BANGLADESH’S ‘second independence’, as colloquially referred to, was achieved on August 5, 2024. As freedom from bondage usually comes at a cost, the days leading to this independence witnessed the climax of oppression during Sheikh Hasina’s autocratic rule. July 2024 will be remembered in Bangladesh’s history as some of the darkest days. The quota movement was relatively low stakes from a political point of view. However, it resulted in brutal killings and injuries of students and others in hundreds.
How did people live through the days of the incomparable brutality during an authoritarian regime? How did students internalise what was happening to their academic siblings around the country? This article is a record of what went through the hearts and minds of five students from all levels of education during the last days of July. Each reflection was part of a writing activity that was assigned to them in a free online class called Unliving English. Only a few excerpts from their writings are presented for readers.Ìý
The students lived in terror, which was unleashed by a terror regime. As nobody knew when they would be freed from the oppression, their fear and anxiety only intensified. Their writings revealed their disturbed selves in numerous ways.
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Fatema Mehjabin, Class 4
SOMETHING started in Bangladesh named the quota movement. I was very scared from the very first day. And it is painful too. That the police are killing the kids who did nothing wrong. I feel very sad. And it is terrifying that the girls and boys are screaming and crying. So, we are worried because the procession can come to our streets at any time. I think if the police had not shot and did not kill the students like this, students would not have been so aggressive. I feel sad about the students who died, and one of them was named Abu Sayed. He died for his country. He did not do anything wrong. When he saw the police, he did not even move. He stood still. And the police shot him. From my point of view, Abu Sayed was the strongest person I have ever seen. The 15th of July was a historical day. Many students got beaten. I salute them as they died for our country. I want the students to win. I want their victory. Now we don’t know what’s happening in Bangladesh. They turned off the WiFi and data. Now we can’t talk to anyone, and we can’t go out because that’s not safe. Today was the 23rd of July. Still, the movement is going on. The whole Bangladesh is bloody now.
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Jannat Romman, Class 10
I AM not sure if I have ever been more anxious, worried, or fearful of such an uncertain time before. It all started on the 15th with the disgusting attack on the protestors against the quota system in Dhaka. The more I scrolled down the news feed of social media, the stiffer my brain became. It could not process the thought of some of the most intelligent students, both boys and girls, having blood all over their bodies.
The night went sleepless in an unfamiliar terror with uncertainty of the future.
Everyone watched the video of Abu Sayed’s shooting recorded from different angles. Do I have the right to ask why he was shot in his body but not legs as per the law? I wonder why he was ‘shot’ in the first place standing with no weapon, against the police holding guns.
Another sleepless night passed in dread, checking the news every two minutes. The unexplainable pain of the brutal killing of a person who I had never seen or talked to remained. He was someone among us, like us.
What was worse was my fear for the students living in the university halls of Dhaka. They were out of electricity and network. Nobody knows what happened there all night, but for sure, many innocent students were killed, and the killers would never let us know their identity or the number of the dead.
There is a curfew in the country. Looking outside through the window after sunset today, I realised the tinted evening sky is not even fascinating anymore; it reminds terribly of the bleeding young men. The birds seem to be questioning the sudden silence. Nobody is moving. The roads are empty, just like a battlefield.
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Shaika Sharmila, Class 10
BANGLADESH was independent in 1971, but the current situation makes me doubtful about it. If we cannot express our real feelings or give opinions about anything, it’s not independence. We all know about the current situation with the quota system. I didn’t think that the government could be this cruel. They’re not sparing anyone who’s been protesting about this — not even a 17-year-old boy. They’re making false allegations against students, teachers, and general people. What kind of action is this of a government of an independent country? They’re knocking on every other door in the city to arrest students, just like the Pakistani military did in 1971. But it didn’t stop there. They are constantly firing at the students on the road. Even though the government reformed the quota system, it didn’t do anything about the students who were killed. The government didn’t apologise. The worst thing is more students died after the reform who were protesting to do something about the martyrs. I don’t know about the police. Do they have children in their own homes? I’m a timid person, and I couldn’t do much, but I support the students from my heart. Not only me, but the whole country doesn’t want any other lives to be gone. It’s more than enough of losing our students. But unfortunately, none of this is affecting the government. I didn’t care about politics, but this made me hate the government. I hope this tragedy ends soon, and I don’t want any of my brothers or sisters to lose their lives. We cannot bring them back, but we can remember them as martyrs who sacrificed their lives for us. They’ll be our inspiration for the rest of our lives. Salute to every martyr.
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Jannatul Ferdous, Class 12
JULY 2024 will go down in our memories.
Bangladeshi students are going through horrible experiences. Simply for speaking out for their rights and protesting against the government, students are brutally killed.
I spent so many sleepless nights. When my brothers, sisters, and friends were defending our rights on the front lines, I could not stay silent. I felt restless. The silence was horrible to me. In my dreams, I heard gunfire, bombs, and screams, as well as scenes of blood and battlefields. I made immediate efforts to stay in touch with my friends. I eagerly await my friends’ returning home so I could check up on them and make sure everything was alright. Every time I heard about them being harmed, my resentment grew stronger. These are difficult days to focus on studies.
When things started to improve on July 16, I eventually left my home and went to my private tutor. As I was returning, I watched the protesters carrying Shahid Abu Sayed’s lifeless body, the first martyr of the uprising. I noticed the police with their weapons, approaching the area where my friends and I saw the demonstrators. My friends and I had to flee to a secure location. I was terrified, and my hands were shaking.
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Anika Sharmila, First-year undergraduate
ON 15 July, six were killed by the police. One video shook the whole nation — the video of unarmed Abu Syed being killed by a police officer point blank. Literally, everyone cried after watching that. The next day all private university students joined in, who had almost nothing to gain from the quota reform. RAB, Police, and BGB were deployed. Forty-two people died that day. The arrogance of the government had cost so many lives. The whole nation tuned in then. It became a national movement, no doubt. Realising the wrath of the citizens, the government cut off the Internet for days and imposed curfew. While I am writing, the internet has come back in some locations, but social media is still out of reach. Right now, the death toll has crossed 150. Countless are injured. Curfew is still imposed. The court has ruled in favour of the students, but couldn’t it have been done before this massacre took place? Why do hundreds have to die to get their rights in an independent, democratic country? The whole country had to witness their young children being tortured and killed. Parents of those students are left with an unimaginable loss and pain. One mother was screaming, ‘I am proud of you’ over her dead son’s body. This has left a scar in my and millions of Bangladeshis’ hearts. It has traumatised us. It has shown how helpless we really are. Our lives have zero value to those in power. Many have lost their loved ones, many have lost their limbs, and many are still fighting for their lives in hospitals. But this movement has revived a belief in the people of Bangladesh that we stand united against injustice.
The students’ lived experiences, as recounted in this article, will help keep the July movement alive. We invite other students to share their traumas of going through those days. Let’s preserve these experiences as social memories in the museum of our hearts.
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Obaidul Hamid is an associate professor at the University of Queensland, Australia. The other writers are students in different institutions in northern districts of Bangladesh who attend an online writing class with the writer.