How a young generation in Bangladesh ousted the leader who ruled much of their lives
Jannatul Prome hopes to leave Bangladesh after completing her university studies to continue her studies or perhaps find a job. She is frustrated by a system that she says does not reward achievement and offers few opportunities for young people.
“Our scope for maneuver here is very limited,” says the 21-year-old, who would have left earlier if her family had had enough money to pay the tuition fees at foreign universities for her and her older brother at the same time.
But recent events give her hope that she can one day return to a changed Bangladesh: After 15 years in power, Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina resigned last week and fled the country – driven out by young protesters, including Prome, who say they have had enough of the way her increasingly autocratic rule suppresses dissent, favors the elite and widens inequality.
In June, students took to the streets of Bangladesh for the first time, demanding an end to regulations that reserve up to 30 percent of government jobs for descendants of veterans who fought in the 1971 war of independence against Pakistan. Protesters said this benefited supporters of Hasina's Awami League, which led that fight – and who were already part of the elite. The quota and other regulations for marginalized groups meant that only 44 percent of public sector jobs were awarded on merit.
It was no coincidence that these professions were at the centre of the movement: they are among the most stable and best-paid in a country whose economy has boomed in recent years but has not created enough solid skilled jobs for the well-educated middle class.
And it was no surprise that Generation Z led this uprising: Young people like Prome are among those most frustrated and affected by the lack of opportunities in Bangladesh – and at the same time, they do not feel beholden to the old taboos and narratives that the quota system reflected.
Her willingness to break with the past was evident when Hasina belittled her demands in mid-July, asking who, if not freedom fighters, should get government jobs.
“Who will do this? The grandchildren of the Razakars?” Hasina replied, using a deeply offensive word to describe those who collaborated with Pakistan to crush Bangladesh's struggle for independence.
But the protesting students wore the word like a badge of honor. They marched across the campus of Dhaka University chanting: “Who are you? Who am I? Razakar. Who said that? The dictator.”
The following day, protesters were killed in clashes with security forces, fuelling the demonstrations and escalating into a larger uprising against Hasina's rule.
Sabrina Karim, a professor at Cornell University who studies political violence and Bangladesh's military history, said many of the protesters are so young that they cannot remember the time before Hasina became prime minister.
They grew up, like generations before them, with stories of the independence struggle – with Hasina's family at the centre. Her father, Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, was the first leader of independent Bangladesh and was later assassinated in a military coup. But Karim said that narrative had much less meaning for the young protesters than it did for their grandparents.
“It doesn't resonate with them as much as it (used to). And they want something new,” she said.
For Nourin Sultana Toma, a 22-year-old student at Dhaka University, Hasina's portrayal of the protesting students as traitors made her realize the gap between what the youth wanted and what the government could offer.
She said she had witnessed Bangladesh slowly becoming immune to injustice and people losing hope that things would ever get better.
The country's longest-serving prime minister prided herself on raising per capita income and transforming Bangladesh's economy into a global competitor – turning fields into textile factories and bumpy roads into winding highways. But Toma said she had witnessed the daily struggle of people trying to buy basic necessities or find work, and her demands for basic rights had been met with insults and violence.
“This could no longer be tolerated,” said Toma.
This economic hardship was particularly felt by Bangladesh's youth. 18 million young people – in a country of 170 million people – are neither working nor attending school, says Chietigj Bajpaee, who researches South Asia at the Chatham House think tank. And after the pandemic, jobs in the private sector became even scarcer.
Many young people try to study or move abroad in the hope of finding decent work, but this decimates the middle class and leads to a brain drain.
“Class differences have widened,” says Jannatun Nahar Ankan, a 28-year-old who works for a nonprofit organization in Dhaka and has joined the protests.
Despite these problems, none of the protesters seemed to have truly believed that their movement could overthrow Hasina.
Rafij Khan, 24, was on the streets preparing for a protest rally when he heard that Hasina had resigned and fled the country. He repeatedly called home to see if he could confirm the news.
He said that in the last few days of demonstrations, students on the streets had been joined by people of all walks of life, religions and professions. Now they were hugging each other, while others were simply sitting on the ground in disbelief.
“I can’t describe the joy people felt that day,” he said.
This euphoria is now starting to wane as the enormity of the task facing a Palestinian state becomes clear. Nobel Prize winner Muhammad Yunus was named interim leader on Thursday. Together with a cabinet that includes two leaders of the student protests, he must restore peace, build institutions and prepare the country for new elections.
Most students hope that the interim government will be given time to restore Bangladesh's institutions while a new political party is formed that is not led by the old political dynasties.
“If you asked me to vote now, I don't know who I would vote for,” Khan said. “We don't want to replace one dictatorship with another.”
The young people who took to the streets were often described as the “I hate politics” generation.
But Azaher Uddin Anik, a 26-year-old digital security specialist and graduate of Dhaka University, says that is a misnomer.
They don’t hate all politics – just the divisive politics in Bangladesh.
And while he admits that the structural reforms the country now needs may be more difficult than removing the prime minister, he is hopeful for the first time in a long time.
“My recent experience tells me that the impossible is possible,” he said. “And maybe it's not too late.”
