By Mohiuddin Muzahid Mahi

DHAKA, July 20, 2025 (BSS) - In July 2024, Bangladesh witnessed an unprecedented mass uprising that ultimately led to the fall of the autocratic government of Sheikh Hasina. A few visionary young leaders were at the heart of this historic movement. Sarjis Alam, now one of the chief organizers of National Citizens' Party (NCP), was among them.

Sarjis said the July uprising was an eruption of the collective consciousness of the student community. The anti-discrimination student movement or the quota reform movement was no sudden event -- it was the manifestation of long public anger and a deep sense of responsibility towards society. At every moment of the movement, not just students but ordinary people were awake being inspired with new consciousness and responsibility as well.

"At the time, it felt like if students didn't take the lead, the nation would fail further. Just as we had taken to the streets during the quota reform movement, we also analyzed every government move. Day by day, we came to understand how state policies could structurally create inequality. We felt -- if we remained silent, we'd have no answer for the next generation," he added.

This young leader believes that real transformation comes from organized collective unity, where everyone participates equally and no single person becomes the "hero." The power lies in the people together.

Hailing from Atwari in Panchagarh, Sarjis first entered student politics through Bangladesh Chhatra League and was later elected as a student representative in Amar Ekushey Hall Union. However, disappointed by the nature of mainstream politics, he resigned from Chhatra League in 2022.

In 2024, he became one of the key coordinators of the Anti-Discrimination Student Movement, which began with the quota reform protests and quickly transformed into a nationwide mass movement. Even amidst arrests, torture, and brutal street clashes, Sarjis never stepped back.

After Sheikh Hasina's resignation, he clearly said, "Our goal is not yet fulfilled. We want the permanent eradication of fascism." 

Following the movement, he served as the General Secretary of the July Shaheed Smriti Foundation and later became the lead organizer of the National Citizens' Committee. On February 28, 2025, he was made Regional Chief Organizer for the North of the newly formed National Citizens' Party (NCP). With a focus on youth engagement, social justice, and human values, Sarjis Alam has emerged as a key figure in this new wave of politics.

Recently, Sarjis during an exclusive interview with BSS reflected on his political journey, experiences during the movement, future plans, and his vision for a new Bangladesh.

BSS: How was your student life after getting into Dhaka University? Especially the beginning-what kind of challenges did you face?

Sarjis Alam: Getting into Dhaka University was one of the greatest achievements of my life. I first came to Dhaka for studying at college, and I lived near my college area. But before sitting for the university admission test, I had never visited the Dhaka University campus.
When I finally got in, as a first-year student, one thing was clear in my mind: I have to stay in the hall. I had spoken to some seniors beforehand and learned about both the pros and cons of hall life. They said that staying in the hall meant you'd have to join Chhatra League programs and guest room sessions. But at the same time, the living conditions-food, reading rooms, environment-were far better. There are no gas or power issues like you faced in messes or hostels.

I had relatives in Dhaka, but not close enough to live with during the early days of university life. Eventually, I got the chance to stay at Amar Ekushey Hall, which was relatively calm and quiet. That's where the most important chapter of my student life began.

At first, I had to live in a gono-room (mass room). A room meant for four but housed around 40 students. We had to sleep on the floor. Though this was inhumane by any standard, it felt normal at the time-everyone was used to it. Morning classes, private tuition in the evening, and sleeping in the gono-room at night-that was the routine. Still, I always felt like I was on the path to something greater. That inner dream gave me the strength to endure those hardships.

In the first year, it didn't feel like a burden or a forced challenge-because I was surrounded by thousands of students living the same way. Seniors didn't interact with juniors or guide them much-perhaps couldn't, because of the fear of Chhatra League. If they found out, you could be expelled from the hall.

You were involved in student politics. What was that experience like? How did you get involved, and why did you eventually walk away?

Sarjis Alam: In the beginning, student politics seemed both exciting and important to me. At the university, I saw many people talking about standing up for students. I started accompanying them-going to guest rooms, learning slogans, listening to leaders speak. I felt this was the best way to truly do something for students.

But gradually, I started feeling an odd disillusionment. I realized there was a culture of fear embedded in the system. If you didn't attend guest room sessions, you couldn't be a "good student" or a "future leader." If you didn't show excessive respect and obedience, you'd be scolded. There was no spontaneity-just invisible chain of unwritten rules.

I still clearly remember the 2018 quota reform movement. A protest march came from Curzon Hall to Raju Sculpture. I was right at the front, shouting slogans. From that moment on, I began to feel a moral urgency within myself. The 2018 movement truly opened my eyes.

I made a few Facebook posts at the time, questioning the actions of some Chhatra League leaders. That's when I was summoned to the guest room, interrogated, and forced to delete the posts. I was essentially threatened to be silent. They told me, "If you want to be in politics, stop writing. And if you want to write, leave politics." I chose the second.

