Not cricket, not poetry, not even our legendary tea-stall debates, no, the true national sport is forming absolute conclusions about people within seconds, preferably with incomplete information and greater assumptions.

We are a nation blessed with imagination. Unfortunately, that imagination is rarely used for innovation or research; instead, it is enthusiastically employed to fill gaps in knowledge with assumptions so bold that they truly deserve literary awards.

A young man walks into a café with dyed hair? There goes the verdict: irresponsible youth, probably failing exams, definitely a bad influence.

A girl returns home late? Verdict: questionable character, suspicious activities, family failure.

Someone buys a new phone? Verdict: corruption, hidden income, or must have rich relatives abroad.

Evidence is optional. Context is unnecessary. Rumours are admissible, and imagination is considered reliable testimony here.

The irony, of course, is that we deeply distrust official systems of justice but maintain absolute faith in our own personal verdicts based on one blurry photo and a neighbour’s opinion.

And no, this isn’t the internet’s fault. Social media did not create our judging habit, it simply gave it a high bandwidth.

A single post can trigger nationwide analysis. A photo is uploaded, and within minutes, an army of detectives appears, analysing clothing, background objects, facial expressions, and even shadows with absolutely no clue.

Our comments section is less of a discussion platform and more of a public execution stage. We don’t just judge; rather, we dramatise.

What makes this especially fascinating is that many of the judges are anonymous, operating under profile pictures of flowers, cartoon characters, or celebrities. Hidden identities judging visible lives, there is poetry in that hypocrisy.

If social media is the High Court, the tea stall, or let’s term it in Bangalee’s favourite tone, ‘Tong e’, is the intelligence agency.

Here, national politics, family disputes, university results, and celebrity scandals are analysed with a level of confidence that would embarrass professional analysts and make them doubt their degrees.

A person passes by twice in one day? Suspicious.

A shop closes early? Financial collapse imminent.

A student changes departments? Academic failure confirmed.

Tea stall discussions operate on a simple principle: the less information available, the more confident the conclusion. Facts slow down conversation. Assumptions accelerate it.

Much of our judgment habit stems from a deep cultural obsession with appearances. We evaluate people based on what we see, not what we know. Clothing becomes character, accent becomes intelligence, and income becomes morality.

A person wearing formal attire is assumed responsible, even if he or she cheats people daily. Another person in casual clothes may be hardworking and honest but labelled careless.

It is almost as if morality is measured by Raymond’s fabric quality.

We rarely ask, What is the full story? Instead, we ask, What does it look like?

Because appearances are easier than investigations.

Within families, judgment is not only common but it is institutionalised.

A student scores slightly lower in exams? Immediate analysis begins: not studying enough, using the phone too much, influence of bad friends.

Rarely does anyone ask about mental stress, health issues, or teaching quality.

Similarly, career choices become battlegrounds of assumptions. A young photographer is labelled irresponsible. A freelancer is seen as unemployed. An artist is considered financially doomed.

The most amusing part is that the same relatives who criticise unconventional careers later proudly claim credit when that person succeeds. Who doesn’t want to get fame and recognition from a successful person! Indeed!

Judgment first, pride later, that is the unofficial family policy.

There is a deeper psychological pattern here. Judging others gives a temporary illusion of superiority.

When we criticise someone else, we momentarily feel wiser, more disciplined, considering ourselves more moral. It is a cheap way to feel powerful without actually improving ourselves.

Instead of asking why, when, and how, instead of offering help, we offer sports commentary.

And commentary is always cheaper than compassion. Come on, it is not televised!

It seems Bangladesh has an unofficial economy based entirely on rumours.

One whisper becomes two. Two become ten. Ten becomes a nationwide narrative. Next, you look for articles made on that topic.

By the time the truth arrives, the rumour has already completed its tour across neighbourhoods, universities, offices, and WhatsApp groups, staying unlimited nights and days, free of cost.

Rumours thrive because assumptions feed them. People rarely verify information before sharing it. Why check facts when speculation is more entertaining?

Ironically, many people who judge quickly are highly educated on paper.

Degrees decorate walls, but critical thinking sometimes remains missing.

We memorise textbooks but rarely practise questioning assumptions. We learn formulae but not empathy. We master definitions but ignore perspectives.

Education teaches us what to think, but not always how to think.

And without critical thinking, assumptions become the default operating system.

Traditional and digital media often amplify judgment culture.

Headlines sometimes prioritise sensation over context. Stories are framed dramatically, encouraging immediate reactions rather than thoughtful understanding.

Viewers form conclusions based on incomplete information, and those conclusions spread like wildfire in the Amazon.

Nuance rarely trends. Complexity rarely goes viral.

The same people who judge others fear being judged themselves.

We carefully curate our public image. We avoid sharing vulnerabilities. We hide mistakes.

Why? Because we know how harshly we judge others, and we assume others will do the same to us.

Thus, society becomes a theatre of performance, where authenticity is replaced by appearances, an Oscar-receiving drama with zero props.

Misjudgment damages reputations, assumptions destroy relationships, rumours create social anxiety.

Talented individuals hesitate to pursue unconventional paths because they fear public opinion. Victims of misunderstanding suffer silently because explaining context feels exhausting.

A society addicted to judgment becomes resistant to empathy. And empathy, ironically, is the foundation of progress.

Context is the most underrated element in social life. Every action has background. Every decision has pressure. Every mistake has circumstances. Without context, judgment becomes guesswork.

Yet context requires patience, something modern society struggles to afford. We want immediate answers, immediate opinions, immediate reactions. But life is rarely immediate. It is layered, complex, and messy.

Understanding context requires listening, observing, and sometimes admitting ignorance. And admitting ignorance is the hardest task for someone addicted to certainty. No wonder unemployment is still prevalent despite the many opportunities available.

Perhaps the solution is not complicated.

Imagine if Bangladesh introduced a National Pause Policy: before judging someone, citizens must wait thirty seconds and ask three questions. Of course, such a policy would never pass. It would slow down gossip, reduce dramatic conversations, and possibly damage the tea stall economy.

And what would social media comments become without instant outrage?

Silence, perhaps. And silence is terrifying for those who thrive on noise.

We laugh at gossip but listen carefully, we condemn rumours but share them just in case, we demand fairness but practise bias. Hypocrisy is not an exception; it is a standard.

No society can eliminate judgment entirely. Evaluating behaviour is necessary for social order. But there is a difference between thoughtful evaluation and reckless assumption.

The former builds understanding. The latter builds misunderstanding.

A healthier culture would encourage curiosity before criticism, questions before conclusions, and empathy before assumptions. It would value listening as much as speaking.

And perhaps, just perhaps, it would replace the national hobby of judgment with something more constructive, like understanding.

We are storytellers without facts, detectives without evidence, judges without courts.

And yet, beneath the cloud of cynicism, there is hope.

Because recognising the absurdity of our own habits is the first step towards change.

Until then, the Republic of Assumptions remains strong, active, and highly efficient in delivering instant verdicts daily, free of charge, and without appeal.