COMMENTARY Story of an MP and a teacher

Most of our greatest politicians were parliamentarians like AK Fazlul Huq, Huseyn Shaheed Suhrawardy, Dhirendranath Datta, Ataur Rahman Khan, not to mention Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, Tajuddin Ahmed, Nazrul Islam, Mansur Ali, and many others.  As a son of a parliamentarian, I remember vividly the pride with which my father, Abul Mansur Ahmad, spoke about his being a member of this august body which was located in Karachi of what was then West Pakistan. I have vague memories of the weeks and months of preparation he would subject himself to before a session would start and the speeches and the bills he would submit or support or oppose in any particular session. In those days there was an overall awe about members of parliament, for they were the “lawmakers”. It is on them that the future direction of the country and its people would come from. Speeches made in the parliament became documents of history to be treasured by the succeeding generations to read and learn from.

Much before Bangalees became parliamentarians, they became teachers. In fact, historically Bangalee culture, literature and folklore revered teachers like no other profession. It was the dream of most of the good students to grow up to be a teacher as it was a glorified profession, if not the most glorified of all. It was an honour to be called a teacher. He or she (though there were very few of them) would be part of every society, club or group that would be formed for any social activity.  In almost every village, a teacher would be the natural leader of that community to whom everybody would turn to for guidance on every conceivable issue — from what to plant this season to what medicine to take for any ailment to how to solve problems with relatives. He was the natural and unquestioned centre of his community.

In our own student life, a teacher was a man of reverence and respect. Later as we passed out of the university, my friends who were far brighter and more competent than myself all went on to become teachers either here or abroad. I recall feeling somewhat jealous hearing stories of how their former students would leave everything aside to rush to help them in any way they could and would actually feel privileged for being able to do so.

But these are stories of old times.

Now we have a new one about the two above-mentioned professions that we once revered so much.  A member of the current parliament forced a serving teacher (headteacher) to repeatedly “stand and squat holding his ears with his two hands” (kan dhorey uth bosh kora) till he was physically too tired to continue and fell down. Only a Bangalee can comprehend the severity of this punishment. Culturally, there cannot be a more humiliating act that one can be forced to perform in public. This is the most shameful, disrespectful and humiliating punishment that one can subject another to. This is what is done when we want to rob a person of all sense of dignity and self respect.  (This can only be compared to the notion of “losing face” in Japanese, Korean or other cultures).

It is more so for a teacher. What is a teacher if he does not command respect of his pupils? How can he face his students unless there is a relationship of dignity with those he teaches? What the MP has done is destroy forever this teacher’s capacity to face his students with self respect. He may be forced to continue in his job because of pecuniary considerations but his life as a teacher is all but destroyed.

A natural question that arises is does the MP have a right to do what he did? Even the most hardened of criminals have a right to a due process of law before being punished. Here the teacher was meted out a punishment — the cruelest that can be for a teacher — by a public representative who should have known well what effect such an act is likely to have on a teacher. That is of course if he has enough sensitivity to appreciate the status of a teacher.