On the night of Thursday, 18 December 2025, a series of violent incidents occurred one after another. A group of extremists attacked the offices of the country’s two most important newspapers, Prothom Alo and The Daily Star, setting fires. They then moved on to the renowned cultural institution Chhayanaut, followed by attacks on Udichi.
In Mymensingh’s Bhaluka, a young Hindu man was beaten to death over allegations of religious defamation. After the killing, his body was tied to a tree and set on fire. A journalist, who served as the president of a press club in Khulna, was shot dead.
Destruction and attacks occurred in multiple locations. Videos circulated one after another on Facebook, showing various scenes: in some, senior journalist Nurul Kabir is being attacked; in others, destruction and arson are visible. A young female journalist from The Daily Star wrote on Facebook that she was struggling to breathe due to the smoke. More than 30 journalists were trapped on the roof of The Daily Star building at the time the fire was set below. They were rescued several hours later. This raises a critical question: Were the attackers targeting only the buildings, or were the people inside them also part of the target?
Those who have criticised this weakness of the government, while also speaking out against the populist rhetoric of at least two major political camps, are now being labelled “pro-fascist.” This kind of labelling is convenient: it shifts attention away from real violence and redirects it toward people who are merely asking questions.
Neither Prothom Alo, The Daily Star, Udichi, nor Chhayanaut had any involvement whatsoever in the attack on Hadi. They neither planned nor supported the attack; on the contrary, many of their journalists were among the first to report on it and to condemn it. The two attacked newspapers published editorials and columns denouncing the assault on Hadi and expressing serious concern. Yet the same familiar faces were soon seen across television talk shows, street rallies, and Facebook and YouTube, portraying these institutions as “accomplices.”
We know these figures well: they shout on late-night talk shows, incite crowds with microphones during the day, and run coordinated content campaigns on social media. Instead of asking who actually carried out the attack, under whose instructions, and under which organisation, they once again point their fingers at the same old “enemies”—as if the real crime were simply the continued existence of critical newspapers or cultural organisations.
This is a deliberate tactic. By shifting blame onto the media and cultural institutions, they are attempting to change the very battleground of the conflict. The message is clear: anyone who does not fully accept their slogans, their political narrative, and their version of history is an enemy.
By this logic, a journalist, an artist associated with a cultural institution, or a teacher who speaks for everyone regardless of party affiliation is placed on the same footing as a murderer. Once that line is crossed, anything done to them becomes “justified”: harassment, social boycotts, even physical attacks. Everything is then wrapped in attractive labels—“unfinished revolution,” “establishing justice,” “purifying the nation.” Revenge is sold in the guise of morality.
What we are witnessing is an attempt to turn grief into a blank cheque for settling old scores. Instead of directing anger toward the actual attackers, or toward a state that failed to protect a citizen, they are using Hadi’s suffering to silence every voice they dislike. They do not seek a safe or just Bangladesh; they want a Bangladesh where only one kind of voice is allowed in the public sphere. This is not a revolution; it is old exclusionary politics dressed in new clothes.
Political violence is nothing new in Bangladesh. In July and August, we saw how the ousted Hasina government carried out a wave of killings against the people of this country. After the fall of that government and the assumption of office by the Muhammad Yunus administration, many believed the new government would first stabilise the country, ensure security, and then organise elections before handing over power to an elected government.
Instead, we are witnessing the further spread of a culture of hatred. Shrines and dargahs have been attacked across the country; in some cases, bodies have been dragged from graves and burned in public. In other places, attempts have been made to stop girls from playing football. Cultural spaces have been curtailed in many areas. Hardline elements of society now see themselves as the mainstream and envision a Bangladesh where there is no room for pluralism or diversity of thought. Even the government has at times softened their identity by referring to them as “pressure groups,” obscuring the true seriousness of the threat.
Those who have criticised this weakness of the government, while also speaking out against the populist rhetoric of at least two major political camps, are now being labelled “pro-fascist.” This kind of labelling is convenient: it shifts attention away from real violence and redirects it toward people who are merely asking questions.
We have already seen how dangerous this environment is. Osman Hadi, one of the most recognisable faces to emerge from the July mass uprising, was brutally attacked in broad daylight. Journalists and fact-checkers have repeatedly reported that the shooter was linked to the student wing of the ousted Awami League. In time, these allegations will be examined and verified through due legal process.
Hadi went through unimaginable suffering. He was taken to Singapore for advanced medical treatment. Many hoped for a miracle that would allow him to return to his young child, his wife, and his mother. That miracle did not happen. Hadi is now a martyr, and his death has ignited a fresh wave of revenge. Earlier, certain individuals and institutions had been labelled “cultural fascists,” and statements were made against them. We have now seen that being used as a language of vengeance.
The state’s response has been selective and largely performative. Instead of taking action against those who publicly called for violence, the government arrested a journalist as a show of appeasement. This sent a clear message to those pursuing a politics of hatred: ‘Say whatever you want, target whomever you want, and nothing will happen to you.’
Thursday night’s events were a manifestation of that confidence. Within hours of Hadi’s death being reported, hundreds of people gathered to attack, vandalise, and set fire to the offices of the country’s two leading dailies and a cultural institution. The government was unable—or unwilling—to stop them. This cannot be explained merely by intelligence failures or police shortcomings; it is fundamentally a failure of political will. It makes clear that the state is incapable of protecting its citizens, journalists, and cultural life in the face of organised terrorism.
If Bangladesh truly wants to return to the path of democracy, there is no alternative to holding elections. If these protesters, their armed followers, and their political patrons succeed in obstructing or delaying elections, the country will spiral into chaos beyond imagination. In such a scenario, the state will no longer be able to determine who writes, who sings, or who publishes; it will cease to function as a state.
The responsibility now does not lie solely with the government, but also with those who still dream of a pluralistic Bangladesh. People must stand up and clearly declare that we want diversity across all parties and opinions; we demand freedom for newspapers, and security for journalists, artists, cultural activists, and their institutions. The government’s minimum duty is to investigate, identify the faces visible in the videos, and bring them before the courts.
If the government fails even in this, the fires set on Thursday night will speak for themselves, showing how a government that came to power through a mass uprising with the highest popularity utterly failed.
*Asif Bin Ali, doctoral fellow, Georgia State University, USA
Email: [email protected]
*Opinions expressed are the author’s own.