Many were surprised, because Chhatra League was considering me for the position of hall vice president. But I stood firm in my decision-gave up politics and focused on writing, studying for jobs and the BCS, and continued expressing myself on social media.

I came to understand the stark difference between the idealistic dream of politics and the opportunism, flattery, and coercion of its reality. I couldn't be part of a politics as I required selling my conscience for that so-called politics. If leadership means arrogance, mistreatment, and tolerating injustice, then that leadership isn't for me. So gradually, I distanced myself from politics.

You were elected in the 2019 DUCSU election. What changes came after that? How did you carry out your responsibilities, and how did it impact your life?

Sarjis Alam: The 2019 DUCSU election was an extraordinary experience in my life. I was elected by getting third-highest votes in my hall. While many won uncontested, I had to go through a competitive election to earn my seat-which proved that students truly trusted me.

Though I was the youngest among the elected representatives, I received the highest number of votes among members, and third highest in the entire hall. I was nominated by the Chhatra League panel, but that didn't stop me from speaking out when necessary.

Students from the debate society and cultural clubs also received nominations. Thirteen people were nominated from our hall by Chhatra League, but only seven were elected. Unlike other halls, there were no serious allegations of vote obstruction in my hall.

There were around 900 voters, and I received 624 votes. That moment made me realize-I wasn't just a student anymore. I was a representative of Dhaka University's student body. With that realization, I was further into self-reflection and remained committed to my values.

I tried to hold on students' trust through my work. But once again, reality was disheartening. When a new hall president arrived, forced guest room sessions began again. Students were verbally abused without cause. Flattery and blind loyalty were rewarded.

I realized my ideals and their practices were fundamentally incompatible. Eventually, I stopped attending political events altogether. The dream of politics I once carried no longer existed in the practices I was witnessing.

If stepping into leadership means losing one's sense of dignity, then that leadership has no value to me.

How did you get involved in the 2024 quota reform movement? How did you begin organizing people? 

Sarjis Alam: On the afternoon of June 5, the news broke that the government had scrapped Circular No. 18. I was studying at the Science Library at the time. It hit me like a thunderbolt. That very moment, something jolted inside me-I realized this wasn't just a bureaucratic notice; it was a political signal from the government. They repealed it because they wanted to. This meant the upcoming movement would be against a deliberate state decision. And getting involved in an anti-government movement could put my future at risk. Even if I did well in the BCS exams, there was now a real chance I wouldn't get the job-maybe I'd be eliminated in the verification stage.

But, I made a decision: no matter what happened, I would actively take part in the movement. Even if I am dropped out in the BCS, so be it. At least I would go through the preliminary, written, and viva stages to prove that I could be but I am excluded that is unjust. I thought, if I couldn't do anything, I'll go abroad for higher studies or work-but I will not stay silent in the face of this injustice.

That night, around 11pm on June 5, I connected with Baker. He knew I was one of the admins of the Science Library platform and that I worked closely with the university administration. We had previously organized a small protest demanding a cafeteria near Mokarram Building, where the existing food stalls had been removed without alternatives. Teachers had their own cafeteria, but we, ordinary students, couldn't afford to eat there by 200 taka for a meal.

That connection led Baker to reach out. He told me, "We're going to sit in front of the Social Sciences building tomorrow morning, June 6." I went there with Shoaib bhai and two other friends. As I was walking through the bike stand, I called my friend Hasnat-he was a strong activist with good Facebook reach. I thought, involving him would amplify our movement. What I didn't know was that Baker and Nahid had already contacted him.

At the spot, I saw Nahid, Asif, Kader, Mahin, Rifat, Hannan, Abu Sayeed bhai-and many others. Except for Baker, I didn't know anyone at the time. Later, I saw in videos that many of them had also been involved in the Safe Roads Movement. I was familiar with people from the earlier quota reform movement -- Nur bhai, Rashed bhai, Faruk bhai, Akhter bhai, Hasan Al Mamun bhai.
On June 6, we held our first rally at Shaheed Minar. Marches started separately from Science Library and Central Library and converged at the monument. Nahid hosted the event, and I gave a speech too. That night, we held a discussion under the Bat Tala (Banyan tree). Since Friday and Saturday were weekend, we planned our next action for Sunday, June 9. Slowly, the movement began to take shape.

I even made a video from Panchagarh and posted it on Facebook-explaining why the quota reform movement was just, and necessary. Others also started speaking out, reaching out-some from private universities, some from Dhaka University halls, and others from outside campuses. Eventually, on July 1, we launched a march from Central Library to Raju Sculpture. That's when the real journey of the movement began.

When and how did the name "Anti-Discrimination Student Movement" come? How important was this name in building unity?

Sarjis Alam: We didn't want the movement to be seen as the brainchild of a single leader. We wanted a coordinated structure, where different universities across the country could be united under a single banner and shared programs. That was our second strategy. Because under separate banners, it's easier for the authorities to isolate, influence, or suppress individual leaders. But a unified platform makes that much harder.

