‘Razakar’: The butterfly effect of a word

When journalist Probhash Amin asked Sheikh Hasina about the quota reform protesters standing against the spirit of the liberation war on that fateful press briefing on 14 July 2024, he had not anticipated its butterfly effect.

Hasina replied, "If the grandchildren of freedom fighters do not receive benefits, should the grandchildren of Razakars receive them instead?"

Razakar. It was this single word—loaded with history, trauma, and betrayal—that catalysed the most significant political upheaval in Bangladesh since 1990. The term "Razakar" is not just a label; it is a slur, referring to the collaborators who aided the Pakistani army during Bangladesh's bloody war of independence in 1971. Being called a Razakar, felt like the ultimate betrayal.

By nightfall, students from Dhaka University erupted in spontaneous protest. What began as anger over quota injustice now took on a new face: defiance against a leader who had ruled unopposed for 15 years. Students marched under the banner of the Raju Memorial, chanting a slogan that would soon ring across the nation: "Tumi ke? Ami ke? Razakar, Razakar!" ("Who are you? Who am I? Razakar, Razakar!").

It wasn't an embrace of the label; it was a defiant, ironic protest. Students, ironically, shouted the word back to the government—not out of agreement but in mockery. In that collective catharsis, they reclaimed their dignity and rejected Hasina's narrative.

The quota reform movement had been simmering for weeks before Hasina's remarks. A High Court ruling in June 2024 had reinstated the controversial 30% job quota for descendants of freedom fighters. 

This wasn't the first time Bangladesh had witnessed such a quota reform movement. The quota reform protests of 2018 had brought hundreds of thousands on the streets. Back then, Hasina had managed to quell the unrest with partial concessions. But in 2024, her tone was dismissive, even antagonistic.

That miscalculation triggered a political wildfire. Within hours of her comment, social media was ablaze. Videos of students marching, crying, and chanting went viral. Even female students defied hall curfews to join protests. 

Two slogans particularly captured the national imagination: "Tumi ke ami ke, Razakar, Razakar; Ke boleche boleche, shoirachar, shoirachar!" (Who are you? Who am I? Razakar, Razakar: Who said it, who said it, autocrat, autocrat") and "Chaite gelam odhikar, hoye gelam Razakar" ("Asked for rights and became a Razakar").

The movement initially began with the demand for quota reform. From 1 July, we carried on protesting non-stop for 14 days. Although the scale of the movement kept growing, the absence of results was causing momentum to fade among many. At this critical juncture, Hasina's 'Razakar' labelling gave the movement a new direction and destination. 

However, the protesters never owned the Razakar label. Under Hasina's autocratic rule, where people had been stripped of all their rights, no one could speak out against her directly. Being called an autocrat was deeply humiliating for the students. That's why they responded to the Razakar label with mockery—they turned it into a farce directed at themselves, calling themselves Razakars out of bitter irony. 

Rifat Rashid, the president of the central council of Students Against Discrimination, said, "The students have long been shown the excuse of the high court. The protesters were labelled by many pro-government forces. The protesters were attacked in Comilla. So, the anger was palpable. At a time like this, Sheikh Hasina called us Razakar. So, the students burst out in protest. It hurt our  self-esteem. She hurt our dignity and honour." 

"At first, there were slogans at some boy's halls," he recalled. "we talked to our hall representatives and channelled the outrage. The girls, especially the Rokeya hall residents, broke out of their hall gate and took control of the Raju Memorial. You remember the scene of girls chanting slogans and banging the kitchen utensils, right?" 

On that night, there was an uprising in the halls of Dhaka University. The BCL cadres tried to intimidate the students, but they were repelled. 

Tanvir Al Hadi Mayed, a student in the Department of Journalism at Dhaka University, was present there as well. He recalled, "By around 10 PM, after returning to my Katabon mess, I saw on Facebook that students across various halls on campus were reacting to Hasina's 'Razakar' labelling, and the campus atmosphere was becoming increasingly tense." 

"By the time we reached, scattered processions had already begun. We joined one of the marches from in front of the VC Chattar. More than a thousand students took part. Female students also joined from the women's halls. The main chant of the procession was, "Who are you, who am I? Razakar, Razakar."

After some time some of the activists of Chhatra Dal began to oppose the continued use of the slogan that labelled the protesters as Razakars. They  introduced a new line: "Who said it? Who said it? Autocrat, autocrat."

Eventually, the entire rally echoed with a unified slogan denouncing Hasina as an autocrat. The effect of the statement proved fatal. Many, including Rifat Rashid, think that Hasina gave the movement the boost it needed to ascend to the next level. 

"The momentum was waning, but Hasina's remark reignited the flames. When she called us grandchildren of Razakars, it hit us all. Then, even the students who were not joining the movement joined. When your dignity is hurt, there is no stopping you from joining the movement." 

Interestingly, the students never owned the Razakar tag; instead, they took it as ironic. The term is rather hated in the country, and so, when it hit them, they were outraged. 

Rifat Rashid said, "The students never aligned themselves with the Razakars; rather, they vehemently criticised Sheikh Hasina for labelling them as such. It was a symbolic, explosive red card to the regime." 

For years, Hasina's critics—both at home and abroad—had described her as increasingly authoritarian. Rigged elections, curbed press freedom, the politicisation of the judiciary, and the use of paramilitary forces to silence dissent had become hallmarks of her rule. Still, she retained international legitimacy, largely due to her economic stewardship and the narrative of stability.

But the events of July 2024 changed the lexicon. For the first time, students—apolitical and previously deferential—began chanting, "Who said it? Who said it? Autocrat, autocrat!" referring directly to Hasina. It was a cultural shift. Hasina was no longer just a political leader. To a generation of students, she had become an autocrat.

This linguistic rupture was significant. In a society where open criticism of the Prime Minister often led to arrest or worse, these chants marked a point of no return. Hasina's long-standing image as the daughter of Sheikh Mujibur Rahman could no longer shield her from criticism.

Historians will debate for years the exact moment when Hasina lost control. But many will point to that July evening when she uttered the word 'Razakar' as the tipping point. It was not just an insult; it was a mirror held up to an ageing regime that had lost touch with the people.