Today, we have a fascinating interview with Sabidin Ibrahim. Sabidin is a journalist by profession, currently working as a Senior Sub-editor at the leading Bengali daily, The Daily Bonik Barta. However, I have known him since my university days at Dhaka University. He was a mentor and a fellow reader to me and many of us in those days. Future Startup was just getting started. I myself was seeking direction for my intellectual interests. His thoughts and ideas were a significant personal influence on me at that time.
Beyond his professional identity as a journalist, he is an author, an organizer, and someone with a deep interest in developing young people. A keen observer of society and human nature, he has authored and translated a total of about seven books.
Although he studied English literature at Dhaka University, he maintains diverse interests that span philosophy, politics, history, psychology, and more.
Personally, our reading lists have much in common. For example, he has translated Japanese Haiku Zen poetry, which was published by the Bangla Academy several years ago. I love Japanese thinking and Eastern philosophies. He also translated one of my favorite books, Seneca's "The Shortness of Life," a book I re-read often when I feel a bit lost. Similarly, he translated another favorite of mine, "The Art of War."
I've been thinking of having a conversation with Sabidin for a long time. As I finally get the opportunity, we disucss a long list of questions. His upbringing, his journey to what he is doing today, the origin of his worldview, his framework for thinking and looking at the world, where his interest in and ideas about knowledge, society, and the state come from, and much more.
Sabidin’s journey reminds me of figures like Ahmed Sofa. Fiercely independent-minded. Doesn’t care much for convention or social norms or what other people might think. Deeply passionate about knowledge and truth. Passionate about understanding what it means to live a full life. In our current time, with so much consumerism, capitalism, and various other forces at play, these sensibilities, I would say, have dulled.
We’re going through a political transition in Bangladesh. I see the cultural significance of this moment as no less important than its political significance. Over the last fifteen years and even before, young and regular people in Bangladesh grew apathetic towards politics, experiencing a growing sense of cynicism. Many didn't see politics as a viable arena for participation.
With the recent July uprising, these people have now returned to the center of our political discussion. Many are now joining politics, starting to believe in their own agency and ability to effect change. This is a consequential development. If this spirit survives, it will give birth to many other ideas. This new reality creates a possibility for a knowledge society, a society where people are sensible and thoughtful, where young people can think freely and have the opportunity to effect change.
Sabidin, along with a long list of others, has been working toward this vision for a long time. Organizing. Nurturing young people. Advocating for a knowledge society. I’ve always admired his grit in pursuing this difficult ambition and wanted to talk about his journey. To that end, I have a long list of questions I'm excited to discuss.
Sabidin bhai, thank you so much for taking the time. I’m very excited to have this conversation.
Sabidin Bhai: Thank you. Actually, no one has ever given such a beautiful introduction about me 🙂. Thank you for your generous words for a poor man like me.
Ruhul Kader: We can start by talking about your background and path to becoming who you are today. Tell us about your childhood and early life. How has your early life shaped you as a person and the way you look at the world?
Sabidin Ibrahim: I was born in a village in Brahmanpara Thana, Cumilla. I spent the stage of transitioning from childhood to adolescence, and then to youth, in the village. After college, I moved a bit further, then came to Dhaka for university around 2006, and have been living in Dhaka since.
My adolescence largely unfolded in the 1990s. A formative period for us. If I talk about that period, it was a very hopeful era. Many of us, not just me, who grew up during that time, believed that if you studied well and tried hard, good things were possible. People who grew up in the 90s believed in this sense of optimism that social mobility is possible. If we studied well, we could do something meaningful and do well in life. We were part of that hopeful generation.
We weren't financially well-off—you could say we were a struggling family. But as I said, we were hopeful that through education, we could change our situation. Since we had no other assets, connections, or muscle power, we focused on excelling in education during our school days.
In school life, we developed a strong desire to know and understand. Fortunately, we had an excellent group of fellow students. Alauddin Mohammad, now a key NCP leader, was my classmate in school. Another friend is now an Assistant Professor at Dhaka Medical College. We had ten to twelve students, including a few girls who were very good at their studies. It created a very competitive school environment for us. Therefore, although we were in a village, we grew up in a competitive environment.
We had several significant achievements in school life that boosted our confidence and inspired us to pursue ambitious goals in later life. For example, at that time, we were into quizzes and general knowledge competitions. We used to study university admission test questions and BCS general knowledge. I remember in 2002, we became champions among all 22 schools in our Thana. I, Alauddin, Dr. Arif (now a doctor at Dhaka Medical), was a member of that team. We won the championship by a significant margin, receiving a gold medal. That gave us a lot of hope and confidence, affirming that 'yes, we can do it,' and that knowledge and education could lead to something.
After school, choosing a college was an important decision. I studied science in school. But I didn’t find it very interesting. That choice was more of an external influence. My older maternal cousin, Alamgir Bhai, an important influence and a huge support in my early life, studied science. Since I was a good student, it was expected that I would also study science. I didn't study science out of passion. And I actually didn't understand science. One reason might be that we didn't have good teachers or good labs. I didn’t learn that science could be enjoyable. Consequently, although I studied a lot, my SSC result wasn't that good.
I had a knack for the arts and literature. I would read novels, poems, or whatever I could get my hands on in the village. At that time, there were still some libraries in the village. I would borrow books from libraries. We also had a school library. Mobile phones were not a thing. We relied on magazines, periodicals, or sometimes newspapers to seek knowledge and spend time.
I started reading newspapers in class eight. Our newspaper reading routine was quite interesting. We would read newspapers after Asar prayers because they arrived in the afternoon. After the teachers read them, we would sit in the field and read. In school, we would sometimes borrow newspapers from the library during breaks. I think my inclination towards arts and culture developed during this period. I grew a fascination for the world of stories and poems during this period.
That's why, when it came to the college decision—I made all career decisions myself from college onwards—I said I would study Arts (Humanities). So I left science and moved to the Arts.