That's how the name "Anti-Discrimination Student Movement" came about. At first, university-based banners were popping up-like "Barishal University Anti-Discrimination Student Movement." But over time, they all started converging under the single, collective name. It helped build unity and reduce fragmentation. I remember we reached out to at least 20 universities, both public and private. We did this ourselves-us and our team members.

How was the strategy of organizing students at halls? Especially the group-based approach-how did that evolve?

Sarjis Alam: You know what used to happen before? If a student staying in a hall wanted to join a protest, they'd be stopped right at the gate. Chhatra League members would be stationed there. If you tried to leave, they'd interrogate you, intimidate you-sometimes even physically block you. Likewise, if someone tried to enter the hall alone, they'd be stopped. The whole idea was to create fear, so that no one could join the protests individually.

But this time-in the 2024 movement-everything changed. Students adopted a new strategy. They didn't leave or return to halls alone. They'd enter a hall with a group of five or six people, and exit together. Likewise, they'd return to the hall in groups.

This wasn't a pre-planned tactic-it emerged naturally through on-ground experience. We noticed that when someone is alone, fear creeps in. Sitting in their room, they think, "I'll go... I'll go..." but if they don't see anyone else outside, they back off. But when five or six peers show up at your door and say, "Come on, we're going down," it builds a kind of psychological momentum. You're not alone anymore-you're part of a team.

This entire process broke through the mental barrier of fear. Since I was at Dhaka University, I had direct experience of what was happening in the halls. I clearly remember the hall culture of that time.

In my hall, for instance, some senior brothers were heavily focused on BCS prep, but they also held important Chhatra League positions. One was joint secretary, another organizational secretary-both powerful titles. My roommate Shuvo, who was very active during the movement, was third or fourth on the list of joint secretaries. Another guy, Kaushik, was second. These people sided with the students during the movement.

So what did the students do? They had their own small groups. They'd gather on the lawn, call others from the dining hall, or the reading room. Then they'd chant slogans for a while-kind of a call to action: "Come down, it's time." Hearing those slogans, others would join. The whole hall would come alive.

In this way, students of each hall started taking responsibility for joining the movement. The "Anti-Discrimination Student Movement" began spreading. But no one assigned them to carry this role. The students claimed that this was their responsibility. There was a shared sense: "If not us, then who?" A kind of awakening took place. The halls responded spontaneously.

We stayed in contact with those we knew in the halls. We'd ask them, "Are you ready? When are you coming out?" And one by one, marches started emerging from 18 different halls. Even if only 100 students came from each hall, that would be 1,800 people. And when 1,800 people stand united in Shahbagh-it's a powerful statement.

Then the media says, "5,000 people in Shahbagh." Others claim, "10,000." We knew the real number might be 1,500 or 2,000-but the magnified impact was the unity. Their solidarity was more powerful than their numbers.

This tactic didn't just keep the movement alive-it dismantled the culture of fear. In the second phase of our movement-up to July 14-this was one of our most effective strengths.

What was your movement strategy? How did you coordinate leadership and organization?

Sarjis Alam: Our main strategy would be set up by around a core team of three-Nahid, myself, and Hasnat. In the first list of senior coordinators that came out, Nahid was listed first, then me, then Hasnat. The three of us formed a core decision-making team. We would take decision for any announcement or press briefing and all three of us would be present together. Alongside us, Baker, Rifat Rashid, Hannan Masud, Mahin, and Kader also held key responsibilities.

At the Shahbagh stage, the three of us spoke together. At one point, I was extremely exhausted and didn't want to go on stage. I sat under the banyan tree next to PG Hospital. Nahid found me there after searching for a while and said, "If you're not on stage, people will assume you've stepped back." Because of my background in Chhatra League, my absence could be misinterpreted. But my presence sent a strong message-that someone from a Chhatra League background was part of the movement. That was a strength. 

This movement centered in Dhaka University gained courage because there was a familiar face on stage-someone who had once been associated with Chhatra League. That inspired other students. It gave them a sense of security-"If anything happens, someone like us will be there."

We didn't want to be seen as individual leaders. Instead, we wanted a coordinated structure. The idea was to unify campuses under a single banner, with a shared program. This was our second strategy. Because when there are multiple banners, it's easier to target or suppress individual leaders. But a single platform is harder to crack.

So, within that structure, we created two layers of leadership: coordinators and co-coordinators. If one gets abducted, arrested, or targeted, the other layer can take over. That's exactly what happened when we were held at the DB office-one layer was taken away, and the next one immediately stepped in.

How was the experience of submitting the memorandum to Bangabhaban on July 14? What was the reaction among protesters to Sheikh Hasina's speech that night?

Sarjis Alam: When we went to submit the memorandum at Bangabhaban, we hoped the President would receive it himself. But instead, his military secretary accepted it on his behalf. We weren't even given proper seating-we thought we'd at least be invited inside. So, it was quite disappointing.

