The July Uprising: Untold Stories and the Fall of the Fascist Regime

(Part-1)

Students of the University of Dhaka, the oldest university in Bangladesh, who were engaged in anti-fascist activism and stood up for justice and freedom of expression, maintained a cordial relationship with Bangladesh Islami Chhatrashibir (BICS). This bond was sustained through consistent mutual cooperation in various issue-based and rights-oriented movements. BICS consistently sought to extend its fullest support to any movement rooted in justice.

During the fallen fascist Bangladesh Awami League (BAL) regime, BICS leaders and activists were persecuted the most on the university campuses. When the BAL came to power in 2009, BICS men studying in various colleges and universities were forced to leave their respective residential halls. The now-banned (activities) Bangladesh Chhatra League (BCL), the student wing of the Bangladesh Awami League, used to inflict inhumane torture on students suspected of being associated with BICS. To them, killing BICS members was justified.

In 2013, Rakibul Islam, a responsible member of BICS at Haji Muhammad Mohsin Hall, Dhaka University, was brutally tortured overnight by armed members of BCL on mere suspicion of his political affiliation. The assault did not stop at beating—after hours of torture with iron rods and wooden stumps, Rakib was thrown from the fourth floor of the hall. His legs were shattered into thirteen pieces.

As he lay broken and bleeding, near death, Rakib begged for water. In response, his attackers brought a bottle of urine and mocked him: “Here, drink this urine, not water.” This level of dehumanization was not an isolated incident. Instead of taking action against the criminals, the university and hall administration routinely protected the perpetrators and handed over victims—like Rakib—to the police, further punishing those who had already suffered.

In 2022, following the brutal torture of Miftahul Maruf—a BICS member from Muktijoddha Ziaur Rahman Hall by BCL activists, the hall’s provost labeled the injured student a “militant” and handed him over to Shahbagh Police Station. This was not an isolated incident. Such acts of violence were a routine reality on campus, carried out based on nothing more than the suspicion of affiliation with BICS.

Amid such severe repression, it was difficult for BICS activists to maintain organizational structure, conduct internal programs, or carry out leadership transitions through formal processes. Despite this hostile environment, we never retreated from our mission: to fight for the rights of general students. In every major movement, BICS stood at the frontlines, working with full strength to uphold justice on campus.

During the 2018 quota reform movement, Shibir’s then-responsible leaders—Mohammad Sharfuddin, Ali Ahsan Zonaed, Shamim Rezayi, and others played a key role in shaping and executing the movement’s strategies. They worked in coordination with national student leaders of that time, including Nurul Haque Nur, Hasan Al Mamun, Mohammad Rashed Khan, and Faruk Hossain.

We had long sought to collaborate on joint initiatives with others whose ideological values or objectives aligned with ours. One such instance occurred during the holy month of Ramadan in 2024. A group of BICS activists from the Law Department organized a student-focused event titled Productive Ramadan, held under the banner of Annex Talim. The program, intended to promote personal development during Ramadan, was underway at a mosque on campus when a coordinated attack was launched by BCL members. Numerous fasting students were severely injured in the assault.

At the time, I was General Secretary of the Dhaka University branch of BICS. Immediately after the attack, Akhter Hossen, the former Social Services Affairs Secretary of the Dhaka University Central Students’ Union and now the Member Secretary of the post-July Uprising-emerged National Citizens’ Party (NCP), contacted me and emphasized the urgent need to dispatch a team to rescue students who had taken shelter in nearby staff quarters out of fear. We also needed to arrange immediate medical assistance for the injured. I quickly mobilized two rescue teams and proceeded to Dhaka Medical College Hospital (DMCH).

There, I met with Abu Baker Majumder, now the central Convener of the Bangladesh Democratic Students’ Union, and several other activists. Together, we coordinated medical support and discussed precautionary measures to prevent further attacks. That day and the next, we organized a series of protest programs to condemn the violence and raise public awareness. Later that night, I held an emergency strategy meeting with Nahid Islam, now NCP Convener and former Adviser to the Interim Government, Akhter Hossen, and Jayedul Haque, then BICS’s Dhaka University unit student movement affairs secretary—at a small restaurant in Chankharpul near the university campus. We developed a set of strategic responses to maintain pressure on the attackers and ensure accountability. These plans were subsequently implemented through united efforts in the days that followed.

Similarly, during my tenure as Organizational Secretary in 2023, we organized a solidarity event titled "Free Palestine" at Dhaka University. The program, held in front of the Raju Sculpture, witnessed spontaneous cooperation and coordination among student activists. This gathering, though focused on international solidarity, became another moment that reflected our growing unity and shared values.

