According to the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP), the world is currently facing a complex and interconnected economic crisis driven by rising energy prices, disruptions in global food supply chains, and slowing economic growth. These combined pressures have created what experts describe as a “triple shock,” affecting both developed and developing economies, though the latter are expected to bear the brunt of the impact.

The UNDP has proposed an emergency financial package of approximately six billion dollars, which it believes could prevent millions from slipping into extreme poverty. The proposed intervention would focus on targeted financial assistance, including direct cash transfers and temporary subsidies aimed at the most vulnerable populations. Officials emphasize that such measures are not only necessary for humanitarian reasons but also critical to maintaining economic stability in fragile regions.

Speaking on the issue, senior UN officials stressed that the consequences of war extend far beyond immediate destruction, often leaving long-lasting scars on national economies. As conflicts disrupt trade routes and drive up the cost of essential commodities such as fuel and fertilizer, countries across Asia, Africa, and small island nations are already experiencing severe economic strain. Inflationary pressures are mounting, household incomes are shrinking, and food security is increasingly under threat.

The situation is further complicated by the fact that many developing nations are still recovering from the economic fallout of the COVID-19 pandemic. Limited fiscal space and rising debt burdens have reduced their ability to respond effectively to new crises. In this context, the UN’s call for targeted and efficient financial support becomes even more urgent, as traditional broad-based subsidies may prove unsustainable and less effective.

Another important aspect highlighted in the UN’s assessment is the growing role of digital financial systems in delivering aid. The expansion of mobile banking and digital payment platforms has made it possible for governments to reach affected populations more quickly and transparently. This shift not only improves the efficiency of aid distribution but also reduces the risk of mismanagement and corruption, which have historically hindered relief efforts in many regions.

Despite the proposed economic measures, the United Nations has underscored that the most effective solution remains the resolution of ongoing conflicts. Without peace and stability, economic interventions can only provide temporary relief. The organization has therefore called on the international community to intensify diplomatic efforts aimed at de-escalation and conflict resolution, while simultaneously ensuring that immediate humanitarian and economic needs are met.

The warning also comes at a time when global inequality is widening, with poorer nations facing disproportionate challenges in coping with external shocks. The UN cautions that failure to act decisively could not only push millions into poverty but also deepen existing inequalities, potentially leading to long-term social and political instability.

In conclusion, the United Nations’ latest assessment presents a sobering picture of the global economic landscape, where conflict and economic vulnerability are increasingly intertwined. The proposed six billion dollar intervention is being framed as a necessary and timely step to safeguard millions of lives and livelihoods. However, the success of such efforts will depend largely on the willingness of the international community to act collectively and decisively in addressing both the immediate crisis and its underlying causes.

At the center of this crisis lies a tension between evolving state behavior and a largely static legal framework. The United Nations Charter, particularly Article 2(4), establishes a near-universal prohibition on the threat or use of force against the territorial integrity or political independence of any state. Complementing this, customary international law, principles of state sovereignty, and the doctrines governing armed conflict including the broader framework of International Humanitarian Law were designed to regulate clearly identifiable acts of aggression.

Yet grey-zone operations deliberately operate below these thresholds.

Cyber intrusions that disable critical infrastructure, economic sanctions that exert systemic pressure on civilian populations, covert support for non-state actors, targeted disinformation campaigns, and strategic coercion through financial or technological dominance; these are not anomalies. They are increasingly normalized instruments of modern diplomacy. Crucially, they are structured in ways that avoid triggering the formal legal definitions of “use of force” or “armed attack,” thereby evading the legal consequences that would otherwise follow.

This strategic ambiguity creates a profound accountability gap. Under the current framework, the right of self-defense, as articulated in Article 51 of the United Nations Charter, is activated only in response to an “armed attack.” But what constitutes an armed attack in the digital age? Does a cyber operation that shuts down a national power grid qualify? Do sustained economic measures that cripple a nation’s economy amount to coercion under international law, or are they permissible tools of state policy? The absence of consensus on these questions has allowed states to exploit legal grey areas with increasing sophistication.

Recent geopolitical patterns illustrate this transformation with striking clarity. The prolonged tensions between Russia and Ukraine have demonstrated how cyber warfare, information manipulation, and proxy engagements can precede and accompany conventional military operations. The relationship between the United States and Iran remains defined by sanctions, covert actions, and strategic deterrence without formal war. Meanwhile, China’s calibrated pressure on Taiwan, through military signaling, economic leverage, and political isolation, illustrates how influence can be exerted persistently without crossing the legal threshold of armed conflict.

From a legal standpoint, this raises a fundamental dilemma: if actions produce consequences equivalent to war, yet fall outside its formal definition, does the law retain its relevance? The answer is increasingly uncertain. International law, in its current form, was constructed to address overt and attributable conduct. Grey-zone strategies, by contrast, thrive on deniability, fragmentation, and gradual escalation; conditions under which legal attribution becomes difficult and enforcement even more so.

Equally significant is the erosion of normative principles that underpin the global order. The doctrine of sovereignty, the principle of non-intervention, and the prohibition of coercion are not merely legal rules; they are foundational to stable interstate relations. Grey-zone diplomacy does not always violate these principles outright, but it systematically undermines them. It transforms the spirit of the law into a technicality; something to be navigated rather than respected.

There is also a broader systemic risk. By normalizing grey-zone conduct, the international community risks institutionalizing a permanent state of low-intensity conflict. Unlike conventional wars, which at least allow for decisive outcomes or negotiated settlements, grey-zone conflicts are inherently open-ended. They persist in a state of strategic ambiguity, eroding trust among states, destabilizing regions, and weakening the authority of international institutions.

Perhaps the most striking paradox is that many of these practices are employed by states that publicly champion a “rules-based international order.” This contradiction reveals an uncomfortable truth: the crisis is not simply one of compliance, but of design. The rules themselves are increasingly misaligned with the realities they are meant to govern.

Addressing this challenge requires more than rhetorical commitment. It demands a substantive evolution of international law. Clearer definitions of “use of force” in the context of cyber operations, stronger mechanisms for attribution and accountability, and renewed consensus on the limits of economic coercion are essential. Without such reforms, the gap between legal norms and state practice will continue to widen, rendering the system progressively ineffective.

In the final analysis, grey-zone diplomacy represents more than a shift in tactics; it signals a transformation in the nature of conflict itself. It is war without declaration, coercion without responsibility, and competition without clear boundaries. If left unchecked, it will not simply challenge the existing legal order, it may ultimately render it obsolete.

And in that quiet transformation lies the most profound danger: a world where power operates freely in the shadows, while law struggles to keep up in the light.

Article 7 of the Constitution leaves little room for ambiguity. It declares that all powers in the Republic belong to the people, and that the Constitution is the supreme law of the land. The implication is direct and uncompromising: no authority, executive, legislative, or otherwise can act outside its framework and still claim legitimacy. Yet, the current reality tells a different story. A referendum is invoked in the name of the people when it serves a purpose, only to be dismissed as non-binding when its implementation becomes inconvenient. One is compelled to ask: does the sovereignty of the people, as enshrined in Article 7, operate consistently or only when it aligns with political convenience?

The answer becomes even clearer when one turns to Article 142, which lays down the exclusive procedure for amending the Constitution. Any amendment must be passed by a two-thirds majority in Parliament. This is not a procedural formality; it is a constitutional safeguard, deliberately designed to prevent impulsive or politically motivated alterations to the state’s foundational structure. However, when attempts are made to generate constitutional momentum through referendums, despite the Constitution itself remaining silent on their legal status; what emerges is a form of indirect pressure on the very process Article 142 seeks to protect. In legal theory, a well-established principle applies: what cannot be done directly cannot be achieved indirectly. Yet, that principle seems increasingly negotiable.

The use of presidential ordinance-making power raises further constitutional concerns. Article 93 permits the President to promulgate ordinances only when Parliament is not in session and when circumstances demand immediate action. But can constitutional reform arguably one of the most serious and deliberative functions of the state ever be classified as an “immediate necessity”? More importantly, Article 93(2) requires that such ordinances be placed before Parliament; failing which, they lapse within a prescribed period. When ordinances central to a major reform agenda are not even presented to Parliament, their eventual lapse is not just a procedural outcome. It is an implicit acknowledgment of their fragile legal standing. The question then becomes unavoidable: if the legal foundation itself collapses, what remains of the structure built upon it?

Article 26 reinforces another critical boundary. It declares that any law inconsistent with the Constitution is void to the extent of that inconsistency. This provision ensures that the Constitution is not merely symbolic but enforceable. Similarly, Article 7(2) reiterates that any law inconsistent with the Constitution shall have no legal effect. These are not abstract principles; they are concrete limits on state power. Yet, when the same referendum is alternately portrayed as the “will of the people” and then as a non-binding exercise, the line between constitutional authority and political narrative begins to blur.

The tension extends into the very framework of parliamentary governance. Articles 55 and 56 establish the accountability of the executive to Parliament, one of the defining features of a parliamentary democracy. When major political and constitutional decisions are pursued through mechanisms that sidestep or weaken Parliament, this accountability is inevitably undermined. The executive, in effect, begins to answer not to the legislature, but to processes of its own making.

Bangladesh’s higher judiciary has, over time, articulated the doctrine of the “basic structure” of the Constitution, affirming that certain foundational principles such as democracy, rule of law, and separation of powers cannot be altered even through formal amendments. This doctrine serves as a constitutional compass, ensuring that procedural compliance does not override substantive integrity. If the process of change itself deviates from constitutional norms, then even legally framed outcomes risk becoming constitutionally suspect.

What emerges from this evolving landscape is not merely a legal debate, but a deeper institutional dilemma. The issue is no longer whether the Constitution is being followed, but how it is being interpreted, and who controls that interpretation. A referendum becomes binding when it is politically useful, and optional when it is not. Ordinances are justified as urgent when introduced, and quietly allowed to expire when contested. This fluidity is not a sign of constitutional adaptability; it is a symptom of constitutional uncertainty.

The final question, therefore, is both simple and unsettling: is the Constitution truly the supreme law of Bangladesh, or has it been reduced to a document whose meaning shifts with political necessity? If the former is true, then its procedures and limitations must be respected without exception. If the latter is closer to reality, then the country is no longer governed by the rule of law, but by the rule of interpretation, where legality itself becomes a matter of convenience rather than principle.

Turn on any television channel today and the pattern is unmistakable. A story begins to take shape, only to be abruptly and repeatedly interrupted by advertisements that seem to carry more importance than the program itself. The narrative is fractured, the emotional continuity destroyed, and the viewer reduced to a passive recipient of endless commercial messaging. This is not a technical flaw or a programming miscalculation—it is a deliberate strategy.

Advertising, in itself, is not the problem. Media has always relied on it for survival. The problem is the scale and dominance it has reached. Media organizations are no longer producing content to engage audiences; they are structuring content to accommodate advertisements. The shift is fundamental and deeply damaging. Content is no longer the product—it is the packaging.

Even global platforms such as Netflix and YouTube have increasingly embraced aggressive monetization models, introducing ad-supported tiers and algorithm-driven visibility systems. However, there remains a noticeable difference in execution. These platforms, despite their commercial motives, still attempt to preserve a basic level of user experience. In contrast, much of the local media landscape operates with little regard for balance, as though the audience has no limits, no expectations, and no right to uninterrupted engagement.

What we are witnessing is not simply commercialization—it is commodification in its most ruthless form. Audiences are no longer viewers; they are units of measurement. Their attention is segmented, priced, and sold. Their time is no longer respected; it is exploited. In this system, the quality of content is irrelevant as long as it succeeds in holding attention long enough to deliver advertisements.

The consequences are severe and far-reaching. Creativity is the first casualty. Writers are forced to distort narratives to fit unnatural breaks. Directors are compelled to compromise pacing and structure. The result is content that feels stretched, fragmented, and ultimately hollow. Storytelling loses its authenticity, replaced by a mechanical and predictable format designed around commercial interruptions.

More concerning is the spillover effect into journalism. News, which should function as a pillar of public trust, is increasingly influenced by the same commercial pressures. Sensationalism is prioritized because it attracts attention. Depth and investigative rigor are neglected because they are less profitable. The line between editorial content and sponsored material becomes increasingly blurred, raising serious questions about integrity and independence.

There is also a deeper, more insidious impact on the audience. Constant interruptions condition viewers to accept distraction as normal. Attention spans are weakened, patience is eroded, and the ability to engage critically with content is diminished. Media, instead of fostering awareness and thought, begins to cultivate superficial consumption. This is not just a media issue—it is a societal one.

What makes this situation even more alarming is the normalization of it. Audiences express frustration, yet continue to consume. This passive acceptance is being interpreted as consent. Media organizations, emboldened by the absence of resistance, continue to push the boundaries further, testing just how much intrusion the audience is willing to tolerate.

This is a dangerous trajectory. Short-term financial gains are being prioritized over long-term credibility. Trust, once compromised, cannot be easily restored. Audiences may endure exploitation temporarily, but they will eventually seek alternatives—platforms that respect their time, intelligence, and experience.

The solution is not to eliminate advertising; that would be unrealistic. The solution is to impose limits. Commercial interests must not be allowed to dominate editorial decisions. Media organizations must recognize that their most valuable asset is not advertising revenue, but credibility. Without it, they become indistinguishable from any other commercial enterprise.

At its core, media is more than a business—it is a public institution. It shapes narratives, influences public opinion, and reflects the values of society. When it surrenders entirely to commercial pressures, it abandons that responsibility.

The question is no longer whether commercialization has gone too far—it clearly has. The real question is whether the industry has the discipline and integrity to correct its course. Because if this continues, the collapse of meaningful media will not come as a sudden event. It will happen gradually, through erosion—of trust, of quality, and ultimately, of relevance.

And when that point is reached, no volume of advertising will be enough to recover what has been lost.

There was a hiccup as she tried to serve out the set and Sabalenka, who had lost just one point in her first three service games, was broken. Noskova kept the set alive with a battling hold in a marathon eighth game, fending off a set point with a service winner and sealing the game with an ace. Serving for the set again, Sabalenka opened with a double fault and went down 0-30, but a pair of big serves and a backhand winner brought her to set point and she claimed it with an ace. Sabalenka broke Noskova to open the second and was on her way. Noskova fended off a second break, but she was unable to convert a break opportunity in the eighth game as Sabalenka brought it home, capping the victory with a forehand winner on her third match point. "I think I really played great tennis," Sabalenka said.

"I was serving well. I was playing well. I like the way I put her under pressure on her serve." Rybakina, who is set to rise one spot to number two in the world on Monday, had too much firepower for ninth-ranked Svitolina, who was coming off a three-set win over two-time champion Iga Swiatek in the quarter-finals. Rybakina recouped an early break in a tight first set and seized control with a break for 6-5, her steady pressure on Svitolina's serve provoking too many mistakes from the Ukrainian. Rybakina won seven straight games from 4-5 down in the first, breaking Svitolina twice on the way to a 4-0 lead in the second set.

The experienced Svitolina made her keep grinding, saving a match point on her own serve then saving another on the way to a break for 5-3 as she won three straight games. But Rybakina made no mistake as she served for the match a second time, nabbing her 12th straight victory over top-10 opponents. Although she trails Sabalenka 8-7 in their career head-to-head, she has won their last two meetings, in the title match of last year's WTA Finals and at the Australian Open -- were she claimed her second Grand Slam crown.

It was more of the same in the second half, with West Ham United's Ueki netting a quickfire treble and Miyazawa also scoring her third of the match. The one-sided romp left Japan top of Group C with a maximum six points having beaten Taiwan 2-0 to start their title bid. They have scored 13 goals and are yet to concede. Taiwan and Vietnam each have three points and India are rock-bottom of the group with none. Taiwan revived their hopes of reaching the knockout rounds with a 1-0 win over Vietnam in stifling heat in Perth earlier in the day. The only goal of the game arrived in the 26th minute through Su Yu-hsuan when she nodded in from close range.

Vietnam beat India 2-1 to begin their tournament but, in temperatures approaching 40C, they found Taiwan to be a different proposition in front of a sparse crowd bathed in baking sunshine. Vietnam ramped up the pressure in the closing stages but mustered just one shot on target all game. North Korea, South Korea and hosts Australia are all already into the last eight with a game to spare, as are reigning champions China.

Bangladesh conceded two goals in the first half and another three goals in the second half. From the outset, North Korea looked sharp, hungry and in-complete control. Dominating possession and dictating the tempo, they pegged Bangladesh deep into their own half with wave after wave of attacks. Their pressing game was relentless, their passing crisp, their positioning perfect. Nine ranked North Korea, despite having several scoring opportunities early, they took some time to regain their rhythm as VAR decisions ruled their efforts. Bangladesh ranked 112th in FIFA ranking, rarely threatened to Korea and were often remained busy for clearances under immense pressure.  went two the break taking two goals lead in a span of two minutes. Myong Yu-Jong (45+5th) and Kim Kyong-Yong (45+7th ) scored the first two goals for Korea. After the resumption, Kim Kyong-Yong scored her second and third for her team in the 64th minute while Chae Un-Young (62nd) and Kim Hye-yong (90th) scored the remaining two goals.

Bangladesh took most of the match on the defensive strategy against Korea and struggled to replicate the characteristic proactive approach they had shown against China in their opening game. Earlier, Coach Peter Butler has made two changes in the starting eleven from the first match against China. Striker Tahura Khatun and midfielder Airin Akter has been included in the squad in replace of experienced defender Sheuli Azim and Umhela Marma. 

