The Narratives – Mohamed Miah

By Mohamed Miah | The Narratives

In the dusty lanes of Dhaka, where rickshaws weave through chaos and survival is a daily mission, the real Bangladesh breathes. It’s not in the towers of Gulshan, nor in the foreign condos bought with stolen funds — it’s in the sweat of the labourer, in the calloused hands of the vegetable seller, in the tear-stained du’a of the mother skipping dinner so her children can eat.

For the last decade and a half, those in power paraded as patriots while bleeding the country dry. The Awami League — once a name wrapped in the sacred memory of 1971 — now echoes with corruption so deep it stains every level of governance.

$234 billion reportedly siphoned abroad between 2009 and 2023 — while half the nation struggles to afford three square meals. That’s not just theft. That’s betrayal.

Ministers wore £3,000 shoes while flood victims in Sylhet slept in mud-soaked beds. Designer bags. Rolex watches. Overseas properties. All flaunted like trophies — as if the pain of the Bangladeshi people was just background noise.

One minister, Saifuzzaman Chowdhury, allegedly built a £500 million luxury empire, investing in properties in New York, Dubai, and London.

What bridges were built with that money? What hospitals? What future?

This isn’t about left or right.

This is about right and wrong.

And yet — amidst the suffocation — hope breathed.

In the chants of students who rose in 2024, tired of watching their future auctioned off to the highest bidder. Their movement — fearless, fiery, faithful — shook the ground. It led to the resignation and fleeing of Sheikh Hasina.

And into that vacuum of chaos stepped someone unexpected: Muhammad Yunus. A man once vilified by the establishment… now called upon by the youth to lead.

He didn’t crave power.

Power was pushed into his hands by a generation that finally said: enough.

Now, people like Nahid Islam — activists, visionaries, everyday citizens — are demanding real reform. Not cosmetic changes. Not another round of musical chairs.

If there are new elections — old parties rebranding or new ones rising — let them all know: we see you.

You are here to serve, not siphon.

To uplift, not exploit.

Bangladesh doesn’t just need ballots.

It needs justice.

It needs accountability.

It needs leaders willing to walk barefoot with the people — not hide behind tinted glass, foreign passports, and immunity deals.

And to those who fled with wealth in suitcases and guilt in their hearts:

If you truly believe you did no wrong — return.

Stand in court. Face the press. Use the law and media to defend your name.

But if you ran because you feared your own reflection — then history will write your verdict for you.

This idea of crying “political victim” doesn’t stand up anymore. Not when the people are awake.

Bangladesh has had enough villains in expensive suits.

It’s time for real heroes — not born of privilege, but of pain, prayer, and principle.

We must fight corruption by being courageous.

And courage starts with us.

So to every student, every worker, every believer raising their hands under the open sky:

Don’t give up.

This is your country.

And maybe… just maybe,

we’re witnessing the beginning of something.