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The ejajot of Rohingya refugees in the age of digital humanitarianism
  • M Sanjeeb Hossain, Tasnuva Ahmad, Mohammad Azizul Hoque and Tin Swe
  • May 2024
A Rohingya refugee in Ukhiya, Bangladesh carries a gas cylinder for cooking. A biometric ID card is needed to access these cylinders. Credit: Abdullah Habib (Rohingya refugee)

This article outlines the circumstances that led to the ejajot (informed consent) of many Rohingya refugees not being taken during the joint verification exercise, which ultimately led to the biometric registration of almost a million Rohingya people.

In the past few years, we sought to understand at a deeper level how the forcibly displaced Rohingya people living in Bangladesh participated in the biometric registration processes at the core of a joint verification exercise launched by the Bangladesh government and UNHCR in 2018. We were particularly drawn to this topic after Human Rights Watch (HRW) claimed in 2021 that the Bangladesh Government had shared the collected biometric data with the Myanmar Government without the informed consent of Rohingya refugees. UNHCR disputed this claim almost immediately.

To unearth whether informed consent had been taken, we organised seven focus group discussions (FGDs), which allowed us to have candid conversations with Rohingya refugees and representatives of several local NGOs that partnered with UNHCR during the joint verification exercise. Through the informal trust network of the Centre for Peace and Justice, we also collaborated with six Rohingya refugee volunteers who conducted key informant interviews with 12 Rohingya refugees whose testimonies were subsequently transcribed and analysed by the authors of this article.

As we reflected on our conversations, we realised that while informed consent as a concept within the context of data protection was not something that many Rohingya people were familiar with, the underlying principles of this concept did indeed exist in the form of ejajot, a word from the Rohingya language. This is the story of the circumstances that led to the ejajot of many Rohingya refugees not being taken by the Bangladesh government and UNHCR during the joint verification exercise, which began in 2018 and ultimately led to the biometric registration of almost a million Rohingya people by the end of 2023.

The biometric registration drive in the Rohingya refugee response

Immediately after the mass displacement of Rohingya refugees in August 2017, the Bangladesh government’s Ministry of Home Affairs, with ‘technical assistance’ from UNHCR, began the process of biometrically registering Rohingya refugees. Despite criticisms concerning the exploitative aspects of collecting and using the data of the Rohingya people, the biometric registration processes were deployed at full speed over the next few months.

It was in the first Joint Response Plan (JRP) of 2018 that key partners prioritised the need to “harmonise existing databases” and produce “a unified database” that would have “biometric information [of] the whole refugee population”. According to the JRP, securing the identities of refugees “through registration and documentation” would enable refugees to “exercise their rights”, facilitate the targeted providing of assistance “to people in need”, “achieve equity in assistance delivery”, “control duplication and manipulation of beneficiary lists”, and finally “facilitate solutions”.

In early 2018, the Bangladesh government and UNHCR signed a memorandum of understanding relating to data sharing. Although this agreement remains confidential, according to a UNHCR Operational Update, it ensured that the “use of information for purposes other than assistance and identification or transfer to third parties would need to be approved by UNHCR”. In June 2018, the Bangladesh Government and UNHCR launched its joint verification exercise as a consequence of which, by the end of December 2023, 971,904 Rohingya people received “credit card-sized plastic IDs” in exchange for their biometric data.

In the course of our fieldwork, we realised that it was not just the scholarly community that expressed reservations over what was more or less an unregulated biometric registration drive. We knew from past literature that the Rohingya community was unhappy because the ID did not, for unfathomable reasons, acknowledge their ethnic ‘Rohingya’ identity. They felt that the ID card should have recognised their ‘Rohingya’ identity, for which they were not just marginalised but also persecuted. In protests that ensued, the Rohingya people expressed their dissatisfaction over the lack of transparency surrounding the exercise and for not being engaged at all when the ID was being designed. They were also fearful of UNHCR and the Bangladesh government sharing their data with authorities in Myanmar “which could use the information against them”.