Bangladesh will play their third and final group game against Uzbekistan on March 9 in Perth. Bangladesh starting XI: Mile Akter, Afeida Khandaker, Nabiran Khatun, Kohati Kisku, Shamsunnahar Sr, Tohura Khatun, Monika Chakma, Maria Manda, Airin Akter, Ritu Porna Chakma and Shamsunnahar Jr.

This election was never meant to be routine. It came after a prolonged period of political tension, mass mobilisations, institutional strain, and public fatigue with cyclical instability. In that context, the ballot was not merely a mechanism for choosing a government—it was a referendum on whether Bangladesh’s democratic framework could restore public confidence while preserving state continuity. The result answered the first question decisively. It left the second unresolved.

The winning party now commands overwhelming parliamentary dominance. From a governance standpoint, this creates short-term stability and administrative clarity. Legislation will move smoothly, budgets will pass without gridlock, and executive authority will face little resistance. For a developing state navigating economic pressure and geopolitical scrutiny, such decisiveness can appear attractive.

But democracies are not sustained by efficiency alone. They endure through legitimacy—and legitimacy is not derived solely from seat counts.

The broader concern emerging from the election lies not in legality, but in participation and representation. A parliament that lacks ideological diversity, robust opposition, and competitive tension risks becoming procedurally functional yet politically hollow. When electoral victory is not matched by inclusive political engagement, governance becomes insulated, and insulation breeds disconnect.

This is where the real test for the new government begins.

One of the most pressing challenges ahead is rebuilding political trust beyond its core support base. Elections can close chapters, but they do not automatically heal fractures. A significant segment of society remains sceptical—not necessarily hostile, but unconvinced that electoral politics meaningfully reflects their voice. Ignoring this sentiment would be a strategic miscalculation. History, both within Bangladesh and beyond, shows that democratic erosion often begins not with coups, but with apathy.

Equally critical is the condition of opposition politics. A weak or marginalised opposition does not strengthen the ruling party; it weakens the state. Parliaments function best when dissent is institutionalised, not suppressed or rendered symbolic. Without credible opposition, accountability shifts from public debate to internal discretion—a dangerous transition in any democracy.

The election also exposed a structural dilemma involving youth participation. Young citizens played a visible role in recent political movements, yet that energy did not translate proportionally into electoral representation. This gap signals a deeper issue: existing political structures are failing to absorb new political aspirations. If left unaddressed, this disconnect risks pushing political engagement outside institutional boundaries—where it becomes volatile rather than constructive.

Another challenge lies in governance behaviour after victory. Democratic legitimacy is not secured on election day; it is earned daily through restraint, transparency, and respect for dissent. How the government treats criticism, the media, civil society, and independent institutions will determine whether this election is remembered as a turning point or merely a reset.

The temptation for any dominant government is to confuse mandate with entitlement. That temptation must be resisted. Power exercised without dialogue may be legal, but it is rarely sustainable.

There is still a path forward—one that transforms electoral dominance into democratic leadership. It requires deliberate political inclusion, structured dialogue with opposition forces, protection of institutional autonomy, and a clear signal that dissent is not a threat to the state but a component of its resilience.

For the international community, the message is equally nuanced. Bangladesh has demonstrated state continuity and administrative control. What remains to be seen is whether it can now demonstrate democratic maturity—by governing not only for those who voted, but also for those who doubt.

The 13th parliamentary election has given Bangladesh a government. The coming years will determine whether it also strengthens democracy. In the end, the durability of the state will depend less on how power was won, and more on how it is exercised.

Elections derive legitimacy not merely from legality, but from public belief in fairness. In Bangladesh, that belief has steadily eroded. For many citizens, voting has come to feel less like an exercise of sovereign choice and more like participation in a predetermined process. This erosion of trust did not occur overnight; it is the cumulative outcome of multiple electoral cycles marked by controversy, allegations of administrative interference, restricted political space, and limited accountability.

The state now stands at a crossroads: either this election marks a break from that past, or it entrenches a crisis of legitimacy that will haunt the political system for years to come.

The elections of 2014, 2018, and 2024 continue to shape public perception. The 2014 election was largely non-participatory, the 2018 election was overshadowed by allegations of ballot manipulation and voter intimidation, and subsequent local and national polls reinforced fears that electoral outcomes were increasingly managed rather than contested.

Investigative findings and independent reports have consistently pointed to patterns of voter suppression, obstruction of opposition polling agents, unusual turnout figures, and the disproportionate use of state machinery. These were not isolated incidents, but recurring features that collectively undermined confidence in the electoral process.

Against this backdrop, official assurances that “the next election will be different” ring hollow unless accompanied by visible and verifiable change.

The Election Commission occupies the most critical institutional position in this process. Its independence is not measured by constitutional provisions alone, but by its willingness and ability to act impartially under pressure.

Public confidence cannot be restored through statements, press briefings, or procedural checklists. It requires firm enforcement of electoral laws, equal treatment of all candidates, swift action against violations, and transparency at every stage—from nomination to vote counting.

In previous elections, the Commission’s perceived reluctance to challenge administrative actors or intervene decisively in contested situations weakened its standing. If such patterns persist, the Commission risks being seen not as the guardian of democracy, but as a passive observer of its erosion.

A weak commission does not merely fail an election; it weakens the constitutional order itself.

Perhaps the most persistent concern surrounding elections in Bangladesh is the role of the administration and law enforcement agencies. In theory, these institutions are meant to ensure order and neutrality. In practice, allegations of selective enforcement, intimidation, and political bias have become a recurring theme.

An election cannot be free if voters fear reprisals, candidates lack equal access to public space, or security forces are perceived as aligned with one political interest. Even the perception of bias is enough to delegitimize the process.

When citizens begin to ask whether their vote truly belongs to them, the democratic contract begins to fracture.

While the state bears the primary obligation to ensure a fair electoral environment, political parties are not without responsibility. The ruling party must demonstrate—through action, not rhetoric—that it is prepared to compete on equal terms and relinquish the use of institutional advantage.

At the same time, opposition parties must confront their own strategic dilemmas. Repeated boycotts, pre-emptive rejection of results, or reliance on street confrontation cannot substitute for sustained political engagement. A democracy cannot survive if elections are either monopolized by those in power or abandoned by those challenging it.

True political maturity lies in contesting flawed systems while working to reform them—not in withdrawing from the field altogether.

Elections do not occur in isolation. They are shaped by the broader democratic environment, including freedom of expression, media independence, and civil society activity.

In recent years, journalists, activists, and dissenting voices have raised concerns about legal pressure, surveillance, and self-censorship. When media outlets operate under constraint and citizens fear consequences for political expression, elections lose their meaning long before polling day arrives.

A controlled narrative may deliver orderly elections on paper, but it cannot produce genuine democratic consent.

An election’s credibility is also measured by how safe and represented its most vulnerable citizens feel. Reports of communal tension, targeted violence, or political marginalization—particularly among minority communities—raise serious questions about equal participation.

If any segment of the population approaches an election with fear rather than confidence, the process has already failed its democratic promise.

Bangladesh’s election will not be judged solely at home. The international community—investors, development partners, and diplomatic allies—closely monitors electoral credibility as a barometer of political stability.

A credible election can strengthen Bangladesh’s global standing, enhance economic confidence, and reinforce its diplomatic leverage. A disputed one risks isolation, economic uncertainty, and prolonged political instability.

This is not external interference; it is a predictable consequence of diminished trust in governance.

Ultimately, this election is not about which party wins or loses. It is about whether the Bangladeshi state can restore faith in the most fundamental mechanism of popular sovereignty.

Democracy does not collapse in a single moment; it erodes gradually, through normalized exceptions, lowered expectations, and public resignation. The most dangerous outcome of a flawed election is not protest or condemnation—it is apathy.

When citizens stop believing their participation matters, democracy becomes a hollow formality.

Bangladesh still has time to choose a different path. But time alone will not fix what years of neglect have damaged. Restoring credibility requires courage: from the Election Commission to assert independence, from the administration to act neutrally, from political parties to compete responsibly, and from the state to tolerate dissent.

This election must be about rebuilding trust, not managing outcomes.

Anything less will not merely produce a contested mandate—it will deepen a crisis of legitimacy whose cost the nation can ill afford.

Shuvo explains that the role is more than a single-person story—it embodies the struggles, frustrations, and perseverance of the youth in society. “This character mirrors those who stumble repeatedly but always rise again,” he adds.

To portray the role authentically, Shuvo interacted directly with the people of Mirpur, the film’s setting, where he himself grew up. “Being a local made it easier to connect with them. They helped me and gave me a close-up view of their everyday lives, which was invaluable in building the character,” he says.

This preparation ensured that his performance carries a genuine sense of realism. Shuvo notes that his own experiences of trusting people blindly and facing repeated setbacks helped him relate to the role. “During some scenes, it felt like I was acting out my own life story,” he reveals.

During filming, Shuvo became so immersed in the character that he could not stop crying in a particular scene. “It was emotionally overwhelming and quite traumatizing,” he admits.

Shuvo believes this role allows him to showcase a different side of his acting. “I’m not focused on winning awards from a single film, but through this character, the audience will see a new aspect of my craft. It’s a completely unique project for me,” he explains.

Shuvo adds that every person makes different choices in real life—some collapse after setbacks, while others rise again. “Ultimately, each decision is personal,” he notes.

Cut-Piece is not just entertainment—it’s a story of youth, struggle, hope, and resilience. Through his performance, Sifat Shuvo becomes a mirror reflecting the lives of young people who keep rising, no matter how many times they fall.

At first glance, Cut-Piece appears to be a story about the jhut (garment waste) trade—an industry often overlooked despite its deep entanglement with the country’s textile economy. But according to the filmmaker, the film is far more than a depiction of a specific sector. It is, instead, a metaphor for a broader social structure defined by power imbalance, exploitation, and systemic inequality.

“The world of jhut business is a reflection of a larger social framework,” Momo explains. “It’s a space where power is always concentrated in the hands of a few, while the majority struggle every day just to survive. This is not limited to one industry—it exists across many layers of our society.”

In Cut-Piece, the jhut market becomes a microcosm of that reality. Decisions are made at the top; consequences are borne at the bottom. The film examines how invisible power networks operate quietly, shaping lives without ever announcing themselves. By bringing these dynamics to the screen, Momo aims to make the unseen visible.

For a first full-length feature, selecting such a raw and underexplored subject is a deliberate risk—one the director is fully aware of. She describes the choice as both a conscious attempt to challenge audience comfort and a response to what she sees as a creative gap in mainstream Bangladeshi cinema.

“Real life is not always glamorous or comfortable,” she says. “But cinema often avoids that discomfort. I believe art has a responsibility—not just to entertain, but sometimes to confront.”

At the same time, Momo argues that the mainstream film landscape still leaves little room for grounded, socially rooted narratives. Cut-Piece is her attempt to step into that empty space—to tell a story that resists embellishment and instead embraces lived reality.

Central to the film’s philosophy is a belief that audiences are evolving. According to the director, today’s viewers are increasingly interested in stories that reflect their surroundings—stories that ask questions rather than provide easy answers.

“The audience is changing,” she says. “They are no longer satisfied with spectacle alone. They want to see reality, to question it, to locate themselves within it. Cut-Piece is an attempt to begin that conversation.”

Rather than offering clear moral resolutions, the film invites reflection: Who holds power? Why do the most vulnerable always pay the highest price? And where do we, as viewers, stand within this structure?

In that sense, Cut-Piece functions not only as a film but also as a social document—capturing a moment, a system, and a set of lives often absent from cinematic narratives. By centering an informal economy and the people who sustain it, the film challenges the boundaries of what mainstream cinema considers worthy of attention.

Whether Cut-Piece ultimately reshapes audience expectations remains to be seen. But its ambition is clear: to move beyond comfort, beyond convention, and toward a cinema that reflects society not as it wishes to be seen—but as it is.

In his post, Biswas highlighted Rahman’s symbolic gestures—touching the soil of the country upon arrival and walking barefoot on dew-covered grass—as expressions of a deep emotional and moral connection with the land, rather than mere political theatrics. He further noted Rahman’s respectful acknowledgement of ordinary citizens and senior political figures as a reflection of grounded leadership.

Biswas paid particular attention to Rahman’s behavior on stage. Instead of occupying a pre-arranged seat of power, Rahman chose to sit on a simple plastic chair, a gesture Biswas interpreted as a conscious rejection of political arrogance and an affirmation of equality. According to him, such actions communicate leadership through humility rather than dominance.

The actor also emphasized Rahman’s deliberate avoidance of obscene or aggressive language, as well as his refusal to capitalize on the towering political legacy of his parents. Instead, Biswas wrote, Rahman focused on offering assurances about rebuilding Bangladesh and outlining a vision for the country’s future—an approach that resonated strongly with many observers.

“Through these choices,” Biswas stated, “he earned our trust, gained our confidence, and found a place in our hearts.” Following the post, social media users engaged in widespread discussion, with many praising Biswas for articulating a longing for civility and dignity in political leadership. Political analysts note that when voices from the cultural sphere weigh in on political behavior, it often reflects broader public fatigue with confrontational rhetoric and power-centric politics. Observers believe Biswas’s remarks underscore a growing demand for ethical conduct, respectful language, and people-centered leadership in Bangladesh’s political landscape.

In an emotional post, Debashish wrote:
“Had you not been born, Bangladesh would never have received a filmmaker named Dilip Biswas. Had you not been born, parody songs would never have found their place in our country. Had you not been born, the struggling Kolkata film industry of the 1990s might never have revived. Had you not been born, I would never have found the greatest teacher, or the best father in the world.”

This powerful reflection highlights the extraordinary influence Dilip Biswas held throughout his multifaceted career.

Dilip Biswas is remembered as one of the most prominent commercial filmmakers in Bangladesh. Rising to popularity during the formative years of the nation’s film industry, he directed numerous box-office successes that helped shape mainstream Bangladeshi cinema. His films were known for combining mass appeal with strong storytelling—an approach that set him apart from his contemporaries.

Apart from directing, Biswas was widely regarded for his mastery in film music, particularly parody songs in Bangla cinema, a genre he popularized long before it became mainstream. His creative experimentation gave the industry several iconic musical moments that remain memorable to this day.

Dilip Biswas’s influence extended beyond Bangladesh. During the 1990s—an era when the Kolkata (Tollywood) film industry struggled with declining popularity—Biswas worked on key collaborative projects that helped revive audience interest. His directorial style and commercial instincts were credited by colleagues as instrumental in bringing renewed energy to Bengali cinema across the border.

For Debashish Biswas, himself a notable filmmaker today, the legacy is not only professional but deeply personal. In his post, he wrote of his father not merely as an industry icon but as a mentor who shaped his worldview and artistic sensibilities.

“Had you not been born, I would never have found the greatest teacher in my life,” he wrote, reflecting on the profound father-son bond that nurtured his own journey in films.

Even years after his passing, Dilip Biswas remains an inspirational figure in South Asian cinema. Filmmakers and audiences continue to celebrate his work, while his son carries forward the family’s cinematic heritage.

Debashish ended his message with a simple but deeply emotional wish: “Happy Birthday, Baba.”

This verdict cannot be viewed merely as the outcome of a legal process. It carries profound implications for Bangladesh’s political stage and the balance of power within the country. Rarely in history has a former head of government faced such a severe sentence for alleged crimes. However, the ruling has also sparked debates about its political context, particularly as it involves defendants who are currently at large, raising questions about the transparency and fairness of the judicial proceedings.

The charges against Sheikh Hasina primarily relate to the unrest and alleged human rights violations during the mass protests of July–August 2024. The tribunal examined the government’s response to student movements and public demonstrations, assessing whether actions taken at the time constituted violations of humanity. While the verdict asserts legal accountability, many within the country and internationally view the decision through the lens of political motivations, making it one of the most contentious judgments in Bangladesh’s history.

The immediate political impact of this verdict is profound. It has intensified the already volatile political climate, affecting the strategies of both the ruling and opposition parties. The credibility of political institutions, voter confidence, and the functioning of party structures are all poised to undergo a reassessment. In the streets, the state has heightened security, issuing warnings and deploying forces to maintain order. Citizens are urged to remain calm, yet the potential for social unrest and political confrontation remains high.

Internationally, reactions to the verdict have been mixed. While some states have recognized the tribunal’s decision as a legitimate exercise of legal authority, others have expressed concerns over the process’s transparency and the political context surrounding it. Bangladesh’s diplomatic relationships and international standing may also face challenges, particularly regarding cooperation in apprehending defendants at large.

Looking ahead, the verdict could fundamentally reshape the political landscape. It may trigger a redistribution of power among political parties and alter the trajectory of upcoming elections. However, maintaining the integrity of legal principles and judicial standards is crucial. Navigating this political upheaval while preserving social stability will test the resilience of Bangladesh’s institutions, leadership, and citizens alike.

Ultimately, the verdict against Sheikh Hasina is not merely about an individual; it represents a defining moment in Bangladesh’s political and legal history. It challenges the nation to balance justice, accountability, and political stability. How Bangladesh responds to this turning point will shape the country’s democratic future, the credibility of its institutions, and the confidence of its people. History will remember how this critical moment was managed and whether the nation succeeded in transforming a period of profound uncertainty into one of measured governance and resilient democracy.

The Daily Tribunal: How did your journey as an artist begin? How did your passion for dance and modeling develop?
Nikki Ahmed: I began taking dance lessons at a very young age under Saiful Islam Rana at Rajshahi Shilpakala Academy. The seed of my dream was planted by my mother—she wanted me to become a renowned dancer of Bangladesh. Over time, that dream became my own. Now, dance isn’t just a profession for me—it’s my identity. I’m constantly learning and want to stay alive in people’s hearts through creativity.

