AFTER years of crushing and persecuting its political opposition and controlling the narrative, the fall of the Sheikh Hasina-led Awami Legue regime came to a crushing end in August, and it all started when, during a press conference, she dismissed protesting students by terming them as 鈥榬ajakar,鈥� a label meant to discredit them. But it backfired. What was meant to silence instead ignited a revolt. However, this wasn鈥檛 an uprising that developed overnight. It was the outburst of years of frustration over stolen elections and muzzling dissent.听
For over a decade, Hasina crafted an image of invincibility. The idea that no one but Hasina could lead Bangladesh 鈥� an idea with political and psychological manifestations 鈥� ruled. Her supporters didn鈥檛 just follow; they clung to her, blinded by a pathological loyalty that masked the realities of repression. To question Hasina wasn鈥檛 considered a mere political opposition, but it was considered a betrayal. She had successfully aligned herself with the nation itself.
But cracks in that loyalty had been widening for years. The 2014 election, widely seen as a sham, gave Hasina鈥檚 Awami League uncontested power in more than half the constituencies. The opposition鈥檚 boycott was a direct response to a rigged process, leaving voters without a real choice. The election was hollow, as Hasina tightened her grip on a country where democracy had been systematically dismantled.
By 2018, the farce had grown even more blatant. Ballot stuffing, voter intimidation, and fraud were rampant. Official results handed Hasina a landslide victory with over 90 per cent of the parliamentary seats, a figure reminiscent of authoritarian regimes. International media compared the results to elections under some of the world鈥檚 most notorious dictators. In an interview with Al Jazeera, Hasina dismissed the allegations, but the comparisons were telling 鈥� the electoral process had become a mockery of democracy. By 2024, the regime had stopped pretending 鈥� military-backed repression, internet blackouts, and silencing of opposition voices ensured her continued rule.
People weren鈥檛 just angry; they felt trapped, as though their voices no longer mattered. Still, Hasina鈥檚 rule thrived on fear. The Rapid Action Battalion, a law enforcement agency with a notorious legacy, became symbols of state terror, responsible for extrajudicial killings and enforced disappearances that shattered families and silenced communities. Human Rights Watch documented over 400 deaths at the hands of RAB between 2009 and 2018, and the numbers kept rising. Under the gloss of infrastructure projects and promises of development, a culture of fear and suppression simmered.
The students who took to the streets in July weren鈥檛 just protesting educational quotas; they were fighting for a future stolen from them. What began with demands for reform quickly crystallised into a single message: 鈥楽tep down, Sheikh Hasina.鈥� The movement spread from campuses to the entire nation, reverberating across borders as Bangladeshis abroad joined the call for change. Hasina鈥檚 鈥楧igital Bangladesh鈥� turned against her, as social media became the very weapon of resistance she had tried to control. Videos of police brutality spread like wildfire, encrypted messaging apps helped organise protests, and VPNs kept the movement alive, even as the regime tried to silence it.
The violence was swift and brutal. Hasina鈥檚 regime, with the Chhatra League acting as a paramilitary arm, unleashed chaos on the protesters. Hundreds were killed, children among them. Thousands were wounded or disappeared. The more force the government applied, the stronger the protesters resolve became. International media outlets like Al Jazeera and BBC reported on the regime鈥檚 atrocities, while Amnesty International condemned the rising death toll. The world was watching as Hasina鈥檚 loyalists held tightly to the belief that the uprising was a foreign conspiracy, orchestrated by the West or Jamaat-e-Islami.
This pathological loyalty was perhaps Hasina鈥檚 greatest achievement and her greatest curse. Her most devoted followers refused to see the revolt as a response to her regime鈥檚 failures. They held to the belief that she embodied the spirit of 1971, the promise of independence, and that any opposition to her was a betrayal of the nation. It was easier to believe in conspiracies than face her failures. This psychological hold, built on false fear and the myth that she alone safeguarded the country鈥檚 legacy, was beginning to fracture.
Now, as Bangladesh grapples with the aftermath of the July uprising, the way forward is anything but clear. The damage runs deep, not just politically but to the soul of the nation. To rebuild, Bangladesh must restore trust in its institutions. The Election Commission, judiciary, and law enforcement must be freed from political interference. The Digital Security Act, used to criminalise dissent, must be repealed. More than that, the people need to believe in democracy again. They need to know their voices matter.
The July uprising wasn鈥檛 just the collapse of an authoritarian regime 鈥� it crushed the tyrant鈥檚 utopia that fear and repression could guarantee unholy control and power over a nation indefinitely. The psychological grip Hasina once held over her people, the sycophants, has loosened, leaving behind a population determined to reclaim its future. The road ahead is uncertain, but new political movements are rising, led by a generation that knows the cost of silence. Whether Bangladesh emerges stronger and more democratic remains to be seen, but one thing is clear: the era of pathological loyalty and unquestioned power is over 鈥� and there鈥檚 no going back.
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Arif Murshed is an independent filmmaker based in Toronto, Canada.
