By Rajita Banerjee

‘Our flag is green and red, 
But today it is completely red, because of the bloodshed’ 

In July 2024, Bangladesh saw students pouring out onto the streets, protesting against the quota system that favored the descendants of the muktijoddhas (freedom fighters) in Bangladesh. The term refers to those who fought against the Pakistani military and its collaborators during the 1971 Bangladesh Liberation War. The War continues to be important to the Bangladeshi political narrative even today, as the descendants of the muktijoddhas became crucial points of reference. The term razakar (collaborator) was also relevant to the protests. While the protests started on the premise of abolishing the quota, the political unrest in the country escalated rapidly within a few days. The security forces working for Sheikh Hasina were complicit in killing more than 200 civilians, which earned the ire of the Bangladeshi citizens who were instigated to widen the scope of the movement. This paper seeks to look at the ways in which music, art, and popular culture references fuelled the protests, and how these events themselves contributed to the making of new music, along with focusing on how the protests themselves were memorialized. 

The rap song by Shezan,  with its evocative lines—”৫২-‘র তে ‘২৪-এ তফাত কই রে? কথা ক!” (Where is the difference between 1952 and 2024? Speak up!)—serves as both a call to action and a scathing critique of the socio-political realities in Bangladesh today. It challenges the listener to speak up against injustice, especially in the context of the wrongdoings of the Hasina government. Through its lyrics, the song addresses the government’s violent suppression of dissent, invoking imagery of citizens dying in the streets as a direct result of state action. This critique is particularly pointed against Sheikh Hasina’s regime and its recent crackdowns on student protesters, highlighting public ire against authoritarianism. On August 5, 2024, Hasina stepped down from the position of Prime Minister, and the student movement was considered to be a success. 

In Bangladesh, members of the student community are prone to rewriting history. For instance, the Shahbag intersection had been renamed as the Projonmo Chottor (The New Generation Roundabout). This was following the protests that took place in 2013, demanding the execution of the convicted war criminal, Abdul Quader Mollah. One of the most pivotal moments in the course of the protests in 2024 was the killing of Abu Sayed, a student at Begum Rokeya University in Rangpur. His fearless act of protest went viral across social media platforms, and his actions were compared to that of the ‘Tank Man’ – a man who stood in front of the tanks during the 1989 Tiananmen Square protests in China. Abu Sayed, stood, unarmed with his arms outstretched in front of police forces in Rangpur, when they fired bullets at him, and he succumbed to the injuries he sustained as a result of it. Since then several depictions of Abu Sayed have appeared across works of art related to the July protests, and drawing his image became a popular ‘art tutorial’ genre, with several YouTube thumbnails bearing the image of a man standing with his arms outstretched, as blood spilled out from his torso. In several depictions, Abu Sayed’s illustration is drawn in front of an outline of Bangladesh’s map or its flag, implying that with his hands outstretched, Sayed sought to safeguard the entire nation.

Another individual’s death gained media attention, as he was filmed distributing water bottles amongst protestors, moments before he was shot and killed. His name was Mir Mugdho. In the video, he kept asking, ‘Paani Laagbe, Paani?’ (do you want water?). His face was depicted on various artworks with the same lines painted beside his image. While Mugdho breathed his last on 18 July 2024, Anik Sahan released the song ‘ Paani Laagbe Paani’ on August 3, 2024. The song uses the audio from the clips of Mugdho that were circulated widely.

“Rokto diye bhai amader, Kore gelo rini; Lagbe naki pani karo, Lagbe naki pani” (trans: Our brother gave his blood, and made us indebted. Does anybody need water, is water needed?) 

Thus, both Mugdho and Sayed were treated as martyrs, their examples being employed in a network wherein people sympathize with the loss of young, promising lives. While Bangladesh witnessed protests with far-reaching consequences for the nation’s future, a parallel wave of unrest erupted in a neighboring region—one that would not have the same impact, but employed strikingly similar methods. 

Kolkata, August 2024 

On 9 August, 2024, a young trainee doctor was found dead within the premises of the R.G Kar Hospital in Kolkata. Autopsy reports revealed that she had been subjected to rape and torture before being murdered. Within days, as the news of this atrocity spread, people started going out to the streets of Kolkata, demanding justice for the slain victim. One of the most crucial starting points of a series of protests related to this event took place on 14th August, on the eve of India’s Independence Day, as women spread the word regarding ‘Reclaiming the Night’. 

