We Can’t Deny Revolutionary Optimism Anymore
It was an average July evening that brought with it stress and anxiety for many students. For some, it was the stress of finishing summer assignments, and for others, it was the fear of losing their lives. While I fell in the former category, reading excessively about the political undertones in film, students across Bangladesh embodied the latter, bringing some spine-chilling scenes of revolution and sacrifice to life. A few days and 1500 deaths later, the Hasina government met its end.
Such a historic development in real-time rendered my coursework and critical thinking fruitless. All of a sudden, my well-researched papers and carefully curated playlists of political video essays became mere badges of honor I carried around without any meaningful participation in the struggles and engagement of youth on the ground. I might as well have been “doomscrolling” through my books and believing revolutions only to be a recipe for nostalgia- fascinating on paper and impossible to implement.
People raise their hands during a protest in Dhaka. Source: Al Jazeera. [Monirul Alam/EPA]
While this self-reflection was necessary, the assessment of my circumstances felt incomplete without contextualizing them in history and the current socio-political reality. I was passionate about making a change without ever believing in its possibility because I grew up during the War on Terror, launched by the US-led military coalition in the wake of the 9/11 attacks. Just like many young people in my generation, I watched mass casualties, daily bombings, and political instability unfold without repercussion, desensitizing us to the pain and suffering of our own people resulting from the direct and indirect consequences of this war.
It was chaotic and it was numbing. I remember feeling scared to go out after dark with my family until we became used to terrorism taking place in broad daylight, forcing us to desire change just like the perpetrators of this violence desired peace, merely as a narrative to keep pushing forward. Them, in their oppression, and we, in our survival.
After all, for our lot, the younger, up-and-coming bright futures of this country had no other outlet for meaningful engagement and mobilization. Shout-out to former US President Ronald Reagan for propping up the most brutally consequential dictator in Pakistan, Zia-ul-Haq, who banned student unions, promoted religious fundamentalism, and single-handedly destroyed our shot at dissent and making a difference.
As the culture of censorship and surveillance tightened its grip, even decades after the end of the Zia regime, young people found themselves on the frontlines of crackdown and terror instead of their civil liberties and propaganda-free education. It is shocking how 1984-esque it feels to fearlessly voice my political opinions and unlearn the patronizing narratives mainstreamed to make responsible citizens out of us. No wonder we stopped wanting a future in what seems like a godforsaken land. Brain drain is unprecedentedly high, and according to my professors, the best shot for a bright student like me is in following this trend.
As historic and systemic exclusion of young people brought us here, the global North-South disparities also reminded us that the rest of the world is not ready to welcome us either. From special security checks at the airport to visa rejections to mass student deportations, the immigration dream is also a luxury we cannot afford, just like rent, gas, and electricity. Young people in Pakistan are destined for a crumbling economy, a saturated job market, and bureaucratic incompetence, coupled with the threat of war in their neighborhood and the growing indifference of global power toward their safety and protection.
Navigating our way through this despair and helplessness, we find ourselves glued to our screens, mindlessly scrolling. Every piece of news became content, and every piece of content became brainrot. Massacres turned into mere statistics, and memes came to our rescue in these scary, lonely times. Meanwhile, I continued to excel in my studies and watched documentaries on state crimes in my pastime until I gave in to scrolling, disengaged from the fight I needed to join.
Moreover, the false refuge that the latest technology could offer went beyond distraction and desensitization. Big tech, thriving miles away from my country, offered us an illusion of agency over our content consumption and an outlet for our frustration to compromise our empathy and sabotage our sense of community. Scrolling past the reels of massacred students, some miles away, to watching a viral moment from a family vlog is a profoundly disturbing reminder of the humanity we are losing, especially as the future of this country.
As the algorithms force us into echo chambers of hatred and bigotry, and influence young, impressionable minds to become either Alpha males or religious fundamentalists, and state-sponsored crackdowns populate our one last spot of false refuge, what does that leave us with? Although hope begins to fade, one thing becomes strikingly apparent: the only way out is through.
If we are stuck in a prison of political disengagement and emotional devastation, we can try to turn a new leaf in our own right, reclaim the spaces where they never let us walk before, and look for strength in our shared sense of despair and helplessness. Don’t get me wrong. I am not speaking of a utopian ideal, but only a collective survivors’ response that comes upon realizing that the whole system is rigged against our favour and digital escapism is only a temporary solution. A response that comes from watching a handful of students get organized to undo fifteen years of government oppression. A response that understands if students in Bangladesh didn’t stop fighting like keyboard warriors to stage mass demonstrations, their fate would be exactly like ours. A response built on the spirit of revolutionary optimism.
Revolutionary. Optimism.
It is not a blind faith in progress but a belief that pessimism is no longer a luxury we can afford. Revolutionary optimism is a reminder that the stakes are high but the cause is worthy, that bringing change is not a choice, it’s inevitable, it’s necessary. It is not a magical solution to the decades of crises, but a guiding principle to help us get started.
1968: NSF activists protesting against dictator Ayub Khan in Karachi. Source: The Friday Times
We don’t need to take over a town square to manifest it or topple our existing government. All we need is to try to become a part of the process that creates solutions and brings about lasting change. Instead of devouring books on campus or doomscrolling on your phone, we can reach out to a friend. Ask them if war took away their childhood, if censorship took away their freedom of expression, if global divides put them behind their peers. Discuss what you would do differently if you were in charge, and figure out what you can do now that you are not.
For all my bold claims, it is terrifying to imagine the consequences of ever speaking out of line on my own. Therefore, I turned to a global community of changemakers who campaign for meaningful youth engagement and peacebuilding. Just like joining Youth Transforming Narratives (YTN) brought me hope and joy, you can also find people who inspire you to fight and make you feel safe in your struggles. Hand-in-hand, rejecting doomerism and overcoming desensitization, we can engage critically with the political discourse, act meaningfully at a grassroots level, and believe wholeheartedly in a change that is not only possible but truly necessary.
