The Human Cost of Protests in Bangladesh: A Digital Memorial

Tragic Toll of Protests in Bangladesh

A part-time tutor, tragically shot in the neck and killed. A dedicated journalist and young father, struck down by a bullet to the head. A shopkeeper’s son, also fatally shot in the head. In the aftermath of a severe crackdown on a student-led protest in Bangladesh, the near-total communications blackout was finally lifted last week, revealing a grim digital memorial that chronicled the lives lost during the violence. This digital yearbook of the deceased served to humanize the statistics and put names and faces to the days of carnage unleashed by government forces.

What began as a peaceful demonstration against a quota system that reserves coveted government jobs for specific groups escalated into a vicious confrontation. Conservative estimates now place the death toll at nearly 200, with thousands more injured. In one hospital alone in the capital, Dhaka, more than 250 patients required eye surgeries after being shot in the face by pellets or rubber bullets.

Among the brave students protesting in Dhaka this month against the unjust quota system, most of the victims were young, in their 20s, united by the bleak prospects of a stagnating economy. Their anger was fueled by what they perceived as rampant government corruption, cronyism, and a pervasive culture of impunity. As their calls for a merit-based distribution of jobs were dismissed by the nation’s leaders, the situation spiraled out of control.

Among the fallen:

• Hridoy Chandra Tarua, 23, was on the brink of completing his history degree while working part-time as a tutor. His father is a carpenter, and his mother works as a housemaid. Each time he returned home from college, he would help with household chores, grinding spices on a stone slab, and assuring his mother that a job was just around the corner, one that would alleviate her burdens.
• Hasan Mehdi, 35, was one of at least three journalists who lost their lives. He is survived by his wife and two young daughters, the eldest just a little over three years old. “My little daughter has just learned how to say ‘Abu, Abu,’” his wife, Farhana Islam Poppy, lamented, using the word for “father.” “My daughters will never truly know who their dad was.”
• Mahmudul Rahman Shoikot, 20, was in the process of closing his family’s shop when the brutal crackdown began. He was killed while rushing to assist injured students, as recounted by his sister, Sabrina Shabonti. Towering at 6-foot-3, he was often teased by his two sisters for how easily he would sweat while playing cricket under the sun. “When they went to bury him, his height made it a struggle to fit him into the grave,” Ms. Shabonti shared with sorrow.

For the grieving families of these victims, the immediate challenge following their deaths was to piece together the circumstances surrounding their tragic ends. They faced the daunting task of searching for their loved ones’ bodies amid communication breakdowns and curfews that restricted movement. All the while, they sought to perform last rites as the government attempted to obscure the toll of the violence, burying evidence and preventing gatherings that might stoke further anger.