Movements leave an indelible mark on the psyche of the people, and thus, the culture. As people are pushed to the brink of intolerance through oppressive measures, fear eventually evaporates and the sentiments of the people are amplified causing seismic shifts in the zeitgeist. From its humble beginnings in the Bronx in New York City, hip-hop and rap have since transitioned into a global phenomenon. Its inception, however, is a tale of resistance and revolt. In recent times, the spirit of this tradition has been witnessed in Bangladesh during the July uprising.

Following a series of historic changes in legislation that empowered Black communities from the early '60s, the rate of progress they made eventually stagnated after the passing of the Voting Rights Act of 1965. This period saw economic and political inequalities widen with reduced investment in Black communities. But the Black Arts Movement was on the rise—seeking to reimagine and expand the horizons of art made by Black Americans. The trait that truly made hip-hop a tool for resistance, however, was its ability to gather people and reinforce a sense of community—one that was marred by the deficiencies of the system.

Any tool that has the capacity to unite is a threat to the powers that be. Reducing polarity, after all, allows people to recognise that their suffering is united by one common factor: the oppressor. More so, it is the methods employed by the oppressor that enable hip-hop to be used as a tool for resistance.

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After the rain

Hip-hop has the potential to shift and dismantle such perceptions, and the music that has come out as a result of the Quota Reform-turned-Students Against Discrimination Movement in Bangladesh sought to do precisely that. The songs reflect the outrage and aggression of the students who initially revolted against an unjust and discriminatory recruitment system and later, called for the fall of the regime. They also commemorated the martyred.

"Kotha Ko" by SHEZAN begins with a high-pitched ring of the flute, evoking an ominous feeling. This short intro comes to an abrupt halt and is drowned by SHEZAN's abrasive delivery. His lyricism is rife with rage as he demands answers to confrontational questions. "Amar bhai-boin more rastay, tor cheshta koi re?" (My brothers and sisters are dying on the streets, where are your efforts [to stop it]?) and "Kalshaap dhorse gola pechay, bair kor shaaper matha ko?" (The black snake has us by the neck, find out where its head is). It is only in the former lyric that SHEZAN refers to the martyred students as his own brothers and sisters. In contrast, when speaking of the snake, he doesn't precisely point out whom it is choking. He doesn't let any one person or group become the victim. Instead, the phrasing insists that everyone is gasping for air. What he isn't subtle about though, is his contempt for the regime which he calls a black snake. The colour black, while synonymous with malice, is perhaps also a reference to the saree the former Prime Minister wore when addressing the nation on July 17.

However, it is the line "Raja johon projar jaan loi, jiga taile raja kaar?" (When the king kills his people, whom does the king belong to?) that resonated with me the most. It is framed as a basic question but the answers are jarring, and encapsulate all that is wrong with the former government. It is also worth noting that the line employs a double entendre through the last two words that sound a lot like Razakaar. It almost feels as though he is asking who the traitors really are. As the track progresses, the imagery becomes more scathing. SHEZAN references a blood-soaked Bangladeshi flag, goons gorging on the flesh of their own brothers, and the battering of the nation's backbone.

While "Kotha Ko" inquires, "Awaaz Utha" by Hannan commands. His delivery encapsulates the full spectrum of rapture that ran rampant throughout the country. As he breaks into flow, the pain he feels is just as palpable as the anger. The track is a call for mobilisation, both of the people and the truth. Hannan shatters the lies that Sheikh Hasina and her party tried to push. Instead, he makes it clear that the students don't represent an agenda or a political party. They are here to stand in solidarity with their fallen comrades, no matter what it takes. He also juxtaposes the courage of the students with the cowardice of authority.

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The loss of essentiality

Throughout the fourth stanza of the verse, he grimly illustrates the greed that plagued the regime. The line "Amar boin re maira dili, tor ghorer ta marti tui?" (You killed my sister, would you kill your own?) is evocative. It is a reminder that such brutal and mindless violence would never be inflicted on any of them, as if their lives were of greater value. As a song of resistance, it shatters such notions by commemorating the students.

The journey of "Awaaz Utha" is poetic albeit greatly distressing. In the line, "Kotha hoile murdar deshe, nyayer awaaj tulbi ke?" (Speaking in the nation of dead men, why will you raise the voice of morality?), Hannan speaks of the suppression of justice. This is something the rapper himself fell prey to when he was arrested and placed in remand. He was later released along with all those unjustly arrested during the protests.

For the first time in years, artists have expressed themselves even in the face of adversity with little restraint. What enabled it was the infectious courage of the movement. "Kotha Ko" and "Awaaz Utha" are a testament to that. As history writes itself before our very eyes, these songs will aid in retelling it without any distortions. More importantly, it will serve to remind us that we must wield our tools of expression without fear.

Abir Hossain is a sub editor at Campus, Rising Stars, and Star Youth.