At that time, I had two options for college in Cumilla: either Cumilla Victoria College or Professor Abdul Majid College. Most of my relatives had studied at Cumilla Victoria College. There was a tradition of going there. I said, 'No, I won't go where everyone else goes.' I'd go to Abdul Majid College. At that time, Majid College actually performed well. Every year, 10 to 20 students achieve excellent results (commonly known as Stand) in the HSC exam. Many of my seniors from school also went there. So I went there.
My first and second years in college were almost average. I studied just enough, but after the test exams, I realized that to get an A+, you don't have to be first, second, or third—anyone can get an A+. I set a target to get an A+, and it turned out my result was the highest, 4.90 in 2005. That was the top result at Majid College that year. This was a confidence boost for me.
After HSC, came university admission tests. My target was to study at Dhaka University. But I was not sure about which subject I wanted to study. If you asked me what I wanted to study at Dhaka University, until one month before the exam, I was confused whether to study Law or English.
A month before the admission test, I decided I would go for English Literature. I was thinking about this before the admission exam. I didn't yet know whether I would get a chance. However, I was confident I would because I had reasonable preparation. I made that decision myself. Many people asked, Why not Economics or Law? Since I ranked 38th in the 'Gha' unit (D Unit), I could have gone to Finance or other BBA subjects as well. But I didn't want that. My conviction was that I would study English Literature. That's how I started my Dhaka University life.
My adolescence largely unfolded in the 1990s. A formative period for us. If I talk about that period, it was a very hopeful era. Many of us, not just me, who grew up during that time, believed that if you studied well and tried hard, good things were possible. People who grew up in the 90s believed in this sense of optimism that social mobility is possible. If we studied well, we could do something meaningful and do well in life. We were part of that hopeful generation.
Ruhul: We’ll return to this story in a moment. Before, tell us more about your family, your siblings, and how you grew up. You mentioned that you had quite a competitive environment at school, which might have played a role in how you turned out. Your cousin's influence might have contributed. I also feel there were other factors. Tell us about the influence of your parents and your family.
Sabidin: My mother played the most significant role in my life. My father was a school teacher, but he passed away before I grew up. My mother made all my important decisions until I was able to make my own.
For example, I struggled with reading in my early years. I hadn't learned to read until class two. My mother arranged extra care for me. My mother didn't study much—she went up to school. For some reason, she felt she needed to nurture me in a particular way. She brought a teacher home for me. My cousin also taught me during this period. I finally learned to read properly when I was in class two.
You know what a predicament it is if you can't read in school. I routinely got scolded for the first few months of class two. I could only recite three lines of "Today is Eid. There is joy in every home in Medina”, because I had memorized it. Class one was mostly about learning numbers and basic things. In class two, you had to read rhymes or a little bit of a detailed written text. For example, "Today is Eid, there is joy in every home in Medina" was a text in class two. After reading three lines, I couldn't read any more because I had memorized them. I couldn't read.
The importance of being able to read is huge. It opens the world up to you. In class two, finally, when my cousin and a few teachers provided special nurturing, I learned "Adorsholipi" a bit better. I learned to identify the alphabet. After learning to read, I could read Bengali and English. This reading skill took me into a fascinating world. I started to find joy in reading and read everything that I could get my hands on. In class two, I might have been a backbencher. In class three, I became second. From class four, I became first. Learning to read changed my life. My mother had an important role in this. She ensured I studied regularly and genuinely tried.
Our study routine was simple. Studying in the evening from after Magrib until Esha or 8 or 9 PM. During the day, it was mostly playing. We occasionally did some studies in the afternoon. Normally, in primary school, there wasn't much studying in the afternoon. We played for long hours throughout the day. As a village boy, I played all kinds of sports: football, cricket, Kabaddi, fighting, and then eating all sorts of fruits from trees. I enjoyed all aspects of village life until 2002-2003, for about 12 years.
So my mother played a critical role, if you want to say. My cousin was one of my teachers, mentors, and someone who taught me. Although there's some distance between us now because of my career choice, I’m ever grateful to him and will always be grateful. I made all my career decisions myself. After a certain time, I stopped listening to anyone's advice on major life decisions.
The importance of being able to read is huge. It opens the world up to you. In class two, finally, when my cousin and a few teachers provided special nurturing, I learned "Adorsholipi" a bit better. I learned to identify the alphabet. After learning to read, I could read Bengali and English. This reading skill took me into a fascinating world of books. I started to find joy in reading and read everything that I could get my hands on. In class two, I might have been a backbencher. In class three, I became second. From class four, I became first. Learning to read changed my life. My mother had an important role in this. She ensured I studied regularly and genuinely tried.
Ruhul: One of the things I admire about you is your passion and knack for independence. Your willingness to pursue unconventional, unorthodox paths. You rarely paid much attention to what the middle-class society expects from its members, a sort of conformity and risk aversion. I never saw that conformity in you. What was the influence behind this?
Sabidin: I didn't understand this when I was young. Later, I tried to investigate and find out for myself why I’m the way I am. If you remember, in our discussions on campus in those days, I used to talk about the idea that: "If you want to be something, kill your father." What does "fatherly figure" mean? Someone who dominates you, gives you direction, tells you what to do, and what not to do. This is what you must do; there's no other way.
Since my father passed away early, I actually didn't have any fatherly figure directly overseeing me. There was my maternal grandfather, but he was distant. His influence wasn’t a constant presence. My maternal cousin played a role in my early career stages from afar. Other than that, due to the absence of a fatherly figure, I largely had to figure things out for myself. I had to find a way to rely on myself.
For example, after school, I stayed in a hostel throughout my college. A new environment. I also stayed in a hostel for five or six months in class eight and again, for a few months in class ten. I learned to be self-reliant early in my life. Being away from home helped create a sense of independence in me.
These experiences were not easy. There were some truly difficult experiences. For instance, when we went to the hostel in class eight for scholarships, older students from class ten bullied us. I cried and even complained to the headmaster. These difficult experiences, also, I would say, made me resilient. I learned to be self-sufficient, to rely on myself, and to manage myself.
