It has now been one full year since we lost Shoikot. But to those of us who loved him, it feels like much more than that. It feels as though time has stood still since that day. Every moment has been heavy with grief, every day a reminder of what we lost—not just a beloved brother, son, or friend, but a symbol of courage, conviction, and hope.

Shoikot was not an ordinary young man. He carried within him a deep love for this country and a strong sense of justice far beyond his years. He stood on the frontlines of the student protests—not for personal gain, not for recognition, but because he genuinely believed that Bangladesh could and should be better. He believed in peaceful protest, in democracy, and in the power of people's voices to bring about change.

But on that dark day, his voice was silenced. Shoikot was killed during a peaceful demonstration, and his death broke our hearts and shook the nation. The most painful part is that he was not killed in an accident or by some unknown threat—he was shot and killed by the police. The very force tasked with protecting our citizens became the cause of his death. That truth is difficult to accept. It has changed our lives forever.

In the face of such tragedy, it would be easy to fall into hopelessness and despair. But that is not what Shoikot would have wanted. He was brave and optimistic. Even in the face of injustice, he believed change was possible. And it is that same belief that keeps us moving forward today.

Over the past year, we have continued to ask hard questions—not out of bitterness, but out of love for our country. We want to know what steps have been taken to ensure that what happened to Shoikot will never happen again. We believe that no family should ever have to experience the pain of losing a loved one in this way.

We recognise that police reform is not an easy task. It is a long and complex process that requires structural change, political will, and a commitment to accountability at every level. But we are hopeful. We have seen signs—small, but important—that the interim government is beginning to take these matters seriously.

There have been early discussions about modernising the police force, improving training on human rights, and holding individual officers accountable for misconduct. Some internal reviews have reportedly been initiated, and we hope these are the first steps towards meaningful reform. We also appreciate the tone of the interim government—one that seems more open to dialogue, to criticism, and to constructive change. These are not things we take lightly, and we want to acknowledge them respectfully.

Still, we know that real reform takes more than words. It takes action. It takes transparency. It takes justice—not just for Shoikot, but for every young person who has suffered for speaking the truth.

As we mark one year without him, we do not want this day to be only about sorrow. We want it to be about remembrance, yes—but also about responsibility and renewed purpose. Shoikot may no longer be with us in body, but his spirit, his voice, and his dream for a better Bangladesh are still very much alive.

We often say that the youth are the future of a nation. Shoikot lived that truth. He was a student, but he was also a leader. He was young, but his sense of justice was mature and unwavering. Even now, we feel his presence in the streets, in the speeches, in the hearts of those who continue to march for fairness, safety, and dignity.

We want the country he dreamed of to become a reality—a Bangladesh where freedom of speech is protected, where peaceful protest is respected, and where no one is punished for demanding justice. A Bangladesh where the police serve the people with dignity and professionalism, and where no mother has to fear sending her child out to speak the truth.

We still believe that such a Bangladesh is possible.

We call on the interim government to take this opportunity to lead with courage and vision. We urge them to continue the work of police reform—not just on paper, but in practice. Build a force that earns the trust of the people. Offer training that teaches empathy, not fear. Enforce laws that protect rather than punish.

Let the memory of Shoikot—and others like him—guide us towards a brighter, safer, more just nation.

To the people of Bangladesh, we say this: do not forget Shoikot. Do not forget what he stood for. His story is not just a personal tragedy—it is part of our national history. And it is also a reminder of the power of young voices, the strength of peaceful movements, and the urgent need for compassion in governance.

To Shoikot, we say: you are not forgotten. Your dreams live on. Your name lives on. And your fight is now our fight.

Sabrina Afroz Sabonti is a student, who lost her brother, Mahamudur Rahman Shoikot, during the July Uprising.