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The screen prints are back

  • Writer: Newage
    Newage
  • Aug 13
  • 4 min read

Updated: Aug 14


The political posters of deposed of Awami League has quickly been replaced by other political parties. — Collected
The political posters of deposed of Awami League has quickly been replaced by other political parties. — Collected

by Mahmudul H Sumon


THE screen prints are back in Bangladesh. They were absent for just a few days. They were removed, thrown in the garbage. They belonged mostly to one party — a party that was in power for too long without a mandate. In Bangladesh, after July 2024, they were the first things to be removed. They were grotesque anyway, standing on our roadsides with bamboo sticks attached. They were rude to trees. Callous to our street views.

Indeed, not only political screen prints. There is a host of other contenders in this menacing race to fill the sky of our city: coaching centre screen prints and herbal medicine screen prints. Worst of all: higher education screen prints — and what not. Usually, they belong to small businesses. Big businesses use different technology (i.e., billboards dangerously erected on the city buildings); sometimes they too go for dynamic screens. The erstwhile government, while in power, used these screens to their own ends too — sometimes involving them in government propaganda. A most common use was that of the elite force’s advertisement on how it protected the citizenry from terrorism.

However, my focus today is on the political screen prints. They have been there in Bangladesh for some time now. To begin with, they are aesthetically poor. They are everywhere, though! They are hung at the city’s intersections, no matter what! It does not matter if this is an election season or not (we hardly had a proper election in the past fifteen years, yet there has never been a dearth of political screen prints in the country); they are out all seasons — standing or hung on the road for the citizenry’s attention.

The composition of these political screen prints is poor. Usually, a set of photographs with names. The photographs are usually arranged in a hierarchy. The higher the position of the leader in the local political hierarchy, the larger the face. Dead leaders are usually at the top; the middle section adorns the faces of the party leaders who are alive; and finally, an unknown face (the one who seeks your attention — actually the party leaders’ attention). The unknown face is the one who (or whose clique) most likely spent the money for the screen prints. It is someone from the locality where the screen print is hung. It gives the message that ‘I am here, and look who my boss is.’

Sometimes these screen prints can be confusing. Lately, I saw Tareq Rahman’s face but a different name. Perhaps the local leader is too embarrassed to have his face on the prints — hence just decided to have his name below. But usually the local leaders/aspiring politicians do have their faces. They wear nice blazers for the photoshoots for the screen print. But looking at the poor aesthetics, I wonder if they really go for photo shoots and instead do away with passport-size photos. Whatever the case may be, the citizenry ends up with mostly unknown faces on the roads in Dhaka and all over Bangladesh.

Usually, these screen prints have the party election logo imprinted on them. And of course, in the case of the two parties that have tasted power in Bangladesh, it is the genealogy of a family that matters in these screen-printed posters. Of course, there are other parties in the country who too have father figures — sometimes historically and geographically very distant ones. But they mostly do things with paper-based posters, and in any case, they are not my concern today.

I am more interested in the screen prints that have long been a staple in Bangladesh’s political culture: what they want, what purposes they serve, and if people really look at them. Often this could be the case that you look at them if you only know them. Otherwise, they remain unnoticed.

They are surely bad for the environment. They create bars to the beautiful view of the countryside. Eyesores on the roads, and sometimes obstacles for the free flow of traffic coming from the opposite direction. If not properly disposed of, they have the potential to clog the drains. The political posters and banners are often the example of the territorialisation of our politics. It is an indication that if the party comes to power, the unknown face in the screen print will be in charge of the respective areas. Sometimes they are just the MP’s men. They are the de facto government in the area and are involved with all sorts of activities. Illegal toll collection from the city’s informal market is just one of their myriad businesses. Their work may range from collecting tolls to resolving disputes to helping the law enforcement agency for activities in which the power is interested. For example, forcing workers to get into a cracked building could be a task they may take if they are asked by the high-up of the party.

Screen prints are usually a lot of visuals and a few names. There is hardly any mention of the party agenda except for one- or two-liners. They are a strong reminder of a patron-client relation that exists in the politics of Bangladesh. The local leader lacks the courage to put up his own image without the name and photo of his political patron.

The hope was that this would change. There will be a democratic spirit. But the old stalwarts of these screen prints, who were long persecuted and barely managed any space in this visualscape, are back with a sense of deprivation and urgency. They need to take charge — as if this is their birthright. The screen prints represent an old tradition that we all wish to topple. We need better modes of communication that are both aesthetic and political, environmentally friendly, safe, and sustainable. One that depends on agenda and promises—and not on who’s who. Unfortunately, that still seems a far cry — even after all the sacrifices July’s warriors of 2024 made. And it includes not only the sufferings and sacrifices of our university students, college and madrasa students, but also the sacrifices made by infants, ordinary passersby, and workers.


Mahmudul Sumon is a professor of anthropology at Jahangirnagar University.

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