July 18, 2024 -- it was around 3 pm, Dhaka’s Shaheed Suhrawardy Medical College and Hospital was filled with hundreds of gunshot-wounds patients. That was the first time I saw a person dying right in front of me.
The blood stains on the floor, the screams, the helplessness, and the chaos -- it felt like someone had transported me into a war movie. That was the only beginning. It was followed by the days of facing tear gas, running away from bullets, listening to constant sound grenades, and wondering how long it would take to stop this madness.
One year has passed since the monsoon revolution came into our lives and changed us forever. I was a student and a journalist at that time. Like many, I saw the state brutality as well as the incredible resistance of the Bangladeshi people very closely.
One year has passed since we overthrew one of the most brutal fascist regimes. Have we achieved what we hoped for?
In the last month, BBC and Al Jazeera released investigative documentaries, where the world got a glimpse of Sheikh Hasina’s psychopathic and monstrous nature. I was only eight years old when she came into power. Hasina set the premise of her actions in July 2024 throughout the 16 years of her regime. Ours was a generation raised under authoritarianism, branded as the most “apolitical.” And perhaps rightfully so, for we only knew a world where freedom of speech was a myth, oppression was normalized, and dissent was met with brutal consequences at the hands of her party.
Everything changed in July 2024
The most apolitical youth stood up against Hasina’s discrimination and started the nationwide protest. Though there’s nothing to be surprised about this, as it has proven time and time again that the youths of this nation have never let down this country. Soon, it became a Gen Z revolution. The students started to face the police with bare chests and open arms and started to give their lives so effortlessly and courageously that it shook the country. Youths from all kinds of socio-economic backgrounds -- be it public universities or private, madrasa students or english mediums -- heroically fought against Hasina's oppression.
This inspired the whole nation to join, and when everyone, regardless of their faiths, backgrounds, and genders, came to the streets, it was just a matter of time to achieve victory. Hasina was forced to step down and flee following a month of violence and resistance.
And then…
Bangladeshi people thrive in the face of a crisis, as they have never shied away from giving their blood. Whenever a challenge was presented to them, they showed great unity.
However, soon after the sought victory is achieved, our luck seems to run out. We become divided again. That pattern repeated itself again this past year. After August 5, the moment to rebuild together had arrived. But instead of nurturing solidarity, old divisions reemerged.
Still, there were fleeting moments of collective hope. We were united for a bit. For one week, when there was no police force in the country, schoolchildren volunteered to direct traffic. Communities patrolled their own neighbourhoods. And when the floodwaters came, we saw people standing by each other like never before.
Unfortunately, this period was short-lived. Alongside students, the working-class people fought relentlessly. Historically proven, they are the true heroes of this country. One of the main forces of this uprising -- the rickshaw pullers, garment workers, CNG drivers, small business owners, and women -- fought, bled, and returned home in silence.
And once again, they were pushed into the shadows.
In the post-July period, we saw people and political parties get busy claiming credit for the uprising while forgetting the ones whose sacrifices brought this victory. Instead of crafting a new political settlement that served the people, we saw a return to the old political games of power-grabbing, alienation, showdowns, and personality cults.
A politics that once again excluded the working class.
In February, some student leaders from the movement formed a new political party -- the National Citizen Party (NCP). For many of us, it felt like a long-awaited alternative to the Awami League and the BNP. NCP was established in the aftermath of the July Revolution and is the first student-led political party in Bangladesh, so we had hoped. A party that promised change.
But for the last few months, much to our disappointment, we noticed that NCP's politics seem to revolve around Dhaka, Facebook, internal disputes, and a lack of addressing real issues affecting people’s lives.
Last month, as I scrolled through Instagram, I came across clips of Zohran Mamdani, after he won New York City’s Democratic mayoral primary. With each scroll, I felt that this should have happened in our country, this type of politics and leadership that we hoped to have after the revolution.
The way he knocked on doors to doors, went to the people, actually listened to them, had clear policies explained in simpler languages, and most importantly, his acknowledgement of working people -- oh how he showed great determination to work to improve the lives of the working people in NYC, was both inspiring and painful.
Inspiring, because it reminded me of what leadership can be. Painful, because I wondered why can’t our young leaders do this here? Why, even after a revolution that claimed so many lives, does our politics still feel disconnected from the people?
However, to NCP’s credit, they began a nationwide tour on July 1 this year, reaching out to people beyond the capital. Even though it's late, the new party has started doing something to meet our expectations. This is what we hoped for, politicians who do not see themselves as saviours or kings, but as servants of the people. Who can listen, learn, and lead with humility.
NCP’s recent program has given us hope, but it lacks a proper communication strategy. There’s a significant lack of digital footprint as well as media coverage. Their social media shows photos of speeches, but not the stories of the people. NCP leader Dr Tasnim Zara’s Facebook statuses provide a glimpse of what’s happening there, which is heartwarming.
The stories rural people are telling them needs to reach everywhere. The success of such a powerful initiative depends largely on how it’s communicated to the wider audience, and from where we stand in the capital, that communication feels largely absent, which is deeply upsetting.
Bangladesh’s political culture has long revolved around kings. In the Awami regime, Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujibur Rahman ( father of the nation and father of Sheikh Hasina) was portrayed as the nation's monarch, someone to be worshipped without question. This has always been the case. Even after this revolution, people quickly turned to naming and claiming the “kings” of the uprising, arguing over who made it happen, whose contribution was greater, and so on.
But time and time again, we forget that the real kings of this country are the garment workers, labourers, migrants -- whose relentless work keeps the wheels of our nation turning.
The mass rural people, who have always shown resistance to the oppression, who fought on the streets, gave blood and quietly returned home after the victory. The real king is the mother who sent her kid to the protest and spent the night in prayer for this country's future.
Not a politician, not a leader and not a billionaire.
Whoever comes into power next, must govern for these people. Otherwise, the July revolution will keep coming back. After all, when have they ever backed out to shed their blood?
Fahmida Huq Saima is a communications associate at the Dacca Institute of Research and Analytics (daira), a youth-led think tank. She worked as a Multimedia Journalist at Dhaka Tribune previously.