The Daily Tribunal: Growing up in Rajshahi, how did that environment shape you as an artist?
Nikki Ahmed: Moving from Rajshahi to Dhaka wasn’t easy. It was full of challenges, but honestly, I enjoyed every moment of it. The uncertainty, the excitement—it was a kind of sweet pain that motivated me. In the beginning, I faced criticism from relatives and neighbors; they felt ashamed to say I wanted to become a dancer. But now they’re proud. InshaAllah, I’ll achieve even more to completely break their old misconceptions.

The Daily Tribunal: Many people still don’t see dance as a real profession. How did your family and society react at first?
Nikki Ahmed: Fortunately, I didn’t face any restrictions from my family because my father was a singer. We were always an artistic family. However, the financial side was tough. In the early days, stage shows didn’t pay much, and there were times I thought of quitting. But I couldn’t—because I knew nothing else and didn’t want to do anything else. Today, Alhamdulillah, I’ve built an international identity through dance, and all that struggle feels worth it.

The Daily Tribunal: As a dancer and model, how do you define your true self?
Nikki Ahmed: I truly feel myself when I’m on stage. There’s a strange energy, a happiness that I don’t find anywhere else. For me, identity means soul—and my soul finds peace when the audience claps, cheers, and appreciates my performance.

The Daily Tribunal: How has art changed you—your personality, your thoughts, or your outlook on life?
Nikki Ahmed: Dance has taught me everything—from communication and confidence to balancing personal and professional life. I’ve faced jealousy and criticism, but also love and admiration. Performing abroad was another battle—sometimes I wasn’t treated with the same respect as others. But I proved myself through my work, and that journey of constant learning has shaped who I am today.

The Daily Tribunal: You once said, “I love creating something new.” How do you bring that sense of innovation into your work?
Nikki Ahmed: New ideas come from freedom. When I feel mentally free, creativity flows naturally. I’ve always loved challenges; maybe that’s why newness comes so effortlessly to me.

The Daily Tribunal: Tell us about your experience working at Bimurt Cultural Academy.
Nikki Ahmed: Bimurt is one of the most respected institutions in Rajshahi. I worked there as a dance instructor for about four years. Those years built my confidence—I learned to take responsibility and trust my abilities. Later, when opportunities came from Kolkata, I decided to move to Dhaka with bigger dreams.

The Daily Tribunal: You love shooting in new locations. Is there a special reason behind that?
Nikki Ahmed: I’ve always loved traveling. Whenever I see a beautiful location, I imagine how it would look on camera. That’s how my photoshoots are born—and my fans love them. Honestly, I enjoy collecting beautiful photos; it’s a part of my artistic expression.

The Daily Tribunal: Between stage performance and photoshoots, which one feels more ‘you’?
Nikki Ahmed: Photoshoots can be a bit artificial—there’s makeup, lights, and filters. But the stage doesn’t let you hide. It’s raw, it’s real. The stage is my comfort zone and my first love. If I ever had to choose, I could live without photoshoots, but not without the stage. Without it, I’d fall sick.

The Daily Tribunal: The modeling world is highly competitive. How do you make yourself stand out?
Nikki Ahmed: I don’t follow any secret formula. I prepare myself in my own way—staying happy, sleeping well, and thinking positively. These keep my mind and skin healthy. Maybe that’s what makes me a bit different from others.

The Daily Tribunal: As a woman working in a field often judged by society, how do you stay mentally strong?
Nikki Ahmed: I faced criticism from relatives and neighbors since childhood, but that only made me stronger. Many of those who once mocked me now feel proud. I learned that you can succeed without paying attention to negativity. My mother’s support and my inner willpower have been my biggest shields.

The Daily Tribunal: What’s your message to the young generation who want to pursue a career in dance or modeling?
Nikki Ahmed: Keep learning. Never compare your progress with others. Someone else’s success or failure shouldn’t distract you from your own path. Consistency and patience are the real keys to success.

The Daily Tribunal: You said, “I want to learn new things and give them to Bangladesh.” Can you explain that?
Nikki Ahmed: Society still looks down on dance in many ways. I want to change that mindset by introducing new styles and presentations. I’m blending our traditional dance with modern concepts—like remix performances. That’s why I’m currently training in belly dance in Mumbai and Bangkok. I believe people will welcome this evolution soon.

The Daily Tribunal: Any plans to step into films?
Nikki Ahmed: Yes, but only through dance. I’ve already done two item songs in movies and several music videos. In the future, I’d love to do dance-based films or elegant item performances that add artistic value.

The Daily Tribunal: What’s your ultimate goal—as an artist or beyond art?
Nikki Ahmed: My first goal is to make the world recognize Bangladesh through my dance. I’ve already represented my country in 13 countries and brought home awards. Beyond art, I want to be a successful entrepreneur—but always through honest, halal work.

The Daily Tribunal: Where do you see yourself ten years from now?
Nikki Ahmed: I want people to know me the way they know Shakira. That’s the dream I’m chasing.

Nikki Ahmed’s story is one of persistence, passion, and pride. Her voice carries a powerful message—that no matter where you come from, with talent, discipline, and courage, you can dance your way onto any stage in the world.

South-South Cooperation refers to the exchange of knowledge, expertise, and resources among developing nations, while Triangular Cooperation introduces a third partner—often a developed country or an international organization—that provides technical expertise, funding, or facilitation. Together, these partnerships emphasize equality, mutual learning, and shared benefits, setting a new tone in global collaboration.

In recent years, countries across Asia, Africa, and Latin America have been at the forefront of exchanging practical innovations. From Kenya’s mobile banking system influencing financial inclusion projects in South Asia, to Bangladesh’s pioneering community health initiatives inspiring programs in Africa, developing nations are proving that they can serve as sources of solutions, not merely recipients of aid. Brazil’s biofuel technologies and India’s solar energy projects have already been adopted and expanded across different regions, often with the support of international partners through triangular arrangements. These examples highlight how cooperation within the Global South is accelerating technology transfer and creating new avenues for sustainable development.

The role of triangular partnerships has become particularly important in scaling up such initiatives. Countries like Japan, Germany, and Spain have worked with the United Nations and regional organizations to bring expertise and capacity-building support to cross-continental projects. The United Nations Office for South-South Cooperation has repeatedly emphasized that these partnerships enhance cost-effectiveness, reduce duplication of effort, and ensure that innovations reach communities faster.

However, the rise of South-South and Triangular Cooperation is not without its challenges. Disparities in resources between partner nations, weak institutional mechanisms, and limited monitoring frameworks have sometimes slowed progress. Analysts argue that stronger political commitment and better regional integration are necessary to ensure long-term sustainability. Despite these obstacles, momentum continues to grow, driven by a shared recognition that developing countries can lead in shaping global solutions.

Speaking at a recent policy dialogue, a senior UNDP official remarked that South-South and Triangular Cooperation is more than just another tool for development assistance; it is a demonstration of solidarity and shared responsibility. The official stressed that when developing nations exchange solutions, they are not only solving their own problems but also contributing to redefining the nature of international partnerships.

As the world grapples with economic volatility, environmental pressures, and shifting geopolitical dynamics, South-South and Triangular Cooperation stands out as an innovative framework for resilience and growth. By fostering collaboration, promoting homegrown solutions, and advancing common goals, it offers new opportunities for countries of the Global South to shape a more equitable and sustainable future.

The crisis began when the government abruptly banned 26 major social media platforms, including Facebook, Instagram, WhatsApp, YouTube, and X (formerly Twitter). Officials argued that the restrictions were necessary to curb misinformation and enforce registration requirements. TikTok and Viber remained accessible, as they had complied with the government’s regulations. Yet for millions of young Nepalis, the ban was seen not only as an attack on their freedom of expression but also as a symbol of an out-of-touch leadership that has repeatedly failed to address corruption, unemployment, and economic stagnation.

Within hours of the ban, protests erupted across Kathmandu and quickly spread to other cities, gaining momentum under the banner of the so-called “Gen-Z Protests.” While the initial rallies were peaceful, tensions escalated sharply when security forces responded with tear gas, rubber bullets, and eventually live rounds. The crackdown left scores injured and sparked outrage that boiled over into violence. Crowds set fire to the Parliament building, the Prime Minister’s residence, the Supreme Court, and even homes of prominent politicians. The government responded by imposing an indefinite curfew and calling in the Nepal Army, which issued stern warnings that acts of arson, looting, and vandalism would be punished as criminal offenses.

As the death toll mounted, pressure on the government intensified both domestically and internationally. On September 9, officials lifted the social media ban in a bid to ease tensions, and Oli publicly expressed sorrow over the loss of life. He promised free medical treatment for the wounded, financial compensation for the families of the dead, and a 15-day investigation into the crisis. But these gestures were widely dismissed by protesters as too little, too late. By evening, Oli announced his resignation, saying he was stepping aside in the interest of the nation. President Ram Chandra Paudel accepted the resignation and began urgent consultations with political parties to form a new government. Oli will remain as caretaker prime minister until a successor is appointed.

The United Nations quickly condemned the violence. UN human rights chief Volker Türk described the crackdown as “unnecessary and disproportionate,” while Secretary-General António Guterres urged all sides to show restraint and prioritize dialogue over confrontation. The UN Country Team in Nepal has called for an independent investigation into the killings, stressing that the right to peaceful protest and freedom of expression must be safeguarded. Several international human rights groups have echoed these calls, warning that further instability could jeopardize Nepal’s fragile democracy.

For many young Nepalis, however, Oli’s resignation is only the beginning. The protests, they say, are not just about access to social media platforms but about the broader failure of political leaders to deliver on the promises made after the abolition of the monarchy in 2008. The frustrations run deep: widespread unemployment, allegations of corruption in every sector, and a generation that feels sidelined from decision-making.

The events of the past week have left Nepal at a crossroads. On one hand, the resignation of a sitting prime minister under pressure from youth-led street protests represents a dramatic shift in power dynamics, signaling the strength of the country’s younger demographic. On the other, the violence, destruction, and lingering anger raise fears of further unrest if the political class fails to respond meaningfully.

“This is about our future, not just Facebook or YouTube,” said one protester in Kathmandu, speaking through a megaphone as soldiers patrolled nearby streets. “We are tired of leaders who think about themselves before the people. We will not stop until real change comes.”

Nepal now faces the urgent challenge of forming a stable government that can bridge the widening gap between citizens and the state. Whether this crisis becomes a turning point toward accountability and reform—or another chapter of disillusionment—will depend on how the coming weeks unfold.

This observance was born out of a recognition that enforced disappearance is not just another violation—it is a strategy of fear, a deliberate attempt to erase individuals from the fabric of society while simultaneously tormenting their families. The disappeared are denied justice, but so too are their relatives, who face years, sometimes lifetimes, of waiting for answers. The scars of such crimes often last for generations.

The United Nations, by dedicating this day, has sought to give voice to the voiceless. It calls attention to the ways in which governments and institutions sometimes misuse power to silence dissent, punish opposition, or control communities. Beyond the political calculations, the impact is deeply human: children grow up without parents, spouses live in uncertainty, and entire communities are destabilized by fear.

International law has made clear that enforced disappearances are never acceptable, not in times of peace, not in war, not under any excuse of emergency. The international convention adopted to prevent this crime recognizes it as one of the gravest violations of human dignity, one that may even amount to a crime against humanity when carried out systematically. The very existence of this framework is proof that the world has tried to build a shield against such abuses. Yet, despite treaties and resolutions, the practice persists in many parts of the globe, sometimes hidden in bureaucracy, sometimes justified under the guise of national security.

The importance of this day, therefore, lies not only in remembrance but also in a call to action. Each year, the message resonates: families have the right to know the fate of their loved ones, victims have the right to justice, and societies have the obligation to ensure accountability. Where impunity prevails, the cycle of fear continues, undermining the foundations of trust between people and their institutions.

This year’s observance comes with renewed urgency. Human rights defenders, international organizations, and families of victims are uniting their voices more strongly than ever, demanding truth, reparations, and accountability. They remind us that disappearance is not simply the absence of a person—it is a wound to the very spirit of humanity. Healing requires truth, recognition, and justice.

Ultimately, commemorating the International Day of the Victims of Enforced Disappearances is an act of resistance against silence. It is an affirmation that every life matters, that no state can rightfully claim the power to erase its citizens without consequence, and that memory itself is a form of justice. As the world marks this day, we are reminded that our responsibility does not end with reflection. It demands persistent effort to ensure that such crimes are neither forgotten nor repeated, and that every missing face is met with the dignity of remembrance and the pursuit of truth.

The retreat of glaciers, rising seas, and increasingly erratic rainfall patterns show that humanity’s relationship with water is in profound imbalance. The consequences are not limited to natural disasters—they stretch into food security, public health, migration, and economic stability. If global climate policy continues to treat water as an afterthought, the cost will be borne by the most vulnerable communities.

The true meaning of “water for climate action” must translate into three urgent shifts. First, every climate plan, investment, and adaptation measure must be tested against water realities: too much, too little, or too polluted. Policies cannot succeed if they ignore hydrological risk. Second, financial resources must flow to where they are needed most—toward resilient agriculture, clean drinking water systems, flood defenses, and watershed restoration. Third, cooperation across borders is no longer optional. Rivers, aquifers, and storms ignore political boundaries, and so must our strategies.

Equally important is the less glamorous but more impactful work: fixing leaks, maintaining infrastructure, and protecting the ecosystems that supply fresh water. Cities and nations that invest in these basics will withstand climate shocks better than those that build grand projects while neglecting everyday resilience.

For countries on the frontlines—those facing salinity intrusion, erratic rainfall, or river erosion—the lessons of this week are particularly urgent. Planning, budgeting, and governance must place water at the center of climate strategies. Only then can adaptation move from rhetoric to reality.

World Water Week has grown into a platform that connects policymakers, scientists, financiers, and citizens around a single agenda. But its success cannot be measured in speeches or declarations. It will be judged by whether governments go home and reshape their national priorities, by whether utilities improve services, and by whether communities gain real protection from water-related risks.

Water is not just one element of the climate story—it is the stage on which the entire crisis unfolds. Recognizing that truth, and acting upon it, is the only way forward.

Created by the UN General Assembly in 2019, the day is intended to honor the countless men, women, and children who have suffered discrimination, displacement, or death simply because of their religious identity. Speaking in New York, Guterres reminded the world that commemorating their memory must not become a hollow ritual. “Unchecked hate and impunity threaten our shared humanity,” he said, urging governments to implement stronger anti-discrimination laws, reshape education to foster mutual respect, and encourage dialogue instead of division. He also demanded accountability from digital platforms, stressing that online spaces should never become breeding grounds for extremism and hate speech.

The Secretary-General’s warning comes against a backdrop of deeply troubling realities. In northern Nigeria, extremist violence continues to devastate communities, leaving families in mourning and villages abandoned. In Iraq and Syria, Yazidis, Christians, and Druze still endure the aftermath of ISIS’s genocidal campaign, their trauma compounded by slow progress toward justice. Allegations of systematic repression of Uyghur Muslims in China remain a global concern, while reports from Afghanistan, Iran, and the Democratic Republic of Congo tell of targeted killings, destroyed places of worship, and persecution designed to erase minority voices. Each case is a reminder that religious intolerance is neither isolated nor fading — it is global, and it is urgent.

Behind the global headlines lie stories of human anguish. Survivors describe the pain of exile, families torn apart, and communities living under constant fear. Children grow up in refugee camps far from their ancestral lands, their heritage endangered by silence and neglect. For them, international solidarity is not a matter of rhetoric but of survival, justice, and the hope of rebuilding lives without fear of persecution.

This is why the UN insists that the day cannot be symbolic alone. Rights advocates argue that too often remembrance is used as a substitute for accountability. While crimes against humanity are well-documented, international institutions frequently struggle to deliver justice, leaving victims with unanswered questions and perpetrators shielded by political convenience. The result is a cycle where “Never Again” is repeated, yet atrocities recur with disturbing regularity.

The observance of 22 August therefore carries a heavier responsibility: to transform grief into action and remembrance into reform. The freedom of thought, conscience, and belief — protected under international law and enshrined in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights — is not merely a personal liberty. It is a foundation for peace, social cohesion, and democratic life. Protecting it means protecting the essence of shared humanity.

As the world paused to reflect, the UN’s message was clear: justice, inclusivity, and solidarity must guide the global response to religious-based violence. “This day is not symbolic,” Guterres declared. “Only through action can we ensure that no one is persecuted for what they believe.” His words stood as both a warning and an invitation — that memory must light the path toward a future where faith is no longer a reason for fear.

The YVM is designed to create a sustainable and inclusive channel, particularly for marginalized, rural, and underrepresented youth, enabling them to directly engage with government stakeholders and contribute to decision-making. The initiative recognizes the crucial role of young people in Bangladesh’s progress and resilience and responds to the growing demand for more inclusive governance.

During the design phase, a mixed-method participatory approach will be followed, including divisional workshops, focus group discussions, expert interviews, and a national youth survey. These methods will ensure that the mechanism reflects the lived experiences, aspirations, and ideas of the country’s youth.

Speaking at the launch, UN Resident Coordinator (a.i.) Rana Flowers said:
“As Bangladesh navigates a historic transformative moment, the Youth Voice Mechanism will serve as a tool for young people to express their views on justice, equity, and issues that impact both the present and the future. This initiative reflects the call made by the Honorable Chief Adviser, Professor Muhammad Yunus, during the UN General Assembly.”

