Student demonstrations in Bangladesh began in June 2024 soon after the High Court decided to reinstate the Muktijoddha quota system that reserved 30% of the country’s civil services posts for the descendants of the 1971 War veterans. Apart from being unfair to newer generations of post-war citizens, students alleged that since 30% of these jobs were reserved for less than 1% of the population, the Awami League headed by Sheikh Hasina regularly offered the rest of the seats to its loyalists. This ensured a network of clients who would support their patron in all electoral and political matters. Despite gaining the most widespread visibility, it was only one of the many ills that marked the political landscape in Bangladesh; restrictions on free speech and increasingly autocratic policies of the government had long been sources of public discontent.
The student demonstrations took a violent turn after Awami League’s student wing collaborated with police forces to clamp down on the protestors. It was at this point that the struggle assumed a ferocious, fully student-led character. Universities were closed, an internet blockade was issued and Bangladeshi students were left to contend for their destiny. Over 500 killings later, Sheikh Hasina finally abdicated her office and fled to India shortly after her resignation. Bangladesh, in the powerful display of a youthquake, stands testimony to the necessity and power of student activism. However, it only adds to the many historical instances of student protests that have facilitated societal and political transformation across the globe. Student movements usually begin inside university campuses to challenge the administration on issues that are often symptoms of broader problems in their socio-political surroundings.
Parents, authorities and those in positions of power regularly discourage these movements because of the shared sentiment that they are grounded in futility and not powerful enough to yield real results on the ground. That is an ill-informed assumption for student activism has long been a powerful instrument to uproot oppressive regimes and unjust structures. In 1925, for example, students at Fisk University revolted against their president — who introduced mandates for racial segregation and moral policing in the university — leading to his resignation soon after. Around half a century later, in the early 1970s, student bodies in various Indian universities organised to protest against mounting inflation, corruption and unemployment through bandhs (strikes), rallies and gheraos (encirclements). These agitations along with other developments culminated in Prime Minister Indira Gandhi’s declaration of national emergency banning all political activity in the country. However, when fresh elections were held in 1977, the general public presented a collective referendum against the UPA government with a massive electoral defeat, causing the student protests to bear fruit in a mighty fashion.
Another reason why student activism is popularly discouraged is the traditional, deep-rooted belief that education takes place only inside the concrete walls of a classroom and that political involvement is antithetical to schooling. In 2023, when Prof. Sabyasachi Das, an Assistant Professor of Economics at Ashoka University was allegedly made to resign following a controversy over his research paper titled “Democratic Backsliding in the World's Largest Democracy,” a wave of discontent was stirred in the campus. Even though several departments issued statements threatening suspension of classes until Professor Das was reinstated, the vehemence of the protest was short-lived. As soon as a few days later, students gathered to celebrate the start of a new semester and teaching resumed as usual. Many lamented that the student body was not motivated enough to “push protests” for the cause and that student politics on the campus was negligible. A student reportedly also claimed Ashoka to be a “capitalist institute” that cannot produce the likes of Bhagat Singh, an Indian freedom fighter. While reacting to these concerns about waning student activism, Sanjeev Bikchandani, a co-founder of the University tweeted, “Your parents don’t pay the fees they do for you to do andolans.” He further remarked that while he admired Bhagat Singh, he would not want his son to “go to the gallows at the age of 22”, supporting Ashoka’s decision to be a “boring campus”, devoid of the ability to produce activists like him. An assertion of this nature not only places academic spaces and classroom education in a strict binary against activism outside the classroom but also constrains the very scope of education.
One is forced to ask what level of narcissism it takes to claim education to be the business of only formally dedicated academic spaces with tall structures and long rule books on jargon. Undoubtedly, some of the most monumental human inventions, fundamental to our creed, happened long before universities were even built. Elaborate sewage management and drainage systems in some of the earliest civilisations, writing systems like cuneiform and hieroglyphics, and engineering marvels that resulted in irrigation networks and ancient forms of paper, all preceded the invention of a formal schooling system. And so, one wonders since when did we start valuing socially rewarding academic titles and awards more than the tenacity of those who sacrificed their lives for the liberation of their country and without whose contribution, our institutions of excellence would not even exist.
Part of the reason is also that politics is mistakenly considered equivalent to partisanship; activism of any sort is seen as an extended campaign for political parties. Hence, political neutrality is preferred over involvement in electoral activities which are anyway thought to be ridden with non-ethical codes of conduct. What this argument gets wrong, however, is that neither is political activism necessarily an arm of electoral partisanship nor is political neutrality a valid stance to have in the first place. To engage in activism is to act against policies that affect the existence, identity and well-being of those involved in it. To be an activist means to be a conscious, responsible and dedicated citizen of national and global spaces and standing up for principles when their sustenance is threatened. Such responsibility may or may not always align with specific political parties but political affiliation is simply irrelevant at this point.
