Desk Report,
July Uprising: I hid my dreams in my book pocket
We can compare the last 12 months with 1972. Only these two years in our history have many similarities.
July Uprising: I hid my dreams in my book pocket
After huge achievements and huge expectations, feeling the hard rocky ground under our feet. In 12 months, it means 365 days. Each day has been spent hoping, dreaming, waiting.
People can no longer be told to be patient, many things will happen; the face of the administration-office-court will change; the old days will change.
Nothing like that has happened. There are no signs. Rather, an increasingly reactive future seems to be knocking. The nightmare of Muradnagar does not let us sleep. The rotten smell of revenge floats in the air. You can feel it when you walk on the streets and sidewalks.
But the opposite happened from the next day. All possibilities were blocked in Ramna and Motijheel of Dhaka.
I remember, when I met on the street, students of private universities would only say to give us the work of building our country. I bowed my head in front of them, depressed.
‘August 2024’ was not a revolution. Many have misled students by calling it that out of emotion. But July 36 certainly presented a revolutionary moment for the martyrs. It was not just a regime change.
The people of every upazila thought that new heroes, their own living children, would come to them this time, taking with them the oppressive administrative tradition. An unprecedented non-violent caravan could have been created like this. It did not happen.
July 36 was lost by August 8. The intifada failed. The secretariat absorbed the new possibility of challenging it.
Cornwallis’s soul may have been smiling somewhere then. The collective pride of the mass uprising was trampled on by the entire media in search of a ‘mastermind’.
We can compare the last 12 months with 1972. Only these two years in our history have many similarities.
After huge achievements and huge expectations, feeling the hard rocky ground under our feet. In 12 months, it means 365 days. Each day has been spent hoping, dreaming, waiting.
People can no longer be told to be patient, many things will happen; the face of the administration-office-court will change; the old days will change.
Nothing like that has happened. There are no signs. Rather, an increasingly reactive future seems to be knocking. The nightmare of Muradnagar does not let us sleep. The rotten smell of revenge floats in the air. You can feel it when you walk on the streets and sidewalks.
But the opposite happened from the next day. All possibilities were blocked in Ramna and Motijheel of Dhaka.
I remember, when I met on the street, students of private universities would only say to give us the work of building our country. I bowed my head in front of them, depressed.
‘August 2024’ was not a revolution. Many have misled students by calling it that out of emotion. But July 36 certainly presented a revolutionary moment for the martyrs. It was not just a regime change.
The people of every upazila thought that new heroes, their own living children, would come to them this time, taking with them the oppressive administrative tradition. An unprecedented non-violent caravan could have been created like this. It did not happen.
July 36 was lost by August 8. The intifada failed. The secretariat absorbed the new possibility of challenging it.
Cornwallis’s soul may have been smiling somewhere then. The collective pride of the mass uprising was trampled on by the entire media in search of a ‘mastermind’.
