The act of listening is both an art and a necessity in human life. Yet in our increasingly mechanised and fast-paced world, conversations have turned into contests of dominance. Debates often collapse into shouting matches, and arguments replace understanding. In this painful era of impatience, we seem to have forgotten the fundamental principle of human communication: You speak, I listen.
Listening to others may seem simple, but it rarely happens. The reason is deeply psychological. One’s inner ego constantly pushes to assert, to dominate, and to prioritise one’s own voice, thoughts, and policies. The louder we become in defending our views, the weaker we grow in our capacity to hear others.
When we dig deeper, this simple phrase, “You say, I listen”, reveals layers of meaning about human interaction, social harmony, and the foundations of democracy itself. It is in this realm that many of our country’s political failures are rooted. The political parties of Bangladesh often claim to represent the people, but in practice, they rarely listen to them.
Beyond question, true democracy begins with the ability to listen. Without listening, representation becomes a hollow slogan, and without empathy, politics turns into a transaction of power. The absence of listening creates distance between leaders and people, between policy and reality. History bears witness to the dangers of not listening. In 1971, the Pakistani rulers refused to hear the voice of the Bengalis, General Yahia Khan ignored Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, the key figure of the Independence movement and instead imposed the will of West Pakistani leader Zulfikar Ali Bhutto.
The denial of dialogue led to destruction, and the silence of arrogance was broken only by the roar of liberation. Yet independence did not automatically bring a culture of listening. Even Sheikh Mujibur Rahman did not sit with Tajuddin Ahmad to listen to him, despite the fact that he was the wartime prime minister who had guided the struggle on the ground, having spent the long nine months of the war in a Pakistan jail and without knowing the war leading structures and the painful missions required to lead the independence.
Thus, we experienced that the victorious leadership, while embodying the dreams of freedom, also failed at times to nurture the spirit of participatory democracy, and in that process, the highly undemocratic political formation BAKSAL emerged. This marked the beginning of a growing distance between the rulers and the people once again. The later decades brought their own share of disappointments. Military leaders General Ziaur Rahman and General Hussain Muhammad Ershad imposed their authority with the same deafness that had caused the nation’s earlier pain.
Even after the restoration of democratic governance in 1991, following a massive public movement against General Ershad, the major political parties, the BNP and the Awami League, continued to treat power as a monologue rather than a dialogue. They listened very little to the people and acted largely according to their own whims. This pattern persisted through alternating phases of rule until July 2024, during which the Awami League had served continuously for the last sixteen years. The culture of not listening the political and social voices gradually became almost institutional. From homes to schools, from workplaces to the political stage, a pattern evolved where everyone speaks but no one truly listens.
Today, after the fall of former Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina’s government, the crisis of listening has deepened to a worrying extent, largely fueled by a small group of youths seeking a prominent role in alignment with power. In this turbulent period, for the first time, elements of the Jamaat-e-Islami have also begun to exert influence, quietly enjoying the advantages of state power without being elected.
Yet there must be a halt to wrongdoing and a return to the electoral system, guided by a genuine commitment to listening to the people. Within this framework, patience and broad participation are essential. The eagerness to assert opinions has replaced the discipline of reflection. Many young citizens are losing the path of knowledge and inquiry, trading the spirit of learning for the comfort of argument. This is a dangerous shift for any society that dreams of enlightenment.
In this critical moment, a new form of intolerance is beginning to take shape. In several rural areas, certain elements operating under the banner of orthodoxy are expanding into the vacuum left by social uncertainty. This trend poses a threat not only to the nation’s pluralistic foundations but also to the very essence of its democracy.
What we witness today is deeply troubling. A growing group, rigid in its thinking and strict in its control, seeks to dictate what others may say or hear. They insist that others listen only to them, silencing dissenting voices and narrowing the space for meaningful discussion. This tendency, if left unchecked, will suffocate free thought and undermine intellectual diversity. Knowledge thrives on dialogue, not domination. When we stop listening, we stop learning. When we stop learning, peace itself becomes fragile.
In a democratic society, these challenges become even more urgent. Democracy is not merely the rule of the majority; it is the protection of every individual’s right to speak, to think, and to be heard. It requires not only a legal framework for free expression but also a cultural foundation that encourages thoughtful dialogue and engagement. Indeed, it seems we are moving without clear direction, without a leader who truly listens to the heartbeat of the people. Yet Bangladesh still holds enormous potential. We have a youthful and energetic population, a growing economy, and an increasingly confident presence on the global stage. The transformation we seek will not come through louder rhetoric or deeper divisions. It will come through the quiet strength of listening to all.
Listening must now be reclaimed as a civic virtue, a moral discipline, and a democratically political act. The habit of listening can rebuild trust between leaders and citizens, between generations, and between communities divided by belief or ideology.
Bangladesh needs a new political and social spirit, one that values patience over pride, empathy over ego, and inclusion over isolation. This transformation must begin with each of us, not only with those who hold office. In our homes, classrooms, offices, and public spaces, we must relearn the art of listening, allowing others to finish their thoughts, asking before responding, and seeking to understand before judging.
The strength of a nation lies not only in the power of its voice but also in the depth of its listening. When we truly listen, we open the door to wisdom, reconciliation, and peace.
