When the state is the offspring and sustainer of inequality

You, Rabindranath, did not believe in the state; you believed in society. In India, society was paramount, and the state was a particular nuisance — this was part of your philosophy. The state was external, while society was ours. You had faith that we would shape this society according to our own will.

However, the nuisance of the state has not diminished; it has only grown. The state has become a highly reliable instrument for exploitation and plunder. This instrument is in the hands of the rulers, who are under the control of imperialism. We now see that the state has become more efficient and totalitarian than ever before. Alongside it, there are NGOs, which resemble missionaries in many ways. They are spreading a new religion — that is capitalism. The state itself is both capitalist and bureaucratic, while the aid provided by NGOs is also rooted in capitalism. Their goal is to make people a part of global capitalism.

After the Russian Revolution, Rabindranath, you visited the Soviet Union. It felt to you as though you had come on a pilgrimage. The new arrangement for human liberation deeply moved you. However, that Soviet Union no longer exists; it has been shattered. Now, foreign merchants and native schemers trample over everything, destroying all the efforts to create a new kind of human being.

If you were to return today, you would be filled with sorrow. Even back in 1930, when Stalin had firmly established his power, you had seen a dark shadow within the system — that of mechanization. This shadow has now taken form, grown immense, and with the support of foreign capitalism, it has struck at the achievements of the Russian Revolution in the shape of bureaucracy.

You feared the state, as did all revolutionaries who sought societal change. They hoped that the state would gradually lose its power and become unnecessary, allowing humanity to achieve liberation, the society you spoke of. But the state could not be diminished, for even if the roots of exploitation are uprooted, the foundation remains, and external capitalists have nourished it further. The state is both the offspring and the sustainer of inequality. In other words, it is both the child and the guardian. The increasing dominance of the state is proof that inequality is intensifying across the world. This is a harsh reality we face today, globally.

You once said, "You have made them Bengali, but not human." You said this to the motherland. Has the Bengalis truly become human? How much so? The first condition of becoming human is being Bengali. Simply being Bengali doesn't automatically make one human — "You have made them Bengali, but not human," these were your own words. But without being Bengali, one can never truly become human. So, what does it mean to be Bengali?

It’s not just about speaking or using the Bengali language. Even foreigners can do that, if they wish. To be Bengali means, on one hand, to use the Bengali language, and on the other hand, to feel empathy for the plight of fellow Bengalis. The one who feels a sense of distress when another Bengali suffers and wants to help — that is the true Bengali. A Bengali will become complete, but will also be connected, in solidarity with one another.

You are the greatest Bengali, for you are, on one hand, the greatest poet of the Bengali language, and on the other hand, you are someone who deeply anguishes over the sufferings of Bengal.

But this idea of being both complete and interconnected is absent among Bengalis today. Not just the wealthy, but even the poor are disconnected from one another. You would have seen a lot of superficial progress in all directions, but alongside that, you would have also seen disconnection, and it would have hurt you.

You wanted the children of Bengal to be homeless, and without Lakshmi, who would not stay confined in their homes but would venture out to conquer the world. Only those who have a home can leave it — otherwise, how can they? How can they even depart? Today, the majority of Bengalis do not have a home. Famine, the partition of Bengal, the struggle for independence, the silent pestilence of communalism, and class oppression have left a large number of Bengalis homeless. The number of landless people, like Upendra, is not in the hundreds, but in the millions. Among them, there is no distinction between Hindus and Muslims — they are all homeless, wandering in cities, residing in slums. This tide of homelessness would have greatly distressed Rabindranath.

You had said that your songs should be sung by the Bengalis. And indeed, they sing them! Your songs are the national anthems of Bangladesh, India, and even Sri Lanka. But today, your songs are under threat in many ways. The loud sounds of band music are trying to drown them out at every turn, much like how a speeding truck runs over an innocent pedestrian.

The uniqueness of Bengali culture is being attacked in many ways today. People are becoming international, which essentially means they have become strangers in their own home. For Bengalis, one source of pride was their literature. After the era of Ishwar Gupta, Bengali literature made significant strides. You led it through a long journey, but today that literature is beginning to regress, moving back to the direction of Ishwar Gupta's time.

But Rabindranath will not return, it is not possible. If someone comes today pretending to be Rabindranath, we must recognize that they are not genuine, but artificial. Because in history, there is progress, not regression. A hero comes only once, not repeatedly. However, we still need him desperately. We need him to teach us how to truly become human. If he were to return, he would urge us to be interconnected. He would emphasize the importance of education — both of the mind and the heart.

He would not shy away from politics. His vision would never fail to recognize the truth that the enemy of the Bengali is not only external but also internal; the enemy within is inequality. To eliminate this inequality, the people must seize state power. In his later years, Bankim Chandra turned away from politics and sought refuge in religion. In his final years, Vidyasagar wished to retreat to the Santhal Parganas. But Rabindranath did neither of these; he would never have done so. He would have stayed among the people, participating in politics from his own position, with the aim of weakening the state, and moving forward, just as he did throughout his life.

Rabindranath may no longer be with us, but he remains, and will remain. He has left behind his literature, and his life as well. None of us will ever be Rabindranath; none of us possess his intellect. But we can certainly move forward on his path. That path is the path of being Bengali. He urged us to overcome disconnection and be interconnected; he urged us to be both compassionate and wise; he urged us to be open-hearted and courageous. Progress is not just about buildings; while buildings are necessary, what is even more necessary is the expansion and advancement of our humanity. In other words, we may not be Rabindranath, but we can certainly strive to be like him.

Serajul Islam Choudhury: Professor Emeritus, University of Dhaka.