Just over two months have passed since Bangladesh saw a generational revolution that ousted a 15-year-tenured dictator from her throne. Since Sheikh Hasina’s departure, Bangladesh has been tackling one disaster after another, as the new administration attempts to restore a governing system that has gone through 15 years of corruption, malpractice and mafia tactics.
However, even before we can start talking about where Bangladesh is right now, I think it is incredibly important to set the record straight about exactly what happened during the mass uprising the nation encountered in July.
While I am no expert on politics, being actively present in one of Bangladesh’s biggest newsrooms from July 16-August 5 gave me insights that the average individual might not know.
Some of these issues aren’t even being written about. The mainstream media has become overwhelmed by the tall task of exposing as much of the corruption that happened over the last 15 years.
As a result, a retrospective view of the revolution has been limited to mostly opinion columns rather than traditional investigative reporting. Opinion columns are incredible spaces to learn about things.
However, experts analysing the revolution are limited to a lens that simply because of the circumstances of said revolution. Amid violence on the streets and a curfew, very few were allowed to roam Dhaka, even on a limited scale.
That is why, when many people speak about the period between July 15-July 25, they do not have the same context. In part due to an internet blackout and in part because of the curfew.
At the same time, I don’t think any of us will ever really understand the full scale of the ground reality of that period.
Now, I am not going break down each and every day. Many others have already done a much better job of that than I could. If want something like that though, please give this a click.
However, what I want to do is bring a little more clarity about some of the things that happened.
Who is pulling the strings?
Many people have tried to manifest this worldview that this revolution was masterminded by some foreign power. Sheikh Hasina herself has alluded to this theory, not in person of course, but through “leaks” to the Indian media and some crazy rambling letter.
However, let me just bring out some key evidence your honour.
Nobody forced Hasina into ordering her police, BGB and army forces to start killing citizens. China didn’t force Hasina to shut down the internet and issue “shoot on sight” orders to the armed forces.
Even after she had already killed at least 150 people by her own government’s estimates, students had only demanded an apology from her and the resignation of a few of her ministers. They literally gave her the option to throw her party members under the bus and apologise.
America didn’t force Hasina to refuse those demands. Even up until the very end, Hasina refused to negotiate with the coordinators, sent out BCL to shoot more people and mobilised her own party men for maximum carnage.
Hasina masterminded her OWN ouster by believing that she was invincible.
Now, going by Hasina’s record of lying, I am sure she will have you believe America had a gun to her head and made her commit political suicide.
So, no. I don’t believe in the idea of foreign powers masterminding the July revolution.
“Razakar”
Sheikh Hasina, during her visit to China on July 14, had spoken about the ongoing student protest regarding quotas in Bangladesh at the time.
She had of course resorted to her old tactics of blaming a non-existent opposition for fuelling the movement. However, she really got the cogs turning against her when she referred protestors as “razakars”. In Bangladesh, “razakar” is probably one of the worst things to call anyone.
The term refers to collaborators who worked with the Pakistani government during the 1971 liberation war. In many ways, it can be likened to being called a Nazi or traitor.
Protesters were obviously not thrilled by the comparison and would go on to chant, "Tui ke? Ami ke? Razakar, Razakar! Ke boleche ke boleche? Shoirachar, Shoirachar, [Who are you? Who am I? Razakar, Razakar! Who said it, who said it? The dictator, the dictator!]".
This would be the first time Sheikh Hasina would be openly called a dictator.
On July 15, Awami League General Secretary and former minister Obaidul Quader would instruct the government’s student wing, Bangladesh Chhatra League (BCL), to give a “fitting” response to the innocent students protesting against the then quota system.
In Quader’s own words, “Chhatra League will give a fitting reply to those student leaders of the quota reform movement who last night labelled themselves Razakars and showed arrogance”
Now, while I personally believe politicians are some of the thickest people in existence, the one quality that shines through even more is their overall nefarious attitudes.
While it was quite obvious that the students were ironic in calling themselves razakars, as that is what Hasina herself had called them, these scumbag politicians decided to speak to the media as if the statements were literal.
Hell, even 24 so-called “eminent” citizens of Bangladesh condemned students who called themselves razakars.
"We are very surprised and angry to hear the slogans 'Who are you, who am I, Razakars' and 'We are all Razakars' from the procession of the students demanding the cancellation of the quota system in several universities on Sunday night,'' they said in a statement on July 16.
If you want to learn the names of all these ass-hats, please feel free to click on the quote and learn more.
July 16
While these “eminent” citizens were calling out students instead of the deranged prime minister who was casually throwing around the term “razakar” at children and Obaidul Quader who was laying the foundations for a mini-genocide, BCL started attacking students in their university halls.
The very places these young students should have been the safest, turned into centres of violence. BCL’s attacks didn’t simply stop with attacking the male students, but these animals even attacked female students as well.
They sank to new lows, even going into hospital wards to attack students who were receiving treatment.
Nationwide, public university campuses and halls erupted with violence as BCL took on the task of being Awami League’s henchmen, defending the so-called “honour” of their leader Sheikh Hasina.
While the violence raged on, with police soon joining the fray, one Abu Sayed from Begum Rokeya University in Rangpur was shot dead. The moment recorded on video was horrific to watch.
The young man, only 23-years-old at the time, was shot multiple times with a shotgun by police, all while he stood there with arms wide open.
Hours later, I would sit down at my desk in The Daily Star’s newsroom and be handed the report of his death.
I have always believed that the best way we can honour the dead is by preserving the memories of their lives. The only way I could honour Abu Sayed was by telling his story the best way I possibly could.
