Shrabon Bidroho: Arifur Rahman holds a mirror to a revolution

Nothing could quite prepare Arifur Rahman for the premiere screening of his short film, 'Shrabon Bidroho'. He sat on the floor, watching the chaos unfold on the screen. He has heard the patter of bullets and seen the bodies drop to the ground perhaps a hundred times before, but it never got easier. On both sides, viewers sniffled, blinking away their tears, reeling from the trauma of a revolution that still has not healed. 

Arifur Rahman was the brain behind 'Shrabon Bidroho', a short documentary about the July uprising. Shrabon Bidroho puts a spin on the documentaries we know with its own creative twist. 

Although it is a sombre reflection of the July uprising, it uses animations as a means to explore trauma while paying homage to the real heroes—Gen Z.

The documentary was first screened earlier this month and has now been released on YouTube for public viewing. The Ministry of Information and Broadcasting produced it.

Photo: Collected

To understand how Arifur got here, you would have to go back in time, long before the July uprising. 

It all started with his love for documentaries, which have always had a special place in the director's heart. 

"Documentaries provide real facts through which you get the experience of new realities and have gradually become one of the core mediums through which I can express myself," shared the director.

Arifur's 'Waiting for Godot' (2010) was created as part of Dhaka Stories, a workshop programme that tells the story of migrant workers. His documentary titled 'Beyond the Waves' revolves around Nasima Akhter, Bangladesh's first female surfer, which ended up winning Tokyo Docs' Colours of Asia pitching competition. 

It was purely his passion for uncovering human stories that led him, and success followed suit. Throughout the years, his works have been screened in Venice, Busan, Seattle, and more. 

When July 2024 came around and the streets of Dhaka saw a revolution, Arifur also took to the streets—both as a protester and, more importantly, an observer. 

"During the July uprising, I brought my camera and documented as much as I could, not to make anything later, but rather because it was something I wanted to document for myself," commented Arifur.

"As a documentary filmmaker, my camera is always rolling, and I captured a lot of the footage in the documentary myself. It was quite an interesting yet daunting experience."

The documentary not only serves as a record of the events of the July uprising, it also digs its fingers deep into the trauma, especially the agony of the martyrs' families. 

One of the most chilling scenes from the documentary comes at the very beginning—an image of a swing at Riya Gope's home—the six-year-old child who was shot by a stray bullet while playing on the rooftop of her home. 

Arifur recalled how he had spent the whole day with her family while working on the documentary. 

However, Riya's mother, consumed by grief, refused to speak.

His voice quietens as he relives the memory again. "She [Riya's mother] cried and said, 'If you can return my daughter alive, I will give you an interview.'"

The director respected Riya's mother's wishes; however, he requested that he could take a shot of a swing in Riya's home, to which she consented. 

When this particular shot is shown in the documentary, it plunges in and out of reality and an animated realm. Riya's heartbreaking story is depicted through an animation, exploring the trauma of her death with sensitivity. 

"When I first pitched the idea to Faruque Wasif (Director General of Press Institute of Bangladesh), I told him that I wanted to capture the energy of Gen Z, as they had a huge contribution to this movement," commented the director.

"I primarily wanted to blend animation with live action, and I wanted to make the animation feel inherently Bangali."

The animations were also a clever nod to the wave artists created—from cartoons to graffiti—and the momentum it provided for the movement.

The documentary was equally eye-opening for the director as the journey led him towards more and more families who had lost loved ones in the protests, and not nearly enough of their names were known. 

"The messages from these families were clear: even in death, politics continues—the politics of martyrs. The pain and darkness these families live in is permanent, and it only grows with time as they are isolated."

Arifur shares how in those moments, he felt very powerless as he was unable to find answers for them. 

However, throughout the entire process, Arifur remained determined to give a voice to the people.

The director framed the narrative of the events around the numerous interviews he conducted, allowing the people who lived through those moments to tell the tale. He shared how he encouraged them to tell their own truth. 

"I wanted the documentary to take the audience back in time, to the philosophies of that moment," shared Arifur. 

However, when I asked him about the emotional toll the project took on him, Arifur only chuckled, as if the pain in his heart spilled over.

"Normally, my other works make me feel good when I see them. They are softer explorations of the truth and are much more artistic in nature. But when I revisit 'Shrabon Bidroho', I forget who I am—I am part of the audience, not the director," Arifur concluded.