Politics has long been a battleground -- not just on the streets, but in the realm of language itself. Over the years, violent political slogans have shaped the attitudes of young activists, often fuelling division, aggression, and, at times, real-world violence. These slogans reflect a culture where justice and retribution are blurred, and violent imagery is not just tolerated but embraced as a political norm.

What makes this rhetoric even more alarming is its widespread acceptance. Political activists and leaders do not question it; instead, they amplify it. Rather than condemning violent language, they treat it as an essential part of political mobilisation. This normalisation highlights a deeper reality: violence and retribution are embedded in Bangladesh's political culture.

Some slogans transcend party rivalries and explicitly call for brutal violence. The vow to "skin" rivals is a chilling example of dehumanising rhetoric. It is not just a call for political resistance but an outright threat of physical harm. Similarly, the slogan urging supporters to "burn it all" is no longer symbolic; it is a direct incitement to destruction, reflecting the extreme polarisation in Bangladesh's political landscape. It's just primitive, reducing complex conflicts to raw aggression.

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Yet, political leaders rarely take issue with such language. Instead of rejecting violent rhetoric, they justify it as "political enthusiasm" or "the people's anger." Some even use these slogans in speeches, reinforcing the idea that threats of violence are a legitimate tool in political competition. As a result, what starts as words can quickly escalate into action.

Photo: Star

For decades, political parties and their student wings have relied on combative language to rally their supporters. The goal is often to instil a sense of urgency, loyalty, and even fear — creating an "us vs. them" mentality where opponents are not just political adversaries but existential threats. This rhetoric does more than energize political bases — it institutionalises a culture where violence is expected, justified, and, at times, celebrated.

Nowhere is this more evident than on university campuses, where political allegiance is often tied to survival. Belonging to the "right side" can mean protection, while being on the wrong side can lead to harassment, or worse. In such an environment, slogans calling for the "slaughter" of rivals or the "digging of graves" for perceived criminals don't appear to be symbolic—they reflect the brutal reality of student politics.

This cycle of violence is reinforced by the way slogans evolve. Slogans demanding retribution are not new; they are part of a larger pattern. Over the years, variations of "catch them one by one and slaughter them" have been tailored to different political climates and campaign strategies. During election cycles, such rhetoric is used to rally supporters and instil fear in opponents. In online spaces, it has become a tool for cyber harassment, with party-affiliated groups weaponising it to intimidate and silence dissenting voices.

From politics to mob violence

Bangladesh has a long history of mob violence, often driven by political manipulation and public anger. While there is widespread outrage against crimes, justifiably so, the slogans that accompany protests often replace legal justice with vigilantism advocating for summary punishment instead of due process.

In the past, as political tensions escalated, these slogans adapted to new contexts. Sometimes, they took subtler forms, with words like "eliminate" or "wipe out" replacing "slaughter." Other times, they were amplified through digital propaganda, spread by bot accounts and viral hashtags. Despite these modifications, the core message remained the same—opponents and criminals were not just to be opposed or prosecuted but to be eradicated.

This culture of gory slogans does not remain confined to political battles—it spills over into rightful social movements as well. Campaigns against sexual violence and the torture of children, which should focus on justice and reform, often take on the same language of vengeance instead. For instance, in movements against sexual violence, phrases like "dig graves for rapists" — no matter how symbolic — shift the focus from ensuring a fair trial to advocating outright execution. Similarly, protests against child abuse often adopt violent rhetoric, calling for retaliation rather than reform.

The persistence of such slogans across different parties and movements reveals a harsh truth—Bangladesh's political culture is built on a cycle of violence and retribution, where each side justifies its aggression as a necessary response to past injustices.

Young activists, many of whom enter politics as idealists, are particularly vulnerable to this radicalisation. What starts as passionate engagement often turns into blind allegiance, where aggression is a badge of loyalty. Over the years, Bangladesh has witnessed numerous incidents where student activists have been killed, attacked, or tortured by their peers in the rival groups. No wonder then that they grow up to think that politics is war, not governance.

Psychologists warn that repeated exposure to violent rhetoric can desensitise individuals, making physical violence seem like a justified, or even necessary. When a political movement frames its opponents as existential threats, young members may feel compelled to act, sometimes with tragic consequences.

Despite these dangers, political leaders from all sides rarely condemn violent slogans. Instead, they normalise them, treating them as part of the political playbook. Some leaders even encourage these chants at rallies, knowing that aggressive rhetoric energises their supporters. When questioned about the implications, they either laugh it off or deflect blame, arguing that "the other side does the same."

This selective outrage further entrenches the cycle of violence. Instead of acknowledging the damage these slogans cause, leaders continue to use them as tools for political gain, further embedding retribution into the nation's political fabric.

However, during protests against Sheikh Hasina's regime last year, many slogans called for inclusiveness, democracy, and justice rather than outright violence. Protesters voiced their demands through calls such as "end religious discrimination" and "this country belongs to everyone," emphasising the need for equality. Others declared, "Listen, ruler -- we are many," signalling collective defiance against authoritarianism.

Beyond opposition, these slogans also carried a sense of responsibility and ownership over the nation's future. "Long live the resistance" became a rallying cry for those fighting for democratic rights, while "the country is mine, the responsibility is mine too" reinforced the idea that citizens, not just political elites, must take charge of protecting democracy. Together, these slogans reflected a broader movement that sought not just regime change, but a more inclusive and participatory political system.

Perhaps the most dangerous aspect of all is the normalisation of this rhetoric. When activists chant violent slogans, and leaders accept them as "just politics," the vicious cycle continues.

Breaking this cycle requires a conscious effort by political leaders, educators, and young activists themselves. Destruction must be replaced by debate, and politics must be driven by vision rather than vengeance.