First Law of Democratic Gravity: All statues are felled, sooner or later

It’s an image — both traumatic and triumphant for entirely different reasons — that will be seared in our memory. The image of thousands of Bangladeshi protesters vandalising the statue of Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, the country’s founding father and former President — revered as ‘Bangabandhu’ (Friend of Bengal) — following Sheikh Hasina’s resignation and departure from the country.

Defying the nationwide curfew, the protesters climbed on Rahman’s statue, smashed it with hammers and, as if to add insult to the injury, garlanded it with a string of slippers.

One wonders how many of those men who indulged in the grotesque act of defacement actually know what Mujibur Rahman stood for, blinded as they are by the political discontent in the wake of the country’s attempt to give reservation to the freedom fighters and their descendants in government jobs — seen as a bid to benefit the members of the ruling Awami League — and united by their single-minded hatred for the party in power for the past 15 years.

Macron's promise

In June 2020, speaking for the first time on the issue of statues, French President Emmanuel Macron underlined that his country “will not take down statues.”

In his incredibly erudite, trenchant and fascinating piece — his review of the year 2020 — for Artforum, Spanish philosopher, curator, and trans activist Paul B Preciado reminded Macron of the 'First Law of Democratic Gravity: All statues fall down sooner or later’.

He evoked German writer WG Sebald, who had said that “monuments that represent the power some wield over others paradoxically contain in their violent and grandiloquent style the root of their own destruction” (paraphrased by Preciado).

“The iconoclastic gesture’s supremacy over any sculptural governmental decree is hidden but determinant. And the bigger the statue, the better the wreckage,” wrote Preciado.

Wring out the old, ring in the new

In the inexorable march of history, statues and monuments stand as silent sentinels, bearing witness to the triumphs and tragedies of bygone eras. And yet, we must understand that they are not mere inanimate objects. They are embodiments of power, ideology, and collective memory.

In the case of Rahman’s statue, it meant so much more. A shared dream of freedom. And a revolution that guaranteed it.

But, like the statues of other revolutionary leaders around the world before, it could not be immune to the ravages of time. Perhaps it, too, contained ‘the root’ of its own ‘destruction.’

The desecration of Rahman’s statue — a symbol of national pride and unity — is deplorable. It’s a profound insult to his legacy and the sentiments of millions who hold him in high regard. But it is not without historical precedent.

Historical precedent

Throughout history, statues have been toppled, defaced, and destroyed as a form of protest, rebellion, or simply as an expression of discontent.

The act of destruction, while seemingly destructive, can be seen as a form of venting out anger and frustration and perhaps also as a way of rewriting history and reclaiming public space by those yearning for change.

If Rahman’s revolution was an act of reclamation of a language and heritage, one can argue that the impulse to destroy his statue, too, could be rooted in a somewhat similar desire — to ring (or wring) out the old, and ring in the new symbols of power.

Perhaps, in the case of Rahman’s statue, the vandals sought to undermine his legacy and the secular values he championed. If one thinks about it, this act of iconoclasm reveals a deeper truth about the nature of power and its inherent fragility.

The statues that fell

The toppling of Confederate statues in the United States, the removal of colonial-era monuments in Africa, and the mutilation of statues of controversial figures, including Vladimir Lenin and Joseph Stalin in Europe and the former Soviet Union, are all part of a broader reckoning with the past and its legacy.

They remind us that power, and even the attempts to immortalise it, is never absolute, and that monuments, however grand, are ultimately ephemeral.

The fall of Lenin statues across Eastern Europe and the former Soviet Union during the late 20th century marked, well, the end of an era.

Lenin, as the architect of the Bolshevik Revolution, represented communist ideology and Soviet power. The dismantling of his statues symbolised the rejection of communist rule and the adoption of new political and economic systems.

In countries like Ukraine, Georgia, and the Baltic states, the toppling of Lenin statues was a public declaration of independence from Soviet influence.

Complex circumstances

Joseph Stalin’s statues met a similar fate, though often under more complex circumstances. His legacy is linked to both industrial progress and brutal repression.

After his death, Nikita Khrushchev’s de-Stalinisation campaign led to the removal of many Stalin statues as part of an effort to distance the Soviet state from his tyrannical rule. The fall of Stalin’s statues meant a move towards a less repressive governance, even if the broader system remained authoritarian.

