
A LOOK into the newspaper photo morgue, basically an array of directories sequentially numbered by date on the server in this digital era, where photojournalists — Md Sourav and Sony Ramani in the case of Ʒ — rest their day’s work, might weave a pattern of an event that broke out over days. This might also tell a story. The photographs of the student protests for the month of July that dominantly sought an end to civil service job reservations and in a handful of cases feebly veered towards reforms bring up a number of slogans written on posters, placards and banners that the protesters had held, mostly until the 17th.
As the protests turned violent in the middle of the month with people of the ruling Awami League’s fronts, aided by the law enforcers, having attacked the protesters, the situation that emerged left no space for the protesters to hold up placards or banners, stand still and shout slogans. It soon became a battlefield all over and the government deployed the elite police units, border guards, called the army out in aid to civil administration and imposed the curfew to quell the situation. The whole violent episode that it turned out to be, because of the attacks by law enforcement units on unarmed students, later joined in by students of private universities, colleges and schools and others, left several hundred dead.
The banner that the students banded under the Students against Discrimination held at a rally at Raju Memorial on the University of Dhaka campus in the morning of July 1 seeks the reinstatement of the circular that the government issued in 2018, doing away with job reservations of any type in civil service. This happened after the High Court on June 5 ordered the reinstatement of the reservations of the 30 per cent of civil service jobs that had earlier been reserved for the children and grand children of freedom fighters. The government dispensed with job reservations in 2018 in the wake of a prolonged student protests that had so demanded. The next day’s programme, which was also a rally, had the same banner.
Students then started sitting in on the campus. Girls holding up posters on July 3 read: Nari yekhane agrasar | Kota sekhane hasyakar — when women are advanced, job reservations (for women) are farcical. The scheme before 2018 had 10 per cent of civil service jobs reserved for women. This was, perhaps, the folly of a sort on part of the university students as, many still believe, women constrained by various factors in a patriarchal society that stop women from advancing are still in need of job reservations for a balanced development in civil service.
In the north, meanwhile on July 6, general students of Begum Rokeya University in Rangpur took to the streets, with a march and a rally, holding a banner seeking an end to job reservations. The writing on top of the banner read: Reinstatement of the 2018 circular. A poster read: 1971-er hatiyar | garje uthuk arekbar — the arms of 1971, let them go off again. Another read: Kota prathar batil chai | jago bahe kunthe sabay — We want quota abolished. Rise all, wherever you are — with the second line drawn from the famous play Nural Diner Sara Jiban by Syed Shamsul Haque, still making it a poor example of rhyming and metre. The play is the story of a young peasant leader who rose up in protest against the British in the region of Rangpur in 1189 Bangla san, which corresponds to 1782 AD.
The same day, students held a march on the University of Dhaka campus, holding posters that had seven slogans. They read: Nati putir kota keno? Amar bhai bekar keno? — Why are jobs reserved for grandchildren? | Why are my brothers jobless? Amar sonar banglay, baishamyer than-i nai — In my golden Bengal, there is no room for discrimination; Ekattarer raktakshaya | kotar janya nay — The 1971 bloodshed is not for quota; Yar buddhi mota | se chay kota — The thick-headed want a quota; Mother of Education | Remove the Discrimination; Kota tomader hatiyar | medha amader alangkar — Quota is your weapon, merit is our ornament; Kota pratha nipat yak | medhabira mukti pak — Down with quota, let the meritorious be free; and Kota diye kamla nay | medha diye amla chai — no labourers on quota, but bureaucrats on merit. It was the same day a boy was at the protests with Down with the quota system written on the bare chest, another with Constitutional fundamental is equality of opportunities, and yet another in shroud, with No reinstatement of quota written on it.
The next day on July 7, it was a boy in chains holding a placard reading: Bhenge phel ai kotar shikal — Break free this chain of quota; another slogan was Kotar khela bandha kare, medhabider mukta karo — Stop the game of quota and free the meritorious. There was a poster, with the word ‘quota’ with a cross mark and the word ‘merit’ with a tick mark. Yet, another said: Swadhinatar chetana | kotar sathe jay na—The spirit of independence doesn’t go with quota. Others were Shono shono bhai sakal | kota sangskar karbe ekhan — Hear me, brothers, it’s quota reforms now. This was the first feeble slogan for reforms, as the photographs suggest, veering away from the demand for cancellation. The slogan Kota chhere kalam dhar | birer rakta praman kar — Leave quota and hold the pen, prove that you’re a warrior and Kota mane bhiksha | mukti pak shiksha — Quota means alms, let education be free — all this suggests that the cancellation of the reservations was the dominant demand.
Qualified, not Quotafied, When injustice becomes law, resistance becomes duty or Reform quota, raise equality were the slogans in English for July 8 whilst the slogans in Bangla were Medhai habe yogyota | dhwangsa habe kotapratha — Merit should be the yardstick, down with the quota scheme, Ghare ghare khabar de | Kota prathar kabar de — Put out a call for all, let us bury the quota scheme and Kota pratha nipat yak | medhabira suyog pak — Down with quota scheme, Give the meritorious a chance.