After coming to Dhaka University, we started our hall life by staying in a gono-room (a practice in Dhaka University because of severe accommodation crisis where 12-20 students live in a room commonly used for 2-4 people). For the first two or three months, I couldn't cope. I even cried. Imagine being in a room with 20 or 22 people from 20 to 22 different districts. It was not only the very hard living conditions. Everyone had a different language and culture. Getting acquainted with this cultural mix was a challenge. To top it off, sometimes we’re bullied by second and third-year students. The first few months at Dhaka University were a major challenge. But it also made me stronger. It helped ignite a desire to navigate and create my own unique story.
If you ask about my unorthodox nature, not having a fatherly figure played a role. I grew up without a constant heavy influence. We can say that I didn't have that influence, which made me this way. I had to be independent and depend on myself.
We weren't financially well-off—you could say we were a struggling family. But as I said, we were hopeful that through education, we could change our situation. Since we had no other assets, connections, or muscle power, we focused on excelling in education during our school days.
Ruhul: There are quite a few studies on this. I read one study where they suggested people who lose a parent in their early life tend to do exceptionally well in their career. That said, the opposite is also true, particularly in a country like Bangladesh, where the state is weak and rarely comes to the aid of people who are in need. It indicates extreme outcomes, which could go either way. Your children might go astray because there's no one to take care of them. Naturally, you'll struggle, and many might go off track, becoming directionless or getting involved in not-so-positive things. The other extreme result is people becoming CEOs or achieving significant success in life.
Sabidin: I had that risk. When we were growing up, one common path after SSC and HSC in our village was to go abroad or get a job. Most young people went abroad for labor work. Some became police constables or joined the army. Since I had no assets and no father, I had to study well, which led me to a different path. School led to college, and college led to university.
In school life, I used to reach out to senior brothers who did well in school, college, or got into university. I sought their advice and asked them how they did well.
We used to look up to those who ranked well in exams. I knew people who ranked fourth and second on our board. In college, I met Shafiullah Bhai, who later became a teacher at Dhaka University. He stood second in the Cumilla Board in 2002. His house was a 10-minute walk from mine. I went to his house a few times. These examples and role models certainly played a role. They inspired me. Without knowing, I sought their company and inspiration to move forward. This might have helped in my preparation.
Ruhul: This is very important. Having role models and getting early help. I can relate. I came to learn about DU during my HSC when a senior from our student dorm in Cox’s Bazar got a chance in Political Science. He inspired me. I thought I could try as well. Having said that, while environment and early help certainly shape our path, the call to do better is something that I think comes from deep inside ourselves. Once you have that call, that's when we go out and seek help. Where do you think this comes from?
Sabidin: I came to learn about Dhaka University in class ten through reading. We would read books, and often, most of the authors of these books would inevitably have a connection with Dhaka University. Either a teacher of Dhaka University or a former student, and so on. Most of the big names we saw around us studied at Dhaka University. I mean, what is this Dhaka University? This sparked an interest in me.
Fortunately, we had three brilliant young teachers in our school at that time: Nur-e Alam Siddique , Saiful Alam Bhuiyan, and Gazi Sultan Ahammad Sir. These three young teachers had a big impact on our school life. One of them, Nur-e Alam Siddique sir, now a headmaster in BTCL Adarsha Girls' High School, Dhaka, taught us about quizzes and questions that came in admission tests. Being a young teacher, he was probably studying for jobs or BCS. He had all these books. He cultivated a curiosity for general knowledge in us. This led to good things. We won several awards, including a gold medal. By class Ten, we were considered the best in general knowledge at our level in our Thana.
At that time, our school also received recognition as the best school at the Thana level. Our friend Alauddin won first or second prize in a composition competition at the Cumilla district level and received 5,000 Taka. That was a huge amount of money in 2002. These things inspired us immensely. We felt we could do anything.
There were also some interesting stories about Dhaka University. For example, a friend's uncle was doing admission coaching in Dhaka for the second time. Back then, you could take the DU admission test a second time. He would bring lecture sheets and a lot of stories to the village. Every time he visited, he looked so withered from studying. It became a village legend that he was studying like crazy for Dhaka University. He didn't get into Dhaka University—he finished his studies at Jagannath University. Anyways, he was from the wealthiest family in our village, the Khan household; his name is Titu Khan. Titu Khan, being from the richest family in our village, had seen Dhaka and various other places. But when he went home during breaks from admission coaching, he would tell us beautiful stories of Dhaka University. He would say: "You know, Dhaka University's SM Hall, it's like a palace! It's very beautiful, and university students live there." He would speak about Salimullah Hall, Science Faculty, Shahidullah Hall, Fazlul Haque Hall, and Curzon Hall with such admiration and awe that it mesmerized us. We already saw pictures of Curzon Hall in various books. I thought that if I went to university, this was where I must study. These basic, simple stories were very attractive to me. That was one thing.
Around this time, I also had a direct interaction with someone who was studying Sociology at Dhaka University at that time. Joynal Abedin Bhai was in his second or third year. He passed from the Madrasa Board and probably ranked second or fourth in all of Bangladesh at that time. I met him when I was in class ten. He asked me to talk about my room in English for five minutes. He tried to test my English. I probably spoke average English like any other village student. But he encouraged me. He probably said something along the line that you have potential, but you have to do a bit better. That also helped a bit.
In college, I saw 20 to 30 students from my college get into Dhaka University every year. They would occasionally visit. So it became even nearer to me. Then I saw Shafiullah Bhai get into Dhaka University. He ranked second in our area. I talked to him a few times. By the time I finished college, it felt even more possible.
Ruhul: You've mentioned some wonderful things. As I'm talking to you, I feel that, for instance, I was a reasonably good student. But I wasn't always highly self-motivated, like, 'I must do well' or anything like that. My mother was very strict. She believed there was no other option but to study. She kept me very disciplined and made sure I studied. Those things had some impact on my studies. But the drive from within me came from something you mentioned earlier: young teachers. When I was, I think, in class eight or nine, a sports teacher joined our school. He was young and unmarried. He quickly formed a close connection with us. He would speak informally with us, which no other teacher ever did. He encouraged us. He would say things like, "Ruhul, you study a lot; you'll do very well." "You can do everything." That someone believed in me had a huge impact. Just having someone else say, "You can do it if you try," or giving you a little attention, I think, can have a profound impact on a person's life, which is very interesting and very rare as well. In our culture, we rarely encourage others.