She added, “By creating a peaceful and structured space for meaningful engagement, we are empowering young people to articulate their perspectives and contribute to building a more inclusive and sustainable future for their country.”

Echoing this vision, Md. Mahbub-ul-Alam, Secretary of the Ministry of Youth and Sports, stated:
“We are committed to working with the UN system and young people across Bangladesh to ensure the success of the Youth Voice Mechanism. This initiative will help us better understand the needs and aspirations of the youth and reflect them in our policies and programs.”

The YVM will operate through a multi-layered framework to ensure broad-based participation and meaningful engagement. Activities will include online dialogue platforms, regional workshops, and policy-oriented research. A dedicated secretariat under the Ministry of Youth and Sports will coordinate these activities in collaboration with youth organizations, government agencies, and UN partners.

All young people in Bangladesh — regardless of their background, education, or location — will be able to take part in the YVM. Special efforts will be made to include marginalized youth, indigenous groups, rural youth, those in climate-vulnerable regions, youth with disabilities, women, gender-diverse groups, university students, and those working in the informal sector. Young people will be able to participate through online forums, workshops, policy submissions, and awareness campaigns. The platform will also help build youth leadership capacity and strengthen their role in governance.

The process is being co-designed by young leaders and stakeholders to ensure legitimacy, inclusiveness, and effectiveness. A governing committee, under the Ministry of Youth and Sports, will include representative youth leaders from across the country, tasked with overseeing the consultation process and ensuring it remains youth-led, inclusive, and aligned with the national policy framework.

The Youth Voice Mechanism (YVM) is a joint initiative of the United Nations system and the Ministry of Youth and Sports, Government of Bangladesh. Its aim is to establish a sustainable, inclusive, and structured channel through which young people can actively participate in policy-making and governance.

He wrote, “Exactly 11 years ago on this very day, I became a father! Today is the happy birthday of my only son, ‘Debojit.’ I request everyone to bless him with all their heart so that, amidst the crowd of the inhuman, he may become a true human being and a forerunner in the struggle to uphold humanity.”

This is more than just a birthday wish — it reflects a father’s deep love and his strong hopes for his child’s future. In an era marked by contradictions, moral decay, and acts of inhumanity, Debashish’s message resonates as a call for his son to grow up with integrity, courage, and compassion, and to remain steadfast on the path of truth.

Close relatives share that Debojit’s birthdays have always been marked with special celebrations. This year is no exception, with a school celebration alongside friends, followed by a family gathering and cake-cutting at home — moments filled with laughter, joy, and affection.

On this special day, relatives, friends, and countless well-wishers are sending their heartfelt blessings. Their collective hope is simple yet profound — that Debojit grows up healthy, fulfills his parents’ dreams, and becomes a beacon of positive change in society.

It began on June 5th, 2024, with a verdict from the High Court that overturned a 2018 government decision to abolish quotas in public service recruitment. That decision, made years ago following a wave of student protests, had been accepted as a compromise to promote meritocracy. But now, with the court’s ruling, the very foundation of that compromise was being shattered. For tens of thousands of students who had fought for that change, this verdict came not as legal correction, but as a betrayal.

Protests erupted almost immediately—initially peaceful and disciplined. Students across universities formed human chains, issued joint statements, and demanded a reconsideration of the ruling. But the state chose confrontation over conversation. What should have been a moment for listening and negotiation became the spark for an eruption of violence.

From mid-July, the government's response grew more brutal with each passing day. Police raids on university dormitories became nightly rituals. Tear gas, batons, and rubber bullets turned academic campuses into war zones. Student leaders were picked up without warrants, many never to be seen again. On July 16, the killing of Abu Sayed, a student at Begum Rokeya University in Rangpur—who was photographed standing with his arms spread peacefully before being gunned down—became the emblem of a movement. His bloodied body, captured on smartphones, went viral and ignited mass outrage across the nation.

Street murals speak volumes — from police action to public health, every wall tells a story. These vibrant visuals reflect the urgent call for justice, awareness, and social reform in Bangladesh. Photo © Salim Reza

In the days that followed, death tolls mounted. Unofficial estimates suggested over 1,500 were killed, including many who were never officially acknowledged by the state. Thousands were injured, hundreds lost their eyesight from rubber bullets aimed at their faces, and over 11,000 were detained in an unprecedented wave of crackdowns. The brutality of the state extended beyond physical violence—it also included digital censorship. Internet blackouts, social media bans, and mass surveillance were deployed to silence dissent. But they failed.

This movement was unlike any in Bangladesh’s past. It had no central committee, no political party backing it, no charismatic leader at the front. It was a spontaneous, decentralized revolt—organized through encrypted chats, hashtags, digital posters, and live-streamed protests. Students formed human shields around girls’ dormitories, medical volunteers set up makeshift clinics in libraries, and visual artists turned bloodied handkerchiefs into national symbols. For the first time, a new generation stood up not for one political party over another, but for dignity, equity, and justice.

The international community could no longer ignore it. Amnesty International labeled the state’s actions as "crimes against humanity." Human Rights Watch condemned the mass blinding of protesters as "a systematic act of terror." Major global media outlets—BBC, The Guardian, Al Jazeera, The New York Times—ran front-page stories titled “Bangladesh Is Burning,” “The Generation That Refused to Bow,” and “When a State Turned Its Guns on Its Students.”

Despite the state’s attempt to label the protests as anarchic or foreign-funded, its own grip on the country began to crumble. Government offices in dozens of districts ceased functioning. Senior bureaucrats refused to sign illegal detention orders. Civil society, academia, and even segments of the armed forces began expressing discontent. The machinery of repression began to rust under the pressure of truth and resilience.

By early August, the administration had lost control over several major regions. On August 5th, Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina resigned from office and reportedly left for India, ending a two-decade-long era of increasingly autocratic governance. Three days later, an interim caretaker government was sworn in, headed by Nobel Laureate Dr. Muhammad Yunus, in a historic moment that stunned the world. It was, for many, the closest thing to a revolution Bangladesh had seen since its independence in 1971.

And yet, what followed was not jubilation. It was grief. The bloodied faces, missing persons, and permanently blinded young activists left an irreparable scar on the national psyche. In truth, the victory felt pyrrhic. The government had fallen, but at what cost?

Unity in diversity painted loud — this mural calls for harmony beyond religion, identity, and nation, urging us to recognize our shared humanity. Photo © Salim Reza

As of today, one year later, the wounds remain fresh. International tribunals are in the early stages of prosecuting former government officials—including Sheikh Hasina—for crimes against humanity. Thousands of families continue to search for justice, some still searching for the bodies of their children. Survivors of torture, rape, and psychological trauma are being treated in silence, far from the headlines they once dominated. And while a new political framework may now be in place, the democratic institutions of the country remain fragile, uncertain, and vulnerable to manipulation.

What happened in July 2024 was not merely a political transition. It was a reckoning—a generational refusal to accept autocracy, a declaration that silence is complicity. But unless that sacrifice is translated into lasting reform—through inclusive elections, constitutional amendments, reparations for victims, and accountability for perpetrators—the uprising risks becoming just another page in a tragic cycle of violence and forgetting.

We must not allow that to happen.

Bangladesh owes a sacred debt to the young people who rose not for power, but for principle. To honor their sacrifice, we must build a society where no citizen has to die for justice, where no student is blinded for asking questions, and where no mother is left waiting for a child who will never come home.

This editorial is not just a reflection; it is a reminder. July 2024 is not over. It lives on—in courtrooms, in protest songs, in wheelchairs pushed through hospital corridors, and in the eyes of every Bangladeshi who dares to believe that this country can still be free, fair, and fearless.

Debashish wrote:

‘Shubho Bibaho’ is the only film where, despite not featuring megastar Shakib Khan, a single-sheet publicity poster was created using his still image—with his prior permission—for the sake of promoting the movie. This is a rare instance in film history and, in a way, a record! His selfless support for the promotion of my film will remain etched in my heart forever.

This act wasn’t just about a publicity tool—it reflected a deep trust and mutual respect between two stalwarts of the film industry. Debashish Biswas, known for his passion for storytelling, evidently approached film not just as a business, but as an art form that deserves creative collaboration and integrity. Shakib Khan, known for being highly protective of his brand and screen presence, offered his image without any personal gain—simply in the spirit of goodwill and respect for the filmmaker and the craft.

The film Shubho Bibaho earned appreciation from audiences for its emotional storyline and visual presentation. Yet this little-known backstory adds another layer to its legacy—making it not just a cinematic work but also a symbol of generosity and unity in an often-competitive industry.

In a time when personal interests and rivalries often take center stage in showbiz, Shakib Khan’s gesture stands as a reminder of how powerful selflessness and solidarity can be. His action sets an example for others—showing that real stardom is not just about screen presence, but also about character and contribution behind the scenes.

This extraordinary collaboration will undoubtedly inspire filmmakers, cinephiles, and the next generation of storytellers. After all, the soul of cinema lies in shared passion, trust, and a willingness to go beyond ego for the sake of something greater.

Doctors and psychologists in Bangladesh are raising concerns about the increasing health risks associated with smartphone addiction, particularly among youth and working professionals.

Smartphone Addiction: A Silent Epidemic?

Recent studies show that nearly 65% of smartphone users aged between 18 and 35 spend more than 5 hours a day on their devices. Many even check their phones the moment they wake up and continue using them until they fall asleep.

Professor Dr. Mahbuba Rahman from the Department of Psychology at the University of Dhaka explains:

“Smartphone usage triggers dopamine release in the brain, giving users a sense of pleasure. This leads to repeated use, forming a cycle of dependency. Over time, it can cause mental fatigue, attention deficiency, and even depression.”

Blue Light: An Enemy to Sleep

Medical experts highlight that blue light emitted from smartphone screens disrupts melatonin production in the brain, a hormone crucial for regulating sleep.

Dr. Riazul Islam, a medicine specialist at Dhaka Medical College Hospital, states:

“Night-time phone use is disturbing people's natural sleep cycles. This not only reduces sleep quality but also weakens the immune system, increasing risks of high blood pressure, headaches, and fatigue.”

Eye Strain and Physical Discomfort

Staring at screens for prolonged periods causes eye strain, blurred vision, dry eyes, and frequent headaches—a condition now known as “digital eye strain.” Additionally, poor posture during phone use contributes to neck pain, backaches, and joint stress.

A Greater Threat to Children and Teenagers

In many households, smartphones are often used to pacify children. While it may work momentarily, the long-term impact is alarming.

Dr. Labiba Nowrin, a pediatric specialist at the National Institute of Child Health, warns:

“Children under two should avoid screens altogether. Excessive screen time hinders language development, attention span, behavioral control, and sleep quality. Lack of physical activity also increases the risk of obesity and early-stage diabetes.”

Decline in Social Bonds

As smartphone dependency increases, direct communication within families and friendships is diminishing. Psychologists say relationships are being weakened as people become more absorbed in virtual interactions rather than real ones.

What Can Be Done?

Health experts recommend a set of guidelines to reduce risks:

• Limit daily screen time
• Avoid smartphone use at least one hour before bed
• Spend quality time with family without devices
• Avoid giving children unrestricted access to smartphones
• Introduce “digital detox” periods regularly

Technology should serve humanity—not dominate it. Responsible and limited smartphone use can ensure we enjoy the benefits of technology without falling victim to its side effects. Creating awareness at home, in schools, and across society is essential to curb this growing concern.

Related Facts:

• A 2025 national survey revealed that 74% of Bangladeshi youth check social media before going to sleep.

• The World Health Organization (WHO) recommends that children under the age of 5 should have no more than 1 hour of screen time per day.

The BRT project, delayed for years, has already caused extreme suffering to city dwellers through traffic congestion, dust pollution, and road hazards. The fact that such a massive girder could be lifted and transported over a busy road without properly securing the area or stopping traffic indicates sheer recklessness. A proper risk assessment was clearly absent, and safety protocols appear to have been ignored altogether. Who approved such a critical operation without adequate security measures in place?

Initial footage and witness accounts confirm that there were no traffic barricades, no traffic police or marshals present, and no warnings to approaching vehicles. Construction on such a scale in a densely populated city demands meticulous coordination between the contractor, project authority, local administration, and law enforcement. Yet, the complete absence of this coordination cost innocent lives. This is not a "mishap"—it’s a management failure. The authorities' attempts to shift blame to subcontractors or site-level workers only further expose the systemic flaw of non-transparent chains of responsibility. The public demands clear answers: Who is accountable? Will it end with a few arrests, or will this lead to structural reform?

To make matters worse, in the hours following the accident, public transport fares in and around the area surged three to four times the normal rate. With the metro line disrupted and roads blocked, thousands were stranded. Many were forced to walk miles, some fainted in the scorching heat, while rickshaw pullers and ride share drivers took unethical advantage of the crisis. This unregulated exploitation of people's suffering reflects another layer of systemic failure—no authority was seen on the ground to regulate fare hikes or manage the crowd.

Five lives, including children, were crushed beneath a girder. Their dreams, their future, extinguished in seconds. What justice can compensate for such loss? Government officials promised compensation and ordered investigations—but public trust in these "investigations" is nearly nonexistent. Without transparent reporting, independent audits, and real consequences for the guilty—these will remain hollow rituals.

This tragedy must become a turning point. We demand:

1. Immediate restructuring of the BRT and similar mega projects, with safety as a non-negotiable standard.
2. Independent probe committees with no political influence.
3. Real-time monitoring of construction zones through CCTV and AI-based traffic alerts.
4. Strict regulation against fare hikes during emergencies with on-ground crisis response units.
5. Compulsory public disclosures of project progress, safety audits, and contractor qualifications.

Let us remember that development means more than concrete pillars—it means building systems that value human life above all. Without that, every such project becomes a ticking time bomb.

US-Bangla Airlines launched its journey on July 17, 2014, with a domestic flight between Dhaka and Jashore using a Dash 8-Q400 aircraft. Since then, the airline has significantly expanded its operations. Today, it boasts a fleet of 24 aircraft, including two wide-body Airbus A330-300s and nine Boeing 737-800s. From its inception, US-Bangla has maintained a consistent on-time performance rate exceeding 90%.

The airline currently operates domestic flights from Dhaka to Chattogram, Cox’s Bazar, Sylhet, Jashore, Saidpur, and Rajshahi. International operations began on May 15, 2016, with flights to Kathmandu. Since then, US-Bangla has expanded to major global destinations such as Kolkata, Chennai, Malé, Muscat, Doha, Dubai, Sharjah, Abu Dhabi, Jeddah, Riyadh, Kuala Lumpur, Singapore, Bangkok, and Guangzhou.

Fleet expansion continues, with another A330-300 expected to be added soon. The airline has set its sights on launching flights to London and Rome by 2026, and to New York and Toronto by 2028.

In recognition of its consistent service, US-Bangla was once again named “Best Domestic Airline” in 2024, an honor it also received in 2015, 2022, and 2023.

With a workforce of around 3,000 employees, the airline contributes significantly to the country’s economy, through tax and surcharge payments, job creation, and foreign currency earnings. Tickets are available through the website, mobile app, over 40 domestic sales offices, and a large network of travel agencies and online platforms. Frequent travelers benefit from the airline’s SkyStar frequent flyer program.

US-Bangla Airlines holds the distinction of being the first Bangladeshi carrier to introduce direct flights to China, Chennai, and Malé, post-independence. Its exceptional baggage delivery service—ensuring luggage is handed over within 15 minutes of landing—has also drawn praise from both passengers and media. In addition to passenger services, the airline plays a crucial role in cargo transportation and actively supports various initiatives in education, culture, sports, and social development.

Speaking on the occasion, Managing Director Mohammed Abdullah Al Mamun stated: In a globally competitive aviation industry, US-Bangla Airlines is committed to meeting all challenges head-on. Our goal is to consistently provide safe and comfortable air travel. We are continuing to expand our fleet and services to better serve passengers while playing an active role in the country's economic development. He also expressed sincere appreciation to the Government of Bangladesh, Civil Aviation Authority, travel agents, corporate partners, and media professionals for their unwavering support over the years.

After years of active involvement in the media, Foyez Hridoy took a short break. However, his close associates confirm that this pause is part of a larger plan to return with renewed energy and original stories.

“I have four stories ready, and In Sha Allah, I plan to start working on them next year,” Foyez said. “Each project will aim to deliver something meaningful and fresh to the audience.”

The titles of his upcoming dramas are:
"Bijoyer Alo" (Light of Victory), "Dorjar Opare" (Beyond the Door), "Dujoner Jokhon Dui Pante" (When Two Souls Stand Apart), and "Shomoyer Opekkha" (Waiting for Time).
These stories are expected to highlight emotional struggles, social realities, relationship complexities, and the psychological passage of time.

Previously, Foyez Hridoy worked on several acclaimed productions as an assistant director. His notable contributions include Third Chance, Je Kotha Bola Hoyni (The Unspoken Words), Olot-Palot Prem (Topsy-Turvy Love), and Probashi Patro (The Expat Groom). His creative involvement earned praise from both audiences and industry insiders.

Though currently in Kuwait, Foyez is reportedly using the diverse surroundings and reflective solitude of expatriate life to fuel his storytelling. These personal experiences are likely to be reflected in his future work as well.

Industry insiders believe his return will bring a fresh wave of original content to the screen. Audiences, too, remain eagerly optimistic, hoping his new projects will continue the success of his previous contributions.

The Daily Tribunal: What message were you hoping to convey through “Byathar Bagan”?

Iffat Jahan Momo: The story teaches us that one setback in life doesn’t define our entire journey. Being betrayed once in love doesn’t mean love won’t find you again. Family, friends—these relationships are our greatest strength. With this work, I wanted to show that someone will come into your life who truly loves you, cares for you, and stands by you.

