The year of the streets: Protests, movements, and public dissent in 2025

July 2024 felt like an ending. The streets were full, the demand was clear, and for a brief moment it seemed as if the country was finally speaking in one voice. Many believed that once the goal was achieved, the tension would ease and normal life would slowly return.

But that sense of closure did not last.

Soon after, protests began to surface again; smaller, scattered, and driven by different concerns. At first, this was hard to understand. The uprising had succeeded, so why was the dissent still there? With time, it became clear that July had not resolved people's frustrations; it had only brought them together temporarily.

During the uprising, differences mattered less. Class, belief, and background were pushed aside in favour of a single demand. 

A Dhaka University (DU) student Marzia Zahan Momo recalled, "In July, we all shared a single demand. That unity made us feel like one nation."

She also pointed to what followed, "After July, that unity disappeared. Everyone carved out their own spaces of interest. Divisions grew. Unfulfilled hopes and frustration are why so many mobilisations followed."

Once the main goal was achieved, people returned to their everyday realities. Personal struggles like jobs, prices, justice, and safety came back into focus. Without one shared objective, the streets no longer spoke with a single voice. Instead, many different voices emerged, each demanding attention.

This pattern is not unique to Bangladesh. Writing about the period after the 1986 People Power Revolution in the Philippines, Filipino author Dimas Ilaw argued that removing a leader does not automatically change the system. Weak institutions, old practices, and unresolved injustices remain, and public frustration eventually returns.

Bangladesh, after July, shows similar signs. The interim government came to power with strong public support but inherited a slow and fragile system. People had big hopes for economic relief, clear justice, and real change. Instead, they faced delays, slow bureaucracy, and growing uncertainty.

That is why the mobilisations after the uprising looked different from those of July. There was no single revolutionary demand anymore. Protests appeared on campuses, highways, and workplaces, each shaped by its own concern. The state's response varied from place to place. In some places, force was used. In others, promises were made. In some cases, demands were accepted, and in many cases, decisions were delayed.

Seen this way, 2025 was not simply a year of unrest. It was a period after a revolution, when political victory came quickly, but rebuilding institutions, restoring trust, and fulfilling people's hopes proved much slower and much harder.

Why regime change hasn't quieted the streets

Seeing 2025 as just "the year of streets" misses the bigger picture. It was Bangladesh's own "after a revolution" moment, a time that forced people to ask hard questions: why hadn't the change in power resolved political frustrations, and why had the street once again become the main stage for public voice?

To understand this, I looked at how people protested before the mass uprising and how things shifted afterwards. I spoke with Dr Khorshed Alam, an associate professor at Dhaka University, to get some perspective.

Dr Alam explained that most of the mobilisations in 2025 were not movements in the strict sense. He said, "Protesters largely approached authorities or government institutions to press specific demands, rather than pursuing a broader ideological agenda."

In other words, people weren't trying to remake the system; they were trying to fix immediate problems.

Some of these actions showed what Dr Alam called "mobocracy". He pointed to instances where Ansar members or students entered the Secretariat to stop exams, showing how occupying spaces became a way to pressure authorities, even when the demands were not entirely justified.

He went on to explain, "As the current government emerged from the July uprising, a generalised 'reform thirst' has developed across social arenas. Expectations ran high that this government would immediately meet all demands. These mobilisations were, in most cases, not about transforming the governing structure itself; in other words, the protests were largely tactical and issue-driven, rather than structural or systemic."

DU student Marzia echoed this analysis, saying, "The absence of an elected government, deterioration of law and order, and lack of coordination within the broader democratic framework have led different groups to pursue distinct demands. Prolonged silences, coupled with a culture of oppression and post-traumatic violence, have also contributed to these movements."

Unlike the July Uprising of 2024, where people from many social classes came together around a single issue, 2025 was different. Only certain groups became active participants. Students, service holders, and workers took the lead, raising demands that were urgent and visible because of economic pressures, administrative delays, or institutional neglect.

Dr Alam broke it down further: "The mobilisers can be analysed along multiple lines. Religiously, some groups pressed right-wing demands, such as repealing women's policies or banning Ahmadis. Politically, many were anti-Awami, while occupationally, primary and madrasah school teachers, labourers from garment factories, and Ansar members mobilised around job-related demands. These distinctions show that the protests were not homogeneous, but rather shaped by intersecting identities and grievances."

In short, the streets of 2025 were alive with voices, but not one voice. Each group had its own urgent concerns, and each protest reflected a different layer of frustration, expectation, and hope in a country still learning what it means to act after a revolution - yet again.

Right-leaning visibility and the crisis of state response

Some protests in 2025 turned sharply violent. Mobs attacked Bauls, and in some tragic cases, killings occurred over blasphemy claims. Watching these events unfold, I kept thinking of Paulo Freire's idea that those who have been oppressed can sometimes start thinking like their oppressors; a fear of real freedom creeping in.

In Bangladesh, groups that were once overlooked, especially right-leaning religious groups, became much more visible. Some of their mob actions showed how people who had once been sidelined could act in ways reminiscent of those who had oppressed them; an echo, in a sense, of George Orwell's Animal Farm.

Dr Alam described this unrest as more than just political. "It also has deep social and cultural dimensions," he said, pointing to attacks on media outlets like Prothom Alo and The Daily Star. These groups see these organisations as instruments of foreign influence and often label them Islamophobic.

"They stand against what they call the 'Awami' or 'fascist' narrative and claim the Liberation War has been controlled by a few," he added. 

Yet, according to him, these groups often lack a full understanding of the issues, cannot offer coherent alternatives, and at times their criticism even rejects the historical significance of the Liberation War itself.