The continuity of this mutual cooperation, trust, and strategic coordination—nurtured through years of struggle and resilience—played a pioneering role in dismantling the deeply entrenched fascism that had gripped our institutions. Despite facing relentless suppression, these joint efforts laid the foundation for the eventual fall of the oppressive regime.

The quota system in government jobs had long been a source of deep frustration and disillusionment among general students in Bangladesh. Often considered discriminatory and unfair, it created widespread obstacles for merit-based job seekers, fueling resentment across university campuses. In response, a massive student movement erupted in 2018, forcing then-Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina to publicly announce the abolition of the quota system.

However, Hasina’s government quietly moved to reverse that decision. As part of that effort, Ohidul Islam Tushar, a leader of the organization Muktijoddha Sontan Command, filed a writ petition challenging the government’s 2018 circular that had ended the quota system. On June 5, 2024, the High Court responded by striking down that circular—effectively reinstating the quota system. This verdict reignited long-held anger and sparked what would soon become the largest and most consequential student uprising in the history of independent Bangladesh.

On June 5, 2024, the day the High Court delivered its verdict reinstating the job quota system, we were in the middle of a university secretariat meeting. As soon as the news broke, I informed Abu Shadik Kayem, then-president of the Dhaka University branch of BICS. I showed him the headline and said, “Hasina has brought the quota back again!”

He looked at me and replied without hesitation, “Then we must protest again.”

That moment carried us back in time. We sat in silence for a while, reminiscing about the 2018 movement—what had happened on campus, how we had worked day and night for the cause, and how resistance had been built step by step through unity, discipline, and sacrifice. The memories weren’t just emotional—they were strategic, reminding us of what needed to be done again.

Later that day, several key activists—Nahid Islam, Akter Hossain, and Mahfuz Alam, now the Adviser of the Interim Government—reached out to us. We spoke at length and agreed on the urgency of working together. At that time, activists across campus were responding in their own ways, each with different ideas and plans. We began preliminary discussions with all sides to explore common ground.

From our side, we made our position clear: we would offer full support to any legitimate demand of the general student body. Although minor disagreements and ideological differences had divided us in the past, we chose to set them aside. In the interest of the nation, we committed to a united front with a single focus—resisting the reimplementation of the quota system.

In the days that followed, the movement gained momentum. Student groups protested across the campus and beyond. Eventually, that first phase of the movement paused with an ultimatum issued to the government, demanding action by June 30.

At the beginning of the movement, the name was chosen through collective consultation: Boishommobirodhi Chhatra Andolan (Anti-Discrimination Student Movement). With that, the constructive journey of the protest formally began.

In the initial phase, our organizational communication was tightly coordinated. Shadik Kayem maintained direct contact with Mahfuz Alam to address key issues. I was entrusted with field-level coordination and on-the-ground execution.

The first public rally was held in front of the Raju Sculpture on July 1. Encouraged by the response, we decided to hold a larger rally the following day. To coordinate that effort, Jayedul Haque, who was responsible for the student movement department of Dhaka University BICS, contacted Nahid Islam for guidance. They met, discussed the logistics for the next day’s program, and Jayedul returned with a clear understanding of the required preparations and support.

At that stage, Jayedul managed field-level communication and overall arrangements, while Shadik Kayem and I worked closely to shape the movement’s policy decisions and strategic direction. We prepared thoroughly for the July 2 rally. Throughout the event, I remained in constant contact with Akhter Hossen via phone. Together, we coordinated every detail—where to move next, which routes to take, and which campus intersections posed potential security threats. To mitigate risks, we positioned informers at all major intersections around the rally venue, ensuring we could react quickly to any unexpected developments.

At the same time, then BICS Central General Secretary and now President Jahidul Islam assigned Amirul Islam—the central Student Movement Secretary—the responsibility of coordinating campuses nationwide, ensuring unified participation in the protest.

Until July 4, the movement had largely remained limited to protest rallies and student gatherings. But then a condescending remark from the government’s loyal judiciary was widely reported in the media: “What’s with all this protest? Do you think you can overturn a High Court or Supreme Court verdict through pressure from the streets?”

That unsolicited and arrogant comment struck a nerve across campuses. Rather than discouraging the students, it fueled a new level of resolve and unity. In response, the Bangla Blockade program was launched on July 7.

