December 8, 2025
DHAKA – The way people speak in Bangladesh’s politics has changed a lot. Political messaging today mostly entails Facebook Live, YouTube speeches, waaz gatherings, viral videos, memes, slogans, filthy language and abuse, and tearful, dramatic livestreams. All of this has coalesced to provide the scaffolding for a populist political communication that is as much a reflection of the chaotic time we are living in as a continuation of political trends from recent years. Others can dress it up in theory, but in simple language, those who keep saying, “I speak for the people; everyone else is bad,” are basically doing this kind of politics.
In my view, this political messaging has three main layers. First, it builds a pure character called “the people.” Here, “the people” are always honest, oppressed, religious, patriotic, and heirs of the martyrs. Second, against this concept of a pure people it builds a group of tainted elites or “traitors.” They are invariably labelled as foreign agents, looters, Mir Jafars, enemies of religion, or enemies of the nation. You can add any other label if you like. Third, the story incorporates examples of “enemy” figures, which can vary based on the context. Sometimes the enemy is a particular political party. Sometimes it is the women’s rights movement. Sometimes minorities, or “Western culture,” or “Indian influence.” The more this three-layered story is repeated in songs, in waaz, in Facebook posts and addictive videos, the deeper it settles in people’s minds.
In today’s Bangladesh, there are two different strands of right-wing populism walking side by side and, in many places, shaking hands. One strand uses a revolutionary nationalist tone built around the July 2024 uprising and the memory of martyrs; the other works through religious platforms, madrassa networks, and the language of waaz. From the outside, they may look like opposites. But if you look closely at the structure of their communication, you see that they are playing the same game in different jerseys.
After the July uprising, some platforms started presenting themselves as “the voice of the martyrs” and “the true representatives of the people.” In their language, “people” mainly means students, protesters, grieving families, and ordinary citizens. As the enemy, they single out Awami League. The entire party is framed as “terrorist,” “killer,” and “enemy of the nation.” Along with that come demands to cancel its registration, put it on trial, ban it, and so on. In practice, it is an attempt to erase the party from politics altogether. At the beginning, this sounds like a demand for justice, and many accept it that way, because the memories of abduction, murder, and repression under the authoritarian Awami League regime are still raw. But slowly, when this language moves out of legal space and enters the realm of purification and “finishing off the party,” it is no longer just a language of protest. It becomes a language of right-wing populism.
On the other side, we have religious right-wing populism, where “the people” really means the Muslim majority. Here we hear that “we” are the true owners of this country and that the state, the law, and the constitution must all follow “our” beliefs. Anyone who challenges that framing is branded an enemy of Islam, a Western agent, an atheist, a source of fitna, etc. This strand communicates through waaz gatherings, Friday sermons, processions, religious slogans, YouTube lectures, and viral Facebook clips.
Equal rights for women, reform of inheritance law, recognition of third-gender people, talk of pluralism in the constitution—all this is branded as a “Western agenda.” We are told that these are “attacks on the faith of the people” and “plots to destroy the country.” As a result, women, minorities, human rights workers, and dissenters all come under pressure at the same time. In this strand, “the people” are defined in one narrow way. Anyone who does not share that exact belief is pushed out of the people’s camp and placed with the enemies.
The language, dress, and stage of these two strands are different, but they converge at one point: both speak “in the name of the people.” Both declare one or more parties “illegitimate” rather than treating them as political rivals. Both want to mould the state and constitution into their own shape. Both are convinced that they are so morally superior that no one else has the right to question them.
It is also worth looking at how this populist communication works in practice. The first thing is language. There is no detailed policy discussion, no balanced reasoning. There are short, aggressive lines, insults, mockery, religious quotes, and words of war. People are pulled into emotion very quickly and have no time for close analysis. The second thing is platforms. Through Facebook Live, YouTube, TikTok, shorts and reels, political leaders or influencers walk straight into people’s homes. There is no presenter, reporter, or editor in the middle, so what they say gets absorbed as a kind of raw truth. The third thing is the religious stage. When waaz speakers frame the state, women, the law, and the constitution, for example, in the language of “halal vs haram” and “faith vs disbelief,” then a different opinion is no longer just an opinion. It becomes hostility to religion. Such rhetoric creates fear, and people hesitate to ask questions.
The real question is what kind of risk all this creates for our democracy. For me, the first big risk is that the ground for multi-party politics becomes narrower. When we keep hearing “ban this party” or “throw that party out of the country,” we start to normalise a sort of informal civil-war language without even noticing. Today you may hate one party and try to have it banned. Tomorrow someone else may try to ban your party. Ironically enough, before Awami League saw its activities banned, it cultivated this culture of exclusion by enabling repeated calls for banning BNP and Jamaat, with the latter actually seeing it happen towards the end of Awami League’s tenure. The lesson from this is that once the politics of bans and “finishing off” are accepted, no one controls where they stop.
The second big risk is the safety of minorities and people with different views. When everyday language teaches that the will of the majority is the only law, that one group’s personal reading of religion is the “constitution,” and that anyone who disagrees is a traitor, then minorities, women, converts, atheists, and people with different politics are pushed into a life of fear. Many go silent. Some try to leave the country. Some quietly nurse a desire for revenge. Slowly, society starts to crack from within.
The third risk is the weakening of institutions. Populist language almost always says that courts, election commissions, universities, and the media are never neutral and that they are all agents of the “enemy.” Often there is some truth in some of the accusations. But when entire institutions are written off in one sweep, law is replaced by the word of populist leaders and influences as the final authority.
Another frightening side is the romanticising of violence. When slogans like “we want the rope,” “ban them,” or “wipe them out” become normal in marches, when many clap under videos of death on social media, when the state or political parties continue to tolerate or tacitly support this trend, people slowly start to believe that political problems can only be solved by erasing the other side. One day we will see that even in small disagreements people do not look for compromise; they look for ways to finish their opponent.
Many people think that the old authoritarian chapter is over and a new era has begun. But if the language of politics remains as vitriolic as before, changing faces will not change the character of power. Those who dismiss political or ideological rivals out of hand “in the name of the people” today can easily capture all institutions tomorrow, using that same pretext. Democracy is not just about ticking a box on a ballot paper. It demands a basic foundation of inclusion and compromise where you treat your opponent as a human being, acknowledge their right to exist politically, and accept their safety as non-negotiable. Populist political communication is slowly eroding that foundation. If we completely lose that, then even if democracy or election exists on paper, it will be little more than a hollow ritual.
Asif Bin Ali is a doctoral fellow at Georgia State University, USA. He can be reached at abinali2@gsu.edu.
Views expressed in this article are the author’s own.