Razia Sultana Esita -Photo: BSS

By Poliar Wahid

DHAKA, July 27, 2025 (BSS) - Razia Sultana Esita played a frontline role in the Safe Roads Movement, the 2018 Quota Reform Movement, and the 2024 Mass Uprising.
 
Born in 1997 in Shahjadpur, Sirajganj, she pursued a degree in Physics but later switched to English Literature due to her passion for the subject. She completed both her undergraduate and postgraduate studies in English Literature at Lalmatia Government Women’s College.

A writer and literary enthusiast from a young age, Esita loves to write and edit, and she is currently active across various branches of literature.

During the 2024 uprising, Esita achieved her post-graduation degree.
 
Because of her writing and ideological position, she began supporting the quota reform movement early on, which led to her receiving threats from different quarters. 

On July 16, after the killing of Abu Sayeed, she joined the protests on the ground. Her continued vocal support and presence on the streets required her to take various safety precautions.

On August 2, after participating in a protest under the banner of writers, artists, and cultural workers and giving an interview against authoritarianism, she faced retaliation from the then ruling student organization. Despite her father's critical illness during the complete shutdown, she and her younger brother stayed with the movement. 

At the height of the protests, while the country was under curfew, she lost her uncle but was unable to attend his funeral. For her and her brother, this personal sacrifice seemed insignificant compared to the cause of the nation. Their private grief over losing a family member turned into a source of strength in the broader movement. After August 5, she continued to serve the injured and distribute food, holding on to the dream of building a new Bangladesh.

To mark the anniversary of the July Uprising, she shared her experiences and memories from the streets in an exclusive interview with BSS.

BSS: It’s been one year since the July Uprising. How deeply do you still feel those memories?
Razia Sultana Esita: For me, July is a month of immense sorrow and mourning. It’s the month that defined us, that made us ready to serve our country and our people. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that July hurts more, wounds more than even the memory of our own family members who’ve passed away. July uprising feels more vivid, more painful.
Several members of my family were tireless sentinels on the streets during July. I feared more for my younger brother’s life than my own. I couldn’t sleep at night. I was always dreading the next bad news, always afraid that I would receive the kind of message that would shatter a sister’s heart.
July is not a memory. July is the present. July is reality. July is still unfolding. Nothing in life makes me cry the way July does. 

There’s one thing about July I’ll never forget. My younger brother studies at Shahjalal University of Science and Technology. 
On July 18, he called me and said:"Abba’s in the emergency room. Please keep me updated. The police are firing at us, and we’re trapped on campus. We’re exhausted. I don’t know what’s going to happen. Please pray for me."
That memory, that arrow, pierced right through me. Can anything ever mend a wound like that? How could we possibly forget these memories? Can Abu Sayeed’s sister ever forget her brother?

BSS: You’re a poet. On August 2, poets, writers, and artists held protests in Banglamotor and Dhanmondi. Did you take part? What role did the creative community play in the July Uprising?
Razia Sultana Esita: Sadly, while it’s true that many writers and artists joined the protests on August 2, I have to say that for most of them, it was just for show. I’d call it a way of protecting their own image. 
Yes, you could argue that professional or personal repercussions might hold people back. But even then, couldn’t they have contributed from behind the scenes? Most didn’t. Even during the most intense days, when our brothers and sisters were being killed, I saw some of them posting photos from weddings or celebrating the sales of their books -- how many copies sold, which critic praised them.
I even approached one writer and said, “Brother, can you at least say something? So many children are dying.” For that, I was un friend on Facebook. They spread rumors about me. Ironically, some of them posed under banners on August 2.
That’s why I don’t belong to the group that shows up for a quick photo session with a banner and disappears. But yes, even that limited participation, we accepted with respect.
I’ve been on the ground since the beginning. On August 2, I participated under the banner of the Artist Community at Dhanmondi’s Abahani Ground. My usual protest points were Mohammadpur, Dhanmondi-27, and Science Lab. That day, through street theatre, performers portrayed the brutal killing of students.
That said, there were many poets and writers who stood with us both through their writings and physical presence. They inspired us and fueled the movement.

BSS: How did your university’s teachers and students respond to the Quota Reform Movement?
Razia Sultana Esita: My Master’s results were released in July 2024. By then, I already had a job. At this point in my life, I have no fascination with government jobs.
I was actively involved in the 2018 quota movement as well. Back then, I was pursuing my honors in English at Lalmatia Government Women’s College. Our college stood in solidarity with educational institutions across the country. But at that time, the administration tried to suppress us. Jahangir Kabir Nanak was the key political figure behind the college then. Possibly due to political pressure, they tried to keep us silent.
So, by the time the 2024 movement came around, my support for the anti-quota cause was already firm. And I didn’t wait for institutional permission. My past experience taught me better. I joined from my position as a conscious citizen.
That said, many of Lalmatia’s teachers and students did hold a positive stance toward the movement.
I want to share a story about a teacher from Lalmatia School. On August 2, some schoolgirls were writing protest slogans on the wall, and some of their guardians were with them. This teacher scolded them and told them to leave. When I stood up for the students, that teacher quickly walked away.
I asked him:"If these children -- Mugdho, Farhan, Faiyaz -- were your own, what would you have done? If you can, stand by your students as a teacher. If not, go home."