Then we hoped that once Sheikh Hasina returned from China, she'd respond positively-maybe announce the reinstatement of the 2018 circular. But the tone of her speech was shockingly vindictive. She said things like, "Should the grandchildren of freedom fighters be deprived, and the grandchildren of collaborators get benefits?"-that kind of rhetoric wasn't necessary. Her words were venomous, but her tone was even worse.
I was in my room at Ekushey Hall at the time. Hearing that speech was like a blow. Right after that, slogans like "Tumi ke? Ami ke? Rajakar! Rajakar!" began erupting across the halls.

That night, how did the protest march from Ekushey Hall begin, and how did the movement shift into a higher gear?

Sarjis Alam: I stepped out of my room and saw 10-15 people gathered. We all went down to the lawn and began chanting "Tumi ke? Ami ke? Rajakar! Rajakar!" Students started coming down from the reading room, the dining hall-within five minutes, we were hundreds. Then we moved to the gate, chanted louder, and more students joined in.

Since I was in the coordinator role, people asked, "What route will the march take?" I decided we'd go via Shahidullah Hall. Some students from there joined us. Then from FH Hall and Curzon Hall, more people added in. The march swelled and we passed through Doel Chattar. I called Hasnat and he joined us too. We headed toward Raju sculpture. To our surprise, female students had also launched a march.

We all went up to the VC Chattar. The girls were at front, while the boys stood around them. That was the moment the movement found a new rhythm, a new momentum.

It was 1:00am. We heard Chhatra League was holding a meeting at Intercontinental Hotel, calling in senior city leaders. We became concerned for the safety of the girls-if they entered, what would happen to them? So Hasnat, Umama, Nusrat, and I decided the girls needed to be escorted back to the halls. I personally walked them back to Sufia Kamal Hall.

At that point, Chhatra League hadn't entered campus yet-only because we were still present. 

What about the July 15 Chhatra League attack at Ekattor Hall, and the clashes on the 16th?

Sarjis Alam: On the 15th, our plan was to march from the VC's residence to Shaheed Minar. But we got news that students weren't being allowed out of Ekattor Hall and Surja Sen Hall. Baker made an announcement through microphone, and a march of hundreds headed to Ekattor Hall-where they were attacked and many were bloodied.

We were stationed with the female students near the VC's residence to ensure their safety. The boys went to counter the attack. As we passed FBS, Chhatra League threw bricks at us. Many girls got separated and injured. I led a group of them through the VC Chattar area to Salimullah Muslim Hall.

No one wanted to go to Dhaka Medical because Chhatra League was attacking even there-shooting, throwing cocktails. That day, Hasnat was targeted. As soon as he stepped out from near the VC's office, Chhatra League members beat his leg so badly. I took him to Ibn Sina Hospital myself for treatment. Later, he came to my room at Ekushey Hall, and other students guarded the door-because by then, we were the core leadership.
Later, some from Ekushey Hall also moved to Shahidullah Hall. The three halls in the Curzon area mounted a full-on resistance, and Chhatra League was completely pushed onto the back foot.

By the 16th, when we returned to Shaheed Minar, we saw that many had left for safe zones, halls were emptier, and female participation had dropped significantly. But still, at that day's sit-in, two-thirds of the crowds were students from those three halls-they became the backbone of the movement at that point.

On July 16, with Chhatra League occupying TSC with weapons, and the crowd demanding a rally towards the Raju sculpture-how did you navigate this crisis and ensure the safety of the movement?

Sarjis Alam: That day was incredibly complex. Chhatra League had taken position at Raju Sculpture, and we received credible information from insiders in the police, intelligence, and our own people that they were armed. The intention was clear: they had created a barricade around Raju, and a clash was imminent.

Our official plan at Shahid Minar was to conclude the day's program with speeches and a peaceful demonstration. But the crowd that had gathered wanted to march towards Raju. I, Hasnat, and Nahid discussed it. Nahid's group decided to avoid direct confrontation, they'd end the program via Palashi and Shahid Minar. They left. But Hasnat and I stayed back, because we saw the crowd wasn't following that decision-they were pushing toward Raju.

I could sense that we had already lost a significant amount of support after the previous day's clashes. Many were either injured or too afraid. The female participation-which had acted as a kind of protective shield for the movement-had plummeted. I knew that if another clash happened that day, it could be devastating. Especially since we had intelligence that Chhatra League had firearms. If shots were fired and even four or five people died on the spot, it would be over. The movement might not survive.

So I devised a strategy: we would end today's program peacefully to regroup and return stronger the next day. Based on that, we decided to head towards the Curzon Hall area and end the program there. But at Doel Chattar, the crowd wouldn't disperse. So I said-we have to start moving first; only then will the crowd follow.