Khrushchev, while not as omnipresent in statue form as Lenin or Stalin, also experienced posthumous scrutiny. His leadership is often associated with the Thaw, a period of liberalisation following Stalin’s death.

Statues or commemorations of Khrushchev have been less controversial, but any removals or alterations often reflect changing attitudes towards his policies and the period of relative openness he represented.

Symbols of oppression

In the US, the removal of Confederate statues has been a contentious issue, particularly in recent years. These statues, erected during the Jim Crow era and beyond, are receptacles of the legacy of slavery and racial oppression for many.

Their removal has been seen as a necessary step towards racial reconciliation and justice, although its opponents have argued that it erases history. It’s apparent that the debates around these statues underscore the deep divisions in America regarding race and historical memory.

In the United Kingdom, on the other hand, the statues of figures like Cecil Rhodes and Edward Colston have been targets of public ire. Rhodes, a colonialist, and Colston, a slave trader, belong to Britain’s imperial past. Targeting their statues reflects a growing public awareness of and opposition to the injustices associated with colonialism and the transatlantic slave trade.

In South Africa, the #RhodesMustFall movement began at the University of Cape Town and quickly spread, calling for the removal of colonial-era statues and the decolonisation of education. The toppling of Saddam Hussein’s statue in Baghdad’s Firdos Square on April 9, 2003, broadcast globally, became an iconic image of the fall of his regime; it is still vivid in our minds.

These acts, thus, are part of the campaign to decolonise public spaces and acknowledge historical wrongs.

Indian sentiments

In India, the removal of statues from the colonial era, including those of King George V, carries similar symbolic weight. The statue of King George V, which once stood proudly in India Gate in New Delhi, was removed in 2022 in a bid to shed the remnants/vestiges of British colonial rule.

As Rajpath became ‘Kartavya Path,’ Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose’s statute came to replace that of King George V.

But in India, a far more insidious development is the gradual erasure from public spaces of statues of Mahatma Gandhi, the Father of the Nation. Government offices, where his portraits were ubiquitous, now proudly display a whole new set of ‘national icons’.

In most offices, the portraits that adorn the walls are of Narendra Modi, Bose, and VD Savarkar.

The leader that Bangladesh needs

As the interim government takes control of Bangladesh, perhaps the country, in the years to come, will find a new set of heroes to worship.

However, it will be an uphill task, almost impossible to achieve. In a country which has become increasingly polarised and fragmented, the two dominant parties — the Awami League and the Bangladesh Nationalist Party (BNP), whose leader Khalida Zia has now been freed — have been engaged in a bitter rivalry.

Its political system today is plagued by allegations of corruption, cronyism, and a lack of transparency, which have collectively eroded public trust in political leaders in general.

Also, the socio-cultural fabric of Bangladesh has undergone tremendous change since the 1970s. The rise of religious conservatism, the increasing influence of global media and cultural trends, and the growing economic disparities have created a more diverse, heterogeneous, anxious and aspirational society.

Not 1971

Indeed, the challenges facing Bangladesh today are vastly different from those of the 1970s. Issues like climate change, economic inequality, and technological disruption require a different kind of leadership — the country needs a government that is more technocratic, collaborative, and adaptable.

In such a scenario, the traditional model of a charismatic, populist leader may not be as effective in addressing these knotty challenges of the 21st century.

Fifty-three years after the Liberation War, the generation that experienced Rahman’s leadership firsthand has gradually faded away. The younger generations have grown up in a different political and social environment, and their expectations from leaders are different.

They may be less inclined to embrace a personality-driven leadership style and more interested in leaders who can deliver tangible results, address their specific concerns with regard to job opportunities and conditions for a better life.

Will they?

Bangladesh today needs leaders who can bridge the political divide, tackle pressing issues like poverty and economic inequality, and inspire the younger generation to actively participate in shaping the future of their country.

The question is: Will Mohammad Yunus, who has been appointed to helm the interim government, rise up and prove to be such a leader, steering clear of the sway of Jamaat-e-Islami, or will he let the country slide into further anarchy and chaos?