As our conversations with our interviewees progressed, it became apparent to us that many belonging to the Rohingya community were sceptical of having their fingerprints taken and their irises scanned. They recalled feeling alienated from and unfamiliar with such digital data collection methods. Many of them told us that while they were assured that they would benefit from being biometrically registered, they felt like ‘voiceless subjects’ in an overarchingly foggy process. So, in the end, what led to nearly a million Rohingya people participating in a biometric registration drive of such massive proportions?

The ejajot of Rohingya refugees on the side-lines

In its 2021 statement responding to Human Rights Watch, UNHCR claimed that before taking their biometric data, each refugee family was “informed of the purpose of the joint registration” and was asked “to consent to their data being shared with partners on the ground” to facilitate receiving assistance. It clarified that the registration exercise was also used “to establish Rohingya refugees’ former residence in Myanmar and right to return”, and to that end, “refugees were separately and expressly” asked to consent to have “their data shared with the Government of Myanmar by the Government of Bangladesh”.

UNHCR assured that “a widespread counselling and information campaign” was set in motion “to explain the exercise” and to “inform refugees that they would all be able to access the same services and entitlements, regardless of their consent to share their data with the Government of Myanmar”. Furthermore, UNHCR claimed that individual counselling sessions were held in the language understood by the Rohingya people to make sure that they “fully understood the purpose of the exercise” by “responding to their questions and concerns” and also to help them “make an informed decision”. UNHCR also stated that it had been made absolutely clear to the Rohingya people that consenting to have their data shared with local partners to receive assistance as opposed to having their data shared with Myanmar was unconnected to each other. Even if they refused to have their data shared, they “would still access the same assistance and entitlements as all others”. This amounted to each Rohingya family’s consent being “confirmed at least twice” and signatures confirming consent being “only obtained following this double-confirmation”. In essence, UNHCR’s position is that it took the informed consent of Rohingya refugees before and also during the biometric registration drive.

While the recollections of our interviewees from the Rohingya community and representatives of local NGOs bear some similarities with UNHCR’s claims, they also mark important points of departure. Many of our Rohingya interviewees had never heard of the English words ‘informed’ and ‘consent’. However, as we explained what ‘informed consent’ meant, they quickly pointed out that what we described was aptly captured by the word ejajot. A Rohingya refugee quite poignantly explained:

“Ejajot confirms our mon-er iccha (the desire of our mind). Suppose an unknown person approaches me and asks about my family details. I will likely feel uncomfortable sharing the desired information with him or her. To share, I need to first be satisfied with this person. I need to agree that I will share my information. This iccha (desire) is essential. I need to give you permission, my ejajot. Taking my ejajot is paramount because this guarantees that you will treat my information correctly.”

Not a single Rohingya person we spoke to felt that his or her ejajot had been taken. They acknowledged receiving explanations from their respective majhis (community leaders) and local NGO representatives about the purpose behind the biometric registration process. Some recalled being told that biometric registration would facilitate receiving rations and expedite future repatriation initiatives. However, many also claimed that the organised awareness sessions did not adequately explain what they were a part of. A Rohingya refugee, echoing the views held by many of the other participants of the focus group discussions, said:

“The [biometric] registration process began soon after we arrived in Bangladesh. We were in a state of trauma. We just did as we were told and got registered. It was a very rushed process.”

Alarmingly, echoing past claims, many of our Rohingya interviewees alleged that those who initially resisted or refused to take part in the biometric registration drive were informally told by representatives of the government and UNHCR that if they did not change their minds, they would not receive rations in the future, be able to work inside camps or repatriate to Myanmar. In not so many words, the Rohingya people never had a real option to refuse to participate in the biometric registration process. They were merely presented with an illusion that their informed consent, their ejajot, had been taken.

