How a young generation in Bangladesh forced out the leader who ruled for much of their lives

Jannatul Prome hopes to leave Bangladesh to study more or possibly find a job after she finishes her university degree, frustrated by a system that she says doesn't reward merit and offers little opportunity for young people.

“We have very limited scope here,” said the 21-year-old, who would have left sooner if her family had enough money to pay tuition at foreign universities for both her and her older brother at the same time.

But recent events have given her hope that one day she might be able to return to a transformed Bangladesh. After 15 years in power, Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina resigned and fled the country last week — chased out by young protesters, Prome among them, who say they are fed up with the way her increasingly autocratic rule has stifled dissent, favored the elite and widened inequalities.

Students initially poured into Bangladesh's streets in June, demanding an end to rules that set aside up to 30% of government jobs for the descendants of veterans who fought the country's 1971 war of independence from Pakistan. Protesters said that benefitted supporters of Hasina's Awami League, which led that struggle — and who already were part of the elite. The quota and others for marginalized groups meant only 44% of civil service jobs were awarded based on merit.

That such jobs lay at the center of the movement was no coincidence: They are some of the most stable and best paying in a country where the economy has boomed in recent years but not created enough solid, professional jobs for its well-educated middle class.

And that Generation Z led this uprising was also not surprising: Young people like Prome are among the most frustrated with and affected by the lack of opportunity in Bangladesh — and at the same time, they are not beholden to the old taboos and narratives that the quota system reflected.

Their willingness to break with the past was clear when Hasina belittled their demands in mid-July, asking who, if not the freedom fighters, should be awarded government jobs.

“Who will? The grandchildren of Razakars?” Hasina retorted, using a deeply offensive word that refers to those who collaborated with Pakistan to quell Bangladesh’s independence struggle.

But the student protesters wore the word as a badge of honor. They marched on Dhaka University’s campus, chanting: “Who are you? Who am I? Razakar. Who said this? The dictator.”

The following day, protesters were killed during clashes with security forces — only galvanizing the demonstrations, which widened into a broader uprising against Hasina's rule.

Sabrina Karim, a professor at Cornell University who studies political violence and Bangladesh’s military history, said that many of the protesters are so young they cannot remember a time before Hasina was prime minister.

They were raised, like the generations before them, on stories of the independence struggle — with Hasina's family at the center. Her father, Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, was the first leader of independent Bangladesh and was later assassinated in a military coup. But Karim said this narrative had much less meaning for the young protesters than it did for their grandparents.

“It doesn’t resonate with them anymore as much as it did (before). And they want something new,” she said.

For Nourin Sultana Toma, a 22-year-old student at Dhaka University, Hasina's equating of the student protesters with traitors made her realize the gulf between what the youth wanted and what the government could provide.

She said that she had watched as Bangladesh was slowly lulled into becoming immune to inequities and people lost hope that things would ever get better.

The country’s longest-serving prime minister prided herself on boosting per capita income and transforming Bangladesh’s economy into a global competitor — fields turned into garment factories and bumpy roads became winding highways. But Toma said she saw the daily struggle of people trying to buy essentials or find work and her demand for basic rights met with insults and violence.

“It could no longer be tolerated,” Toma said.

This economic distress was keenly felt by Bangladesh’s youth. Eighteen million young people — in a country of 170 million — are not working or in school, according to Chietigj Bajpaee, who researches South Asia at the Chatham House think tank. And after the pandemic, private sector jobs became even more scarce.

Many young people try to study abroad or move overseas upon graduation in the hopes of finding decent work, decimating the middle class and resulting in brain drain.

“The class differences have widened,” said Jannatun Nahar Ankan, a 28-year-old who works with a nonprofit in Dhaka and who joined the protests.

Despite these problems, none of the protesters seems to have truly believed that their movement would be able to dethrone Hasina.

Rafij Khan, 24, was on the streets preparing to join a protest when he heard Hasina had resigned and fled the country. He called home repeatedly to see if he could verify the news.

