I don’t know in what deep recess of my mind the name McNamara was buried, perhaps it would have remained buried forever if I hadn’t come to the DTW International Airport in Michigan, USA.
I had been to this airport once before, a few days ago. But that was a domestic flight, from Detroit to New York. At that time, of course, I didn’t have to come to this McNamara terminal. I had to go to the Smith terminal. I had landed at LaGuardia Airport in New York from Detroit on a small jet called the American Eagle of American Airlines. I don’t know in whose memory the Smith terminal was named after a distinguished person from America. My mind didn’t push me to investigate it either. But upon hearing the name McNamara terminal, it occurred to me that it must be the same McNamara who was the chairman of the World Bank in the sixties of the twentieth century. Perhaps this terminal of the international airport has been named McNamara terminal in memory of McNamara, one of America’s distinguished men.
It’s time for me to return to my country. After a long stay at my son’s apartment in Adams Creek, Auburn Hills city, next to Detroit, on the day of departure, the car I took to the airport stopped at the terminal’s parking slot. Getting out of the car, I pulled a trolley from the row of trolleys kept for passengers, loaded my bags and boxes on it, and took the elevator in front to go to the upper floor of the terminal. The McNamara terminal is very beautiful. A huge multi-storied building. Everything has a unique expression of modern technology. Every floor has a wide open space. The sparkle of eye-dazzling lights all around. After crossing some flat ground on the upper floor, there is another escalator. As I stepped on the escalator, it went straight down, breaking the stairs. There, one after another, are the counters of international airlines. I had a World Traveller ticket of British Airways. So I had to check in at the British Airways counter. There was no difficulty in finding the British Airways counter among the rows of various airline counters. Pushing the trolley with the bags and boxes, I went and stood behind the waiting passengers in the queue for check-in at the British Airways counter.
The white female staff of British Airways is glancing at the tickets of the airline passengers and quickly typing on the computer, and at the same time, another black female assistant is simultaneously scanning and weighing the bags and boxes, sticking labels on them, and putting them on the moving belt. The bags and boxes will go to the passengers’ designated flight in due time. The white female staff, after handing over the ticket with the boarding pass and the counterfoil of the luggage label to the passenger, says with a smile - “Wish you a happy journey.”
In a very short time, the passengers in front of me took their boarding passes one by one and left. While standing behind the line, I took out the ticket and passport from my attaché case and held them in my right hand, and with my left hand, I pushed the trolley with the luggage and moved forward. As I came face to face with the white female staff, I handed her the ticket and passport. The black female assistant took the luggage from the trolley, scanned and weighed it, and put it on the moving belt with a label. In a moment, I got the ticket with the passport, boarding pass, and the counterfoil of the luggage. Although everything went smoothly, there was a pang of anxiety in my mind. I don’t know if it was showing on my face. Anyway, at the end of the check-in, in exchange for the good wishes of the airline staff, I tried to put on a silent smile and proceeded for the security check-in.
Now it is much easier and lighter to walk. I don’t have to push the trolley with the bags and boxes. I only have a small attaché case with me. I feel very light. My wife, Ruby, my silent shadow companion all this while, is walking beside me with ease. We walked a little and came to the entrance of the security check-in. After coming here from my country, I have traveled by plane several times, so I am no longer anxious about the security check-in. I entered through the entrance, completed the check-in process, and came out of the exit to face another escalator.
As I stepped on the escalator, it took me to the ground floor. As soon as I got off there, what I saw immediately dimmed the beauty of the multi-storied McNamara terminal that I had been enjoying for so long. In my eyes, it was another great wonder. A huge area was filled with restaurants with thrilling dim lights. A gathering of well-dressed, cheerful men and women. The restaurants were buzzing with customers. On both sides, there are exquisite and charming shops. I am walking past the shops on foot. A little further on, I saw an automated air-train running on an overhead track.
