In the first week of July, during the eruption of the ‘anti-discrimin𝓡ation student moveme🍰nt’ in Bangladesh demanding quota reform, I was in Dhaka. Having closely observed most recent student movements in the country, I paid partꦅicular attention to this one from its outset. By the second week of July, when I returned to Delhi, the protests were still ongoing. On the very day of my return, news broke of an attack on students at Jahangirnagar University, my alma mater. Under the cover of darkness, they were assaulted, with female students among those injured. That night, I could not sleep—it felt as if a shadow of the oppressive Pakistani regime had returned to Bangladesh.
On July 17, the martyrdom of Abu Sayeed infused new fervour into the resistance against Sheikh Hasina’s governance. However, that very night, the internet was shut down across the country, cutting off communication. During this blackout, I spen൲t my days in dialogue with Indian journalists, trying to amplify the movement’s story. To steady my own resolve, I immersed myself in reading Jahanara Imam’s book Days of ’71. As someone representing this generation, I found deep parallels between the July uprising and the heroic struggle of Bangladesh’s liberation war in 1971.
Much like the period following 1971, Bangladesh is currently navigating a transitional phase in the post-Hasina era. This moment is marked by widespread chaos, trauma, anxiety and heightened societal expectations. However, it is commendable that despite the upheaval, the country has managed to💯 avoid descending into ci💜vil war or communal riots—a testament to the resilience of its society, government and other stakeholders. Nevertheless, the young generation, in particular, is grappling with the lingering effects of post-conflict trauma.
This generation in Bangladesh has experienced two significantꦛ mass protests in 2018: the Quota Reform 𝄹Movement and the Road Safety Protest. Both saw widespread participation, particularly from students, and were marked by their largely peaceful nature.
In contrast, the Anti-Discrimination Movement of 2024 stands apart from any protest in the last decade in Bangladesh. Unlike previous movements, this uprising was not led by political parties; rather, it emerged from the people’s demand for political change. The movement was fuelled byꦗ inspiring events and causes that resonated across all sections of soc🐽iety, compelling large-scale participation.
Unfortunately, the 2024 movement saw unprecedented levels of violence and brutality. According to Bangladesh’s Ministry of Health, approximately 1,000 people were killed, with the identities of over 700 publicly rep𓆉orted. Additionally, around 23,000 people were severely injured, and more than 400 individuals lost their eyesight. Viral videos circulating on social media revealed unarmed teenage boys fighting back against police forces using nothing but stones. These teenagers ꦯremained on the streets from early July until August 5, the day Hasina reportedly fled to India.
The protesters endured unimaginable 🎶violence, witnessing their friends being killed in front of them and facing brutal torture, even in hospitals. Injured comrades could not be taken to hospitals due to police and Chhatra League obstruction. In one horrific incident at Ashulia Thana, a police station near Dhaka, security forces allegedly set fire to dead bodies after killing protesters, which provoked an attack on the station by enraged civilians. This level of violence has left an entire generation grappling with post-traumatic stress, struggling to return to normalcy. Even after the movement’s perceived success on August 5, the violence continued. In three of Bangladesh’s top universities—Rajshahi University (RU), Dhaka University (DU) and Jahangirnagar University (JU)—two Chhatra League leaders, accused of being associated with aggression towards students, and an individual suspected of theft, were beaten to death.
On September 8, 2024, just one month after the victory against Hasina’s regime, Abdullah Al Masud, a former leader of the Chhatra League’s RU unit, was brutally lynched in Rajshahi city on charges of attacking protesters during the July movement, speciꦺfically on Augus✨t 5.
Days later, on September 19, 2024, violence erupteಌd again. Shamim Molla, another former Chhatra League le๊ader from JU, was beaten to death by a group of students. On the same day, Tofazzal Hossain was killed at Fazlul Huq Muslim Hall in DU, allegedly accused of stealing cellphones.
These incidents highlight a disturbing trend: students, still reeling frౠom the trauma of violence and mass killings during the anti-Hasina movement, have become increasingly violent, even over seemingly trivial issues. The name Chhatra League itself has become synonymous with ‘trauma’ for many, as the organisati𒉰on was directly involved in brutal suppression during the protests.
What is particularly shocking is that the individuals accused of the killings in RU, JU and DU were themselves ⛦active participants in the July protests. This underscores a deeper psychological impact, where ꦏfrustration and trauma have turned into aggression and extreme behaviour among students.
The violence has not been limited to these killings alone. Across the country, students are now engaging in clashes over petty disputes. For instance, in November 2024, students from Shaheed Suhrawardy Co♚llege and Kabi Nazrul College attacked Dr Mahbubur Rahman Mollah College in Jatrabari, causing extensive damage and looting. A day-long chase and counter-chase ensued between the rival groups, and even local police struggled to contain the chaos.