He said that in the last days of the demonstrations, people from all classes, religions and professions had joined the students on the streets. Now they hugged one another, while others just sat on the ground in disbelief.

“I can’t describe the joy that people felt that day,” he said.

Some of that euphoria is wearing off now as the enormity of the task ahead sinks in. Nobel laureate Muhammad Yunus became the interim leader Thursday and he, along with a Cabinet that includes two student protest leaders, will have to restore peace, build institutions and prepare the country for fresh elections.

The hope for most students is that the interim government gets time to repair Bangladesh’s institutions while a new political party — not led by the old political dynasties — is formed.

“If you asked me to vote in elections right now, I don’t know who I’d vote for,” said Khan. “We don’t want to replace one dictatorship with another."

The young people who took to the streets have often been described as the “I hate politics” generation.

But Azaher Uddin Anik, a 26-year-old digital security specialist and recent graduate of Dhaka University, said that is a misnomer.

They don't hate all politics — just the divisive politics in Bangladesh.

And although he admits that the structural reforms that the country now needs may be more difficult than removing the prime minister, he is hopeful for the first time in a while.

“My last experience is telling me that the impossible can happen,” he said. "And maybe it isn’t too late."

Nourin Sultana Toma, a student at Dhaka University, is seen on the university campus, in Dhaka, Bangladesh, Saturday, Aug. 10, 2024. (AP Photo/Fatima Tuj Johora)

A man walks past graffiti in Dhaka, Bangladesh, Friday, Aug. 9, 2024. (AP Photo/Rajib Dhar)

A student wearing a Spiderman costume walks past graffiti that reads, "Our new secular Bangladesh," in Dhaka, Bangladesh, Friday, Aug. 9, 2024. (AP Photo/Rajib Dhar)

Students create graffiti in Dhaka, Bangladesh, Saturday, Aug. 10, 2024. (AP Photo/Fatima Tuj Johora)

FILE- A policeman aims his weapon at protesters in Dhaka, Bangladesh, during a curfew imposed following clashes during demonstrations against Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina and her government, Monday, Aug. 5, 2024. (AP Photo/Rajib Dhar, File)

FILE - University students protest in Dhaka, Bangladesh, to demand justice for those killed in deadly clashes during demonstrations against the country's quota system for government jobs, July 31, 2024. (AP Photo/Rajib Dhar, File)

FILE - Protesters celebrate at the Parliament House after news of Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina's resignation, in Dhaka, Bangladesh, Monday, Aug. 5, 2024. (AP Photo/Fatima Tuj Johora, File)

FILE- Protesters celebrate beside a defaced portrait of Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina after news of her resignation, in Dhaka, Bangladesh, Monday, Aug. 5, 2024. (AP Photo/Fatima Tuj Johora, File)

FILE- Protesters shout slogans as they celebrate Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina's resignation, in Dhaka, Bangladesh, Monday, Aug. 5, 2024. (AP Photo/Rajib Dhar, File)

Students walk past a defaced mural of Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, father of ousted Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina, in Dhaka, Bangladesh, Saturday, Aug. 10, 2024. (AP Photo/Fatima Tuj Johora)

A woman walks past graffiti in Dhaka, Bangladesh, Friday, Aug. 9, 2024. (AP Photo/Rajib Dhar)

Nourin Sultana Toma, a student at Dhaka University, crosses a street to reach the university campus, in Dhaka, Bangladesh, Saturday, Aug. 10, 2024. (AP Photo/Fatima Tuj Johora)

Nourin Sultana Toma, a student at Dhaka University, poses for a photograph on the university campus, in Dhaka, Bangladesh, Saturday, Aug. 10, 2024. (AP Photo/Fatima Tuj Johora)

EAU CLAIRE, Wis. (AP) — Stephanie Hirsch remembers growing up in the western Wisconsin city of Eau Claire when the community welcomed newly arriving Hmong refugees from Southeast Asia.