It runs at a fast pace, covering an area of several square kilometers of the airfield. Passengers have to go to the specific gate mentioned in their boarding pass to board their respective waiting airline flights. The automated air-train system is in place to easily get passengers to the gates located in far-flung areas. The automated air-train runs on a circular overhead track and stops in front of the specific gates of various airlines. Passengers get on and off as needed. Luckily, our gate number was fifty-six-A. We found it by walking a short distance. Otherwise, we would have had to deal with all sorts of troubles while getting on and off the air-train.
I felt very relieved after reaching gate no. fifty-six-A after a short walk. There is a comfortable sofa for the passengers nearby and a huge computer screen on the opposite side. The flight schedule is being continuously displayed on it. Our flight number is BA zero two zero two. It will depart from Detroit at 10:25 pm local time on August 15 and will reach Heathrow airport at 11 am local time on August 16. But now the local time is 8 pm on August 15. The gate will open and let us board the plane in about two and a half hours. We have to spend this time here. Inevitably, my wife and I sat down on two adjacent sofas. I looked at the surrounding passengers. The number of people from the East is more than the mem-sahibs. With a casual glance, I could not identify any of them as Indian Bengali. I did not feel any desire to translate my thoughts into another language and talk to strangers. I leaned back on the sofa. But even while sitting silently with my mouth shut, my eyes and ears could not be made inactive in this special environment. The automated air-train is running on the overhead track with a short break. The melodious sound of its movement is ringing in my ears. The glittering of the charming lights all around is attracting my eyes. The wonder of the luxurious modern technology and the enchanting beauty of the McNamara terminal cannot be ignored at all. I am becoming mesmerized by what I am seeing. I am slowly sinking into a charming trance. Only McNamara, McNamara is stirring in my mind. And the name McNamara is pulling me back four decades. I go back to the late sixties of the twentieth century. At that time, how much hatred I had expressed against the chairman of the World Bank, McNamara. I did that in our city, Silchar - the city in whose light and air I grew up from my childhood.
Silchar is a marginal town with a large Bengali population. After the partition of the country, uprooted and homeless people came in droves from the other side and put down their roots here in their struggle for survival. On the opposite side of the Civil Hospital of this town, on the side of the main road, is Tunu Deb’s tea stall. After evening, college students come and hang out here. Most of them are boys from lower and middle-class families. They are involved in the student movement under the banner of the leftist party. A communist who has been in jail for a long time and two or three college teachers also come to this hangout. They discuss national and international politics. At that time, the country was going through a period of political change. There was a split in the Indian National Congress and also in the Communist party.
Ajay Mukherjee of the Indian National Congress, along with some followers, broke away from the party and formed the Bangla Congress in West Bengal. In the general election, they defeated the Congress and formed a united front government with the leftists. But they could not establish a proper system of governance. Factionalism and infighting among the political parties continued to increase.
There was also a division among the communists. One group was saying that the people of the country cannot be freed from imperialist exploitation just by changing the ministry. India is an agricultural country. Eighty percent of the population lives in rural areas. The liberation of the vast population of India will come with the liberation of the peasant masses. The democratic revolution has to be accomplished through the armed struggle of the peasants in the line of thought of Mao-Zedong of China. The communists who followed the path of China, the guide for the liberation of the oppressed people of the world, broke away from the circle of the revisionist communists who followed the footsteps of the social-imperialist Soviet Russia. Under the leadership of Charu Majumdar, Kanu Sanyal, and others, the armed struggle of the peasants started in Naxalbari, West Bengal, to organize a new democratic revolution in India in the line of thought of the chairman of China, Mao-Zedong.
China welcomed the armed peasant movement of Naxalbari. The Peking Radio, mentioning the Naxalbari incident, announced that it was the spring thunder over India. (Spring thunder breaks over India) Following the path of Naxalbari, the people of India will defeat the imperialist forces and hoist the flag of the people’s democratic revolution, and establish the dictatorship of the proletariat. The propaganda of the Peking Radio had a great influence on the students and youth of Calcutta. Students from Presidency College, Calcutta University, and various engineering colleges joined the Naxalite movement in droves. The Naxalite ideology spread in all directions. The wave also hit our city. The students and youth, especially those of us who used to hang out at Tunu Deb’s tea stall, almost all of us got involved in that ideology.
