Caving to intolerance? Why the renaming of Mongol Shobhajatra matters

When the Dhaka University's Faculty of Fine Arts announced today (11 April) that this year's "Mongol Shobhajatra" would be renamed "Anondo Shobhajatra," it sent ripples across the cultural and digital landscape of Bangladesh. 

What was once a celebration of unity, peace, and secular heritage now seems to have been shadowed by political appeasement.

And the internet wasted no time responding. 

One user sarcastically wrote, "This is a major reform indeed. Let's now change the name of Tuesday [which translates to Mongolbar in Begali] to Anondobar."

Another user, Masud Hossen chimed in, "Even my mother always says Saturdays [Shonibar] and Tuesdays [Mongolbar] are inauspicious," referring to the issue with the words "Shoni" and "Mongol." 

Shirsendu Mondal questioned the logic of such selective cultural cleansing, "What other words are Hindu? Should we remove them all from Bangladesh?" 

The satire is sharp, but so is the hurt.  

Pahela Baishakh, the first day of the Bengali New Year, is a vibrant celebration of culture, heritage, and unity in Bangladesh. 

Rooted in centuries-old traditions, it was originally introduced during the reign of the Mughal Emperor Akbar as a means to simplify the tax collection system for agrarian communities. 

Over the years, Pahela Baishakh has grown into more than just a date on the calendar. It's a day when people from all walks of life come together in joy - sharing food, parading in colourful processions, singing, laughing, and embracing the spirit of new beginnings.

Held every 14 April, it rises above religion, class, or background, symbolising hope, unity, and the vibrant soul of the Bengali people.

Professor Selim Raihan of Dhaka University's Economics Department voiced a strong objection on Facebook, reminding everyone of the procession's deeper roots.

"I register a strong protest," he wrote.

Citing Prothom Alo, he added, "Since 1989, the Faculty of Fine Arts has been organising a procession on the occasion of Pahela Baishakh. Initially, it was called 'Ananda Shobhajatra' [Procession of Joy]. Against the backdrop of the anti-autocracy movement in the 1990s, the name was changed to 'Mangal Shobhajatra' [Procession for Well-being], symbolising the call for good by dispelling evil.

"On 30 November 2016, the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organisation (UNESCO) recognised the Mangal Shobhajatra as part of the world's intangible cultural heritage."

That's the crux of this moment. Mongol Shobhajatra was not named arbitrarily. It emerged during a time of national upheaval against dictatorship in the early 90s. 

"Mongol" symbolised the collective wish for justice, peace, and freedom - a direct rejection of the darkness of autocracy. 

Over the decades, it became a secular ritual, rich in imagery and satire, rooted in local folklore and vibrant artistic expressions. UNESCO recognised it as part of humanity's intangible cultural heritage in 2016, acknowledging its inclusive spirit.

So why change it now?

Earlier this year and again yesterday (10 April), conservative Islamist group Hefazat-e-Islam, in a statement labelled Mongol Shobhajatra a "Hindu ritual," alleging that it was "flooded with idols and imagery of Hindu deities and animals." 

They accused the organisers of imposing "secular cultural fascism" to erase Muslim identity and demanded the term "Mongol" be dropped in favour of "Anondo."

Let's get one thing clear: naming matters. 

Language reflects power, and when cultural spaces begin to rename, reshape, or censor themselves under political or ideological pressure, it's not just a name that changes – it's a rewriting of public memory.

Yes, "Anondo Shobhajatra" was indeed the original name in 1989. But it evolved, deliberately, into Mongol Shobhajatra during a defining moment in Bangladesh's history - a moment that connected art with activism, protest with peace, and tradition with transformation. 

Going back to its earlier name now is not just a return; it's a retreat.  

It raises an alarming question: why must a secular, inclusive tradition bend to the will of an ultra-conservative religious group? 

Why is a procession that calls for harmony and peace being branded as antithetical to one religion, when its very essence is secularism?

Born during the resistance against military dictatorship in the early 1990s, the procession symbolises the collective hope for a future free from oppression and injustice. It is a celebration of unity in diversity, where people from all walks of life come together to reject darkness and call in the light. 

Over the years, it has become a cornerstone of Bengali identity, recognised globally. To question or censor such a deeply inclusive tradition not only undermines the spirit of Pahela Baishakh but also signals a growing intolerance that threatens the secular foundations of the nation.

One user, Rajib Rana posted online, "Ridiculous. How far are we to become Afghanistan? Next they'll add Urdu as a national language. This must stop right here." 

Another user, Nazmul Islam Pathan, mockingly suggested, "Why not rename the planet Mars [which translates to Bengali as Mongol] too?"

It may sound like jest, but the fear behind these words is real: fear that secular space is shrinking, that historical narratives are being reshaped to fit religious ideology, and that silence today may lead to erasure tomorrow.

The transformation of the procession's name from "Anondo Shobhajatra" to "Mongol Shobhajatra" in the early 1990s was deeply rooted in the socio-political climate of the time. Amidst the pro-democracy movements against military rule, the term "Mongol," meaning "auspicious," was adopted to symbolise a collective aspiration for positive change and resistance against oppression. 

The change in name during the 1990s wasn't just symbolic - it was a reflection of a deeper yearning for a society rooted in secularism, unity, and inclusivity. It brought people together, regardless of religion or class, under the shared hope of a brighter, more harmonious future.

Now, as the name reverts back, many see it not as a simple adjustment but as a retreat in the face of rising religious pressure. 

While the backlash has been loud and heartfelt, especially from those who see Mongol Shobhajatra as a symbol of resistance and togetherness, there are also those who welcome the change - some for nostalgic reasons, others for aligning it more closely with their religious beliefs or as a capitulation to extremist pressure. 

A number of individuals have welcomed the return to its original name, Anondo Shobhajatra, used briefly when the procession first began in 1989. 

Others have supported the change on religious grounds, echoing Hefazat-e-Islam's claims that the term "Mongol" carries non-Islamic, more specifically Hindu connotations. 

This growing divide speaks to something much deeper than a name—it reveals how culture itself is being pulled into the battleground of faith and identity. But let's not lose sight of what this procession has always stood for. 

It was never about any one religion. It was about people - joyful, diverse, resilient. It was about painting the streets with colour when life felt grey, about singing together when voices were silenced, and about reclaiming space not just for celebration, but for protest, for solidarity, and for hope.

Changing the name under pressure may seem like a small act, but it quietly opens the door to something far more troubling: a future where our history, our art, and our shared joys must first be approved by ideological gatekeepers. And that is not just unfortunate - it's dangerous.

As we step into another Bengali New Year, perhaps it's time to ask ourselves: are we still walking toward "Mongol" - toward peace, prosperity, and secularism or are we turning away from it?

Because what's in a name? In this case, everything.

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions and views of The Business Standard