A new Bangladesh through the eyes of an expatriate Bengali

I am a village boy. I grew up walking muddy paths, enduring storms and rain, and studying under the light of a hurricane lamp. A few years in the village school, then at a school in a sub-divisional (now district) town, and later at Dhaka Residential Model School and College (DRMC)—this was the path of my education. From there, I passed HSC and set off for distant Sweden. Back then, I didn’t realise how uncomfortable the simplest questions in life could make someone, and how even speaking the truth could sometimes be seen as a fault. I learnt Bengali in the village—from my mother’s mouth, from the scent of the earth. The accent may not be urban, but it is full of heart. To many, this language might seem ‘broken’, but it is in this broken language that I have been writing for the last 10 years. I know that words require not only grammar but also the essence of the heart. My language is not for paper, but for life.

Today, I am a director at one of the world’s top pharmaceutical companies. This is not the result of a single day—it is the outcome of three decades of hard work, perseverance, global training, experience at various levels of management, and the determination to stand firm in the face of failure. But despite all this, just two days ago, a journalist from a newspaper said over the phone, “You are not a very good writer. I can write much better than you. I even edit the writings of prominent professors or reject the pieces written by secretaries. And you...!” He asked what my educational background was, how I write daily, whether I use AI. He kept asking questions but didn’t have the time to listen.

Had I the chance, I would have said that some of my friends are well-known professors at BUET, some are senior secretaries, some are generals, and some hold high positions in international organisations. I myself am a director with 30 years of experience in production and supply chain management. I have received training at many prestigious universities around the world; but in the West, no one wants to hear about these achievements, nor do they understand the struggles behind them. No one wants to know who my parents were or what they did. Here, only one thing matters—what you are doing right now, what your achievements and assignments are.

Still, he told me a lot. In Bangladesh today, if you try to do something without having connections, without a title, or outside a specific circle—it seems impossible. What you wrote isn’t important; who wrote it—that is what matters. And so, in this country, both the ‘mango’ and the ‘sack’ seem to be vanishing. It may be that after reading this piece, that journalist brother won’t publish my writing anymore. It doesn’t matter—I will still write. Because I say and write what I believe in and know to be true. Almost 100 percent of expatriates like me have gone through or are going through the same experience. If you like, read a few lines below and ask any expatriate Bangladeshi—you’ll hear the same kind of words from them.

And this is exactly where we realise—every Bengali living abroad is a live firework. That a Bengali is a live firework—that is, a people of energy, potential, and explosion—can truly be understood only if you look at expatriate Bengalis. You must look at people like me, who after crossing muddy village roads now live in a developed nation like Sweden. You must learn about the struggles, sacrifices, and successes of millions of expatriates like me—stories that are not told, not written, yet silently become history.

In Bangladesh, we break rules, avoid responsibilities, and often shirk work. Yet, the same person abroad follows rules, respects time, and honours the law. Why? Because they know—flattery gets you nowhere here, you don’t get a job by name or identity, and there is no value without merit.

These expatriate Bengalis send remittances each month, keeping the country’s economic blood flowing. Behind this are inhuman labour, endless sacrifices, and a silent sense of responsibility—towards the country, the soil, the people. Even while living abroad, they keep the country close to their hearts; but what is the root cause of this transformation? Because abroad, the justice system works, the state stands on rules, and the administration is accountable. No matter how high your position, you must be accountable if you make a mistake. That is what straightens people. And in Bangladesh? There, responsibilities come without accountability, power is above question, and justice is only for the poor. Even Bengalis abroad who are not highly educated buy a house in a few years, buy a car, and send their children to good schools. Yet many citizens in that same country struggle for a home their entire lives. Because Bengalis know—what saving means, how to think about the future, how to build a family.

This is not just about money—it is a reflection of a profound philosophy of life. If you go into the yard of an expatriate Bengali, you’ll find a little Bangladesh covered in pui spinach, bottle gourd, pumpkin, okra. Even a boy who never planted a tree back home is now gardening abroad. It’s not just for food—it is his attempt to spread roots and build his own world.

This trend isn’t confined to homes—across many European countries, expatriate Bengalis have started commercial farming of various vegetables. In the Middle East, Bangladeshis have breathed life into agriculture. In South Africa and many parts of Africa, new crops have been introduced through their hands.

I myself am a living proof—I have created a small green Bangladesh in the cold land of Sweden, together with Swedes. And those who once carried the ‘failure’ tag in the country—you now see them pursuing PhDs in Europe and America’s top research labs, engaged in postdoctoral work. Some are country representatives at global conferences, some hold top positions in international organisations. Why? Because abroad, their labour, intellect, and creativity all have value. Work is judged, not identity. Today there is no university in America without a Bangladeshi. Yet it is this same person that we neglect, despise, and send abroad without giving opportunity. There, he not only stands tall through own capabilities—but also uphold Bangladesh’s name.

Those who bloom abroad are trampled at home. So, the question is—why does this brilliance not appear in our country? There is only one answer— ‘the system’. In our country, judgement still depends on who did something, not what was done. Corruption happens openly—yet justice is not served. Power remains in the hands of a few, and the rest fulfil their duties merely by voting. A year has passed in the name of reform—but the reality is, the country has worsened tenfold. Unemployment has increased, prices are abnormally high, the judiciary is spineless, the media is silent, and the people are disheartened.

Here, no matter how talented you are—if you are not under the party umbrella, you will go nowhere. What is needed now is fundamental change—not in words, but in reality. Until this awareness arises among us, a new Bangladesh will continue to form abroad, while the Bangladesh at home will keep flooding with the blood of talent. This is the reality. This is today’s most unpleasant, but most necessary truth. Awaken, Bangladesh, awaken.

Rahman Mridha: Researcher, writer, and former director, Pfizer Sweden