The Daily Tribunal: What was the biggest challenge in adapting Kinkar Ahsan’s story into a drama?

Iffat Jahan Momo: Honestly, it wasn’t too challenging. His storytelling is always simple and heartfelt. He speaks directly to the audience's emotions, which is his greatest strength.

The Daily Tribunal: Do you consider yourself a socially conscious filmmaker?

Iffat Jahan Momo: Absolutely. I believe it’s crucial for a filmmaker to be responsible. Our creations influence people’s subconscious. So, I always try to embed a message in my work. For instance, during this Eid, I made Is It Her Fault?, which highlights women’s safety and freedom.

The Daily Tribunal: When making a web fiction, what element do you prioritize the most—story, acting, or dialogue?

Iffat Jahan Momo: All three are equally important. A powerful story, compelling performances, and impactful dialogues together make a work memorable.

The Daily Tribunal: How was your experience working with Tausif Mahbub and Aisha Khan?

Iffat Jahan Momo: Wonderful! Tausif bhai deserves special mention. Even though he’s a star, he’s humble and professional. During a shoot in the kans grass field, his expensive shoes got ruined, yet he never once complained. That kind of dedication is admirable.

The Daily Tribunal: Do you personally select your cast, or rely on your team?

Iffat Jahan Momo: It’s a mix of both. I consider what the story needs and what the audience wants. We create content for viewers, but I also try to bring something new and refreshing based on the narrative.

The Daily Tribunal: As a director, how much creative freedom do you give to your actors?

Iffat Jahan Momo: As a director, I believe “freedom of acting” is actually teamwork. The more directors and actors collaborate as a team, the better the output.

The Daily Tribunal: What factors do you consider when selecting a story?

Iffat Jahan Momo: I look at the message, the realism, and how well it connects with the audience. If viewers can find themselves in the story, that’s the biggest success.

The Daily Tribunal: How do you make a story resonate with viewers—through visuals or emotion?

Iffat Jahan Momo: Both. If a work doesn’t touch the heart, it won’t last.

The Daily Tribunal: You often focus on love and emotional struggles. Is there a personal reason behind this?

Iffat Jahan Momo: Definitely. These stories come from my own experiences or those of people around me. The emotions are real, and that’s where the storytelling begins.

The Daily Tribunal: How has the audience responded to your works “Muntasir” and “Byathar Bagan”?

Iffat Jahan Momo: Both received great responses. But they can’t really be compared. Muntasir is a full-length film addressing male sexual harassment, while Byathar Bagan is a drama fiction. Despite the format differences, I’m grateful for the love from the audience.

The Daily Tribunal: Have you faced any criticism or misunderstandings regarding these works?

Iffat Jahan Momo: Not really. I haven’t faced any serious misunderstandings so far. The audience has always supported me.

The Daily Tribunal: What kind of stories are you interested in making in the future?

Iffat Jahan Momo: I plan to make commercial films. My goal is to release a feature film by 2026. Of course, I’ll continue working on dramas, short films, and advertisements alongside.

The Daily Tribunal: If there were no budget limitations, what kind of project would you create?

Iffat Jahan Momo: I would definitely make a large-scale, internationally styled film—one that combines story, technology, and craft to give audiences a truly new experience.

The Daily Tribunal: Who or what is your biggest inspiration as a filmmaker?

Iffat Jahan Momo: Myself. I come from a conservative family, with no one to help me enter this industry. My struggles and experiences are my true inspiration.

The Daily Tribunal: As a female director, what has your industry experience been like?

Iffat Jahan Momo: I don’t believe in gender discrimination. I don’t see directors as male or female. Everyone has to struggle. Nothing worthwhile comes without challenges.

The Daily Tribunal: What advice would you give to aspiring filmmakers?

Iffat Jahan Momo: I don’t like giving advice. Today’s newcomers are smart. I believe in learning through experience—even through failure.

The Daily Tribunal: Do you believe a story can change society?

Iffat Jahan Momo: Absolutely. Stories are powerful. What people see influences how they think—and that’s the beginning of change.

The Daily Tribunal: While creating, what kind of emotional state do you find yourself in?

Iffat Jahan Momo: All directors are emotional. Our experiences, the people around us, love, pain—it all comes through in our work. We are constantly reborn through our stories.

To Iffat Jahan Momo, filmmaking is not just a profession—it is a soulful journey. A strong believer in teamwork, sincerity, and emotional truth, she continues to prove that with dedication and vision, even limitations can lead to greatness. Her upcoming ventures are sure to be met with eager anticipation.

Public sentiment across Bangladesh is clear and compelling: the people want elections, and they want them soon. In fact, surveys from multiple independent sources indicate that a majority of citizens would prefer elections by the end of 2025 at the latest. A nationwide study by Innovision Consulting revealed that 58% of respondents wanted elections before the end of this year. Another by VOA Bangla indicated that over 61% of citizens believe elections should be held within a year.

This growing urgency is not a mere expression of political impatience. Rather, it reflects deep-seated anxiety about the country’s economic conditions, the loss of democratic representation, and the slow pace of institutional reform. After enduring years of political suppression and growing disenfranchisement, Bangladeshis are demanding more than administrative stability—they are demanding accountability.

Perhaps the most pressing driver of this demand for elections is the economy. According to the “People’s Election Pulse” survey, nearly 70% of respondents listed price hikes and inflation as their number one concern, followed closely by concerns about law and order and unemployment. These numbers speak to a population that is struggling to cope with day-to-day survival, let alone think about a future governed by promises of reform.

And this is where the government’s extended timeline feels particularly out of touch. Bangladesh’s economy is at a critical juncture. Prolonged political uncertainty only worsens investor hesitancy, deepens market instability, and accelerates public frustration. Without an elected government empowered to implement long-term economic policies, the caretaker administration’s reformist agenda risks becoming a well-intentioned but ineffectual stopgap.

There is no denying that the Yunus-led interim government has introduced important conversations around judicial independence, electoral transparency, and decentralization of power. But reforms are not enough in themselves—they must be timely, inclusive, and rooted in legitimacy. And that legitimacy can only come from a mandate granted by the people through free and fair elections.

Delaying polls until April 2026, even under the guise of completing necessary reforms, risks alienating the very public the government claims to serve. Citizens are increasingly skeptical about how much genuine transformation can occur without electoral accountability. Moreover, history warns us that transitional regimes, even if formed with the noblest of intentions, tend to overstay their welcome if not bound by clear timelines and legal safeguards.

Another argument that undermines the need for a late 2026 election is the readiness of Bangladesh’s political actors. Despite years of suppression, the opposition has shown signs of resurgence. The BNP is actively organizing, Jamaat-e-Islami has re-entered the political discourse, and new players like the student-led National Citizen Party are energizing a new generation of voters. Public engagement in political conversations has notably increased, and digital platforms are abuzz with electoral discourse.

In other words, the conditions for elections are not only ripening—they are demanding to be recognized. The longer the government delays, the more it risks being seen not as a transitional authority, but as an unelected power structure out of step with public will.

Democracy is not merely a constitutional formality; it is a covenant between the people and those who govern. The 2024 transitional moment gave Bangladesh an opportunity to heal from past political wounds. The appointment of Yunus as interim Adviser was seen as a reset button—an independent figure known for integrity, placed at the helm to usher in credible, inclusive elections.

But that promise is fragile. Prolonging the election timeline without clear public backing threatens to break the trust that citizens placed in this process. Even if reforms are well-designed, they must be seen as serving the people, not stalling the democratic process.

Bangladesh today stands at a democratic crossroads. The nation’s long journey through political turbulence, economic inequality, and governance challenges has created a yearning not just for change—but for participation. Elections delayed until April 2026 could erode the trust the interim government initially gained, and push an already fragile polity toward further division and disillusionment.

If the current leadership genuinely intends to guide Bangladesh toward a stronger, more democratic future, it must listen to the people. The call is not for chaos or premature action, but for a responsible and accelerated transition back to elected governance. Reforms and elections are not mutually exclusive—they must proceed in tandem.

As history has repeatedly shown, democracy delayed is democracy denied. Bangladesh cannot afford to wait.

At the heart of Eid al-Adha lies the story of Prophet Ibrahim (Abraham) and his unwavering obedience to God. When commanded to sacrifice his beloved son, Ismail (Ishmael), Ibrahim did not hesitate. His readiness to submit to divine will, even at the cost of immense personal pain, remains one of the greatest testaments of faith in Abrahamic tradition. However, before the act could be carried out, God replaced Ismail with a ram, symbolizing divine mercy and the ultimate importance of intention over action.

This narrative is not about loss, but about trust in God’s wisdom, the strength of personal conviction, and the reward of sincere submission. For Muslims, Eid al-Adha is not merely a ritualistic observance—it is a spiritual reminder that true faith demands humility, patience, and sacrifice, not just of wealth or possessions, but of ego, pride, and selfish desires.

The act of Qurbani (sacrifice), performed during Eid al-Adha, serves both a religious and social purpose. Animals such as goats, cows, sheep, and camels are sacrificed in accordance with Islamic principles, and the meat is divided into three parts: one for the family, one for relatives and friends, and one for the poor and needy. This practice ensures economic redistribution and social inclusivity, allowing even the most vulnerable to share in the joy of Eid.

In this way, Eid al-Adha stands as a strong counter-narrative to global inequalities. It reinforces the Islamic mandate of caring for the marginalized, feeding the hungry, and upholding justice through generosity. Especially in an era marked by rising food insecurity and widening income gaps, the values embodied by Eid are more relevant than ever.

Eid al-Adha coincides with the Hajj pilgrimage, one of the five pillars of Islam, which gathers Muslims from every corner of the globe in Mecca. Clad in simple white garments, millions stand side by side—regardless of nationality, race, or social status—demonstrating Islam’s powerful message of unity and equality. For those not performing Hajj, Eid remains a time of communal prayer, family gatherings, and acts of charity.

Across cities and villages, from Jakarta to Casablanca, from Lagos to London, mosques brim with congregants offering Eid prayers. Streets fill with laughter, and homes open their doors to guests and neighbors. Despite geographical distances and cultural variations, Eid al-Adha creates a shared spiritual experience that unites the global Muslim population in a single moment of devotion and gratitude.

As awareness of animal rights and environmental sustainability grows worldwide, many communities are re-examining how Qurbani is practiced. Ethical slaughter, waste reduction, and responsible distribution of meat have become key considerations, especially in urban settings. These developments highlight Islam’s emphasis on compassion toward animals, environmental stewardship, and thoughtful consumption—principles that are often embedded in religious texts but need to be revisited in modern practice.

Ultimately, Eid al-Adha is not about how grand a sacrifice one can make, or how lavish the feast may be. It is about reconnecting with the core principles of Islam: taqwa (God-consciousness), ikhlas (sincerity), and ihsan (excellence in conduct). It calls on individuals to look inward, to assess their moral compass, and to ask: What am I willing to give up for the greater good? How can I serve those around me? Am I truly grateful for what I have?

In a world grappling with war, displacement, economic hardship, and spiritual emptiness, the lessons of Eid al-Adha urge humanity to rise above selfishness, to embrace compassion, and to forge bonds that are stronger than material wealth. It is a day not just of festivity, but of renewed purpose and collective conscience.

As we celebrate Eid al-Adha this year, let it not be just an event, but a movement of mercy—toward ourselves, our communities, and the planet we share. Let the sacrifices we make be not just ceremonial, but transformational. Let this Eid bring not only joy, but justice. Not only feasting, but healing. Not only remembrance, but resolve.

Eid Mubarak to all. May your sacrifices be accepted, and your hearts be filled with peace.

The budget proposal is packed with new or increased taxes, VAT, and duties on a wide range of consumer goods: refrigerators, air conditioners, mobile phones, motorcycles, kitchenware, rods and steel, even shaving blades. These are not luxury items; they are part of modern, everyday life. And increasing costs in these sectors directly affects the middle- and lower-income groups.

Take the example of mobile phones. A small 2%–2.5% increase in VAT on locally assembled handsets may seem marginal on paper—but for a college student from a working-class family, that can make a meaningful difference in affordability. Similarly, VAT on fridges and ACs is set to double from 7.5% to 15%, making essential household appliances further out of reach for many families.

The construction industry is set to feel the brunt as well. Increased VAT on rods and steel could raise per-ton prices by as much as BDT 1,400, significantly impacting housing costs and the rental market. Even environmentally questionable transport like battery-powered rickshaws will become more expensive due to a steep rise in import duty on motors.

Cigarette prices are expected to rise again, not by increasing tax on the product directly—but by increasing the supplementary duty on cigarette paper from 60% to 100%. While this may benefit public health on the surface, it could also put additional strain on the low-income workers in the tobacco supply chain.

Then there's the matter of cosmetics and chocolate—two product categories that serve different classes of consumers. The minimum dutiable import value for lipstick is proposed to be doubled (from $20/kg to $40/kg), and for chocolate, raised from $4/kg to $10/kg. While one might argue these are non-essential goods, their lumping together with basic kitchen items in tax policy raises concerns about consistency and fairness.

That said, there are some commendable initiatives. Doubling VAT on single-use plastics while exempting eco-friendly alternatives shows environmental foresight. Raising tariffs on imported toys to protect domestic industries is also a positive step—assuming quality standards in local production can meet demand.

But overall, the greatest shortfall of this budget is the lack of direct relief or support measures for everyday people. There is little here for food security, healthcare accessibility, or public education development—three pillars that truly reflect the government’s care for its people. In their absence, the perception grows that this budget is a ledger-driven exercise, not a people-centric policy.

It’s true that increasing revenue is essential for national development. But when the cost of that revenue disproportionately falls on essential household consumption, it undermines both economic equity and public trust. A budget is not just an accounting statement—it is a political and moral document that reflects who bears the cost of development.

Unless reviewed and rebalanced, the 2025–26 budget may succeed in meeting revenue targets—but it risks pushing the average citizen further into economic discomfort. In the end, the success of a budget isn’t measured in fiscal reports—it’s measured in how comfortably, safely, and hopefully people are able to live.

In a recent heartfelt Facebook post, he wrote:

“It’s the silver jubilee (2000–2025) of my hosting career! I’ve devoted 25 years of my life to this craft and received much in return. Hosting made me a star—something rare in this country and in this industry.”

This statement reflects the self-assurance of an accomplished artist, his dedication, and the dignity he maintains toward his profession.

Debashish stepped into the hosting scene at a time when Bangladeshi television was still largely formal and limited in style. With his charismatic presence, fluent delivery, and sharp wit, he quickly stood out from the crowd. Shows like Pother Pachali, Star Night, CloseUp One, Music Train and others became known for his energetic and modern approach to presenting.

In the early 2000s, TV presenters were rarely considered celebrities. They were voices behind the scenes, not faces in the spotlight. Debashish Biswas shattered that mold. With his confidence, charisma, and sharp stage presence, he transformed the host into the main attraction.

Thanks to him, today's audiences often tune in just to see who’s hosting. That shift—where the host is not just a facilitator but a star in their own right—owes much to his pioneering influence.

As Debashish himself stated:

“Only a handful of us introduced modern flair to this industry, breaking away from conventional formats.”

From fashion sense and body language to vocal delivery and command over the camera—he brought an undeniable polish to Bangladeshi hosting. Many would agree: “When he appears on screen, the show comes alive.”

In his recent post, Debashish made a pointed remark:

“Never in my 25-year career did I have to ask vulgar or irrelevant questions to guests or fall back on potatoes, gourds, eggplants, cucumbers, ridged gourds, bananas or radishes!”

While humorous on the surface, this line directly critiques a worrying trend in modern talk shows where sensationalism often overrides substance and respect. Debashish’s statement is a firm reminder that good hosting blends intelligence with decency—not controversy for the sake of virality.

Debashish Biswas is not only an iconic host—he’s also a successful film director. His notable works include Shoshurbari Zindabad, Shuvo Bibaho, Bhalobasha Zindabad, Cholo Palai, and Shoshurbari Zindabad 2. These films earned box office success and public love, proving his versatility in the entertainment world. He is currently working on a new film titled Tumi Jekhane Ami Shekhane.

Balancing both careers—hosting and filmmaking—is no easy feat. Yet, Debashish has managed to do it with grace, proving himself as a multifaceted artist.

To remain relevant and admired in the ever-changing media landscape for 25 years requires more than talent. It takes discipline, adaptability, and a strong ethical foundation. Debashish Biswas has shown that a host can grow with time, learn, refine, and inspire the next generation.

Today, many young TV hosts openly say that they’ve looked up to him—learning the importance of poise, timing, and respect for both audience and guests.

Debashish Biswas’s silver jubilee is more than just a personal milestone; it’s a celebratory moment for the entire Bangladeshi television industry. He has shown that hosting can be glamorous, influential, and meaningful—when done with passion and integrity.

If the hosting industry in Bangladesh now commands respect and admiration, Debashish Biswas is undoubtedly one of its architects.

Established on May 28, 2014, The Daily Tribunal did not begin with grand declarations or an inflated sense of self-importance. It entered Bangladesh’s media landscape with a calm yet firm commitment to meaningful journalism—journalism that informs, investigates, challenges, uplifts, and ultimately serves the people. That commitment has not wavered. Eleven years later, its pages continue to reflect a rare blend of editorial discipline, social responsibility, and ethical fortitude that is increasingly hard to find in today’s media ecosystem.