The following day, in retaliation, students of Dr Mahbubur Rahman Mollah College carried out extensive vandalism and looting at the Dhaka National Medical Col🍒lege and Shaheed Suhrawardy College campuses. These clashes, initiated over trivialꦑ matters, were exacerbated by deep-seated egos and unresolved trauma among students. These incidents also provide evidence that the trauma of this movement runs deep, and its long-term impact on Bangladesh’s youth remains profound.
This alarming trend o♐f violence and extreme behaviour reveals a generation grappling with the afterm𒆙ath of brutal suppression and mass killings. Students, who once stood united during the anti-Hasina movement, are now turning on one another, reflecting a society struggling to heal from its recent wounds.
The trauma♛ that Gen Z in Bangladesh is currently suffering from is called Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), which is a psychiatric disorder. PTSD, or post-violence trauma, often manifests as hypervigilance, characterised by a constant state of being on edge, along with aggressive or violent behaviour. According to the American Psychiatric Association (APA), PTSD may occur in people who have experienced or witnessed a traumatic event, series of events, or set of circumstances. This means that those who experience violence, as well as those involved in committing acts of violence, can suffer from PTSD. A study on veterans of Operation Enduring Freedom and Operation Iraqi Freedom (OEF/OIF) found that 13.5 per cent of deployed veterans and non-deployed veterans screened positive for PTSD.
For instance, the Anti-Discrimination Movement in Bangladesh resulted in widespread brutality and mass killings, inflicting deep psychological distress on an entire generation. This trauma disrupted social cohesion and led to a rise in intra-group violence. S൩imilar patterns of trauma have been observed globally, such as in Rwanda following the 1994 genocide, where approximately 800,000 Tutsis and moderate Hutus were killed, leaving survivors with severe PTSD and enduring collective trauma. Likewise, Bosnia and Herzegovina witnessed ethnic cleansing and atrocities during the Yugoslav wars (1992–95), including the Srebrenica massacre, where 8,000 Bosniak men and boys were executed, leaving lasting psychological scars and deep societal divisions.
In the case of th𝓡e Rohingya genocide, violence, forced displacement and persecution created a continuous cycle of trauma, particularly for those living in refugee camps, where psychological distress remains unresolved. The new generation in the camps is growing up with trauma and anxiety. These instances highlight the far-reaching psychological and societal consequences of violence, often transcending generations.
However, the political history of Bangladesh is not unfamiliar w𓃲ith cycles of violence and exploitation. The nation has a long history of political unrest and trauma carried forward through generations, stemming ༒from events like the 1971 genocide.
In the post-Bangladesh War of Independence in 1971, the Bihari minority faced unique persecution. As supporters of the Pakistani armed forces and opponents of Bangladesh’s independence, Biharis became targets of reprisals from the Mukti Bahini and Bengali militias. Many Biharis lost their lives during this period. The New York Times reported at the time that nationalist Bengalis﷽ attacked Biharis with guns and knives, forcing 𝔉them to hide or flee to nearby villages. Shops owned by Biharis were looted, and eyewitness accounts described bodies of victims found in ditches with their throats slit.
Much like the oppression faced by the Biharis in 1971 in India, two Chhatra League leaders lost their lives in Bangladesh in 2024. Yet, the aftermath of violence in both cases raises profound questions about trauma and its long-term consequences. The 1971 genocide left indelible scars on the people of Bangladesh, especially those born before 1965, who have carried this trauma throughout their lives. This collective trauma gave rise to an ‘Urdu phobia’ in post-independence Bangladesh, as Urdu became associated with Pakistan and viewed as a language of the enemy. The next generation grew up immersed in a national history rooted in the trauma of 1971. While the Liberation War was a victory for all Bengalis, the Awami League and Sheikh Hasina effectively politicised it. In 2010, Hasina’s government established the International Crimes Tribunal to prosecute individuals involved in 🌞the 1971 genocide. To bolster public support for these trials, the political-cultural group Janajagran Mancha emerged in 2013. Hasina strategically portrayed opposition to her rule as opposition to the genocide trials, consolidating her authority. Leveraging this narrative, she orchestrated three uncontested elections in 2014, 2018 and 2024. However, the political landscape in 2024 has raised critical questions about the sustainability of such strategies.
Today, Bangladesh faces pressing questions: How can🐻 the spirit of 1971 be reconciled with the realities of 2024? How can a fractured society b🧸urdened by layers of trauma begin to heal? Despite the far-reaching consequences of the 1971 genocide, there have been no significant social or cultural initiatives to address the trauma stemming from the 2024 mass killings, which continues to affect the younger generation.
The youth who participated in recent movements with clear aspirations now🐓 face the risk of disillusionment. If their goals remain unfulfilled, their frustration may spiral into widespread societal chaos. Equally concerning is whether the trauma of 2024 will be weaponised as a political tool, much like the trauma of 1971. If history repe𓃲ats itself, Bangladesh risks perpetuating cycles of violence, suppression and political exploitation, leaving yet another generation burdened by unresolved trauma.
(Views expressed are personal)
Shahadat Swadhin is a Journalist & a Research Scholar at South Asian University, Delhi
(This appeared in the print as 'The Hunters')
