July Heroes: The Price They Paid for Our Freedom

While celebrations occupied the roads of Bangladesh right after Sheikh Hasina, former prime minister fled the country, Shawon Al Mahamud receives the news of his friend Miraz Hossen’s death upon calling him; a scene made eternal by his own camera. 

The July uprising wasn’t just a reflection of the peoples’ frustration with the government, it was a fight to take back their rights and autonomy. What started as a peaceful protest for fair opportunities in the public sector transformed into a mass uprising. The seemingly apolitical generation that most knew to dream of leaving the country changed the political landscape of Bangladesh forever.  The reflections of these sentiments can be seen in the French revolution of 1830, when the protest of Charles X’s July Ordinances turned into massive clashes between the authorities and the citizens - significantly being from the student community. 

Their rage and passion, while stemming from the dissatisfaction in the systems, amplified as they witnessed the brutality and stripping of human dignity their brothers and sisters faced when they demanded equity. The killing of Abu Sayeed, a student with his chest bared, a mere stick in his hand, as bullets punctured and dragged out his life, sent shockwaves throughout the country and gave rise to a question - ‘Is demanding for equality a crime in a free country?’ The people that sacrificed their existence for the future of Bangladesh, the men, women, and children, they echoed the cry for justice and war against criminal regimes of the likes of Sheikh Hasina. 

17 year old Yasin Sheikh questioned why the bullets ravaged him when he was not the one protesting as he left his sole guardian, his mother alone with no motivation left for life,

Home, a place where we consider ourselves to be the safest, could not protect 20 year old Sumaiya Akhter as she was shot in the four walls of her balcony, leaving behind a motherless 2-month-old daughter.

To this day, 6 year old Riya Gope’s family try to make sense of her death from a stray bullet while she played on the familiar floors of her rooftop.

Ashraful Islam Antor, a 15 year old hafidh of the Quran was his mother’s reason to struggle through life when her former husband left them both. Bullets snatched Antor’s life amidst the cheering crowds on August 5 last year, and his mother’s wish of having her funeral prayer being led by him became an eternal dream. Stories like these, of real people and real lives forever altered are endless. More than 1000 people lost their lives in the July Mass Uprising of 2024 and more than 20,000 have been left with lifelong injuries.

“A father’s shoulder bearing his son’s dead body; only the father who carried knows the weight. People see me sitting normal, but every moment my inside feels like wood eaten by termites.” says Miraz’s father as he holds the bullet torn bloody shirt his son wore in his last moments. 

‘Ashche Falgun amra kintu digun hobo’ - a quote from Zahir Raihan’s Arek Falgun novel reverberated in the highways and alleys of Bangladesh during the peak of the protests as police arrested people in thousands in the dark hours of the night. The Bangladeshi legacy of resistance continues to echo in the journals of July as it once gave root to our struggle for identity during the Language Movement. 

While we rejoice and dream of a new Bangladesh, we must look back at the dark times and the people that became eternal in history for this motherland. From street graffities to new chapters in history books, their existence is etched in every room and corner of our daily lives. In this month of hope and agony, we remind ourselves of the blood that paid the price of our newfound freedom and honour the martyrs through our actions.

In the consummation of a year since we lost so many young lives filled with dreams and the elixir of life, we have witnessed how old patterns of brutalist politics are struggling to come back and dominate our society. Establishing memorials and producing documentaries evoke emotions within us that may remind us of the ones we lost, but how do we honour their lives if the cycles of vengeance and hollow slogans still prevail? They did not stain the roads with their blood to re-establish another fascist, but to let dignity and justice prevail. Honouring them only becomes a success when we remember their solidarity and question any complacency to oppression.

Are we worthy of their sacrifice? The answer lies in what we do tomorrow.