The smoke that rose from Karwan Bazar late on the night of 18 December did not begin with fire. It began with grief. The tragic death of the young leader Osman Hadi shook many people, especially the young, who already feel that no one listens to them and that they are not safe.
After his death came anger, confusion, and an urge to blame someone. Society now faces a stark question: will justice be sought through the rule of law, or will the politics of rage take over, with symbols smashed and burned? The events of the night of the 18th make it clear that Bangladesh is standing at a highly precarious crossroads.
The attacks on the offices of Prothom Alo and The Daily Star, and the disorder surrounding New Age editor Nurul Kabir, were not spontaneous outbursts of grief. They were the product of an environment where anger is allowed to spread, responsibility is shirked, and violence is tacitly accepted as justified. Hadi’s death ignited emotions, but the media became the target. This reveals how grief, dissent, and power are being dangerously misdirected today.
When the state cannot clearly ensure the safety of journalists, it sends a dangerous message, that some forms of violence are apparently tolerable. Democracies do not collapse in a single day. They weaken gradually, when the state hesitates and other forces move into the vacuum that hesitation creates.
The most troubling aspect of these attacks is that they were carried out by groups that are not part of the state, yet claim for themselves the role of supreme moral guardians. They say they are defending the nation, religion, or public sentiment. In reality, they operate outside the law and carry out violence in the name of patriotism. Such scenes are not new in weak democracies. When certain groups begin to decide who is patriotic and who is a traitor, the rule of law breaks down.
The death of Sharif Osman bin Hadi has further intensified this situation. His death has generated deep emotion among young people, many of whom had already lost faith in institutions. Instead of turning this grief into demands for justice, investigation and accountability, some influential quarters have redirected it against the media. Newspapers are labelled biased or accused of spreading misinformation. Whether those accusations are true or false ceases to matter at that point. What matters is that the media becomes a symbol—and symbols are easy to burn.
This situation did not arise on its own. Some online influencers based abroad have played a significant role. They speak from a distance, but take no risks themselves. From Europe or North America they stir up anger, but they do not face tear gas, arrest, or attack. Those risks are borne by young people on the streets at home, many of whom believe they are doing the right thing. Attacks on the media, therefore, are not just the product of local anger, but also of external incitement.
A major misconception about the power of the media is at work here. Many people believe that newspapers alone can change how people think. In reality, that is not the case. Today, people themselves decide what they read or watch. Opinions are shaped by a combination of friends, family, social media, and personal beliefs. The influence of newspapers is limited.
In today’s Bangladesh, newspapers are no longer the primary source of information. Social media exerts far greater influence, but with far less responsibility.
Rumours spread faster than facts, and anger travels much farther than evidence. If there were genuine concern about misleading the public, attention would be directed toward these unregulated online spaces. Burning newspaper offices does not solve that problem; instead, it creates fear and silence.
Hadi’s death could have given the country an opportunity for reflection. It could have opened the door to institutional reform. Instead this death has been used as a pretext to attack the very institutions that could have uncovered the truth and demanded justice
That said, protecting the media does not mean denying its shortcomings. Bangladesh’s major news outlets have failed to communicate properly with the public, especially with young people. They often remain distant, use rigid language, and assume they are trusted by everyone. In a divided society, this assumption is dangerous. When accusations of being “anti-state” begin to circulate, the media responds late and defensively. It has failed to explain how news is produced, to present journalists as human beings, or to engage actively in the online spaces where resentment was growing.
It is in this silence that others step in to define what the media stands for. Silence is interpreted as arrogance or as an admission of guilt. In an age when ideas spread at lightning speed, such silence is a serious risk.
Seen together, these incidents reveal a familiar pattern of attacks on the media carried out through non-state actors. First, a triggering incident occurs. Emotional narratives then spread rapidly, amplified by social media. The media is subsequently cast as the enemy. This is followed by attacks on media institutions to demonstrate force.
In the end, fear takes hold: journalists begin to censor themselves, and accountability weakens.
For this reason, these attacks are not isolated incidents. They constitute a major threat to democracy. In Bangladesh, non-state forces are now visible that seek to intimidate and suppress media freedom through fear.
At such a moment, the role of the state is paramount. Condemnation alone is not enough; action must be visible. The interim government must state clearly that violence against the media will not be tolerated under any circumstances. Arrests, trials, and accountability must be ensured, regardless of the identities claimed by the perpetrators. Remaining silent in the face of lawlessness, amounts to evading responsibility.
At the same time, the media itself must change. It can no longer remain a distant elite figure. It must explain to people why journalism matters, how news is verified, and how mistakes are corrected when they occur. Trust cannot be assumed; it has to be built slowly and transparently.
Hadi’s death could have given the country an opportunity for reflection. It could have opened the door to institutional reform. Instead this death has been used as a pretext to attack the very institutions that could have uncovered the truth and demanded justice. This is the greatest tragedy of all. When grief turns into violence and journalism is made the enemy, democracy becomes dangerously fragile.
The fire at Karwan Bazar did not only damage two newspaper buildings. It was an attack on media freedom. It was a warning signal. These events show how quickly anger can be misdirected, how easily non-state forces can influence politics, and how fragile democracy becomes when the state and the media fail to stand firm. If this moment is not taken seriously, the next crisis will be even more severe—and the next fire may not stop with the media.
* SM Rezwan Ul Alam is Associate Professor, Media, Communication and Journalism, North South University
* The views expressed here are the author’s own.