Perhaps these unmistakable echoes of history remain unclear to - or, more likely, willfully ignored by - the police state and armed henchmen carrying the banner of the ruling party, an autocratic regime whose authority rests upon a decade of political repression, arbitrary detention, and sheer militarized violence. The Awami League’s Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina, who has remained in power since 2009 through a series of fraudulent elections (and the evaporation of any serious opposition via mass arrests and incarceration), ironically invokes the very same history of Bangladeshi liberation to fuel her cause and undermine the ongoing revolution. She alludes to the protesters being or supporting “rajakars”, or the war traitors who aided and abetted Pakistani oppressors in 1971 as Bangladesh waged war for its independence. Hasina appears to have overlooked the reality that she has followed in the footsteps of the very same repressive autocrats and military authoritarians whom the rajakars supported. 

This revolution began, as reported by domestic and global news media, as mass resistance against the quota system in Bangladesh’s civil service. It is indeed true that the protests were majorly instigated by calls for quota reform and employment equality. But to reduce the movement to any one particular policy objective would be to neglect the broader scope, mission, and spirit of what’s actually happening. To the Bangladeshis who are on the ground running headfirst into fumes of tear gas, hauling the bullet-ridden bodies of their comrades to safety, and pooling resources to support a nationwide network of revolutionaries amid a government-ordered communications blackout, this movement is about something much more essential to the soul of the nation and what they believe it can be.

The protests started against the backdrop of Bangladesh’s controversial quota system. In 1972, as the country emerged from nine months of war, founding father Sheikh Mujibur Rahman (Sheikh Hasina’s father, who would later be assassinated) instituted such a system to acknowledge the efforts of the nation’s freedom fighters who had put their lives on the line for liberation. The allocations of the quotas underwent several changes over the following decades, and by the mid-2010s, approximately 30% of civil service positions were reserved for the children and grandchildren of freedom fighters (this proportion has remained unchanged since the country’s founding). An additional 27% have been allocated for underrepresented constituents including women, indigenous groups, people with disabilities, and workers from economically disadvantaged geographic areas. As a result, less than half of civil service positions - highly coveted in Bangladesh and serving as a widely sought-after opportunity for upwards social mobility - are earned based on merit alone. Tens of thousands of Bangladeshi students spend countless hours every year studying, training, and testing in pursuit of these jobs, which often represent one of the few ways to support themselves and their families, especially for those coming from economically disadvantaged backgrounds. The quota system, as a result, has generated a groundswell of frustration and disillusionment as Bangladeshis are deprived of opportunities they have worked ceaselessly for.

The protesters are not advocating to abolish the quota for women, indigenous groups, or other underrepresented communities. To do so would be to turn a blind eye to the very real and abhorrent systemic injustices Bangladeshis of many marginalized identities face. These quotas, if managed wisely and fairly, can be helpful in ensuring at least some representation for many such groups. The quota for the descendants of freedom fighters, on the other hand, has deservedly drawn widespread scrutiny. For context, the proportion of the general population who are descendants of freedom fighters is approximately 0.12-0.2%, according to Bangladesh’s leading news publication Prothom Alo. This is a startlingly and confusingly tiny number for whom an entire third of civil service jobs have been reserved. 

One must pull back the curtain to see what is really going on: much of these high-paying jobs have been handed over to supporters and cronies of the ruling party, routinely abusing this system for personal and political gain. Over the last decade and a half, the ruling Awami League has tightened its chokehold on essentially all major facets of Bangladeshi life, work, and public expression, constructing a culture of impunity and total authority. Devoid of checks and balances, Sheikh Hasina’s political agenda has been imposed at every level of government, with yes-men and subservient party loyalists placed in positions of local, state, and national power.

