepreneurship can play a crucial role for the realisation of potential among marginalised communities everywhere,” he says
“We need to create our own economic opportunities and find ways to elevate ourselves.”Runi Akhter lives in the CRO camp in Dhaka and
works for a charity that assists the camps’ inhabitants
Photograph: Farzana Hossen/The GuardianRuni Akhter, a single mother of one, lives in the CRO camp in Dhaka
After her husband migrated to the Middle East without informing her, the 30-year-old returned home to live with her mother
“My family don’t have enough space as it is so I felt like I was adding to their burden,” says Akhter, who shares a tiny room with her
elderly mother and young son
A loud fan whirls above her head while a refrigerator hums in the corner, both drowning out the sound of road traffic outside.After moving
back, Akhter knew she had to get a job to help make ends meet
“We were really struggling and my son wasn’t getting enough to eat,” she says
She began looking for work but kept facing one rejection after another
“At one point, I became so depressed I didn’t think there was any point in living,” she recalls with sadness.Akhter finally landed a
job a year later, as assistant coordinator at Al-Falah Bangladesh, a local charity that works to integrate camp dwellers into mainstream
Akhter works on a programme to help more young Biharis get into education
“I process grant applications to ensure students from low-income families get the support they need,” she says
“It’s a great job and I’m glad I have the opportunity to help my community.”Since she started working, Akhter has discovered a new
“I only ever want to rely on myself,” she says
“I’m really glad I have this job, which has helped to improve my confidence
Everyone should be allowed to work, especially women
We all deserve the chance to realise our God-given potential and contribute to a better society.”
This article first appeared/also appeared in theguardian.com
