In the midst of the student movement, after the imposition of a curfew, I stumbled upon a stark piece of graffiti in our neighbourhood: “Killer Hasina” scrawled in English on a wall. Nearby, even more disturbing messages were directed at the police. This graffiti was a symptom of the severe deterioration in relations between the police and the public, a result of the police being transformed into a tool of the ruling party. Massive attacks on the police soon followed, fuelled by this anger. Yet, even as the violence subsided, the legacy of these events was etched in the city’s walls.
What was particularly striking was how, in the absence of traffic police, students took over the management of city traffic. This was an unprecedented move, reflecting the broader impact of the quota reform movement, which ultimately led to the downfall of a government—a rare event in our history.
After this bloody struggle, the walls of the city once again became canvases for student expression. Graffiti bloomed, with people pausing in their daily routines to admire these works of art, some snapping photos to share on social media. One particular phrase stood out: “36th July” was written across the college walls. Although July ends in 31 days, students proclaimed that the month would continue until the government fell. And fall it did, on August 5, a date the students dubbed “36th July.” This slogan, born from the movement, soon spread across the Dhaka University campus, which was already famous for its graffiti.
Interestingly, even colleges with no history of student politics found their walls adorned with revolutionary quotes, such as those from Romain Rolland, a symbol of intellectual rebellion. Anti-government slogans from the movement remained visible on walls nationwide, a testament to the widespread discontent. The movement had transcended educational institutions, reaching into schools, private universities, and various professions, capturing the support of opposition parties. The spontaneity of this uprising became its driving force.
This spontaneity is vividly reflected in the graffiti that now covers the walls of the capital and beyond. During a recent virtual address at the Third Voice of Global South Summit, the chief advisor of the interim government, Muhammad Yunus, noted, “A large part of Dhaka has become the graffiti capital of the world. Young students and even children as young as 12 are painting the walls of this 400-year-old city with visions of a new democratic, eco-friendly Bangladesh. There is no central plan or funding for this. It is purely an expression of their passion and commitment to the Second Revolution.”
The graffiti is not just art; it is a message. One piece reads, “Zen-Z: hot blood, cold head,” a fitting slogan for the generation that had successfully challenged the most formidable government forces. Under the banner of the anti-discrimination student movement, these young revolutionaries showed a surprising unity. Despite police crackdowns and forced confessions from detained coordinators, the movement persisted, undeterred by the government’s attempts to suppress it.
These events will echo through the generations, reminding us of those who stood against autocracy, like the brave Abu Saeed, who defied an autocratic ruler despite facing lethal threats. Many believed that the entrenched government could never be toppled, especially after the failure of previous movements. However, the unyielding resolve of the students, who were fed up with the government’s lies and injustices, proved everyone wrong. When the government tried to crush the uprising at Dhaka University, the movement only spread to areas like Rampura and Uttara, driven by students from private universities and colleges. Their courage and the significant participation of female students became the backbone of the movement, all in the name of honoring the memory of Abu Saeed from Rangpur.
Today, hundreds of Saeed’s “siblings” continue to paint graffiti across the country, sometimes covering earlier works created by their comrades in the dead of night—some of whom may have paid the ultimate price for their defiance. There is a growing call to preserve this graffiti, or at least to photograph it before it fades. On one wall in the capital, I saw countless handprints in various colors—a powerful and moving tribute to the young people who have made history in this country. Some call it a revolution, others the “second freedom.” Regardless of the name, it is clear that the unprecedented sacrifices of these students have opened an extraordinary chapter in the nation’s history.
In fact, the graffiti encapsulates the essence of this movement. A viral photo on Facebook shows a young woman in a hijab writing about the inclusive development of Bangladesh, emphasizing the need for unity among all religions and castes. The message is clear: if Bangladesh is to stand with honor on the global stage, it must move forward in this direction. Collectively, the graffiti tells a story of resistance, resilience, and a vision for a better future.