The climactic scene of the 2024 student-led revolution -- the mass uprising -- unfolded at the official residence of the fallen dictator, Sheikh Hasina. This residence, known as Ganabhaban, was originally commissioned by her father, Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, as the official abode of the head of government. Yet, Sheikh Hasina remains the only head of state to have resided in this palatial, ceramic-brick structure, nestled within a sprawling 32-acre green campus. In those final, fateful moments of her regime, an ever-growing tide of protesters, undeterred by live bullets and other brutal obstacles, began their determined march toward Ganabhaban.
As the crowd surged forward, it became clear to Sheikh Hasina’s security apparatus that no amount of force could stop them from storming the gates of this last bastion. Realizing the inevitable, Sheikh Hasina fled the country from her final stronghold. Now, as a nation, we face a crucial question: What should become of Ganabhaban? Will it simply remain a VVIP government residential quarter, or will it be transformed into the symbolic heart of our collective spirit of freedom from state repression?
I have a dream for Ganabhaban. I believe the most fitting use of this 32-acre site and residential complex is to build a lasting memorial to the spirit of 2024. We should demolish the existing structures and transform the area into an open, green lawn -- free from walls or fences. At the centre, a low-height memorial wall, reminiscent of the World Trade Centre, the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, or the Hiroshima Memorial, would stand.
This wall would bear the names of all who died in the pro-democracy movements, from the struggle against Ershad to the 2024 mass uprising. The memorial’s green expanse would seamlessly merge with the green plaza of the Parliament House, and all fences surrounding the Parliament should be removed. At the Asad Gate end of the park, a covered open stage could serve as a forum where anyone can speak freely or hold gatherings. The memorial will have distinct sections -- honouring the memories of Shapla Chattar, Abrar Fahad, and Noor Hossain. If possible, an underground memorial, akin to a Holocaust Museum, could be dedicated to those who were victims of enforced disappearances.
This design should be replicated in all district headquarters, institutions, schools, colleges, and universities across the country. Every year, starting on July 15, we should begin evening events, leading up to a national public holiday on August 5. The day would commence with a military parade, followed by day-long programs including a Prabhat Feri (dawn procession). School children would learn and remember what happened on this day in 2024, ensuring that the legacy lives on for 10, 15, 50, or even 100 years. During these weeks, sermons in mosques should focus on the themes of rebellion against oppression and the honor of martyrs. In 1952, four individuals, including a police informer and a patient’s attendant, were killed by police gunfire. Almost overnight, memorials were erected across the country for these four martyrs, and whenever one was destroyed, another rose in its place, like a phoenix from the ashes.
The song "Amar Bhaiyer Rokte Rangano" was penned in their honour, and the consciousness that arose from this Martyrs' Day led to the recognition of Bengali as a state language in Pakistan. This spirit later fueled our struggle for independence, intertwining all our milestones and memories of liberation with the spirit of February 21. The consciousness of 1952 propelled Bengali nationalism forward, keeping those who advocated for a unified Pakistan or religious politics on the backfoot. The reason Islamist politics could never gain a foothold in Bangladesh is because of the consciousness and spirit born from February 21, 1952.
While this spirit gave us our state language and independence, the autocracy of the last two decades has misused and abused it. This must be addressed. The spirit of the language movement and our war of independence will always hold their rightful place, but we must give birth to a new consciousness, centred around the spirit of the July-August 2024 movement. To nurture this consciousness, we need a new immortal song, a new "Amar Bhaiyer Rokte Rangano Ekushey February." When every child sings this song and lays a wreath on the memorial wall, they will learn of the sacrifices made for freedom and remember those who were on the wrong side of history during the July mass uprising. They will know which party and leadership created a reign of terror with enforced disappearances over 15 years, which forces killed a thousand students in three weeks, including 65 children shot in the head, and whose misgovernance led to the 1974 famine, which claimed as many as one million lives. For the future of Bangladesh, this spirit must be deeply rooted in the psyche of our present and future generations.
However, a new awareness and spirit of freedom cannot thrive without the smart use of symbols and rituals. The Shaheed Minar and the Prabhat Feri have helped sow the seeds of our aspirations for independence. Similarly, we need symbols and rituals to institutionalize this new national aspiration of freedom from state suppression. This cannot simply be a Dhaka-centric effort -- the seeds of this new aspiration must be sown in every village, every town, and every school. This task must be undertaken by the current government. Although the Bangladesh Nationalist Party (BNP) is expected to win the next general election and form the government, I fear they lack the capacity to spearhead such a transformative national narrative. BNP's policy-makers lack the intelligence, foresight, and capability at this level.
When they came to power in 1991, they failed to capitalize on the spirit of our glorious struggle against autocracy to create a new consciousness in favor of democracy. They couldn't even build a single memorial to commemorate our eight-year struggle against the autocrat. And today, we are still paying the price for their failure. Just as the spirit of 1952 is about the mother language and 1971 is about autonomy and independence, the consciousness of 2024 will be about liberation from the state's brutal muscle power and the suppression of rights. It’s a freedom from the state that we ourselves helped create in 1971. I've seen a picture of a little girl holding a placard that reads, "pulish tumi c*****r b*l” (Police, you're a bunch of crooks)." I've witnessed student movements in America, from the anti-Vietnam War protests to recent demonstrations about Gaza. The youth of that country never fear the police or the state. They embrace arrest with a smile. We see the same spirit in the younger generations in Bangladesh. This generation has won over the fear of state suppression. This is the other way around now.
The revolution made the police fear the students. Our youth in Bangladesh learned in 2024 not to fear the police, BGB, RAB, or the state anymore. They learned to stand tall, with arms raised and chests out, in front of the arrogant guns of the police, even after seeing the iconic images of Shaheed Abu Sayed being shot in the chest circulating on their mobile devices. There was a time when the arrival of a police Daroga (Inspector) in a village would empty out ten surrounding villages in fear. We've come a long way from the days of the British-era feared police. Now, a little girl can roar at the police with fiery eyes, saying, "Do you know what freedom is? Do you understand freedom?" Or a hijabi student can boldly declare, "If you take another student's life, I'll devour ten of your quotas! I'll devour them!" This new awareness is about the freedom to call the state “c*****r b*l.” We need to keep this spirit alive, nurture it, and hold on to it. Let the state do whatever they can, but you and I must do our part. If we fail, all the achievements of 2024 will be in vain.
Some people are asking where the prime minister will reside if we demolish Ganabhaban. No other head of government in Bangladesh, except Sheikh Hasina, has ever lived in Ganabhaban. We must also consider the horrendous traffic jams that occur every day on Bijoy Sarani and the old airport road when the prime minister travels from Ganabhaban to the prime minister's office. In countries like the United States, the United Kingdom, France, Russia, and others, the president or prime minister's residence and office are in the same building. They simply walk to their office. I believe the campus in front of the old airport where the prime minister's office is located is large enough to build a new residence. It can be connected to the office by a walkway or tunnel. And being so close to the cantonment/airbase, this residence will be much more secure.
Rumi Ahmed is a physician, Professor at University of Texas and Political Analyst of Bangladesh and international affairs.