Sabidin: That’s so true. Related to that, I missed one thing, my sisters. I have three sisters, who have played a critical role in my formation. We had to do household chores, and most of the time, my sisters would do my work so that I could study. They sacrificed a lot for my grooming. I’m grateful to my sisters. I have two older sisters and one younger sister. They helped me a lot during that time, nurturing me.
When I reached a stage in school where I became competitive, becoming second or first, I became so focused that they didn't have to tell me to study. Instead, they made sure I took care of myself. They have complete faith in me that I could do it. They would nudge me to eat on time, take a bath, and go for a walk. During this period, I developed a habit of walking after Asar prayers.
So walking, playing, and doing some exercises—that was my routine in the village. If there wasn't exam pressure, my morning routine was an hour of swimming. That kept me relatively fit during my school and college life. I was slim but physically fit. My sisters helped me a lot with this.
The aspiration of the 90s was a real aspiration. That if you studied and worked hard, you could achieve something in life. You could be successful. But the last two decades have seen a radical change, a sort of reversal of that. You may study, but there is no guarantee that it will help you advance in life. You won't get a job. Unemployment among educated youth reached a new high in recent decades. It's seen that a street thug or local bully has more money and influence than you, and you might even have to work under him. This has totally changed in the last two decades.
Ruhul: You mentioned that the 90s were a hopeful period. There was a sense of optimism. That I too could achieve something if I put my best effort. I can relate. The sense of optimism was there when we were in school and even going to college. There was a sense of hopefulness. A belief in society about upward mobility through education. If I studied, I could reach a certain place and do well in life. As a writer, someone who observes society, what changes do you see in this regard in our society now? How does it compare to your time in college and university to today?
Sabidin: This has radically changed over the last two decades. The aspiration of the 90s was a real aspiration. That if you studied and worked hard, you could achieve something in life. You could be successful. But the last two decades have seen a radical change, a sort of reversal of that. You may study, but there is no guarantee that it will help you advance in life. You won't get a job. Unemployment among educated youth reached a new high in recent decades. It's seen that a street thug or local bully has more money and influence than you, and you might even have to work under him. This has totally changed in the last two decades.
The social structure, the political structure, has changed. We didn’t have voting rights for a long time. Society is no longer merit-based; it has become muscle-based. That's why we had to revolt in 2024 and are undergoing a political upheaval.
While we talk about the demographic dividend, youth unemployment has shot through the roof. Upward social mobility has declined significantly. The rule of law took a nose dive. Access to opportunities became limited to certain groups of people. Some political musclemen could plunder vast amounts very quickly. Their fortunes are changing rapidly.
Education as a force for social mobility has significantly lost its efficacy. For instance, in our village, people who went abroad, such as Singapore, Qatar, or other Middle Eastern countries, instead of pursuing education, did better in material achievements than those of us who stayed back and focused on education. So this means education alone doesn't remunerate you enough, materially or financially, to lead a stable life. You might be able to live in an apartment in Dhaka, but they are building houses worth crores in the village. And houses worth 20-50 lakhs are common. So it has come to a point that just education isn't enough.
One aspect is that at the grassroots level, going abroad has led to significant economic mobility. The use of political muscle to gain power and wealth has gone out of proportion.
If we talk about the last 16 years or even earlier, ward-level thugs became the owners of hundreds of crores of taka by using political influence. With money, these people also became socially powerful. If you survey the political landscape across the country, it has degraded significantly.
There is no longer an opportunity to make an impact through only education. You can use education if you become a bureaucrat and engage in large-scale corruption. That's why in villages too, government jobs are very lucrative. That's why everyone wants government jobs. I didn't take that path almost out of personal conviction. I tried to achieve success through alternative means.
I feel that the aspiration of the 90s—imagine, we entered economic liberalization 20 years after independence, at the beginning of the 90s. We initiated universal primary education. Then, scholarships for girls were launched. And vaccination programs significantly reduced child mortality. The government also became pro-people and started to make an effort to reach people from villages across the country. Before this, the government had not reached the villages. The government's influence was mostly limited to major urban centers.
For example, the mass uprising of the 90s against Ershad, Badruddin Omar said it was an urban movement; it did not reach the villages. Compared to that, the political upheaval of 2024 spread to the grassroots very quickly. Why was this?
The government's hand did not fully reach the villages if we talk about the first 20 years of independence. After the 90s, the government slowly started reaching out to villages, giving some respect to every citizen and to their children. Universal education became a thing. Primary schools were established, and buildings were built.
We benefited somewhat from this, and it also gave hope that if you studied, you could do good things and achieve something meaningful.
After this, unfortunately, we saw two things. If we look at the last two decades, it's a totally different story. Here, your education doesn't guarantee you'll achieve anything great.
I feel that the aspiration of the 90s—imagine, we entered economic liberalization 20 years after independence, at the beginning of the 90s. We initiated universal primary education. Then, scholarships for girls were launched. And vaccination programs significantly reduced child mortality. The government also became pro-people and started to make an effort to reach people from villages across the country.
Ruhul: This is an excellent observation. We made consistent progress throughout the 90s. After that, there was a disruption. Partly due to some sort of political degradation. The justice system also became compromised. For example, the mechanism in our society to value the good and discourage the bad, whether in the formal legal system or informally in society, where we say, 'This person is bad, you shouldn't vote for him/her,' or 'That person is good, you should vote for him/her.' These values stopped working. Why do you think this happened? What forces do you think caused this cultural shift?
