It is 36th July again.
In July 2024, Bangladesh witnessed a student led protest turning into an uprising. Our regular class-goers called for a change, not in class schedules or in the university’s setting but in a system that had beendenying fairness in the name of social equity. A long-practiced system of doing unjust to our students inthe name of quota system. The protest startedpeacefully but the then government didn’t let it bepeaceful for a long time. They attacked the protesters,shut down the campuses, made the students arrested and injured to stop the protest.
After two months of struggle, thousands of people’sdeaths and resignation of the prime minister, finallythe students’ protest saw some light. It came to an endafter the fall of the political government. But political change did not immediately translate into educational recovery.
Going back to the classes was not easy this time. Afterexperiencing trauma, disillusionment and a rupture in their formal education, students were hesitant to start all anew. Specially for those who led the protest from the forefront or the people who lost family, friends and relatives. Students from universities were the main stakeholders of that protest.
After the uprising when the educational institutions decided to start the operations, the experiences wereparticularly different for students in public universitiesand private universities. While many public universities remained closed for weeks due to administrative restructuring and vice-chancellor appointments, private universities resumed classes within days. These
students found themselves navigating an impossibletransition from streets filled with protests to classrooms filled with deadlines or the voids of the beloved classmates. They were expected to move from resistance to routine without being given the space to process what they had lived through.
Yet this difficult moment also revealed something important. A few private universities recognized that education after a crisis could not simply be about covering missed syllabi. They adjusted academic calendars, redesigned classroom activities, created spaces for dialogue, offered psychological support, andacknowledged that learning cannot happen whenstudents are emotionally disconnected from themselves and their communities. These responses, though limited, pointed toward a different understanding of education, that values care alongside curriculum.
Some private universities made flexible deadlines, reduced academic pressure and offered counselingservices while others made the journey smoother byintriguing trauma-informed pedagogy and crisis-responsive academic policies. The question, then, wasnot how quickly universities can return to normal. The question was whether "normal" was ever enough.
As parts of the healing process few academic programs used projects, unconventional academic duties and planned creative engagement of the students. When the universities started their operations, students were nolonger confined to passive roles again. They wereactively engaged in discussions and produced multimedia projects such as documentaries, podcasts, and digitalexhibitions that captured personal and communitynarratives, preserved memories, and cultivated empathy. These creative efforts taught more than technical skills.
They instilled a deep understanding of how to handle sensitive issues with care and how to communicate withpurpose in an era overwhelmed by misinformation. Fewof the universities adapted the curriculums expanded rapidly to include civic education, digital literacy, and trauma-informed practices, bridging the gap betweenacademic content and lived experiences.
Classroom walls became porous, allowing the realitiesoutside to shape the learning inside, with student voices and local stories taking center stage. This shift from rote learning to responsive, student-centered education was supported and appreciated by both university authorities’ grassroots efforts and students, signaling a move toward a more compassionate and socially awaremodel of teaching. Education became a powerful toolnot only for academic development but also for community rebuilding, emotional resilience, and civic engagement.
The July movement initially challenged politicalinstitutions, but it also challenged educational institutions. It reminded us that universities are not merely degree-producing spaces. They are communities where students develop civic responsibility, critical thinking, and collective identity. When thosecommunities experience crisis, recovery must involvemore than reopening gates and resuming examinations.
As we mark two years since those unforgettable days, perhaps the greatest lesson is this: Education mustbecome more resilient, more humane, and moreresponsive. Universities need crisis-informed pedagogy, accessible mental health support, flexible academic policies, and classrooms where reflection isconsidered as important as instruction. Learning afterconflict requires healing before performance.
July 2024 changed the political history of Bangladesh. Whether it also changes the future of higher education depends on what universities choose to learn from it. Years later, July is not simply a reminder of whatstudents have achieved. It is also a reminder of whateducation still needs to become.
Tanjila Habib is a lecturer at the School of GeneralEducation in BRAC University. She can be reached at [email protected]