So Hirsch, now the Eau Claire city manager, said she was surprised at the hostility, fear and anger she saw last fall, when residents learned several dozen refugees would start arriving legally in the community of about 70,000. Opponents spread misinformation — including on a billboard — about how many people were coming and from where, and people packed a city meeting to protest the resettlements.

“It’s very hard for me to understand that fear,” Hirsch said. “I completely disagree with being afraid of people from different cultures. In fact, I’m really excited about it.”

But the way lifelong Eau Claire resident Fred Kappus saw it, the city should have other priorities.

“We really should attend to the homelessness situation before we bring in people from elsewhere,” said Kappus, the vice chairman of the Eau Claire Republican Party.

The flaring tension over the resettlement of refugees in Eau Claire has been repeated in many other midsize communities across the U.S. And it served as a backdrop to a campaign rally Tuesday with Republican vice presidential nominee JD Vance, who has focused on immigration and anti-immigrant rhetoric as he and former President Donald Trump campaign.

Vance argued Tuesday that illegal immigration has devastated parts of the country, including places like Wisconsin that are far from the U.S. border with Mexico. He blames Vice President Kamala Harris and President Joe Biden for problems such as the flow of illegal drugs, and says he and Trump will secure the border and “put Americans first.”

“Every community is a border state,” Vance said. “Every community is a border community.”

The Ohio senator also has continued to promote false claims that Haitian migrants in Springfield, Ohio, are abducting and eating pets as he tries to draw attention to Democratic presidential nominee Harris’ immigration policies. Officials have said there have been no credible or detailed reports about the claims.

Vance defended talking about the claims in Springfield when asked about it Tuesday.

“I haven’t made up anything," Vance said. “I just listened to people who were telling me things.”

Vance said he wants to travel to Springfield and speak with people there, but that wouldn't be in the city's best interests right now.

Western Wisconsin is a target for both sides in one of the “blue wall” states, along with Pennsylvania and neighboring Michigan, that both parties say they need to win to secure the White House. Vance campaigned in Michigan earlier Tuesday before going to Wisconsin.

The city — a regional economic hub about 90 miles east of Minneapolis — is reliably Democratic. But it is located in a county where margins of victory may make a difference in November. Biden carried the county by 11 points over Trump in 2020, when the Democrat won Wisconsin and the election. Trump lost the county by 7 points in 2016, but won Wisconsin that year.

Vance did not mention the resettlement in Eau Claire during his rally, but did talk about Trump’s plan to deport people living in the country illegally, drawing loud cheers from the crowd. He also said communities that are “overrun” by immigration have seen problems such as rising rents, increased car insurance costs and added pressure on healthcare and school systems.

The issue of immigration already has polarized people in Eau Claire and the surrounding area.

When news broke nearly a year ago that about 75 refugees who fled their countries due to war or persecution were headed to the region — representing about 0.10% of Eau Claire's population — Republicans introduced bills at the state and federal level designed to give local communities more say.

A misleading billboard accused Eau Claire city leaders of using tax dollars to “traffic Somali refugees” and keeping the plan secret, though no one from Somalia was part of the resettlement effort. An overflow crowd at an Eau Claire County Board meeting opposed the resettlement, but the board rejected a resolution that would have paused the effort.

There was also initially a “total and complete lack of transparency” related to the resettlements and where the refugees were coming from, said Kappus, the Republican critic.

Hirsch, the city's top official, says officials don't need to hold a public hearing anytime someone moves into town.

“We have many thousands of people who move to Eau Claire on an annual basis,” she said. “There’s nothing unusual about having people move to Eau Claire.”

World Relief, a humanitarian aid group founded by the National Association of Evangelicals, settled 77 refugees in Eau Claire since February, about half from the African countries of the Democratic Republic of Congo, Republic of Congo and Central African Republic and others from Venezuela and Colombia, said Matthew Soerens, vice president of advocacy and policy. Five Somalis live in the nearby community of Barron, where family members had previously settled.

