Cartoons — My Weapon of Protest
Lately, drawing cartoons has felt rather peculiar. It no longer feels like I’m engaging in dangerously anti-state activities. There’s no persistent anxiety about someone arriving in a microbus to whisk me away, nor do I find myself repeatedly checking the CCTV cameras. I no longer have to second-guess every detail before posting on Facebook. Even after posting, I’m not inundated with comments like “Stay safe, brother” or “Be careful.” In essence, the experience now seems somewhat mundane and less challenging.
Many might think I’m exaggerating, but that’s not the case! Those who have followed the work of Bangladeshi cartoonists over the past 10–15 years — or even those who have observed politically outspoken individuals on social media — know that the fear of being imprisoned under the Cyber Security Act or facing defamation lawsuits from political leaders or their sycophantic minion lawyers was an everyday reality. Hence, as I sit down to draw cartoons now and feel a surprising sense of ease, I cannot help but reflect on the past decade.
This cartoon of mine was published the day after the 2014 elections on the front page of the Dhaka Tribune. It depicted Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina crowning herself while democracy was shown exiting through a gate in the background. However, the cartoon was not fully printed on that day; if you look through the archives, you’ll see that the portion showing democracy leaving was cut out. Why? Just like many others, the newspaper’s news editor considered my observation on the election to be somewhat exaggerated.
Archive Link: Dhaka Tribune
Since 2014, I have not been alone in this; most Bangladeshi cartoonists have expressed that their freedom of expression is being curtailed. It is said that if you want to understand a country’s democratic state, you should first look at its political cartoonists. Yet, despite our outcry, no one had the time to pay attention to this small group of Bangladeshi cartoonists. Instead, many leaders and journalist colleagues accused us of “damaging the country’s image.”
Let me recount an incident from the following year, 2015. At that time, the city’s advertising billboards were being nationalized(!), which meant that everywhere I looked, billboards were trumpeting Sheikh Hasina’s achievements. This level of political propaganda was unprecedented in Bangladesh up to that point. During this period, there was a news about the Saedabad Water Treatment Plant failing to deliver clean water on schedule, causing significant inconvenience to city residents. It was a rather mundane news item. When I was asked to create a cartoon about it, I drew the following:
Strange waste materials were coming out of the water taps, while ordinary citizens, helpless, gazed at the distant billboards displaying the Prime Minister’s victory signs. Although Sheikh Hasina was not the central subject of the cartoon, and despite the fact that it was published in a relatively insignificant spot within the newspaper, I was informed that multiple complaints had been lodged against me by the student wing of the Awami League at the CRI office. I was told that the cartoon was not appropriate and that it was unacceptable to draw cartoons blaming the Prime Minister for every issue. (At the time, I was working on a graphic novel about Sheikh Mujibur Rahman’s autobiography with CRI, which is how this connection came about. Despite having clearly stated from the beginning that I would continue my political cartoons, I sometime faced pressure.)I mention this to illustrate how, through a gradual and slow process, our/my freedom of expression has constantly been under pressure.
Subsequently, in February 2015, I recall drawing this cartoon in response to the murder of writer-blogger Avijit Roy at the Ekushey Book Fair:
A bloodstained pen lay shattered on the ground, while people from various political parties stood around it as if wearing blindfolds. The edit had come through: depictions of leaders in Mujib attire can ot be drawn in this scenario. It goes without saying that the cartoon did not find a place on any page of the newspaper that day or any subsequent day. A few days later, two more cartoons on the same subject drawn by me were published in an international publication. The allegations of damaging the country’s image continued against me.
After posting the cartoon about the Saedabad Water Treatment Plant on Facebook, one comment from a reader has stayed with me ever since. The gentleman was annoyed by the cartoon’s satire of his honorable leader and wrote to me with frustration: “Even if you’re not good at much else, you certainly know how to poke.”
I was so amused by this comment that it felt akin to telling a judge, “Even if you can’t do much else, you certainly know how to pass judgment,” or telling a traffic police, “Even if you’re not good at much else, you certainly know how to stop traffic.”
I chose not to reply to the gentleman, for it was my duty as a cartoonist to remind him — and anyone else who might have forgotten — that my pen is a weapon of satire, meant to poke and jolt those in power into the realization that they are, above all, servants of the people.
By then, the walls of censorship had risen all around us. These walls were, in turn: direct government censorship, followed by the newspaper’s own censorship, then audience censorship (stemming from fear and reluctance to share political opinions), and finally, self-censorship by cartoonists and journalists. We were increasingly confined within this prison , day by day.
As if the burden of censorship were not already heavy enough, the government fortified its control with Section 57 of the ICT Act, which in 2018 evolved into the even more oppressive Digital Security Act (DSA), tightening its grip over us.
