The political upheaval of 2024 cannot be described simply as a change of government. Massive student protests spread across the country, resulting in many casualties. I was in the March for Martyrs procession afterward. The sight of young people waving flags and filling the streets seemed to embody anger itself. There was a quiet determination to "engrave their rise into society's memory."
Eventually, that anger led to the symbolic event of the destruction of Sheikh Mujibur Rahman's residence at Dhanmondi 32. The moment this once-sacred place collapsed, the past and the future collided head-on.
Then, on November 17, 2025, the International Criminal Court declared the deadly crackdown on last year's student uprising a crime against humanity and sentenced former Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina to death. At Dhanmondi 32 in Dhaka, protesters and security forces squared off over the destroyed site, a clash between efforts to further symbolic destruction and those seeking to stop it.
What were the people seeking when they destroyed this site? Perhaps they refused to pass on the contradictions and silences hidden behind the heroic myth to the next generation, and instead sought to rewrite history in their own words.
One day, I photographed a young girl standing in front of a large mural in Dhaka. In blood-red and black, painted fists, blindfolded figures, crowds, and gun flames. Standing before them was a small, yellow-clad figure. The girl may not yet be familiar with the language of politics. But she gazed up at the “story of rage.” That small back seemed to carry a gaze that would shape the future of Bangladesh.
Commemorating the actions of these young people is not simply a matter of recording the past; it is an endeavour to pass on to future generations the injustices and pain they felt, as well as their conviction that they can change society with their own hands.
Historical architecture as a memory device
Historical architecture is the memory device of nations and regions. Triumphs and failures overlap, bearing traces of how societies have narrated themselves. Places like Dhanmondi 32, in particular, have served as a stage for visualizing the symbols that have layered the founding narrative and political legitimacy.
Preserving these buildings also secures a gateway to a polyphonic history. Preserving them opens the door to dialogue and allows for reinterpretation of the past. However, preservation is not immutable. Traces of destruction and murals should also be incorporated as part of memory. The site of Dhanmondi 32 must now be remembered as a place where the anger of young people collided
When revolution swallows culture
A similar phenomenon occurred in Egypt in 2011. Young people rose up against the long-standing dictatorship of the Mubarak regime and overthrew it. However, amid the chaos, the Egyptian Museum in Cairo was attacked.
When the physical evidence that connects history disappears, any ideals become meaningless. This is why Bangladesh must avoid the same mistake. Rather than denying the energy of anger, it needs to steer toward making use of culture.
So, what path should Bangladesh choose? Many people can agree on one thing: That we must not repeat the same mistakes. The debate over the site of Dhanmondi 32 is also a question of what to preserve and what to retell.
The key is not to let one narrative drown out other voices, but to leave space for different memories to coexist. I believe we need to be willing to embrace anger and grief, prayer and hope, and everyday activities without dismissing them.
What struck me most while reporting in Bangladesh was the power of the people's anger and the speed with which they acted. In Japan, even when dissatisfaction with the system seldom develops into street protests or clear resistance to the establishment.
However, in Bangladesh, when students speak out, people gather, write messages on walls, and actually shake the government. This power includes violence, but at the same time, it is filled with a sincere belief: “We can change society with our own hands.”
Now, Bangladesh is heading toward its next general election. This election will transcend an era of memory and anger and offer an opportunity for the people to choose for themselves how they envision the future.
Young people know how to express their anger. But what's important is to transform that anger into creation, not destruction. How will they create this country's future?
As children gaze up at the painted walls of Dhaka, they see a future yet to be envisioned. What lines can be drawn in those blank spaces? Bangladesh can make use of culture amidst the revolution as a way of "passing on stories" and a responsibility to the future.
Izumi Osaragi is IFJ-accredited Japanese photojournalist and visual artist whose award-winning works merge poetic composition with documentary insight to explore the boundaries between society and culture. Views expressed are the writer’s own.