The founding editor and publisher, Shiharan Rashid—a respected journalist known for his depth of thought and fearless principles—envisioned the paper as an alternative to the sensationalism and political polarization that had crept into much of the mainstream press. Under his watchful eye and editorial leadership, The Daily Tribunal grew not only in readership but in relevance. Rashid brought not just years of journalistic experience to the table, but a moral compass—anchoring his newsroom in truth even when the cost was high, and praise was rare.

What distinguishes The Daily Tribunal is not just the accuracy of its facts or the timeliness of its reports—it is the conviction with which it approaches its mission. In an era where headlines are crafted for algorithms, the Tribunal continues to write for citizens. Its reporting style is reflective, thoughtful, and grounded in research. In every edition, one finds a clear commitment to understanding the complexity behind issues rather than simplifying them for convenience or clicks.

Over the last decade and more, the newspaper has consistently tackled some of the most challenging topics in Bangladesh: governance failures, judicial bottlenecks, climate vulnerability, healthcare inequity, educational reform, digital rights, rural poverty, gender justice, and more. These are not easy topics to report on. They demand persistence, patience, and protection—qualities that the Tribunal’s reporters, editors, and researchers have displayed time and again, often at great personal risk.

The role of The Daily Tribunal in investigative journalism deserves special mention. Long before "fact-checking" became a global buzzword, this newspaper had already established internal protocols to ensure that what reached the public was not speculation, but substantiated truth. From uncovering financial irregularities in state projects to highlighting corruption in non-government sectors, its investigative pieces have not just exposed wrongdoing—they have stirred public debate, prompted administrative action, and, in some cases, changed lives.

Yet, unlike many who focus solely on criticism, The Daily Tribunal also commits itself to constructive storytelling. The paper has covered stories of resilience—from women entrepreneurs in remote districts to community-led education initiatives, from climate heroes in vulnerable coastal areas to digital innovators in urban slums. It has highlighted not only what is broken but also what is being rebuilt. In doing so, it offers hope—a rare commodity in today’s despair-heavy media climate.

The publication’s editorial page has also stood out for its clarity, boldness, and intellectual integrity. Whether critiquing flawed legislation, commenting on regional geopolitics, or advocating for inclusive policy reforms, its op-eds have served as trusted reference points for scholars, students, diplomats, activists, and ordinary citizens alike. The page does not pander; it provokes reflection. It does not merely echo popular opinion; it shapes it.

Of course, the journey has not been free of trials. Like many independent media houses, The Daily Tribunal has had to navigate the murky waters of financial constraints, political pressure, and the ever-changing dynamics of digital transformation. The temptation to compromise is always present—especially when survival seems to demand it. But the paper’s refusal to bow to populism, propaganda, or profit-at-any-cost is precisely what makes it so essential.

The digital era brought its own set of challenges. With print media across the world shrinking, and online content being flooded with unverified or opinion-based news, the task of maintaining both credibility and reach has been daunting. Yet again, The Daily Tribunal rose to the occasion. Its digital arm is not just a replica of its print version—it is a vibrant, interactive space that engages readers across geographies, especially the Bangladeshi diaspora. With timely updates, fact-checked reporting, responsive social media interaction, and an evolving multimedia presence, the paper has secured its future without sacrificing its founding principles.

Much of this success must be attributed to the institution’s internal culture. Shiharan Rashid has not merely been a newsroom administrator—he has been a mentor to generations of young journalists. He believes journalism is not a profession but a calling. That belief has trickled down to his staff. Many of those who trained under his editorial eye have gone on to become leaders in media and communications, carrying with them a deep sense of responsibility rooted in the values instilled by the Tribunal.

As we look ahead, the role of newspapers like The Daily Tribunal is more important than ever. In an environment where public trust in media is eroding globally, Bangladesh needs institutions that stand above the fray—not detached, but principled; not perfect, but honest. The Tribunal’s example reminds us that journalism can still be noble, that truth still matters, and that readers—when respected—will remain loyal.

In honoring The Daily Tribunal on its 11th anniversary, we also renew our collective faith in what journalism can be. We salute its fearless past, its principled present, and its promising future. In a world of noise, it has remained a voice of reason. In a time of haste, it has chosen patience. In a market of compromises, it has chosen courage.

Let the pages of The Daily Tribunal continue to turn, not just as a daily habit for its readers, but as a daily reminder of what journalism must strive to be.

Congratulations to The Daily Tribunal—eleven years strong, and still setting the standard. May your light continue to shine, undimmed by power, unswayed by profit, and unafraid of the truth.

The total size of the upcoming budget is estimated to be around Tk 7.9 trillion. From this, the government’s borrowing requirement is projected to fall below Tk 2.5 trillion, with funds sourced both domestically and from foreign lenders. The Finance Division of the Ministry of Finance, responsible for budget preparation, has shared this information.

Typically, the budget deficit is kept near 5 per cent of GDP each fiscal year, although it occasionally varies. For FY2025–26, the Finance Division suggests the deficit may be set at 4.2 per cent of GDP. Despite efforts to reduce borrowing, most of the funds to cover this shortfall will still come from the domestic banking sector.

In FY2024–25, of the total Tk 2.51 trillion borrowing target, Tk 907 billion was expected to come from foreign sources, while the domestic portion stood at around Tk 1.61 trillion. Of that, Tk 1.37 trillion was targeted to be raised from the banking system, with the remainder through savings certificates and other instruments.

The target for savings certificate sales, originally set at Tk 150 billion for the current year, is likely to rise to Tk 200 billion next year. Meanwhile, the foreign borrowing target may increase slightly to Tk 1.1 trillion. Domestic borrowing is expected to range between Tk 1.3 and 1.4 trillion, with bank borrowing capped at Tk 1.2 trillion.

As of June last year, Bangladesh’s total debt—both domestic and foreign—stood at Tk 18.32 trillion. Domestic debt had climbed to Tk 10.20 trillion from Tk 7.23 trillion in June 2021. Foreign debt nearly doubled in four years, reaching Tk 8.12 trillion from Tk 4.2 trillion.

Given this rising debt burden, a significant portion of the next budget will be allocated to interest payments. Over Tk 1 trillion is set aside for this purpose, the bulk of it covering domestic loans.

A former finance secretary noted that the government’s core challenge lies in weak revenue collection. Improved revenue performance could reduce the need for borrowing. He added that the government may lean more on net sales of savings certificates in the coming fiscal year, particularly as higher profit rates are drawing more public investment into these instruments.

The government borrows from banks in two main ways—through commercial banks and the central bank. Borrowing from commercial banks limits credit availability to the private sector, while excessive reliance on the central bank can stoke inflation, placing added pressure on consumers.

Bangladesh’s inflation stood at 9.17 per cent in April, according to the Bangladesh Bureau of Statistics. Finance Division officials acknowledge that while bank borrowing is a factor in inflation, there are limited alternatives available.

Encouragingly, the government often does not utilize its full borrowing target. For instance, though bank borrowing for this year was initially set at Tk 1.37 trillion, the revised figure has been lowered to Tk 990 billion. In the first eight months of the fiscal year, only 17 per cent of this amount had been used.

An economic policy expert emphasized that excessive bank borrowing by the government restricts private sector credit growth and increases interest payment obligations. He urged the government to prioritize revenue collection and exercise caution in bank borrowing to ensure adequate funding for critical sectors like education, healthcare, and social protection.

He also noted that a Tk 7.9 trillion budget would be relatively modest in the context of current inflation levels, and that the country's low revenue-to-GDP ratio remains a major structural challenge.

At the core of Apple’s appeal is its obsessive focus on user experience. From unboxing to daily use, Apple devices are designed to work—flawlessly, effortlessly, and intuitively. Their software and hardware are built in perfect harmony, minimizing bugs, maximizing speed, and wrapping it all in a user interface that feels almost sentient in its responsiveness. This level of polish doesn’t just happen; it is the result of ruthless prioritization, relentless testing, and a corporate philosophy that values consistency and control over open-ended exploration.

Apple devices offer a seamless digital lifestyle, but only if you play by Apple’s rules. Want to use a third-party app store? You can’t. Want to customize your home screen with interactive widgets like you can on Android? You’ll get a limited, curated version—eventually, and only on Apple’s terms. Want to repair your own device? Be prepared to face a labyrinth of proprietary screws, warnings, and voided warranties. It’s not that Apple doesn’t want you to own your devices—it just doesn’t want you to control them too much.

This philosophy has consequences. On one hand, it makes Apple products some of the most secure and stable devices in the consumer tech space. Their commitment to privacy, encrypted messaging, and regular software updates often puts them ahead of competitors in terms of user protection. Parents trust Apple’s devices for their children, professionals rely on them for their careers, and creatives use them as reliable tools for their art.

On the other hand, Apple’s tight grip stifles freedom in a way that increasingly raises ethical and antitrust concerns. The App Store, for instance, has been the center of numerous legal battles and public debates. Critics argue that Apple is less an innovator now and more a gatekeeper—prioritizing its profit margins over developer independence and consumer choice. The company’s dominance in certain markets has led to accusations of monopolistic behavior, and its hardware pricing strategy often widens the digital divide between those who can afford Apple’s luxury and those who cannot.

Moreover, the illusion of sustainability in Apple’s public messaging often masks a different story. While the company touts its environmental initiatives, the inaccessibility of parts and the design of products to be less repairable contradicts the principles of long-term use and right-to-repair movements. Consumers are subtly encouraged to upgrade every few years, feeding into the cycle of e-waste and planned obsolescence.

Despite all this, Apple’s popularity remains largely unshaken. Why? Because the experience it offers is real, and for many, it is enough. The integration between devices—the way a phone call can be answered on a MacBook, or how a file copied on an iPhone can be pasted on an iPad—is enchanting. The emotional connection Apple fosters through marketing, branding, and design is unparalleled. People don’t just use Apple devices—they trust them, defend them, and in many cases, define themselves through them.

In the end, Apple’s story is not just about gadgets—it is about the future of personal technology. It asks us to choose between control and convenience, freedom and fluidity, individuality and uniformity. Apple has proven that it can craft some of the finest devices on the planet. The question now is: can we, as consumers, remain aware of what we trade away in return for that elegance?

Apple gives us perfection, but it often demands surrender. Whether that exchange is worth it—remains a question for each of us to answer.

Artificial intelligence, once a subject confined to science fiction and research labs, has now permeated daily life. From virtual assistants on smartphones to algorithmic trading in stock markets, AI is no longer a future concept—it is present, active, and accelerating. In advanced economies, companies are deploying AI tools not just to assist workers, but to replace them. Machines now write articles, drive vehicles, diagnose diseases, and translate languages with increasing accuracy and speed. The shift is not coming. It is already here.

This reality poses serious implications for Bangladesh, whose economic backbone is built on labor-intensive sectors. The readymade garments (RMG) industry, for instance, employs millions and contributes significantly to the national GDP and export earnings. Its success has historically relied on the availability of cheap labor. But as global fashion brands increasingly embrace automation in textile production—installing smart sewing robots, automated quality control systems, and AI-driven logistics—the cost advantage of Bangladeshi labor begins to erode. If our factories fail to modernize while other countries increase output using fewer workers, we may soon find ourselves at a disadvantage in global competition.

Moreover, the threat is not restricted to manual labor alone. The service sector, especially outsourcing and business process operations (BPOs), has become a growing employment avenue in recent years. Yet these jobs are now vulnerable too. AI chatbots and virtual agents powered by natural language processing are replacing human representatives in call centers. Automated tools are performing back-office tasks like data entry, scheduling, and even customer feedback analysis. What was once considered "safe" white-collar work is being quietly absorbed by lines of code.

The financial sector is experiencing similar tremors. Banking services increasingly rely on AI for fraud detection, credit scoring, and customer interaction. In doing so, they reduce their need for human workers at the counters and behind the scenes. Even journalism and media—the fourth estate—are not immune. AI models can now generate news summaries, sports reports, and even market analysis, pushing traditional roles like sub-editing and desk reporting toward obsolescence.

Faced with this paradigm shift, Bangladesh stands at a crucial crossroads. Will we watch passively as automation reshapes the world and leaves our workforce behind, or will we take bold, forward-looking steps to adapt and evolve? The answer lies not in resisting technology, but in embracing it with strategic foresight. To do that, we must reimagine the way we prepare our citizens for the future.

Our education system must become a launchpad for the next generation of thinkers, technologists, and innovators. Right now, it largely fails to equip students with skills relevant to the 21st century. Rote memorization still dominates classrooms, while creativity, digital fluency, and problem-solving are neglected. If Bangladesh is to compete in a world led by algorithms and automation, it must cultivate a workforce capable of designing, managing, and improving these very systems. Computer science, data analysis, ethical AI, and machine learning should no longer be reserved for a privileged few—they must be mainstreamed into national curricula.

At the same time, attention must be paid to the existing workforce. Millions of adults who are employed in vulnerable sectors cannot be abandoned. Their knowledge and experience are valuable, but they need to be paired with new skills to stay relevant. Nationwide training and upskilling programs, funded through public-private partnerships, are no longer optional—they are essential. Government agencies, universities, industries, and NGOs must collaborate to provide accessible retraining pathways in areas like digital tools, coding, AI-assisted workflows, and entrepreneurship.

Equally important is the role of policy. Without strong and ethical governance, AI may deepen inequality and exploit workers rather than empower them. We need clear regulations that promote responsible AI use while protecting jobs, ensuring privacy, and upholding transparency. Innovation must be encouraged, but not at the cost of the most vulnerable.

The AI revolution is not inherently negative. It holds the promise of improved productivity, better healthcare, safer transportation, and more informed decision-making. But like all powerful tools, its impact depends on how we choose to wield it. For Bangladesh, the challenge is to harness this force not as a threat to our people, but as a means to uplift them. We must move beyond denial and inertia. If we invest wisely in education, training, infrastructure, and innovation today, we can transform this period of disruption into an era of opportunity.

Bangladesh has weathered many challenges in the past—political upheavals, economic uncertainties, and global crises. But this time, the challenge is quiet, invisible, and deeply structural. It does not come with warning sirens or visible destruction, but its consequences may be just as devastating if ignored. The age of artificial intelligence is here, and it will not wait for us to catch up. If we are to preserve our hard-earned economic progress and protect the dreams of our next generation, we must act—boldly, urgently, and collectively.

Every year, the second Sunday of May is marked as Mother’s Day in many parts of the world. On this day, people share photos, write captions, send gifts, and say kind words. But how can a single day capture the depth of a mother’s love? How can a post or a gift repay the years she spent losing sleep beside a fevered child, the times she sacrificed her dreams so that her children could chase theirs, or the countless moments she held back her tears so that she could smile and give strength to her family? Mother’s Day is not just a day of celebration. It should be a day of realization—a reminder to pause and reflect on how often we truly honor our mothers, not through grand gestures, but through genuine time, attention, and care.

A mother’s love begins even before birth. She endures pain with a silent grace that no one sees. She lets her body change, her routine break, and her world revolve around a life that is yet to open its eyes. After birth, her sacrifices only grow. She becomes a caregiver, a teacher, a protector, and a friend—day after day, without expecting thanks or applause. Her reward lies in her child’s smile, in their safety, in the smallest expressions of love. Yet as children grow, the world begins to distract us. Responsibilities take over, priorities shift, and all too often, mothers get left behind—waiting quietly, loving endlessly.

There are many mothers who, despite giving their lives for their families, find themselves alone today. Some are confined to quiet rooms in nursing homes, some live in distant villages where children rarely return, and some sit beside windows, gazing into roads, hoping to see familiar footsteps that never arrive. These mothers do not ask for luxuries. They only long for a word, a visit, a sign that they are still loved. In a world racing forward with speed and ambition, it is perhaps the greatest tragedy that the ones who taught us to love are sometimes the most unloved.

For those who no longer have their mothers, this day carries a different weight. It is not filled with gifts or greetings, but with memories. It’s a day when an old saree brings tears, when the scent of her cooking floats suddenly in a quiet room, when the sound of her voice echoes in dreams but not in life. Their grief is wrapped in silence, but it speaks louder than words ever could. A mother’s absence is not just a loss—it is an emptiness that grows with every passing year. Yet even in that absence, her love remains alive, flowing through our habits, our kindness, our very being.

So, let this day not just pass with flowers and photos. Let it be a quiet call to our hearts, to remember the woman who gave us everything before we even knew how to ask. Let us speak to her more often, listen more deeply, and be present not just on one Sunday, but every day we are lucky to have her. And if she is no longer with us, let us live in a way that honors her, that reflects her teachings and love in every act of compassion we show the world.

A mother is the only person who can still bless you with all her heart even after you have broken hers. She is the only one who finds strength in your smile and whose love does not shrink even when the whole world turns its back. Her presence is the safest shelter we ever know, and her memory, once she is gone, becomes the most sacred place in our hearts. Mother’s Day is not just about gifts. It is about gratitude. Not just about greetings. But about grace. To all the mothers who are with us, may you be loved as you deserve. And to all the mothers who have left this world, may your love forever light our way.

Happy Mother’s Day.

This conflict is not merely a conventional war between two rival states. It is a clash fueled by decades of unresolved political disputes, particularly over Jammu and Kashmir, compounded by a surge in nationalist rhetoric and political brinkmanship on both sides. As international observers urge restraint and a return to diplomatic dialogue, the harsh reality remains: both India and Pakistan have drifted dangerously close to a tipping point. A single miscalculation could trigger a regional catastrophe with global consequences.

