In the run-up to February 12 polls, Shakeel Anwar visits outlying constituencies to hear directly from voters about their hopes, demands and expectations.
Snaking through narrow, brick-laid lanes and by-lanes, I walked into Khas Mahal, a densely populated neighbourhood adjoining the Nalchity upazila headquarters launch ghat. Most houses here -- some barely more than shanties -- stand on khas, or government-owned land.
On one such alley stands the ancestral home of Osman Abdul Hadi, a modest two-storey structure made of corrugated sheets. Since Hadi’s assassination in December, the house has become an unlikely destination for visitors from far beyond this southern upazila of Jhalakathi district.
There was no family member inside when I arrived. Instead, two young men -- Omer Faruque and Mithun, both college students -- and a police constable, Nasir Uddin, stood watch.
Omer and Mithun had travelled from Barishal, around 15 miles away, simply to see “Hadi bhai’s home”. Both had met Hadi during the tumultuous days of the July 2024 movement. Omer recalled their first encounter vividly.
“He came to Barishal in August,” Omer said. “We were demonstrating on the streets when we heard someone from Dhaka University had arrived. People urged him to lead the slogans. He put one hand on my shoulder, climbed onto a rickshaw, and began chanting.”
Omer said he later joined Hadi in guarding a Hindu temple in nearby Jhalakathi town during a tense period of communal anxiety immediately after August 5. “We came to pay respect to his memory,” he said softly.
As the two young men rode away through the narrow lanes, constable Nasir Uddin said such visits had become common. “People come from far away just to see the house,” he said. “The other day a woman from Khulna came and cried loudly. She said she watches Hadi bhai’s videos on her phone all the time.”
Since Hadi was fatally shot on December 12, police have guarded his family home around the clock. No family member lives here now, citing security concerns. Yet the physical absence of the family has only amplified Hadi’s symbolic presence. To many young supporters, he represents courage and an uncompromising demand for justice, equity and national sovereignty.
I came to Nalchity ahead of Bangladesh’s February 12 elections to see whether that symbolism translated into political impact in the place where Hadi was born and raised -- and whether his slogans still resonated among voters here.
The answer was far from straightforward.
At the Nalchity launch ghat on the Bishkhali River, barely half a kilometre from Hadi’s home, a group of local men were absorbed in a game of carrom. They all knew Hadi personally. One of them, Hasan, said they had been childhood friends. “We used to swim together in the Bishkhali,” he said. “I didn’t know he had become so famous. He never mentioned it. He was very modest.”
That sentiment was echoed by others nearby, including close neighbours of the Hadi family. None said they had realised at the time that he had become a national political figure. Still, all expressed pride that he was from Nalchity. Many now watch his speeches and videos on social media, encountering a version of Hadi that feels larger than the boy they once knew.
Sitting at a small convenience shop by the ghat, Mohammad Shaheen, a neighbour of the Hadi family, recalled seeing Hadi about a month before his assassination. “I noticed on Facebook that he was preparing to contest elections in Dhaka,” Shaheen said. “I asked why not from Nalchity. He said he lived in Dhaka.”
Why did Shaheen think Hadi stood out among thousands of July movement activists? He paused before replying. “Nobody criticised Hasina the way he did.”
Hadi frequently spoke of uprooting corruption and oppression and replacing them with insaaf (justice). Would that ever happen? Shaheen looked uncertain. “That depends on politicians,” he said.
Nearby, Idris, an engine-boat driver, joined in. “In July 2024, we wanted the country to change,” he said. “Didn’t we? The country needs to change.”
I asked whether Hadi’s calls for justice, equity and freedom from oppression would influence how they voted, and what kind of candidate they were looking for. The carrom board fell silent. After a moment, Hasan spoke again. “We will choose someone who works for the country.”
Was there such a candidate in their constituency? After another pause, someone said quietly, “No. There is none like that.”
Still, everyone insisted they would vote. “Our vote should not go to waste,” one man said, lining up a shot. “Voting is our right.”
They were also aware that a referendum on the July charter would be held on February 12 alongside the parliamentary elections. But none could clearly explain what the charter proposed, or how the referendum outcome might affect their lives. “We are trying to understand,” one man said. “But we are not finding any answers yet.”
This uncertainty has surfaced repeatedly during my travels over the past week. Despite the referendum being framed as a cornerstone of post-Hasina reform, aimed at curbing executive power and preventing a return to authoritarian rule, candidates have said little about it on the campaign trail. The silence, particularly among BNP candidates, has left many rural and semi-urban voters adrift on an issue they are expected to decide.
A mile away from the launch ghat, in Uttamabad Abashon Palli, a government settlement for landless families, Hadi’s name barely came up.
For China Begum, Masuda and Sonia Akhter -- wives of rickshaw pullers and day labourers -- the election is about something far more immediate: relief from rising prices and the hope of steadier days ahead.
None of the candidates had yet visited the settlement to seek votes. If they did, Masuda said, she would ask for just one thing -- a concrete road, raised high enough to remain usable during the monsoon floods that regularly submerge the muddy paths through the area.
Here, the language of justice, sovereignty and constitutional reform feels distant. What matters is whether daily life becomes a little less precarious.(Shakeel Anwar is a former BBC journalist)