I walked through the gate near Curzon Hall, alongside FH Hall, and reached the Geology Department. Meanwhile, Hasnat kept calling, saying, "Where are you? I can't hold the crowd back-they're all heading to Raju." And I kept saying, "No, we cannot go to Raju." I was convinced-another clash today, and it would all fall apart. We had already lost many the day before. Another violent day might mean either more bloodshed, or the complete stalling of the movement. I didn't want another massacre like Shapla Chattar at night.

I told Hasnat, "I'm heading towards Curzon." But soon I realized the crowd had already diverted-via Curzon, through Dhaka Medical, and towards Shahid Minar. I called Hasnat. He said, "I've brought the procession all the way to Shahid Minar." The crowd had swelled again. Many still wanted to go to Raju, but there was a heavy police barricade near Russell Tower.
In that moment, I had two goals: Prevent confrontation and end the day successfully, without splitting the movement internally.

So I redirected the crowd through Fuller Road, along Jagannath Hall, back to the VC Chattar, and ended the day's program there.

Some people criticized that decision-saying I didn't let the protestors face Chhatra League. But I know: from a leader's standpoint, aggression alone isn't leadership. You need strategy, clarity, and cool-headed judgment. The people around me may have wanted to charge ahead-but it was my responsibility to make alive the movement. That's what I tried to do that day.

After leaving campus, what kind of security concerns did you experience?

Sarjis Alam: On the night of July 17, we finally left the campus. By then, the situation had become extremely abnormal. There had been indiscriminate attacks in the residential halls. We felt there was a real possibility that the key leaders among us might be picked up-possibly even subjected to extrajudicial killings-to crush the movement. That night I stayed at Hasnat's uncle's house, and he was in Science Lab.
From the morning of July 18, about eight to ten of us began discussing our next steps. Meanwhile, we came under increasing pressure to sit down with government ministers for negotiations. But by afternoon, we heard that private university students had been indiscriminately fired upon. Immediately, we decided there would be no talks. Everyone posted online: "No dialogue over spilled blood."

What was the second phase of the movement like after July 17, especially with the role of private universities, school-college students, and the general public?

Sarjis Alam: After July 17, student activists, along with cadres from Chhatra League, Jubo League, and the Awami League, carried out brutal attacks on students-firing weapons, beating indiscriminately. That marked the beginning of the second phase of the movement with participation of private university students. School and college students joined in as well.

This phase lasted a few days-particularly July 18, 19, and 20 (Thursday to Saturday). During those days, students from private universities were the most severely affected; they were the primary victims of what can only be described as massacres. Many garment workers and madrasa students also joined, some of whom were affiliated with Islamic political groups. 

The violence intensified after the BTV attack on July 18, the Metro Rail fire incident, and the internet shutdown on July 19. It's estimated that 50-70% of all casualties occurred in those three days, although much of it wasn't reported at the time. From July 21 to around the 29th or 30th, the next phase of the movement unfolded, gaining even more widespread public support.

What kind of contact did you have with intelligence agencies during this time?

Sarjis Alam: Afternoon on July 18, intelligence agencies began pressuring us to meet with three government ministers. In fact, on the night of July 17, we had already met with one agency near the Vice Chancellor's residence. We told them, "If they're serious, we can consider talking." But when the mass shootings of private university students began that afternoon, we firmly decided: no dialogue.

However, the pressure intensified. That night, intelligence officials tracked our location, picked us up from the Science Lab area, and took us to a building called "Padma." We had no idea where they were taking us. Once inside, we saw a well-decorated, fully air-conditioned space.

In a separate room, three ministers-Anisul, Nawfel, and Arafat-were waiting. We told the officers, "Bringing us here forcibly to sit with ministers is a betrayal. If you want to drag us in, do it. But we will not go willingly." Eventually, they gave up and sent the ministers away.

Where were you taken afterward, and what was the situation there?

Sarjis Alam: From there, we were taken straight to an abandoned house between Kakrail Mosque and Matsya Bhaban. From the outside, you'd never guess what was inside. But inside-it was air-conditioned, well-furnished, with several rooms.

There, members of the intelligence services interrogated us all night, keeping us in separate rooms. They tried different tactics-saying things like, "Hasnat has already agreed, now you tell us. Or you'll suffer greatly." They used our families to threaten us. They didn't give us food that night, or the next morning or afternoon. Perhaps they thought hunger would break our spirits. All I had was access to the TV. I watched how media headlines were being changed to fit the government's narrative.

How were the movement's demands formulated at that time, and what discussions took place? 

Sarjis Alam: Interrogation continued till the next morning. Slowly, we began drafting our demands. We were in communication with Nahid, Nusrat, Hasib, Mohona, Ridi, and Hannan. Initially, we had fifteen demands; we reduced them to seven, later raised it to eight.