The people of Bangladesh were not blind to the encroaching powers of Hasina’s one-party rule nor to the economic stagnation average citizens were mired in. Deep-seated frustration with such abuse of governmental authority boiled over in 2013 and 2018, with both years seeing large-scale protests in favor of reforming the quota system for a fairer, merit-based, and more equitable arrangement. 2018’s mass campaign, spearheaded by the Bangladesh Sadharon Chhatra Odhikar Songrokkhon Parishad (Bangladesh General Students’ Right Conservation Council), triggered a violent government crackdown in response. Dozens of cases of assault, beatings, arbitrary detention, and abductions of student protesters at the hands of the police were reported. Despite this, the movement secured a landmark victory - the government announced the scrapping of the contemporary quota system, announcing a reformed arrangement to be put in place soon.

The victory was short-lived. On the 5^th of June, 2024, the High Court - a division of the Supreme Court of Bangladesh - declared the government’s cancellation of the quota system illegal. (Many have pointed to Sheikh Hasina and her party’s totalitarian grip on the country’s judicial system, in which some of the highest courts have been reduced to puppets dangling on the strings of her political agenda.) This sparked mass outrage among the Bangladeshi populace, concentrated among university students who recognized the implications of this ruling and the inevitable abuse of the quota system. The freshly galvanized Boishommobirodhee Chhatro Andolon (Anti-Discrimination Students’ Movement) called for peaceful demonstrations in protest of the ruling. Students flooded the streets of major population centers across the country, organizing blockades that paralyzed nationwide commerce and travel. The transport system of Dhaka, the nation’s bustling capital, came to a standstill. Episodes of anti-protester violence by the police and the Awami League’s student wing, the notorious Chatra League - an influential group widely despised for its brutal tactics and perceived as essentially the ruling party’s attack dogs - fortunately remained sporadic and relatively insignificant. 

On July 14^th, things changed. Sheikh Hasina delivered an incendiary and widely criticized speech comparing the protesters to rajakars, an inflammatory pejorative steeped in Bangladesh’s struggle to bring war criminals to justice. (2013 had also seen a mass movement calling for the death penalty for rajakars who had actively tortured Bangladeshi freedom fighters and stymied the liberation effort in favour of Pakistani rule. Prominent rajakar leaders were hanged as a result of widely publicized trials.) “Rajakar” has widely been perceived as being akin to a slur, carrying with it sharp connotations of betrayal, disloyalty, and traitorous behaviour in a country still grappling with the legacy of its war for independence. Naturally, Hasina’s pointed condemnation of the protest movement only served to intensify the angst that had propelled it to the forefront of the public consciousness. Dhaka University, the campus of which had long been an epicenter of activism ever since Bangladeshis were protesting the oppressive Pakistani regime in the mid-20^th century, roared to life in a massive midnight protest. Thousands of students broke the locks that authorities had strapped to dormitory gates and rallied through the streets, hurling chants that turned Hasina’s comments on their head (“Who are you? Who am I? Rajakar, rajakar. Who has said it? Who has said it? The Autocrat, the Autocrat!”) - satirizing and flinging her words back in her face.

This night of July 14^th marked a turning point. The cellular networks of the Dhaka University area were ordered to be shut down by the government, seeking to handicap student communications. But by then, it was too late: the movement had taken hold. In the eyes of many, a revolution had begun.

The University of Chittagong came to life with its own protests that night, drawing a violent response from Chatra League mobs who launched violent attacks on students. The next morning, parallel protests were organized at the Jessore University of Science and Technology (JUST) and Michael Madhusudan College. Similar brutal retaliations by the Chatra League followed. These Awami League henchmen were seen wielding machetes, pistols, and other firearms as they attempted to repress the protests, which had begun sprouting nationwide. Journalists from news publications The Daily Star and Prothom Alo were similarly assaulted by Chatra League mobs during their coverage of the student movement.

In one of the most morbid and highly publicized retaliations, the Chatra League invaded the Dhaka Medical College Hospital - the nation’s largest - where over 200 student protesters were seeking treatment after being previously attacked. Wielding rods, axes, and other deadly weapons, the ruling party’s goons forcibly entered the institution and wreaked havoc on terrified patients, medical equipment, and ambulances. By that evening, the revolution had spread to the districts of Comilla and Rajshahi, where students recounted parallel attacks launched by the Chatra League. Unsurprisingly, local police departments pinned the blame on the student protesters for “causing mayhem”, despite the fact that over 300 Chatra League members had been shooting firearms into university halls, forcing desperate students to seek shelter. At Rangpur Medical College Hospital, a Begum Rokeya University student named Abu Sayed passed away after being carried to the hospital with gunshot wounds: one of the first of many lives lost.

