You promised change, where is it?

It has been two weeks and people are counting. It may seem that people have forgotten, but we haven't. We remember the faces of protesters—bloodied and bruised—attacked for daring to demand their rights. We remember the government's hollow promises of "swift action." What followed has been radio silence. We also remember the attackers—faces clearly captured on camera and their identities established—roaming free, shielded by a state that swore to protect its own but now betrays them.
The attack on indigenous students outside the NCTB office on January 15, carried out by a group calling themselves "Students for Sovereignty," was no random act of violence. This group previously forced the NCTB to remove from its textbooks the image of a graffiti containing the word adivasi (which is the closest possible word that means aboriginal or indigenous). They had even been threatening the indigenous community, not to hold demos against the decision.
And what has this interim government—born out of a fledgling street campaign we now know as the bloody July Uprising—done?
Nothing. They did nothing to protect the protesters. They don't seem to have made any significant arrests after the attack. Their action does not show any sense of responsibility except for meek Facebook posts, press releases, and a farcical case against 300 unidentified individuals. Two people—Arif Al Khabir and Md Abbas—were arrested on the first day, before the case was even filed. Meanwhile, the rest of the mob—the ones who swung batons at women lying on the streets—remain untouched.
And what did the government do the next day?
When the indigenous community took to the streets demanding justice, police—who had stood silent during the attack—met them with batons and water cannons.
Hypocrisy has a face. It wears a uniform.
The government's advisers and officials—some of whom once led the July uprising—now appear on television and social media, parroting empty slogans. "Justice will be ensured," they say. But nothing is done. Their promises are false.
From past experience, we know how starkly different it would have been if the protesters were from a powerful community. The state machinery would have swung into action. But because they are Adivasi, the state yawns.
Oppression does not always come in the form of batons and bullets. Sometimes, it comes in silence. A refusal to act, to prosecute, to hold criminals accountable is just as violent as the blows these students suffered. By doing nothing, the government is sending a message.
This is why attacks on Hindus, Adivasis, and other minorities continue. The cycle repeats because the perpetrators know the state will look the other way. Statements will be issued, symbolic cases filed, and then, nothing. Justice will be caught up in bureaucratic limbo.
The interim government came to power with the promise to break away from the failures and repression of the past.
Yet, here we are—witnessing the same disregard for minority voices, the same police brutality against peaceful protesters, the same hollow assurances. It is repeating the same methods of suppression.
This government was meant to be different, yet it is repeating the same betrayals. Its inaction is a betrayal of the very principles it claimed to uphold.
One is then wont to ask the government, why is it protecting the attackers? Are they in any way affiliated with Students for Sovereignty?
If so, where is the promise to safeguard people? Or is this the same Hasina-style regime, where only certain people matter?
But this will not stand. People have not forgotten the lessons of July, not yet. The same people who took to the streets, defied curfews, and faced police brutality will not be fooled by empty words.
The remedy is quite simple. Every attacker has to be taken to task. Each must be arrested and exposed to show that violence will not be tolerated. But more importantly it will show that the incumbent is not another puppet government and committed to protect the minorities.
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