World Relief expects 100 to 125 more refugees in Eau Claire in the federal government’s budget year, starting Oct. 1, to arrive at about the same pace since the group began operations in the Wisconsin city in February.

Bill Berg, 73, who was born and raised in Eau Claire and lived most of his life there, said, “It’s a minority that disagrees with refugee resettlement.”

“It’s ‘the other,’” he said Tuesday when asked why he thought some were opposed. “It’s always ‘the other.’”

He described Eau Claire as a “welcoming community” and said he had no problem with the refugees.

“Half of my family are of other races, which I think is a good thing,” he said.

World Relief, one of 10 nongovernmental organizations that works with the State Department and the U.N. refugee agency to bring refugees to the United States after extensive vetting, has been expanding after leaner times. President Joe Biden raised the cap on bringing refugees to 125,000 in the budget year ending Sept. 30 from 18,000 under Trump in 2020, the lowest since refugee resettlement began in 1980.

Just over 84,000 refugees came to the United States from Oct. 1 through Aug. 31, a pace that falls short of the 125,000 cap. Wisconsin took in 1,500 of them, about one-third from the Democratic Republic of Congo, which is plagued by violent crime and civil unrest.

Eau Claire is one of several locations, along with Austin, Texas; Baltimore; and Scott County, Iowa, where World Relief grew over the last year, Soerens said. The group felt it succeeded in Appleton, Wisconsin — where it had settled refugees for more than a decade — and started looking for another Wisconsin city that offered jobs and a welcoming spirit. They spoke with police departments, school districts, potential employers and churches.

“The community that sort of rose to the top was Eau Claire, in part because the local government was eager,” Soerens said.

Hirsch was so confident that Eau Claire would be a good fit, she wrote the U.S. State Department last year that the county had an unemployment rate of 3.5%, with plenty of job opportunities, and “a long history of welcoming refugees.”

But then the backlash hit.

Kappus, who lived his entire life in Eau Claire, thinks immigration is one of the top concerns of voters in western Wisconsin.

“Fentanyl is a problem here in west-central Wisconsin and Eau Claire,” Kappus said. “It all goes back to our open borders.”

World Relief, like other resettlement agencies, provides temporary aid that may include food, rent, clothing, furniture and help with school enrollment and job searches. That’s far different from Springfield, Ohio, where many Haitians are in the country under Temporary Protected Status, which spares people from being deported to countries that are considered unsafe due to natural disasters or civil strife. Refugees, unlike those on TPS, have a path to citizenship.

Eau Claire, the fastest-growing city in the northern half of Wisconsin, is attracting people from all over, including small towns and big cities, people escaping warmer climates and those from other countries, Hirsch said.

“We’re happy to have people come to the community whether they are refugees from the Congo or a candidate for vice president,” she said. “We want to be a community that’s welcoming.”

Spagat reported from San Diego.

Stephanie Hirsch, city manager for Eau Claire, Wis., who supported the resettlement of refugees in the western Wisconsin city despite opposition from Republicans, poses in a downtown park ahead of a campaign visit from vice presidential candidate JD Vance Tuesday, Sept. 17, 2024. (AP Photo/Scott Bauer)

Stephanie Hirsch, city manager for Eau Claire, Wis., who supported the resettlement of refugees in the western Wisconsin city despite opposition from Republicans, poses in a downtown park ahead of a campaign visit from vice presidential candidate JD Vance Tuesday, Sept. 17, 2024. (AP Photo/Scott Bauer)

Stephanie Hirsch, city manager for Eau Claire, Wis., who supported the resettlement of refugees in the western Wisconsin city despite opposition from Republicans, poses in a downtown park ahead of a campaign visit from vice presidential candidate JD Vance Tuesday, Sept. 17, 2024. (AP Photo/Scott Bauer)