What shapes the language and direction of successful movements?

Mahrukh Mohiuddin

In Bangladesh’s recent history, we witnessed a similar trend. A lot of people—those in bureaucracy, media, security forces, or intermediaries associated with the development agenda—were becoming cash-rich overnight, by getting cuts from the various development activities of the government. As per Maslow’s hierarchy theory, what they now needed was prestige. Therefore, some of them, or their family members, started becoming authors of books, with manuscripts after manuscripts being churned out effortlessly. And there was no dearth of publishers willing to oblige them with lavish and high-quality production. These book projects made perfect business sense: the return on investment was fully secured. The aesthetics of these books would also be of varied qualities. To make the books look substantive, and to make up for the lack of real content in them, sometimes they would be so heavy that you could use them as bricks.

Some even had PhD theses to publish. The texts often read like high school term papers, which came with endorsements from noted academics. There were also mandatory year-long celebrations prescribed by the regime, which required bringing out publications by all government institutions and public and private universities, as a token of their loyalty. The quality or originality of the publications didn’t quite matter, as long as ample praise and glorification of the power icons were ensured.

The previous regime’s attempt to keep its stakeholders satisfied resulted in the rise of this new band of “writers” who were too lucrative to refuse for a certain band of publishers.

Now that the undeserving celebration of mediocrity has hopefully halted, it is time to analyse how a land where people are known for their resistance, where some of the most brilliant creative and intellectual minds were born and nurtured, turned into a breeding ground of substandard publications, and why the country’s intellectuals lined up to hail the works of questionable quality. For example, the annual Ekushey Book Fair became a place to showcase pirated or plagiarised content published by authors who are desperate for publicity, while the truly creative and academic minds wandered around with defeat in their eyes.

While all this was happening, what went unnoticed was that some youth groups engaged in a serious study of Bangladesh’s evolution as a state and ideology, and devoured all the information they could get their hands on, be it online or in print. The courage, confidence, and articulation we observe in some of the young leaders of the July uprising did not emerge out of the blue. The words they use are the result of months of study and argumentation; they closely followed the resistance activities and language of opposition political forces struggling to keep their voices afloat, and were carefully guided by their mentors and teachers, who planted the seed of knowledge-based decision-making. Among the fruits of being liberated from a farcical regime is probably the sum total of organised and focused study and debates that took place in a consistent manner over time.

If we study the 1969 uprising and the intellectual contributions which established that the people of East Pakistan were facing inequality and injustice, we would observe a similar trend of intellectual discourses taking place in the background. While mobilisation on the streets was the optics that motivated the masses to join the movements of 1952, 1969, 1971, 1990 and 2024, let us not, in any way, discount the power of intellectual exercises that fuelled the development and guided the direction of each of these events.

This is where we see the role of academia, knowledge creation, research, development of readership, and critical engagement as core components of building the foundations of national consciousness, identity, self-dignity and sovereignty. The sense of sovereignty is first developed within oneself before it is reflected across a populace. The language used by any movement or uprising determines how accommodating the atmosphere is, how much even the most marginalised person in the remotest corner of a country feels connected with the spirit. Expressions on banners and placards are also meant to be rooted in the deep understanding of where we come from as a people. Without internalising the nature of the society, the history of a people and its evolution, songs and slogans are hollow, and uprisings unsustainable.

Ever since August 5, we see a number of emotionally charged but intellectually rich conversations taking place at various locations, online and offline, centring constitutional and educational reforms, nationalism, the form of secularism we need to rebuild our identity, the kind of universities we want, and what health system will serve all citizens equitably. If these discussions took place even three months ago, we wouldn’t have seen such overwhelming participation of a wide cross-section of our society. But that reality has changed beyond our imagination. Who would have thought that some 300 people would gather in a room that can barely hold 200, with unstable air conditioning and electricity, and listen to hours of debates on constitutional reform, with many sitting on the floor and others standing by the walls? If this is not magical, I don’t know what is.

The importance of constant contributions to our intellectual knowledge base cannot be understated. A vibrant culture of argumentation, freedom of expression and openness to criticism are the prerequisites for developing into a higher entity—as a person, as a society, and as a state. During the repressive rule, we unfortunately lost the habit of tolerating opposing views. But it is breathtakingly refreshing to see how people from all walks of life and age groups are organically getting engaged in dialogues and discussions, and with due respect to views that they not necessarily subscribe to.

People aspire for a country where each citizen can reach their full potential; they want a state that enables this environment and an equitable distribution of wealth and access to basic facilities. This cannot be materialised if we fail to seriously engage with history, society, experiences of other countries, and engage in an honest self-reflection of who we are and how best we can accommodate the diversity that exists around us. Therefore, the expectation for publishers to be conscientious and professional, and to be true gatekeepers of knowledge, has increased manifolds in this new reality. We should be held accountable for doing anything less.

Mahrukh Mohiuddin is the managing director of The University Press Limited (UPL).

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