In the face of these calls for responsibility and ownership, it is crucial to recognise that an apolitical stance is, in fact, non-existent: the ‘personal’ concerns of those who make the university space when multiplied on a collective scale, become ‘political’. Students, faculty and administrators become political if not as actors, then as stakeholders and if not them, then as witnesses. A witness is the creation of politics but they are also that which embody the ‘political’. Therefore, when universities like Ashoka and Columbia put efforts into silencing their student bodies for their demands of pro-Palestine divestment from Israeli educational institutions, maintaining the apolitical character of the university is not a viable justification — it can not be. In choosing to negate the global context which these institutions inhabit, being apolitical is the biggest political stance one can take — one which reeks of complacency, privilege and apathy. Such moments of turbulence which demand academic spaces to take critical stances are also opportunities for them to rise above the allegations of being “happy bubble(s)”, disconnected from the real world and its problems. Academia can not reconnect with the real world only by making students industry-ready and organising seminars on resume-building strategies. It will have to move out of its air-conditioned classrooms, and brazen onto the gritty, muddy roads of the real world. In the absence of initiatives from higher education spaces to integrate themselves with their physical and social surroundings, student activism remains the sole beacon of hope and becomes all the more necessary.
It is only the continued resolve of Ashoka University students that led the Chancellor, Prof. Rudrangshu Mukherjee to “break all protocols of a Chancellor’s convocation address” by requesting the gathering to “observe a one-minute silence” to mourn the victims of violence in the Gaza strip during the Young India Fellowship Convocation ceremony in June this year. This development is significant and celebratory for it comes only a month after the university administration prohibited Pro-Palestine activism during the Undergraduate and Ashoka Scholars Program (ASP) convocations. One must be quick to conclude: student activism is undeniably powerful and when complemented with positive acknowledgement from those in positions of power, it can strive to bridge the gap between exclusive chambers of the intelligentsia and the outside world, filled with real people and their important, urgent problems. Such activism also invariably gives meaning to studying social sciences and humanities that fares beyond the cliched ‘theory’ and ‘rhetoric’. It invites students to materialise the essence of what goes on in the classroom. And if that is not the ultimate goal of education, one wonders what is.
Beyond concerns of futility and the anti-educational spirit that student activism is accused of, it serves a purpose even more fundamental to those who participate in it — it allows them to fight for and argue against the possibilities of a future that belongs to them. Students of today are also citizens of tomorrow. The precedents that present socio-political events set and the policies that are ratified now have far-reaching impacts on their lives. Thus, diluting their movements, cracking down on them and sabotaging their activism effectively translates to snatching from them their right to determine their social realities, which is brutally unfair. On the other hand, their active commitment to be advocates for their present and future realities only demonstrates a strong sense of responsibility and empathy for those around them.
In fact, as I write this, young civil-services aspirants continue to protest in Rajinder Nagar, the hub of UPSC (Union Public Services Commission) preparation, to demand justice for their three fellows who died due to flooding in the basement of a coaching centre, last month. Their protest now encompasses larger concerns for the safety and well-being of students who often lose themselves in the dark, dingy alleys and shacks of a city that sells dreams of a prosperous future and upward social mobility. When they were moved out of the area by the police authorities, they relocated to another barricaded zone, collectively shouting “Delhi police, I love you,” in an effort to assure the authorities that their method was non-violent. It was their unique way of communicating that though they had organised to demand justice and fairness from the government, they were not anti-establishment or electorally motivated — they did not hate the authorities, they only believed in their power to deliver justice amid such a state of affairs. Not only does their activism promise a sense of responsibility that one expects public servants to uphold, but it also showcases a brilliant portrayal of solidarity, as they all mobilise despite differences in caste, class and educational backgrounds.
It was the same sentiment that marked the graduation photoshoots of newly graduated Chinese students in 2023 who posed like corpses to express discontent over the crumbling economy and lack of job opportunities in the country or when students left British-run colleges during the 1930s civil disobedience movement in India. Irrespective of the legitimacy of their demands and the character of their ideology, such movements showcase students’ critical thinking and represent their appetite for social aptitude, both of which are the locomotives of social change. Be it the Anti-Mandal agitation of the 1990s or Dalit activism after Rohit Vemula’s suicide in 2016, student activism has been integral to public expression and participation in governmental policies. Sometimes, its effects are limited to the thousand students in a restricted college campus and on luckier days, it shapes the future of an entire country like the world’s “first successful gen-z led revolution” in Bangladesh. In any case, during times like ours when JNU (Jawaharlal Nehru University), “notorious” for its rich history of student activism, is used as a slur and newer universities like Ashoka are contemptuously dubbed “JNU of the private sector” and “a posher version of JNU”, one must not let them pass as derogatory insults. To be associated with JNU is to be part of an important culture of student activism without which the world will be paralysed and our collective optimism will falter.
The writer is the co-editor of the Opinions Department (AY 24-25).
(Edited by Srijana Siri)
Comments