Sabidin: I think political changes have sociological effects. For example, what we have seen in the last two decades is that political conflict has spread to the most remote villages, even into homes between brothers, between husband and wife, and between father and son. This has brought many sociological changes. We have seen this especially in the last decade, where it took a frightening form. Activists of one party were running the entire country, and this has created many sociological crises in our society, forming a somewhat monstrous governance system.
Overall, if you consider Bangladesh's journey, I would say, broadly, it's an institutional failure. We actually degenerated. The 90s were a place of hope where we focused on human development. But due to our weak political infrastructure, weak legal infrastructure, and weak institutions, we couldn't continue. These weaknesses eroded us.
You spoke beautifully about the judiciary; it has deteriorated terribly. The judiciary in the 90s wasn't that bad. Even in 2000, we saw the judiciary calling the sitting Prime Minister a "wrong-headed woman." Imagine how much courage the judiciary had to say that. There were good, knowledgeable, and professional judges like Justice Shahabuddin Ahmed, Justice Habibur Rahman and Justice Awal. Then there were also good politicians in Parliament, like nation-builders such as M. Saifur Rahman. Even in the Awami League, there were people like Shah M.S. Kibria and Abdul Samad Azad. But gradually, it degenerated.
Institutions are built to tame the monstrous or leviathanic character of humans. Unfortunately, after independence, we failed to work on institution-building. Due to a lack of functioning and strong institutions, we degenerated. And here, both civil and military bureaucracy played a role. It can be said that after independence, these two institutional forces, civil bureaucracy and military bureaucracy, strengthened in their own interests. Civil bureaucracy was nurtured in the British model. It was a bureaucracy meant to rule subjects.
We failed to define the chemistry of the relationship between a free country's citizens and its bureaucracy. The bureaucracy played a role in political degeneration. Military Bureaucracy is the same. Both the civil and military bureaucracies are strong in their own interests. The civil bureaucracy didn't really develop for the public's interest. They have played a role in destroying much of the political culture and helped the rise of fascism in the country.
Broadly, I believe we failed to build strong institutions and consistently focus on and upgrade the areas necessary for human development, like education and health. Due to our failure in these areas, we have gone through this crisis in the last several decades.
Ruhul: We will revisit this question later. For now, let's continue your story. You finished college, then came to Dhaka University. A month before the admission test, you decided you would study English Literature. Why English Literature?
Sabidin: When I was in school, I had read some adapted versions of Shakespeare's plays. I also read Daniel Defoe's Robinson Crusoe. I felt: English is a gateway. If I knew English, the entire world of knowledge would open up to me. If my English were strong, I could read Spanish literature, Arabic literature, and German literature. So I started a journey through English, hoping that if my language skills developed, my access to knowledge would open up. I had developed an understanding that every piece of knowledge is available in English. Since it's not fully available in Bengali, I wasn't able to know and understand everything. That's why English appealed to me.
The other calculation was that I wanted my university life to be enjoyable, not stressful. For example, I saw that my friends in the BBA faculty had a tough life, always on the run with assignments, presentations, and so on. I thought my university life would be five or six years; I don't want it to be so stressful. I felt that Literature wouldn't feel like a burden. I would read a play, a novel, and some poetry. I thought it would be easier. The minimal goal was that my academic life shouldn't be unnecessarily stressful.
Ruhul: Then you started studying English Literature at Dhaka University. Tell us about your life at Dhaka University. What happened during your years at Dhaka University? How has this period shaped your views about the world and work?
Sabidin: Up until now, we've been talking about a hopeful scenario. Dhaka University experience, you could say, as a first brush with reality. It is rather a story of how hopes are shattered and dreams are crushed. From a certain perspective, it was actually a cruel, torturous experience. We could talk for an hour about this.
I had no relatives in Dhaka, so I had to stay in a university hall. There was no official process to get accommodation in the hall. You are assigned a hall, but the administration doesn’t have a process for students to find their place in the hall. How do you get into the hall? You give a lot of time to the political party in power, and they arrange a seat for you in the hall. After continuously participating in rallies of the student wing of the incumbent political party for several days, I was allotted a space in a gono-room. When I went there, I saw 16 people, sometimes 22 people at night. That's where the torture began. And then I found out that you have to attend the guest room (a strange and barbaric system where general students had to stand before political student leaders every night in the hall’s guest room and get punished for real and imagined misdeeds. This was, of course, illegal. There was no environment for studying.
My first one and a half years were totally chaotic. I actually dropped my first year out of fear. Amid all the chaos and tumult, when the exams came, I wasn't prepared. I later got re-admitted. My first one and a half years were spent adapting to this hall and campus life. I had to be in meaningless political processions every morning at 10 AM, and then go to the guest room every night at 10 PM. I missed about 50% of my classes. Then, at night, finding a place to sleep where 22 people lived in a room of 4 people was quite impossible. Where would I go? To the TV room. I would watch TV all night, and then in the morning, try to find a place to sleep. Many times, I slept with my feet or head under a table, finding some spot. There was no conducive environment for our studies.
We had the central library and the reading room downstairs. I would plan to go to the library to study. But I would probably go once a week. I couldn't maintain a structured daily study routine for the first one and a half years.
My language skills didn't develop either. I couldn't complete the syllabus. Classes were sometimes enjoyable, but at one point, I stopped enjoying them. My first one and a half years were spent in chaos. I couldn't get into any study rhythm. That's why I dropped out, then focused on my studies again in the second attempt.
One good habit I maintained during this period is reading the daily newspaper. Every hall has a newspaper room. I would read newspapers for an hour and a half. Even if I didn't read anything else, I would read the newspaper.
After coming to university, I faced a major crisis: my English was very poor. I used to keep a diary. So I started writing my diary entries in English, and I realized my English writing skill at that time was at a class five student's level. I needed to develop my language skills. This was one of my first major challenges. Not being able to grasp the language required to study English literature. You're reading Shakespeare written in 16th-century language; you need to know that language. It is tough. Many students drop out of English literature even after getting admitted because of this. About 15-20 students dropped out in our batch. Students who come from villages usually struggle to grasp the language initially.
