Thirty-eight-year-old Goni Miah left his village in Sherpur’s Sreebardi with a modest dream: to earn an honest living by pulling a rickshaw in Dhaka and provide for his family.

He came to the capital in January 2024. A few months later, he returned home in a coffin.

When he was shot dead on July 19, 2024, during the July uprising, his destitute family lost their sole breadwinner overnight. With no money to bring his body home, they relied on the generosity of strangers to transport him back for burial.

Two years later, government assistance has finally arrived in the form of Tk 30 lakh -- provided in two phases of Tk 10 lakh and Tk 20 lakh as savings certificates -- along with a monthly allowance of Tk 20,000. For Goni’s eldest son, Shahidul Islam, however, the support brings little comfort.

“Such an amount of money was meant to help my father build a better life for us,” the teenager said. “The heartbreaking irony is that it came only in exchange for his life.”

Across Bangladesh, hundreds of working-class families who lost loved ones during the July uprising are discovering that while financial compensation can ease immediate hardship, it cannot replace a parent, restore a livelihood or deliver justice. Two years on, many remain trapped between grief, economic uncertainty and stalled legal proceedings.

An analysis of occupational data on 881 victims compiled by the Manabadhikar Sanskriti Foundation (MSF) highlights the heavy toll on the informal sector. Informal sector workers -- including RMG employees, day labourers, drivers, masons and salespersons -- formed the second-largest group among those killed, accounting for 18.62 percent (164 deaths). Together with small business owners, street vendors (85 deaths) and farmers (nine deaths), they represented nearly 30 percent of all fatalities.

Similarly, Human Rights Support Society (HRSS) data covering 716 victims shows workers constituted the second-largest group after students. Of those killed, 275 were manual or industrial workers, accounting for 38 percent.

Currently, Shahidul is giving his Higher Secondary Certificate examinations in Sreebardi while supporting his mother and two younger siblings. With no ancestral homestead, the family encashed the first Tk 10 lakh from the government savings certificates to lease farmland and now hopes to encash the remaining Tk 20 lakh to buy a small plot of land and build a permanent home.

“Consider the money a consolation. It was given simply to comfort us, as if to say, ‘Your father is gone; use this to get by.’ But there is no compensation for a human life. Can giving money in exchange for a life truly be called compensation?” he said.

For Ruma Akter, however, the struggle extends far beyond financial hardship.

In the capital’s Shyampur, she has spent the past two years raising her children alone after her husband, July martyr Nobin Talukder, who ran a small grocery shop and was the family’s sole breadwinner, was shot dead on July 19, 2024.

She now cares for their two children -- Noor Talukdar and Hajera Talukdar, both awaiting their SSC results -- as well as her elderly mother-in-law. Although the government allowance helps cover basic expenses, she said it cannot ease the burden of raising two children without their father.

“My children miss their father at every turn. Only I know the immense burden of raising these two children alone.”

If Ruma’s story reflects the burden of single motherhood, the loss of 19-year-old water vendor Jisan Ahmed reveals the lasting psychological scars borne by bereaved families.

Jisan, who supplied drinking water jars to local shops, was shot dead on July 20, 2024. Nine days later, his 18-year-old wife, Mishti Akter, took her own life.

“My whole world was turned upside down,” said Jisan’s mother, Jasmin Akter, who eventually left her home because the memories of her son and daughter-in-law had become unbearable. Now living with her sister, she said the trauma has taken a heavy toll on her health.

“Two years ago, my life was full of light. I lived with my son and daughter-in-law. Now, all I have left are their memories.”

Jisan’s father, Babul Mia, who spent decades working abroad, most recently in South Sudan, said, “I gave this country remittances, but the state returned my only son’s body.”

For many families, financial compensation has never been their only demand. Justice, they say, remains painfully elusive.

Police submitted a charge sheet against 28 accused, including deposed prime minister Sheikh Hasina, in the case filed by Jisan’s father. Yet his parents say the legal process offers little solace.

“If I could die after seeing Hasina brought to justice with my own eyes, perhaps the pain in my heart would ease, even if only a little.”

Ruma says her family has heard nothing from investigators since her maternal uncle filed a case at Paltan Police Station two years ago and has no idea what progress, if any, has been made.

Goni Miah’s widow filed a murder case with the Dhaka Chief Metropolitan Magistrate’s Court, naming Sheikh Hasina as the principal accused alongside local Awami League leaders. The case is under investigation by the Detective Branch, and family members have testified before the International Crimes Tribunal.

“We still do not know what stage the case has reached,” Shahidul said.

For those who survived, the aftermath has brought permanent disability and forced unemployment.

Khokon Chandra Barman, a 24-year-old former driver, was shot at point-blank range outside Jatrabari Police Station on August 5, 2024, while pleading with police not to shoot. He was left with a shattered nose, mouth and jaw, blindness in his right eye, severely blurred vision in his left, and permanent facial disfigurement.

After three surgeries, he is scheduled to undergo further facial reconstruction in Moscow this August. Though the government’s “Category A” support provided Tk 3 lakh and a monthly allowance of Tk 20,000, ongoing prescription costs continue to eat into the funds.

Unable to drive or work, he now sits idle at home while his legal case has made no progress over the past eight months.

“Working-class people like us paid the highest physical price, but once the emergency care ended, we were simply forgotten. Talking about it only deepens the pain,” Khokon said.

Labour rights activists argue these families expose a long-standing reality: working-class people often dominate casualty lists but disappear from national memory once the headlines fade.

Taslima Akhter, president of Bangladesh Garment Sramik Samhati, said financial assistance alone cannot fulfil the state’s responsibility to the families of working-class martyrs.

“Working-class people are consistently erased from national history.

“Beyond financial support, we have demanded official recognition of them as heroes of July, memorials to preserve their legacy, accessible mental health counselling for bereaved families, and swift judicial accountability.”

She added, “Money may help sustain a family, but unless those responsible for the killings are brought to justice, the culture of impunity will continue to thrive. We want to honour the memory of the workers who were killed, and for those who are still alive, we want a truly dignified life.”