Dr.Humayer Chowdhury: Can a nation truly flourish when its stability is built on fear and oppression? Were we genuinely better off in the past, under the false banner of stability? The answer is a resounding no. The most stable period in this country’s history was under Sheikh Hasina’s rule—but this so-called stability came at a harrowing cost, one we failed to recognize until now.
Under Hasina, the country appeared calm, but that calmness was a facade. The government maintained order by silencing dissent and quelling any signs of resistance. There was a false sense of peace, but it was a peace born from fear. We were too afraid to speak up, lulled into believing that silence equated to stability. But it was never real peace. It was the peace of suppression, of suffocated voices.
Today, we live in a different era. When a girl’s scarf is ridiculed in public, it sparks outrage. Why? Because we are no longer willing to be silent. We now have the freedom to speak out, to demand accountability, to criticize those in power—even the chief advisor is not immune. We no longer live in fear of nighttime abductions, or the looming threat of forced silence. We post on social media without the fear of police knocking on our doors to erase our words.
However, we must not forget the grim reality of the past. Under Hasina’s regime, when a mother of four was brutally gang-raped in Noakhali, did anyone rise in her defence? No. If a Chhatra League member had mocked a woman’s scarf, she would have been silenced. She would have gone to the police, only to face indifference or worse—harassment, imprisonment, or accusations of being an opposition supporter. Fear crushed her, and so we all suffered in silence, trapped in the illusion of stability.
The so-called peace of the past was nothing more than an illusion. Remember Khadija, a first-year student at Jagannath University, who was unjustly imprisoned for 18 months? No one spoke up. Why? Because protesting meant facing the wrath of the Chhatra League, and the police were powerless—or unwilling—to intervene. There was no justice, no outcry. Silence reigned, as dissent was met with brutal retaliation.
Consider the woman whose husband was abducted. She turned to the police, only to be met with cruel mockery. Did anyone protest? No. Once again, silence prevailed. Or think of the woman whose life was cut short by the brutality of a RAB officer. Her screams went unheard, her body abandoned to rot in obscurity. Her husband, too terrified to speak, allowed the horror to continue unchallenged. This is the reality many endured under an oppressive regime.
If we define peace as the absence of conflict, nations like South Korea would be the epitome of peace. Yet, that peace, built on fear, is not true peace. It is a mask, hiding the truth: silence is not peace. It is a tool of suppression, wielded to silence those who dare to speak out.
Today, the people are speaking. Women are sharing their stories, demanding justice. They refuse to be silenced. But many still yearn for the past, believing that under Hasina’s regime, they were better off. Why? Because the cost of freedom—of protesting, of demanding accountability—feels too high for some to bear.
But we must ask ourselves: is it worth returning to a time when silence was the price of stability? When fear kept us quiet, and injustice thrived unchecked? If we long for that, we are complicit in the system that thrives on oppression. The question we must confront is this: do we want to live in a country where voices are muted, where fear reigns, and where justice is a distant dream?
In a true democracy, unrest and chaos are inevitable. These are the growing pains of a society striving for justice and equality. Even in the midst of this turmoil, justice is possible. The people’s voices—demanding truth and accountability—are the foundation of real freedom. If we silence those voices, we forsake the very principles that democracy is built on.
For too long, Hasina’s regime cloaked the country in fear. We must ask ourselves: do we want to return to that dark, oppressive time, all in the name of stability? Let people speak. Let them protest, express their grievances, and demand accountability. Only when the people continue to fight for their rights can true freedom emerge. The revolution lies in the voices of the people—and it must not be silenced.