I somewhat followed the advice of a few teachers. One of my teachers advised, "Go to Nilkhet. You'll find many magazines such as Reader's Digest there. Read those, then read daily newspapers."
At that time, the New Age newspaper used to offer a discount for students. From 2007, I subscribed to the New Age newspaper for two consecutive years. Even if I didn't read anything else, I would read an English newspaper every day. From Nilkhet, I bought some English magazines, including some celebrity ones, to practice English reading. These efforts paid off. I saw my English gradually improve, and I could understand texts. My first year passed doing all these things.
But the next year, when I re-admitted after a year's drop-out, I needed to get back on track. I already lost a year. So I had to be extra careful. I used to tutor students in those days. I developed a habit of going to the Public Library on my way to and from tuition. I used to go to tuition at 5 PM and would spend two hours before or after tuition at the Public Library, doing freehand reading. That brought me back on track. I started going to the Public Library four or five days a week. Whether I studied for two hours or three hours, I was reading with joy. This helped me in finding joy in reading again. To that end, spending time in the Public Library partly helped me to get back to serious study.
Broadly, I believe we failed to build strong institutions and consistently focus on and upgrade the areas necessary for human development, like education and health. Due to our failure in these areas, we have gone through this crisis in the last several decades.
Ruhul: A significant part of your university life is also spent organizing. You did the Reading Club, then the Bangladesh Study Forum. You spent a long time in various intellectual pursuits. How did this begin?
Sabidin: After coming to university, from 2006 to 2010, I wasn't involved in any organizational activities. Going to the Public Library led to a few other things. I later started going to our Central Library. My friend Alauddin, Monir, and a few others also started coming. As we gathered every day, an organic process of debate and dialogue started developing among ourselves.
Then we started meeting more serious and curious readers in front of the library. This led to an organic poetry writing competition among ourselves. Alauddin and I would sometimes adopt a serious demeanor, sometimes grow a beard, wear a cap, sometimes wear strange clothes, and write Bengali poetry. Then I said, if he's writing in Bengali, I'll write in English. That's when I started writing poetry in English.
Our initial organizational formation was that we would create a literary group. About 10-15 of us came together and formed an informal literary group. We would meet in front of the library, sometimes in Hakim Square, discuss, and exchange our poems. We also eventually published a small magazine called Kobitar Khata. My friend Monir published another one, "Sphulinga (Spark) That's how our journey into organizing at the university started. We realized we could do these things at University.
Then we formed Dhaka University Reading Club (DURC), where I was involved from 2012 to 2014. It was another formative period for me. I got to know many young people there. I developed a serious reading habit. Although I left due to some disagreement at a certain stage, it was a good time.
Then, the Bangladesh Study Forum came into being, and I again got into a struggle for another independent organization. Along with that, I also grew. I learned the subtle art of managing people. I started reading texts like The Art of War around this time to deepen my understanding of these challenges. I felt that I needed to polish my skills in dealing with people and building organizations. At that time, some of these books helped. That's how one thing led to another.
I really like talented people. People who are doing something meaningful. I enjoy their company and opportunities to learn from them. That's why I wanted to create a platform where people with diverse interests and disciplines could come together. We had a bunch of young people at that time doing good work across sectors. It was an opportunity to connect with these people, learning from them, and also helping and inspiring each other.
These platforms, at another stage, gave me the joy of helping people grow. You could call it an addiction. Being with people, listening to them, and helping them. It's like seeing a raw diamond polished into a shiny one. It's like the joy of a gardener. Watching over a tender plant grow into a big tree. After a while, I started finding joy in that. Developing people became very fascinating to me.
A raw first-year student comes to me. I might introduce him to the library and give him some interesting books. After a certain stage, this first-year student starts growing in his thinking. Flowers of thought begin to bloom in him. That gave me the most pleasure. I had the opportunity to meet with many youngsters. I consider this to be one of the biggest achievements of my life. In my time at Dhaka University, I feel I had direct interaction with several thousand students in one way or another. This gave me deep pleasure.
But I had no plan or preparation for my career. I had to enter the career race without preparation.
Ruhul: I have two questions. One question is about Dhaka University. When I came to university, I actually had no expectations. I came from a remote village in Maheshkhali. For me, the living standard in DU gono-room was better than where I came from. The problem with the gono-room was that we often couldn't find a place to sleep. As you said, we would go to the reading room to study, which was located downstairs. When we went back to the room, there was no space left to sleep. I remember many nights when we took our beds to the roof and slept there. Now, during the rainy season, it would rain suddenly. We would go when the sky was clear. Then we would fall asleep, and in the middle of the night, it would start raining. We would quickly gather our beds, pack them up, and then come back and sleep in the corridor or something. This happened for many, many days.
Sabidin: I also have a story about sleeping. I was in room 513 (A) of Sheikh Mujibur Rahman Hall. I lived my entire first year in a gono-room. We still have an active Facebook Messenger group of people who stayed in that room over the years. Days in the gono-room went well. Good stories and engaging gossip. The sleeping place and study environment were not conducive.
In the second year, I moved to room 123, then 121, and finally 220, I think. All were political. When I got promoted from the gono-room, I used to stay with political cadres. Among my friends was Iqbal Hossain Shyamal, Chhatra Dal's last General Secretary. We were in the same room. Rooms of politically involved students were different. There was no such thing as studying; it was all about playing cards, gossip, and all-nighters. Since I had tutoring, I had outside engagements. I could do something outside. But after coming to the hall, there was nothing. When the Awami League government came to power, I had to leave.
I have a story about staying on the hall roof at night. I had dinner at the Midnight Sun restaurant (Nilkhet) at an event. The biryani and rich food created a lot of heat in my body. So I thought I'd walk on the roof for a while to cool down and then go to sleep. As I was walking, I lay down somewhere. Then I woke up to the sound of birds chirping. That meant I had spent the entire night on the roof. It was a very interesting experience.
Institutions are built to tame the monstrous or leviathanic character of humans. Unfortunately, after independence, we failed to work on institution-building. Due to a lack of functioning and strong institutions, we degenerated. And here, both civil and military bureaucracy played a role.
