The current situation in Bangladesh goes beyond politics; it encompasses cultural, linguistic, and epistemic dimensions. Following the fall of a dominant political regime, there is now a fierce competition for cultural authority, determining who has the right to shape the nation’s language, moral values, historical narratives, and acceptable public discourse.
For a long time, political control was coupled with efforts to establish a specific cultural dominance. This went beyond mere political structures and security forces to include molding the symbolic framework through which people perceived themselves. Certain modes of expression were upheld as sophisticated, modern, progressive, and “authentic,” while other vocabularies were labeled as outdated, sectarian, uncultured, or foreign. This was not just about linguistic preferences but about asserting control over legitimacy.
The ongoing struggle is not merely about the use of specific words. The resurgence of terms like “insaf,” “zulum,” “mazlum,” “faisala,” “inquilab,” and “zindabad” in public discourse is significant not because these words are new, but precisely because they are not. These words have historical roots in Bengali language, influenced by Persian and Arabic vocabularies before colonial language standardization and elite conventions restricted what was deemed acceptable Bengali in many formal settings. Their revival today indicates a political reawakening, reflecting a broader battle over who has the authority to speak for the nation and in what moral language.
A Foucauldian perspective is particularly relevant here. Foucault teaches us that power operates not only through visible coercion but also through discourse, institutions, categorization, and shaping of “truth.” The traditional power centers are not just safeguarding grammar; they are attempting to control the narrative. They aim to stifle intellectual competition by maintaining their authority to dictate what constitutes proper Bengali, civilized expression, and which forms of speech can enter the public domain without stigma.
This intense contest is not just between political factions but between conflicting systems of truth. One seeks to uphold a monopoly on cultural legitimacy by presenting its historical preferences as unbiased standards, while the other aims to broaden the discourse by reintroducing marginalized vocabularies and alternative moral frameworks into public life. Therefore, the language issue transcends linguistic concerns to encompass power dynamics and knowledge ownership – who defines, who categorizes, who excludes, and who is pressured to defend their language as if it were an intruder.
The events of the July uprising made this contradiction impossible to ignore. It was not a movement with a single focal point, ideology, or social base but a decentralized political upheaval. Students from public universities mobilized for jobs, quota reforms, and justice, while private university students joined in solidarity and amplified calls for accountability. Different political entities like BNP, Jamaat, and Islamist groups responded with their own strategies. Left-leaning activists viewed the crisis through the lens of exploitation, suppression, and people’s rights. Both liberals and conservatives opposed authoritarian rule for varying reasons. The significance of this diversity lies in the emergence of a broad social alliance not based on a unified ideology but on a shared experience of facing a common system of oppression.
In Foucauldian terms, this was a biopolitical system under strain. The government under Hasina did not just seek obedience but aimed to regulate various aspects of life, aspirations, visibility, and the ways citizens could envision justice. Students demanding job opportunities and reforms, citizens calling for accountability, and groups seeking moral recognition were all challenging a system that exerted control over social existence. As that system weakened, the battle shifted to the realm of discourse. When the state-centric order falters, the struggle for cultural authority intensifies.
Hence, the current apprehension among established cultural elites is telling. Their resistance to the reintroduction of Persianate/Arabic-influenced words, citing concerns of “distortion” or “impurity” of Bengali, is not a neutral linguistic argument but an attempt to demarcate boundaries of legitimacy. It is an effort to maintain a hierarchy of speech and, by extension, a hierarchy of speakers. This is where the notion of “purity” in language becomes politically questionable. No language is entirely pure; they evolve through layers, borrowings, adaptations, and disputes. Demanding purity often translates to enforcing adherence to a cultural canon upheld by prestigious institutions.
The public discourse surrounding Professor Tariq Manzoor’s assertion that Bengali is being deliberately distorted encapsulates this broader struggle. Regardless of one’s stance on the matter, the significance of such statements lies in their timing and function: they emerge when previously marginalized vocabularies are reemerging in mainstream political discussions. Therefore, the issue is not solely about language quality but about cultural gatekeeping during a period of transition.
Bangladesh currently finds itself in a phase where political authority has been destabilized, yet cultural authority remains undemocratized. This is why the language debate carries such weight – it reflects a larger conflict encompassing
