The conference room at Bakshiganj upazila parishad in Jamalpur was not filled with the usual hum of administrative routine on this particular day. Instead, it became a stage for an urgent conversation about truth, responsibility, and the health of the nation’s public discourse. Civil Aviation and Tourism Minister M Rashiduzzaman Millat, arriving as the chief guest, looked out at an audience that included local officials, political leaders, and working journalists. He did not come with announcements about airports or tourist spots, though those are within his portfolio. He came with a plea that transcended ministerial duties: that the media stand guard against a tide of misinformation and propaganda. The minister pointed directly to banned groups and their use of social media as a weapon against the government. He described a digital environment where malicious narratives can gain momentum within minutes, where a distorted image or a half-told story can inflame communities and undermine public trust. In such a climate, he argued, journalists are not merely chroniclers; they are custodians. Publishing objective news is not an optional professional ideal but a national duty. His words carried the weight of someone who had seen the damage caused by manufactured outrage and false allegations. He was not asking the press to become uncritical cheerleaders; he was asking them to honor their craft by verifying facts, resisting unsubstantiated claims, and refusing to amplify messages designed to divide. He reminded the audience that the media’s role is not to please those in power but to serve the public interest, and that in the age of social media, every unverified post is a potential spark. The conference room, with its simple furniture and familiar faces, became a meeting point between the fourth estate and the state, a reminder that democracy depends on a shared commitment to reality. For the journalists present, the message was both a challenge and an affirmation of their importance. For the wider community, it was a glimpse into how fragile public truth can be and how much depends on those who deliver the news.
From the battlefield of information, the minister turned his attention to the immediate struggles of ordinary citizens, especially the crises that dominate kitchen-table conversations: gas and electricity. Millat acknowledged that the shortages are real and painful. People wait for hours for cylinders, factories worry about production, and households brace for rising costs. But he urged patience, asking the public to see the situation through the lens of a volatile global order. The conflict abroad, he suggested, has sent shockwaves through energy markets, affecting supply chains and prices in ways no single government can fully control. Even so, he insisted, the government is not idle. It is working round the clock, exploring options, negotiating agreements, and trying to keep the lights on and stoves burning. He acknowledged that patience is not easy to demand from families who have already waited too long, but stressed that the government’s efforts deserve a chance to work. The minister also reminded his listeners that his party, the BNP, has always pursued a politics aimed at bringing relief to ordinary people, not merely accumulating power. That claim of empathy was meant to distinguish the party from the arrogance often associated with authority. In his telling, the BNP is a party that understands suffering because it has shared it, and its governance is rooted in service rather than self-interest. He called for a collective effort, a willingness to endure temporary discomfort without resorting to panic or destructive protest. The message was aimed at both the heart and the wallet. He seemed to be saying: we know it is hard, but we are in this together, and we will get through it if we trust the process. In a world where every inconvenience becomes a political weapon, Millat’s appeal for patience was also an appeal for reason. He did not promise miracles; he promised effort. That distinction, perhaps, was the most human part of his address. It acknowledged that governments cannot always prevent crises, but they can respond with transparency and perseverance. And in asking citizens to be patient, he was also asking them to be participants in a shared national struggle rather than spectators waiting for rescue.
The minister then sought to lift the mood by evoking a moment of international recognition, a story that was clearly meant to inspire confidence at home. He claimed that the government enjoys, not just domestic support, but genuine standing in the international community. To illustrate this, he turned to an encounter that had taken place during a visit to the United States. Prime Minister Tarique Rahman, he said, had met President Donald Trump in the course of that trip. During their conversation, Trump was said to have been remarkably warm in his assessment of Bangladesh’s readymade garment sector, praising the industry that has come to symbolize the country’s industrial emergence. For Millat, that praise was not merely diplomatic courtesy; it was evidence that Bangladesh has earned a place on the global stage, not through rhetoric, but through the hard work of millions of garment workers, mostly women, who have built the country’s largest export engine. The minister’s voice carried a note of pride as he recounted this exchange. It was a reminder that beyond the crises, beyond the political battles, there is a country that continues to produce, trade, and command respect. The readymade garment industry, often criticized for its problems, is also a story of resilience, ambition, and entrepreneurial spirit. To hear that the leader of the United States had spoken highly of it was, to him, a validation of the nation’s progress. The anecdote served a dual purpose. It was meant to reassure citizens that their leaders are moving in influential circles, and it was meant to counter the narrative of isolation or failure that opponents have tried to spread. He implied that diplomacy and trade are quiet victories that often go unnoticed in the noise of domestic politics. In a time when misinformation runs rampant, Millat offered a counterweight of optimism, a small but potent reminder that Bangladesh is not a nation waiting for approval, but one that has already arrived. Whether one accepts the specifics of the meeting or the interpretation of it, the underlying sentiment was clear: the country has friends, the country has respect, and the country has a story worth telling.
