By Mutaher Hussain

DHAKA, August 2, 2025 (BSS) - Masum Billah, central joint general secretary of Bangladesh Jatiyatabadi Chhatra Dal (JCD), was one of the frontline fighters during the 2024 July Uprising that subsequently led to ouster of the then prime minister Sheikh Hasina on August 5.

A Bangla department student at Dhaka University, Masum had long been involved in anti-fascist movement. He was forcibly disappeared during the Anti-Discrimination Student Movement. He was later sent to jail from where he learnt the news that fascist Sheikh Hasinafled the country.

Masum said the harrowing memories during the turbulent times still haunt him at night.

In an exclusive interview with Bangladesh Sangbad Sangstha (BSS), Masum recalled the memories and experiences of the student-led mass uprising in 2024.

BSS:Which political party are you affiliated with? How did you get involved in politics?

Masum Billah: I believe in the ideology of Bangladeshi nationalism. I currently serve as joint general secretary of the central committee of JCD and also as president of the Sir A.F. Rahman Hall unit at Dhaka University. I've been politically aware from an early age--my father served as the president of our local BNP ward committee for nearly 15 years. Inspired by him, I embraced the ideals of martyred President and the proclaimer of Bangladesh's independence, Ziaur Rahman.

BSS: Can you tell us about the justification for the quota reform movement?

Masum Billah: The movement was 100 percent justified in the context of Bangladesh. In today's age of artificial intelligence, if we're to keep up with the developed world, our civil service must prioritize the merit of candidates. I believe one of the major reasons for bureaucratic stagnation in this country is the 56percent quota-based recruitment system.

BSS:The quota reform movement progressed in several phases. How did you get involved? During which phase were you most active? Were you supportive from the beginning?

Masum Billah: The anti-quota movement first began around 2013-2014. At that time, I was a student in the Bangla department at Dhaka University. As far as I remember, I took part in the very first student march against the quota system. In 2018, the movement gained massive traction and forced the government to announce quota abolishment. But after the Appellate Division overturned the High Court's decision to cancel quotas on June 5, 2024, we had no choice but to return to the streets. The movement reached its peak on August 5.

BSS: Student organizations often differ ideologically. Yet in this movement, they all came together. How did you feel about that? What do you think brought them together?

Masum Billah: In all just struggles--including our Liberation War--people from all backgrounds in Bangladesh have united. The anti-dictatorship movement in the 1990s was successful largely because of student unity. Even during the military-backed Moeen-Fakhruddin regime, student organizations protested together.

But the quota movement was very different. Apart from the state apparatus, our biggest enemy was the ruling party's armed student wing--Chhatra League. You must have seen how brutally they attacked anti-quota protestors and later the anti-discrimination demonstrators. They killed their own fellow students, all to defend the ego of an unelected regime. That's a national tragedy. Fortunately, they were later discarded into the garbage heap of history.

BSS: What were the biggest challenges during the movement?

Masum Billah: An unelected regime exploited the spirit of the Liberation War to rule for 16 years. Though they abolished quotas in 2018 under pressure, upon returning to power without votes for a fourth term, Sheikh Hasina reinstated them by overturning the court verdict through the Appellate Division. She prioritized her ego and cracked down on student-led protests with full force. Every phase of this student uprising against a tyrannical regime was a massive challenge.

BSS:When do you think the movement truly escalated into a final, decisive phase?

Masum Billah:On June 5, 2024, when the Appellate Division overturned the High Court verdict that abolished quotas. That reckless decision, driven by the top tier of the government, pushed the movement toward its climax. Then came Sheikh Hasina's hateful remark, calling us "grandchildren of Razakars." That's when students erupted in fury all across the country.

BSS:Why do you think this movement evolved into one for regime change?

Masum Billah: Look, the people of this country had long lost trust in the unelected autocratic regime of Sheikh Hasina. Fear of enforced disappearances, killings, and imprisonment stopped ordinary citizens from speaking up. No political party except the BNP dared to challenge the government. Even in this student-led movement, the regime tried to smear us by falsely linking us to the BNP and used that pretext to suppress us.

Although we, Chhatra Dal, were actively involved under the general student banner, we carefully avoided the media so the regime wouldn't tag it as a partisan movement and carry out a massacre.

