Hasina took ‘shoot-at-sight’ policy
Staff Reporter :
It was just past midnight on July 19 last year when the entire country fell under a sudden, sweeping curfew. In the span of hours, Bangladesh transformed from a nation engulfed in protests to a landscape subdued by military boots, shuttered roads, and silence interrupted only by the whir of helicopters.
The government’s decision to deploy the army followed a hastily convened meeting at Ganabhaban, chaired by the then Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina, as violence surged across cities and campuses.
The memory of that day remains etched into the consciousness of a wounded nation. At least 67 lives were lost in the span of 24 hours-according to media reports-in a wave of brutal crackdowns that engulfed the capital and many parts of the country. The protests, driven by students demanding reform in the government job quota system, had been gaining momentum for days.
By July 19, it had evolved into a national shutdown, with students joined by opposition party activists under a single banner of defiance. Dhaka turned into a battlefield. In neighborhoods like Rampura, Jatrabari, Badda, and Uttara, students clashed with law enforcement and ruling party cadres. Tear gas filled the air. The echo of rubber bullets and, at times, live ammunition rattled through streets where students had earlier chanted for reform. The morning had begun with a sense of purpose; by afternoon, it descended into chaos and bloodshed.
The government’s response was swift and severe. The curfew was not just a restriction-it was a lockdown of civil liberties. Obaidul Quader, then General Secretary of the ruling Awami League, publicly announced a “shoot-at-sight” policy for those violating the curfew. It was a chilling statement that foreshadowed the violence that unfolded.
Inside overwhelmed hospitals, doctors struggled to treat gunshot victims. Families waited outside emergency wards for news of their sons and daughters. According to accounts from victims’ relatives, many hospitals were allegedly instructed not to admit or treat injured protesters. That night, grief began to settle over households as names of the dead started appearing on social media, many of them university students.
By evening, anger spilled over. Protesters set fire to several government buildings. The BRTA headquarters in Banani, the Metro-1 office in Mirpur, the old DGHS building in Mohakhali-all were torched. Police stations and outposts came under siege. The Kazipara metro station was vandalized, and metro services were suspended indefinitely. The city’s arteries clogged-buses stopped running, trains froze in their tracks, and even international flights were canceled.
In one of the day’s most dramatic moments, residents in Narsingdi stormed the district jail, freeing inmates and holding guards hostage. It was not just a protest-it was an uprising. Yet the spirit of rebellion was not limited to the young. Parents, carrying placards and memories, formed a human chain under the banner “Parents beside their Children” at Shahbagh, refusing to abandon their children’s fight for justice.
The protests were not only in Dhaka. From Khulna to Rangpur, from Chattogram to Mymensingh, students and citizens marched, clashed, and fell. In some cities, protesters were fired upon from helicopters, a claim made by eyewitnesses and rejected by the Rapid Action Battalion. Still, the rumors spread faster than the government could deny them.
As the death toll rose, the ruling party attempted to frame the protests as anarchy engineered by the opposition. That same day, Obaidul Quader called for national unity to resist the “so-called anarchy of BNP-Jamaat.” But on the ground, what many saw was a generation betrayed.
The government’s calls for dialogue rang hollow amid mass arrests, arbitrary detentions, and brutal suppression. Even Nahid Islam, a key face of the student movement, was picked up at midnight and taken to an unknown location.
Internet was suspended nationwide at 9pm, cutting off the digital lifeline of a mobilized generation. News portals went dark. Messaging apps froze. Families lost contact with loved ones.
Despite the violence, the student movement did not surrender.
That day, they issued a nine-point charter, demanding everything from a public apology by the prime minister to the banning of student wings like the Chhatra League and immediate resignation of top cabinet ministers. They called for an end to political violence in universities and sought assurance that no student involved in the protests would face academic retribution.
Their voice was clear. Their demands were precise. Their defiance remained unshaken.
July 19, 2024, will be remembered not just as the day the streets of Dhaka burned, but as the moment the young citizens of Bangladesh stood up and paid a terrible price for it. A year on, the curfew may be gone, but the scars of that night-of fire, of blood, of silence-remain.