AS A Malaysian who has frequented Bangladesh over the last 15 years, there is a huge soft spot in my heart for this country. Over more than a decade, I have come to love Bangladeshi people, food, culture and language; I can now even speak some Bangla! (well, basic Bangla which is probably equivalent to the fluency of a 3-year old Bengali kid). This gradual familiarisation with Bangladeshi culture and people has led me to become somewhat well-versed in the country鈥檚 history and politics.
From the 1971 war to the recent mass student protests that have finally liberated Bangladesh from Sheikh Hasina鈥檚 autocratic grip, my concern for Bangladesh and its future is very much similar to that I had grown for Egypt, where I had spent six years of my early adulthood studying medicine at its Alexandria University. In Egypt, I had seen the good and the evil. For six consecutive years, I revelled in the relentless beauty of the Mediterranean Sea, and enjoyed street foods like kushari, 迟补鈥檓颈测测补, and the ful-falafel sandwich. I made numerous unforgettable friendships with the locals, from classmates in the campus to the bawwab at the apartment building where I lived. At the same time, I witnessed horrendous atrocities committed against Egyptians, especially students and young people. Despite the widespread political suppression and a palpable climate of fear, Egyptian youth take to the streets every now and then, and were often met with tear gas and bullets from the Egyptian special force known for their brutality.
Frankly speaking, I cannot remember how many times I saw clashes between students and these special forces in our campus and heard news about medical students being arrested, or someone鈥檚 father or brother imprisoned. Such was the heavy price Egyptians paid for speaking the truth and demanding something better for the nation. There were days when I had to squeeze myself in between protesters and the security personnel through the university main gate, to catch my classes without being late. In those times, I often felt remorseful that I could not stand with my classmates or help amplify their voices. I was mostly a bystander trying to make sense of the complexities of Egyptian politics with my young and na茂ve mind.
Given my earlier acquaintance with Egypt, encountering Bangladesh gave me a distinct sense of d茅j脿 vu. In Dhaka, the super-crowded streets and impossible-to-navigate traffic reminded me of Cairo al-zahma (鈥楥airo the Crowded鈥�). My favourite scenes of green paddy fields and children splashing in ponds along the rail line from Dhaka to Brahmanbaria often brought my memories back to the peaceful life in rural Egypt where farmer families work hard to make ends meet. Some of the rural Egyptian children made it to prestigious medical schools across the country only to be bewildered by the marginalisation of poor students and favouritism shown to their peers from the upper class. What is more, they received harsh treatment if they dared voice out opinions that challenged the authority.
Indeed, this was a common experience among millions of Bangladeshi youth, especially the poor who travel from remote villages to study at universities with the hope of securing better jobs and improving the lives of loved ones left behind. Universities that were supposed to be centres for learning and intellectual development turned out to be a nightmare for innocent students. Many of them soon learnt that these were the places of discrimination, suppression of democratic voices and movements, and outright brutality by political forces such as the Bangladesh Chhatra League, the student wing of Hasina鈥檚 Awami League.
All these bring memories from my days in Egypt. On one sunny day my friends and I were strolling in a park in Egypt鈥檚 Abu Qir when a car suddenly pulled up next to us. A young gentleman jumped out, asking where we were from. Perhaps it was obvious from our looks that we were not locals. When we told him about our country of origin, he started pleading for advice on how he could get out of Egypt and travel to a foreign land for better life opportunities. I was taken aback by his sudden, emotional plea. But what I gathered from him was trauma, pain and anger. That man represented the anguish of the millions of young Egyptians who felt betrayed by their country.
Bangladeshi youth were no different. The high out-migration of young people, along with a severe brain drain phenomenon that the country has been grappling with, was a testament to the collective frustration experienced by the young generation, especially those with education and skills. Needless to say, these precious gems would be more than happy to serve the country if given the right treatment and opportunity. Alas, Sheikh Hasina and her colleagues in the government were more interested in ill-gotten wealth and power than investing in their own fellow countrymen!
An ever-present vibe I observed and picked up through conversations with locals in Dhaka and rural areas in Bangladesh that I have visited was fear and intimidation. Among the university students, a recurrent topic was bullying and physical aggression by the BCL members while regular families spoke of kidnapping, forced disappearances and looting of properties by the Awami League鈥檚 officers and supporters. Most of these atrocities were committed with impunity. As a result, ordinary people are often too scared to voice their genuine views or make any political demands, because they know too well the consequences.
