How organisational strategy made the July uprising possible

A year since the July uprising, an old theory has found new life in public discourse—the “meticulous design” thesis. In a recent Facebook post, one of the key organisers of the 2024 uprising, now serving as an advisor on information, Mahfuz Alam, claimed that even if partially, the uprising unfolded according to a deliberate and well-orchestrated plan.
I cannot entirely agree with Mahfuz Alam’s assessment. Yet I do believe that the students were not acting on impulse; they had, in fact, been preparing and organising for quite some time. That is the argument I want to explore here.
2.
In the social sciences, there is a long-standing criticism of “centralised planning”—one that suggests social and economic phenomena cannot be fully executed as premeditated designs. Friedrich Hayek’s reflections come to mind here. He once remarked “The curious task of economics is to demonstrate to men how little they really know about what they imagine they can design.”
Although I strongly disagree with Hayek’s vision of the “night-watchman state,” I partially agree with his argument about the limitations of planning.
There may well be prior plans in place, but in practice, the context is so fluid and unpredictable that such plans often collapse or require drastic adaptation. In any uprising, it is nearly impossible to predefine the precise timing of decisions. Movements—especially when confronting the state—operate under conditions that resemble a game theory scenario, where each side’s choices heavily depend on the actions of the other.
3.
The brilliance of the student leadership lay in how they navigated this game. Like masters of strategy, they consistently outwitted the state. One incident stands out: when DB Harun (then Additional Commissioner of the Dhaka Metropolitan Police) detained frontline student leaders and coerced them into announcing the withdrawal of the protest, the remaining organisers—those not yet detained—swiftly responded by calling for the continuation of the movement. That counter-move not only saved the momentum but also reasserted control over the movement’s trajectory.
This wasn’t an isolated episode. We saw something similar during the 2018 road safety protests, where a group of students was paraded before the media to declare the end of the movement. But July was different—this time, the organisers had a secret weapon: organisation.
Because of this organisational backbone, when the front ranks were neutralised, the second tier of leadership could step forward and continue the mobilisation. If there is any merit to the “meticulous design” thesis, it lies precisely in this structural preparedness.
4.
But this organisational capacity did not emerge overnight. It was the product of sustained political cultivation—particularly rooted in the 2018 quota reform and road safety movements. It was during these struggles that students came to realise that lasting change is not possible without a clear political project and the habits of political engagement.
Since then, slowly but steadily, a culture of discussion, self-education, and organisation began to take shape—deeply political in character. We might cite examples such as Swachintan at Jahangirnagar University or the “Gurubar Adda” at Dhaka University. Across campuses, friendships and alliances were formed through shared protest and resistance.
It was from this milieu that a new student organisation—Gonotantrik Chhatra Shakti (Democratic Student Power)—emerged, particularly in response to the limitations of the earlier Gonodhikar Parishad (Council for Public Rights), itself born from the quota protests.
Many of the front-liners of the July Uprising came up through ChhatroShokti. But in the face of a growing movement, they built something larger still: a new confederation called Boishommobirodhi Chhatro Andolon (Anti-Discrimination Student Movement).
This strategic shift reflects a key lesson from academic literature as well. Mancur Olson’s theory, for instance, explains that the most effective strategy for collective action often lies in federating smaller units into a broader front. That is exactly what July’s organisers did.
The confederation brought together not only Chhatra Shakti but also a wide array of students aligned—openly or discreetly—with both leftist and centrist political traditions. Importantly, however, this front positioned itself not as “apolitical,” but as politically independent.
This distinction matters. They never claimed to be neutral. Rather, they always had a political project—one that revolved around removing the Hasina government. If that could not be achieved through the quota issue, then it would be pursued via some other avenue.
Seen in that light, the quota reform movement was not the destination but the entry point—a gateway to a broader anti-Hasina mobilisation. And many among the students had been waiting and preparing for such a gateway, envisioning 2026 as the focal point for their ambitions.
Fate, however, offered them an opportunity earlier than anticipated—and they did not miss it.
5.
Even so, throughout the uprising, organisers made a calculated effort to identify themselves as politically independent. This was not accidental. It was a strategic move to prevent the government from branding them as operatives of BNP or Jamaat, which would have given the state pretext for a brutal crackdown.
They deployed what I call “strategic apoliticism”—not the absence of politics, but a temporary decision to underplay their political identities in order to protect the movement.
Of course, after the uprising, many student leaders publicly acknowledged their political affiliations and began arguing over credit. But during the uprising itself, most of them maintained that silence for the sake of the movement.
6.
It’s important to underscore this: while outwardly appearing non-partisan, this was at its core a profoundly political movement. That political project is now partially embodied in the emergence of the National Citizens’ Party (NCP). But the goals of these organisers always went beyond electoral politics. They aspired toward revolution—a full transformation of the political order.
They held revolutionary desire, shared revolutionary consensus, and constructed a revolutionary alliance. And indeed, they encountered a revolutionary moment. But under pressure from multiple sides, they eventually chose not a revolutionary resolution, but a middle path.
And that middle path, in hindsight, sometimes looks less like balance and more like mediocrity.
7.
Crucially, one major engine behind the uprising was a mass of genuinely non-partisan individuals—students and citizens who may not have supported any political party but had become deeply disillusioned with Awami League’s rule. Some had even supported the regime before, but the pile-up of corpses changed their minds.
Whether NCP can attract these voters remains an open question. Many of July’s organisers are now within NCP, but a substantial section of that mobilisation is conspicuously absent. After the uprising, many activists returned home. These are people uninterested in joining a party or pursuing a share in power.
Back in 2018, I wrote about this demographic and called them the “Third Force” in Bangladeshi politics. Today, the question is: who can earn their trust? Sadly, I fear NCP may already have lost a large share of this constituency.
8.
The confederal structure that powered the July uprising has now been replaced by a more centralised model of politics. Former allies—including many on the left—have been sidelined. Central control is slowly becoming visible. The result is a weakening of organisational power.
No matter how large the crowds may be at NCP’s rallies or road marches, without rebuilding this organisational base, the party will not endure. At the very least, in honour of July’s legacy, NCP should seek to rebuild a broad coalition among its surrounding factions, parties, and alliances. That is the only path to institutional strength.
If NCP hopes to become the rightful heir to July, it must begin by learning from July itself.

Anupam Debashis Roy is Editor-in-Chief of Muktipotro and a DPhil researcher at the University of Oxford.
anupam.roy@sociology.ox.ac.uk