The Rohingya refugee crisis has scratched old wounds. I noticed Jamaat-e-Islami and others on the streets, and a muted response from our government. Further afield, there is an understandably reluctant Hasina Wajid, a divided Muslim Ummah and a proverbial late response from the world community. We have been here before. I never knew East Pakistan, or Bangladesh for that matter, but I have a great affection for both. Because despite borne out of different places, we had once made a home together. That home, a country, was first in our minds and then on a map as we dreamt and sang together. It was about where we came from, but also about where we were going and never have been before. We just had a desire to go home together — a desire to be whole again. Home is not just a house, a town or a country on a map. Home is people — the people you love the most and vice versa. It is not necessarily the place where you were born but the place where you create yourself. Doing the latter, we unfortunately grew apart in East Pakistan. We stopped dreaming together, became cold, and stopped wanting — our souls died. When our lives became graveyards of buried hopes, we separated. It was a painful goodbye, because nothing was really said, nothing was ever explained. In wars, no matter how just, atrocities take place. They leave deep scars on hearts. Denials cannot bury these because folklore gets filled with ghosts who refuse to rest in their graves. The conflict between denial (by Pakistan) and proclamation (by Bangladesh) gives rise to doublethink, which results in dramatic and bizarre symptoms at individual and national levels. No amount of anger, blame, sociocultural boycott, rejection or acceptance of nationality on technical grounds or abuse helps because both of us are stuck in a time warp. After repatriating the last contingent in the 1990s, we seem to have abandoned the 160,000-300,000 Pakistanis left behind. How can we stand up for Rohingyas, Palestinians or, for that matter, give any hope to Kashmiris if we abandon our own people? When you suffer an overwhelming loss, you cry until there is nothing left in you. You scream and pray for the pain to go away but nothing makes a difference. Then a time comes when you need to give it up because it hurts too much. This does not mean you scumb to the despair, but try and find an antidote. This is not about moving on — it’s about making peace with the pain and finding a purpose. It is about rediscovering yourself and starting over again. It is about letting the process of healing begin. As soon as we put away self-righteousness and being aggrieved, the process of healing starts. It is gentle and slow, like the soft closing of a door. Forty-six years is a welcome boundary between the horrors of 1971 and ourselves. With the passage of time, the human ability to forget can be medicinal. If Bangladesh could forgive us (and vice versa), it does not mean submission or dominance but simply stopping bearing a grudge. This will not change the past, but it does change the future. Forgiveness, however, is not a one-off decision — it is a journey that requires time, resolve and perseverance. There is no single way to heal from a trauma. Each survivor has to choose their own path. Bangladesh may have to learn to accept an apology she never got. Pakistan may have to come to terms with the whole truth about what had happened. Both need to accept the most basic method of letting go of the past by looking at it as a learning experience. It would help turn their procedural memories into words and actions, which can be understood. They would need to turn their ghosts into common ancestors who do not haunt them anymore but become a part of their common history. Pakistan has lived with the guilt of leaving “Stranded Pakistanis” in subhuman conditions in the slums around Bangladesh. Thousands of them were killed during the civil war as they had sided with (West) Pakistan. Most of them or their ancestors had earlier immigrated to Pakistan in 1947, losing thousands of relatives in the process. After repatriating the last contingent in the 1990s, Pakistan seems to have abandoned the 160,000-300,000 left behind. How can we stand up for Rohingya, Palestine or for that matter give any hope to the Kashmiris if we abandon our own people? It feels like a dagger driven through my heart when I think about these Pakistanis looking towards us. There is no such thing as the right time, situation or place to make things right. However, China Pakistan Economic Corridor (CPEC) can be a sliver lining for these stranded Pakistanis as well. We only need to have a couple of towns built close to the industrials zones to accommodate them viably. Pakistan Army was a major stakeholder in the events of 1971 and is a key player in the CPEC development. I look up to them to work with the Pakistan government on this idea. I can guarantee that generous Pakistanis at home and abroad would be happy to fund this under a credible leadership. This would also be a giant leap in improving our relationship with Bangladesh as they deal with the growing Rohingya refugee crisis. The writer is a Consultant Psychiatrist & Visiting Professor based in London. He tweets @AamerSarfarz Published in Daily Times, September 27th 2017.