By Muhammad Nuruzzaman  

KHULNA, 23 July 2025 (BSS) - The movement began with a demand for quota reform and culminated in the toppling of a tyrannical regime-what came to be known as the July Uprising marked the birth of a new Bangladesh.

Against the authoritarian rule of the Awami League government, students and citizens across the nation rose in resistance. Khulna University, too, echoed with the spirit of rebellion as students risked everything to take part in the mass movement.

One of the front-line organizers in Khulna was Muhibullah Muhib, a Master's student of the Economics department of Khulna University. A resident of Khan Jahan Ali Hall, Muhib hails from Baraiagram in Natore district and served as the Joint Member Secretary of the Khulna city unit of the Anti-Discrimination Student Movement. 

In a recent interview with Bangladesh Sangbad Sangstha (BSS), Muhib recounted his experiences and reflections from that turbulent July. Here is the full interview... 

BSS: One year has passed since the July Uprising. Do those memories still linger with you?

Muhibullah: Absolutely. Those memories are still vivid-like a mix of hope, despair, and fear. We were constantly torn between what to do and what not to do, and on top of that, we lacked widespread support. Even the few people who gave us shelter would often tell us to leave Khulna. During those fearful times, we remained determined, but whenever we heard that police were on their way, we had to change locations. I still remember how we'd grab a rickshaw in a hurry, hide in safe houses, and stay silent.

Even in my sleep, I still hear slogans like "Quota or Merit?" echoing in my ears. I can still see the police charging with batons and firing tear gas and bullets at us near Zero Point. One memory that haunts me the most is from August 2-the brutal clash with police in Khulna. We took shelter on campus. We were relatively senior and more prepared, but even young students from classes IX and X joined us and fled to the university for safety. Their frightened faces still flash before my eyes. They would plead, "Bhai, how will we get home now?" We arranged ambulances to drop them off at their homes. That fear, that desperation-it still feels like yesterday. The smoke from the tear gas at Zero Point is still there in my memory.

BSS: How did the quota reform movement begin at Khulna University?

Muhibullah: Back in 2018, Khulna University played a significant role in the initial quota reform movement. I was a fourth-year student then. Despite the protests, the quota system remained unchanged. That's why when we started planning another round of protests.
The quota allocation was extreme-around 90% of government jobs were reserved under different categories like freedom fighters' families, women, and others. This blatant inequality sparked our protest. The truly meritorious were being deprived. Our movement emerged from a deep sense of responsibility to challenge this injustice.

BSS: Did you expect that the quota reform protests would eventually become a movement to overthrow an autocratic regime?

Muhibullah: No, not at all. In the beginning, we didn't imagine it would escalate into such a mass uprising. The regime seemed too entrenched in power to fall. But deep down, there was always a sliver of hope-we thought, maybe something will happen, maybe this system will collapse. Eventually, we realized that this movement could indeed strike a blow to the regime.

BSS: How actively did Khulna University students participate in the movement?

Muhibullah: At the outset, student participation was massive. But over time, it started to wane. On July 17, the university administration vacated our residential halls. Up until that point, most of the movement's momentum had come from Khulna University. Out of around 6,000 students, around 1,500 to 2,000 regularly took part in protests.
When the halls were vacated, students from distant areas had to return home. Parents kept calling, urging them to leave campus. Still, many continued their activism from their hometowns. Some stayed at seniors' homes, others at students' residences where they tutored, or in messes near campus.

Throughout the movement, the police kept harassing students-even entering areas like Hall Road, where they never used to patrol. They'd shut down food stalls and hotels to cut off our supplies. Even wearing a lungi and stepping out for tea became risky-students would be interrogated and mistreated by the police. Despite all this, the students didn't give up. They kept the movement alive against all odds.

BSS: How did a non-violent student movement turn into one marked by violence?

Muhibullah: Mainly because of attacks from the student wing of the ruling party, Chhatra League. For our safety, we had to carry sticks, iron rods, or bamboo poles-not to attack, but to defend ourselves if needed. We'd hear rumors on Facebook: "Chhatra League will attack this alley tonight," or "a worker force will march from Sonadanga bus stand." Whether we were marching from Shibbari, Zero Point, or Sachibuniya-we had to be on alert. These tools were just for protection.

