Like all great civilizations, Bangladesh’s history is also written with resilience, rebellion, and the struggle for identity. Among its most compelling narratives is that of rightist Islamic activists (Tawhidi Janata) figures whose fervour and faith have often met with violent repression. From the global “war on terror” to the dramatic July 2024 uprising, their journey is marked by bloodshed, broken promises, and a persistent fight for recognition. This is a story of defiance, betrayal, and the unpredictable course of political transformation.
The post-9/11 war on terror cast a long shadow over Bangladesh, turning counterterrorism into a convenient pretext for political suppression. Rightist Muslim groups found themselves targeted by a government eager to align with global powers. A defining moment came in 2013 with the Shapla Square protests, where Hefazat-e-Islam’s peaceful demonstration for the blasphemy law against anti-Islamic activities the radical secular section of the society was met with brutal force. The official death toll remains elusive, with estimates ranging from 60 to hundred, but the government’s ability to erase evidence only adds to the ambiguity. The tragic irony was stark: men who sought change through faith were crushed under the very institutions meant to protect them. The government’s deep-seated paranoia mistook prayer beads for deadly weapons, allowing justice to be swept away in a relentless wave of violence.
Fast-forward to the scorching summer of 2024, when Bangladesh found itself on the brink of another upheaval. What began as student protests against unfair job quotas quickly spiralled into a widespread revolt against Sheikh Hasina’s autocratic rule. This time, rightist Islamic activists and disillusioned army personnels found themselves unlikely allies. Reports indicate that at least 87 Jamaat-e-Islami members, along with many from other Islamic parties, lost their lives in the turmoil, their sacrifice serving as a powerful symbol of their frontline defiance. These were not passive ideologues; they were men who faced bullets with bare chests, determined to bring change. Their efforts culminated in the dramatic ousting of Hasina on August 5, 2024—an ironic twist, given her past vilification of these activists as “terrorists.” However, while her reign ended, the victory was anything but absolute.
With Muhammad Yunus stepped in as interim leader, the rightist Islamic activists soon found their hard-earned gains slipping away. The new government, wary of upsetting India and the West, chose caution over commitment. India, a longstanding supporter of Hasina’s secular governance, casts a suspicious eye, while Western powers, ever the champions of liberal democracy, issues veiled warnings. This hesitation manifested in small but telling ways—Islamic graffiti from the revolution was left untouched in government promotional materials, a symbolic neglect that stung deeply. One might imagine bureaucrats debating revolution over tea, dismissing these voices as inconvenient remnants of upheaval. However, for the activists, this disregard was yet another chapter in a history of exploitation and betrayal.
This pattern is not new. For decades, Bangladesh’s dominant political parties—the Awami League (AL) and the Bangladesh Nationalist Party (BNP)—have played a cynical game with Islamic activists. Both have, at different points, allied with them for electoral gain, only to later denounce them when it suited their political survival. Hasina’s AL courted Jamaat and other Islamic forces in the 1990s, just as BNP did in the early 2000s, only to discard them when accusations of extremism became politically expedient. It is a cycle of manipulation, where ideological loyalty is traded for short-term advantage, and the rightist Islamic activists are left to bear the brunt of changing tides.
The media, too, has had its role in shaping public perception. Isolated incidents—such as allegations of sexual abuse in madrasas—have been magnified to paint the entire madrassa activity as regressive or criminal. This broad-stroke portrayal ignores the nuanced theological teachings that condemn such actions and fails to differentiate individual misconduct from institutional values. Such sweeping generalisations fuel Islamophobia, casting suspicion over an entire community for the sins of a few.
Now, in the wake of the July 2024 uprising, the Islamic activists find themselves at a crossroads. They demand not just recognition but a political stake—a role justified by the sheer cost they have paid in blood. Over 1,500 lives were lost, and more than 31,000 people were injured in the uprising’s brutal suppression. Their fight was not merely symbolic; it was a real, visceral stand against oppression. To ignore their claims, as the Yunus government seems poised to do, would be a grave miscalculation. Political exclusion risks further destabilisation and could lead to a cycle of renewed conflict. One cannot simply cast aside those who have fought for change and expect peace to endure.
For Bangladesh to move forward, the government must adopt a strategy of inclusion rather than suppression. Religious scholars, respected for their ability to mediate and guide, could help navigate a settlement that ensures both governance stability and religious freedom. Economic opportunities must be extended to these activists, offering them a place in the nation’s future. Politically, if they can persuade the majority to support an Islamic governance model through the means of social justice, it would be undemocratic to deny them that right. Bangladesh has experimented with so-called secularism since 1971, but many argue that it has often failed to deliver on its promises. Perhaps it is time for a governance model that better reflects the aspirations of its cultural majority.
To achieve this, Bangladesh might look towards Malaysia as an example—an Islamic nation that balances religious governance with economic modernity. Such a model could offer a path that reassures both domestic secularists and international observers. It is a delicate balance, but one that could provide stability without sacrificing ideological integrity. The nation now stands at a precipice: embrace the aspirations of its Islamic activists and chart a new course or ignore them and risk plunging into chaos. Whatever the future holds, these activists are not mere footnotes in history—they are central figures in Bangladesh’s evolving political landscape. Their story is one of resilience, sacrifice, and a challenge to the nation’s conscience. The question now is whether Bangladesh will acknowledge their role or repeat the mistakes of the past.
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Rajeev Ahmed
The Editor of Geopolits.com and the Author of the book titled Bengal Nexus
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