The ‘youth vote’, from the ground

I went to Begum Rokeya University in Rangpur on Saturday with a simple question in mind: what do the students who shook Bangladesh’s politics in 2024 think of the election now approaching on February 12, 2026?

If anyone claims that the coming election is a direct outcome of the student movement of July 2024, it would be hard to disagree. Had that movement failed, there would have been no question of an election at all.

Yet, 18 months later, the students who turned a protest against job quotas into a nationwide uprising are no longer on the streets. They are watching campaigns, listening to promises and judging quietly.

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I sat down with three students who were active during the movement: Bayezid Bostami from the Department of English; Mustansir Muaz, a third-year Mathematics student; and Lamiya Irshad, a first-year English student. They were articulate and measured in their responses.

This campus carries a valiant and tragic connection to the July uprising. Abu Sayed, a student here, was shot dead by police during a demonstration and later became a symbol of the uprising.

Bayezid still struggles to talk about that day. “Abu Sayed was a student of our department,” he said. “Sometimes I still feel emotional. And I feel worse when I see that even now his trial has not been completed.”

For him, that failure is not procedural; it is political. “The interim government largely failed to uphold the spirit of July,” he said. “They forgot their mandate.”

Asked what drove them to the streets in the first place, Mustansir answered without hesitation. “We wanted democracy restored. We wanted opportunities based on our merits and qualifications. We wanted justice and freedom of speech,” he said.

Those words were written on walls across the country during and after the July uprising. Faded slogans still remain, particularly around campuses.

Do they feel those demands are being fulfilled? Lamiya shook her head. “Hardly,” she said. “I don’t see any headway.”

Bayezid believes the problem lies in continuity rather than rupture. “The people making policies are largely the same,” he said. “Look at the trials of killings during the July movement. What percentage has been completed? Even Abu Sayed’s case is unfinished. You can imagine the fate of the others.”

Mustansir was blunter. “Is there negotiation going on with political parties?” he asked. “Is the police administration stopping the trials because they were involved? We don’t know and that insecurity remains.”

He pointed to the killing of Osman Hadi, which shocked the country. “We never thought this kind of murder would happen after 2024,” he said. “And then we hear advisers making outlandish claims like ‘the killers fled the country’. These excuses are not convincing.”

Mustansir believes such incidents are happening because critical state institutions were not reformed.

When asked what matters most to her after finishing her education, Lamiya answered immediately. “A job.”

Does she feel confident she will get one? She paused before answering. “Not really. We still see corruption and irregularities in recruitment.”

The quota movement that erupted into a mass uprising in 2024 was rooted in students’ deep anxiety over dwindling employment prospects after graduation. That anxiety, I found, continues to shape how they listen to election campaigns. All three said they are paying attention, but without much faith.

“Young people and students are being ignored,” Mustansir said. “Political parties focus on rural and low-income groups because they are vote banks. But look at me, a student of Begum Rokeya University. Are we being given the facilities so that we can contribute to the country?”

He gestured towards the campus. “This university spreads over 75 acres. We have only two dormitories. No proper lab facilities. I don’t even consider this a complete university.”

Yet parties continue to promise more colleges and universities. “We’ve seen this before,” Bayezid said. “Universities mushroomed during the Hasina period. But did they produce skilled people?”

The emphasis on numbers, they argue, misses the point. “If we could turn young people into skilled human resources, that would be better than handouts like interest-free loans,” Bayezid said. “Do they even think about budgetary capacity when making these lofty pledges?”

On the BNP’s promise of millions of new jobs, Mustansir laughed. “Where will those jobs come from?” he asked. “Are we being made skilled first? They want to give me a job without making me capable. Isn’t that laughable?”

Jamaat-e-Islami’s proposal of monthly interest-free loans for graduates sounded more practical to them, but trust remains thin. “We are in a situation where we cannot trust anyone,” Bayezid said. “Commitments are made and forgotten. We’ve seen that too many times.”

Before leaving, I posed a hypothetical question. If party supremos from BNP or Jamaat, Tarique Rahman or Shafiqur Rahman, were sitting across the table, what would be their number one demand?

“For me, it’s good education,” Lamiya said. “Education that makes me a skilled and worthy citizen.”

Bayezid leaned back before answering. “An education system that produces skilled and honest citizens,” he said. “And let me tell you, I will vote only for those who think about protecting the country’s sovereignty.”

Mustansir did not hesitate. “Freedom of speech,” he said. “That solves many problems. And I want the guarantee of a normal death. Insecurity still haunts us.”

As I left the campus, it was clear that the students who once filled the streets are no longer chanting slogans. They are weighing choices. The election that exists because of their movement now faces their quiet but ruthless scrutiny.

(Shakeel Anwar is a former BBC journalist)