Many things changed!
Many things did not!
Once again, July, our blood-soaked July, has arrived.
A month of mourning for the lost loved ones. A month of pride. A month of the people. This is the July that changed us and brought us to a historic crossroads.
In this month, the masses chose to speak out, to rise, and to resist. This is the month when people choose to stand against domination, authoritarianism, and tyranny.
We too stood up and said, "There's a storm raging in our chest — go ahead, and shoot."
For nearly a decade and a half, we were being crushed under a repressive regime. It was a time when many believed being silent was the safest option.
Under the leadership of Sheikh Hasina, the Awami League government gradually constructed a pedestal of authoritarianism and instilled into the masses a culture of fear.
What began as a tightening grip evolved into a suffocating autocratic system, cemented through a series of farcical elections and rhetoric of "development."
The public began to resemble that haunting figure from a popular graffiti image – Subodh. Just as the graffiti once urged, "Subodh, run away!", the people, too, whether politically neutral or aligned with opposition parties, began withdrawing from public life and became increasingly detached, disillusioned, and inward-looking.
In those dark times, we dreamt of an inclusive society rooted in equality and humanity.
That dream still persists. We stay awake to keep the dream alive. We remember the July of 2024 as we remember 1971.
Back then, forget dissent, one couldn't enjoy basic freedom of expression.
Therefore, as an alternative, people turned to different forms of expression, especially through social media.
It was in these times when political memes began to flourish as coded protests.
One particularly popular meme was, "Nam Bolle Chakri Thakbe na", translating to "If you speak that name, you won't have a job".
Everyone knew exactly which name that was, but it always went unspoken.
Another term that gained popularity was "Sohomot Bhai". At a time when the government, under the banners of "democracy" and "development," demanded only agreement and obedience, this phrase became a form of satirical resistance.
It was against the backdrop of such a terrifying autocratic regime that July arrived.
In July, we rise – regardless of religion, caste, ethnicity, or nationality – each from our own positions.
Yes, under the authoritarian regime, the youth of many has been crushed. But does the melody of protest, buried in the dust of our surroundings and our own hearts, ever truly fade?
This July, once again, reminded us — "we are alive, we have not died."
When the quota reform movement in April 2018 and the road safety movement in August of the same year practically failed, it left a void in the public's mind.
People disengaged from political discourse, retreating into an "apolitical" stance.
It was at this moment when this movement revived us once again. We raised our voices again and declared – "Speak up."
We spoke up because we sought liberation from the deep-rooted inequalities that have long plagued Bangladeshi society.
We got independence in 1971 through a liberation war. And the driving force behind that struggle too, was inequality.
Yet, even after independence, disparities not only persisted, they grew, relentlessly trampling upon our dignity.
It goes without saying the movement, when we all stood together during the blood-soaked days of July, was to reclaim the lost dignity.
Propped up by a narrative of so-called "development", they were holding power through a series of sham elections. Naturally, the people were forced to reduce themselves to mere shadows, like the submissive character "Shubodh" from graffiti.
The movement began in June 2024, demanding reforms to the quota system. It was initiated by students. Later, on July 1, under the banner of the Anti-Discrimination Student Movement, the protests reignited – drawing in a growing wave of supporters.
Then, at noon on July 16, the brutal killing of Abu Saeed, a student at Rangpur's Begum Rokeya University, sparked outrage across the country.
The very youth we had long dismissed as "apolitical" suddenly rose in defiance.
During the Awami League's 15-year authoritarian rule, unemployment rose to very high levels. Youth unemployment soared above 40%, leaving countless young people trapped.
At the same time, low-income families struggled to make ends meet, gasping for breath under economic pressure. Inflation soared above nine percent, and stayed at that level since March of 2023.
Yet, in these dark times, it was the youth who emerged as Prometheus, wielding the torch of awakening. They roused the entire nation.
In truth, our lives were confined within an invisible wall of control, trapped in the cage of a rigid structure. But the storm of July's uprising and the blood of countless martyrs changed everything, including us.
Unshackled by hesitation, we roared: "My brother lies in a grave—why does his killer walk free?" and "One demand, one goal: Hasina, when will you go?"
Finally, on August 5, 2024, Sheikh Hasina's regime fell.
The students and masses extended what was historically a 31-day July into "July 36th", thus renaming August 5.
Just as the people redrew the boundaries of July, July, in turn, also redrew us. Now, we, the "apolitical" masses, have become intensely political, each in our own conscious way.
But did the promised changes materialise? The aspirations that surged through marches, slogans, and graffiti – how many of those people's dreams have become a reality nearly a year later?
We kept our hope alive with a broken heart.
Back then, we dreamed of an inclusive society. We dreamed of equality and a humane world. That dream remains unbroken.
We stay awake to keep that dream of revolution alive: the dream of justice that first ignited in 1971 and then in July 2024.
We remember how this hard-won July, paid for in blood and tears, did more than restore our dignity. Now the torch passes to us, to never falter, to keep the flame of resistance burning, to ensure Bangladesh never falls asleep again.
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