FOCUS Why does one flee one's country? How does it feel to be
State-less? The Rohingya refugees from Myanmar, now camping in Delhi
seeking UNHCR's help, share with SANGEETA BAROOAH PISHAROTY the trauma
that led to their exit
Voicing protestRohingya refugees at Sultan Garhi dargah; (below) a
temporary resident card and family list of a refugeePhotos: Sangeeta
Barooah Pisharoty
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PHOTOS
From among the crowd, Nazir Ahmad pushes ahead fellow
camper Tayeba Begum to tell me her story. Frail framed Tayeba, with a
vacant expression, casts a confused look. In broken Hindi, she begins,
“I am 30; my husband is dead, I have two children with me, one 10, the
other 8. We are from Arakan region of Myanmar, district Akyab.”
Tayeba
entered India from Bangladesh two years ago, went to live in Jammu
because some people from her village were already there. She makes a
living out of rag picking.
Some days ago, she and
other refugees living in Jammu travelled to Delhi on hearing the news
that Rohingya Muslims who have fled from western Myanmar to India, are
going to camp in front of the UNHCR office, seeking refugee rank instead
of the present asylum seekers' status. That means an identity and
regular money. A slightly better status than what it was back home.
“We
have been living in Myanmar for generations but have only temporary
citizenship. This blocks us from every facility. Forget visiting Yangon,
we can't even travel from one town to another without permission.”
Tayeba says, the Burmese Government brought about a law some years ago
for people like them under which they can study only till class 10th.
“Even if we do well in exams, we have to pay a hefty sum to the
Education Department to pursue a course after 10th. They know well we
are poor, so we can't afford it. We are forced to remain only
agricultural labourers.”
The persecution doesn't stop
there. Thirty five-year-old Sayeda couldn't marry because her father
didn't have the money to pay the military government. Rohingya Muslims
in Myanmar have to apply to the authorities expressing willingness to
marry. “We have to pay, say around Rs 2-2.5 lakh, along with the
application. Many have done that and are still waiting permission from
the government to marry.” The cruel law is there because the Rohingyas
are considered a community which believes in having lots of children.
“Now, we are blocked from getting married and having children. We are
issued a family list and every few months, we are checked.”
A
young, disabled man Salim pushes himself to the front of the crowd
around me saying, “We are still referred to as ‘Kala Indian'.” Though
there are different theories about how Rohingyas ended up in Burma, “The
local belief is that we were brought only as agricultural labourers by
the British. The British left long ago and we are still in a limbo.”
Salim says, “The Government is gradually taking over our land and
forcing us to work as agricultural labourers without any wages. I am
disabled, even I was not spared.” A class 8th pass, 28-year-old Salim
ran away from Arakan two years ago.
Stories like that
of Salim, Tayeba and Sayeda are common among this 4,000-strong throng
of refugees now camping at the Sultan Garhi dargah in South Delhi. Under
a blazing sun, some are seen roaming about, lost; some others lining up
to collect food and water distributed by local NGOs and good
Samaritans, some sitting under sheds made with bedcovers.
So
how did Salim escape Myanmar? “You need money for it. I had a small
shop in my village. I sold that to my uncle to organise cash,” he says.
Tayeba sold her wedding jewellery to flee home; Nazir Ahmed sold his two
years of rice production for it. Even then it's not easy. “You first
approach the village head for permission to visit a nearby town for 4-5
days. He gives you a receipt which you have to deposit at the police
station along with a fee.”
There are 16 towns in his
State but entry is allowed only in two towns. “Earlier, our entry to
other towns was allowed and that is why people could flee to Northeast
India. Now they have blocked those routes. So you are forced to flee to
only Bangladesh.” Salim too fled to Bangladesh and reached the border
town of Teknaf and then took a bus to Dhaka. All the time living in fear
of being caught and put in a Burmese jail for an eight-year term or
being sent to a Bangladeshi jail like so many others. Within days, he
arrived at the Bangladesh-India border in Satkhira. To slip through to
India, he had to grease a few palms.
“We have come to
India hearing about its democracy, it feeds even its pigeons. Many
Rohingyas have taken the sea route to Thailand and have died in their
boats, hungry,” he says.
“Though the Chin community
are considered Burmese citizens they have undergone persecution too and
fled to India. The UNHCR gives them refugee status, so why not us?” asks
Nazir. He is hopeful that Aung San Suu Kyi's freedom will lead to
theirs too.
Salim wants to return home but only when the Rohingyas get some rights.
(Representatives of the Rohingya refugees are slated to meet UNHCR officials to press for a refugee status on May 15.)
Rohingyalish
People from Arakan
or Rakhine State of Burma speak Rohingya language. It sounds similar to
the dialect spoken in the neighbouring Chittagong district of
Bangladesh. The language is said to be 300 years old. Over the
centuries, the Rohingyas have used Arabic, Urdu, Burmese, Hanifi and
English scripts to write their language.
Since 2000,
there has been an effort to preserve the language by using the Latin
script. The Rohingya Language Foundation is behind it and has named the
version Rohingyalish. According to its website, it is to make it usable
in the computer age. Since Latin alphabets are readily available in all
personal computers, only a few guidelines are required to write the
Rohingya language.
The website says, as many as 10,000 Rohingya words have been made available using the alphabets.
Source: The Hindu
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