Under the pressure of the Digital Security Act, directives were issued to me from the newspaper before the 2018 elections, prohibiting the depiction of the Prime Minister’s caricature in cartoons. Any cartoon created had to exclude the Prime Minister’s face. In response to this constraint, I drew the following cartoon:
Follow Me to Development: A twist on the Instagram trend of “Follow Me,” where, the public’s hands are being forcibly twisted and dragged toward development without a choice.
During the 2018 elections, when this cartoon, along with few other cartoons depicting police brutality against opposition parties, was not published by the newspaper, I realized that my days of drawing cartoons for the paper might be coming to an end. Consequently, I compiled all the election-related cartoons and posted them on Facebook and my Medium blog. (Despite the Digital Security Act, I had been posting most of my cartoons on Facebook independently.)
Link to the 2018 election cartoons: Election Cartoons 2018
As a result, the cartoon I had drawn depicting police brutality against opposition parties the day before the election was shared or posted on the official BNP page. (Or perhaps it was the leader of the opposition Khaleda Zia’s official page; I can’t quite recall.) Well-wishers informed me that DGFI was seeking information about me. That night, sitting at the newspaper office, I felt a great deal of mental stress. This was shortly after the government had arrested photographer Shahidul Alam for his protests related to the road movement. Naturally, this served as a clear warning to all photographers, artists, political analysts, and cartoonists like us.
At that time, a friend informed me that there was already a file on me at the Dhaka DB office (Detective Branch). Hearing this, I felt a mix of fear and exhilaration. I told my friend, “The day this government falls, if possible, please get that file for me. I genuinely want to see if the file of such an important government agency is really filled with cartoons!”
On the other hand, starting the day after the election, my Medium blog page inexplicably became inaccessible in the country. After discussing this issue on Facebook; with friends outside the country my blog post suspiciously reappeared a day later. I have no way of knowing the reasons behind these incidents or verifying their authenticity. However, what I do know is that since the 2018 election, any political cartoon I post on my verified Facebook page (Tanmoy Cartoons) experiences a remarkably reduced reach. Whether this is due to digital censorship or not, who can say?
Initially, people often don’t see the need for freedom of speech. To a farmer, as long as he can cultivate his land and sell his crops, his days go by. Freedom of speech doesn’t fill his stomach. For someone in a village without a hospital, the immediate need is for a hospital; they wonder what freedom of speech can do for them. Thus, in the realm of development politics, the idea of freedom of speech was portrayed as unnecessary.
Meanwhile, we, the artists, cartoonists, writers, and performers, whose work is to express ourselves through art, writing, and speech, found ourselves increasingly entangled in the fear of censorship. This censorship was designed to control journalists, cartoonists, photographers, artists, and cultural workers through newspapers, television, and media houses.
However, while not everyone initially understands the necessity of freedom of speech, gradually they begin to grasp its importance when government corruption and oppression become unchecked. When a farmer’s stomach goes empty or the budget for hospitals is squandered, it becomes clear to everyone, even if it is too late by then. Slowly but surely, people start to understand the value of freedom of speech once they see the consequences of its absence.
Since 2019, I have not had the opportunity to draw a single cartoon for the front page of any newspaper. Even the cartoons drawn by me about student protests/ Road safety movement were shared on social media by the students themselves, with no significant role played by newspapers or media outlets.
In May 2019, I lost my job at the newspaper. The reason was quite straightforward: in a country where cartoons are not published, there is little need for a cartoonist at a newspaper.
Since 2019, Facebook and Instagram became my last refuge for expressing dissent through cartoons. When cartoonists Kishore, writer Mostak Ahmed, and journalist Kajol were imprisoned under the Digital Security Act, some Bangladeshi cartoonists continued to use social media to draw and share cartoons in protest.
In July 2024, when I resumed drawing cartoons to protest the inhumane repression faced by students during the quota movement, it felt as though I was witnessing history through my art. As the movement evolved from a nine-point agenda to a single demand which is a call for the government’s downfall, cartoons by Bangladeshi cartoonists became a prominent visual element of the protests on social media, banners, and marches. While renowned artists across the country remained silent, it was the cartoonists, young students, and digital artists of this nation who fearlessly took up their pens to protest.
Final Words:
As a cartoonist, my allegiance lies not with any political party but with my art. I have often been advised that while my cartoons challenge the government, I should also offer them praise for their achievements. Let me clarify: praising or balancing the government is not my role. As I pen these words, a new caretaker government takes its oath, following the ousting of an autocrat by the resolute student masses.
To all cartoonists and artists, I say: this is our time. History has never seen freedom of speech handed over on a silver platter; it is a flame that must be kindled and guarded within our hearts. It is something that must be actively practiced and defended. As frontline defenders of freedom of speech, it is our duty to advance this cause.
Let cartoons be the voice of protest.
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(Dhaka Tribune holds a special place in my heart; it was here that I had the opportunity to draw some of my most challenging cartoons from the early days of my career (2013–2014). I hope that in this new chapter, the newspaper will once again embrace bold and daring cartoons.)