At that time, the United Front government in West Bengal fell due to factional feuds. President’s rule was imposed amid various turmoils. The influential female Prime Minister at the center was Indira Gandhi. It was at that time that the World Bank Chairman McNamara’s visit to India, and that too in Calcutta itself.
The third world countries, which are full of problems, have a program of financial assistance for urban development from the World Bank. India had high expectations from the World Bank. The realization of those expectations depended on McNamara’s visit. Delhi wanted the World Bank Chairman McNamara to see for himself the dilapidated roads, drains, sewerage system, and the condition of the slums of Calcutta. But the Naxalites were looking at it with a jaundiced eye. In the name of development, it was another imperialist conspiracy to widen the process of exploitation of the oppressed people of the third world. So they decided to protest against McNamara’s visit.
I don’t remember the exact date. If I were to consult official documents, all the information about that visit would come out. But it is not possible to do that while sitting at this ‘fifty-six A’ gate of the McNamara terminal in a foreign land. What comes to my mind from reminiscing is that it was probably November 1968. On a specific day, McNamara’s plane landed at Dum Dum airport. At dawn, a group of Naxalite students and youths gathered outside the airport. They demonstrated with black flags and anti-American placards. But McNamara did not see any of this. He flew over Calcutta in a helicopter. The government officials tried their best to get adequate aid from the World Bank by showing McNamara the dilapidated condition of Calcutta from a bird’s eye view.
That day, besides the airport premises, groups of students and youths demonstrated against McNamara in various places in Calcutta. We also prepared for a demonstration from the day before the visit. Next to Tunu Deb’s tea stall was Bhola Mochi’s shoe-shine stall. And it was Bhola Mochi’s responsibility to make an effigy of Mr. McNamara. He was given the shirt, pants, hat, and tie, but he had to collect the straw and bamboo himself. Bhola gladly accepted this responsibility. After repeatedly hearing the arguments and discussions at Tunu-da’s tea stall, the idea that American imperialism is the enemy of the oppressed people of the world was almost memorized by Bhola. The gentleman whose effigy he would make is a representative of American imperialism and an enemy of the working people. Bhola was proud to be given this task. He made the effigy of the gentleman very beautifully by sewing a terrylene shirt and pants over a straw-stuffed frame. He put a hat on its head, a tie around its neck, and a pair of old shoes from his stock on the gentleman’s feet.
On the morning of the day McNamara landed at Calcutta airport, we had our demonstration and effigy burning program in the afternoon. From 3 pm onwards, two or three college-going boys started gathering at Tunu-da’s tea shop. Mrinmoy, Abhi, Dhiman, Jaga, Bapon, and Jhantu from GC College have come. Sukalyan, Latub, Mozammil, and Biltu from Cachar College have also come. Within a short time, about twenty to twenty-five people have gathered. They have brought hand-written placards and black flags.
Mrinmoy takes a good look at the effigy lying flat next to Bhola Mochi’s shoe-shine equipment. Then he chooses a placard from the ones in Jaga’s custody and ties it around the effigy’s neck. It says ‘Yankee dog McNamara go back’. In the meantime, Jaga has handed over all the other placards to the others one by one. Everyone quickly forms a line in pairs on the main road next to the Civil Hospital. Mrinmoy and Jaga stand in front of the line, holding the effigy upright. Of course, I didn’t stand in the line. I am watching everything from a chair in a corner, hidden in Tunu-da’s tea shop. Last night, Moni-da forbade me from joining the public procession. I work as a teacher in a government educational institution, so I have to maintain as much secrecy as possible. Many have to work in secret organizations in this way. Mrinmoy instructs Jaga to carry the effigy alone. As Jaga moves forward, the small, orderly line of pairs instantly becomes active. Mrinmoy raises his voice - Naxalbari Lal Salam. Immediately, the united voices roar - Lal Salam, Lal Salam.
