IDENTITY is a powerful force, shaping how communities see themselves and how others perceive them. In Bangladesh, the term ‘indigenous’ has long been a point of contention. The recent controversy surrounding the removal of a graffito containing the word ‘indigenous’ from a textbook cover has reignited debate, underscoring deeper tensions over national identity, historical narratives and sovereignty. This debate is not unique to Bangladesh; it mirrors global struggles over terminology and the rights it confers. To understand the complexities, we must examine the local context and the global parallels, particularly New Zealand’s ongoing discourse on indigenous rights.
The term ‘indigenous’ literally means ‘sons of the land.’ In Bangladesh, it evokes questions of historical primacy and cultural uniqueness. Groups such as the Chakma, Marma and Garo identify as indigenous, asserting that their distinct languages, traditions, and connections to the land align with international definitions of indigeneity. Yet, the government has consistently rejected this label, opting instead for terms like ‘ethnic minorities’.
This rejection stems from multiple factors. First, there’s the fear of undermining national unity. Recognising groups as indigenous might imply that the majority Bengali population, which arrived later in some regions, are outsiders. Second, there are geopolitical concerns, particularly in the Chittagong Hill Tracts, where demands for indigenous recognition are intertwined with longstanding separatist movements. Officially acknowledging these groups as indigenous could bolster their claims to land and self-determination, potentially creating tensions with Bangladesh’s territorial integrity.
The government’s hesitance is also influenced by the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, UNDRIP, which grants indigenous communities rights to their lands, resources and autonomy. Bangladesh abstained from this declaration in 2007, citing concerns about sovereignty and national security. Critics argue that this reluctance denies ethnic minorities their cultural and constitutional rights.
Proponents of the term ‘indigenous’ argue that it reflects their distinct identities and histories. Gajendra Nath Mahato of the Bangladesh Indigenous Forum contends that these groups meet global criteria for indigeneity: unique languages, cultural traditions and deep connections to the land. He points out that this identity has historical precedence, with colonial-era institutions using terms like ‘tribal.’ For many, ‘indigenous’ is not just a label but recognition of their lived realities and struggles against marginalisation.
Land rights are central to their demands. Ethnic minorities in Bangladesh often face displacement, with their lands appropriated for development projects or eco-parks. Without recognition as indigenous peoples, they argue, these communities lack the legal protections afforded under international frameworks.
Bangladesh’s government insists that the term ‘indigenous’ is inappropriate. Officials, including former foreign minister Dipu Moni, have argued that Bengalis are the original inhabitants of the land. They emphasise that many ethnic groups in the CHT and elsewhere migrated from Myanmar and Southeast Asia in the 16th century, complicating claims to indigeneity.
The government’s stance is also shaped by security concerns. The CHT, a region bordering India and Myanmar, has seen decades of insurgency and militarisation. Recognising its ethnic groups as indigenous might necessitate demilitarisation under UNDRIP, potentially destabilising the area. Additionally, officials fear that international recognition of indigenous rights could embolden separatist movements, undermining state sovereignty.
Bangladesh’s struggle over the term ‘indigenous’ echoes debates in other countries. New Zealand, for instance, has grappled with its own history of colonisation and the rights of its indigenous Maori population. The Treaty of Waitangi, signed in 1840 between Maori chiefs and the British Crown, is often cited as the foundational document for Maori rights. However, differing interpretations of the treaty have led to long-standing disputes over land, resources and political representation.
Recent events in New Zealand highlight the complexity of indigenous recognition. In 2023, debates erupted in parliament over the role of the Maori language and customs in legislative proceedings. Critics argued that emphasising Maori traditions undermined national unity, while supporters saw it as a necessary step towards decolonisation and honouring the treaty.
Comparing New Zealand to Bangladesh reveals both similarities and differences. In both cases, indigenous recognition is tied to historical injustices and land rights. However, New Zealand’s approach — acknowledging Maori as tangata whenua (people of the land) while navigating the tensions between unity and diversity — offers lessons for Bangladesh. Recognising ethnic minorities’ unique identities need not threaten national sovereignty; rather, it can enrich the nation’s cultural tapestry.
Beyond New Zealand, other countries offer insights into managing indigenous issues. Australia’s relationship with its aboriginal population has been fraught with challenges, from land dispossession to cultural erasure. In recent years, efforts like the Uluru Statement from the Heart and calls for constitutional recognition have sought to address these injustices. However, resistance remains, with opponents fearing that indigenous rights could create divisions.
In the Americas, Native American tribes have similarly faced struggles for recognition and rights. The United States’ approach — granting limited sovereignty to tribes while maintaining federal oversight — has been criticised for perpetuating inequalities. Yet, it also demonstrates the possibility of coexistence, with indigenous nations operating within a broader state framework.
Bangladesh’s government faces a delicate balancing act. On one hand, it must address ethnic minorities’ legitimate demands for recognition and rights. On the other, it must safeguard national unity and security. Achieving this balance requires open dialogue and a willingness to move beyond zero-sum thinking.
First, the government should engage ethnic minority leaders in discussions about their aspirations and concerns. This includes exploring alternative terminologies that respect their identities without provoking fears of separatism. Terms like ‘first peoples’ or ‘national minorities’ could provide middle ground.
Second, legal and policy reforms are essential. Regardless of terminology, ethnic minorities need stronger protections for their land, culture, and livelihoods. This includes implementing the 1997 CHT Peace Accord, which remains only partially fulfilled.
Third, public awareness campaigns can challenge misconceptions about ethnic minorities. Many Bengalis view them as outsiders or threats, a perception rooted in ignorance. Highlighting their contributions to Bangladesh’s history and culture can foster greater understanding and solidarity.
Ultimately, the debate over the term ‘indigenous’ reflects deeper questions about identity and belonging. As Dhaka University professor Hasan A Shafi notes, all communities are ethnic groups in anthropological terms. The challenge lies in respecting diversity without undermining unity.
Bangladesh’s experience shows that identity politics is never just about semantics. The words we use carry weight, shaping policies and perceptions. By learning from global examples and prioritising dialogue, the nation can chart a path that honours its ethnic minorities while strengthening its social fabric. In a world increasingly divided by identity, Bangladesh has an opportunity to demonstrate the power of inclusion.
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HM Nazmul Alam is a lecturer in English and modern languages, International University of Business, Agriculture and Technology.