By 16^th July, the movement had extended itself from beyond just universities. Major financial and commercial centers had become paralyzed as student-led blockades and resistance groups pushed back against Chatra League gangs and local police forces, which had mobilized in support of the government. Jamuna Future Park, the largest mall in Bangladesh, as well as Motijheel, the country’s primary financial district, had become enshrouded in clouds of smoke and throngs of revolutionaries. National railways and metro routes were blocked. The Ministry of Education announced a full closure of all of the country’s universities and colleges. Funerals held for the (at the time) six protesters killed by government forces faced violent crackdowns as well.

Make no mistake. Although this movement sprouted from protests surrounding quota reform, it has become something much, much bigger. The Awami League’s decades-long rule has been marked by its imposition of autocratic repression, silencing of free expression, and fanning of paranoia and fear amongst the many different communities that comprise Bangladesh. So-called statesmen have routinely enriched themselves, embezzling funds for personal gain and selling off positions of power to the highest bidder (and most loyal bootlicker). The leadership of Bangladesh has devolved into a swamp of unscrupulous corruption, illiberal ethnonationalism, and outright fascism. (One could argue no previous administration has been significantly better, and they would be correct. But this only further justifies the multi-generational angst and anger of the Bangladeshi people). 

Humans of Bangladesh are ready for change. Not only are they ready, they are willing to fight for it, bleed for it, and sacrifice for it. The protesters sprinting through clouds of tear gas with makeshift wooden clubs are not idiots - they are fully aware that they are courting possible death at the hands of the Awami League’s goons or the local police, who have been consistently incompetent at everything except serving the ruling party’s interests. They know that if something happens to them, their mutilated bodies will go home in a bag and no justice will be served, no accountability will be administered, and no fascist will get what they deserve. At least not for a long time.

I am writing this at 11 PM of July 18^th, Eastern Standard Time. Bangladesh has gone dark. All major communication channels, including the Internet and cellular networks, have been obstructed by the government. I (living in New York State) cannot contact my parents there, and I can only pray they and others are safe. Images emerging from the country by those who have managed to secure Internet access paint a chilling picture of a nation at war with itself. The skies are choked in gray fumes. Barricades line the streets. Government helicopters hover over university dormitories as student protesters wave the Bangladeshi flag in raw defiance. Bleeding, bruised, and bandaged protesters have set up camps wherever they can find. Observers and commentators on the ground describe scenes of carnage and lingering atmospheres of paranoia. Over 6000 protesters have been injured. So far, the number of casualties remains unknown, and estimates range from 40 to 90. The names I have managed to gather include the following: Abu Sayed, Muhammed Shahjahan, Muhammed Farooq, Faisal Ahmed Shanto, Muhammed Wasim Akram, and Sabuj Ali. May they, and the others who have had their lives robbed from them by the autocracy, rest in peace.

In Bangladesh, it is early morning right now. The sun is about to rise, and a new day will begin. It will no doubt bring fresh violence, newly spilled blood, and clinking pools of bullet casings on the streets I used to walk through. 

But it will also bring a renewed tide of resistance from the student protesters who have no doubt prepared all night for what today will bring. They have charged headfirst into mobs of armed police. They have concocted homemade pepper spray and built makeshift weapons to defend themselves against bullets, batons, and blood-stained machetes. They have looked out for each other’s safety and lugged their comrades to hospitals and to shelters. They have devised ingenious channels of communication in spite of the government-induced blackout. They have fought, continue to fight, and will not stop fighting. In spite of the autocratic regime that is squeezing its fascist grip around my country, they have made me proud to be Bangladeshi.

Adeeb Chowdhury

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