Thursday night was not merely a night of vandalism; it was a night when the state visibly abdicated its authority.
Violent mobs unleashed coordinated attacks across Dhaka and elsewhere, vandalising and torching the offices of Prothom Alo, The Daily Star, and Chhayanaut cultural centre. Journalists were trapped for hours inside a burning building. The attacks continued openly and uninterrupted. Yet police, army and other security forces remained conspicuously inactive.
The question that now confronts the nation is unavoidable: was the Muhammad Yunus–led interim administration unable to act, or unwilling to confront the mobs?
This violence did not erupt suddenly. It was foreseeable. In recent months, the country has repeatedly witnessed how organised agitators move with impunity—issuing threats, announcing marches, naming targets. In this case too, instigation was public. The mobs announced their march from Prothom Alo to The Daily Star. It was, by every measure, an open secret.
And yet, no preventive action was taken visibly.
The attackers vandalised and set fire to Prothom Alo, then marched unimpeded to The Daily Star. They stayed there for hours. Flames rose. Journalists, some of them personal friends of mine, were forced to take refuge on the rooftop to save their lives. Rescue operations took an inexplicably long time because mobs were allowed to remain outside, unchecked. Security forces stood by as spectators.
In any functioning state, this would be unimaginable.
What makes the government’s indifference even more disturbing is its selectivity. This administration has demonstrated that it can act swiftly when it chooses to. Critics have been arrested with alarming ease. An outspoken journalist was detained under the Anti-Terrorism Act and placed on remand.
So the claim that controlling violent mobs is “difficult” does not hold. If the government wants to prevent violence, it can. Hundreds of Hizb-ut Tahrir activists were dispersed decisively in the capital when the state deemed it necessary.
Which leads to the more troubling conclusion: the government may have chosen not to act.
This is not the first instance. Over the past 16 months, violent mobs have repeatedly committed grave offences—arson, vandalism, intimidation—while the interim government remained largely silent. Earlier this month, attacks on the Baul community took place in the presence of law enforcement. Although Chief Adviser ordered arrests, nothing came of it.
Silence and inaction have consequences. When mobs are allowed to rule, their power grows. When crimes go unpunished, violence becomes normalised. And when institutions like the media and cultural centres are attacked without consequence, the message is unmistakable: the state will not protect you.
Equally telling was the absence of leadership on Thursday night. No adviser, no official from the Chief Adviser’s press wing, not even symbolic reassurance appeared during the hours of terror. Their Facebook pages were silent. Only daylight statements followed—ritual expressions of sorrow, indistinguishable from those issued after previous attacks.
Throughout that night, one thought returned relentlessly: the absence of a functional government.
Were those in power awake, watching live broadcasts, discussing events behind closed doors? Perhaps. But governance is not commentary; it is action. A state that watches as offenders burn a media house with journalists inside forfeits its claim to authority.
When security forces stand idle as arson unfolds, one must ask: where is the state called Bangladesh?
History teaches us a hard lesson: appeasing mobs does not bring stability; it breeds chaos. The longer this continues, the harder it will be to regain control.
This time, the public demands answers—not condolences. What orders were given that night? What efforts were made as vandalism continued for hours? Why were journalists left trapped while mobs ruled the streets?