BSS: How did Chhatra League attacks affect the general students?

Muhibullah: Luckily, we didn't have a direct, large-scale confrontation with Chhatra League in Khulna. Whenever we heard they were coming from a certain route, we'd change ours. There were, however, sporadic clashes. On August 2, for example, we had planned a rally from New Market after Friday prayers. As soon as we came out of Baitun Nur Mosque, Chhatra League cadres attacked a few of our students. Then on August 4, an Awami League leader, Advocate Saiful Islam, was seen brandishing a weapon in public.

These incidents sparked outrage and fueled determination among students. Fear turned into courage. We realized we'd only get attacked if we were alone, so we stayed united. We moved everywhere as a group. Ordinary students played a vital role and didn't back down.

BSS: How was the participation of female students in the movement?

Muhibullah: Their participation was remarkable. From the very beginning, they were at the frontlines-holding banners, raising slogans. Sometimes we, the male students, felt afraid, but we never saw fear in their eyes. Maybe some couldn't join because of personal issues, but those who did never backed away.

During sit-ins, we surrounded them for protection while they sat in the middle. We never left them alone. Initially, there were about a hundred or two hundred female students, but toward the end, their numbers kept growing. Every day, they were active and brave-they played a crucial role in the movement. 

BSS: How did the anti-autocracy movement of 2024 unfold at Khulna University as part of the nationwide uprising?

Muhibbullah: The continuity of the movement against autocracy emerged naturally-almost as if the government itself forced people to resist. The more repression they unleashed, the more the protests intensified. It all escalated dramatically after female students were attacked by Chhatra League activists at Dhaka University. That incident struck a nerve.

When the Chhatra League began targeting general students as well, the movement took a decisive turn. Even Obaidul Quader said, "Chhatra League alone is enough to suppress this movement." After that, Chhatra League began attacking students in earnest, which only fueled our determination.

People started asking: "Why such violence over such a justified demand?" Instead of being intimidated, students became more resolute.

As the government intensified its antagonism and rhetoric, students and the general public united. Initially, only students participated. Then parents joined-many fearing for their children's safety. They said, "Why should we stay home when our children are in danger?" Eventually, people from all walks of life-rickshaw-pullers, small traders, even members of the elite-joined in.
The movement in Khulna began on June 6 in front of the Khulna Press Club, called by Sajidul Islam Bappy, the district coordinator of the Anti-Discrimination Student Movement. Although the university was closed after exams, and many students were away, we still organized a human chain inside the campus on June 7, demanding quota reform.

After Eid break, we reconvened on June 24, and by July 4, the protests had resumed in full swing. We organized rallies, torch processions, sit-ins, and street meetings, centered around campus, Zero Point, and Sachibuniya. On July 6, we held a major protest at Shibbari intersection. Each day brought a new form of protest, with location changes to draw public attention and ensure greater participation across different neighborhoods.

At times, we moved locations due to administrative crackdowns. On July 9, we held a candlelight procession, followed by a protest march on July 10. After the Chhatra League and police began attacking students, the focus of our movement shifted more directly against the ruling party's student wing. Though threats began earlier, on July 30, Chhatra League and the police physically attacked us at Shibbari. My friend Ahad was slapped, and others were shoved, creating a tense and threatening atmosphere.
That evening, the police summoned us to the Circuit House, claiming they wanted to hear our demands. Seven of us from Khulna University went, along with students from Commerce College and Northwestern University. Officers, including Rashida Begum from the KMP and an official named Kabir from CT-SB, assured us it was for dialogue.

We were skeptical. By then, five of our central coordinators, including Nahid Islam, had already been detained by DB Harun. Fearing similar treatment, we insisted on two conditions: either meet inside the university's Student Affairs Office, or allow our faculty to accompany us. They rejected the first condition but agreed to the second.
That night, three faculty members-Raju Roy, Rakibul Islam Tutul, and Saurav Chakraborty-accompanied us. Once we arrived, we saw prison vans outside and a crowd of Awami League activists nearby. Inside, the environment was even more alarming. Top officials, including the Divisional Commissioner, Deputy Commissioner, senior police officers, the then-mayor Talukder Abdul Khaleque, MP SM Kamal, and several leaders from the Awami League and Jubo League were present.

