There is a line from Kusumkumari Das that many of us memorized in childhood, perhaps without realizing how mercilessly it would return to judge us in adulthood.
In her poem Adorsho Chele she asked when a child would grow not in words but in deeds. The question lingers over our public life like an unfinished sentence. We have grown spectacularly in words. In deeds, the report card is more complicated.
Less talk, more action is a slogan so simple that it fits comfortably on a poster, a banner, or a social media bio. But slogans are like fireworks. They glitter brightly for a few seconds and then leave behind smoke.
Governing a country is not a fireworks show. It is slow carpentry. It demands patience, measurement, and restraint. Above all, it demands discipline of the tongue.
Religious wisdom understood this long before modern communication theory did. The hadith recorded in Sahih al-Bukhari and Sahih Muslim advises that whoever believes in Allah and the Last Day should speak good or remain silent.
Another narration in Jami at-Tirmidhi reminds us that silence can be a form of salvation. These are not merely spiritual instructions. They are political advice disguised as morality. Words, once released, develop a life of their own. They do not return quietly to their speaker. They travel, multiply, mutate.
Abraham Lincoln once said: “You can fool some of the people some of the time, but you cannot fool all of the people all of the time.” That saying was almost 150 years ago. It was relatively easy to hide the truth then. But in this modern era, it is almost impossible to hide information.
In this era, what is happening where, for what purpose, what picture has been distorted, who or what did it, how information is being exaggerated -- such simple information can now be easily verified through amazing information technology.
A comment made in a corridor becomes a headline in minutes. A remark uttered in irritation becomes a meme before evening. In this age, speaking carelessly is not only a moral weakness but a strategic blunder.
That is why the first days of a new government are so revealing. When a government comes to power after a prolonged period of political tension, expectations do not simply rise. They swell. People project hope onto the new faces. They imagine that this time, discipline will replace disorder, accountability will replace arrogance, and seriousness will replace spectacle.
Yet within the first 48 hours of assuming office, several ministerial statements have produced not confidence but confusion. The problem is not that ministers speak. Silence alone is not governance. The problem is the casualness with which complex realities are reduced to clever lines.
Consider the recent comment by the new road transport minister that if money is taken by agreement, it is not extortion, but if taken by force, it is.
It is a statement that sounds logical at first hearing, almost academic in its neat classification. But politics is not a classroom exercise in defining terms. It is an arena of power.
In a society where power imbalances are stark, how voluntary is an agreement between a small transport operator and an influential syndicate? When compliance is the safer option, compromise becomes a polite synonym for coercion.
Extortion is not purified by consent extracted under pressure. The public anger over road safety, over reckless driving, over syndicates and informal tolls, is not new. Governments have changed. Faces have changed. The structural dysfunction remains stubborn.
In that context, people expected an uncompromising message. Instead, they received a semantic clarification. It is difficult to build public trust on fine distinctions about the morality of negotiated payments.
The new state minister responsible for education has also offered an inspiring vision. Bangladesh’s education system, he suggests, will one day be envied by the world. Foreigners will send their children here. Our own students will no longer feel the need to look abroad. It is a dream worthy of applause. Every nation needs ambition.
But ambition without a roadmap easily becomes theatre. Our universities still struggle with inadequate research funding, limited laboratory facilities, bureaucratic inertia, and uneven academic standards.
International rankings are not the ultimate measure of quality, but they do reflect structural weaknesses. Thousands of students go abroad each year not out of disloyalty, but because they seek research ecosystems, academic freedom, and global networks that are still developing at home.
Declaring that the world will soon envy us does not solve these structural problems. A realistic timeline, measurable reforms, investment in faculty development, and research grants would speak more convincingly than soaring predictions. When optimism floats too far above reality, it risks being interpreted as denial.
The culture minister has added his own flourish to the opening chapter. He envisions a Bengal where every household produces stars who earn crores overnight, mirroring the commercial success of certain Indian celebrities. It is a seductive image. Who would not want cultural exports that generate wealth and recognition?
Yet culture is not a factory assembly line where stardom can be mass-produced by decree. It grows slowly from education, patronage, experimentation, and freedom.
Reducing culture to income figures is like measuring literature by the weight of paper it consumes. Great artists often emerge from ecosystems that prioritize craft over immediate profit. If the goal of cultural policy becomes only revenue, we may end up with noise instead of nuance.
None of these statements, taken individually, would destabilize a government. But cumulatively they reveal a pattern. The tendency to speak quickly, to promise generously, to define loosely, to dazzle rhetorically. In a previous era, such comments might have faded into obscurity. Today they circulate endlessly, dissected by supporters and critics alike.
The public understands that governing is difficult. They know that no administration can repair decades of structural problems in a week. What they demand is seriousness.
They want to see that those entrusted with authority appreciate the weight of their words. A minister’s comment is not a personal musing. It is interpreted as the voice of the state. Even a hypothetical remark can be read as policy direction.
This is where communication strategy becomes as important as policy-making. In many mature democracies, governments rely on designated spokespersons to articulate official positions. Ministers focus on implementation.
This is not an attempt to restrict speech. It is an attempt to protect coherence. When every minister improvises publicly, the government risks sounding like a chorus without rehearsal.
Bangladesh’s political culture, however, often rewards spontaneity. A witty remark can earn applause at a rally. A bold declaration can dominate headlines. But rallies are not ministries. Governance requires calibration. One misplaced phrase can undermine weeks of careful negotiation. One exaggerated claim can create expectations that no budget can satisfy.
Prime Minister Tarique Rahman’s government carries the burden of heightened expectations. After years of turbulence, people are hungry for stability and reform. They want improvements in law and order, credible action against extortion, visible progress in education, and a cultural policy that respects creativity. They do not expect miracles. They expect method.
Trust is the central currency of politics. It is accumulated slowly through consistent action. It is depleted quickly through careless speech. The irony is that many leaders genuinely intend to deliver results. Yet by speaking prematurely or imprecisely, they cast doubt on their own seriousness.
The wisdom of restraint is not weakness. It is strength. To speak after thinking is not cowardice. It is discipline. Silence at the right moment can prevent unnecessary controversy. A carefully crafted statement can prevent months of misunderstanding.
Our public life would benefit from a simple inversion:
- Instead of announcing what will be achieved in grand terms, demonstrate small achievements consistently.
- Instead of redefining extortion, dismantle the structures that enable it.
- Instead of promising global admiration, invest quietly in research grants and teacher training.
- Instead of dreaming of overnight stars, create institutions where art can mature.
In the end, the difference between a man of words and a man of deeds is not philosophical. It is visible.
Roads are either safer or they are not. Classrooms are either improved or they are not. Cultural institutions either flourish or they do not. No amount of eloquence can substitute for these outcomes.
The new government still has time to align its language with its labour. A gentle internal reminder about moderation in public statements would not signal insecurity. It would signal maturity. Appointing a competent spokesperson would not silence ministers. It would protect them.
HM Nazmul Alam is an Academic, Journalist, and Political Analyst based in Dhaka, Bangladesh. Currently he teaches at IUBAT.