Initially, the blockade events took place in the mornings. However, due to intense midday heat, logistical issues, and natural fatigue around lunch hours, it became difficult to maintain student participation throughout the day. During this time, a strong logistical team led by Jayed played a vital role in supporting students on the ground—distributing water, leaflets, and essential materials.

Recognizing the difficulty of sustaining momentum under such conditions, I suggested to Nahid Islam that the program be shifted to the afternoons. The change was implemented soon after. From that point on, we would head to Shahbagh, a hotspot for movements in the capital adjacent to Dhaka University, every afternoon—meeting students, raising their morale, and coordinating the movement’s next steps. At the same time, we remained in continuous contact with our own members, offering both direction and encouragement.

On July 10, the court issued a four-week ‘status quo’ order. The regime immediately tried to use this legal technicality to delegitimize and suppress the movement. The very next day, July 11, violent clashes broke out at Comilla University between protesting students and police. Dozens were injured, and some critically, in the attack. A large number of our members actively participated in that protest.

In the wake of this brutality, we decided to expand the Bangla Blockade nationwide. We reached out to our campus branches across the country, urging them to join the movement in full force. We also placed the matter high on the agenda during a leadership meeting with the Central President and General Secretary. We believed then, as we still do, that to stand at the forefront of a just movement is not merely a strategic choice; it is a moral obligation.

In the days that followed, our branches began mobilizing in earnest. We implemented a step-by-step plan to spread the energy of the movement to every university in the country. The Bangla Blockade became more than just a protest; it was a nationwide act of defiance, a bold response to arrogance and oppression, and a declaration that the voice of students would not be silenced. It was in those turbulent days that the name of resistance was written again with blood.

Throughout the course of the movement, our decision-making process evolved depending on the circumstances. Broadly speaking, we operated in three distinct phases of coordination.

In the initial stage of the movement, when communication was open and leadership structures were intact, Mahfuz Alam and Nahid Islam would consult within their own forum and then share draft decisions with us for feedback. If we agreed, the proposed plan would be finalized and announced as an official program. If there were disagreements, they would revisit the proposal in light of our input, refine it, and reach a new consensus before moving forward. This phase was marked by a spirit of mutual respect and careful deliberation. The second phase came during the most critical and confrontational period of the movement. Many key coordinators were missing, had been arrested, or had gone into hiding. In their absence, we had to shoulder the responsibility of coordinating policies ourselves.

We would first consult internally and prepare draft decisions, which were then discreetly relayed to the coordinators operating from safe houses. Once we received their feedback, we would finalize the statement, often crafting it as a press release under one of their names to preserve continuity and legitimacy. These statements were then distributed to both the movement’s internal network and to journalists. It was a time of intense pressure, but also of remarkable discipline and resilience. After six key coordinators were released from the Detective Branch (DB) office, we were able to return to our previous coordination model. Suggestions began flowing again from both sides, and decisions were once more made through open dialogue and collective consultation. Despite everything we had endured, the movement never lost its internal structure or its commitment to consensus.

After the court issued a four-week status quo order on July 10, we convened a strategic meeting to chart a long-term course of action. Former presidents of the BICS’s Dhaka University branch also joined us. The outcome was a detailed, week-long plan that combined both “soft” and “hard” programs, including online campaigns, protest rallies, public gatherings, and formal engagements.

On the evening of July 13, I spoke with Mahfuz Alam to finalize the next day’s action. I proposed submitting a memorandum to the president. I told him, “Brother, the government will continue to play games with us. We have to be prepared for tough phases ahead. But before escalating, let’s fulfill a key formality; let’s inform the head of state through an official memorandum. That way, the state can't later accuse us of not exhausting formal channels before launching stronger protest actions. This will protect the movement and maintain moral and political legitimacy.”

Later that night, Mahfuz Alam called and confirmed, “Brother, we’ve finalized the plan. Now the rest is your responsibility.”

The responsibility of drafting the memorandum fell to me. I thought of Musaddiq Ali, another trusted member of our team. I called him and said, “We need a draft of a memorandum to the President—can you prepare it quickly?”

Musaddiq wrote a solid draft, which I reviewed, lightly edited, and sent to Mahfuz Alam. Initially, I had included a 72-hour ultimatum, but Mahfuz suggested reducing the timeframe. I revised it accordingly, keeping the rest of the content intact.

By 3:30 a.m., the finalized draft was ready. I shared it with Mahfuz Alam and simultaneously forwarded it to our trusted campus contacts across the country. That night was spent entirely drafting, refining, and distributing the memorandum. Only after sending it to everyone did I finally pray Fajr and go to sleep.