Ruhul: Many students slept on the roof. For example, on the roof of Surya Sen Hall, finding a spot at night was actually a challenge. You had to go early to get a spot.
Sabidin: I ate the most at Surya Sen Hall. There was a place called "Laden's Cave." We used to eat there. Then I would eat noodles from Rob Bhai's shop. And the canteen next to your TV room, their khichuri with dal and an egg was superb in the afternoon.
I have a theory about hall food. For example, we from Mujib Hall would go to other halls like Zia Hall or Jashim Uddin Hall to eat rice, small fish, or other things. At the same time, students from other halls came to our hall to eat roti in the evening. I think the food was not much different between halls. It was that we felt that the grass on the other side might be greener.
Hall food was kind of positive for me from one perspective. In school and college, I was a picky eater. I didn't eat many fish such as taki, baim fish, pangas fish, tilapia fish, etc. In the hall, I ended up eating everything. In fact, phangas became my favorite fish. I lost all my fussiness about food; I learned to eat almost everything. I also got sick several times due to bad food. Many students in the hall suffer from skin diseases and stomach problems due to food. Bed bugs disrupt sleep at night. Overall, the living conditions in the hall were terrible. You can call it quite inhuman living conditions.
Many people feel nostalgic, but I don't support this nostalgia that gono-room is a good thing or that guest-room culture is a good thing. These are rubbish talks. These don't go with the atmosphere of a university. These are detrimental to a healthy academic environment. These must change. Everyone should have good living arrangements and reasonably nutritious food.
Ruhul: I was going to ask you exactly that. We have a national fascination with Dhaka University. The institution continues to play a crucial role in our nation. Compared to that, the lives the students lead there are unfortunate. You rightly pointed out that it is not helpful for studying and intellectual pursuits. You mentioned interacting with many young people. From these interactions, what are your observations about our youth? What have you learned from this work?
Sabidin: There are both sides: hope and despair. Actually, my primary target was to enter politics. I had drafted a plan in college that I would contest elections in 2014. I would finish university, pursue a barrister's degree, and then enter politics. However, I abandoned that ambition when I realized that the political culture we had in our time would make a person lose their character, themselves, their uniqueness, and integrity. I found the existing political landscape tough. But I wanted to make a difference. How could I do it?
I felt policy influence was very important. To change policy, what's needed, I thought, was knowledge leadership. We created these various platforms to develop young people so that they could provide knowledge leadership to influence policy thinking in the country.
We found many good students. For example, I met Mahfuj Alam, current Information adviser in his first year. I met Ahmed Rumi, a very good writer and thinker, around 2014/2015. I worked with Arif Rahman around 2010/2012. Similarly, I met you, Abdullah Al Mahmud, Zulfikar, Rashed Rahm, and many other juniors. Their company enriched me. I don't know if I gave them anything, but I learned a lot from them. And I tried to help them by offering my ideas and suggestions.
The initial thought was that universities are places where you debate ideas and seek knowledge. While we had a debating culture, the deep pursuit of knowledge and ideas was mostly absent.
I studied science in school. I expected there would be scientific lectures, where important people would come and speak. When I came to university, I saw, quite unexpectedly, no battle of ideas, thoughts, and pursuit of truth, but a battle of muscle politics. From that perspective, we created these various platforms so that young people could debate, argue, and analyze different versions of truth.
The debating culture at our university was strong. I became a bit critical of that, although I was involved with debating institutions at Hall and DUDS. Later, I saw that winning an argument through "sound and fury" was the main goal. Cultivating knowledge and ideas and understanding the world was hardly a purpose.
At a certain stage, it no longer felt right to me. That's when I felt we needed to build platforms where all versions of truth could be discussed and evaluated.
We saw that young people had many skill deficiencies. For example, if I ask someone to name two or three books that impacted their life, many couldn't. We realized our reading culture is not that good compared to the global standard. Many might overcome this after coming to university, but most cannot. Many finish university but remain at a college student's level in terms of their cognitive abilities. Because they haven't updated themselves. If you just memorize notes or pass by writing someone else's notes, your knowledge won't grow.
I saw that from the beginning, in our department too, there was a tendency to rely on notes and guides, like Ramji Lal and Sen.. I used many of those in my first and second years. But from the third year onwards, I started writing my own. I saw I was getting good marks without reading those guides. I started doing regular library work around this time.
Let me tell you about another important opportunity in my life. From 2011 to 2015, I got an opportunity to read inside the Dhaka University Central Library, which was usually reserved for teachers and researchers. This was the time when I would pull out five to ten books daily. It wasn't that I was reading all of them. But I was drawing a lot of books daily. The library officials used to get annoyed and would say, "You may go inside and find the books." So when I got the chance to go inside, that was the biggest opportunity for me. From 2011 to 2015-2016, I studied inside the library instead of common student places. Sometimes, someone would stop me, saying, This is for teachers or researchers. I would say I have work, or try to act like a researcher myself. The junior library officials were very helpful to me. They would let me in. Because they saw me calling for a lot of books. I would read one or two books, and they would let me in.
I got a free-hand study opportunity during that formative period. I knew which books were on which shelf on the two floors of the Dhaka University library. Several disciplines became quite familiar to me: History, Political Science, Philosophy, and Bengali Literature. I knew that if I went to the European and Continental Literature section, I would find these books. That opportunity helped me to grow.
I’m grateful to the library officials, Shamsuzzaman Bhai, and Shahin Bhai. There are a few others. Sometimes the librarian would get annoyed. Sometimes, Abul Kasem Fazlul Haque sir, Serajul Islam Chowdhury, our Fakrul Alam sir, and other senior teachers would study there. I would sit on one side and read with the teachers.
The funny thing is that the teachers' reading area used to remain mostly empty. When I used it, it was actually not a waste. I think I put it to some good use. Most of the time, it would remain empty. Teachers would probably take the books and leave. Only a few senior teachers like Abul Kasem Fazlul Haque and Serajul Islam Chowdhury would go there once in a while. This was very helpful for me.
