The July uprising has ended—and it ended in success. That alone demands serious reflection. A natural, controversial question follows: Why was the student-led movement successful, while 15 years of efforts by the BNP and other opposition parties failed, despite their sacrifices?
To answer that, we must take a hard look at the past 15 years under Hasina’s rule, and the opposition’s repeated attempts to ignite a mass movement. BNP has organized massive rallies—even divisional ones. Thousands of their supporters have been arrested, some killed by law enforcement, many disappeared, and countless others lost jobs, homes, or dignity. Their commitment is not in question.
And yet, they never got close to success. Why? Because, despite all effort, their movement never transcended party lines. It remained a political struggle, framed by the government and perceived by many as just “BNP’s fight,” not a people’s movement.
Given BNP’s own problematic governance history, many were reluctant to rally behind them. That hesitation gave the ruling Awami League the perfect excuse to brand them as extremists—and justify brutal crackdowns. And in the face of those crackdowns, ordinary people chose to stay out of the line of fire.
The July uprising proved that Bangladesh didn’t need just another political party to fight the system—it needed a coalition of people. And that coalition needed leaders who weren’t political—leaders people from all backgrounds could relate to.
That’s where the students came in. Students are part of every household—regardless of political affiliation. The government couldn’t divide people on the basis of student identity. That was the key.
Ironically, the movement began over something relatively narrow—the job quota system—not something as universally important as election fairness. But this narrow issue worked because it united people at a human level, not just a political one.
I still remember the night the students marched through Dhaka University chanting, “Tumi ke, ami ke? Rajakar, Rajakar.” This slogan flipped the narrative of the last 15 years. The Awami League had long used terms like “Rajakar” and “Jamaat” as weapons to morally discredit and suppress dissent. Even non-political citizens avoided speaking up, fearing they’d be labeled traitors.
But that night, when students openly claimed the label and mocked it, the fear collapsed. Just like a bully loses power when the victim laughs along—the spell broke. Overnight, the government's most powerful rhetorical weapon lost its sting. Now, when someone gets called “Rajakar” or “Shibir,” the public barely reacts. The label has lost its power to isolate or shame.
On July 15, a student protest at Dhaka University faced a typical crackdown from BCL. As in the past, this seemed to end things—the halls were emptied, and the campus was “secured.” But something unexpected happened next. The movement re-emerged outside the campus, in many locations. And among the crowds were young people affiliated with BNP or Jamaat—but they came without party banners or slogans. The government couldn't easily dismiss them as political agitators, because they were also students. BNP officially denied involvement, and the lines blurred. These party-affiliated youth brought with them years of experience in street protest—and were prepared to fight back. For once, the resistance matched the crackdown.
Everyone knew many of these protesters weren’t just “neutral” students—but no one dared to delegitimize them. The unspoken rule of silence held.
Perhaps the most surprising element was the widespread participation of private university students. Historically, they’ve been seen as apolitical, even elite. But this time, they were everywhere—organizing, leading, and fighting. They had learned their collective power during the anti-VAT movement, and again in the road safety protests. Many joined out of personal anger over past crackdowns, not over job quotas. In fact, they were the first to talk openly about toppling the regime. Because private university campuses are scattered across Dhaka, protests popped up in dozens of locations, making them hard to suppress. And unlike DU or JU students, they weren’t easy to intimidate—they had no halls to be evicted from.
From my position in the diaspora, I witnessed another critical force: the global Bengali community. If the students were the engine, the diaspora was the fuel. Whenever the government tried to restrict internet access or block transportation, the diaspora kept the information flowing. But more importantly, they filled a strategic vacuum: students could fight in the streets, but someone had to think ahead, design programs, test ideas.
Most of the movement’s successful programs were already circulating in diaspora social media networks days before being announced. Sometimes, leaders like Nahid and Asif were hesitant to call for bold steps—but diaspora pressure made them happen. Calls for “one-point demand” and “March to Dhaka” were diaspora-driven before going mainstream. Because the movement was decentralized, no arrests or internet blocks could stop it. This was a network with no head to cut off. And when they literally shut down remittances, it was game over for BAL.
So how did July happen? Not by chance, and definitely not by a single leader. It happened because for the first time, the mass found the right moment, the right cause, and the right face to fight behind—their own children, the students! It wasn’t a political protest. It wasn’t a partisan uprising. It was a nation waking up together. And once that happened—no force, no label, no crackdown could stop it.
By Rayhanul Islam, Coordinator, Gono Bhabna