To ensure broad legitimacy and to present it as a collective voice of the student body, I created a Google Drive link using an alternate email under Musaddiq’s name and shared the link publicly on Facebook. The plan was for students to submit this memorandum to the District Commissioner (DC) in every district.

Each copy was addressed to the Honorable President of the People's Republic of Bangladesh, via the District Commissioner. This was not just a symbolic act; it was a strategic message: we were organized, informed, and acting within the constitutional framework, even as we prepared for tougher resistance ahead.

As previously announced, students from various institutions in Dhaka gathered in front of the Dhaka University Central Library on July 14, forming a massive procession aimed at submitting a memorandum to the President at Bangabhaban. Along the way, small and large processions merged into the main rally, despite heavy police obstruction. But that day, no force could suppress the students' momentum. At the end of the march, a representative delegation successfully submitted the memorandum.

That same afternoon, Sheikh Hasina returned from her China tour and held a press conference. There, she openly expressed her hostility toward the movement. She accused it of being anti-Liberation War and declared, “Why so much anger toward freedom fighters?”

Then, journalist Provash Amin further incited her with a question: “If a grandchild of a freedom fighter and a grandchild of a razakar score equally, shouldn’t priority be given to the freedom fighter’s grandchild?”

Hasina’s reply was shocking: “Of course! The grandchildren of freedom fighters are meritorious? The meritorious ones are the grandchildren of razakars, right?”

This comment wasn’t just a slip; it was the culmination of Hasina’s long-standing political labeling and divisive rhetoric. Perhaps she believed she could demoralize or delegitimize the movement using the narrative of the Liberation War. But the result was the opposite.

That evening, the student community erupted. Hasina’s words were seen as dehumanizing, divisive, and deeply insulting. The chant “Tumi ke, ami ke? Razakar! Razakar!” Who are you, who am I? Collaborators! Collaborators!) Originally a slur, it was reclaimed as a satirical slogan of defiance. The word "razakar," once used to silence, was now used to mock the regime’s propaganda. The anger only intensified after Maghrib prayers.

Later that evening, Nahid Islam called me and said, “Brother, what do we do now? Just look at what’s happening on campus. The students are furious; we need to act.”

After a moment of thought, I advised, “Announce a protest rally around 11 pm. Let it be titled ‘General Students’ Protest Against the Prime Minister’s Remarks.’ But don’t mention the name Boishommobirodhi Chhatra Andolon. And ensure that the announcement doesn’t come from the mainstream leadership. Let it come from ordinary students or alternative activists.”

This was a strategic choice. We knew the controversial slogan might be exploited to discredit the movement. By distancing the official platform from the immediate protest language, we preserved the core structure while allowing spontaneous student anger to express itself freely.

I then called AB Zubair, Musaddiq, and Tonmoy, asking them to draft a set of slogans. They responded quickly. Meanwhile, I held an emergency Zoom meeting at 9:30 p.m. with our manpower teams across the halls. I gave clear organizational instructions: ensure mass participation, especially from general students.

After the meeting, I shared the prepared slogans in our internal groups. However, despite the framing, the rally took on a life of its own. Students shouted their own slogans—raw, emotional, and unfiltered. BICS leaders Sibgatullah Sibga and Asif Abdullah were present with their teams, standing among the crowd.

From the beginning, I remained in continuous contact with Akhter Hossen, who oversaw emergency logistics and security. We received alarming reports: BCL, BAL, and Jubo League groups were mobilizing around Shahbagh, near the protest venue. To counter this, we deployed informers to surrounding areas.

When it became clear that pro-government forces were preparing for a potential attack, I told Akhter Hossain to change the rally’s location several times to confuse and outmaneuver any threats. He swiftly mobilized the team, and the rally was relocated to VC Chattar (near the Dhaka University Vice Chancellor’s Residence), away from Shahbagh, where the tension was rising.

By late night, the rally was circling around the Raju Sculpture and VC area on the campus. The situation became increasingly tense as Jubo League and Chhatra League presence grew in Shahbagh, New Market, and Katabon. I informed Nahid Islam and Akhter Hossen of the security risks and urged, “There’s a real possibility of an attack. End the program now. Most students have left safely, but some are still lingering—we need to  clear the area.”

On July 15, student protesters once again gathered around noon in front of the Raju Sculpture. By 3p.m., BCL had also called for a rally at the exact same location. It was an unmistakable sign: they were preparing to respond, not with words, but with violence, to the growing student uprising.