Artwork in West Bengal, centred around the image of a woman doctor, and the stethoscope was a recurring symbol across illustrations that were created with the intent of drawing attention to the R.G Kar case. In October 2024, a statue that symbolizes the victim’s agony was installed in the premises of the hospital, in a bid to memorialize the tragedy. Like in Bangladesh, art played a pivotal role in spreading the word amongst the masses, especially as drone shots captured the images of protesters painting on streets. An interesting parallel between the two sides was the depiction of voices being stifled. In Bangladesh’s case, a security guard puts his hand over the mouth of a student, thereby silencing him. Artworks in Kolkata show a similar scene but with a woman’s mouth being covered instead. Several parallels can be drawn about the manner in which art was used by protesters in both Bengals. Many people in West Bengal also refused to show enthusiasm towards Durga Puja celebrations as a mark of solidarity with the protesters, which incited the Chief Minister of West Bengal, Mamata Banerjee, to say ‘Return to the festivities’. When in Bangladesh Hasina had jokingly quipped, that if the descendants of the muktijoddhas don’t get reservation benefits, should they be handed down to the descendants of razakars? This comment incensed the masses, who were quick to incorporate the word into their protests, often asking the question, ‘Chailam Ami Odhikar, Hoye Gelam Razakar’? (translation: “I asked for my rights, and I was labelled as a razakar?”)

In an artwork by artist Natasha Jahan, Sheikh Hasina is projected as ‘Hirak Rani’, which contains a reference to the Satyajit Ray directorial venture, Hirak Rajar Deshe (1980) where the titular character, Hirak Raja, is a tyrant who oppresses the masses he is ruling over. The same reference was applied to Banerjee, not only by masses, but also from the leader, current Indian Home Minister, Amit Shah. Thus, invoking Satyajit Ray’s work to refer to the rule of the tyrant was a trope present across both Bengals. ‘Pull the rope, and the king shall be deposed’- a popular saying from the film, also made its way into artworks and protests. A website, whose URL contains ‘hirakranibyebye.com’ asks for the visitor to register their mobile phone number, with the words ‘Register Here to Save Bengal from the Misrule of Hirak Rani Mamata Banerjee’.

The songs emerging from movements of resistance are often deeply contextual, reflecting the specific incidents and grievances that drive the protests. For instance, the song Aawaz Utha refers explicitly to the word “Razakar,” symbolizing betrayal and oppression during the political turmoil it addresses. The same word is invoked in songs such as Chhobisher Guerilla, Kotha Ko, and Gold Cube’s Desh Shongskar.  The rapper Hannan, who wrote Aawaz Utha, was arrested on 25 July for writing the song. The tropes that are common to the songs include the imagery of the kolom or pen, a weapon meant to be in the hands of the students. There are references to previous movements, especially the 1952 Language Movement. 

    In the case of Kolkata, popular singer Arijit Singh released the song Aar Kobe on August 27, 2024, which rapidly became the protest anthem for those voicing their dissent against the injustice faced by a trainee doctor. The song’s tone is mournful, offering a woeful lament that contrasts sharply with the fiery and invigorating rap tracks produced in neighboring Bangladesh. Singh begins the song with the evocative lyrics, ‘Jomchhe ek pahar, oshojhyo obichaar’ (“a mountain is getting built out of the pile of injustices that cannot be tolerated anymore”).

The terms “Tilottama” along with “Abhaya” (the one who is without fear) have been used to honor the junior doctor who turned into a symbol of resistance. Through its recurring refrain, Aar Kobe (when, if not today?), the song questions the delay in collective action. While reminiscent of Shezan’s Kotha Ko, a Bangladeshi track urging protest, Singh’s Aar Kobe channels grief rather than anger, urging listeners to act while grappling with the sorrow of the tragedy. 

      Faiz Ahmed Faiz’s ‘Hum Dekhenge’ which became a rallying cry for the protests pertaining to the Citizenship Amendment Act (CAA) in 2019, differs from the tropes that we find in this protest. Hum Dekhenge’s lyrics are addressing injustice in a manner that is not specific to a particular context, but can fit into a number of narratives that would contain an element of injustice, and involves the Islamic community. In that vein, these new songs were not the only songs that were used in the context of the protest. Songs that are a part of the anticolonial freedom struggle and came out of an undivided Bengal were also an important part of the protest. Salekin Siraj (@s_i_r_a_j_001) uploaded a video which was shot in New Market, Chattogram, where students are heard singing ‘Dhono Dhanne Pushpe Bhora’, a song composed by Dwijendralal Roy. The comment section of this video once again, reflects the sentiments one has towards a common Bengali identity, as this video was circulated widely, and several comments imply the fact that several Indian Bengalis were swayed by the sentimental value that the performance of this song held. The same audio was later on used for a video of protesters assembled in Kolkata, protesting against the perpetrators of the crime in the R.G. Kar case.  

