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‘Shono Mohajon’: The unlikely anthem that became the voice of a generation
We were out of the country at that time, but we felt happy that we could contribute to the cause through our music.
MAHIYA TABASSUM
In the sweltering summer of this year, as Bangladesh erupted in what would later be known as the July Revolution, an unexpected soundtrack emerged from the chaos. Shono Mohajon , a song released nearly a decade earlier by the local band Shunno, suddenly found new life as the unofficial anthem of a nation in upheaval. This feature explores the journey of the song, its creators, and the profound impact of music on social movements.
The birth of an unlikely anthem
Formed in 2007 by vocalist Imrul Karim Emil and former lead guitarist Shaker Raza, Shunno quickly established itself as a prominent voice in Bangladesh’s music scene. The band, completed by bassist Andrew Michael Gomez, drummer Rafatul Bari Labib and guitarist Ishmamul Farhad, had already tasted success with their song Shoto Asha becoming the unofficial theme for the 2011 Cricket World Cup in our country. However, it was Shono Mohajon , a track from their earlier days, that would ultimately define their legacy.
Written by popular lyricist Shahan Kabondho and produced by Fuad Al Muqtadir, Shono Mohajon was not created with any specific political agenda in mind. As Emil explains, “When we made the song 9-10 years ago, we didn’t target any political party.” Instead, the song spoke to a universal experience of oppression under dictatorship, its lyrics a poignant cry against abuse of power:
“Amar bichar tumi koro, tomar bichar korbe ke
Kobe tomar dokhol theke, mukti amay debe
Shono Mohajon, ami noyto ekjon
Shono Mohajon, amra onekjon.”
The chorus loosely translates to:
“You judge me, but who will judge you?
When will you free me from your control?
Listen, lord, I am not alone
Listen, lord, we are many.”
As students took to the streets in July as part of the anti-discrimination student movement, demanding an end to the corrupt governance and repressive regime, Shono Mohajon found new resonance. Its lyrics, once a general critique of power structures, now seemed tailor-made for the moment. Students used the song as background music for countless social media reels documenting the protests, spreading its message far beyond its original reach.
The band, touring in Canada at the time, watched in awe as their creation took on a life of its own. “We were surprised and proud to see the mass circulation,” Emil recalls. “We were out of the country at that time, but we felt happy that we could contribute to the cause through our music.”
On July 30, as the protests reached a fever pitch, Emil changed his profile picture to solid red, an act of solidarity with the students back home. Meanwhile, in Toronto, the band dedicated their performances to the protesters, using their platform to raise awareness about the situation in Bangladesh.
What made Shono Mohajon resonate so strongly with the protesters, particularly the youth? Andrew Michael Gomes, the band’s bassist and occasional lyricist, offers an insight: “We were true to our art and words when we created the song. It’s a song for anyone who has ever been oppressed, can be anyone from any background. Our song wasn’t directed towards any particular party or institution. We didn’t even promote the song during the movement. It got picked up because of its relevance.”
This universality, combined with the song’s emotional power, allowed it to transcend its original context and become a vessel for the hopes and frustrations of a new generation. As Michael notes, “The song isn’t ours anymore, it has become the song of the people.”
Music as a catalyst for change
The story of Shono Mohajon and its role in the July Revolution is more than just a tale of musical success; it’s a stark reminder of the complex relationship between art and society. While the song’s resurgence demonstrates the power of music to inspire and unify, it also raises critical questions about the nature of protest anthems and the responsibilities of artistes in times of social upheaval.
On one hand, the adoption of Shono Mohajon by protesters showcases the organic way in which art can transcend its original intent and become a powerful tool for change. The band’s surprise at their song’s new life highlights the unpredictable nature of artistic impact. In an era of viral content and rapid information spread, we must consider the potential for manipulation and misinterpretation of artistic works.
Moreover, while Shunno’s indirect approach to social commentary allowed their message to resonate across time and context, it also raises questions about the role of more direct, confrontational art in social movements–is it more effective to create universally applicable works that can be reinterpreted, or to produce art that explicitly addresses current issues?
As the country enters a new era of newly-found freedom of expression, the music industry stands at a crossroads. The potential for a renaissance of creative expression is immense, but so too are the challenges. Emil and the band see both opportunities and responsibilities for artistes. “Since now we have got the ‘license’ to tell stories, hopefully, we will be able to tell more interesting, compelling stories now,” Emil muses. He emphasises the importance of artistes staying conscious and continually challenging those in power. “Asking the right, conscious questions will help in the long run. We, as musicians and artistes, can also raise questions through our creation.”
Michael, the band’s bassist, expresses optimism about the potential for more authentic and diverse artistic expression: “Other musicians and artistes who could not fulfil their artistic potential due to censorship would be able to exercise the newly found freedom, and I am really happy for them.” However, Emil also notes the importance of responsible use of this freedom, particularly in an age of misinformation. “The youth are much more aware now. People verify every piece of news before believing it. So, if censorship is eliminated, I am sure people will make good use of it,” he says.
Regarding the reform of the music industry, Emil suggests, “We should welcome all kinds of music,” advocating for more diverse representation in music events and festivals. He also emphasises the need for established industry associations to provide better resources and guidance to emerging artistes, helping to build a strong foundation for the next generation of musicians.
The legacy of Shono Mohajon serves as both an inspiration and a caution. It reminds us of music’s power to unite and inspire, but also of the need for critical engagement with the art we consume and create. As Bangladesh’s artistes step into this new era, they carry with them not just the opportunity to create and express freely, but also the weighty responsibility of shaping cultural narratives and social discourse.