By day the streets of Dhaka were quiet. Some shops and offices were open, some were shut. The buses were half empty and not many taxis were operating. Now and then an army jeep would come roaring up the road, making pedestrians and rickshaws dart swiftly out of its way. Although the bustle and gaiety of normal civilian life were missing, law and order prevailed. But at night a hidden giant rose from its sleep and turned everything upside down. All over the city bangs and booms, thunderclaps and rifle shots ripped through the darkness as unseen battles went on.

It was October 1971 and from my stuffy tenth floor bedroom in the sterile foreign safety zone of the Hotel Intercontinental I was listening eagerly to the muffled sounds of conflict in the real world outside. I had just arrived in Dhaka and would soon be documenting the carnage and destruction caused by the Pakistan army in the interior of East Bengal, and witnessing the brave resistance put up by the Bengali people, people whose cause lay close to my heart.
It was a good moment to take stock. What on earth was a wimpish little Brit like me doing in war-torn East Pakistan? How had I got involved with the country and its people?

Exactly thirty years earlier I had been born in the middle of another war, World War Two. Although bombs were falling on London my family luckily remained unscathed. The war ended, I had an uneventful childhood, did fairly well at school, went to university. And then? Not having any particular career plans I decided to do a year’s voluntary service abroad. By pure chance I was sent to East Pakistan, and there the spell was cast and my life changed forever. The magic of Bengal and its people is hard to explain, but it is potent. I fell in love with East Bengal and that was it: I knew I would never be able to tear myself away from my sweetheart.

I did eventually return to England and become a primary school teacher. I chose to settle in Birmingham because it had a large East Pakistani community, and took a room in a lodging house run by an ex-seaman from Sylhet. Contacts were made, I started giving private tuition in Sylheti households and helping with paperwork, got to know more and more people and gradually turned into an honorary member of the community. Although physically in England I was still mentally and emotionally in East Pakistan.
And then came 1970 with the promise of free and fair elections in Pakistan, the passionate speeches of Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, the talk of autonomy or even independence for the East wing, the atmosphere of hope mingled with uncertainty – all of which was experienced as intensely in Birmingham as it was in Dhaka or Sylhet. The landslide election victory of Sheikh Mujib’s Awami League, President Yahya Khan’s treacherous refusal to honour the result, the build up of Pakistani troops in the East wing – I can still remember the excitement and apprehension these events caused in Small Heath and throughout the Bengali community in Britain.

As soon as the vicious military crackdown started in East Pakistan the mood in Birmingham changed to one of fury and defiance. A Bangladesh Action Committee was set up and everyone swore to do their utmost to support the liberation struggle. I immediately got involved, making placards and banners, helping design publicity materials, writing letters to the press and to heads of state. Later I gave up my teaching job and became office secretary for the Action Committee. And then came the chance to serve as an interpreter for a World in Action team from Granada TV. No foreign reporters had been allowed to visit the interior of East Pakistan and check what was going on there, but the World in Action producers had managed to get permission to report on the rural economy. Their secret aim was to gather evidence of the army atrocities which they knew were taking place out of sight of the media. I jumped at the opportunity to accompany the team as their interpreter. And so there I was in the smug and opulent Hotel Intercontinental.

What we saw in the countryside is a story on its own. All I will say now is that there was enough gore and horror to make a remarkable film, The Year of Killing, which helped draw attention to the gross human rights violations that had been going on.
Not long after our tour the liberation movement achieved its goal, the Pakistani troops were defeated and the independent People’s Republic of Bangladesh came into being. I can’t describe how proud I was. This was our Liberation, our Bangladesh! Joy Bangla, Joy Bangla!

Roger Gwynn, formerly with the International Voluntary Service UK (IVS) and visited occupied Bangladesh with Granada TV in 1971

Editor’s note: The Year of Killing was also published as an article by the author on 26 March 2016 in The Independent, one of the leading English dailies of Bangladesh.

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Link to article here: The year of killing | theindependentbd.com

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