There was a long debate about whether to include a demand for Sheikh Hasina to apologize. At that point, we hadn't yet pushed for regime change. But we calculated that if we demanded the resignation of five key ministers-Home, Education, ICT, Information, and Bridges-the government might collapse. The internet was still down. We couldn't send messages or communicate outside. Our phones had been taken away.

How did you present your demands to the nation, and what happened during the press briefing?

Sarjis Alam: On Nahid's advice, we wanted to hold a press conference at the Press Club or Dhaka Reporters Unity. But no one agreed-everyone said it was too risky. Intelligence officials told us, "Give your demands to the ministers-we'll arrange media coverage there."

Their agenda was clearly to stage us sitting with the ministers. After 8pm, they took us back to Padma Bhaban. The three ministers were already waiting. We told them, "We're not here to negotiate-we're here to deliver our demands." After our first statement, they cut the video feed. We also said we would continue the movement-but that part was never broadcast. The media only reported the eight demands, omitting the rest of our statements. After that, we were taken to another location and finally released the next morning.

After that, where were you taken for the second time? When did the intelligence pick you up? And what really happened around the "dining table incident"?

Sarjis Alam: On the night of July 20, as soon as we heard that Nahid had been picked up, we sprang into action. We got his father's number and found out he was already waiting outside the DB office. Hasnat and I went there too. From that point, we coordinated everything together-going to the intelligence office, talking to the media.

But by then it became clear: multiple agencies were competing to extract information and gain political credit over Nahid's detention. Among them, DB played the dirtiest game. Their behavior was no less than that of thugs or robbers.

When I tried to visit Nahid at Gonoshasthaya, I was blocked. Some plainclothes men physically barred the entrance. That very day, they picked up Nahid again. At that point, I felt there was no safe place left in Dhaka. Ironically, the university halls - once the safest space - were shut down. Eventually, I went to Hasnat's uncle's house. But the next day, DB picked me up from there.

The way they took us was terrifying. Armed vehicles and around 30 men with weapons showed up. We weren't even given the chance to alert anyone. They took us straight to the DB office on Mintu Road.

At first, they locked us in a tiny cell-smaller than a prison room. No light, no ventilation, no access to the outside world. No TV, no newspapers, no phones. Just three meals a day-but we had no idea where the food came from. Their aim was to isolate us mentally, break our morale.

Then came the infamous "dining table drama." They said Harun Sir would meet us. We thought it would be another round of interrogation. But no-he came and said, "You're like my younger brothers. I cooked this myself. Eat." They forced us to eat. If anyone refused, they applied psychological pressure. As soon as we took a bite, cameras rolled. Moments later, we saw ourselves on TV-an image of us apparently enjoying a meal, as if everything was fine.

The next day, they did the same with our families.

Then, one day, I was suddenly summoned to Harun's room. At first it was just Nahid, then one by one Hasnat, Asif, Baker, Nusrat-we all were brought face to face. They handed Nahid a script. "You'll have to read this," they said. Nahid whispered to me, "We have to do this to get out." I was stunned. "You're really going to read that?" I asked. He replied, "Do we have a choice?"

That script declared the withdrawal of our movement. 

We realized then: if we wanted to get out, we have to play drama now. Then we could regroup and take control from outside. While reading the script, there were eight or ten cameras recording, armed officers surrounding us, an atmosphere thick with fear.

I still remember one absurd moment-Nahid's lungi was worn in a way that could've appeared inappropriate on camera. Someone covered him with a piece of paper, but even that didn't help much. That was their idea of "presentation quality."

Many misunderstood this episode. Some thought we had truly withdrawn from the movement. But the truth is-we were forced to read that script under duress. And at that time, they were making aggressive efforts to take us to Gonobhaban.

When Harun failed to convince us, he met with the Home Minister, and even attempted to take us to Sheikh Hasina. But they realized-if they had to drag us there by force, it would send a bad signal, even to her. So they backed off. Meanwhile, the movement reignited outside.

Rifat Rashid, Abdul Hannan Masud, Mahin Sarker, and Kader-these four went underground and took up second-line leadership. On August 1, there were plans to stage a meeting at Gonobhaban with us. Multiple attempts were made to contact us.

MP in our region, Naimuzzaman Mukta, called me. He said, "You, Hasnat, Nahid, Baker-come to Gonobhaban with your families. Whatever you want-at home or abroad-will be arranged. Sheikh Hasina herself will take responsibility for you. Her doors will remain open for you forever." Even a journalist from Ekattor TV, Rabbani's brother Golam Ruhani, and a female MP-all tried to persuade us.

But our stance was clear-this movement wasn't for bargaining. It was about our conscience, our future, our universities, our student community's very existence.

Then one day, Hasnat suddenly exploded in anger. The DCs and ADCs on that floor noticed and left the room. I said, "Let's go out for a walk." Harun himself said, "Sure, take them around the pond, get them some juice." That DB pond-there's a small juice shop by it.

From that spot, we could see the floor where Nahid and others were held. They never kept us all together-so we couldn't strategize or make plans. 