But after July 16--when six students including Abu Sayeed in Rangpur and Wasim, Rabbi, Faruk in Chattogram were shot dead by police--protests exploded nationwide. Sheikh Hasina is directly responsible for those killings.

On July 17, Dhaka University became a battlefield. We clashed with police repeatedly throughout the day, trying to prevent university authorities from vacating the halls. Eventually, due to relentless tear gas and rubber bullets, most students were forced to leave.

That same night, following instructions from BNP's acting chairman Tarique Rahman, we in Chhatra Dal decided to escalate the movement into a full-blown struggle to bring down the regime. From July 17 onward, we went all out on the streets.

BSS:What happened to you after that?

Masum Billah: On the evening of July 17, as I was returning home, ruling party goons who had beenwaiting for an opportunityabducted me from the Chankharpul intersection. They brutally tortured me and, assuming I was dead, handed me over to Chawkbazar Police. From there, I was transferred to the Detective Branch (DB), where I was disappeared for four days and inhumanely tortured.

On the night of July 21, they staged a fake weapons recovery operation and produced me in court under fabricated charges.

BSS: What exactly happened to you on July 17?

Masum Billah: It was around 11:40 pm on July 17. My eyes were tightly blindfolded with a towel, and my hands were cuffed behind my back. While handing me over to the Detective Branch (DB) police, the OC of Chawkbazar police station said "I really wanted to press a revolver to your head and shoot you myself--at least kill one Chhatra Dal activist. But by a twist of fate, you've slipped from my hands today. Whatever needs to be done to you, they will do." One plainclothes officer had blindfolded me, another had handcuffed me. I realized after being taken some distance and put in a vehicle that 6-7 people had come to pick me up.

Before handing me over to the police, the Chhatra League thugs had smashed my nose so badly that if I tilted my head even slightly, blood would start pouring from it. I had to keep my head held up high, and eventually, my neck began to ache. My left knee was also in severe pain. Altogether, I was groaning in agony--blindfolded and gripped by the fear that I could be shot at any moment.

As the car started moving, I suddenly heard three clicking sounds from beside and behind me! I screamed, "Oh Allah!" and with a trembling voice, started reciting the kalima loudly and begged, "For God's sake, don't shoot me!" Blood from my nose had soaked down to my throat. The officer sitting to my left in the car wiped my face with something and told me to keep my neck straight. From the front, another officer barked at me harshly not to scream like that again and hurled a barrage of vile insults at Chhatra Dal.

July 17, 2024. That entire day, we were at the Dhaka University campus, fighting alongside general students to stop police from shutting down the dormitories. Around 7 pm, while returning home through Chankharpul, we were ambushed by Awami League thugs. My junior, Hayat, was with me. They didn't recognize him and couldn't identify him since he didn't have his phone.

They grabbed me first--snatched my phone, wallet, and shoes. Then they threw me to the ground and began beating me however they could. After 8-10 minutes of this, Akhtar Hossain, the publicity secretary of Dhaka South Awami League, suggested taking me to a room upstairs and "doing whatever needs to be done there," fearing that journalists might show up. At that moment, I realized I probably wouldn't survive.

Seven or eight of them took me to the old Aftab Hotel (now a residential hotel). While climbing the stairs, one said, "We need to gouge his eyes out," another said, "Cut off his hands and feet." One of them, injured in a clash the previous day between DU students and local Awami League men, shouted, "No more drama! Let's slaughter him and feed his body to the dogs!" I was silently reciting the kalima over and over.

On the second floor, they locked me in a small room and demanded I give them names and locations of local BNP leaders. When I said I didn't know anyone, 2-3 of them began slapping me. Basically, I really didn't know the people they were naming. I was made to sit on the bed, while they sat on chairs. After 30-40 minutes of interrogation, two policemen arrived with two others--one carrying a cricket stump. There were already three thugs in the room. They turned off the light and began beating me indiscriminately with the stump. I screamed at the top of my voice.

Three or four hard blows landed on my left knee. For the next 8-10 days, I couldn't put weight on that leg or bend it. The room was small, and there were too many attackers--so they couldn't beat me as freely. Throughout the beating, the two police officers did nothing to stop them--not once. In the darkness, some of the stump blows hit their own people. Only then did they yell to stop and turn the light back on.

