One of the most interesting habits in our political discourse is how often leaders speak in the name of “the people”.

“The people will respond”, “the people of the country will not accept this”, the people will take to the streets”, “the people will unleash ‘another July’” … These are familiar phrases, and they are used by almost everyone -- the government, the opposition, and political movements of all ideological shades.

Many may say: “That is what representative politics has always done. So what?” But no one asks whether we should continue accepting it uncritically.

Should we not ask, what assumptions about democracy and authority are hidden inside these familiar phrases?

The more I hear them, the more I find myself wondering: can anyone truly claim to know what an entire nation thinks? Do they know what I think? Will I do whatever they are claiming I will do? I am, at the end of the day, a part of the “people of this country”.

Bangladesh is home to nearly 180 million people. We differ by class, geography, profession, religion, generation, and political belief. We disagree loudly and often, we change our minds, we remain undecided, and we hold contradictory views -- sometimes all at once.

That is not a flaw in democracy.

It is just plain and simply democracy.

And yet our political language often suggests that the nation speaks with one clear and unified voice, and that particular leaders have somehow been entrusted to interpret it.

Recent headlines offer striking examples.

In April, Prime Minister Tarique Rahman said that just as people had given a “fitting reply” on August 5, “they will do so again in the future” if anyone tried to “play with their destiny”.

The opposition uses similar language.

In one report, Jamaat-e-Islami Ameer Shafiqur Rahman said his party would continue to speak because it was acting “on behalf of the people”.

At a rally over the July Charter, opposition leaders cautioned that “the people of this country will confront” the government.

Read together, these statements reveal something fascinating.

Despite their profound disagreements, political actors across the spectrum share a common assumption: that they can, with confidence, articulate what “the people” think, feel, and will do next.

Of course, this language is understandable. Politics has always relied on broad and evocative phrases. Leaders need to inspire, mobilise, and persuade. Speaking in the name of the public can be a powerful rhetorical device.

But it is worth pausing to consider what gets lost when such phrases are used too casually.

A parliament literally comes from the French word “parler” -- "to speak”. Legislators are elected to speak on behalf of their constituencies.

To govern is not to possess the country’s collective consciousness. It begs the question, “is this why dissenting voices are always treated like the enemy?”

Perhaps the more accurate and democratic phrasing would be simpler. “Our party believes”, “our supporters demand”, “many citizens are concerned”, “we believe the public may respond” etc.

These statements remain forceful while acknowledging an essential truth: no individual, no party, and no institution can fully speak for everyone. And perhaps that is the beauty of democracy.

The nation does not speak in one voice.

Sometimes those voices converge, often they clash, and occasionally they contradict themselves. But together they form something far richer and more honest than any single political statement could capture.

An MP may represent a constituency. A government may exercise power. An opposition may channel widespread frustration. But none of them owns the phrase “the people”.

The people, after all, are still speaking for themselves. Maybe first try and listen to them.