https://www.wsj.com/articles/a-young-country-in-the-coronavirus-age-11590188813?mod=opinion_lead_pos9
A fanfare of flutes and drums. A line of waiflike children clapping in rhythm. Former fighters with white beards singing in unison the anthem of free Bengal. And, stretched between bamboo poles, yellow banners proclaiming: “Welcome Back to Jessore, Veteran Bernard-Henri Lévy!”
I was here almost 50 years ago. I had answered André Malraux’s call to French youth to form an international brigade similar to that of the Spanish Civil War, this time to oppose the crimes of the Pakistani army in what was known as East Pakistan until it declared independence in March 1971. I landed in Kolkata, crossed the border in Satkhira, and ended up 45 miles north in Jessore, which was being pounded by bombs and machine-gun fire.
Then, it hardly qualified as a city. The airport is new. So is the tangle of colonial-era houses, unfinished new buildings and mud huts, and the population of ragged children, zebu cattle dealers, and discouraged beggars. But I recognize the pale sky and the tangy fragrance commingled with cooked coconut oil—and, on leaving the bazaar, the same bleak plain of rice paddies. This is the Bangladesh of my 20s.
Akim Mukherjee was the young Maoist leader who picked me up in Satkhira. Half a century later, I gave his name to Mofidul Hoque of the Liberation War Museum in Dhaka, the capital. He passed it along to the police, who had some trouble finding Akim—the underground Communists of the time went by a dizzying number of noms de guerre. But now here I am at the village house where Akim and I spent a few nights before taking off over marshes of rice and blood in search of Marxist-Leninist brochures, of which Bangladesh was a major producer—research for my first book, later published as “Les Indes Rouges.”