A banner at a sit-in on July 9 read: Swadhin deshe thakchhi amra | swapna karchhi chash || adhikangsha tar kotay nilo | bakita prashna phans — We live in a free land, we grow our dreams, but quota eats most away, question leak does the rest. A one-liner was Medhabir janya kota abhishap — Quota is a curse for the meritorious. Two more two-liners from the day’s protests were Kota prathar biruddhe | jege uthun eksathe — Rise up together against the quota system and Dapha ek, dabi ek | Quota not come back — One point, one demand, quota mustn’t come back. A pie chart that one held up showed 44 per cent for merit and 56 per cent for quota. Two more slogans were Kota to nay seto, jatir galar phans re… — Quota is but a noose around the nation’s neck and Parashona bad dei, mathe giye chash dei — Let us quit studies and start tilling the ground.
The July 10 slogans renewed the call that they put out, saying Sara bangla khabar de, kota prathar kabar de — Put out the call all around for the burial of the quota system and, again a flicker of reforms, saying Quota [the word stricken out] Needs logical reforms. The July 12 slogan that Kotar ai lauha kapat, bhenge phel kar re lopat — Dismantle the iron gates of quota, raze them to the ground — drew an analogy on Kazi Nazrul Islam’s ‘Karar ai lauha-kapat, bhenge phel, kar le lopat,’ with the word ‘quota’ replacing the word ‘prison’ in the poem that he wrote for the people imprisoned for being involved in the Swadeshi movement during the British rule. The song first appeared as ‘Bhangar Gan’ (The song of the breaking) in a magazine called ‘Banglar Gan’ in January 1922.
A July 14 slogan condemned the quota scheme whilst it also questioned the public examinations system, saying Eke to kotar bansh | tar opar prashna phans — Added to the quota crux is the leak of questions. On July 15, after a night-long mayhem on the University of Dhaka campus, the slogan was Deshta ki tor bap-dadar | amago kas rajakar — Does the country belong to your family? How dare you call us razakars — the term that is used to mean the people who collaborated with the killer Pakistani junta during the liberation war in 1971. The episode followed the prime minister Sheikh Hasina having asked, referring to quota for the grandchildren of freedom fighters, whether the grandchildren of razakars would get public service jobs instead.
On July 16, the day marked by the killing of protesters, the slogans mainly centred on the razakar issue and the slogans of the July 14 night were repeated. Tumi ke? Ami ke? Rajakar, rajakar — Who’re you? Who am I? Razakar, Razakar, with an added line Ke balechhe? Ke balechhe? Swairachar, swairachar — Who said this? It was the autocrat. Chaite gelam adhikar | haye gelam rajakar — We sought our right and came to be called razakars. Ye bale rajakar | se hay swairachar — The one who calls us razakars are autocrats. Name swadhin, karte chay bak-hin—Boasting of freedom but eagre to muzzle others. Pa chatle sangi | na chatle jangi — You’re a companion if you lick the boot, you are terrorist if you don’t, a ‘us and them’ proposition.
The slogans were not exclusive of any day or date. They were not used one day and discarded the next day. They were, rather, recurrently used all along. As protesters started to be killed mainly in police fire, the scope for rallies, processions and marches completely went away beginning on July 17, when the government closed all educational institutions for an indefinite period. It was all hit-and-run situation and clashes took place almost everywhere. And, the photo morgue at Ʒ does not have any more photographs of the protest-uprising with protesters holding up banners, placards or posters.
It was the time for graffiti, which are writings or drawings scribbled, scratched, or sprayed illicitly on a wall or other surface in a public place. But they mostly went unnoticed. One such graffito was seen on the wall on Minto Road in Dhaka: Buker bhetar anek jhar | buk petechhi guli kar — My chest is tossed inside, I lay it bare, shoot me. The two-liner also appeared on a wall at the main entrance to the Shahjalal University of Science and Technology in Sylhet on July 28, with a hastily drawn image of Abu Sayed who was killed in police fire in Rangpur on July 16.
This is an old recurring slogans used in almost all of such movements. There was romance in a graffito by the side of a road: Desh swadhin hale amra abar chhade uthbo — We’ll go onto the roof after the country becomes free, or the one Esechhe arek phagun, ebar amra haboi dwigun — Another Phalgun is here, there will be double of us, drawing from Zahir Rahian’s Arek Phalgun, which ends with ‘Aschhe phalgune amra kintu dwigun habo’ — There will be double of us in the next Phalgun.
The graffiti scratched during the fighting days of the July uprising, which, in fact, continued up to August 5, appear to have hardly been archived. There may be a few of them on the mobiles of the protesters, the scribblers or their fellows and a few, perhaps, with some photojournalists or enthusiasts. Graffiti, therefore, left almost no mark on the history, or the documented history to be precise, of the July uprising. But what went after the fall of the Awami League government, with hundreds of students across the country drawing on the walls in public places crafted designs and words, in some cases leaving marks of poor penmanship though and in some cases, with marks of brilliant penmanship of Islamic calligraphy practitoners, which continued until September, was wall painting or street art.
Artist Razib Datta in a Facebook posting on August 10, 2024 said: ‘Not all of what is written and drawn on the wall makes “graffiti”. Only the extent of the writing and drawing that is erased to make them look “civilised” is “graffiti”. The rest is blunt.’ That was apt.
To be continued.
Abu Jar M Akkas is deputy editor at Ʒ.