Back home in Kuala Lumpur, through Bangladeshi expatriate friends, I heard every now and then that someone they knew escaped to Malaysia because of the persecution and harassment they had faced for speaking out against Hasina鈥檚 misrule and corruption. As such, I have seen how these forced migrations had caused intense suffering and torn families apart. Some of these victims had to spend years in hiding, moving from one place to another. Some even died in exile, never to see their loved ones again. These stories came from my very own personal encounters; thus, I wonder how many Bangladeshis shared the same fate and fled to other parts of the globe to avoid torture and death.
In July 2024, Bangladesh鈥檚 streets erupted in violence. To be more accurate, the country was gripped by mass student protests sparked by a discriminatory job quota system. The protests had begun as a peaceful movement until they were met with violence and attacks by security forces and thugs linked to the ruling party. Protesters were deterred by bullets and tear gas, causing a total of nearly one thousand deaths. The number of those who would die later due to injuries is unknown. Among the resistance icons was Abu Sayed, a 25-year-old student from Rangpur who was shot point-blank by the police despite standing with his arms open to show that he did not intend any harm to people around him. To aggravate Sayed鈥檚 families鈥� grief, the then prime minister Sheikh Hasina subsequently staged a two-minute drama of 鈥榙eceitful compassion鈥� where she invited Sayed鈥檚 family to her office, hugged his mother and shed tears, promising her proper investigation and justice. Of course, the two-minute meeting was full of photographers to make sure the drama was well-captured and memorialised, making the whole nation aware of Hasina鈥檚 鈥榚mpathy and benevolence鈥�.
Nonetheless, as violent crackdowns continued, Bangladesh鈥檚 students defied death and persisted. The increasing brutality against them only strengthened their resolve. On July 18, the government shut down the internet and all communication networks. The next day, the government deployed the military and imposed a national curfew. Bangladeshi friends who live around me in Wisconsin were anxious and panicking over their inability to communicate with loved ones back home. Some of them narrated heart-wrenching stories of how sick family members were unable to move or access health care because of the curfew. For the ill needing urgent medical attention, living through the sudden movement restriction was like waiting for a death sentence.
The protests grew wider and more intense, to the point that police and army officers could no longer bring themselves to use further violence to quell the gatherings despite the 鈥榮hoot-on-sight鈥� order. On August 5, Hasina fled Bangladesh after a 15-year misrule that has deeply scarred the nation. A wave of shock, relief and joy swept over Bangladesh and beyond. It was a moment of triumph and liberation! Three days later, 2006 Nobel Laureate Muhammad Yunus arrived in Dhaka to lead Bangladesh鈥檚 interim government. There was a mixture of emotions 鈥� hope and joy, along with sorrow and grief for the martyrs who had given their lives but did not witness this spectacular victory.
Thirteen years ago, on February 11, 2011, Hosni Mubarak was ousted following 18 days of intense protests throughout Egypt. His 30-year autocratic rule ended with the uprising of Egyptians who could no longer tolerate a brutal, corrupt and undemocratic government that served not its people but vested interests of the elites and western powers. Similarly, Hasina鈥檚 15-year dictatorship and oppression ended with the revolution of Bangladeshi youth who could no longer endure political injustices and socio-economic discrimination that favoured the few at the expense of the many. The political landscape in Egypt has taken different turns and directions since then. But we pray and hope that the liberation of Bangladesh from the grip of Hasina and Awami League will be a reason to celebrate for a very long time.
As I watch political scenes in Bangladesh unfold, I can only pray hard that this liberation brings lasting peace, justice and prosperity to the millions of Bangladeshi youth who had risked their lives to fight for a better future. May this liberation protect and uplift the oppressed, poor and destitute 鈥� from the rickshaw wallas who illuminate the vibrant streets of Dhaka to political refugees living in exile and away from their loved ones. This defining moment is a lesson and reminder to all the corrupt and tyrannical regimes out there. Particularly, Bangladesh鈥檚 revolution is a warning to the genocidal Israeli occupation that their day of reckoning is coming soon.
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Raudah Mohd Yunus is a public health specialist. She is currently a postdoctoral researcher at the Medical College of Wisconsin, USA.