Although Bangladesh is not a direct party to the war, the repercussions of the conflict are already being felt. As a neighboring country sharing historical, economic, and geographical proximity to both India and Pakistan, Bangladesh finds itself caught in a storm it did not create but cannot ignore. The first wave of consequences is economic: regional trade has slowed, cross-border supply chains have fractured, and global markets are reacting with volatility. Prices of essential commodities such as fuel, food, and raw materials are beginning to rise. For a developing economy like Bangladesh, which is still recovering from global inflationary pressures and the aftermath of the pandemic, this escalation threatens to destabilize hard-earned economic gains.

Beyond economics, the humanitarian implications are equally grave. Should the war intensify and drag on, there is a strong likelihood of a mass refugee influx into Bangladesh, especially from adjacent regions of India and possibly even Afghanistan via Pakistan. Bangladesh already hosts over a million Rohingya refugees from Myanmar, straining its resources and infrastructure. A new wave of displaced people would not only burden the country’s already overstretched humanitarian apparatus but could also stoke internal tensions and security concerns.

Security analysts have expressed particular concern about the potential rise of cross-border militant activity. In times of conflict, extremist ideologies often find fertile ground amid chaos and despair. If the India-Pakistan war creates a vacuum of governance in parts of the region, it could open avenues for radical groups to infiltrate neighboring countries, including Bangladesh. Maintaining internal stability and national security in such a volatile context will require unwavering vigilance, coordinated intelligence efforts, and responsible media communication to avoid the spread of rumors and fear-mongering.

Amid this unfolding crisis, Bangladesh’s diplomatic positioning becomes critical. Historically, Bangladesh has followed a foreign policy rooted in non-alignment, peaceful coexistence, and friendship with all. This principle, articulated by Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, remains the cornerstone of Bangladesh’s international identity. The country must now activate its diplomatic channels to advocate for de-escalation, encourage regional dialogue, and support multilateral peace efforts through platforms such as the United Nations, SAARC, BIMSTEC, and the OIC.

Bangladesh’s leadership must strike a delicate balance—preserving strategic partnerships with both India and Pakistan while projecting itself as a responsible and peace-seeking actor. This is no easy task, especially as geopolitical alliances and defense ties complicate neutral positioning. However, Bangladesh’s credibility as a regional peace-builder depends on its ability to promote stability without appearing partisan or submissive to larger powers.

The historical perspective is crucial here. Bangladesh’s own birth in 1971 emerged from a brutal war, where millions died and countless families were displaced. That legacy makes us acutely aware of the human cost of conflict. Our national memory is etched with the scars of war, which is why Bangladesh’s people inherently understand that no dispute—no matter how long-standing or politically sensitive—is worth plunging millions into darkness and despair.

As a nation that has often suffered due to the failure of regional cooperation, Bangladesh must rise as a voice for sanity and peace in South Asia. It is high time to redefine security beyond military terms and recognize that true strength lies in dialogue, mutual respect, and economic cooperation. Development, not destruction, should be the collective priority.

Furthermore, the media, civil society, and academia in Bangladesh have a vital role to play in shaping public discourse and promoting a narrative of peace and unity. Misinformation, propaganda, and inflammatory commentary must be checked rigorously to prevent internal divisions or misplaced aggression.

In conclusion, the India-Pakistan war is not a bilateral affair—it is a regional crisis with global dimensions. The path ahead is fraught with danger, but also ripe with opportunity. If Bangladesh can navigate this moment with maturity, resolve, and principled diplomacy, it will not only safeguard its national interests but also emerge as a torchbearer of peace in a region too often defined by conflict. Let us hope that wisdom prevails over war, and that South Asia finds the courage to rewrite its future—not through bloodshed, but through cooperation and compassion.

The political atmosphere has grown heavy and insular. What was once a vibrant, if chaotic, democratic process has withered into a power structure that often seems incapable of accommodating disagreement or absorbing criticism. Politics today feels less like a dialogue between leaders and the people and more like a one-way command from above. Instead of being a living, breathing contract between citizens and their representatives, it has become an exercise in authority, surveillance, and control. Recent protests led by students—young minds who are supposed to inherit the future—have not been met with compassion, listening, or responsible negotiation. Instead, they have been countered with shutdowns of digital connectivity, heavy-handed policing, and public denouncements. This is not simply about a policy failure or a specific incident. It signals something more grave: the erosion of the democratic spirit itself. When dissent is treated as treason and inquiry as disobedience, a nation begins to forget its roots in liberation, justice, and public participation.

At the heart of this growing disillusionment lies a society struggling to find its own reflection. There was a time when communal empathy defined the Bangladeshi identity—a willingness to help a neighbor, stand by a stranger in a flood, or speak up when something was wrong. But that collective instinct now seems increasingly absent, buried beneath waves of apathy, digital distraction, and performative activism. People no longer show up in real life; they comment online. Solidarity has become a hashtag, outrage a trend, and morality a temporary stance that fades with the algorithm. Behind closed doors and locked screens, people scroll endlessly, looking not for meaning, but for escape. It is not that people have stopped caring—it is that they no longer know how to act on what they care about, and the systems around them often do not allow space for action, especially when it challenges the status quo.

Education, once our national pride and the supposed engine of mobility and imagination, is itself caught in a suffocating loop. The very institutions meant to nurture thought have become factories of fear and frustration. Students today are not encouraged to ask questions but trained to memorize answers. The value of their worth is reduced to numerical grades, their potential boxed into categories of pass or fail. In such a system, critical thinking is not just discouraged—it is punished. The deeper tragedy, however, lies in the psyche of the students themselves. So many of them live under immense pressure—familial, social, economic. They are overwhelmed by a future they cannot see clearly, and a present that neither consoles nor empowers them. The classrooms are full, yet the conversations are empty. Their dreams are shrinking, their passions muted. They are becoming adults before they have had the chance to be young, burdened by a world that seems indifferent to their fears and ambitions.

Meanwhile, the technological revolution that once promised liberation has become an invisible cage for many. Smartphones, social media, digital platforms—all these tools of communication have evolved into devices of isolation. The young generation, in particular, has become so enmeshed in the digital universe that their understanding of reality is increasingly mediated through filters, likes, and viral content. The craving for virtual validation has overridden the desire for real-world experiences. They sleep late into the day, lost in endless nights of scrolling, gaming, comparing themselves to impossible standards. Mental health issues are on the rise—anxiety, depression, feelings of inferiority—but few talk about them, and even fewer are given help. Technology has offered them connection but robbed them of presence. What we are witnessing is not just a behavioral shift, but a psychological transformation. The human mind is not designed to process this much noise without silence, this much image without substance.

But perhaps the most insidious crisis of all is the crisis of truth. People no longer know what to believe, and even when they do, they are afraid to say it. The credibility of information—whether from state sources, media channels, or online influencers—is under constant suspicion. The boundaries between fact and fiction have blurred. Numbers are thrown around without context, policies are declared without consultation, and narratives are shaped not by accuracy but by alignment with power. In such an environment, fear takes over. People second-guess themselves, suppress their thoughts, stay silent when they should speak. This manufactured confusion is not accidental—it is strategic. A confused public is easier to control, easier to distract, and easier to pacify. But it comes at a tremendous cost: the collapse of public trust, the corrosion of civic responsibility, and the death of dialogue.

Yet even in this thick fog of uncertainty, one cannot fully extinguish the possibility of light. Crisis, in its truest form, is not just a threat—it is a turning point. It compels a nation to choose: to continue drifting toward a deeper abyss, or to turn, slowly and painfully, toward the path of reform, reflection, and renewal. That choice begins not in policy papers or political speeches, but in conscience—in the quiet recognition that what we have now is not sustainable, and that our children deserve better.

Our institutions must be reclaimed from fear and complacency. Our leaders must learn again to listen—not only to their allies but to their critics, their youth, their marginalized. Civil society must rise above partisanship and remember that its first duty is to truth, not convenience. Teachers must nurture curiosity, not crush it. Parents must offer support, not pressure. And young people—those most disillusioned and yet most powerful—must not give up. Their voices matter more than ever, not because they are always right, but because they are brave enough to hope for something more.

We cannot afford to lose another generation to cynicism, to silence, to burnout. We cannot allow a society built on sacrifice and vision to become one marked by indifference and fear. The question is not whether change is possible. The question is whether we are willing to fight for it—not with weapons or slogans, but with integrity, with courage, and with unwavering love for the idea of a better Bangladesh.

Because when history looks back at this moment, it will not ask how fast our economy grew or how many megaprojects we completed. It will ask whether we listened when our young people cried out. Whether we spoke when truth was in danger. Whether we stood up when silence felt safer. Let us choose, even now, to be the answer to that question.

Despite their popularity, most of these establishments operate in an alarming regulatory vacuum. According to Bangladesh’s existing food safety laws, including the Food Safety Act 2013 and the Bangladesh Pure Food Ordinance of 1959, any entity engaged in food production and retail must obtain licenses from regulatory bodies such as the Bangladesh Standards and Testing Institution (BSTI), the Bangladesh Food Safety Authority, and city corporations. Yet, a large majority of these live bakeries run without proper approval or inspection. In a survey conducted in late 2024 by the consumer group Safe Food Watch, it was revealed that only 19 out of 120 live bakeries across Dhaka held any official food safety permits. The remainder continues operations unlicensed, effectively operating beyond the reach of government oversight.

Compounding this issue is the use of questionable food additives and chemicals. To maintain product appearance and extend shelf life, many live bakeries resort to artificial colorants, preservatives, and chemical flavor enhancers—often in quantities that exceed safety guidelines. In some cases, highly hazardous substances such as potassium bromate, a known carcinogen banned in many countries, have reportedly been used to improve dough texture. These practices go unchecked due to the complete lack of food labeling, meaning most items are sold without any indication of ingredients, production or expiry dates, or potential allergens. Consumers—particularly children and teenagers, who are drawn to these bakeries in large numbers—are unknowingly exposed to harmful substances that could result in serious long-term health consequences, including hormonal imbalances, kidney damage, and cancer.

Sanitation within many of these bakeries also leaves much to be desired. In numerous outlets, food is prepared by untrained workers with no background in hygiene or safety protocols. Gloves, aprons, and hair coverings are frequently absent or misused. Employees are often seen handling food directly after dealing with money, mobile phones, or cleaning tasks, without washing their hands. Such lapses not only violate basic hygiene standards but also pose significant risks of bacterial contamination. Infections from pathogens like Salmonella, E. coli, and hepatitis A are real and present dangers in such poorly managed environments.

Equally troubling is the lack of transparency that defines how live bakery products are packaged and sold. Unlike branded packaged goods available in supermarkets, these bakery items are typically handed to customers in unmarked paper or plastic bags. There are no labels indicating what the consumer is eating—no production timelines, no expiry warnings, no ingredient lists, and certainly no nutritional information. This absence of accountability effectively strips consumers of their right to make informed choices and leaves them vulnerable to daily consumption of unsafe food.

The role of oversight bodies in this context has been minimal at best. Institutions like BSTI, the Bangladesh Food Safety Authority, and local city corporations have the mandate to regulate and inspect food establishments, but their efforts have largely been ineffective or inconsistent. While mobile court drives occasionally crack down on select bakeries and impose fines, these actions are rarely followed up with sustained monitoring or structural reform. In many instances, the same outlets resume business the very next day, often without making any meaningful changes to their practices.

The appeal of live bakeries is undeniable. They align with the demands of modern urban life—offering instant gratification, fresh smells, and attractive displays. But unless the government, the private sector, and consumers come together to enforce safety standards and demand greater accountability, the health risks posed by these seemingly innocent bakeries will only continue to grow. Regulatory frameworks must be strictly implemented, hygiene practices enforced, ingredient transparency ensured, and awareness campaigns launched to educate the public on food safety risks.

In the absence of decisive action, what appears today as a symbol of culinary innovation and urban charm may tomorrow become the cause of a silent public health crisis. The time to act is now. Because in the end, the sweet scent of freshly baked bread should never mask the bitter taste of negligence.Please check the old reply of mine in this support message. The password I have given and the password you entered are not same. Anyway I am giving the credentials again:

Now don’t be fooled by the name. This “Tesla” isn’t your sleek American EV. No sir. This is a glorified tin can with wheels, duct tape, fairy lights, and a steering handle made of bent pipe. The roof looks like it was borrowed from a village tea stall and the seat feels like punishment furniture from a medieval dungeon. But don’t worry—once the engine starts, it all fades into a thrilling whirl of noise and speed.

You see, when these rickshaws start up, they don’t make a regular motor sound. They scream. They growl. They sound like a goat being electrocuted on a rollercoaster: “Grrrreeeechhh-Tang-Tang-Graaahhh!” People on the sidewalk jump aside. Nearby cars slow down in fear. Even the crows fly away in confusion.

And don’t even think about asking the driver to slow down. Tell him “Brother, could you go a bit slower?” and he’ll look at you like you just insulted his religion. “Why? Battery is new, road is clear, and Allah is with us!” he’ll reply, as the rickshaw zips past traffic, narrowly missing a vegetable seller, two dogs, and a minor earthquake.

Inside the rickshaw, passengers sit gripping whatever they can—bars, window frames, sometimes even each other. One ride feels like a blend of bungee jumping and a religious pilgrimage. Many passengers have claimed they saw their childhood, exes, and their ancestors flash before their eyes during a sharp turn.

These drivers? Legends in their own minds. One once told me proudly, “I used to work in aviation before this.” “Really?” I asked. “What did you do?” He smiled, “I used to fly paper planes. Now I fly people.”

And let’s talk about traffic laws—or rather, the lack of them. These rickshaws follow a unique set of cosmic rules: whoever honks loudest goes first. Overtaking from the left, right, top, or through people’s dreams? All valid. Traffic signals are seen as mere suggestions. Police officers give way to them out of pure self-preservation. You’ll hear the cop mumble, “I’ve got a family, I’m not stopping that thing.”

Accidents are so common, the rickshaws themselves come pre-dented. They treat collisions like high-fives. If two “Teslas” crash, the drivers come out blaming each other’s brakes or luck, sometimes quoting religious philosophy mid-fight.

And then there are the messages painted on the back of these vehicles: “Mom’s Prayer = Speed,” “No Brake No Problem,” and “Born to Fly (But Battery Low).”

Despite all this, these rickshaws have earned their place in the ecosystem of Dhaka. They’re cheap, fast, and provide the kind of thrill that even Six Flags can’t match. In fact, local doctors are now recommending one ride per week to improve blood circulation, increase prayer habits, and humble the ego.

So to those who believe Teslas only exist in America, come to Dhaka. Here, our Teslas may not be smart—but they’re supercharged with chaos, culture, and enough character to make Elon Musk cry.

The year 2025 has dawned upon a world caught in a state of persistent flux. It is not merely another page in the calendar but a pivotal chapter in human history that bears the weight of multiple crises—each demanding urgent attention and responsible global stewardship. The confluence of economic volatility, geopolitical brinkmanship, environmental degradation, and technological disruption has shaken the foundations of international systems that were once considered robust, even invincible. Amidst this storm, humanity is engaged in a complex struggle to preserve not only stability but also the very essence of civilization and shared human values.

At the heart of global economic upheaval stands the United States. With Donald Trump’s re-election to the presidency, the U.S. has embarked on a renewed trajectory of economic nationalism. His administration's sweeping tariffs, particularly the 145% levy on Chinese imports, have effectively severed decades of supply chain integration. The resulting shock has disrupted the flow of essential goods, destabilized international commerce, and strained diplomatic relationships across Asia, Europe, and the Americas. The doctrine of “America First, Always” has transformed from campaign rhetoric to an assertive policy framework that isolates allies, challenges WTO norms, and polarizes global markets.

Major U.S. corporations, previously reliant on overseas manufacturing, are scrambling to restructure. Industries that depended on affordable imports—consumer electronics, pharmaceuticals, automotive components—are now grappling with inventory shortages and price hikes. Consumers, in turn, are confronting inflationary pressure unseen since the 1980s. While the White House defends these measures as steps toward economic sovereignty, critics argue they represent short-term populism at the cost of long-term stability.

Dr. Kelly Berner of the International Monetary Fund stated, “Trade is not just about goods crossing borders; it’s about trust, predictability, and the rules of engagement. The current U.S. policy trajectory is diminishing the credibility of multilateralism and emboldening unilateral responses.”

China, viewing these tariffs as a direct threat to its growth ambitions, has responded with a sophisticated counteroffensive. Beijing has not only imposed retaliatory tariffs but also accelerated its Belt and Road Initiative with renewed vigor, forging economic alliances with Middle Eastern, African, and Latin American nations. The Sino-Russian axis, fortified through coordinated energy and defense agreements, is emerging as a counterweight to U.S.-led coalitions. While these partnerships promise mutual benefit, they also reflect a deepening division in the global order—a fragmentation that complicates consensus on issues ranging from arms control to climate finance.

South Asia, long a crucible of historical tension, finds itself on the brink of war following the Pahalgam terror attack that killed 47 Indian soldiers. India’s Prime Minister Narendra Modi, invoking a doctrine of zero tolerance, has accused Islamabad of harboring extremist networks. The Indian military has mobilized along the Line of Control, and Pakistan’s response—suspending Indian overflights and invoking international legal forums—has set the stage for a diplomatic deadlock. The temporary suspension of the Indus Waters Treaty has introduced an alarming variable: water as a weapon of war in an already arid region.

Professor Tan Chi Lim from the Institute of South Asian Geopolitical Studies in Singapore noted, “The danger is not just miscalculation but mutual political entrenchment. Both governments face domestic audiences hungry for strength, not conciliation. That makes backchannel diplomacy all the more critical—but unfortunately, less likely.”

