My father used to tell a story about the book-buying behaviour of the nouveau riche from a certain region of the world. I don’t know how much of this is a reflection of reality, but here’s how it goes: a super-rich trader comes into a bookshop to order books for his drawing room cum library. He looks around the shop and then orders the bookseller to give him 100 yards of green books, 80 yards of red books, 60 yards of yellow… so on and so forth. He needs to fill the space of the few metres-long mahogany shelves built in his palace with colours of his choice—trying to get urban, modern, and earn some prestige.
Tagging a group of people with a derogatory name and thereby erasing the individuality of its members is one of the most effective ideological tools used by fascists. It is the starting point of the process of racialisation, leading to the construction of labels that are often associated with stereotypes, discrimination, and social hierarchies. Labelling a group of people with a derogatory name is also the first step to denying their humanity.
The judiciary is one of the three organs of the state and serves as the guardian of the Constitution. Its role is to keep the executive and Parliament in check. For a long time, the judiciary in Bangladesh fulfilled this role sufficiently well, earning the utmost confidence of the people.
Writing the history of the 1971 Liberation War, the most pivotal event in the region, remains a complex task. This war continues to shape the present, deeply influencing our understanding of the past.
It was unquestionably the duty of the mainstream media—especially during the internet blackout when people had no other source of news to turn to—to provide people with actual, factual information about their country, their people, and their government. It was only because the people “took the media into their own hands” through social media that they were able to fulfil the role of the media to inform, to educate, and to persuade.
The term “Bangalee-pahari conflict” is used as a contextual term for the English “ethnic conflict.” The rhetoric of ethnic conflict or ethnic violence views ethnic identity as an immutable feature of human nature. Or, in other words, these terms create the assumption that violence along ethnic lines is “primordial” or inherent to ethnic or cultural differences. This is seriously problematic because such assumptions normalise violence. In reality, both pahari/Indigenous people and the settler Bangalees are victims of state experimentation.
Between “July 34-36”, Bangladesh saw the explosion of a united democratic desire among people of all classes and professions. The demand for democracy was the revolutionary desire then. Following on from that, establishing meaningful democracy is going to be the true revolutionary programme now. The world is now calling it the Bangla Spring—the spring whose graffiti has adorned the walls of Dhaka.
No other government in this country's political history has been labelled “fascist” with such intensity, despite similar tendencies having existed before—at times to the same extent. The current context is unique in that it reflects the 15-year-long authoritarian rule of Awami League and its trickle-down oppression. Yet, understanding fascism is crucial if we seek to avoid the rise of another such regime.
Just as students stepped in to ebb looting, they inserted themselves into the formation of the government. These acts of interruption are important not only because of the principle in each—“thou shalt not steal” and “thou shalt not steal the people's will”—but also because each time these acts disrupted the given scripts and created an opening, however small, for something different to emerge.
Garment workers, earning a meagre Tk 12,500, found themselves united with the students and the public in their shared struggle against deprivation and discrimination. Over the past 15 years, every time they took to the streets to protest injustices, they were brutally silenced through violence, torture, attacks, lawsuits, and even murder. The history of the July uprising must also include the struggles and sacrifices of the working class, who are the driving force of the economy. Their voices must be represented at the national policy level.
Following the collapse of the government, reports began to circulate of attacks on temples, establishments and persons belonging to minority groups (that is, those of non-Bengali and non-Sunni Islam origins). News of these attacks themselves began to be weaponised, by regional and international interests, in a bid to reinforce the illusory narrative set by the Awami League.
Anu Muhammad discusses the people's aspirations for equality, the ambiguity around 'discrimination,' and the challenges faced by the left in Bangladesh. From class and gender inequality to ethnic and religious discrimination, this conversation highlights the crucial issues we must address to build a just society.
Our people opened a new horizon of possibilities and demonstrated what it means to be active citizens. In the days of chaos following the fall—with no police and the army happy to sit back—they took on traffic regulation, protected their neighbourhoods, and organised a massive relief effort for the flood victims. They did all this without command and with no thought of reward other than a functioning state. The jury is still out on what they have received in turn.
Badruddin Umar, a leading Marxist intellectual, political analyst, and activist, talks about the recent student-led mass uprising and what lies in the political future of Bangladesh in an interview with Ananta Yusuf, Priyam Paul, and Shamsuddoza Sajen of The Daily Star.
The use of cartoons in mass uprisings is a long-standing tradition, but the sheer volume of cartoons created in the last 20 days of July 2024 seems to be unprecedented in the country’s history. Many of these cartoons were produced by entirely new cartoonists, some of whom may have been drawing their first political cartoons. Yet, their work displayed a level of sharpness, awareness and expertise that belied their inexperience.
August 5, 2024 is two months behind us. That’s a much longer time than between citizens demanding the authoritarian Hasina step down and her actually fleeing. Yet, for many people, July-August 2024 will always shadow their present. Even by the end of August, pretty much all the beds of the ground floor casualty wards at the capital’s National Institute of Traumatology and Orthopaedic Rehabilitation (NITOR) were occupied by those injured during the student-led movement. The wards at the National Institute of Opthalmology & Hospital (NIOH), too, were filled with those who had received severe injuries to their eye(s) during the movement.
Eye-witnesses would describe that as early as mid-day the police were shooting at protesters breaking curfew and trying to go to Shahbagh. When Hasina fell and Gono Bhaban was taken over, the protesters turned on the police. The police were armed—the protesters were not. Even though the government had fallen, they trooped out and shot everyone in sight.
How a student's movement for reform of the quota system for government jobs turned into a mass upsurge against a fascist government and led to the fall of Sheikh Hasina after 15 years in power