BSS: Is there any deeply personal memory about the July Uprising that you haven’t shared with anyone yet?
Razia Sultana Esita: There are so many memories of July that I don’t want to share with anyone. It feels as if July belongs solely to me. In July, so many sisters, so many mothers lost far more than I did. My little personal sacrifice is like a single dewdrop in the ocean.
I had one planned foreign trip in July. I was invited several times, but I didn’t go. I said, “I can’t go on a foreign trip leaving my brother’s burning body behind.” I stayed, while the others went ahead on the trip.
On July 18, when the complete shutdown began, my father fell seriously ill and was admitted to the emergency ward of a hospital. My elder brother rushed to his side.
My younger brother and I remained on the battlefield of the movement. It felt as though people across the country were laying down their lives -- you sacrifice a child for the nation. Not going to my father felt to me, in that moment, an act of patriotism and learning.
We siblings had always called him “Boro Abba.” I have not yet bid farewell to my Boro Abba. Just as July remains awake, so does he remain with me. I cannot visit his grave. I am the girl who failed to reach the end in such immense pain. That girl doesn’t want to trace her uncle’s grave. Alongside his grave, July’s many martyrs’ graves are etched in my mind. This small sacrifice before the monopoly of power to win the nation -- this is my humble offering.

BSS: On which dates and where did you participate directly in the movement?
Razia Sultana Esita: I began my presence on the ground starting July 16, when students were unjustly shot. Although I was an employee in a corporate job by then, from the start I supported the student movement socially. But physically, I joined not just as a student, but more in my civic role, standing up for justice.

BSS: On the morning of August 5 where were you? When and how did you hear that Sheikh Hasina had fled? What was that feeling like?
Razia Sultana Esita: That morning, I felt the day could bring something decisive. I wrote down one family member’s phone number in large letters on a piece of paper and carried it in my handbag. My phone was locked so no one else could open it if needed. I sensed something would happen—either Sheikh Hasina would ride out another roller coaster massacre, or the military would intervene. I was prepared that I might not return.
From Mohammadpur, exits in every direction were blocked. The military was stopping people. Through different routes, sometimes on foot, sometimes on rickshaw, we made our way toward Shaheed Minar. In Jigatola, we faced chase-backs with Chhatra League. Eventually, we reached Shahbagh. Around 1 pm, we heard from Shaheed Minar that Sheikh Hasina had relinquished power. I couldn’t believe it. I thought it could be another ploy -- maybe they would massacre protesters next. Because shootings continued in places like Jatrabari at that time.
Slowly, the flood of people’s joy and movement participation told us she was really stepping down. It felt like people were surging out of TSC like a flood. In an instant, TSC was reverberating with joy and tears.
In massive numbers we moved toward Bangabhaban. At that moment, the army chief still not addressed the nation.
What a victory that was! Whoever I saw, I hugged them and cried. I cried in the wails of mourning for the brother I lost. That victory—born from suffering, from sacrifice—was victory indeed. In the streets, I stood yelling at the army: “Why do you still stand there? Are you not going to kill more of our brothers? Shoot if you must—but why are you standing idle?”
And so history unfolded: the same army that had shot at the people earlier was now scattering flowers! When I think of that day, tears of joy still fall. Possibly no bird remained in its house that day—they all came down to join in the triumph. Such history rarely repeats. Everything I could reach on a call, I said, “It came once, like December 16; August 5 also came once. It won’t come again.”

BSS: Did someone get injured or killed in front of you during the movement? If so, please share that memory.
Razia Sultana Esita: Many suffered. Some were hit by bullets, others by stones or bricks. Tear gas shells burned people all over. On July 18, the crowd moved from Shankar to Eye Hospital point: students and civilians stood there. Meanwhile at Dhanmondi 27, Chhatra League and the police were chasing and counter-chasing, throwing rubber bullets. 
We had nothing—only flags tied to our head. Bricks flew. Tear gas exploded continually. Smoke blanketed the whole area. It became hard to care for young children. No force could contain them. With unimaginable courage they kept pushing toward Dhanmondi 27.
In the chaos, a young man was hit by a tear gas canister across his body. He writhed on the ground, crying out:“My body is burning! I might die—but I will not step back. Why did they kill my brothers? I will not go back.”
We carried him to a garage, splashed water, offered first aid. But his own wounded body made him even more revolutionary. He couldn’t be held back. Again and again he would rise and run forward. The agony of seeing that injured strength writhing on the ground remains vivid in my eyes.
Another memory still moves me: on August 4, our main sit-in was at Science Lab. All day, many injured by bullets made their way to hospitals. Whoever led was shot, another took over, and the protest pressed on. Casualties were widespread. Whoever I looked at was hurt, some by rubber bullets, some bleeding from skulls, limbs. Around 4 pm, someone set the Yellow showroom on fire. The blazing inferno plunged the whole area into darkness. Police began shooting. A student, struck by shrapnel, was rushed to where we could give first aid. He’d been hit in the top of his head. At that moment police charged again, everyone ran.
We lost that injured young man. The innocent blood of his on me -- his blood, which helped bring victory, feels like I can’t wash my hands off it. In memory, I still search for him and on the streaked stains of his blood, that victory came down.