 Conclusion: Convergence and Divergence of Bengali Identities in the 2024 Protests

   The two Bengals, Bangladesh and West Bengal, have maintained separate identities for a variety of historical, political, and cultural reasons. These distinctions have often been reinforced through the distinct trajectories followed by the two populations, especially within the diaspora.  However, the protests that unfolded in 2024 marked a temporary moment of convergence between these entities, a convergence driven by shared frustrations and political demands. These protests, while rooted in specific grievances, provided an unexpected occasion for the Bangladeshi and Indian Bengali diasporas to come together, offering a glimpse into how protest movements can transcend national boundaries and become a rallying point for cultural solidarity, and also influence.

The 2024 protests, which began in Bangladesh with demands for the abolition of quotas meant for freedom fighters, quickly escalated into a larger movement. This was fueled by mounting anger over police violence, culminating in the deaths of several protesters. As the situation grew more volatile, the protesters’ call for accountability intensified, crystallizing into the slogan “Dofa Ek, Dabi Ek, Sheikh Hasina’r Podotyaag” (“One Point, One Demand, Sheikh Hasina’s Resignation”). This chant reflected the protesters’ deepening frustration with the ruling regime, and the violence they endured only amplified the call for political change. The protests in Bangladesh took on a heightened sense of urgency, as the state’s response to the movement was increasingly marked by repression and censorship.

Meanwhile, across the border in West Bengal, a parallel moment of political unrest unfolded. On September 3, 2024, the West Bengal State Assembly hastily passed the Aparajita Women and Child (West Bengal Criminal Laws Amendment) Bill, in a situation where the ruling state party was being subjected to widespread criticism. The opposition parties, and those dissatisfied with Banerjee’s rule also demanded the resignation of West Bengal’s Chief Minister Mamata Banerjee, drawing a stark parallel to the protests in Bangladesh. In both cases, the political leaders of the respective regions—Sheikh Hasina in Bangladesh and Mamata Banerjee in India—found themselves at the center of protests that not only targeted their leadership but also highlighted the growing dissatisfaction with their governance.

What is particularly noteworthy about these events is the way they galvanized Bengali populations from both sides of the border, and these repercussions were felt within the diaspora communities too. For these communities, protest became not just a political act but a cultural one, reinforcing a collective Bengali identity. While the protests were sparked by specific national issues, they also created spaces where diasporic Bengalis, removed from the immediate context of the conflicts, could express solidarity. In the context of the Bangladesh protests, diaspora communities gathered in spaces like Jackson Heights in New York City. This convergence was not limited to the cultural activities or festivals that usually draw diasporic communities, such as Durga Puja. Tragic events, such as the deaths of protestors in Bangladesh and the killing of a trainee doctor in Kolkata, became additional catalysts for gathering and uniting Bengali communities abroad. A private group on Facebook, ‘Global Protest#RGKar’ has more than 4,300 members from the Indian Bengali diaspora community, wherein the developments regarding the RG Kar case are discussed on a daily basis. In September 2024, videos and photographs of people showing solidarity with the movement and seeking justice surfaced on the group. People were heard delivering speeches, reciting poetry, dancing to songs such as Nazrul Islam’s composition, Karar Oi Louho Kopaat, and singing Arijit Singh’s Aar Kobe amongst several other songs that talk about fighting against oppression. I was present at a protest being held at Times Square, held in September 2024. During the course of the protests, the organizers declared an order of things to do, which included a repertoire of songs and performances by those who had come to the site of the protest. Similar discussions were held on WhatsApp groups related to the protests, wherein discussions regarding the printing of placards and these performances were discussed before showing up to the site of protests. 

Parama Sigurdsen, writes in the context of Bangladesh, ‘One of the most powerful effects of social media was how efficiently it galvanized support for the students from more than 7 million Bangladeshis living abroad. Within days, the protests had expanded from a student movement to a nationwide uprising.’

The diasporic response to these protests challenges our understanding of the value and role of protests within transnational spaces. It suggests that protests, much like cultural festivals, can serve as moments of collective gathering and expression, not only in response to tragedies or political events but also in reaffirming shared histories, struggles, and identities. While the situations in Bangladesh and West Bengal were distinct in their political dynamics and intensity, they also highlighted a crucial point of convergence—a shared sense of outrage that transcended borders and mobilized diaspora communities into collective action, however brief it may have been. 

Ultimately, the 2024 protests, despite being marked by divergent political contexts in Bangladesh and West Bengal, reflect the enduring connections between these two Bengali identities. The timing of the events is also crucial for understanding this point of convergence, since the movements played out almost simultaneously, given the lack of a substantial time period that lapsed between the two movements. The brief moment of convergence underscores the complex ways in which both diasporic and national identities are shaped not only by cultural festivals but also by shared political causes and the collective experiences of struggle.