Bangladesh, which became independent from Pakistan in 1971(link is external), is a young country. Only 7 percent of the 160 million(link is external) people in this South Asian country – which is home to more Muslims (PDF file)(link is external) than Iran, Afghanistan and Saudi Arabia combined(link is external) – are over the age of 60, according to a 2016 United Nations Development Program report(link is external).
It is young, but not hopeful. Youth unemployment is high in Bangladesh(link is external), especially among those with only a primary school education. According to a recent survey(link is external), 82 percent of young people are not optimistic about getting a job.
One consequence of this youthful unrest is religious radicalization. Once lauded for its secularism(link is external), Bangladesh is now seeing young people(link is external) increasingly adopt more conservative Islamic values(link is external). Though many conservative Muslims denounce(link is external) violence in the name of Islam, religiously motivated crimes are on the rise(link is external). Since 2013, at least 30 secular bloggers, authors, intellectuals and publishers have been murdered(link is external).
But there is another story about youthful anger in this Muslim nation, too. And it contradicts that all-too-familiar narrative(link is external) about radicalization. It’s the story of hip-hop.
Tupac, Eminem and young rage
Over the past 15 years or so, a new kind of musical activism has emerged in Bangladesh, one inspired by American rappers like Tupac Shakur, Eminem, NWA and Public Enemy.
The old school hip-hop icon Tupac Shakur – who was murdered in Las Vegas in 1996(link is external) – holds particular significance for Bangladeshi MCs. Like Shakur, who spoke of police brutality and racism in the U.S.(link is external), Bangladesh’s young rappers want to use their music to criticize their country’s political dysfunction, democratic erosion and gaping inequality.
Hip-hop was born as protest music in the United States(link is external). The genre emerged in the late 1970s, as black Americans raised their voices against the poverty, police brutality and violence taking place in black communities.
‘Fight the Power,’ an early hip-hop anthem by rap pioneers Public Enemy.
Songs like “Fight the Power(link is external)” by Public Enemy and NWA’s “F*!k tha Police(link is external)” underpinned the black struggle for black freedom and freedom of speech in America. This trend(link is external) continues today, with hip-hop fueling(link is external) the social movement Black Lives Matter.
Breaking the culture of silence
Over the past 12 months, I have listened to about 50 tracks by some two dozen Bangladeshi hip-hop artists. With this project, which grew out of my research on political Islam in Bangladesh(link is external), I hope to understand how this emerging underground genre reflects the youthful unrest that drives violence and radicalization in the country.
Though many Bangladeshi rappers rhyme about love, money and romance, there are several recurring political themes. One is the culture of silence around inequality(link is external).
“Everyone is silent … nobody is talking,” observes rapper Skib Khan in “Shob Chup(link is external).” The elite need inequality, he says, because “otherwise how will the rich get servants to serve their families?”
In Bangladesh, more than 60 million people – nearly a third of the population – live below the poverty line of US$1.90 per day. Twenty percent of Bangladeshis hold 41 percent of all wealth in the country(link is external).
Inequality is visible everyday in the slums of the capital Dhaka(link is external), arguably the world’s most crowded city(link is external). But it is ignored in the nation’s political debate.
“Shob Chup,” which translates to “everyone is silent,” frames the country’s inequality and disenfranchisement as a betrayal of the inclusive, secular and democratic ideals behind Bangladesh’s 1971 revolution(link is external).
Rapping for freedom of speech
Bangladeshi hip-hop, which is celebrated with an annual festival in Dhaka, is also a defense of free speech in a country where that right is rapidly eroding.
In 2013, the government amended(link is external) the Information and Communication Technology Act(link is external) to mandate a jail sentence of seven up to 14 years for online speech deemed “offensive” by the courts. Since then, 1,271 Bangladeshi journalists and activists(link is external) have been charged with cyber defamation, according to the international nongovernmental organization Human Rights Watch(link is external).
A proposed new digital security law(link is external) would impose even stricter regulation of speech.
In his track “Bidrohi(link is external),” or “rebel,” rapper Towfique Ahmed sees these crackdowns as a violation of Bangladesh’s founding ideals.
“I haven’t seen the war but I heard of it. I don’t know how to do revolution but my blood is on fire,” he raps. “Don’t take me as someone who is stupid because of my silence.”
READ THE REST OF THE ARTICLE HERE(link is external)