Goom: Jan o Joban – Documenting the grief behind enforced disappearances

On the ground floor at the back of the National Museum, a dimly lit space only shines light on the exhibition's pieces, and nothing else. 

The darkness starts to become overwhelming the longer you stand there, because it represents the same silent, dark, and unknown fate the victims of disappearances faced. They were alone, surrounded by darkness, and cut off from the world they knew. 

When loved ones pass away, one way or another, closure finds its way to loved ones. But what happens when they disappear one day, without a trace, never to return? The exhibition, 'Goom: Jan o Joban' encapsulates this silent grief.

In the past 15-16 years, enforced disappearances became a common phenomenon. While many never returned, some of whom did return, went under the radar almost immediately. Discussing these incidents publicly became a matter of danger as well. 
Now, all these years later, the unspoken words and unseen pictures of those who suffered a horrible silent fate have surfaced through the photography exhibition 'Goom: Jan o Joban.' The exhibition was curated by photographer Mushfiqur Rahman Johan and is being hosted at the National Museum in Dhaka. The exhibition is open to all till 6 September.

The curator, also the sole photographer of the event, took photos of the protests and family members of those who disappeared without a trace. His goal was to bring forward what the victims' loved ones were going through and what they wanted. Some of them wanted the lost to return, while some purely wanted an explanation as to why they had to be taken away.

The exhibition also showcased newspaper cuttings which featured reports of the disappearances, adding a voice to the story.

The news reports especially highlighted the disappearance of Ismail Hossain Baten and the gut-wrenching grief his family members faced while demanding his return.

The exhibition also aims to keep up the efforts and motivation to seek justice alive. 

Enforced disappearances occurred in the first place to silence individuals and their families. As people disappeared, more became afraid to speak up. But the demand for justice never really faded.

The photographs told a thousand stories without saying a single word. One of the most jarring parts was the videos displaying CCTV footage of victims being taken away by men in plain clothes, never to be seen or heard from again. 
Each piece documented a dark history, and the impact it left. 

One of the photos showed a nearly empty desk, with small items like a clock, a few notebooks, and flower vases neatly kept atop it. It belonged to one of the victims and the items on the desk were his belongings.
But what stood out the most were the small notes, stuck on the wall surrounding the desk. Each carried a meaningful message such as, "Life is a journey, enjoy the ride" or "Think out of the box" or "If you want to shine like a sun, first you should burn like a sun." 

The photo stopped me in my tracks. These are some of the driving principles for someone who was meant to do great things, I realised, but that chance never came around.

Another photo showed a little note stuck on a wall, inside a ring of flowers. The note said, "I get jealous seeing your smile. Would you rather see me crying? Would you be able to stop it?

A deep yet silent cry it felt like, out of someone who had lost everything to an unknown void. It was a representation of something truly heartbreaking.

But perhaps one that tops it all off is the simple picture of a door to one of the victims' rooms, which had the words "I Hate Them" written on it. It was just a picture with no voice or sound. But the uncontrolled rage seeping through the lens was undeniable. When your loved one is taken away without explanation and a trace, such rageful hate is understandable.