By Poliar Wahid 

DHAKA, Aug 04, 2025 (BSS) - The July Uprising was a chapter written in blood in the country’s history. When the fascist, murderous regime turned its guns on the nation’s brightest students, silence was no longer an option. Ordinary citizens rose up, flooding the streets to stand beside the students in a united cry for justice.

Muhammad Asadullah, joint convener of Jatiya Juboshokti, played a role during the historic July uprising.

“We were on the streets, but more people stood with us from their homes. That gave us more strength,” said Asadullah.

He was vocal in online platforms in the 2024 movement, but the death of Abu Sayed drew him to the streets. During day time, he joined rallies; while at night, he countered pro-government narratives on social media.

Recently, Asadullah has stepped into formal politics. He now serves as Joint Convener of the central committee of Jatiya Juboshokti, the youth wing of the National Citizens’ Party (NCP). He also leads the party’s press wing.

Born on October 7, 1991, in Saidpur village under Sujanagar upazila of Pabna, Asadullah is the son of Akmal Hossain Shikdar and Begum Hasina Akmal. He studied in Mass Communication and Journalism department at Manarat International University and the State University of Bangladesh. 

Even before formally beginning his undergraduate studies, Asadullah worked as a professional journalist. With fifteen years of writing and a decade in journalism, he has authored four collections of short stories and three novels. 

In a recent interview with Bangladesh Sangbad Sangstha (BSS), he shared his involvement in the anti-discrimination movement and reflected on various aspects of his experience in the uprising.

BSS: What inspired you to join the streets during the uprising?

Asadullah: As a politically aware person, my involvement in protest movements goes way back. I participated in nearly every programme of the Four-Party Alliance in 2006. 

I remember clearly, at the time, Awami League was demanding the resignation of the Chief Election Commissioner and BNP-led forces were protesting for election schedule announcements. The Four-Party Alliance declared a sit-in at Paltan intersection and I was there day and night.

I was also part of the 2013 March for Democracy, the 2017 Safe Roads Movement, and led protests in Mirpur-1 during the 2015 anti-VAT movement by private university students.

I became a voter in 2009 but have yet to cast a vote. The July movement, for me, was about restoring voting rights and standing against autocracy.

BSS: A year has passed since the July Uprising, do those memories still feel vivid to you?

Asadullah: I will never forget July. I still hear the gunshots and the cries of the wounded in my ears. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night from nightmares. At times, I can almost feel the sting of tear gas choking my breath.

The July uprising was a brutal, bloody reckoning. As the fascist regime murdered brilliant students in cold blood, the people could no longer stay silent. They joined us. The blood of the martyrs and the wounded sealed our victory.

BSS: As a writer, how do you view the role of poets and artists in the movement?

Asadullah: In every movement, writers and artists split into three groups: those who support injustice, those who resist it and those who stay silent. Once the movement ends, many from the silent camp start writing poems for the winners.

Many poets and writers played bold roles in this movement. But I’ve also seen others lick the boots of the regime, motivated by greed. And then there are those who were silent then but now parade as revolutionaries.

BSS: When did you first join the movement?

Asadullah: I joined the movement on July 17 after Abu Sayed was martyred. As a journalist, I couldn’t ignore the bloodshed that I witnessed in the streets  of Dhaka city.

I went out with the dream of becoming another Abu Sayed if necessary. Before that, I was supporting the movement through writing on online platforms.

BSS: Did you personally witness any martyrdom during the protests?

Asadullah: On August 4, we were trying to take control of Mirpur-10. Police chased us back toward Mirpur-13. Tear gas was everywhere, so we lit fires with newspaper to breathe. 

Amid the chaos, a bullet came from above, one boy fell beside me, and he was bleeding from the head. His name was Parvez. He later died at the Neuroscience Hospital.

I saw many wounded people and we don’t even know how many of them survived. With the internet cut, our brothers were slaughtered like animals. No decent human being could do what they did. 

Hasina didn’t just plunder our economy; she destroyed the moral values of law enforcement agencies. 

BSS: How would you evaluate the role of the police and the administration?

Asadullah: Over the past 17 years, recruitment in the police has been completely politicized. In the last one and a half decades, police turned into unquestioning enforcers of an increasingly authoritarian regime, and many see the police as a symbol of oppression.

The killing of Abu Sayed, a student at Begum Rokeya University, has been identified by the United Nations Human Rights Office as an extrajudicial execution by police during the July-August mass uprising.

BSS: As a July fighter, did you anticipate Hasina’s downfall?

Asadullah: Yes. When students from private universities were shot, I told my friends: this is the end of Hasina. Until now, they had only targeted public university students. But now they were attacking students from private institutions, kids of bureaucrats, army officers, police officials.

Those officers wouldn’t take it lightly. Once they became inactive, Hasina’s regime collapsed. In that sense, private university students were key players in the July uprising. 

BSS: Where were you on August 5, and how did you hear that Hasina fled? 

Asadullah: I lived near Mirpur Stadium’s Gate 2. On August 5, stepping outside was nearly impossible. Police had blocked off the entire area. I slipped out through side streets and waited atop the overpass between Kazipara and Shewrapara.

From 9 am to 12:30 pm, I watched through my phone’s zoom lens until I saw police and ruling party thugs retreating. Just as I moved toward Mirpur-10, I saw a massive procession heading toward Agargaon. I couldn’t tell who they were until I climbed back onto the overpass. Then I saw the flags and knew they were our fellow fighters.

I had already heard Hasina was stepping down, but no one believed me. Even I began to doubt. As the procession moved, I joined on a bike. At Agargaon, BGB personnel were offering us water. That’s when I started to believe it was real.

From there, I rode toward Farmgate, reaching Bijoy Sarani Metro Station before being blocked. Then I saw rows of black cars leaving Ganabhaban. Protesters hurled whatever they had at them.

BSS: How did Chhatra League attacks affect general students?

Asadullah: Attacks by Chhatra League weren’t new, they've done this in every movement for the last 16 years. We were used to it. But younger students couldn’t accept it anymore. They kept asking: how much more?

BSS: As a journalist, how do you evaluate the participation of female students?

Asadullah: I mostly protested in the Mirpur area, where female participation wasn’t very high. But whenever we were chased into alleys, residents handed us water, snacks, chocolates, candles, and newspapers from their windows.

More people were with us from their homes than on the streets. That support was powerful. And of course, that photo of two women shouting slogans in the rain with raised fingers, that became a symbol of strength for all of us.

BSS: Did you face any threats during the movement?

Asadullah: On July 33, a writer sent me around twenty-five screenshots, each one was a post I made in support of the movement. He didn’t say anything. It was a silent threat.

Back in my village, people had seen I was active in Dhaka. I was on “the list.” Some made posts threatening me. Others intimidated my family. Had we failed on August 5, I shudder in fear thinking what would have happened.

BSS: Did you take any initiatives for injured or martyred protesters?

Asadullah: Many injured were left without medical care or state support. Those who reached out to me, I connected them with local administrations or relevant aid organizations. But there wasn’t much more I could do.