Every line felt soul crushing. The more I learned about Abu Sayed, the more I was filled with sorrow. Normally, as a journalist, you are supposed to tune out the feelings and approach even the most gruesome murder stories objectively and neutrally. However, in this instance, the facts of Abu Sayed’s death were enough to leave me grieving and furious.
And so Abu Sayed lives on in our memories.
People have already attempted to politicise Abu Sayed’s death. And if history is any indicator, I am sure others will attempt the same in the future.
However, I implore anyone who will listen, to let Abu Sayed be exactly what he is. A hero. Please do not turn him into a mascot for your political gains the same way Awami League turned Bangabandhu into theirs.
Never, while I breathe, do I want to even consider the possibility of someone doing to a memorial of Abu Sayed what was done to that of Bangabandhu’s.
Internet Blackout
I had heard murmurs about mobile internet being shutdown earlier on July 18. Sources from various telcos had told me about the directive given from the then government. It was a classic move from the Awami League playbook during protests.
Within a few hours, the government had made the announcement themselves, saying it was to “stop violence”.
However, with the volume of videos showing the violence from law enforcement still making the rounds on social media, they later shut broadband internet as well, citing terror attacks from the “opposition” for having caused it.
Not only did this stop protestors from coordinating the movement, but it also immediately deprived millions from being informed, through social media or news sites, about the violence that was taking place under the orders of Sheikh Hasina and her government.
TV channels were technically syndicates of the government and as was expected, most blurred the truth, parroted government propaganda, and made it look like things were all fine and great, all while hundreds were dying on the streets.
Amid the blackout, the only bastion of hope was outlets like AFP and DW. Access to satellite internet allowed AFP to continue publishing reports and photos of what was happening in Bangladesh.
DW reporter Beenish Javed also pursued this story relentlessly. Just before the internet went out, I was watching a DW video where Beenish very aptly explained the issue regarding the student protests at that time.
While many western outlets struggled to explain the context of the quota or the use of the word Razakar, Beenish did an excellent job of breaking the issue down for viewers.
The contribution of these two outlets towards ensuring the world knew about the atrocities of Sheikh Hasina and her government was paramount to bringing international support for protestors.
Without them, the international community would have only the words of the AL government to go by and would have had no clue about the scale of violence taking place in Bangladesh.
I am forever grateful to the work done by these journalists, photo journalists, and media outlets. Without their work, I have severe doubts about where the trajectory of this revolution would lead us.
Bangladeshi Media
The media in Bangladesh is an interesting specimen. For years, the AL government beat media houses into submission, leading to either them becoming complicit in the actions of the fascist regime or living in fear of what would be the consequences of criticising the fascist regime.
The Daily Star was banned from attending press conferences with the PM. Prothom Alo literally had one of their journalists arrested in the middle of night without any warrant.
Any form of criticism against AL faced the immediate wrath of the DSA and Hasina’s henchmen.
It was either accept the favour or live in fear.
During the July protests, the AL government continued to harass journalists, denying them access to hospitals and refusing to give them any form of useful information.
Some journalists were killed while reporting on the protests.
Even after internet services resumed, the government made sure to send out enough murmurs to inform journalists that once they were done dealing with the protestors. It was a direct, “you’re next” message, letting journalists know that anyone who chose to pile on to the existing disapproval for the government’s actions would be punished.
Our editors warned us to be careful about what we say on social media even before internet services had resumed. Good journalists were left with only one option, report as accurately on the issue as possible, so that when the cases eventually came their way, they could at least use facts to keep themselves safe.
Personally, I have never been too outspoken about the government. My deep distaste for politics in general has led me towards despising most of the political parties in my country and around the world.
However, as a famous man once said, “Even if you don’t fuck with politics, politics will fuck with you.”
The taste of freedom is often intoxicating. As soon as the internet returned, I joined the millions of others in finally speaking our mind about what we thought of Sheikh Hasina’s bullshit.
The Coordinators
The coordinators are a big part of this entire story. They did a fantastic job of rallying the nation and protecting the revolution from being derailed by classic AL tactics.
I am not going to speak about all of the coordinators today, rather I want to speak about some of their actions in the aftermath.
First and foremost, the exclusion of female coordinators following August 5. Their absence from an advisory role in the interim government should be a big red flag for all of us.
The young women that were part of the core coordinators were instrumental in realising our new found freedom. Without them, the revolution stops on July 15 when BCL initially attacked and trapped the boys in their halls.
Finally, I want to talk about Sarjis Alam and Hasnat Abdullah. I
applaud them for their involvement in the mass uprising. However, some of their actions in the aftermath of our second freedom is quite questionable.
Resurfacing videos of Sarjis spewing hate speech against the transgender community has been worrying. The fact that Sarjis and Hasnat lead a procession, where students right behind them waved the flag of Al Qaeda is another major cause for concern.
Worse still is that despite incidents of violence and harassment against women being on the rise, none of the “major” coordinators who are still in public facing positions — Nahid Islam, Asif Mahmud, Sarjis, Hasnat and Mahfuz Alam — have condemned the actions.
Nor have they clearly stated their stance on the CHT issue.
These young men won the hearts of the nation upon the promise of a Bangladesh that would be free of discrimination. And while Rome wasn’t built in a day, I think a burden of expectation should be placed on all of these coordinators.
A Bangladesh free of discrimination is one where each and every one of us, irrespective of gender, class, and religion, should have the right to live our lives with dignity.
These coordinators have promised us a version of Bangladesh that will manifest all of those traits. And while only two months have passed since Hasina’s farewell, they must not forget that promise.