Anticipating this, we prepared accordingly. With guidance from our central media secretary, we formed a special documentation team called the MOJO Team,’ short for “Mobile Journalist.” Its purpose was straightforward: if BCL or the police attacked, the team would immediately capture visual evidence, i.e., videos, photos, and live recordings that could be used to document the truth and expose the perpetrators. This strategy had already proven effective during the Ramadan 2024 attack on law students, when CCTV footage helped identify Chhatra League assailants. We had publicized those names and faces in their communities, showing their families and neighbors how a once-promising student had been turned into a political thug. This time, we aimed to act even faster.

That afternoon, two organized teams of BCL militants positioned themselves, one near Bijoy Ekattor Hall, the other near Madhur Canteen. Around 3:30 p.m., the first group launched a sudden and violent attack on a group of students in front of Bijoy Ekattor Hall. Those students had gone to the hall to engage others and rally support for the ongoing movement. The assailants, already waiting in ambush, pounced with brutal force. Within moments, many were injured.

When I heard of the attack, I immediately called Asif Mahmud, now the Adviser of the Interim Government. Acting on advice from Shadik Kayem, I told Asif that help was needed in the hall area to rescue and evacuate students under assault. Asif confirmed they had already begun to move and were passing in front of Rokeya Hall.

What followed was even more shocking. As female students, our sisters moved from the Raju area toward the halls, and BCL militants launched a second, more vicious attack. This time, they did not even spare the women, striking directly at their faces and bodies. The brutality was sickening. Women were dragged, beaten, and left bloodied in the open. It became a black day in the history of Dhaka University, unprecedented in its cowardice and cruelty.

In total, hundreds of students were injured that day, both activists and general students who had merely joined out of principle. Our MOJO Team captured everything: footage of the assaults, the attackers’ faces, the terrified cries, and the aftermath. When the photos and videos of wounded students, some with blood pouring from head wounds, others dazed in fear, spread across social media, the entire country was shocked. Around 300 students had fallen victim to a political terrorist attack, executed in broad daylight on a university campus.

BCL’s intention was obvious, and that is to terrorize the students to retreat them. But we had no intention of retreating. That same evening, we regrouped to plan our response. Our two key goals were clear: first, to restore the morale of the student body, and second, to hold the attackers accountable in a way they could not escape.

I met with Mahadi Bhai’s Mojo Team before nightfall and collected the footage. The IT team, led by now BICS central leader Arafat Hossain Bhuiyan, immediately began processing the videos and stills. They created a series of powerful, accurate photo cards, each featuring the face, name, department, and crimes of individual attackers. Other students joined the effort independently, helping to spread the materials across Facebook, Instagram, and Telegram. That night, the truth flooded the internet.

Through this combined effort, we turned the attackers into pariahs. No longer anonymous foot soldiers, they now had names, faces, and reputations forever tied to acts of brutality. The public joined in with outrage. Parents of victims, teachers, former students, and ordinary citizens demanded justice. Facebook Live streamed footage from the scene, amplifying our message and showing the world what had happened. Alongside this media operation, a new wave of resistance took shape on the ground. Together with general students, we launched a boycott campaign against every identified attacker. Students in various departments began to publicly declare that they would not attend classes, exams, or any academic event with the perpetrators. They were removed from social media batch groups and denied entry to group projects, department events, and even cafeteria tables. Where once they strutted with power, they now walked with shame and silence.

BCL was cornered off from public support, politically exposed, and socially isolated. Many of their activists were forced to resign or go into hiding. Their former strength had collapsed under the weight of collective outrage.

Although our manpower had long been hardened by years of organizational struggle facing political attacks, fabricated cases, and arrests, the general students were not prepared for the sheer brutality unleashed by BCL on July 15. The shock, fear, and trauma ran deep. We knew that if we couldn’t rebuild morale quickly and convincingly, the movement would collapse under terror.

That afternoon, Sibgatullah Sibga, the central literature secretary of BICS at the time, sat with responsible members of Dhaka-based branches to strategize. Together, we drafted a plan to immediately organize a protest rally that same evening, denouncing the terror attack. When I informed Nahid Islam of the plan, he suggested contacting Jatiyatabadi Chhatra Dal (JCD), the student wing of the Bangladesh Nationalist Party (BNP), to send a small group—just enough to reassure the frightened students. Along with Nahid Islam and Asif Mahmud, we rallied our own manpower for a protest march from Amar Ekushey Hall to Doel Chattar. Interestingly, most participants that night weren’t even from the campus; they were manpower from the Dhaka metropolitan branches of BICS, who joined solely on organizational instruction. They stood among the trembling students not for credit, but to lend courage on a night shrouded in fear. That rally did not change the government, but it changed the atmosphere. It reignited hope.

