As Bangladesh approached the second anniversary of the July uprising, Dhaka University (DU) authorities suspended three teachers and relieved four others of their academic and administrative responsibilities over various allegations. Moreover, under the banner of “Anti-Fascist Teachers of Dhaka University,” more than 100 teachers submitted a memorandum to the vice-chancellor that included a list of 231 teachers accused of being affiliated with the Awami League (AL) and various left-leaning groups, of opposing the uprising, and of siding with “fascist forces.” The memorandum demanded action against the accused teachers and a ban on the Blue Panel’s activities—the AL-leaning platform of teachers at DU. The university authorities responded by forming a committee to investigate the allegations.
This dispute reminded me of something a trusted comrade posted on social media a few weeks after the uprising. She wrote that the vision of July could not be achieved unless we underwent a process of de-Awamisation. De-Awamisation means dismantling the harmful practices that the AL regime normalised during its 15 years in power. In institutions of higher education, these practices included partisan appointments, targeted disciplinary proceedings, ideological loyalty tests, the repression of criticism, mob pressure, weaponisation of law, and, most importantly, the conversion of universities into instruments and extensions of the state and the governing political party.
The latest controversy therefore raises a question much larger than the fate of the individual faculty members affected. It pushes us to consider how institutions of higher learning in Bangladesh have historically collaborated with powerful state and non-state actors and remained complicit in repressing political opponents and dissident voices. The mechanisms of repression include influencing funding allocation, curtailing academic freedom, obstructing educational content, imposing punitive legal and administrative sanctions for criticising the government or addressing particular topics, stigmatising and demonising dissenters, repressing student activism, and securitising campuses.
Let us take a quick tour through recent history.
Professor Morshed Hasan Khan of the Department of Marketing at DU published an opinion piece in a national daily on March 25, 2018, in which he described Ziaur Rahman as the “announcer of independence” and claimed that most AL leaders, including Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, had left the country during the 1971 Liberation War. Later, Bangladesh Chhatra League (BCL) protested on campus, declared him persona non grata, and submitted a memorandum urging authorities to take immediate action against him. Eventually, the authorities terminated Professor Khan over allegations that he had distorted the history of the Liberation War and defamed Sheikh Mujibur Rahman.
Of course, institutional repression carried out in conjunction with the state was not limited to DU. Maidul Islam, a professor at the University of Chittagong (CU), faced a massive online smear campaign because of his critical social media posts led by BCL activists and colleagues who supported the AL government. On August 20, 2023, the CU Teachers’ Association held an emergency meeting and urged the VC to take legal action against Professor Islam for criticising the government. The professor received a show-cause notice and was arrested and imprisoned for 37 days.
In 2020, Sirajum Munira, a lecturer in the Department of Bangla at Begum Rokeya University, faced a complaint filed by university authorities over a Facebook post that allegedly mocked Mohammad Nasim, the then health minister. She was eventually arrested under the infamous Digital Security Act. A few days later, Zahidur Rahman, an assistant professor in the Department of Computer Science and Engineering at Rajshahi University, was suspended and later arrested under the same Digital Security Act for criticising Mohammad Nasim on social media. The list goes on.
Just as academics were arrested, suspended, or dismissed for criticising powerful political actors and institutions during the AL regime, under the current BNP government too, affiliation with the former regime or an insufficiently enthusiastic interpretation of the July uprising may become grounds for professional exclusion, repercussions, and punishment. Since winning the 2026 election, the BNP government seems to have restored partisan control over top-level administrative appointments at public universities. Following the February 12 election, the government appointed new VCs to seven public universities, all of whom had direct connections to the ruling political party. As a columnist later pointed out, there has been a sweeping “cleanse” of university leadership, followed by reported “counter-purges” against academics considered insufficiently loyal to the new political order.
