top of page
When the river swallows its own banks: the politics of betrayal
A graffito painted on a wall in Dhaka during the July uprising. — New Age/Sony Ramani by Habib Zafarullah THERE is a particular grief that has no name in English but lives in the bones of every Bangladeshi who has watched someone they carried on their shoulders — whose photograph hung in their tea shop, whose name their children chanted — turn around and look at them as though they are a problem to be managed. This is not the grief of defeat. Defeat you can live with. This
6 min read
bottom of page