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IN THE misty hills of Bandarban, the southern part of Chittagong Hill Tracts, an indigenous Marma family was torn apart by a war not of their making. Two brothers, raised side by side, found themselves on opposing sides of a battlefield: the elder in the military and the younger with the Shanti Bahini, fighting for the political rights of the indigenous peoples. The Chittagong Hill Tracts echoed with violence, and one fateful day, as a patrol moved through the dense terrain, the guerrillas launched a surprise attack. Among the attackers was the younger brother. In a tragic twist of fate, he faced his elder brother, who stood defiantly, defending his comrades. With trembling hands, he pulled the trigger. The elder brother fell, his blood soaking into the soil they both called home. The younger brother was left in silence, shackled by guilt and grief for the brother he had lost. As the war raged on, the hills bore witness to this fratricide. Somewhere in Bandarban, two brothers now rest — one in the earth and the other trapped in his memories. If we think of the state as a family unit, the armed conflict before the Accord in the Chittagong Hill Tracts can be seen as a powerful metaphor for a family disintegrating from within. It highlighted the deep divisions and unrest that have developed among its members.

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Accord to abandonment

THIS conflict was no ordinary war. It was not just about land or ethnicity; it was fundamentally a political issue. Decades of neglect, discrimination, and blocked democratic pathways pushed the Indigenous Peoples’ movement, led by the Parbatya Chattagram Jana Samhati Samiti, from peaceful protest to armed struggle over many years. Yet, even in the darkest times, the opportunity for dialogue never completely closed.

After 26 rounds of negotiations — six with Ershad, 13 with Khaleda Zia, and seven with Sheikh Hasina — the guns finally fell silent. On December 2, 1997, the historic CHT Accord was signed. It was more than a peace agreement; it was a pledge to recognize the Indigenous identity of the hills, devolve power to local councils, return dispossessed lands, rehabilitate refugees and internally displaced peoples, withdraw temporary military camps and military rule, and reform discriminatory laws, so on.

However, twenty-seven years later, that pledge lies in fragments.

Since 1997, five political governments and two caretaker regimes have come and gone, yet none have fully implemented the accord. The very party that signed it — the Awami League — remained in power for over a decade but allowed its core promises to wither. Land disputes remain unresolved, the Land Commission exists only on paper, and not a single one of the 26,000 land claims filed by Indigenous families has been settled. Military camps, which were slated for withdrawal, still dominate the hills. Outsiders continue to occupy Indigenous Peoples’ lands under state-backed leases, and refugees who returned from India and the people who were displaced during the conflicting situation remain without proper rehabilitation.

Meanwhile, the hills are scarred by arbitrary arrests and detention, false charges, land grabbing, forced evictions, communal attacks, and violence against women. When pressed about the Accord, successive governments point to ‘development projects,’ as if roads and buildings could substitute for justice and rights.

The former Awami League government had its own perspective on the situation. It proudly claimed that 65 out of the 72 sections of the CHT Accord were ‘fully implemented,’ with an additional 3 partially completed. They asserted that the remaining sections were simply a matter of time. However, the PCJSS disputes this claim, stating that only 25 of the 72 sections are complete, while 29 have been ignored and 18 are only partially fulfilled. The reality is clear — the political and structural roots of the conflict remain unresolved.

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Parable of brotherhood

THERE is an ancient story about brotherhood, one rooted in love and generosity. A man and his wife worked the land and had two sons. They prospered, and before the man died, he instructed his sons to share everything equally among themselves. After his death, the brothers honoured this wish. One brother married and had five children, while the other remained single. To ensure fairness, the unmarried brother secretly stored extra grain for his brother. Unbeknownst to him, the married brother was doing the same. Their mutual generosity continued unnoticed until they accidentally bumped each other while carrying sacks of grain. Recognising their actions, they quickly looked away and returned home. When they eventually passed away, the villagers built a temple at the spot where the two brothers met, honouring their selfless love and highlighting the power of unconditional generosity between the brothers.

The CHT accord should have been such a temple — a sacred promise between brothers in a ‘state-family’, meant to build peace and solidarity for the state itself.

Hope for renewed dialogue and action

NOW, Bangladesh stands at another crossroads. The Hasina government fell in August 2024, paving the way for an interim administration led by Dr. Muhammad Yunus. This new government has reconstituted the CHT Accord Implementation and Monitoring Committee, led by foreign affairs adviser Md Touhid Hossain, with Santu Larma and Sudatta Chakma as members. There are discussions of renewed dialogue, with a focus on land disputes and governance, as well as the formation of subcommittees to expedite implementation.

Hope flickers once again. Indigenous leaders and civil society urge the interim government to act, not just with words but with clear, time-bound actions. They demand the activation of the Land Dispute Resolution Commission, reforms to flawed legal frameworks, and the restoration of the democratic institutions promised in the accord. At a recent discussion in Dhaka organised by the Bangladesh Indigenous Peoples’ Forum, frustration over decades of neglect was palpable. Participants called for a clear roadmap to restore peace and justice.

After his first meeting with the reconstituted committee in Rangamati, Touhid Hossain described the dialogue as ‘fruitful’ and pledged continued engagement. The committee vowed to prioritise core provisions, recommend actions and ensure regular monitoring. The interim government claims it has given the accord top priority. It is a positive step by the interim government toward peace and security in the region.

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Path forward

THE armed conflict that preceded the CHT Accord felt like a family tearing itself apart, as Indigenous Peoples endured decades of pain while state forces clashed with guerrilla fighters. The 1997 accord was intended to heal these wounds and restore trust. However, after twenty-seven years of neglect and half-measures, deep doubts and a lingering sense of betrayal have taken root within the communities in the hills.

We have heard two narratives — two models of brotherhood. The choice before us is clear: which model will we embrace? Will this new government finally honour the promise sealed in 1997? Or will the hills continue to be a silent graveyard of broken promises?

The new government must uphold the 1997 accord to avoid further betrayal and unfulfilled commitments. For the sake of justice and the lives lost, action is needed now before hope fades away.

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Milinda Marma is an an indigenous writer and activist.