As the programme moved from international affairs to communal harmony, the minister struck a different chord, one of caution and cooperation. With Durga Puja approaching, one of the most important festivals for the Hindu community, Millat called on politicians and government employees to set aside differences and work together to maintain law and order. He stressed that a festival is a time of joy, not fear, and that the state must ensure every devotee can worship with peace of mind. The appeal was not just about security but about the kind of society Bangladesh aspires to be. If violence or disruption occurs under the cover of a religious event, he implied, it damages the nation’s moral authority and social harmony. His words were aimed at cynics who might exploit festival gatherings for political ends, and at officials who might consider their duty limited to paperwork. The minister wanted them to be visible, vigilant, and approachable, present not only to enforce the law but to reassure the community. He also asked community leaders to report suspicious activity without spreading panic, balancing vigilance with harmony. He then shifted to another national concern: drugs. Millat reiterated the government’s zero-tolerance policy, calling it a commitment rather than a slogan. He spoke of the devastation that substance abuse brings to families, particularly to young people whose futures are stolen by addiction. His prescription was not only punitive. It was affirmative. He urged parents, teachers, and community leaders to encourage teenagers to take part in sports alongside their studies. The playing field, he suggested, is one of the most effective antidotes to the lure of drugs. It offers discipline, healthy competition, and a sense of achievement. It keeps young people occupied, connected, and hopeful. In the same breath, he called for greater public awareness, for honest conversations between generations about the risks of addiction. He refused to treat drug abuse as merely a criminal issue, framing it instead as a social failure that demands social healing. The minister’s address at that moment was less political and more parental, a reminder that leadership also means caring about the smallest details of daily life. Whether the audience remembered his remarks about trade or diplomacy, they would likely remember that he asked for the protection of festivals and the protection of the young.
After the speech, the gathering shifted from words to action, and the minister participated in a series of symbolic but deeply meaningful distributions. One by one, he handed over government assistance and fire extinguishers to representatives of Durga Puja mandaps, a practical gesture that acknowledged the need for both physical safety and spiritual celebration. The fire extinguishers, in particular, were a reminder that festivals, for all their beauty, carry risks, and that prevention is a form of care. Millat then distributed cheques from the prime minister’s relief fund to underprivileged individuals, people who had likely waited a long time for this kind of support. Their faces, etched with hardship, brightened as they received the papers that promised a little relief. There were corrugated iron sheets and cheques for families who had lost homes and belongings to disasters, a common story in Bangladesh, a country that lives on the frontlines of climate change. For these families, a few sheets of tin can mean the difference between sleeping under the sky and sleeping under a roof. The minister also provided financial aid to businesses that had been damaged by fire, an act that acknowledged the fragility of small enterprises. A fire can erase a lifetime of work in minutes, and the minister’s gesture, however modest, sent a signal that the state sees these struggles and responds to them. The distributions were not merely bureaucratic; they were moments of human connection. The minister did not simply pass over items and move on. He paused, spoke to recipients, listened to their quiet words of gratitude and grief. The conference room, once a forum for ideas, became a place of tangible help. It was a reminder that governance is ultimately about the texture of people’s lives, the leaking roof, the empty stomach, the disrupted livelihood. In a world dominated by grand rhetoric, these small acts of assistance anchored the event in reality. They showed that the minister’s words were not hollow, that behind the call for patience and patriotism lay a genuine effort to reach the most vulnerable. For those receiving the aid, the day would not be remembered for its speeches about misinformation or international trade; it would be remembered for the moment their names were called, and a hand reached out.
Earlier in the day, before the distributions and the addresses, the minister had inaugurated the Tree Fair 2026 on the upazila parishad premises. The fair, an annual celebration of greenery, was a fitting prelude to a programme so focused on the future. After cutting the ribbon, Millat took a sapling in his hands and planted it in the soil, a photograph frozen in time but symbolic of growth, patience, and hope. As he patted the earth around the sapling, he sought prayers from those present for the country’s continued development. It was a humble gesture, a leader asking not for applause but for blessings. The tree fair itself bustled with stalls selling seedlings, fruit trees, and ornamental plants, an exhibition of the country’s rich botanical heritage and a gentle reminder that development must not come at the cost of the environment. In planting a tree, the minister connected the day’s many threads: the need for patience, the responsibility to future generations, and the quiet, persistent work of building a nation. The fair, too, represented a different kind of politics, one that looks beyond election cycles and toward decades. It was a small ritual, but rituals matter because they remind us of what we share. Among the attendees were officials and employees from various government offices in Bakshiganj upazila, as well as local BNP leaders, all brought together under one roof for a common cause. The presence of bureaucrats and party workers side by side reinforced the minister’s appeal for unity, at least for the duration of the event. As the programme drew to a close, one could sense that something more than protocol had taken place. There had been criticism, reassurance, memory, and hope. The minister had asked the media to tell the truth, the public to endure, the administration to protect, and the young to choose sports over destruction. He had distributed aid, celebrated local tradition, and planted a tree. In doing so, he had offered a broad vision of what public life should be: honest, resilient, caring, and forward-looking. Whether every promise would hold was uncertain, but for one day in Bakshiganj, the conversation was not about divisions. It was about the possibility of moving forward together, rooted in truth like the sapling in the earth, reaching toward a future that requires all hands.