In the heart-wrenching aftermath of the July 2024 uprising, two parents, shattered by the loss of their sons, stood before the International Crimes Tribunal, their testimonies painting a disturbing picture of alleged police brutality and official cover-ups. One father, a humble police sub-inspector named Moynal Hossain Bhuiyan, once gained national attention with his poignant question to a senior officer: “How many bullets does it take to kill a boy, sir?” Now, through his tears, he recounted the horrifying details of his son, Imam Hasan Tayim Bhuiyan’s, death and the disturbing manipulation of the inquest report. Tayim, a young man with a future ahead of him, was shot near Kajla Bridge, his body riddled with bullet wounds—a testament, Moynal believed, to the extreme brutality he endured. But what truly twisted the knife in Moynal’s heart was the accusation that a fellow sub-inspector, Shahadat, under “orders from higher authorities,” deliberately omitted any mention of police firing in the official report, instead vaguely noting only “holes and black marks.” Moynal, deeply distressed, his job threatened, and his son’s body decomposing after a tormenting 24-hour delay, found himself coerced into signing this falsified document. “I was compelled to sign the inquest report,” he confessed to the tribunal, his voice heavy with pain and accusation.
Moynal’s ordeal began tragically when Tayim, after joining protests with his friends, was shot. Moynal, on duty at the Rajarbagh Police Lines, received the devastating news that his son’s body was abandoned at the Kajla foot overbridge. The frantic search for his son led him through the grim halls of Dhaka Medical College Hospital (DMCH), where a journalist’s photograph finally helped him identify Tayim among 20 to 30 other unidentified bodies. The subsequent bureaucratic delays, from a forced visit to Shahbagh Police Station to the postponed inquest and post-mortem, only amplified Moynal’s anguish. He recounted how, despite his pleas, SI Shahadat deliberately delayed these crucial procedures. It was only during the sacred ritual washing of Tayim’s body at Rajarbagh that a large wound, believed to be from a pistol bullet, was discovered on his left waist. The night ended with Tayim’s burial in the family graveyard in Cumilla, but for Moynal, the fight for justice had just begun. He shared his son’s friends’ chilling account: Tayim and other protesters sought refuge in a tea stall, only to be chased, beaten with batons and rifle butts by 20-25 police personnel—including Inspectors Zakir Hossain and Mamun, and SI Sajjad of Jatrabari Police Station. As they fled, Mamun and Sajjad allegedly opened fire, and when Tayim fell, Zakir reportedly shot him repeatedly at close range. Rahat, Tayim’s friend who bravely tried to save him, also sustained a leg injury but miraculously escaped. Tayim, however, was left abandoned before finally being taken to DMCH. Moynal, his grief turning to righteous anger, demanded the harshest punishment, even the death penalty, for those responsible for his son’s murder.
Meanwhile, in another courtroom at ICT-1, a similar scene of raw grief unfolded. Hashi Akhter, a mother whose 23-year-old son, Rakib Hossain, was also a victim of the July uprising, collapsed in the witness box, her emotional distress so profound that it forced the court to briefly halt proceedings. The catalyst for her outburst was a graphic video played by the defense counsel during cross-examination. The footage showeds Rakib, after being shot, crumbling onto a road, blood blooming around him—a horrifying tableau of loss. “I carried my son in a rickshaw to Dhaka Medical College Hospital from Rampura, but he could not speak a word to me. I am bearing such a huge pain,” she sobbed, her voice cracking under the weight of her grief. Hashi Akhter had previously testified as a prosecution witness, narrating the events of the July 18–19, 2024 unrest that claimed 28 lives in Rampura. Among the accused are two former Border Guard Bangladesh officers, Lt Col Mohammad Redowanul Islam and Maj Rafat Bin Alam Moon, and two former police officers, then Additional Deputy Commissioner of Khilgaon Md Rashedul Islam and then Officer-in-Charge of Rampura Police Station Moshiur Rahman. While Redowanul and Rafat faced her in court, the two police officials remain at large, adding another layer of frustration and injustice to Hashi Akhter’s pain.
These two poignant testimonies, emerging from the deeply personal anguish of a father and a mother, serve as powerful indictments against alleged state brutality and official malfeasance. Moynal Hossain Bhuiyan’s detailed account of his son’s killing, the alleged cover-up in the inquest report, and the identified police personnel involved directly calls for accountability within the law enforcement agencies. His questioning of “higher authorities” for their purported pressure on junior officers to manipulate critical evidence highlights a systemic issue of impunity and a blatant disregard for truth. The image of a grieving police officer, forced to sign a document that he believes distorts the truth about his own son’s death, is a stark reminder of the immense pressure and fear that can be exerted by those in power. His demand for the death penalty for those responsible underscores the depth of his pain and his desperate plea for justice, not just for his son, but for all victims of such alleged atrocities. The emotional toll of such an experience, where one’s own colleagues are accused of such horrific acts, must be immense, leaving an indelible scar on Moynal’s conscience and eroding his faith in the very institutions he served.
Equally compelling is the raw, unvarnished grief of Hashi Akhter. Her breakdown in court, triggered by the visual re-enactment of her son’s dying moments, transcends mere testimony; it is a primal cry of a mother’s inconsolable loss. The fact that a graphic video was required to illustrate the brutality speaks volumes about the challenges faced by victims in proving their claims against powerful state actors. Her mournful declaration, “I carried my son in a rickshaw to Dhaka Medical College Hospital from Rampura, but he could not speak a word to me. I am bearing such a huge pain,” encapsulates the profound and lasting suffering inflicted upon families. This pain is further exacerbated by the evasion of justice, as two of the accused police officials remain fugitives. The contrast between Redowanul and Rafat, present in the dock, and the two absconding police officers, underscores the broader challenge of holding all perpetrators accountable, regardless of their rank or past affiliation. Hashi Akhter’s testimony, like Moynal’s, is not just about the death of her son, Rakib; it is a testament to the myriad human stories of suffering, loss, and the relentless pursuit of justice in the face of immense adversity following the July uprising.
In essence, these two narratives, deeply personal yet powerfully universal, lay bare the human cost of the July 2024 uprising. They highlight the desperate struggle of ordinary citizens to seek truth and justice when faced with the alleged abuse of power by the very institutions meant to protect them. The tears shed by Moynal Hossain Bhuiyan and Hashi Akhter in the witness box are not just expressions of individual grief; they are a collective lament for the loss of innocent lives and a fervent plea for accountability. Their courage in standing before tribunals, reliving their most agonizing moments, despite the immense emotional strain and potential risks, serves as a beacon of hope for all those who believe in justice. These testimonies serve as a crucial reminder to society and the legal system alike that beneath the veneer of official reports and legal proceedings lie profound human tragedies that demand transparent investigation, unwavering commitment to truth, and uncompromising accountability for all those who perpetrate or enable such alleged crimes against humanity. Only then can the wounds of the past begin to heal, and faith in justice be painstakingly restored.