The next morning, on July 16, I returned from an important central meeting. On the way back, Mahadi Bhai, central media secretary, shared the inspiring story of Jahangirnagar University’s resistance. He described how general students had worked together to free their halls from BCL control the previous night. His words struck a deep chord in me: “We can do it too, Insha’Allah.”

Even before that, Dhaka University’s three science halls had sparked our confidence. On July 16, we had planned a massive gathering at Shaheed Minar. Thousands of GI pipes, wooden stumps, and iron rods were quietly purchased and transported to the rally grounds. It wasn’t about violence; it was about preparation for resistance if attacked. Other branches followed suit, bringing pipes in rented vehicles. 

The plan was to march and confront BCL if necessary, but due to logistical challenges, the march never happened. That night, the resistance reignited with even greater intensity. One by one, the female dormitories were reclaimed by the brave efforts of our sisters. The time had come to retake the men’s halls as well. The halls in the main area—unlike the science halls—were much more heavily fortified by BCL’s central and university leadership. This wouldn’t be easy. Spontaneity wouldn’t suffice; we needed precision, timing, and overwhelming student support. If we failed to act in unison, one hall could become a death trap for our activists.

Our team mobilized thousands of pipes and stumps from Shaheed Minar and distributed them to students across halls. Simultaneously, we arranged for additional supplies through decentralized buying networks. That evening, an emergency meeting was held. Following the advice of Mohiuddin Khan, then the Dhaka University branch organizing secretary, and Shadik Kayem, we designated hall-based coordinators. Each would sit with senior activists to map the buildings, floors, and key rooms, and then quietly involve general students.

Our strategy was twofold: coordinate meticulously and act simultaneously across halls. If we moved in one location only, others could be ambushed. The student spirit was high, but the stakes were even higher. Among the first sparks was Haji Muhammad Mohsin Hall. Floor-level processions created a wave of fear among BCL men, and many fled before confrontation. Then, Sergeant Zahurul Haque Hall lit the flame of full-blown resistance. After BCL members were ousted there, police tried to intervene, but the sheer force of student unity pushed them back.

Surja Sen Hall attempted to rise at 12:30 a.m. but held back, waiting for neighboring halls to be ready. Meanwhile, the strain of back-to-back confrontations, sleepless nights, and emotional exhaustion took its toll. By 2 a.m., many students were asleep. Still, Hezbollah and Masum woke the entire Jasimuddin Hall. Their calls roused some but not enough.

In Bijoy 71 Hall, readiness was high, but fear was higher. Rumors swirled: BCL had stashed pistols in a microbus on campus. This claim turned out to be false, but nevertheless, it delayed the mission. Sheikh Mujib Hall and Muktijoddha Ziaur Rahman Hall also struggled to prepare in time. I stayed up with Maruf and Kazi Ashiq through the night. After Fajr, Maruf said, “If we start from Zia Hall now, the others will follow.” We informed the other halls, and by the grace of Allah, the domino fell.

One by one, the halls erupted, not in chaos, but in organized resistance. Our manpower led from the front, but it was the general students whose courage changed the course of history. In mere hours, BCL was forced out of hall after hall.

Then came Sir A. F. Rahman Hall. Unlike the others, it became a final fortress. Many fled, and some armed BCL leaders had taken shelter there. Shakhawat called me in panic: “Brother, your task is impossible. They’re ready to attack.” I answered without hesitation, “Start in the name of Allah. Everyone else has done it. You will too.” He relayed instructions. Soon, students rallied. Through raw courage and unity, they reclaimed that hall too.

Instructed each night to avoid damaging university property, our students only targeted the rooms of known BCL terrorists. Some anger flared, and some furniture was thrown out, but we kept the message disciplined and focused. Weapons were found in several rooms and handed over to authorities. What happened that night was unprecedented. Never before had the ruling party’s student wing, while their government was still in power, been forcibly driven out of university halls. The foundation of the regime shook. The administration responded not with reform, but with repression: they shut down the campus, hoping to fragment the movement.

As students began to return home, we tried to hold the line. Our instructions were clear: no one leaves until 5p.m. Stay visible. Stay present. Let no one feel abandoned. But by evening, with the police crackdown and dwindling numbers, we gave the final instruction. Those with family in Dhaka were to seek shelter there. Others came to our organizational houses.

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