Then there is no break. The procession moves forward at a rapid pace, shouting slogans. They will go past Hospital Road, Premtala, and Shillongpatty to the bank of the Narsinghtola pond. The effigy will be burnt there.
Three or four minutes after the procession disappeared from in front of Tunu-da’s tea shop, I also came out. I rode Sujan’s bicycle straight through Premtala Central Road and went to the south-east bank of the Narsinghtola pond. Bulu Kundu’s bookshop, Puthibhavan, is located there. I stood under a tree next to Puthibhavan. After a short wait, I saw the procession reach the bank of the pond.
Reaching the south-west corner, they gathered and started shouting slogans loudly -
-Naxalbari Lal Salam, Lal Salam, Lal Salam.
-McNamara, go back, go back.
-Down with American imperialism, down with it, down with it.
-Mac Mac McNamara, go back, go back.
In this way, after shouting slogans for about ten minutes, they set the effigy on fire. Before the effigy was completely burnt, they threw it into the water of the pond. Then, the group dispersed and everyone went their own way.
There is no trace of the powerful slogans raised by a few students with clenched fists and the burning of the effigy that had caught the attention of the passers-by a few minutes ago. Everything is quiet. It is not known how much this protest shook the foundations of American imperialism or how much it influenced the working people. But from a distance, I could clearly see two familiar detectives following the incident, and it was certain that the detailed behavior of the protesting Lav-Kushas would be recorded in their diaries and would reach the intelligence department in due time. The two detectives were slowly moving east along the Narsinghtola main road. I didn’t want to face them. As soon as I saw them from a distance, I turned my bicycle and went straight north along the east bank of the pond and came out past the Kalabati cinema hall. I will go back to the hangout after wandering around for a couple of hours. The night’s gathering at Tunu Deb’s tea shop will be a good one.
I had to sit silently and motionlessly at the bustling McNamara terminal, waiting for the flight to take off. And in this state, the past events centered around McNamara became active on the compact disc of my mind. Pictures appeared on the screen of my mind one after another. No one nearby noticed how all these past events were being reflected.
Time passed quickly amidst all this. The departure time for British Airways flight BA zero two zero two has arrived. It’s ten o’clock at night local time. The boarding gate has opened. The waiting passengers have started to move. I also got up. I followed the other passengers with Ruby and moved forward. A short distance from the gate, a staircase has been arranged to board the plane. I didn’t have to walk much, and within two or three minutes, I reached my designated seat on the plane.
After taking my seat, I started thinking again. What a strange, exceptional connection! The same young man, inspired by patriotism, who, in his own country, participated in the struggle against imperialism of the oppressed people, who participated in the demonstration and burning of the effigy of the World Bank Chairman McNamara with intense hatred and loathing, is now, four decades later, on the verge of old age, in the country of that same McNamara, in a terminal named in his memory, মুগ্ধ by the unique beauty of the modern technology and luxurious comfort! There is no anger, no hatred! Not only that, with satisfaction and peace of mind, he is leaving his own son in the shelter of the imperialists and returning to his country. He is praying to the invisible controller of the world in his mind - “Let my son stay in this country for a few more years. Here, there are no unnecessary hassles in his daily life, no unnecessary persecution. He is doing quite well.”
I am sitting in my seat and thinking about all this, and in the meantime, the clamor for the plane to start moving has begun. The announcement for the passengers to fasten their seat belts and other warnings has also been completed. As the mechanical clamor prolongs, it starts to echo in my mind again - Mac Mac McNamara, go back, go back.
The plane started running on the runway with a loud noise. I composed myself and sat up straight. I changed the echoing words in my mind slightly and started saying - Mac, Mac McNamara, I am going back, I am going back. The plane, while running, tucked its legs and rose into the sky. It left the ground of the McNamara terminal and started floating in the अंतरिक्ष at a very high speed.