Even then, I wasn't in extreme pain from the stump beatings--because seeing the police made me feel a little assured I wouldn't be killed. I thought: at least there's no sharp weapon, so maybe I'll survive. When the police finally cuffed my hands, I whispered Alhamdulillah to myself. I believed Allah had just saved me from becoming a corpse. After all, I had been arrested four times before.

But that terrifying night, the fear of death returned within two hours. As per protocol, I was supposed to be taken to court from Chawkbazar police station the next day. But instead, that very night, they blindfolded and handcuffed me again and handed me over to the infamous DB.

The farther the DB car went, the more I trembled. The officers chatted about where bodies had fallen across the country that day. I was sure I was being taken somewhere far to be cross-fired. I quietly started reciting every prayer I knew. Suddenly, one officer said, "Put your trust in Allah--nothing happens without His will." Truly, nothing happens without Allah's will.

My body was shaking so hard that my voice started to choke. Somehow I managed to ask, "Are you going to kill me? Please uncover my eyes--I'll die from fear alone." From behind, another officer harshly told me to shut up and threatened to gag my mouth too.

There's hardly a more helpless feeling than being blindfolded and handcuffed at the same time. I couldn't tell where the vehicle was going. But I heard tolls being paid--possibly twice--once while going, and once returning. For 20-25 minutes in between, I was left alone in the car while the others went looking for some suspect. Not finding him, they came back and resumed the journey.

About 10-15 minutes after hearing the Fajr prayer over a loudspeaker, the car stopped. One officer remained with me while others got off. After 4-5 minutes, two officers came back to check my blindfold, then took me out of the car. I wept uncontrollably, thinking of my parents, siblings, and someone very dear to me. Leaning on one officer's shoulder, I was led to a stairwell.

"Stairs now," he said. I climbed 3-4 steps with support, and they led me into a small room. They uncuffed my hands, took off my blindfold, and told me to sit on the floor. My vision was blurry for a few minutes.

I couldn't tell whether it was night or day in there. My wrists were swollen from the cuffs, and both shoulders were throbbing--but the fear of death had kept me from feeling the pain until then. It was a small room with a very high ceiling. One brown lightbulb above, and a CCTV camera. On the floor, a 2-liter bottle of Fresh water, half full. The man left, locking the door behind him. He wore a mask and a cap--I couldn't see his face. Before leaving, he said, "Sir will decide what happens to you."

My throat was parched. Thinking they'd give me food like in a normal jail cell, I drank almost all the water in one go. It was a room like a lift shaft. Completely sealed. No sound came in. There was a long, narrow ventilation slot high up near the camera--probably for oxygen.

After sitting for a while, as the fear of death eased, hunger struck me with full force. I hadn't eaten all day at the campus--there was nothing to eat. My plan was to eat a full meal at home and then take a shower. After my arrest in the evening, they gave me nothing but water twice. Since childhood, extreme hunger makes my limbs tremble. Now it felt even worse.

Every 2-3 minutes, I gestured at the CCTV camera asking for food--but no one came. At one point, I thought I might literally die of starvation. That day, I understood why people starve to death for food.

Finally, after 4-5 hours, a man over fifty opened the door and gave me a plate of rice, egg curry, lentils, and a bottle of water. Seeing the food, I burst into tears. Even now, whenever I remember that moment, tears fill my eyes.

Even though the plate of rice wasn't enough to fill my stomach, the trembling in my body finally stopped. As soon as I finished eating, someone came, blindfolded and handcuffed me again, and took me to an officer's room. They unblinded me there, but the handcuffs stayed on. I tried to figure out where I was. Although I couldn't see anything outside, I could tell from the files in the room that I was in a DB office.

During interrogation, the officer had my phone in hand. They had already unlocked it back at Chawkbazar station. Since I was in all the Chhatra Dal WhatsApp groups, the officer had found a lot of information on my phone and started questioning me about them. He said, "You're an educated guy. I hope we won't have to take you to the torture room. Your physical condition is already poor, and we don't have medical facilities here. If we take you there, you might have a stroke. Just tell the truth to whatever I ask." I nodded and said okay.

The interrogation went on for a long time. At some point, they gave me tea. Once they learned I was a student at Dhaka University, they switched from calling me tui (informal, disrespectful) to tumi (more respectful).

