In theory of course Taslima should be free to come back. She has had the courage to speak her mind, to write about what she finds oppressive as a woman, to hit at the taboos governing our clique-ish, middle-class chatterati and literati. Perhaps we need more of that, not less. There is also the principle of secularism at stake here, which explicitly acknowledges that the freedom of the writer is really the freedom to be offensive (it is meaningless otherwise), and it is the business of the modern, secular state to provide protection for that freedom. But in practical terms, Bangladesh is not a modern, secular state. It is a crisis-ridden polity where various forces are in a state of fragile balance, and where Taslima Nasrine, for various reasons, has negligible support from the secular social forces at play. In the present political context, the establishment has its hands full in trying to keep a lid on things, and the last thing it may want is something else to stir up the pot. Also, Taslima is bound to stick out like a sore thumb. How can reasonable security be provided for her? Where will she go, and how will she go? There are no foolproof guarantees, and if something happens to her, Bangladesh's image internationally as a nation that allows bearded fundoos to periodically attack its writers will persist for an eternity. While one sympathizes with her plight and knows what should be done in principle, in real-life terms the problem seems to be an insurmountable one. And as is the case in human affairs, what once seemed to be a temporary solution often turns out to be a permanent one.

----The Literary Editor

Daily Star: You have been expressing a strong interest in coming back home to Bangladesh. However, you have alienated your natural base of support, feminists and writers, by repeatedly stating that women in Bangladesh have not stood up for you, and by portraying the writers (men) as less than appealing human beings in your tell-all books. Given the unique nature of your situation, without support from these two sections of society, do you think you can make it back?

Taslima Nasrine: I have always wanted to return to Bangladesh, but no government has allowed me to do so. Bangladesh is my country, and yet I am denied the right to return there. Whatever I have written in my autobiographies are all true. I have not made up stories. Perhaps I cannot write good fiction because I can't make up stories. All the fiction and novels I have written so far all are drawn from true stories. Fundamentally my struggle is for equality and justice. I tell the truth, and therefore have to suffer the consequences. I have been living in exile, away from home, for more than a decade. On the other hand I have also received a lot of love from people for telling the truth. Whatever I have written about Bangladeshi feminists and writers was written purely on the basis of what my experiences and relationships with them were. I had wonderful experiences as well as bitter ones. I did not become a writer to either praise somebody or hurt somebody. I simply described the unvarnished truth of what happened. If somebody is hurt there is nothing I can do about it. Since I'm writing about my life, since truthfulness and honesty are my principles, it is inevitable that there will be those who will be very annoyed by it. I don't give it much importance. Those who know how to value a truthful account of a life, those who know that such autobiographies are rarely written anywhere in the world--autobiographies are written to sing one's own praises--and that too by a woman, where society teaches women to be silent, where a woman did not hesitate for a single second to tell what it was really like, shouldn't those books be valued greatly? This breaking of taboos, this disregard of 'scandal', is this a thing to be valued lightly? How steel is forged through the hottest of fires, to tell about it is to give courage to lakhs of women, so that they do not submit to shame, so that they stand up straight and tall and live self-confidently.

If one is to garner support by simply praising people, I don't want that kind of support. If somebody wants to give support by telling lies that is something I do not wish for. Those who love the truths I speak about, they will support me, and have done so.

I have been given the love, sympathy, support and solidarity of ordinary people. If the extra-ordinary people do not love me, that is their affair. I have never compromised with the truth, and come what may I never will

DS: You're implying that feminists here can't face the truth. But quite a few of the women activists here feel that while they may not have demonstrated for you on the streets, they did strongly sympathize and feel sisterly solidarity for your struggle, only for you to bite them once you went abroad, that in fact you have become somebody who uses women's rights in Bangladesh for self-promotion and profit. How do you answer that?

TN: I have not said that these feminists cannot face the truth. We all have one objective we're trying to attain, and that is women's equality. But our methods are different. I'm fighting all by myself with my writing, and the feminists with their organizations. The process too is different. The way I discuss religion, say that religion is the great obstacle in the path to women's empowerment, those feminists do not.

When I was in deep trouble, when there were demonstrations against me and demands throughout the whole nation that I be hanged, when the government was lodging cases against me, when I had to go into hiding, then not a single feminist organization spoke out on my behalf. The men and women involved with a leading human rights organization did help me in every way during that time, and had they not come to my help then I possibly could not have come out alive.

I was well known in Bangladesh and abroad as a feminist long before I was forced into exile. I have never ever thought in terms of either self-promotion or profit. That is a subject for others, not for me. I have been invited to feminist conferences and seminars abroad for a long time, but I can't find the time to attend all these.

DS: There is a feeling among some that you have become have become predictable in terms of voice and content. What are your thoughts on that?

TN: If I am, what is the problem? How many voices do you find of this kind?

DS: Your recent books have all been autobiographies. Your strength might be nonfiction, especially given your uncomplicated, conversational prose style. Your response?

TN: I am far more comfortable with nonfiction, both in reading and writing. So much is happening around us, so many narratives are locked up in our lives and in the lives of those around us, why not write about that? I don't see the need to make up stories. I write in a simple, easy way so that ordinary people can understand what I'm writing about. There is a message I want to communicate, and the more people I reach the better it is for me. I do not write to win the praises of big critics in big newspapers. I want a change in our male-dominated, patriarchal societies, so that women can lead lives of dignity and honour, that there should be equality and beauty in our lives--this is the dream that powers my writing. This dream is the reason for my living.

DS: The English translation of Lajja was poor. Things have improved with later works, but not by much. Can we expect better standards, especially of the popular autobiographical books, in the future?

TN: The publishers commission the translators to translate my books into different languages. It's completely the publisher's responsibility. I have nothing to do with it.

DS: In your poems and articles in Desh magazine you have written quite tenderly, and amusingly, about Kolkata. Tell us about your day to day life there.

TN: Bangladesh is my mother, and West Bengal my aunt. When my mother has shut the door on me, an aunt's house has provided refuge. Just as there is love to be found here, so too there is no dearth of neglect, disrespect, jealousy, and pettiness. The difference between the two countries is really not that big. However, my country's inhabitants are far more open and sincere, more passionate, and I miss that very much.

Life? Life goes on as it does, with police protection round the clock. Most of my time is spent writing.

DS: Recently Tahmima Anam's English-language novel A Golden Age, about 1971, was published from London to wide acclaim. Have you read it? Do you follow English language writing by Bangladeshis?

TN: I do, but I haven't read A Golden Age.