As election drums beat louder and political parties flood the airwaves with polished campaign songs, a sharp question has cut through the noise – who pays the price for this music?
Actress and dancer Munmun Ahmed believes she knows the answer, and she is not staying quiet.
In a pointed social media post on Sunday evening, February 1, Munmun wrote: “They scrapped the recruitment of music teachers across the country, destroyed livelihoods – and then seek votes by singing themselves! Nothing works without music.”
Within hours, her words struck a nerve, sparking intense debate across social media and within Bangladesh’s artistic community.
At the heart of her criticism lies a policy decision with far-reaching consequences. The Ministry of Primary and Mass Education has recently amended recruitment rules for government primary schools, scrapping the posts of assistant teachers in music and physical education. Where schools once planned for four teaching categories – head teacher, assistant teacher, assistant teacher (physical education) and assistant teacher (music) – only two now remain.
The move overturned a 2020 initiative designed to nurture children’s physical, mental and cultural development. That plan had included approval for more than 5,000 posts for music and physical education teachers, a rare institutional recognition of the arts as a core component of education. But resistance from some religious-based political groups, who demanded the appointment of religious instructors instead of music teachers, eventually led to the policy’s quiet burial.
Educationists and cultural activists say the fallout is being felt far beyond classrooms. “There is no contradiction between religion and culture,” said Rasheda K Chowdhury, executive director of the Mass Literacy Campaign. “Music and sports are essential for a child’s emotional and mental growth. Removing them weakens education itself.”
In this context, Munmun Ahmed’s frustration resonates deeply. While music teachers lose jobs and future opportunities vanish, political parties are increasingly leaning on songs, slogans and stage performances to energise voters. To many artists, the contradiction is glaring: music is sidelined as a profession, yet celebrated as a campaign weapon.
The stakes are high. More than one crore students study in over 65,000 government primary schools across the country. With subject-based music teacher recruitment now frozen, those working in the cultural sector fear a generation may grow up without structured exposure to music – while politicians continue to exploit its emotional pull for electoral gain.
Munmun’s protest, though brief, has become a rallying point. For many in the arts, it is not just about jobs lost, or policies reversed – it is about respect.
As campaign songs echo across rallies and social media, her question lingers uncomfortably in the background: If music is powerful enough to win votes, why isn’t it important enough to teach children?