At the end of the session, I pleaded with the officer: "Brother, both my parents are ill. The country's in chaos. It's been nearly 24 hours, and they don't know whether I'm alive or dead. Please, just let them know that I'm in your custody. Otherwise, they might die from the worry."

The officer got visibly irritated and replied, "You're still a 'non-entry.' We haven't decided whether to officially arrest you or make you disappear without a trace."
Then he turned to someone beside him and instructed him to take me back.

That person blindfolded me again, held me by the left side, and took me back to the same room. I couldn't stop crying--thinking about my parents. All I've ever given them is pain.

After putting me back into the room and removing my blindfold and handcuffs, the man said, "You'll get food again at the same time tomorrow."
By then, I was already hungry again, but the thought that my fate--whether I'd live or die--was still undecided had wiped out all appetite. That day, I truly realized how long 24 hours can feel. I didn't sleep for even a second. All I could think about was when they'd drag me out and execute me. I cried continuously and begged Allah for my life. There's no place more helpless than a grave--except that room.

The next day, Allah accepted my prayer. I was given the same food again. After eating, they took me back to the officer's room--this time, only in handcuffs. Just like before, I went to the toilet there. Then the mental torture began. After 30 minutes of questioning, the officer said:"Now we're taking you out on an operation."

It felt like a jolt of electricity ran through my chest. I wished they'd just shoot me then and there. At least let me know why I had to die. My body was shaking so much that my teeth were chattering.

Suddenly, I saw another officer in the hallway and asked him, "Brother, is it day or night now?"He replied, "It's afternoon."That gave me hope--they usually execute people at night. What kind of operation happens during the day?

But then came Allah's greatest mercy. The two officers who were supposed to take me out hadn't eaten yet. So, they were delayed. Just then, another officer came running in, out of breath, and shouted, "The students are planning to attack the DB office! DC sir has ordered everyone to gear up!"

That was the first time I was absolutely sure I was in the DB office. The moment that news came, all hell broke loose. Some were grabbing helmets, others were putting on bulletproof jackets or shin guards. I even saw someone loading a rifle. In that chaos, no one was paying attention to me.

One junior officer pointed at me and asked the senior officer, "Sir, what should we do with him?"
The officer replied, "Log him as a non-entry and throw him in the cell."

At that moment, I silently recited "Alhamdulillah."
Because a cell meant other detainees. And if I was with them, they wouldn't be able to kill me easily. Blindfolded and handcuffed, they took me in a lift to the cell. I couldn't tell if we were going up or down.

Because of my leg pain, I limped slowly toward the cell door. There, they removed my blindfold. I saw all the inmates staring at me. Then I heard Imam Bhai, the current president of Titumir College, call out my name. Seeing someone familiar was like a breath of fresh air.

Inside, I saw that former president Shrabon Bhai was sleeping. Both Imam Bhai and Shrabon Bhai were also on DB remand at that time. Just seeing them made me feel like the worst was over. Honestly, getting to the cell was one of the happiest moments of my life.

I felt even more at peace knowing that their remand would end the next day, and they could inform my family--through their lawyer--that I was still alive. From some newly detained inmates, I learned that the protests outside were massive, and people were being killed every day. Just thinking about my parents' mental state made me cry.

That very night, DB officers brought in Sultan Salauddin Tuku Bhai. As soon as he entered the cell and saw me, he was shocked, but then quickly embraced me and said,"We thought you were already dead."

I could tell he had been brutally tortured too. That night, he arranged for some essential medicine for both of us through a familiar constable.

From the next morning, they began pulling senior leaders like Tuku Bhai, Babul Bhai, and Aminul Bhai out of the cell and taking them to the torture room in shifts. Every time someone was taken, the rest of us were frozen in fear. That period was sheer horror.

It was around 1:30 am on the night of July 21.

Tuku Bhai was in extreme pain after being handcuffed and hung during torture. I was massaging his shoulder. Suddenly, 10-12 men in black uniforms appeared in front of the cell and shouted:"Masum Billah, son of Md. Chan Mia!"I stepped forward, and they told me to come out.