The interim government's weak response has also contributed to public discontent.

Another DU student, Mizanur Rahman Rafi, expressed his frustration, "After a major mass uprising, some degree of chaos was expected. In 2025, what we call a 'transition' feels more like a return to the old political order. This has only added a new dimension to the participation of right-leaning groups. It is true that the government's deliberate or unintended weaknesses created space for these factions to organise.

"However, it seems likely that once a strong government is formed after elections, such activities will decline unless these groups themselves become part of that government."

Dr Alam argued that the state largely failed to address public discontent in 2025, which allowed what he termed "mobocracy" to grow.

Although some protesters cited the spirit of the July Uprising to justify their actions, their behaviour often did not reflect the uprising's original principles. "The state could not play an active role in managing unrest," he said, noting that law enforcement and security forces were weakened partly by decades of politically motivated recruitment under previous administrations, which limited impartial deployment.

Systemic weaknesses also extended to key appointments and administrative decisions. Arbitrary influence and mob pressure often overrode formal procedures, whether in university faculty positions or high-level government posts. 

Dr Alam explained, "The administration could not enforce rules or manage protests effectively. In essence, the state was toothless."

He pointed to specific failures, such as the killings of Sharif Osman Hadi, where the prime suspect managed to flee the country, showing a broader incapacity within the state to respond to crises and maintain public trust.

He recalled how some sources had described the July Uprising as a surge of religious extremism. In the aftermath, he noted, there is some truth to that perception.

"Right-leaning groups that were previously less visible have now emerged prominently. Many from the politically subdued 'silent majority' participated in the uprising, and their visibility has grown, giving them a sense of empowerment," he added.

Dr Alam mentioned that this newfound empowerment could significantly influence Islamic politics in Bangladesh, especially in electoral terms. Yet he stressed that the long-term impact of their political rise will depend on the capacity and foresight of the next government to manage this shift responsibly.

In 2025, the streets reflected not only anger but also a reshaping of social and political power, showing that revolutions do not simply end oppression, but sometimes redistribute it in unexpected and troubling ways.

Mainstreaming marginalised groups

In 2025, Bangladesh's streets also told a story far more complex than headlines of unrest or political dissatisfaction suggested. Amid the chaos, one observation stood out. Many of those joining the protests were not the usual political activists. They were young people from madrasahs and smaller schools stepping into universities and into the broader currents of society.

Dr Alam noted this shift with cautious optimism. He said, "Being part of mainstream education will likely help them understand politics and society better, and encourage more thoughtful and democratic participation." 

Listening to him, I could not help but agree. Education is more than the transfer of knowledge. It is the shaping of perspective. When groups remain excluded, their energy, frustration, and aspirations often find unpredictable outlets. Bringing them into mainstream education is not just a policy goal. It is a long-term investment in civic maturity.

Yet reality on the ground is uneven. In the rural corners of Bangladesh, access to general education remains scarce. Many young people grow up isolated from wider political and social conversations, left to make sense of the world on their own.

Dr Alam stressed the stakes. He said, "The state must actively facilitate mainstreaming of these groups, so they are not driven toward violence or mobocracy but develop rational perspectives."

Watching social media flare with both ideas and anger, I saw exactly what he meant. Exclusion and unaddressed grievances create fertile soil for mobilisation, sometimes constructive, sometimes destructive. And this pattern is not unique to Bangladesh. It mirrors a global reality where marginalised groups, if ignored, assert themselves in ways that test social cohesion.

The moment that stayed with me most vividly was Osman Hadi's funeral. Crowds surged near the parliament building, some trying to snap photos in spaces they normally could not access. It was more than curiosity. It was a visible claim of presence, a frustrated declaration that they felt like outsiders.

Dr Alam explained, "From a Marxist point of view, the global working class is mostly a religious class in Bangladesh. They may have economic and educational disadvantages, but they are very active on social media and can be easily organised."

Indeed, social media has become both a mirror and a magnifier. It built community, spread ideas, and accelerated mobilisation. But without political literacy, it also amplified tension and conflict.

Dr Alam warned of the consequences. "Their empowerment and visibility are having significant social, political, and educational effects. If the government fails to integrate or regulate them effectively, they could easily be motivated toward political or violent action." 

From my perspective, this is the heart of the matter. Power without structure is dangerous. The events of 2025 showed that political victories alone cannot patch systemic gaps. Fragmented protests, mob actions, and conflicting narratives were not just chaotic. They were symptoms of deeper structural weaknesses.

Walking through the post-uprising streets, I felt like an observer of a society holding up a mirror to itself. Bangladesh was revealing how it responds to inclusion or how it fails to. Without strong institutions, effective policy frameworks, and channels to absorb dissent into formal politics, the streets naturally become the stage for expression. The challenge is clear. How to convert these bursts of energy into enduring democratic engagement.

Dr Alam concluded with a sobering observation: "The post-uprising rise of right-leaning groups is a structural reality shaped by state policies, education systems, and broader religious and political dynamics." 

I would go further. This is not a problem for politics alone. Preventing cycles of mobocracy requires deliberate social planning. Expanding educational access, integrating marginalised voices into decision-making, and creating avenues for political participation that are inclusive and accountable are essential. Only then can the energy released in the streets transform from episodic unrest into lasting change.

By the end of 2025, one thing was clear. Revolutions do not erase grievances. They illuminate them. The streets are not merely chaotic. They are a barometer of systemic gaps, unfinished reforms, and the ongoing struggle to build a state capable of channelling dissent constructively. Without addressing these deeper issues, any political change risks being nothing more than a temporary fix, rather than the transformation the country truly needs.