Issues with the concept and practice of taking informed consent

The manner in which the Bangladesh government and UNHCR launched the joint verification exercise in 2018 and subsequently collected large amounts of biometric data, and the analysis presented in this article showing how the ejajot of the Rohingya people was not taken, raises important questions concerning the meaning of informed consent in the age of digital humanitarianism.

During our focus group discussions and key informant interviews, we often wondered to what extent our Rohingya interviewees were really concerned or bothered by the fact that their ejajot had not really been taken. From the tone of their voices and facial expressions, we were left with the impression that while the Rohingya people understood and valued the concept of ejajot, it was not a pressing concern to them.

At the expense of sounding provocative, is the bar envisioned by Human Rights Watch in relation to informed consent unrealistically high? After the sudden mass displacement of hundreds of thousands of Rohingya people in 2017, to what extent was it really logistically possible to individually gain the ejajot of every single Rohingya refugee before taking biometric data? How can a community that has been marginalised decade after decade be expected to easily understand the value of data and give their informed consent or ejajot? By focusing on the absence of ejajot, are we diverting attention away from more pressing matters concerning the plight of Rohingya refugees? Is ejajot or informed consent in the digital humanitarian age a concept presented and emphasised upon refugees by benevolent responders to refugee crises and situations? These are questions that bother us. We are unsure of the answers.

Conclusion

August 2024 will mark the seventh anniversary of a refugee situation in Bangladesh, surpassing UNHCR’s definition for protracted displacement. These years are a testament to a heroic tale of – Bangladesh – one of the world’s poorest countries collaborating with UNHCR and other UN agencies, as well as a host of national and international NGOs, to shelter and save over a million Rohingya people. An overarching global refugee regime marred by a culture of responsibility shifting as opposed to responsibility sharing, where developing countries end up shouldering far more responsibilities towards refugees, continues to prevail. Under these circumstances, we do not hesitate to admit that the biometric smart card has benefits and gives many Rohingya refugees a sense of identity. That does not mean that we can shy away from acknowledging that the failure to take the ejajot of Rohingya refugees during the process that resulted in these IDs is reflective of a top-down biometric registration process that pushed to the absolute side-lines the thoughts and needs of its subjects.

Both the Bangladesh government and UNHCR felt that it was okay to deny the Rohingya people the opportunity to even be minimally involved in shaping how the biometric registration process would roll out, what data would get shared and with whom, the risks inherent in biometric registration, and how those risks could be mitigated. The Bangladesh government and UNHCR saw no wrong in signing an MoU concerning the sharing of the data of Rohingya refugees but, at the same time, kept the contents of that MoU confidential from the people it was meant to allegedly protect. These hard truths do not come as a surprise to us or to the Rohingya people we interviewed. After all, with a minimal ‘right to have rights’, the legal status of the Rohingya people is precarious. Where discussions on data protection and sharing are only beginning to gain traction in Bangladesh, where a national law on such remains unrealised, it is unsurprising that the ejajot of Rohingya refugees was ignored when their biometric data was taken from them.[1]

 

M Sanjeeb Hossain, Director (Research)
sanjeeb.hossain@bracu.ac.bd  X: @SanjeebHossain  @cpj_bracu

Tasnuva Ahmad, Research Associate

Mohammad Azizul Hoque, Faculty

Tin Swe, Rohingya refugee and Volunteer of the Refugee Studies Unit (RSU)

Centre for Peace and Justice (CPJ), BRAC University

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[1] This research was carried out with support from the Stateless in the Bengali Borderlands: New Technologies and Challenges for Identity and Identification project of the Peace Research Institute of Oslo (PRIO), which received funding from the Research Council of Norway; the ASILE project, which received funding from the EU Horizon 2020 programme for research and innovation under grant agreement nº 870787, and Asylum Access. We are grateful to the six Rohingya refugee volunteers who conducted the KIIs, our anonymous interviewees from the Rohingya and local NGO community, and Tamanna Siddika for translation support during the FGDs.

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