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THE hills of south-eastern Bangladesh are famed for their breathtaking beauty. Yet beneath the lush greenery and terraced slopes lies a history steeped in marginalisation, militarisation and impunity. In late September 2025, the Chittagong Hill Tracts once again descended into turmoil, revealing the deep structural vulnerabilities that continue to define life for Indigenous communities. The violence that erupted was not an isolated incident; it was a reminder of the unfinished struggle for justice, accountability and recognition in a state that has too often failed its most marginalised citizens.

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Voice of poetry, resistance

THE recent unrest in the CHT cannot be dismissed as a passing crisis. It is the latest expression of long-unresolved issues surrounding land dispossession, displacement, political exclusion and cultural erasure. For decades, Indigenous peoples in the hill districts have faced systemic disadvantages, from limited political representation and militarised surveillance to institutional barriers to justice. The tension that surfaced in September 2025 merely exposed the fragility of the state’s protections for its Indigenous citizens.

This resistance is neither new nor spontaneous. More than three decades ago, the distinguished poet Kabita Chakma gave voice to the same anguish and defiance in her 1992 poem:

Why shall I not resist!

Can they do as they please —

Turn settlements into barren land

Dense forests to deserts

Mornings into evenings

Fruition to barrenness.

Why shall I not resist

Can they do as they please —

Estrange us from the land of our birth

Enslave our women

Blind our vision

Put an end to creation.

Neglect and humiliation cause anger

The blood surges through my veins breaking barriers at every stroke,

The fury of youth pierces the sea of consciousness.

I become my own whole self —

Why shall I not resist!

Her words remain hauntingly relevant. They embody the anger, anxiety and resolve of a people whose lands and bodies have been politicised, whose rights have been disregarded and whose voices the state has sought to silence. In the hills, poetry itself becomes protest, a means of remembrance, survival and refusal.

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Incident that sparked protests

ON THE night of September 23, a 12-year-old Marma schoolgirl was allegedly assaulted while returning home from private tuition in Khagrachari. Her father lodged a complaint at the local police station, identifying three unidentified assailants. Police, assisted by military personnel, arrested one suspect the following day. But anger ran deep. The Indigenous community demanded the immediate arrest of all perpetrators, sceptical of past patterns of selective justice.

On September 24, the ‘Jumma Chhatra Janata’, a coalition of Indigenous student and youth groups, organised a protest at Shapla Chattar. They warned that if all suspects were not arrested within 24 hours, they would enforce a district-wide blockade. During the demonstrations, Ukyanu Marma, general secretary of the Bangladesh Marma Student Council, was briefly detained by security forces, only to be released after public outrage spread across social media.

By September 26, thousands joined rallies across Khagrachari, demanding justice not only for the 12-year-old girl but also for the countless Indigenous women whose cases had been dismissed or distorted. The protesters declared a blockade that paralysed transport across the district. When demonstrators extended the blockade to highways and feeder roads, clashes broke out in several areas. Authorities responded by imposing Section 144, banning public gatherings in Khagrachari Sadar and surrounding regions. Yet the violence did not abate.

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Violence and lost lives

ARMED attacks soon followed. Bengali settlers raided ‘Mahajan Para’, while assaults in ‘Ganjpara’ and near a Buddhist monastery in ‘Khagrachari Bazaar’ left two indigenous men seriously injured. On September 28, clashes in Guimara upazila between protesters and security forces turned deadly. Gunfire erupted, killing three young indigenous men — Akhrau Marma, Teiching Marma and Athuiprue Marma — and injuring many others. Reports later confirmed that around a hundred Indigenous-owned homes, shops and vehicles had been looted and burned by settler groups. The destruction was extensive, but the silence that followed was worse.

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Misinformation, contested medical reports

AS VIOLENCE spread, so did disinformation. Social media platforms were flooded with false claims blaming Indigenous protesters for the attacks. Settler-aligned student organisations such as the Parbatya Chattagram Chhatra Parishad amplified narratives suggesting that the alleged rape never took place. Days later, a government medical board announced that it had found ‘no evidence of rape’ in its examination of the child. Indigenous activists immediately rejected the report as fabricated and demanded an independent investigation.

Their scepticism was not without reason. Between 2021 and July 2025, at least 38 Indigenous women and children were reported raped in the CHT — though activists believe the real number to be far higher, given the stigma and fear that prevent survivors from coming forward. Cases such as the ‘2018 Bilaichhari’ assault on two Marma sisters and the ‘Sohagi Jahan Tonu’ case inside Comilla Cantonment show how medical and legal processes have repeatedly been manipulated to shield perpetrators, particularly when security personnel are implicated.

