Every morning in his refugee camp school, Mohammad Yusuf sings the national anthem of Myanmar, the country whose army forced his family to flee and is accused of killing thousands of his people.
Yusuf, now 15, is one of hundreds of thousands of mostly Muslim ethnic Rohingya who escaped into Bangladesh after the Myanmar military launched a brutal offensive five years ago on Thursday. For nearly half a decade, he and the vast numbers of other refugee children in the network of squalid camps received little or no schooling, with Dhaka fearing that education would represent an acceptance that the Rohingya were not going home any time soon.
That hope seems more distant than ever since the military coup in Myanmar last year, and last month authorities finally allowed UNICEF to scale up its schools program to cover 130,000 children, and eventually all of those in the camps.
Photo: AFP
But the host country still wants the refugees to go back: tuition is in Burmese and the schools follow the Myanmar curriculum, also singing the country’s national anthem before classes start each day.
The Rohingya have long been seen as reviled foreigners by some in Myanmar, a largely Buddhist country whose government is being accused in the UN’s top court of trying to wipe out the people, but Yusuf embraces the song, seeing it as a symbol of defiance and a future return.
“Myanmar is my homeland,” he said. “The country did no harm to us. Its powerful people did. My young sister died there. Our people were slaughtered. “Still it is my country and I will love it till the end,” Yusuf said.
Photo: AFP
TICKING BOMBS
The denial of education for years is a powerful symbol of Bangladesh’s ambivalence towards the refugee presence, some of whom have been relocated to a remote, flood-prone and previously uninhabited island.
“This curricula reminds them they belong to Myanmar where they will go back some day,” deputy refugee commissioner Shamsud Douza said.
Photo: AFP
But when that might happen remains unclear, and visiting UN human rights chief Michelle Bachelet said this month that conditions were “not right for returns.”
Repatriation could only happen “when safe and sustainable conditions exist in Myanmar,” she added.
She dismissed the suggestion that the Rohingya camps could become a “new Gaza,” but Dhaka is now increasingly aware of the risks that a large, long-term and deprived refugee population could present.
Around 50 percent of the almost one million people in the camps are under 18.
The government “thought educating the Rohingya would give a signal to Myanmar that (Bangladesh) would eventually absorb the Muslim minority”, said Mahfuzur Rahman, a former Bangladeshi general who was in office during the exodus.
Now Dhaka has “realized” it needs a longer-term plan, he said, not least because of the risk of having a generation of young men with no education in the camps.
Already security in the camps is a major problem due to the presence of criminal gangs smuggling amphetamines across the border. In the last five years there have been more than 100 murders.
Armed insurgent groups also operate. They have gunned down dozens of community leaders and are always on the lookout for bored young men.
Young people with no prospects — they are not allowed to leave the camps — also provide rich pickings for human traffickers who promise a boat ride leading to a better life elsewhere.
All the children “could be ticking time bombs,” Rahman said. “Growing up in a camp without education, hope and dreams; what monsters they may turn into, we don’t know.”
LOST YEARS
Fears remain over whether Bangladesh may change its mind and shut down the schooling project, as it did with a program for private schools to teach more than 30,000 children in the camps earlier this year.
Some activists condemn the education program for its insistence on following the Myanmar curriculum, rather than that of Bangladesh. With few prospects of return, the Myanmar curriculum was of little use, said Mojib Ullah, a Rohingya diaspora leader now in Australia.
“If we don’t go back to our home, why do we need to study in Burmese? It will be sheer waste of time — a kind of collective suicide. Already we lost five years. We need international curricula in English,” he said.
Young Yusuf’s ambitions also have an international dimension, and in his tarpaulin-roofed classroom he read a book on the Wright brothers.
He wants to become an aeronautical engineer or a pilot, and one day fly into Myanmar’s commercial hub Yangon.
“Someday I will fly around the globe, that’s my only dream.”
We lay transfixed under our blankets as the silhouettes of manta rays temporarily eclipsed the moon above us, and flickers of shadow at our feet revealed smaller fish darting in and out of the shelter of the sunken ship. Unwilling to close our eyes against this magnificent spectacle, we continued to watch, oohing and aahing, until the darkness and the exhaustion of the day’s events finally caught up with us and we fell into a deep slumber. Falling asleep under 1.5 million gallons of seawater in relative comfort was undoubtedly the highlight of the weekend, but the rest of the tour
Youngdoung Tenzin is living history of modern Tibet. The Chinese government on Dec. 22 last year sanctioned him along with 19 other Canadians who were associated with the Canada Tibet Committee and the Uighur Rights Advocacy Project. A former political chair of the Canadian Tibetan Association of Ontario and community outreach manager for the Canada Tibet Committee, he is now a lecturer and researcher in Environmental Chemistry at the University of Toronto. “I was born into a nomadic Tibetan family in Tibet,” he says. “I came to India in 1999, when I was 11. I even met [His Holiness] the 14th the Dalai
Following the rollercoaster ride of 2025, next year is already shaping up to be dramatic. The ongoing constitutional crises and the nine-in-one local elections are already dominating the landscape. The constitutional crises are the ones to lose sleep over. Though much business is still being conducted, crucial items such as next year’s budget, civil servant pensions and the proposed eight-year NT$1.25 trillion (approx US$40 billion) special defense budget are still being contested. There are, however, two glimmers of hope. One is that the legally contested move by five of the eight grand justices on the Constitutional Court’s ad hoc move
Stepping off the busy through-road at Yongan Market Station, lights flashing, horns honking, I turn down a small side street and into the warm embrace of my favorite hole-in-the-wall gem, the Hoi An Banh Mi shop (越南會安麵包), red flags and yellow lanterns waving outside. “Little sister, we were wondering where you’ve been, we haven’t seen you in ages!” the owners call out with a smile. It’s been seven days. The restaurant is run by Huang Jin-chuan (黃錦泉), who is married to a local, and her little sister Eva, who helps out on weekends, having also moved to New Taipei