In Europe, the security consensus forged in the post-Cold War era is eroding. The United States’ controversial peace proposal for Ukraine—granting Russia legitimacy over Crimea and demanding Ukraine’s exit from NATO aspirations—has caused rifts within the transatlantic alliance. While Washington claims its aim is conflict de-escalation, critics see it as capitulation. Ukraine has flatly rejected the plan, branding it a betrayal of democratic ideals.

German Foreign Minister Anna Clarke has taken an uncompromising stance, stating, “This is not diplomacy—it is acquiescence. Europe cannot permit the normalization of land-grabs through military aggression.” In the Donbas region, fighting has intensified. NATO has increased surveillance flights while Poland and the Baltic states are bolstering their own defenses, fearing a precedent that could embolden Russian advances elsewhere.

Simultaneously, the environmental situation continues to spiral toward catastrophe. Global average temperatures have surpassed 1.7 degrees Celsius above pre-industrial levels. Entire cities in South Asia and the Middle East are reporting weeks-long heatwaves with temperatures crossing 50°C, pushing healthcare systems to their limits. Coral bleaching across the Pacific and Indian Oceans has reached levels once predicted only for the 2030s. The ecological collapse of coral reefs jeopardizes food chains, fish stocks, and the coastal economies of dozens of developing nations.

Dr. Lucia Fernandez of the UN Environment Programme issued a grave warning: “We’re running out of buffer zones—both ecological and political. Nature is signaling red alert, but international responses remain fragmented, underfunded, and politically diluted.”

While nature suffers, humanity’s technological ambitions soar. In a development that would have been pure science fiction a decade ago, autonomous drones are now being deployed in combat without human intervention. The United Kingdom’s recent use of AI-powered drones in Ukraine has ignited a firestorm of ethical debate. These machines, driven by neural networks and real-time data parsing, are making independent targeting decisions—raising concerns about accountability, civilian safety, and future warfare paradigms.

Similarly, the biotech sector is advancing at a breakneck pace, prompting debates about bioethics and human enhancement. Genetically engineered cognitive enhancers and body modifications are being sold in gray markets, as regulators scramble to catch up. The World Health Organization has flagged these trends as potentially destabilizing, warning of a future where inequality is not only economic but biological.

Taken together, the crises of 2025 do not exist in isolation. They are deeply interconnected, each exacerbating the other. Economic protectionism fuels geopolitical friction; conflict diverts resources from climate action; technological advancements outpace legal frameworks. The global system—once envisioned as a web of cooperation and shared progress—is straining under the weight of division and distrust.

In editorial reflection, one must ask: Are we, as a global society, prepared to confront the cumulative consequences of our choices? Will the world’s leaders choose diplomacy over dominance, sustainability over short-term gain, and unity over unilateralism? Or will inertia, ideology, and nationalism blind us to the lessons of history?

2025 may well be remembered as a defining year—not only for the crises that erupted, but for the decisions that followed. In this moment of collective peril, there remains one fragile but profound hope: that from this chaos, a new global ethic might emerge—one rooted in empathy, resilience, and the recognition that no nation, no people, and no technology can secure the future alone.

When it comes to Dhaka’s roads, complaints are abundant, but Mirpur’s 60 Feet Road stand in a league of its own. This is not just a road—it’s an experience, a therapy session, and sometimes, even a revolution. Especially if you are seven to eight months pregnant, traveling on this road by rickshaw might make your trip to the hospital unnecessary altogether.

Mirpur’s 60 Feet Road is a unique combination of adventure, endurance, and unpredictability. Each pothole on this road doesn’t just shake your vehicle—it shakes your body, mind, and patience.

If a pregnant woman dares to take a rickshaw ride on this road, she may find herself skipping the hospital altogether. The first pothole is enough to trigger “natural” responses in the body. By the second pothole, she might feel, “Is it time already?” And by the third, it’s almost certain—delivery might just happen right here, for free!

Take, for instance, the story of a couple on their way to the hospital. The wife was heavily pregnant, and the husband took her on a rickshaw. The rickshaw hit the first pothole, and she shouted, “I think the baby is coming!” The husband, in a mix of humor and panic, responded, “Why go to the hospital? Looks like we’ll be parents right here on 60 Feet!”

Every single pothole on this road has a story to tell. Riding down the 60 Feet Road is not just a commute; it’s a journey filled with surprises. The first pothole makes you feel like life is testing your resilience. The second pushes you to your limits. By the third, you start questioning everything, including your decision to take this route.

It’s not just pregnant women who experience the thrill. A middle-aged man commuting to work by a van had all his documents fly off in different directions when the vehicle hit the first pothole. With a wry smile, he said, “This isn’t just a pothole; it’s a tornado!” To which a young passenger beside him quipped, “No, sir, this is our Mirpur way of life!”
This road isn’t just a path; it’s a metaphor for life. For everyone—from expectant mothers to school children—it offers a lesson in survival.

One schoolboy traveling on a bus screamed with excitement when the bus hit a giant pothole, saying, “It feels like a free-fall ride at an amusement park!” His friend replied, “If we get lost in the dust of this road during a school trip, it’ll probably make headlines!”

The residents of Mirpur have become so accustomed to the 60 Feet Road that they’ve developed a sense of humor about it. Locals often joke, “Before stepping on this road, memorize the number of your nearest hospital. And if you’re pregnant, just sit tight—it might all be over soon.”

Some even call it a “place of entertainment.” A resident remarked, “With so few amusement parks in Dhaka, Mirpur’s 60 Feet Road remind us that laughter doesn’t cost a dime.”

Scientists are beginning to see the 60 Feet Road as a potential research field. According to them, traveling on this road provides such a unique form of physical exercise that it could be labeled as “natural physiotherapy.” The road’s potholes stimulate every muscle in the body, leaving riders with a mix of pain and enlightenment.

What if the government declared Mirpur’s 60 Feet Road as a “Natural Delivery Zone”? It could revolutionize the healthcare system. Pregnant women could skip expensive hospital visits, and a few roadside clinics could cater to any emergencies. The potholes would do their job, and the clinics would handle the rest.

Mirpur’s 60 Feet Road is more than just a road; it’s a symbol of resilience, humor, and adaptability. The people of Mirpur embrace its challenges with smiles and stories.

If you ever travel down the 60 Feet Road, remember—it’s not just a route; it’s an adventure. For pregnant women, it’s a natural delivery ward. For everyone else, it’s a life lesson wrapped in bumps, dust, and laughter. Each pothole is more than a hole in the ground; it’s a story, a feeling, and a testament to the indomitable spirit of Mirpur’s residents.

In this detailed interview, we explore his perspective on the company’s progress, the future of Bangladesh’s tourism industry, the role of political involvement, and social responsibility.

The Daily Tribunal: Where does Unique Hotel and Resorts PLC currently stand in the market?

Md. Shakawath Hossain: Unique Hotel and Resorts PLC is a leader in Bangladesh’s hospitality industry. Our properties, such as The Westin Dhaka, Sheraton Dhaka, and HANSA Premium Residence, are well-known for providing world-class services to both domestic and international visitors. Currently, we are not only focusing on luxury hotels but also creating experiences that stay in the memory of our guests. We are positioning ourselves as a premium brand that resonates globally, with future plans to expand our footprint in key tourist destinations within Bangladesh.

Our upcoming projects are focused on expanding in regions like Cox’s Bazar, Bandarban, and Sylhet, as these areas have tremendous potential for both domestic and international tourism. We are also exploring international markets to further strengthen our global presence.

The Daily Tribunal: What new initiatives are being planned for the future?

Md. Shakawath Hossain: We are committed to integrating advanced technologies into our operations. Sustainable tourism is another key area we are focusing on. For example, we are investing in solar energy and other eco-friendly technologies to minimize our carbon footprint. We also plan to develop more properties in places like Cox’s Bazar, Bandarban, and the Sundarbans to cater to the growing demand for nature-based tourism. Our goal is to elevate Bangladesh as a premium tourism destination, attracting more foreign visitors.

The Daily Tribunal: How do you incorporate political connections in your business operations?

Md. Shakawath Hossain: In Bangladesh, having a good relationship with the government is essential for any business, especially in sectors like tourism. While I am not directly involved in politics, the impact of government policies on the hospitality industry is undeniable. The government's initiatives in supporting the tourism sector—such as tax exemptions, incentives for foreign investments, and infrastructure development—have been crucial for our growth. We engage with the government when necessary to ensure that the tourism policies continue to evolve in a way that benefits the entire industry.

We also recognize that collaboration between the private sector and the government is necessary for the long-term development of the tourism sector. Political stability and sound policy frameworks are critical to fostering an environment conducive to business growth.

The Daily Tribunal: Have you ever taken a direct role in political matters?

Md. Shakawath Hossain: Although I am not directly involved in politics, I believe that businesses must maintain a constructive dialogue with the government. As an entrepreneur, I frequently provide input to policymakers, especially on issues that affect the hospitality and tourism sectors. Our company’s success is closely tied to the overall economic policies and reforms that impact the tourism industry, and I am always willing to contribute to discussions that aim to improve the sector.

The Daily Tribunal: How is Unique Hotel and Resorts PLC fulfilling its social responsibilities?

Md. Shakawath Hossain: Corporate social responsibility (CSR) is a central aspect of our business philosophy. We do not only aim to generate profit, but we also focus on creating positive impacts in the communities where we operate. We actively contribute to local job creation through training programs for young people, which enables them to build sustainable careers in the hospitality sector.

Moreover, we emphasize environmental sustainability through initiatives like solar energy usage in our hotels, reducing plastic waste, and implementing advanced waste management systems. These practices are not just limited to our properties but are also taught to our employees, encouraging them to take part in our sustainability efforts.

The Daily Tribunal: Can you provide examples of how your company has set an example in terms of environmental protection and social development?

Md. Shakawath Hossain: We’ve introduced several initiatives, such as using solar panels for energy efficiency, encouraging guests to reduce plastic usage, and setting up recycling stations at our hotels. We also conduct awareness programs for employees about sustainability practices and environmental impact. In addition, we’ve partnered with local communities to provide education and healthcare support, ensuring that our growth is aligned with the betterment of the society we operate in.

The Daily Tribunal: How do you see Bangladesh evolving on the global tourism map?

Md. Shakawath Hossain: Bangladesh has a unique blend of natural beauty, rich cultural heritage, and historical significance, making it an underappreciated gem in the global tourism sector. We are working to bring international attention to destinations like Cox’s Bazar, the Sundarbans, and Bandarban, which are already popular within Bangladesh but remain relatively unknown internationally. With the right promotional strategies, government support, and infrastructure improvements, Bangladesh can become a top tourist destination in Asia and beyond.

The Daily Tribunal: What are the prospects for Bangladesh's tourism industry over the next decade?

Md. Shakawath Hossain: I believe Bangladesh's tourism sector will experience tremendous growth over the next 10 years. With the current government’s focus on tourism infrastructure and policies aimed at promoting sustainable tourism, we are on the right path. If the government continues to invest in infrastructure, streamline regulations, and promote the country’s cultural and natural assets effectively, we will see a significant rise in international arrivals. Our goal is to attract more foreign tourists while preserving the environment and local culture.

The Daily Tribunal: What recent accomplishments are you most proud of?

Md. Shakawath Hossain: One of our major achievements has been receiving the South Asia Tourism Award 2024. Additionally, several of our properties have been internationally recognized for their exceptional service. This recognition has not only strengthened our brand but also highlighted Bangladesh’s growing potential as a luxury tourism destination. We are also working on expanding our international collaborations, which will further enhance the profile of Bangladesh’s hospitality sector.

The Daily Tribunal: Do you have any new plans for the future?

Md. Shakawath Hossain: We are planning to expand our presence in regions like Cox’s Bazar and Bandarban, where there is a lot of untapped potential for eco-tourism. We are also looking to create an incubator for young entrepreneurs in the hospitality sector, where they can come up with innovative ideas for the industry. By doing so, we hope to contribute to the growth of new talent and ideas that will shape the future of tourism in Bangladesh.

Under the leadership of Md. Shakawath Hossain, Unique Hotel and Resorts PLC has positioned itself as a frontrunner in Bangladesh’s hospitality industry. Through his visionary leadership, political insight, and dedication to sustainability, the company has set new benchmarks in the sector. Looking ahead, with continued growth and the implementation of innovative solutions, the company will undoubtedly play a pivotal role in enhancing Bangladesh’s reputation as a premier tourist destination.

Here is the full interview with The Daily Tribunal:

The Daily Tribunal: What inspired you to establish Grameen Foundation 18 years ago and how has the journey evolved over time?

Alex Counts: "The foundation of Grameen Foundation was truly a culmination of my experiences in poverty alleviation and microfinance. For a decade before its founding, I was working in this field, and my commitment deepened during my time as a Fulbright Scholar in Bangladesh. Living there, I witnessed the transformative work being done by Grameen Bank under Professor Yunus's leadership, showing me how microloans could empower people to lift themselves out of poverty. With his mentorship and a $6,000 seed grant, I began Grameen Foundation with a vision to adapt this model for communities globally. Today, it has evolved into a leading organization, but that original mission of empowering the impoverished is still our guiding force."

The Daily Tribunal: Could you share the vision and mission behind Grameen Foundation and how it aligns with your recent work in microfinance?

Alex Counts: "Our mission at Grameen Foundation has always been to alleviate poverty and empower underserved communities worldwide through tools that promote self-sufficiency. What we do aligns closely with my ongoing work in microfinance, where I strive to support scalable, grassroots approaches to lift people out of poverty. Initially inspired by the Grameen Bank model in Bangladesh, we’ve expanded into areas like health, agriculture, and financial literacy, recognizing that poverty alleviation is multi-dimensional."

The Daily Tribunal: What challenges did you encounter while building Grameen Foundation, and how did those experiences shape your approach to microfinance?

Alex Counts: "Starting Grameen Foundation was no easy task; we began with limited resources and a small network of supporters. With a $6,000 initial fund, we had to carefully build a network of people who believed in the vision of replicating Grameen Bank's success globally. Those early challenges taught me resilience and reinforced my belief that poverty alleviation requires a mix of local understanding and global vision. These experiences deeply shaped my approach to microfinance, making me value adaptive, sustainable, and patient methods that respect the unique needs of each community."

The Daily Tribunal: Your book, Small Loans Big Dream, touches on the transformative power of microloans. Could you explain how microfinance can impact lives on a personal level?

Alex Counts: "In my work, I’ve always aimed to convey that microfinance is more than just providing loans; it’s a powerful tool for empowerment. When someone receives a microloan, they’re given a way to become economically active and independent. In places like Bangladesh, and even in the U.S., small loans can enable people to start businesses, improve their homes, and support their families. I’ve seen people rise out of poverty and transform entire communities with the support of microloans. Microfinance offers a path to self-sufficiency, which can be life-changing."

The Daily Tribunal: What motivated you to write Small Loans Big Dream, and what do you hope readers will take away from it?

Alex Counts: "I was motivated to write about microfinance because I feel it’s important to communicate the real impact of this sector. There are many misconceptions, and I wanted readers to understand how a microloan can create profound, sustainable changes. Through this book, I hope readers gain insight into how tackling poverty is achievable by providing people with tools to uplift themselves. My goal is for the book to inspire a wider audience—whether policymakers, social workers, or potential donors—to see the value in supporting microfinance."

The Daily Tribunal: In your experience, what are the most significant misconceptions about microfinance, and how does your book address them?

Alex Counts: "A major misconception is that microfinance can create dependency, that it’s a form of handout that keeps people in poverty. This couldn’t be further from the truth, and I address this myth in my book. Microfinance, when done right, is about empowerment. It provides individuals with opportunities to create economic stability for them. Through the stories in my book, I’ve tried to show that microfinance fuels entrepreneurship and self-reliance, rather than dependency."

The Daily Tribunal: Could you discuss any real-life success stories from Grameen Foundation that illustrate the impact of small loans?

Alex Counts: "Over the years, Grameen Foundation has been part of countless success stories. For example, one woman used her microloan to start a small shop, which gradually expanded, allowing her to employ others in her community. Her journey exemplifies how microloans not only empower individuals but also create a ripple effect, lifting up entire communities."

The Daily Tribunal: How do you see technology influencing the future of microfinance, especially for rural and underserved communities?

Alex Counts: "Technology has the potential to extend the reach of microfinance to rural communities more effectively. With digital banking and mobile payment platforms, we’re breaking down geographical barriers that previously hindered access to financial services. I believe technology will be central in making microfinance more accessible and efficient, allowing us to better support underserved communities."

The Daily Tribunal: What advice would you give to young entrepreneurs or social workers who are looking to make an impact in microfinance or similar sectors?

Alex Counts: "One of the best pieces of advice I can offer is to find mentors. My time with Professor Yunus was instrumental; he taught me the value of empathy and resilience in poverty alleviation. Equally important understands the needs of those you want to serve. Be patient and adaptable, as each community has unique challenges. A commitment to learning and adapting is essential for meaningful work in poverty alleviation."

The Daily Tribunal: Looking forward, what are your goals for both Grameen Foundation and your personal contributions to the field of microfinance?

Alex Counts: "For Grameen Foundation, the goal is to continue expanding its reach so more people can access the resources to break free from poverty. Personally, I want to keep sharing my insights through writing. Books like Changing the World Without Losing Your Mind allow me to advocate for a balanced approach to social impact work, one that respects both the well-being of those who serve and those being served. I hope to inspire future leaders in microfinance, while helping Grameen Foundation makes a lasting difference worldwide."

Alex Counts' words reflect his unwavering commitment to alleviating poverty through sustainable solutions. Grameen Foundation continues to expand its global impact, empowering individuals and communities through microfinance and beyond.