Government looks the other way as mob tears down Number 32

It was early in the evening on February 5th when rumours began to circle about Sheikh Hasina’s plan to deliver a live address on the Awami League’s official Facebook page. Many were incensed at the prospect of her broadcasting from what they considered a safe haven in India, arguing it was unjust for her to enjoy a political platform while being beyond the reach of justice. Still, I never truly believed that the threats to demolish House 32 — once the home of her father, Sheikh Mujibur Rahman — would amount to anything more than heated rhetoric.

In the past, similar threats had often been defused by calmer heads in government, protest leadership or mainstream political parties such as the BNP. I assumed the same would happen again. This time, though, the tone was more ominous. Hasnat Abdullah posted a chilling update online: “Bangladesh will be freed of the pilgrimage site of fascism today.” For Awami League loyalists, House 32 has always been a sacred place, central to their ideology. Asif Mahmud — an adviser to the government and a prominent student leader — added his own, albeit brief, endorsement. It was then that I realised the threat was anything but hollow. House 32 was unmistakably in danger.

I still clung to a faint hope that more experienced figures in Muhammad Yunus’ administration would step in to maintain calm. But no statement emerged from the government, no attempt to defuse tensions. A sense of dread sank in as I arrived in Dhaka around 11.32 pm and sped towards Dhanmondi on a rideshare motorbike.

By the time I pulled up at Number 32, chaos was already in full swing. A bulldozer had carved out a massive chunk of the building, while flames crept steadily upwards. By all accounts, Sheikh Hasina’s Facebook address had just concluded, but whatever fury it had provoked was now on unapologetic display.

Protesters thronged the area, chanting an unnerving mix of slogans: “Down with Mujibism!” “Inqilab Zindabad!” and “Hang the dictator!” interspersed with cries of “Nara-e-Takbeer” or “God is Great”. The house had been partially set alight once before, on August 5th — shortly after Hasina fled the country — but this time the demolition was systematic. Armed with makeshift tools, the crowd tore apart furniture and hauled away any items that still held value.

What made the scene even more surreal was a small group dancing to a pop-up DJ set only a few metres from the burning house. Bollywood beats reverberated through the smoky air, an odd soundtrack given some protesters’ vocal condemnation of India’s hegemony.

Police presence was minimal and largely disengaged. A colleague said he’d seen officers tapping away on their phones — apparently playing Candy Crush — while the historic building was ravaged. The army, reported to have been deployed earlier, seemed to have withdrawn, and the government still had not made a public statement.

Shortly after midnight, another bulldozer rumbled into view, hastening the destruction. When I returned the following morning, a grim tableau awaited. Number 32 was reduced to charred remnants, with people combing through twisted metal and blackened debris, scavenging on anything of worth.

By 1.00 pm, I headed over to Sudha Sadan, another Dhanmondi property linked to Sheikh Hasina — once her residence when she was in the opposition. According to the nameplate, it belonged to her late husband. The scene there mirrored the devastation at House 32: scavengers, many in desperate need, pried open walls and sifted through the rubble in search of valuables. A middle-aged man wielded screwdrivers, a woman staggered away carrying part of a bed, and a child clung to pliers, ready to snap off scraps of metal or wiring.

This was more than a riot; it felt like a historic reckoning. Buildings that had once housed a former prime minister, as well as the founding president of Bangladesh, were torn apart by people who felt aggrieved, marginalised or simply caught up in the chaos of the moment.

Only once the dust settled did the Yunus government finally release a statement, calling the demolition “unfortunate and undesirable”, yet placing the blame squarely on Hasina for delivering her speech from abroad. It insisted her actions had incited the protests and showed disrespect for thousands killed or injured in the July–August uprising against her rule. Notably absent from the statement was any acknowledgement that the destruction started before her broadcast, or any explanation as to why the government failed to intervene in what it branded an “unfortunate” incident.