BSS: How did the attacks by Chhatra League on protestors affect ordinary students?
Razia Sultana Esita: What new can I even say about that? The seeds of this uprising weren’t sown in a day. The brutal murder of Abrar Fahad by Chhatra League, along with many other incidents, had already planted those seeds among the people. The unwarranted beatings, the systematic oppression by Chhatra League -- it all only accelerated the people's desire to free the nation from autocracy.
Let me share a story briefly. During the protests, my younger brother and his friends were staying at a rented student flat. To track them down, Chhatra League followed their housemaid. Just imagine the horror!
They would track students after prayers at the mosque. Many were so scared of Chhatra League they avoided even going to Friday prayers. They couldn’t leave home. Couldn’t return home. They would threaten us in various ways.

BSS: Female students stood as shields. Did the male students also stand beside you as protectors?
Razia Sultana Esita:The contribution of the male students was immense. They always surrounded us with a protective ring. They would never place us in the front lines—always somewhere in the middle—so that they could intercept any attack or make it easier for us to escape quickly if needed. They were careful that we didn’t face any harsh or dangerous encounters.
And when any of us were injured, they gave us first aid, helped us evacuate safely. We are forever grateful to them.
Mohammadpur was a terrifying area—you know this. Armed Awami League members stood on every corner. Once evening fell, it became nearly impossible to enter. There were days male students would escort us back home through threats, attacks, and chaos.
I had never seen them before, and probably never will again. Yet they gave us such protection and care—as if we were their own sisters. My heart is filled with gratitude and love for them.

BSS: Which day of the July uprising moved you most deeply?
Razia Sultana Esita: August 4. Around 9pm. The movement had scattered and we were retreating to safety. We had to take roundabout ways home because Chhatra League checkpoints were at every alley. Most of the time, we had to hide flags, first aid kits, phones—everything—in our chest.
Some younger boys were with me. They lived near Bosila. We stopped near a lake to rest. I asked them whether their families knew what they were doing. Turns out they didn’t. One of them told me he had been injured a week ago and hospitalized, but had come back once he recovered.
My heart grew heavy. When they stretched out their hands, I saw dried, cracked blood on them. I wanted to scream so loud that it would reach the throne of the powerful. I felt like placing their innocent, bloodstained hands on the red circle of our flag—and then hold them to my heart—so that no malice could ever again touch our brothers, our children.
That night, I was wearing a white salwar. When I got home, I saw blood stains on it—dried and permanent. I’ve kept that outfit just as it was. It felt like a mark of victory. I couldn’t wash it off. May that stain live on—in our sovereignty, in our flag, in our work, in our ideals.

BSS: What kind of threats did you face during the movement?
Razia Sultana Esita: One painful memory: the day my father was severely ill, we couldn’t get an ambulance because the country was in lockdown. Abu Sayeed had been shot. A childhood friend said to me that day, “Because of your movement, so many people are suffering. Like your father.”
I was stunned. My father was on the edge of life and death, and my friend was delivering that kind of ‘truth’ to me!
Maybe because he was a Chhatra League supporter, he thought our movement was illegitimate, that we were only making life worse for people. That incident has left a deep scar.
Whenever I posted something online, I would receive threats via phone or messages. Out of fear, I had to delete many posts. That happened to almost everyone. I’ve been threatened day and night—things like “Wait till your time comes,” “We’ll see why you went to the protest,” “You won’t survive this.”

BSS: How much of the dreams and aspirations of the July uprising have been realized?
Razia Sultana Esita: We understand a country can’t become Eden overnight. Yet in our hearts, we hoped that if we could oust the dictator, we would suddenly find ourselves in some paradise.
Everyone wants their country to be heaven. But the reality is, the dreams we had—the aspirations people risked everything for—those remain distant.
We thought that the way people had risen up selflessly, they would also become luminous citizens and build stairways to a better future. But we never gave the new government the chance to work neutrally.
People walked the same old path. Maybe power is such a thing—even if you place an angel there, they won’t remain neutral.
A country governed in a certain way for 16 years can’t be transformed into paradise in one day or even a few. The system, the education, the consciousness—it will take time.

BSS: What is your hope for the new Bangladesh after the end of autocracy?
Razia Sultana Esita: That in the People’s Republic of Bangladesh, the will of the people prevails. That fascism is eradicated. That injustice, oppression, killings, looting, and corruption are forgotten and a country of equality is built. That civil rights are restored.

Autocrat Sheikh Hasina was ousted through a bloody July movement ending her nearly 16-year ruthless rule. Now the country is free from deep-rooted fascism.  We have to be united to build a discrimination-free new Bangladesh.