As I started writing this Op-Ed, a violent mob attacked and burned two of the country’s most important newspaper offices, Prothom Alo and The Daily Star. After that, they moved on to one of Bangladesh’s key cultural institutions, the Chhayanaut cultural centre.
Videos all over social media showed the events, with one clip showing senior journalist Nurul Kabir being assaulted. In others, we see vandalism and arson. A journalist from The Daily Star wrote on Facebook that she could not breathe because of the smoke and begged for help.
More than 30 journalists were trapped on the rooftop when the attackers set fire to the building.
We need to ask a simple question: Was the target only bricks and glass, or were they also trying to burn the people inside?
These newspapers and cultural centres had nothing to do with the attack on Hadi. They did not plan it, they did not support it, and in some cases, their journalists were among the first to report and condemn it.
Yet within hours they were being named as “accomplices” by a familiar group of political commentators who thrive on outrage.
We know these faces already: They shout on talk shows at night, deliver fiery speeches on the streets during the day, and run coordinated campaigns on Facebook and YouTube.
Instead of asking who actually ordered or organized the attack, they went after the institutions they already hated, as if the existence of a critical newspaper or a cultural organisation is itself a crime.
By blaming media houses and cultural spaces, they are trying to redraw the battlefield. The message is clear: Anyone who does not fully accept their slogans, their heroes, and their version of history is an enemy. A journalist, a singer in a cultural centre, or a teacher who values pluralism becomes morally equivalent to a killer.
Once that line is crossed, anything can be justified against them: Harassment, social boycotts, even physical attacks. All of it is then packaged in noble language: “Unfinished revolution,” “justice for martyrs,” “cleansing the nation.” Vengeance is sold as virtue.
What we are seeing is an attempt to turn grief into a blank cheque for settling older scores. Instead of directing anger towards the actual perpetrators and towards a state that failed to protect a citizen, these leaders are using Hadi’s suffering as a tool to silence everyone they dislike.
They are not trying to build a safer or more just Bangladesh. They are trying to build a smaller Bangladesh, where only one kind of voice is allowed in the public square. That is not a revolution. That is the old politics of elimination, wearing new clothes.
Political violence is not new in Bangladesh. Since July and August, we have seen state crackdowns on student-led and citizen-led protests. Protesters, ordinary civilians, and even police officers have been killed.
On August 5, when the Sheikh Hasina government collapsed, and on August 8, when Dr Muhammad Yunus and the rest of the interim government took office, many of us hoped the new administration would first stabilize the country, ensure basic security, then organize elections and hand power to an elected government.
What we have seen instead is a spreading culture of impunity. Shrines and mazars have been attacked. The body of a dead Sufi has been dragged from his grave and burned in public. There have been attempts to stop girls from playing football.
Fringe groups now act as if they are the mainstream and dream of a Bangladesh where pluralism does not exist. Even government spokespersons have described these actors not as violent mobs but as a “pressure group,” a comfortable phrase that hides the scale of menace.
Those who have criticized this softness, and who have also spoken against the populist rhetoric of at least two major political camps, are now being branded as “pro fascist.” The label is convenient. It shifts attention from the real violence to those who are simply asking questions.
We have already seen how dangerous this atmosphere is. One of the most visible faces of the July movement, Osman Hadi, was brutally attacked in broad daylight. Journalists and fact checkers have repeatedly reported that the man who shot Hadi is allegedly linked to the student wing of the Awami League, the party whose government was removed and whose leader later took refuge in a neighbouring country. In time, we hope that these claims will be tested in court following the due process.
Hadi suffered terribly. He was flown to Singapore for treatment, and many people prayed for a miracle so he could return to his young children, his wife, and his mother. That miracle did not happen. Hadi is now a shahid, and his death has been used as fresh fuel for vengeance.
In the days that followed his shooting, several political leaders, editors, intellectuals, and party activists openly called for revenge. They used the language of extermination, calling others “cultural fascists” and hinting that those people, and their institutions, must be destroyed.
The state’s response has been selective and theatrical. Instead of moving quickly against those who incited violence, it made a populist show of arresting a journalist who had nothing to do with Hadi’s shooting. The message to the hate-mongers was clear: Say what you want, target whom you want, nothing will happen to you.
That confidence is what we saw on display tonight. Within a few hours of the news of Hadi’s death, these groups were able to mobilize hundreds if not thousands of people to attack and vandalize two of the country’s top newspapers and a cultural centre. The government could not, or would not, stop them.
This is not just a failure of intelligence or policing. It is a failure of will. It exposes a state that is unable to protect its citizens, its journalists, and its cultural life from organized mob violence.
If Bangladesh genuinely wants to move toward democracy, there is no path other than elections. If these agitators, their armed followers, and their political patrons manage to delay or derail an election, the country will move into a chaos none of us can fully imagine. A republic where mobs dictate who may write, sing, or publish will not remain a republic for long.
So the responsibility now is not only on the government but also on the citizens who still believe in a pluralistic Bangladesh. People need to stand up, speak clearly in favour of diversity, defend the freedom of newspapers, and insist on the safety of journalists, cultural workers, and their institutions.
The government, for its part, must at least do the minimum: Investigate, identify those whose faces are already visible in viral videos, and bring them before the law.
If the government fails to do even that, it will confirm what tonight’s fires already suggest: That it could not protect what most needed protection.
Asif Bin Ali is a Doctoral fellow at Georgia State University, USA. Email: abinali2@gsu.edu. Views expressed are the writer’s.