We hadn't expected political figures. Before we could speak, they began accusing us of being part of a Jamaat-Shibir conspiracy, claiming the movement wasn't student-led. They framed it as an anti-government plot. The tone was so aggressive that we barely had a chance to speak. Eventually, a student named Rafsan entered. Mayor Khaleque questioned him harshly, trying to belittle him.

When Rafsan outlined our 9-point demand, including one asking Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina to apologize for calling students 'Razakar' (traitors), all hell broke loose. Khaleque and Kamal pounded the table and hurled vulgar abuse at him, threatening, "Come to Shibbari tomorrow-we'll see how brave you really are." They insisted we immediately call off the movement. Our professors, unfortunately, remained silent throughout.
Around 1am, they brought in journalists and forced us to announce a withdrawal of the movement. They wouldn't let us leave until we complied. As a condition, we demanded the removal of police from our hall road. Once outside, I immediately posted a statement on Facebook and our group chat, revoking the suspension of the movement.

That night, many of us cried. We felt broken. We weren't doing anything wrong-just standing for a just cause. People had already died. Being forced to withdraw we felt like a betrayal of their sacrifice.
The next day, July 31, police attacked our blockade at Sat Rasta. Shahriar bhai and Miraj were beaten badly, and 83 students were detained from various police stations. Police Commissioner Mozammel Haque and SI Sukanto oversaw baton charges and teargas deployment. Even female students were dragged into vans by male officers. That night, some teachers visited the stations and signed undertakings saying, "Students won't protest again," to secure their release.

By August 1, the momentum slowed, but we met to discuss how to reignite the movement. We received support from Jamaat, Shibir, and BNP, whose activists began actively participating. On August 2, we resumed the sit-in at Shibbari. Which began as a small march after Jumma prayers grew rapidly. By the time it reached Sonadanga, the crowd had swelled to over 20,000 people. People were joining at every turn. The student protest had now become a full-blown mass movement.

By the time we reached the police station at Sonadanga, tensions rose. Police said they wouldn't attack. But as we crossed the Gallamari Bridge, they opened fire-teargas, rubber bullets, and baton charges. At the university's main gate, another event called "Songs of Breaking Chains" was underway. The idea was to converge at Zero Point. But after the police attack, over 100 people were injured, enraging the protesters.
The crowd marched toward Harintana Police Station. Police reinforcements arrived and fired more teargas. We heard two students were detained there. Our representatives confirmed their release. Injuries from bullets and teargas were widespread-one student named Safin was shot in the eye.
On the return march across the Gallamari Bridge, the police attacked again, this time with full force. Clashes went on for hours. We treated the injured at our university medical centre and sent the critical ones to Khulna Medical College.

There were no protests on August 3, but on August 4, the final stage began. We regrouped at Shibbari by 10am. The crowd ballooned to over 20,000. Rumors spread that Sheikh Hasina had fallen from power. People erupted in celebration, throwing food and water bottles in the air.
Some marched toward the Awami League office. Word came that leaders there, including Advocate Saiful, were arming themselves for an attack. But the massive crowd made them retreat. Still, several AL offices and institutions were attacked. Then news came: Hasina hadn't fallen. Coordination teams announced the "Long March to Dhaka" would happen on August 5, not August 6. That reignited hope-"Tomorrow might be her last day in power."

We planned to go to Dhaka, but attacks in Gopalganj and other places made it too risky. So, we decided to stay in Khulna. On August 5, people poured into the streets again, celebrating what they thought was victory. August 6 saw another massive rally, marking what we called our "Victory March."

BSS: What role did journalists play at Khulna University during the movement?

Muhibbullah: The journalists were always supportive of the movement. I myself was the campus correspondent for Channel 24 and also the Vice President of the University Journalists' Association. During that time, there wasn't a single journalist against us-everyone stood with the students.

BSS: How would you describe the role of the university administration and law enforcement?

