by PER LILJAS
Forty years after Bangladesh’ liberation war, indigenous communities are still stuck in the same struggle
Twelve-year old Dipu Chakma was woken up by the crashing sound when the front door of his family’s hut was kicked in. Five men entered, their faces covered in cloth. Hurriedly, Dipu got up from his bed and ushered his little brother Riku to the back of the hut. Sneaking out through a window, Dipu heard the men shouting and caught a glimpse of them lunging for his and Riku’s father, whilst their mother tried to intervene.
“My heart was beating fast, I thought they were going to kill him,” Dipu says. Hiding in the bushes outside, the two boys heard the struggle come to an end, and the men leaving down the hill. Shortly after, their mother came to find them, blood running down her forehead, tears running down her cheeks. The men had taken her husband with them. She led the boys uphill. While spending the night in the plantations, their hut and hundreds of other huts were torched and burned to the ground.
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