Curfews, block raids, and internet blackouts: Hasina’s last ditch efforts to cling to power

I never imagined I would have to move around Dhaka, a city that never sleeps even at the dead of the night, in secrecy and fear. 

In July last year, Dhaka was unrecognisable — its chaos replaced by an eerie stillness. Streets once clogged with traffic now lay empty, wrapped in the spectral quiet of curfew. 

The air itself seemed to tremble, as if anticipating violence. There was no internet. No WiFi. No television broadcasts to get factual information. Security forces patrolled the city with heavy firearms. You could smell the death and terror in the air. 

Between mid-July and early August 2024, Bangladesh entered an unprecedented state of repression. In an attempt to suppress the countrywide student protest, which was turning into a violent popular uprising, the Awami League government had taken a harsh, repressive stance — a full-scale internet blackout, an indefinite curfew, and coordinated block raids on entire neighbourhoods.

On 18 July, after the attack on students in various public university campuses, the students of private universities banded together and poured onto the streets. The common people joined, demanding justice. 

The Bangladesh Telecommunication Regulatory Commission (BTRC) suspended internet services. Access to Facebook, Messenger, WhatsApp, YouTube, and Telegram was cut off across all mobile networks. Mobile internet, broadband, and even home WiFi connections became unusable at first, then were shut down at night. 

Zunaid Ahmed Palak, former ICT state minister, claimed, "The government didn't shut down the internet, the internet shut down by itself." 

The blackout disrupted daily life at every level. Journalists were unable to send updates, students could not access educational materials, and families were cut off from loved ones. Local businesses reliant on digital services suffered heavy losses. Anxiety spread across the country. The non-resident Bangladeshis became restless because they were not able to contact their families. 

Then came the curfew. And it was unlike any in Bangladesh's history. The long, sleepless nights began. Shops were closed. ATMs stopped working. Groceries ran out. Children could not go to school. Ambulances were halted at checkpoints. People could not go out for work. Young men and women were searched and rounded up if they had any material related to the protests. 

The blackout functioned as a deliberate strategy to sever communication between protesters, making it harder to mobilise, organise or even report human rights abuses. However, the strategy backfired. In several cases, university students and common people continued to protest even without digital coordination, relying on phone calls and text messages, physical gatherings and direct word-of-mouth mobilisation.

Azaher Uddin Anik, a prominent online activist who was active during the July Uprising, recalled, "At that time, the government significantly reduced internet speeds, particularly for Facebook, to prevent the spread of protest images. I began writing about this — explaining how to use VPNs and how to stay connected even if Facebook were shut down. Before the complete internet shutdown, when police were stopping people on the streets and checking their phones for evidence, I had already figured out ways to securely hide footage or evidence using certain apps. 

"On 18 July, I realised just how dire the situation around us was. There was no way to communicate with anyone. During this time, I would go out to the Shahbag area. When house raids began, many became concerned about me because I had been regularly engaged in activism while staying on campus," he added. 

"Even now, my dystopian experiences from that time haunt me. To this day, if the doorbell rings at night, I lock the door, fearing that someone might come to take me away. Perhaps it was my mother's prayers that kept me safe," he said.  

From 17 July onwards, access into and out of Dhaka was severely limited. Checkpoints mushroomed across the capital. Army, Border Guard Bangladesh (BGB), Rapid Action Battalion (RAB), and even coast guard personnel were deployed. Roads were blocked, and residents were warned not to leave their homes unless absolutely necessary. The police used to beat people up if they came out of their houses in some places. 

Curfew passes were issued only to essential service providers, including journalists. In some areas, even these were not honoured. Emergency personnel were regularly stopped, interrogated and sometimes beaten. I particularly remember a time when I was interrogated long and hard by policemen about 'what kind of journalist I am'. 

I was lucky, but many reporters were not. Amjad Hossain Hridoy, the Dhaka University correspondent of Desh Rupantor, played a vital role during the uprising by maintaining direct correspondence with the coordinators. 

He recalls, "Even going to the office was highly risky — it wasn't always possible. I would gather news and relay it to the office via mobile phone. 

"On one such occasion, while reporting on the nine-point demand after collecting information, an Awami League leader and a ward commissioner in Dhaka grabbed me, confiscated my phone, and held me. Despite showing my press ID and identifying myself as a journalist, they refused to believe me. 

"They interrogated me for an hour, accusing me of being a protester, and even tried to have me taken to the police station. After considerable effort, I managed to convince them to some extent, but they warned me never to be seen in that area again. Additionally, I was stopped and searched multiple times by police and Chhatra League members," Hridoy recounted.

Outside Dhaka, Chattogram, Rajshahi and Khulna felt haunted. It was as if life had paused, waiting for either liberation or collapse.

As protests spread, the government intensified its crackdown through mass block raids, primarily targeting university areas, student dormitories, and political activists' residences.

"Even now, my dystopian experiences from that time haunt me. To this day, if the doorbell rings at night, I lock the door, fearing that someone might come to take me away. Perhaps it was my mother's prayers that kept me safe."

Azaher Uddin Anik, online activist

From 19 July onward, block raids were conducted in various residential areas of Dhaka, including Mohammadpur, Mirpur, Dhanmondi, Azimpur, Tejgaon, Bashundhara, and Uttara. Law enforcement carried out door-to-door searches, checking mobile phones for "anti-state" content, reviewing private messages, and making arrests without warrants.

In some cases, individuals were detained simply for having protest-related content on their phones, such as images of graffiti, screenshots of social media posts, or even memes criticising the government.

According to human rights organisations, over 10,000 people were arrested between 16 July and 1 August alone. These included students, teachers, journalists, and even parents of protesters.

Newsrooms operated in near-secrecy. With no internet access, many relied on analogue methods to gather and share information — hand-delivered reports, printed flyers, or handwritten notes. We had to rely on AFP to get news, as they were one of the few remaining outposts in the country having outside communications, enabled via satellite internet. 

The government maintained tight control over the media, and independent outlets faced constant threats of shutdown or censorship. Intelligence personnel would pay visits to the media houses to have them delete their photos and videos related to the protest. 

Without any internet, rumours were rife. Journalists often had no way to confirm the news. Moreover, publishing newspapers became a tall order without the internet. Instead of just emailing the PDFs of news layouts, production managers had to carry those on pendrives to the printing presses.

And yet, even in that silence — thicker than smoke, sharper than bullets — there were shouts of defiance. Graffiti covered the walls. People still rose up in protest.