During that short break, Hasnat said, "This can't go on. We need to start a hunger strike." I first heard the idea from him. Later, when we met Nahid, Asif, Baker again, he repeated it. We decided to begin together.
But before we could act, we found out that the three of them had already started the hunger strike at 8pm the night before. We didn't know. Had we known, we'd have started earlier. We joined around 8:30pm that night. Their strike lasted about 32-33 hours, ours lasted nearly 21.

The next morning and afternoon, they kept pressuring us to eat. They even brought doctors from Dhaka Medical to check if we were physically unwell-so they wouldn't be held responsible if anything happened. But no matter how much they begged, we didn't break strike. We stood firm.

Finally, on August 2 around 5pm, we were released. Hasnat and I reached Science Lab. We showered, ate a bit, and felt some relief.

Then we decided: we'll disseminate one official press statement, and no one will speak individually. But driven by conscience, I made a post where I wrote: "Our struggle will continue." In just two hours, it had thousands of reactions. Then my account was hacked. I regained it two days later.

After being released from DB custody, tell us about your experience from August 3 to August 5 - from the one-point demand declaration at Shaheed Minar to your personal journey, government communication, planning, safety, and how the situation evolved.

Sarjis Alam: On the morning of August 3, we gathered at Shaheed Minar in a massive public rally. I arrived first and held position; later Hasnat, Nahid, Baker, Asif, and others joined. That's when we declared our one-point demand. After that, the government made no further contact. Their real intention was to carry out a shootout.

There were some inside the police who secretly communicated with us, but even they were under intense pressure. They advised us not to wear identifiable clothes when joining rallies and warned us not to stand in the front line, as those were the targets for live rounds. Some of them cried while talking to us, afraid for their jobs; a few even resigned. But we told them, "If we don't stand in the front, what's the point of this movement? Thousands are risking their lives-we won't back down."

We went into hiding in areas like Tejkunipara, Mohakhali, and Nakhalpara-places where we had friends and family. Our goal was to appear briefly, show our faces on the streets, and vanish quickly. The threat of live fire was real.

Between August 4 and 5, we closely monitored the situation, planned actions, and kept up momentum on social media. On the 4th, nationwide programs took place. For the 5th, we had planned a candlelight vigil and a cultural program at Shaheed Minar with intellectuals and teachers. But we feared the movement would lose strength without broader public and political involvement. That night, during a group call, we learned about sniper deployments across the city, and we realized the need for extreme caution. Political parties were participating, but we wanted to keep the leadership discreet to protect the momentum.

On the 5th, morning rain created dismay-it seemed the ruling party was getting "natural advantage." Internet was shut down briefly. But we felt divine intervention when the rain began to ease. We were under satellite and helicopter surveillance.

From Uttara, word spread that tens of thousands were on the streets facing the law enforcers. The tension was high. Crowds marched from the BNS Center flyover, and in Jatrabari, narrow alleys were packed with people amid clashes and gunfire. I was monitoring movements and media. When I heard that the army chief to address the nation, I knew something major was unfolding. That's when we joined the streets.

People marched from Shahbagh toward Ganabhaban. In Uttara, they broke through barricades. In Mirpur's DOHS area, children led the frontlines, their parents behind them. 

From Uttara to Ganabhaban took just 40-45 minutes-this was the largest, most energetic march of the entire movement.

Despite security threats, we never stepped back. We knew that over a thousand people were risking or sacrificing their lives. Police repression, shootout threats, social media propaganda-we braved them all.

When and how did you first hear that the movement had succeeded-that Sheikh Hasina had left the country? What was that moment for you? Any final memories from those last stages?

Sarjis Alam: I remember clearly-I was coming out of a narrow alley near Bijoy Sarani from Tejkunipara. Suddenly there was a strange sound everywhere, someone saying the army chief was speaking again and again. Then the most exciting news came out: Sheikh Hasina had fled. Soon, images of her escaping in a helicopter spread online.

We were on the street. That moment... it's hard to describe. Tears streamed down our faces. I had a mask on, and a flag tied to my head. People around me couldn't tell. When I took off the mask, others were already celebrating, shouting, dancing.

I briefly met Hasnat then, but everyone was being scattered, taken different directions. I was placed on a rickshaw-but the crowd was so dense, it couldn't move. The wheels literally broke apart. I walked the rest of the way to Gonobhaban.

As I approached, people were entering freely. Some were even carrying things out, like the scenes from Sri Lanka. Standing at the Gonobhaban entrance, we raised our hands and screamed: "Bangladesh! Bangladesh!"Words fall short to describe our emotions. Everyone around was celebrating. But we? We were silent. Empty. Numb.

I tried to reach Hasnat, Nahid, Asif, Baker. Some calls went unanswered. I think I spoke to Asif or Baker once. They told me to come toward Bangabhaban.