Against this backdrop, let us examine the recent DU move. Notable among the suspended teachers is Professor Sadeka Halim of the Department of Sociology. Halim, a former VC of Jagannath University, was suspended over allegations of conduct “unbecoming of a teacher both inside and outside the classroom,” as well as offenses involving “moral turpitude.” It is beyond the scope of this article to assess the specific allegations or the procedural questions and concerns surrounding the case. What seems particularly problematic, however, is that public responses to her suspension—both in mainstream and social media—have split into two opposing camps. One group has focused on establishing that Halim possesses superior moral character and has been an exceptional mentor, educator, and administrator. The other has devoted its energy to depicting her as an awful person and professional, often through a broader smear campaign.
I would argue that two crucial issues are lost within this binary debate. First, there is a need to recognise that institutions of higher education demonstrate a recurring pattern of selectively targeting political opponents and acting as extensions of the state. Second, we must distinguish between accountability and partisan punishment.
Accountability identifies specific conduct, examines evidence, allows the accused to respond, and imposes proportionate consequences. Partisan punishment begins with a person’s political identity and then works backwards to construct guilt. The University Teachers’ Network articulated this distinction clearly: “Accountability must be ensured through established legal processes and natural justice, not through vengeance or an ideological purge.” The network emphasised that political beliefs, identities, or support for a particular political organisation cannot, by themselves, constitute professional misconduct. It also warned that blanket investigations could produce a university-wide “witch-hunt.”
Sadeka Halim’s political background is no secret. She served on the AL advisory council and was appointed VC of Jagannath University during the party’s rule. However, political affiliation cannot substitute for evidence. Terms such as “moral turpitude” and “conduct unbecoming of a teacher” are broad and vague categories that can conceal political decisions beneath the language of institutional discipline. At the same syndicate meeting, faculty members were also relieved of their responsibilities over alleged activities “contrary to the spirit of the July uprising,” for spreading “propaganda” against the university administration and the government, and for supporting a banned organisation. What exactly constitutes the “spirit of July”? Can criticising the incumbent government or holding an oppositional political view violate that spirit, or be classified as propaganda?
For 15 years, the AL regime encouraged people to view the party, government, state, and nation as interchangeable. True de-Awamisation means dismantling this political architecture. It requires ending the appointment of active party officials and leaders of partisan teachers’ organisations as VCs. It requires restoring meaningful Senate elections and limiting executive control over university leadership. It requires transparent faculty recruitment, independent review bodies, protection from intimidation, and disciplinary procedures grounded in clearly defined professional standards. It also requires separating political expression from professional misconduct. A university teacher should be free to criticise the BNP government, the AL, university administrators, religious organisations and practices, nationalist orthodoxies, and even dominant interpretations of the July uprising—provided that the teacher does not incite violence, discriminate against students, or abuse institutional authority.
De-Awamisation also means rejecting collective guilt. Not every AL supporter participated in repression. Not every teacher appointed between 2009 and 2024 was unqualified. Not every administrator who remained in office endorsed every action of the repressive government. Individual responsibility must be established through individualised evidence. The “spirit of July” should not become what the “spirit of the Liberation War” became under AL rule: a morally powerful historical ideal appropriated by the state and the government and converted into an instrument for policing political speech.
De-Awamisation is, in fact, the most important precondition for realising July’s vision because AL’s deepest legacy is not a particular group of people. Its deepest legacy is a political culture. It is the culture of appointing loyalists and calling it governance. It is the culture of silencing critics and calling it discipline. It is the culture of mobilising mobs and calling it popular demand. It is the culture of treating political opposition as moral failure. It is the culture of using universities to reproduce state ideology rather than challenge power.
The test for DU—and for every other institution of higher learning—is therefore not how many AL-affiliated professors it can suspend, dismiss, or investigate. The test is whether it can create and implement procedures that remain fair regardless of which party governs Bangladesh and regardless of the political identity of the accused. The test is whether it can achieve the radical and transformative goal of genuine de-Awamisation by freeing Bangladesh from its authoritarian political traditions.
Nafisa Nipun Tanjeem is an educator, researcher, writer, and activist. She is associate professor in the Department of Interdisciplinary Studies at Worcester State University in Massachusetts, US.
Views expressed in this article are the author's own.
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