On social media, Rani Yan Yan, the Queen of the Chakma Circle, raised alarm over the timing and orchestration of the September report. She noted that by 8 pm on September 30, several news outlets were already publishing ‘no-rape’ headlines, echoing earlier posts from groups such as ‘Sarbabhomotto Sochoton Shikkharthi Jote (Students for Sovereignty Awareness)’ — a PCCP affiliate that had labelled the case ‘false’ even before the report’s release. Rani Yan Yan asked: how did they know the outcome three days in advance? Who guaranteed them that assurance? Was the report genuinely issued by hospital authorities, or leaked unofficially? Why was it published without verification, and how did the Khagrachari branch of PCCP obtain and post images revealing the child’s identity — a clear violation of Bangladeshi law?

Even prominent commentators such as ‘Ilias Hossain’ amplified the ‘no-rape’ narrative before any official disclosure. The coordination suggested an organised campaign to delegitimise Indigenous protest and protect those responsible for the assault.

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Pattern of systemic oppression

SUCH incidents are not aberrations; they are part of a broader system of control. As Rani Yan Yan warned:

‘I worry that this 12-year-old girl will endure lasting trauma. I fear her family may be coerced into denying the assault. If the ‘no-rape’ claim collapses, the detained suspect might be forced into a false confession implicating others, perhaps Indigenous men or non-Muslim Bengalis, to deflect blame.’

Rumours soon circulated alleging that ‘five people’ were involved, including ‘one Marma, two Chakma, and two Hindus.’ The narrative subtly reframed Bengali settlers by religion, Muslim versus Hindu, deflecting suspicion away from the Muslim settler majority while stoking tensions against local Hindus. This tactic not only divides the hill communities but also protects the power structure that sustains military and settler dominance.

Whether the aim was to prove that no assault occurred or to blame it on Indigenous or non-Muslim men, the outcome was the same: the movement demanding justice was undermined. The protests were reframed as disruptive, and renewed calls emerged for tighter military control of the hills. The cycle of violence, denial and repression continued.

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Justice, accountability

HUMAN rights organisations have condemned the recent atrocities as part of a continuum of state complicity. FIAN International, the International Chittagong Hill Tracts Commission, the International Working Group for Indigenous Affairs, and Minority Rights Group International jointly denounced the violence, noting that sexual assault, military intervention and settler attacks are not isolated events but systemic manifestations of structural discrimination.

In response to the Khagrachari assault, these organisations issued urgent appeals urging the Bangladeshi government to ensure justice through immediate arrest and prosecution of all perpetrators, and to guarantee the victim’s physical safety, psychological support, and medical care. They emphasised that only a ‘transparent and impartial process’ could begin to restore trust.

To end the entrenched impunity, the groups called for a ‘commission of inquiry’ under the ‘1956 Commission of Inquiry Act’, empowered to summon officials, access documents and operate with the authority of a civil court. They also pressed for the full cooperation of ‘United Nations observers’ and the removal of all restrictions on international monitoring of human rights in the CHT.

Equally crucial is the dismantling of militarised governance. The rights bodies urged the revocation of ‘Operation Uttoron’, the continuing military operation in the hills, and the restoration of full civilian administration as promised in the ‘1997 CHT Accord’. They recommended the creation of an ‘ethnically representative police force’, clear directives to prevent military interference in civil law enforcement, and the safe, voluntary relocation of Bengali settlers through inclusive dialogue with affected communities.

At the international level, they appealed to the UN Department of Peacekeeping Operations to ‘suspend recruitment of Bangladeshi security personnel’ until human rights violations in the CHT cease. They further urged the UN Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights to establish a dedicated mechanism for independent monitoring and investigation of abuses committed by state forces.

Together, these proposals offer a roadmap for dismantling impunity and restoring dignity to a region long deprived of both justice and peace. They reflect a shared conviction: that Indigenous communities must no longer be left to face state violence and settler aggression in silence.

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Enduring question

THE CHT crisis is not simply a local dispute; it is a test of Bangladesh’s moral and constitutional integrity and of the world’s willingness to uphold the rights of indigenous peoples. International attention is not charity; it is a necessity. Without transparency, accountability and respect for Indigenous autonomy, the hills will remain a landscape of both beauty and betrayal.

Can a nation truly claim justice when its most vulnerable citizens are rendered invisible? When sexual violence is weaponised to suppress dissent, when forensic evidence is manipulated to absolve power and when soldiers stand guard where teachers and healers should? The answers lie not in rhetoric but in action.

Bangladesh must choose the path of justice, by ensuring impartial investigations, protecting survivors, dismantling systems of impunity and safeguarding the human rights of all Indigenous peoples. Without such steps, the cycle of distrust and bloodshed will persist.

Kabita Chakma’s question still reverberates through the valleys and rivers of the CHT:

‘Why shall I not resist?’

For those who inhabit these contested hills, resistance is not rebellion, it is survival. It is the insistence on dignity, recognition and the right to exist. Until that recognition is granted, the hills of Bangladesh will continue to echo with voices that refuse to be silenced.

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Milinda Marma is an indigenous writer and activist.