Nine-year-old Safkat Samir was a fifth-grade student in an Ibtedayi (primary) madrasa. He was the apple of his parents' eyes—Sakibur Rahman and Faria Ibnat. They had a thousand dreams centred on him. They hoped that one day, their son would grow up to become a great Islamic scholar. On that day, his father imagined he would proudly wipe away his tears and say to everyone, "I am the father of Maulana Mufti Safkat Samir."

But Samir had not yet outgrown his childhood. In madrasa, when he recited:

"I shall not remain confined within four walls,

I shall see the world,

How people move in the whirlpool of time,"

—he didn't want to stay trapped within the four walls of a traffic-choked, chaotic Dhaka flat.

He longed to go outside, to play with his friends, to laugh and be happy. But the fascist government left no room for such wishes. His parents strictly ordered him not to step outside those four walls. Obediently, with teary eyes, he would stand by the barred window and gaze out towards the open horizon. But standing by that window proved fatal for him.

On July 19, 2024, the brutal forces of Hasina's regime were carrying out a violent crackdown outside. Gunfire rang out constantly. As Samir stood at the window, a bullet struck his head. He collapsed on the floor instantly. Along with him collapsed the deep desire to discover the world—and the dreams of his parents.

To carve the path to triumph in the 2024 mass uprising, thousands like Safkat had to lay down their lives. Safkat became a living symbol of the sacrifice of madrasa students.

Jatrabari and Uttara were two key strongholds in the 2024 movement. The active and brave presence of madrasa students in these areas shocked everyone. In addition, madrasa students played vital roles in major locations throughout the country, including Cumilla, Habiganj, Narsingdi, Chattogram, and more.

Since the movement was quota-focused in the beginning, madrasa students were not deeply involved from 1 to 16 July. But after 16 July, when Hasina's government began killing students indiscriminately, they could no longer stay inside. With flags of the nation tied to their foreheads, they came out onto the streets to defend their country. Their voices rang out:

"We may give our heads, but never our dignity;

We may give our lives, but never our honour."

Those who dare sell off our sovereignty and kill our people indiscriminately would no longer be tolerated. Teachers from madrasas in Jatrabari, Tongi, Baridhara, and many other areas joined the streets with their students. They provided food, water, shelter, and every possible form of support.

According to a report by the Centre for Social Studies (CSS), 42 madrasa students were martyred in the movement. Another organisation named Tarun-Alim Projonmo (Young Scholar Generation) published the names of 77 martyrs. These numbers are not just statistics; rather, they represent the deep sense of responsibility that madrasa students feel towards the state.

From the time of British rule until today, whenever the motherland has faced crisis, the community of Islamic scholars and madrasa students has given everything they had. From the Reshmi Rumal (Silk Letter) Movement to the Faraizi Movement, from the 2013 Shapla Chattar protest to the anti-Modi protests of 2021—these are but a few chapters in a long history of resistance.

In countless such movements, madrasa students have shed their blood and made their presence known. But the state has never truly recognised their sacrifices. Generation after generation, they have been neglected. With no government support or patronage, nearly five million students across the country are being educated in Qawmi madrasas through donations from devout, working-class people. If the students of Alia madrasas are taken into account, the number rises even higher.

After 5 August, madrasa education leaders hoped this discrimination would end. But they were wrong. Even now, there has been no visible change. When the state organised celebratory events with the stakeholders of the July–August movement, madrasa students were not included. Only after widespread criticism did the Ministry of Culture feel compelled to declare July 21 as "Madrasa Resistance Day."

If given proper state recognition and support, madrasa students have the potential to become shining examples of success, serving the nation with unwavering honesty and dedication. In a Muslim-majority country, the continued neglect of Islamic education leaves nearly 90% of the population disheartened and unheard.

We urge the interim government to recognise madrasa education not as a fringe component, but as a vital pillar of the national education system—one that deserves focused attention and meaningful inclusion.

Md Hifjur Rahman Chowdhury is a lecturer at Darunnazat Siddikia Kamil Madrasah. The article was translated by Miftahul Jannat.