We never expected utopia. No revolution delivers all that it promises. But those who chanted, bled, and buried their closed ones expected something more than this: a better system, a safer country, a path to justice. One year ago, the youth of Bangladesh stood at the frontlines of history, facing bullets with bare hands. They did not ask for much; only for dignity, for safety, for voice. Today, as we mark one year since the fall of that regime, it is worth asking: have we honored their sacrifice, or simply replaced it with symbolism and pageantry?
The truth is, many of the families of the martyred and injured remain neglected. The promises of rehabilitation funds, job placements, and mental health support were turned into delayed committees, mismanaged funds, and silence. The very people who lost everything in the fight for our collective liberation were sidelined in our victory. Reports have emerged of inconsistencies and complaints in the disbursement of funds meant for victims’ families. Student-led organizations such as Students Against Discrimination (SAD), once praised for their role during the protests, are now being criticised for gatekeeping and failing to uphold their own rhetoric of inclusion.
To be fair, not everything is bleak. On the economic front, Bangladesh has shown some positive signs. In June 2025, year-on-year inflation dropped to 6.4%, compared to nearly 9% the previous year. Remittance inflows rose by 12% after new exchange rate reforms were introduced, and export earnings in sectors like RMG and pharmaceuticals rebounded after months of instability. The interim government has also successfully negotiated loan deferrals with multilateral lenders, reducing short-term debt pressure. But prices of essential goods remain volatile, and unemployment among fresh graduates continues to rise, especially outside urban centres. These gains are not insignificant but revolutions are not remembered for GDP alone.
One of the interim government’s most urgent responsibilities was to restore law and order across the country. To be fair, they have largely failed. Many of the advisors and officials blame this failure on the bureaucracy they inherited, especially police and administrative staff loyal to the past regime. But even if that is true, we have not seen any strong action or structural reform to address the problem. That inaction remains a serious concern. Law and order remains a serious concern. In Gopalganj, five people including teenagers and working-class individuals were shot dead during clashes at an NCP rally. Human rights groups reported no proper investigations, no autopsies, and families say some victims were buried without post-mortems. In this one year,mob violence against minority communities has surged. In Rangpur’s Aldadpur village, mobs vandalized at least 14–21 Hindu homes after a teen’s Facebook post, looting families and triggering distress sales. Despite army and police deployment, no arrests or FIRs followed for days. Such incidents show the state’s failure to protect citizens and maintain justice, not just symbolic reform, but real accountability is still missing. The tragic accident involving students of Milestone College is another example of the state’s habitual silence. Despite student calls for accountability, there has been no transparent investigation, no apologies, no resignations.
The government has also been criticised for a pattern of selective justice, where responses to injustice often depend on whether a case goes viral on social media. If a protest or outcry gains traction online, action is swift; otherwise, justice is delayed or ignored. We saw this with the rape case of a student named Asia, the delayed HSC exam announcement after the Milestone crash, and several other incidents. This reactive, social media-driven governance raises serious questions about the state’s commitment to consistent justice.
Meanwhile, gender justice—the very foundation of an inclusive revolution—has seen deep betrayal. Women were central to the uprising. They risked their lives, led sit-ins, provided medical aid, and redefined public space. Yet, a year on, their voices have been pushed to the margins. The political discourse is still dominated by men. Women leaders are either silenced or smeared. The same society that raised slogans for freedom now rushes to slut-shame any female politician who challenges the status quo. Even in martyrdom, women remain unseen. One of the most horrifying examples emerged when the daughter of a martyr was reportedly raped in her own home. What justice does our revolution offer, if this is what safety looks like?
The political terrain, too, is confusing. The emergence of the National Citizen Party (NCP) was hailed as a break from the old dynasties of BNP and Awami League. Accusations of “traitor” or “Awami agent” are hurled at anyone who dares to ask uncomfortable questions. We have seen this before. We were supposed to have moved past this.
And what of the BNP? The party, re-entered national politics more visibly after the regime’s fall. It has since pushed for early elections, arguing that no real reform is possible without a fully elected democratic government. Accusations of extortion and local-level threats from party operatives remind us that replacing one villain with another is no revolution. A genuine political renewal requires deeper change: in structure, in attitude, in accountability.
Perhaps most telling is how we chose to “celebrate” this one-year anniversary. More than 26 crore taka was allocated by the interim government for July commemorations. While cultural memory and honoring martyrs is essential, one cannot help but ask: what would those martyrs say if they saw such lavish spending, while their own families remain without compensation, while justice remains undelivered? Are we honoring their memory, or just decorating it?
Transitions are messy. No one expected miracles. But some basic expectations were legitimate: dignity, justice, safety, equality. And in many ways, we have failed to meet them. If this first year is any indication, our greatest threat is not the return of dictatorship, but the repetition of its tactics under new banners.
Revolution is not an event—it is a process. One year is not enough to undo fifteen years of authoritarian rule. But it is enough to signal the direction we are headed. If July 2024 was about reclaiming power from the top, then July 2025 must be about redistributing it at the bottom.
Let this anniversary be a wake-up call, not a victory parade. Only when the wounded are healed, the bereaved supported, the guilty sentenced, and power truly checked only then can Bangladesh raise its head in genuine pride.
Mahmuda Emdad, Operational Editor, Muktipotro.