Muhibbullah: The role of the police and administration was consistently negative. They acted as an extension of the government, not as protectors of the people. Their focus was on safeguarding the regime, not the citizens.

Police regularly issued threats. Officers from the local station and the campus outpost told us individually (never in groups): "This movement is meaningless. It will achieve nothing." They'd say things like, "Do you know who Sheikh Hasina is? If we kill 4,000-5,000 of you in one go, the protests will vanish." They'd try to convince us to abandon activism and focus on studies instead, promising job prospects.

As for the faculty, about three-four of the teachers were with us. The rest were loyal to the government. They spoke kindly in public but were complicit in efforts to shut down the halls-which was clearly a tactic to suppress the movement. The university administration was unmistakably aligned against us.

BSS: Did you face any personal threats during the movement?

Muhibbullah: Yes, I was under threat even before the movement gained momentum. My father is involved with Jamaat-e-Islami and my uncle is with BNP. Because of my family background, I was always a target.
The administration often reminded me, "We know your family history." Police officers would summon me to the station and issue threats. They'd say things like, "We can plant drugs or weapons on you and get you arrested anytime." Many others were similarly targeted and pressured based on their family ties.

BSS: What role did university teachers play in the movement?

Muhibbullah: A significant majority-three out of every four teachers-supported us. They voiced their support openly, especially on Facebook. Many teachers even helped us financially.
Running a movement costs money-renting microphones cost around 1,500 taka per day. Banners, snacks, and water for volunteers cost another 3,000-4,000 taka daily. Around 10 to 12 teachers helped us financially. Others encouraged us online and in person, saying things like, "We're with you. Let us know if you need anything. You can stay at our homes if things get bad."

Over 200 teachers joined our human chain on campus protesting the killing of Mughdho. Their active participation lifted our spirits and legitimized our cause.

BSS: What was the stance of pro-Awami League teachers at the university?

Muhibbullah: There were two types of Awami League-aligned teachers-some mildly against the movement, others strongly opposed. A third group emerged later: initially supportive, but turned against us when we moved toward a single-point demand for regime change. They said things like, "We supported you before, but now we think students are misunderstanding the situation."

They took a more "liberal" approach, claiming things needed further thought. Some even changed their Facebook profile pictures to show opposition to the single-point demand. Those in administrative positions-mostly Awami loyalists-led these efforts.

BSS: What steps did you take for the families of the martyrs and the injured?

Muhibbullah: We tried to console and support the families as much as possible. We told them, "Your child died for the country's future. Think of us as your children now." We wanted them to feel proud-that their son or daughter was a martyr, not just a victim.

We offered sympathy, limited financial help, and assisted them in getting onto government compensation lists whenever such opportunities arose. We didn't have money ourselves, but we made sure their names were submitted when NGOs or government agencies were giving aid.

We've visited their homes during Eid and other times, checked in on them, and offered emotional support. We know we can't bring back their children, but we've tried to fill that void, even just a little.

BSS: Do you believe the uprising achieved its goals at the university and national levels?

Muhibbullah: People joined the movement to reclaim their rights-they had been deprived for too long. But no, the dream hasn't fully materialized yet.

You have to understand: we were resisting a regime that had ruled for 17 years. That kind of deep-rooted system can't be undone in a single day. The same people are still secretaries and officials across the bureaucracy. You don't know who's serving which interests. But this movement was the beginning of something-a spark for change. Yes, an uprising happened, but that doesn't mean everything has changed overnight.
Still, people are more aware now. When injustice happens, it no longer stays hidden-people speak out. And that alone makes wrongdoers nervous. I still dream that Bangladesh will change, that it will become the "Golden Bengal" we aspire to.

BSS: What are your expectations for a new, post-autocracy Bangladesh?

Muhibbullah: My only expectation is that citizens get their rightful share from the state. As a regular person, I want safety and access to everything I deserve.
If I pay taxes, I should receive proper services in return. People should feel secure-women should be able to walk the streets without fear of attacks from political gangs. Jobs should be based on merit, not political connections or bribes. No one should be harassed at government offices. Everyone should get what they're owed-nothing more, nothing less.
That's the Bangladesh I want. I have no other demands.