I felt I should head to Shahbagh, but the crowd pulled me toward Farmgate instead. I was observing the surroundings. On social media, we saw updates-millions were flooding the streets. It took me a long time walking toward Shahbagh.

At the Intercontinental crossing, Hasnat called. He said he had spoken to Asif, though the network was terrible. Hasnat said they were heading toward Bangabhaban and asked me to come.

Eventually, I met Hasnat near the Language Institute via Matsyabhaban and Jamuna. From there, we went to the Channel 24 office, where Nahid, Asif, and Baker were already present. I was still with Hasnat then.

If there hadn't been an uprising on August 5-or if Sheikh Hasina hadn't fled-what was your plan? What were your expectations at the time, and how were things on the ground?

Sarjis Alam: We had no expectations on August 5 that Sheikh Hasina would flee the country. We assumed it would take at least five to fifteen more days-maybe even longer. Our belief was that if we call the people standing on the streets, the masses, sections of the administration, civil service, and political leaders would gradually begin to mobilize. Eventually, two sides would become clear on the streets: on one side, there will be the fascist regime and its loyalists; on the other side, there will be general people and activists fighting for Hasina's downfall.

A struggle would ensue between these two camps, and through that struggle, the anti-fascist forces would emerge victorious. Whether that struggle would become armed or not that depended on the situation-it hadn't been decided yet.

As someone at the front lines of the movement, what kind of pressure or harassment did you and your family face? Were there political threats or intimidation from the government, law enforcement, or the Awami League?

Sarjis Alam: The pressure became intense after July 15, although even in early July there were incidents. My father held a local position in the Awami League-though he wasn't politically active at the time-but because of the movement, he faced emotional harassment. He was demeaned, told his son was conspiring against the state. It broke him emotionally, and he stopped leaving the house. Yet, he never once asked me to back down.

I was particularly vulnerable because I had no political affiliation-no safe harbor. I couldn't take shelter with BNP or Jamaat-Shibir either. There was no "safe place" for me. Many of my comrades had experience from previous anti-government movements-they had communication channels, protection, and networks. I had none of that. Still, we gave everything we had-and by Allah's mercy, we endured.

How did the single-point demand emerge? Was it driven by the activists or public pressure?

Sarjis Alam: After we were released from DB custody, we realized the public could no longer wait. They just wanted a way forward. At that point, the anti-discrimination student movement platform emerged as their trusted voice. Even government employees would join the protests after finishing office for the day.

This was the culmination of Sheikh Hasina's long-standing policy failures, and a powerful expression of public yearning. While we formally announced the single-point demand on August 3, in truth, it was already alive in people's hearts. The symbol 1 was circulating widely on social media-it had already sparked a silent revolution. We simply gave it official form, and the people made it a reality.

It's been nearly a year since the uprising. How much of the public's hopes and dreams have been fulfilled? What's the public sentiment now-has there been enough progress?

Sarjis Alam: The dream the people saw on August 5 was the highest vision they had ever dared to believe in. You can't achieve that in a day or even a year. But we had hoped at least some part of that dream-some standard-would be fulfilled.

That hasn't happened yet. An interim government was formed. In my opinion, the interim government should've been bolder-especially in tackling corruption, abuse of power, and syndicates. Otherwise, those who plundered the country will return to power again. 

If you could go back to the start of July, is there anything you would change or do differently?

Sarjis Alam: Everything up until August 5, I believe, was the best we could have done-that's where our success lay. But after that, I would've changed the formation of the government and the advisory council. More student representatives should have been included.

If the political parties had agreed, we could've formed a national or revolutionary government. 

Was there any moment during the movement-or afterward-that deeply disheartened or demoralized you? Any time you felt truly helpless?

Sarjis Alam: In July, while we were on the streets, some people accused us of advancing Chhatra League's agenda due to personal biases-which really hurt.

During my time in DB custody, I often wondered who would fight for me if I were held for too long. Even my own family members were scattered on different paths, and I felt a deep sense of loneliness.
Saying goodbye to my family on August 3 and 5 was the most painful part. I knew I might never return. Seeing my father's tears-that image still weighs heavily on me. It's not easy to send off a child you've raised all your life to the situation like that might be death.

We never betrayed the movement. Despite political slander and personal attacks, we held firm. In the face of every limitation, I held on to one belief: I never betrayed the spirit of the uprising. That sense of integrity remains my greatest strength.

Any final words for your fellow activists-those who stood with you during the uprising and afterward?

Sarjis Alam: Our success came from the collective efforts of all activists and the deep yearning of the people. Everyone-from those on the ground to those planning behind the scenes-played a vital role.
We must continue working together for national reform and progress. Political parties must act with transparency and integrity, so they can regain people's trust. The people, too, must be responsible-they will have to keep aside personal gain for the interest of the nation.

We must all rise against injustice as we will not show allegiance to any party, rather we would do work for the country. Only then the real change will come for what we dream.