Out of over 150 inmates, you could hear the sound of a pin drop. From the VIP cell, Amir Khasru Mahmud Chowdhury, Nazrul Islam Khan, Ruhul Kabir Rizvi, and Kazi Saidul Alam Babul Bhai were watching me silently. As I stepped out, one man handcuffed me while another blindfolded me with a black cloth.

When I told them I couldn't put pressure on my left leg, two officers carried me in a strange but efficient way and placed me in a car. They locked the door. It felt like a thunderbolt had struck my life from a clear sky.

From their conversations, it was clear: they were taking me out for an "operation." And "operation" always meant crossfire. I couldn't understand why they'd execute me and not the dozens of senior leaders in that cell. Then again, anything was possible from fascist Hasina's police.

Inside the car, I was trembling, knowing I didn't have much time left. They placed another detainee next to me, and 5-6 more officers joined. I sensed there were other vehicles ahead and behind us.

As the car drove, I kept praying silently. After about 5-6 minutes, it stopped.

Then an officer said, "No sound. We'll give you two bags. Walk ahead of us, and don't press the bags."

Then they removed the blindfold and handcuffs.

I opened my eyes and saw a full setup outside Ramna Tennis Club. At least 20 cars were lined up along both sides of the road. Around 100-120 armed personnel, wearing DB uniforms, were standing with guns pointed at us.

That night was the first night of the curfew--so the streets were empty. They made me walk from the gate of Shahid Zia Shishu Park toward Shahbagh, carrying the bag in my hands. As I walked past the battalion, two officers filmed me with their phones. From the opposite side, another officer crossed the road and shouted,"Who are these guys? What's in their bags?"Someone from behind me answered,"Sir, we caught these two red-handed while they were splitting bombs."

Then, under the dim light of a flower shop, he opened the bag and started recording a video of the cocktails and petrol bottles inside. Watching him film it gave me a bit of relief -- I thought to myself, "I've never heard of a crossfire case being staged like this." This is usually how they fabricate stories to claim an accused person was caught with weapons or explosives.

That's exactly what happened in my case too. The next day, when I was produced in court and the police sought remand, I learned that according to them, I had been caught red-handed the night before in Shahbagh with 10 cocktails and 12 petrol bombs! The court granted a 2-day remand and sent me back to the Detective Branch office.

Standing in the courtroom, I used Urmi Apu's phone to call home. The moment my mother heard my voice, she broke down sobbing. "Amma, it's me, Masum" -- that's all I could say. I couldn't speak any further.

My younger brother Nahid and Bijoy had searched for me in nearly every police station and outpost across Dhaka, including Chawkbazar Thana. But no one admitted I had been arrested. The duty officer at Shahbagh Thana reportedly snapped at them, saying, "These days, when the Awami League arrests someone, they don't let them go alive. There are some unclaimed bodies at Dhaka Medical morgue -- go check there."

As I sat in the police van on my way back to the DB office from court, I kept thinking -- "Ah, life! How much uncertainty in just three days." My family and loved ones went through unspeakable anguish. Hasina has turned this country into absolute hell for me. Maybe I'll get bail after 6 or 7 months -- but in this country, Hasina will never let me live in peace.

On August 5, a little after 3 pm, in Room 3/2 of Meghna Building inside the central jail, I heard the news of Hasina's fall. I was burning with a terrible fever at the time. I didn't even have the strength to open my eyes. Others were banging plates in celebration. My eyes were wet with tears of joy. I kept thinking to myself, "From today, this motherland will finally be safe for us."

It's been almost a year since the fall of the tyrant. Fascist Hasina has fled. The people have taken over Ganabhaban and reclaimed the sovereignty of the state. Now, when I walk the streets, I no longer tremble with fear of arrest or assault. But I haven't yet recovered from the trauma of those three days of disappearance. I often wake up screaming from my sleep, dreaming that I'm being taken for a crossfire, my eyes and hands bound.

BSS: How do you want to see the country after a bloody mass uprising?

Masum Billah: Look, the movement to abolish the quota system led by ordinary students was completely successful. Right now, the country is under an interim government. For nearly a decade and a half, the people have been denied their voting rights. In this situation, I believe it is urgent to hold a free, fair, and credible national parliamentary election and transfer power to the people's elected representatives. Only then can an elected government carry the hopes of the masses and build a dignified Bangladesh on the global stage.