On August 5, 2024, after Sheikh Hasina’s government collapsed, celebrations soon gave way to something more troubling. Mob violence broke out across the country. The violence did not just target political opponents; it affected everyone.
We cannot ignore the brutal killing of Tofazzal at Fazlul Huq Muslim Hall of Dhaka University, nor the desecration of mystic Nura Pagla’s grave in Rajbari, the attacks on Sufi shrines and cultural monuments, or the repeated targeting of Sheikh Mujibur Rahman’s historic home at Dhanmondi-32. Cultural institutions like Chhayanaut and Udichi were assaulted, and newspapers such as Prothom Alo and The Daily Star were burned – often without meaningful resistance or timely state protection. A disturbing pattern became clear: this was more than political unrest; it reflected a deeper moral decline, in which religion was pitted against culture as if they could not coexist. Although the February 12, 2026, election returned the Bangladesh Nationalist Party (BNP), led by Prime Minister Tarique Rahman, to power with a strong mandate, electoral victory alone cannot repair cultural damage or restore integrity.
Even before taking office, Tarique Rahman faced controversy when a photo of his daughter, Zayma Rahman, allegedly dancing with friends in England went viral. Many people shared it without verifying its authenticity, and criticism followed. The issue was not just about one young woman – it was an attempt to shame a lifestyle and suggest that simple happiness was wrong. This is how extremism works: it targets culture, not just individuals. In a divided society, every event becomes political. When the official X account of Bangladesh Jamaat-e-Islami was hacked and a post insulted working women, many protested. The incident showed how powerful words can influence public opinion and even elections. Over time, public narratives change; people once condemned are later praised, and leaders once in exile return to power. History shifts, and culture often shifts with it. That is why culture should not depend on politics. If the state focuses only on roads, bridges, and GDP while ignoring culture, it will lose a deeper battle. Investing in culture should be seen as a way to protect democracy.
Insurance exists because risk exists. And Bangladesh faces real risks: intense political rivalry, religious mobilisation, rapid misinformation, and a large young population shaped by social media. When culture weakens, polarisation deepens. As polarisation grows, compromise begins to feel like betrayal and, without compromise, democracy becomes fragile. One overlooked danger of this division is how it shortens our attention span. We now live in a scrolling culture where complex national issues are reduced to thirty-second takes, through reels, short videos, and instant commentary, turning serious events into entertainment. But society cannot be understood in half a minute. Culture cannot be judged from a single street or a few viral clips. It reveals itself slowly, through patterns over time, through how events connect, how media frames them, and how people choose to remember or forget.
The digital world pushes us to forget. Journalism is now part of a fast-moving content economy where speed and views matter more than depth, and almost everyone has become a content creator. Like many countries, Bangladesh has entered an era shaped by algorithms that reward outrage over reflection and conflict over nuance, shortening our shared memory so that yesterday’s crisis is replaced by today’s trending anger. When a nation builds its identity only on reaction, it becomes fragile, and democracy weakens as memory and depth fade. Yet culture cannot be rebuilt through noise, spectacle, or one-sided praise – it cannot be forced.
The experience of Mujib Borsho shows that spending large public funds on grand celebrations for Sheikh Mujibur Rahman did not create lasting political unity or stability. When cultural programs are closely tied to a single political party, they lose their broader democratic meaning, and when symbolism is not backed by strong institutions, it creates doubt rather than trust. The caretaker period also organised impressive drone shows and public events to inspire unity, but many people felt these spectacles ignored deeper national problems. These examples make one point clear: cultural legitimacy cannot be forced through grand displays. Real unity grows slowly, and protecting democracy through culture requires a long-term commitment, not short-term excitement.
So, what should we do? First, we must protect our heritage. Shrines, archives, libraries, and cultural institutions should remain safe from political change. When mosques are vandalised, or graves are destroyed, the damage is not only religious – it harms our shared memory. Protecting these places shows that our history belongs to everyone. Second, cinema and storytelling should reflect real human complexity rather than glorify violence and crime. Constant exposure to aggression shapes how we see the world. Public grants that are transparent and free from political control can support films that promote empathy, reconciliation, and shared humanity. When people watch meaningful stories together, they grow in understanding together. Third, digital literacy must become central to cultural policy. People should learn how algorithms spread outrage and misinformation, and young creators who produce thoughtful content should be encouraged to help improve the quality of online conversation.
Young people are not only shaped by the digital world, they can shape it too. Cultural investment should support independent storytellers and youth-led projects, not control ideas from above. A diverse national identity must feel real and modern, not just symbolic. Funding also matters: increasing cultural spending to at least one percent of the national budget would show real commitment, but it must remain free from political control. Independent councils and merit-based grants build trust. Cultural protection works best when it serves everyone, including future governments.
Bangladesh was born from cultural strength – the Language Movement, the songs of 1971, and liberation literature. Culture was the foundation, not decoration. If we neglect it, polarisation will grow, and political change may bring instability. If we protect and strengthen it, democracy becomes deeper and more resilient. Culture is not about nostalgia; it is about building a society where disagreement does not turn into hatred. When culture becomes propaganda, it weakens. When it protects democracy, it makes the nation stronger.
