A democracy is not judged only by elections, parliament, governments, or the functioning of political institutions. One of its most difficult tests comes when the state is required to protect individuals, artists, writers, and groups whose views, creative works, or ways of life may be unpopular, controversial, or offensive to sections of society. The real strength of democracy does not lie in protecting what the majority already approves of. It lies in ensuring that minorities, dissenters, and unpopular voices can exercise their lawful rights without fear.

Seen from this perspective, a series of incidents in Bangladesh’s cultural sphere raises an increasingly difficult question: When a lawful cultural event faces organized threats or the risk of violence, should the state restrain those making the threats or restrict the event itself? The incidents are not identical and should not be treated as though they have a single cause. Some have involved religious objections, others direct violence or security concerns, while in several cases accounts from organizers and authorities have differed. Yet taken together, they reveal a pattern worth examining.

𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦𝐬

The pressure has not been confined to sports. At the Amar Ekushey Book Fair in February 2025, tensions erupted outside the stall of Sabyasachi Prokashoni over the display of books by Taslima Nasrin. Police escorted the publisher to safety, and the stall was temporarily closed. The central issue is not whether a particular author is popular or acceptable to everyone. In a society governed by law, the more important question is whether the future of a book that has not been legally prohibited should be determined through established legal procedures or through pressure from a crowd.

A similar dilemma emerged in Brahmanbaria in May 2026 over a planned screening of the film Banalata Express. The screening was suspended amid fears of disorder after a local organization of Qawmi madrasa students objected to the event and announced plans to prevent it. Around the same period, reports emerged that a previously scheduled Baul music program in Madan, Netrokona, had also been canceled following pressure. Individually, such incidents may have different circumstances. Collectively, however, they make concerns about the shrinking space for cultural expression difficult to dismiss. Not every disruption of a cultural event, of course, is ideological or religious.

In December 2025, a concert by rock musician James at the anniversary celebration of Faridpur Zilla School was canceled after outsiders reportedly attempted to enter the venue, stones were thrown, and clashes broke out. It would be misleading to place that incident in precisely the same category as religious opposition to cultural activities. Yet from the perspective of governance, it raises a related question: If violence repeatedly succeeds in shutting down public events without visible accountability for those responsible, what lesson will future organizers learn?

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐛 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞

The distinction between protest and mob action is crucial. A gathering of protesters does not automatically constitute a mob. Peaceful protest is itself a democratic right. Citizens are entitled to criticize a film, book, song, play, or other cultural work. They may organize peaceful demonstrations, call for boycotts, or seek legal remedies if they believe the law has been violated.

Mob rule begins when organized pressure attempts to bypass lawful processes through intimidation, vandalism, physical force, attacks, or threats of immediate punishment. A democratic state therefore has two simultaneous responsibilities: to protect the right to protest and to prevent protesters from forcibly taking away the lawful rights of others.

The December 2025 attack on the Chhayanaut cultural center brought the physical vulnerability of cultural institutions into particularly sharp focus. Allegations of extensive vandalism, looting, attempts at arson, and the destruction of musical instruments and technological equipment raised concerns extending far beyond freedom of expression. Around the same period, allegations also emerged of prior threats in connection with a fire at the office of Udichi. In discussing such incidents, however, responsible public discourse requires a clear distinction between allegations, verified facts, and the eventual findings of investigations. Concern about mob violence should not become an excuse to abandon standards of evidence.

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐜𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫

Authorities cannot ignore genuine security risks. When hundreds of people may become involved in a confrontation, protecting lives and property must be a priority. There may be circumstances in which temporarily suspending an event is unavoidable. The danger begins when an emergency response gradually becomes the standard policy. If canceling an event is consistently easier than identifying and restraining those threatening violence, an administrative shortcut can slowly replace constitutional rights. The consequences extend beyond the event being canceled. Once threats prove effective, organized groups learn a powerful lesson: Gather enough people, create sufficient online outrage, or generate a credible fear of violence, and an administrative decision can be changed. In effect, the threat of disorder acquires an informal veto power over cultural life.

This creates a dangerous incentive structure. The more credible the threat, the greater the chance of getting the desired outcome. Those willing to intimidate therefore gain an advantage over citizens willing to follow lawful procedures. Bangladesh’s Constitution provides an important framework here. Article 23 directs the state toward preserving cultural traditions and promoting literature and the arts, while Article 39 recognizes freedom of thought, conscience, and expression. These freedoms are not absolute. The law may impose restrictions relating to public order, morality, decency, state security, incitement to an offense, and other constitutionally recognized grounds. But that distinction is fundamental: The limits must be determined by law not by whoever can assemble the loudest or most intimidating crowd.

𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐫

Perhaps the greatest long-term danger is not formal censorship at all. It is self-censorship. When filmmakers decide not to screen a film because they fear an attack, musicians remove songs from their programs, playwrights alter subjects they believe may trigger threats, publishers avoid certain books, or university cultural organizations cancel events before anyone formally orders them to do so, fear itself becomes the censor. No government notice is required. No official list of prohibited subjects is necessary. The boundaries of permissible expression gradually become narrower because citizens learn to anticipate the reaction of the most organized and confrontational groups. That process can be harder to detect than formal censorship and potentially more damaging.

Bangladesh’s culture has never been monolithic. Bangladesh’s cultural identity cannot be reduced to a single tradition. Baul and Sufi traditions, Rabindra Sangeet, Nazrul Sangeet, Bhatiyali, Bhawaiya, Jari-Sari, Murshidi songs, Jatra, folk theater, modern music, rock and band music, cinema, literature, and visual arts have all contributed to the country’s cultural landscape. A pluralistic society does not require everyone to approve of everything.

It requires people to coexist despite disagreement. That principle must guide the state’s response to cultural disputes. When a lawful event faces a threat, the first steps should be to assess the credibility of the threat, provide appropriate security, and bring those making unlawful threats under the law. Calls for violence online should be identified and addressed quickly. When an event genuinely has to be postponed for security reasons, authorities should explain the basis for the decision, disclose the measures being taken, and, where possible, provide a pathway for the event to be held later. Cases involving mob violence require visible investigation and accountability. Most importantly, the same legal standard must apply regardless of the political, religious, social, or ideological identity of the crowd.

𝐀 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞

Cultural freedom belongs to no single political camp. If a mob can shut down a film today, the same method can be used against a book tomorrow and a song the day after. Eventually, the target may be clothing, education, religious practice, businesses, public speech, or political opinion. The rule of law cannot be defended selectively.A state’s success should not be measured simply by whether it prevented immediate conflict by canceling an event. A stronger measure of success is whether a lawful event can proceed safely despite threats while those who oppose it remain equally free to protest peacefully.

That is the balance a democratic state must protect. The question facing Bangladesh, therefore, goes beyond culture. It concerns the character of the state itself. Who ultimately determines the boundaries of lawful public life: the law, or the group most capable of organizing, shouting, intimidating, and threatening violence?

History suggests that mob rule rarely ends with the cancellation of a single event. Its deeper consequence is a society in which people gradually lose the confidence to speak, create, perform, publish, and disagree.Protecting cultural freedom, therefore, is not a luxury. It is an essential part of protecting the rule of law, citizens’ dignity, and the democratic character of the state.

Writer: Prodeepto Mobarook, Head of Public Relations, Stamford University Bangladesh