We have a very bad notion about reading, which I also had initially as an unconscious reader, that when you pick up a book, you have to finish it. But this is a bad idea. You don’t need to finish every book that you start.
Ruhul: That's an excellent point you made. I feel that in order to develop our ability to think effectively, a person needs to study a certain number of books and have knowledge of a certain number of disciplines. Making a choice is a skill and a function of effective thinking. It takes a long time to learn it. The way I arrive at a decision—for example, whether to argue with someone or not, even a small decision like that has a basis in good thinking. This ability to think needs to be developed through reading.
Sabidin: I have a thought that you would find meaningful. After reading countless "garbage" books, I learned what to read. Now, I can easily identify a "garbage" book in two minutes.
We have a very bad notion about reading, which I also had initially as an unconscious reader, that when you pick up a book, you have to finish it. But this is a bad idea. You don’t need to finish every book that you start. Ultimately, when you don’t enjoy a book, such a book is never finished. I remember picking up the novel Pride and Prejudice in my first year of university. I tried to read it from the beginning, but it wasn't working. I couldn’t concentrate. After two months, I gave up.
After reading countless bad books, I have learned what to read. What is my interest? What is necessary for me?
People read for two reasons: for pleasure or for necessity. Now, how do you decide whether to continue with a book or not? What I do is I read a book for two minutes, if I find it interesting, I continue and read for 20 minutes to decide whether I should spend 20 hours with the book. I decide in two minutes that I will give it 20 minutes. After 20 minutes, I decide whether to abandon it or give it 20 hours. How much does it deserve? Roughly, within two to 20 minutes, you can decide about a book. With some books, you can decide even quicker, just by looking at the name, author, or introduction.
From the perspective of interest, you might look at the table of contents or chapters, or read one or two chapters to understand if it might be necessary for you or serve your interests.
That said, reading countless bad books is also necessary. Mao Zedong, for example, in his youth, used to go to a library at 9 AM and come out at 6 PM, eating puri (bread) or something like this in between. He studied a lot. But when he was the Party Supremo , he told his cadres, "You don't need to read so many books." "Read these few books, read the red book." But he himself read widely. If you talk about Lenin, his approach was the same. When it comes to a political, ideological, dogmatic place, then they want to select for you, "You don't need to read so much." "You need to read this much."
I feel that, as an independent reader or independent thinker, reading countless "garbage" books has helped me learn what is garbage, what is necessary for me, and what I might enjoy. So reading a lot of bad books can also be useful.
Ruhul: This interview is mainly about your writing work, and I haven't started that part yet. We're still talking about your background. However, let's finish this part with one more question, as we are approaching almost two hours, and we will cover your writing journey in the second part. You did organizing work in university. There were intellectual pursuits as well. At that time, you said you didn’t think much about a career. When you first started thinking about a career, what were your thoughts?
Sabidin: I think I was very romantic and impractical about my career. For example, in my first or second year, I had a kind of intense relationship with a girl, a crush, as they call it in today's language. I used to see her regularly. This would be around 2008 or 2009.
Girls, however, are very serious about these matters. Family, career, job plans. Up until that point, I just wanted to enjoy university a bit. I would think about my career later, after graduation.
After about seven or eight months into our friendship, she asked me, What will you do? What is your career plan? It was still an initial stage of our relationship. And I didn’t realize it was a job interview 🙂. Without thinking much, I said, I'll be a director. A theater director, maybe. She said that it wouldn’t be a good career choice. Banking would be better. I had no interest in banking whatsoever. I didn’t know then that I failed the exam. So after eight or nine months, our relationship never progressed beyond friendship to the next stage. Many thought it might be going that way, but it didn't.
Until she asked me that question, I hadn't thought about having a job or a career after graduation. My canvas included, "I've come to university, let's pass university, and then we'll see what happens." That was the first time I had a bit of a shock. Until then, I didn't think about it seriously.
Before that, I wanted to be a politician. Later, I realized that being a politician was not a good option for me; it was a rather dangerous option. I had all the unorthodox career ideas. At one stage, a poet, then a writer, and a philosopher. But these were not materially sufficient for supporting oneself.
I think some of these ideas came from the books I was reading at that time. Books by European or American authors or poets, where they could sustain themselves through writing. I probably couldn’t grasp the cultural difference. The scenario in Bangladesh was totally different. I struggled to understand the Bangladeshi reality. I saw people in the world of books and thought and ideas, their lifestyle. People are doing quite well writing books, someone is writing a play, and someone is being a director. These creative paths appealed to me at that time. I thought I could go this way, become a director, or a writer, or a poet. I had many different ideas, but I didn’t explore any of them to a proper extent.
When I graduated, I was forced to think more seriously about what to do. I saw that I might go into teaching. What else? There was media. The media were struggling at that time. After much thought, I decided to join the media, which was a challenging journey for me.
I wasn't actually prepared to enter the career battle. Part of the work I did at university as an organizer prepared me to be a good human manager. But I couldn't give my work on campus an institutional shape during student life. I couldn't scale it to a professional level to be sustainable. We did a lot of work, but we didn’t have a plan or strategy in place. If I had focused a bit on video at that time, perhaps I could have made a career out of it. 2014-2015, when we did a lot of work, was quite early for videos. But it could have given us competitive advantages. I didn't understand that a lot of work could be done in the video or digital space around 2011, 2012, or 2013.
Many of my friends and seniors were in the media. Suddenly, after graduation, with no other option, I thought, Let's join the media. That's how I joined. And after coming here, I faced many battles and had many bittersweet experiences.
I feel that, as an independent reader or independent thinker, reading countless "garbage" books has helped me learn what is garbage, what is necessary for me, and what I might enjoy. So reading a lot of bad books can also be useful.
Ruhul: I think this is a good place to end our conversation today. This is sort of a climax. I will probably need another hour of your time to talk about the rest of your journey and writing career. Thank you for your time today. This was an enlightening conversation for me.
Sabidin: Thank you. This was fun.
