Rabindranath Tagore once warned, “It is a sin to lose faith in mankind.” But what does one do when the faith feels undeserved; when those who once marched under the banner of freedom have quietly abandoned the aspirations of July?

Condemn them? Avoid them? Or begin the harder work of reckoning with what, if anything, July actually delivered?

Yes, the fascist government is gone. But in its place came a new face–one who promised to be different, to resist the lure of authoritarian excess. The illusion did not last.

We now see that this leader has profited personally–well not in the same manner as the ousted regime, but in some way, and shaping the same self-serving narratives with the same circle of opportunists.

Plato, in The Republic, imagined a state built on justice, equity, and wisdom–governed by the enlightened. The Daily Star, on September 4, echoed that vision in its editorial “Can the Student Movement Free Us from Dynastic Politics?” urging the birth of a political party free from personality cults, built instead on capability and education-centered leadership.

The events of July, followed by the collapse of fascism, brought us an interim government–a classic transitional arrangement in political language–tasked with guiding the nation through change.

In many areas, power shifted: citizens took up roles in student groups, trade bodies, bank boards, university committees, even bus syndicates. But while the faces rotated, the machinery remained intact. The laws, the institutions, the deep structures of power untouched.

“We broke the fear, but we haven’t broken the system yet. That fight is far from over,” said activist Umama Fatema. She’s right. The interim government now carries a historic responsibility: to turn symbolic change into structural reform.

And so the questions linger, sharper now than in the heady days of July: Who really benefited from the upheaval? Was it the people–or merely a new set of elites who learned to speak the language of liberation while practicing the politics of self-preservation?

Revolutionaries become the new gatekeepers

The “power transformation” of July brought with it an unspoken truth: those once on the margins now occupy the seats of authority.

But in too many cases, they have inherited not the ideals of change, but the habits of the very system they sought to overthrow. Extortion is back–this time with new actors, from political party operatives to student leaders.

The shame runs deeper when some of the same young figures who inspired the July uprising now mimic the authoritarianism they once fought.

This is not a moral failing of a few individuals; it is a symptom of a political culture starved of vision. Here, politics is too often stripped to its most transactional form: power as a currency, profit as the ultimate goal.

Leaders emerge from movements buoyed by initial momentum, but without the moral foundation or philosophical discipline to sustain their role. They burn brightly once, then collapse into the very cynicism they claimed to resist.

The political parties themselves show no real appetite for reform. They do not invest in cultivating leaders who understand the ethics of political stewardship.

Instead, we hear slogans soaked in menace–threats to “skin them alive,” calls to exile rivals from the nation. Such language is not the soundtrack of liberation; it is the recycled rhetoric of fear.

Plato warned in The Republic that only those spiritually attuned to justice should govern. Yet our reality rewards spectacle over substance.

Those who braved the front lines in July without media hype are now invisible. The spotlight, predictably, rests on those with camera access and social-media fluency.

Amid this, one voice cut through. “Why should the July movement become a money machine?” asked activist Umama Fatema. The question stings precisely because it rings plausible.

If the leaders of July–from university unions to grassroots organizers–want to prove the movement was more than a steppingstone to personal gain, they must answer her directly.

Not with slogans. Not with posturing. But with actions and policies that serve as their certificate of rightness.

Only then can they reclaim the moral ground they are losing–and restore the faith July once promised.

The day after fascism

The fall of fascism does not, by itself, usher in democracy. That requires unity--a coalition of political forces willing to work together toward a shared vision.

In Bangladesh, that unity never arrived. In the wake of July, we’ve witnessed something closer to fragmentation, an uneasy scramble for advantage in which some have profited handsomely while others have been reduced to passive beneficiaries.

Yes, July brought undeniable gains. Political prisoners walked free. Voices long silenced spoke without fear. Students rallied on campuses without the shadow of repression. For a moment, it felt as though the country had broken a spell.

Yet for millions on the margins–day laborers, garment workers, rickshaw drivers–life remains unchanged. The machinery of poverty grinds on, untouched by the fanfare of liberation.

Institutional reform is nowhere in sight, and those tasked with “rebuilding” are drawn from the same cliques of favoritism that sustained the old order.

Meanwhile, another danger has surged into the vacuum: religious extremism.

Since August 5, 2024, a wave of coordinated attacks has struck shrines and dargahs across the country–forty in all. Devotees have been assaulted, sacred sites looted, and some set ablaze.

Dhaka alone has seen seventeen incidents; Chattogram, ten; Mymensingh, seven. Police have filed fifteen cases and twenty-nine general diaries, arresting twenty-three suspects.

No group has been named, but investigators point to a toxic mix of extremism and local political feuds.

And still, the rot spreads. Looting disguised as “reform.” Lobbying turned into a black-market trade. Coordinators extorting in broad daylight. An economy teetering while lawsuits become currency in the political marketplace.

Even now, certain religious factions quietly brace for a change in government, fearing not accountability but revenge.

The revolution promised transformation; instead, it has left us teetering between the ghosts of the past and the predators of the present.

Without deliberate unity and the courage to confront these fractures, Bangladesh risks learning the hardest truth of all: that removing a tyrant is far easier than replacing the system that bred him.

—-

Mizan Rehman is a student of University of Chittagong