A Missing Piece of Puzzle Finally Found: Rediscovering My Bangladeshi Identity

I never wanted to enjoy rotis, but I did, which I kept a secret. Whenever someone asked me “what’s your favorite food?”, I answered, “chicken alfredo pasta”—a far more American answer.

Despite growing up in the culturally diverse community of Jackson Heights, I always felt a little too different. I resented wearing salwar kameez and felt a surge of embarrassment whenever I spoke Bangla to my family in public. I especially hated that my name wasn’t “American” enough, meaning that no one ever pronounced it correctly. As an immigrant child trying to conform to societal standards, I struggled to appreciate my ethnicity. Instead, I yearned for the picturesque, movie-like “American Lifestyle”: going out for dinner or fast food every night, celebrating every holiday from Christmas to Easter, wearing western clothes, listening strictly to American artists, and more.

During middle school, however, I started to change. As Bollywood surged in popularity across social media, I suddenly regained interest in it. For the first time in years, I was truly passionate about an aspect of my culture: the arts and music. I also rediscovered childhood movies and shows, and I reminisced on the beauty of my childhood in Bangladesh. I started to feel that my Bangladeshi identity was still alive within, and not something I left behind eight years ago when I immigrated to the U.S. My unease and discontent with my cultural identity slowly transformed into acceptance, but it truly blossomed into pride in July of 2024. Since then, I have felt a strong connection to my ethnicity—specifically, being a Bangladeshi Bengali.

On July 1, Bangladeshi citizens began advocating for their rights and challenging their government—particularly, the government under former Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina. Though Hasina’s rule had long been authoritarian, the tipping point in many Bangladeshis’ lives was the passing of the “Quota System.”The law reserves 56% of government jobs for specific groups of people, mainly descendants of Freedom Fighters in the Liberation War. 

This caused outrage amongst Bangladeshi youth, who considered the law an extreme injustice to the general population. If specific groups of people were prioritized for the majority of government jobs, there would be less availability for the rest of the population in an already competitive job market. Hence, the youth organized numerous peaceful protests against the Supreme Court’s ruling. Unfortunately, these protests turned violent, as the Chatra League (a government-affiliated student political organization) directed police to act with force. The entire country was in chaos as lockdowns, murders, riots, and police brutality ensued, with targets expanding from just students to other innocents. 

As this unfolded over a few weeks, my family and I were especially frightened for our relatives living in Bangladesh. My cousins, who I spent the first seven years of my life with, lived in Dhaka—the capital of Bangladesh—putting them in constant danger of attacks. Also, due to multiple internet blackouts meant to silence citizens and restrict the organization of more protests, we were unable to contact anyone in Bangladesh for periods of time, ranging from seven hours to eleven days. Thus, I felt extremely powerless, disconnected, and even guilty for not being present as my country faced such extreme challenges, as well as not being able to help my own family members. Strangely, however, these feelings helped me connect to my roots: I was motivated to learn more about the politics of my homeland. 

Furthermore, between each blackout, when people had access to the internet, a conversation I had with a cousin my age reinforced the idea of taking pride in my heritage. She told me that she fears not for her life, but for her country. Despite not being allowed by her parents to attend protests, she voiced her support of the protestors; she was willing to sacrifice her safety for the future of our country. Her confidence inspired me, giving me faith that student protestors' voices would be more than enough to uplift Bangladesh from corruption and transform it into a true democracy.

My cousin wasn’t my only inspiration. While watching the events of students and their success, I was astonished to realize how strong Bangladeshi students are. The fact that people my age—people with no weapons or form of self-defense—were making their voices heard to ensure a brighter future for Bangladesh is my biggest motivation to take pride in my nationality. Though I wasn’t physically present in my homeland to witness them, I felt the protestors’ bravery reaching international ground as they flooded social media with their beliefs. I feel proud to be from a nation whose youth strive for the betterment of their country.

Despite my original doubts that student-organized protests could change the Quota system (typically, politicians and the wealthy have much more of a say in these decisions than the people), the student protests were successful in changing the Quota System, which now reserves only seven percent of government jobs for specific demographics. Along with achieving the initial goal of the protest—to make government jobs merit-based—Bangladeshi students started to take care of their country in other ways: handling traffic, protecting stray animals, defending citizens, and much more. These differences, though still new, have had an impact. For example, my cousin encountered students monitoring traffic and claimed that she felt much safer traveling than she had before.

Only now do I understand the strength that is within our blood—strength that has existed throughout history. The Liberation War, for example, was one of our earliest and biggest victories. Furthermore, Bengalis have historically been oppressed for our language, but we have never let our oppressors win. Instead, we striked and protested in the Bengali Language Movement. I’m proud to see Bengali people, specifically from the East Bengal region, continue to raise their voices. Surely, Bangladesh will be the dream country that we are yearning for: a country with a fair job market, safety for citizens, education, and a growing economy.

The months of July and August 2024 were horrifying times for Bangladeshis all across the world. Many of us—Bangladeshis—were not in Bangladesh during the Quota movement, yet we all shared one objective: taking pride in our homeland. A few years ago, I never would have appreciated my culture. Now, however, I have come to accept my cultural identity by recognizing the resilience of my people. I anticipate the reform of The People’s Republic of Bangladesh, as well as encourage everyone, particularly immigrants, to admire their roots.