মাইরা তো আমরা ফেলসি এখন কি করবা? “We’ve already killed him, now what?”
Taunting words, delivered with a smirk, betraying no remorse after admitting to taking a human life. This isn’t a scene from a dystopian world or fiction, nor is it from a wanted criminal or a serial-killing psychopath (although the latter could be debated). No, this is from our own streets. Not only was this killer roaming freely up until a few days ago, but he was also hiding in plain sight, wearing the perfect camouflage—Tiffany and Yankees blue, shrouded in the immunity of his uniform.
After 20 days that felt like a lifetime, Bangladesh has finally freed itself from the tyrannical grip of the autocratic Sheikh Hasina. The official death toll stands at over 300, though unofficial estimates suggest as many as 1,200 alleged deaths. The cost of this victory was undeniably steep, but every freedom comes with a price. Some images remain seared in our collective memory and may never fade. I know they keep me up at night—recurrent visions of faceless uniforms firing at a terrified boy clinging to a building, a man desperately dragging his injured friend while the police impatiently urge him to move faster, eventually shooting him when he doesn’t comply. A 16-year-old boy, Ifat Hasan, trying to help an injured person only to face the wrath of the police. “Uncle, please let me go. I won’t ever come back here,” he pleaded, just before being shot to death by that very “uncle.”
And, of course, the haunting words: “মাইরা তো ফেলসি, এখন কি করবা?”
Whether it was clashes with peaceful protesters or innocent bystanders simply going about their lives, this revolution has exposed a new face of the law enforcement agencies—the ones we’ve always trusted to protect us. These tragic events have raised numerous questions:
Do orders from superiors justify abandoning morality and becoming ruthless killers? Does working for the government mean surrendering one’s conscience? Are the police above the law?
Reports indicate that 89 children have died so far during the protests, from a 4-year-old named Riya playing on her rooftop to Ifat Hasan. Whether the deaths were the result of deliberate intent or stray bullets, the police, and sometimes the army, bear responsibility for each of these lives lost during the 20-day liberation war. It was their weapons used against people exercising their right to freedom of speech and peaceful protest.
The problem of police brutality runs deep across the world. Even in the USA—the so-called epitome of civilization—justice is elusive when the perpetrators are members of law enforcement. Especially when it comes to minorities, calling the police during a crime can mean facing death yourself instead of the criminal.
Take the killing of George Floyd, for instance—an event that reignited the global Black Lives Matter (BLM) movement. Even with irrefutable video evidence, his death was spun as a drug overdose, as if there wasn’t literal footage of a knee on his neck and his desperate plea: “I can’t breathe.” His past was dug up repeatedly to vilify him and sway public opinion, as though a history of theft somehow justified his murder.
Police brutality is not an isolated issue, but achieving justice for it often is. The problem is deeply entrenched and cannot be resolved without reforming the very foundation of policing itself. According to Police Data, between 2017 and 2022, there were almost 8,220 police shootings, with over a million reported cases of police using excessive force.
If you’re a person of color in the US, you’re likely familiar with the instructions on how to avoid triggering a police officer during an encounter. The statistics show killings of minorities are vastly disproportionate to their population.
One might ask: What kind of training are officers receiving, and what qualifications should they have before joining the force? There’s ample evidence to suggest that some officers are just bullies in uniforms, easily threatened and triggered by even the smallest provocation.
For example, in July, Illinois police fatally shot Sonya Massey because an officer felt “threatened” by a pot of hot water. Or in March, when 15-year-old autistic Ryan Gainer was shot within seconds of police arrival because he was holding a gardening tool.
These events might offer some context to the question: Why do many in the liberal West call for the abolition of the police rather than just reforming it? While libraries and social welfare budgets are cut, over $200 billion is allocated to law enforcement in the US, leaving teachers underpaid and children without healthy lunches.
It’s even more frustrating when you consider that the US also funds Israeli forces, subsidizes their military, and supplies them with arms, all while the cost of living rises. This funding of genocide has drawn global criticism, with pro-Palestinian protests erupting across US streets. Yet, during a recent UN assembly, the US stood alone in vetoing a ceasefire, even after nine months of the conflict.
Police are grantedqualified immunity, a judge-made rule that protects government officials, including police officers, from lawsuits. In his campaign, Donald Trump promised impunity to the police, meaning that while on duty, officers could get away with killing civilians without fear of prosecution.
It’s no wonder the police consider themselves above the law—and sometimes, they prove to be. The movement has shone a light on this systemic problem. Abu Sayed, the first martyr of the movement, was killed in broad daylight by Rangpur police officer Yunus Ali, with multiple videos documenting the incident. Still, the police twisted the narrative, attempting to frame the protesters for the killing and even persecuting a 16-year-old boy in connection with it. When crimes as well-documented as this can be manipulated to protect a random officer, it’s clear the issue goes deeper than it seems.
Now, with the police back on the streets under the interim government, skepticism about their integrity is understandable. And while mob justice is never the right answer, in a country of 173 million passionate people, there will inevitably be those who embrace an eye-for-an-eye mentality.
For some, making the whole world blind seems a small price to pay. Among opposition extremists, a revenge mindset has already set in; as the police once blindly followed the Awami League, now opposition forces have begun their own spree of violence.
There are silver linings, though. Students have created websites like Chinerakhun.com to document every crime and ensure no killer escapes justice. The new government has also sued many known faces and is working towards justice for the families of the deceased. On 30th August, the International Day of the Victims of Enforced Disappearances, the interim government established a commission to investigate these cases. With the signing of this treaty, Bangladesh will be the first nation in South Asia to sign all nine core human rights treaties, marking a significant step towards justice.
But questions remain. Not all cops are bad—some joined the force to serve their country with integrity. Yet, within a system that grants undue power and facilitates corruption, even the best can fall prey to the same pitfalls. So, how did we pull this off? How did we win against such remorseless killers armed with impunity and government backing?
Perhaps the answer lies in another chilling remark from a police officer, who showed the ex-Home Minister a video of his killings, hoping to dissuade further protests:
“গুলি করে করে লাশ নামানো লাগছে স্যার। গুলি করি, মরে একটা, আহত হয় একটা। একটাই যায় স্যার, বাকিডি যায় না। এইটা হলো স্যার সবচেয়ে বড় আতঙ্কের এবং দুশ্চিন্তার বিষয়।”
This isn’t a movie quote, nor is it written by Tareque Masud or Jahir Raihan. This is real life, which makes it even more powerful. Some may see this as a description of the horrifying nature of state-sanctioned violence. But for me, it fills me with pride for us—the students who, despite bullets, refuse to be repressed, who fight for justice at any cost.
Now, on the eve of this new Bangladesh, I hope the police force undergoes the necessary reforms. In a developing nation like ours, maintaining law and order is crucial. Chaos looms, as seen on August 5th and in the days since, with a rise in hate crimes and communal violence. The police must act swiftly and reform to ensure the mistakes of the past are never repeated. And it’s vital that everyone speaks up against injustice, no matter how big or small.
A few months ago, the answer to “এখন কি করবা?” (“What will you do now?”) might have been different. But today, the response is loud and clear: We will not be afraid. We will stand our ground and raise our voices until justice prevails.
I believe we can do it. This movement has shown us the true faces of monsters, but it has also revealed the courage and love people have for this country. So, with hope and exhilaration, I join my voice with Sukanto Bhattacharya and say:
“সাবাস, বাংলাদেশ, এ পৃথিবী
অবাক তাকিয়ে রয়ঃ
জ্বলে-পুড়ে-মরে ছারখার
তবু মাথা নোয়াবার নয়।”