This post has been collected from Facebook. It was written by Subir Roy, one of the 311 police officers recently dismissed without reason by the current interim government. The text is presented here exactly as he wrote it.
A Story about a Broken Dream. I’m one of the unfortunate 252 cadet Sub-Inspectors. The idea was simple: in just 11 days, I’d put on the dream blue uniform, wear the rank badge on my shoulder, pin the police nameplate to my chest, and dedicate myself to helping the people.
For years, I cultivated this dream. To achieve it, I have walked a difficult path for the previous 25 to 30 years, establishing my worth through a tough recruitment process over the last year. I survived the cold on the Sardah field, the rain, and the scorching summer sun of 42-45°C for an entire year. I prepared to serve the country, only to have my dreams turned into nightmares when I received a discharge letter in my pocket just before I could fulfill them.
What about the accusation? A violation of discipline! And that was it: my 30-year-old dream was ruined in 30 seconds. I was on personal leave at the time I heard the news. In that moment, I questioned reality itself: was this true news? Was my heart still beating? Was it only a nightmare? But no, it was all true—a hard reality I had to confront.
According to media reports, I was one of the 252 sub-inspectors who were sacked. My road was long: after finishing primary, secondary, and higher secondary education, I earned a BBA and MBA from Stamford University in Bangladesh. My professors, peers, and individuals in my community can attest to my character. My father is a farmer, and my mother is a housewife; my uncles covered the cost of my education.
According to media reports, I was one of the 252 sub-inspectors who were sacked. My road was long: after finishing primary, secondary, and higher secondary education, I earned a BBA and MBA from Stamford University in Bangladesh. My professors, peers, and individuals in my community can attest to my character. My father is a farmer, and my mother is a housewife; my uncles covered the cost of my education.
Despite missing out on the 39th round following the interview, I was eventually chosen as a SI in the 40th recruitment round after ten months of employment. I enlisted as a SI because of my father’s wish.
After considerable consideration, I decided to borrow 20,000 taka from a teaching uncle in order to start my training as a SI since I loved the blue uniform and wanted to realize my father’s ambition.
However, I am now one of the 252 cadets that were fired. My carefully constructed dreams vanished in an instant, and I was left speechless. With tears in their eyes and doubt in their hearts, my mother and father both fell silent. Who is responsible for my bleak destiny and this terrible fate? Is my dream being unfairly erased, or is it my destiny? My family and I are unable to accept this. Will anyone be able to sympathize with these 252 families that have been devastated?
What kind of prejudice is this? Will justice ever come? Why has the government taken this action? If they rejected us now, did the legislators never take into account the predicament of so many families?
The accusation is untrue. If they had wanted to, they could have done a thorough investigation. Many of us are struggling financially, and others have reached the working age limit, while others have quit their jobs to follow this goal. Who am I to blame? Perhaps it’s all in my destiny.
If not, why would I pass up two government positions prior to becoming a SI? I am now jobless, impoverished, and aimless.
The mental and physical toll of the procedure is only known to those who have trained at Sardah. We received government-subsidized meals, a monthly pocket money of 1,815 taka, and training without a wage for a year. A younger acquaintance had me accept 2,000 taka per month after I paid my room boy 2,500 taka, stating that I would have to pay the bills after I completed my training.
But before I could even begin my profession, fate threw me out, thus I was unable to keep my vow. I’m not sure how I’ll pay him back, but I will always be appreciative.
I leave it to the Creator to judge those who have put a stop to my carefully built dreams in this way. He sees everything. I am aware that my request might not be heard because He lives in affluent areas and won’t be moved by our screams. However, who is to blame for ruining my dream?
I’ll let you answer this question! Using the money, I earned from my prior work throughout training, I constructed a modest but unfinished dream home for my family. Who will be able to relate to the pain of rising debt and the profound sorrow that has overtaken my life and the lives of my younger cousins?
Some have said that I might finally regain my job through legal action. But when I need it now, what good is it later? I don’t currently have the resources or the mental capacity to navigate Bangladesh’s drawn-out legal system.
If my chest had been punctured by 7.62mm rifle rounds or an LMG burst, it would have been preferable if I had not been thrown into this abyss. Then maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much. At least I wouldn’t have to see my family’s defenseless faces.
Justice for the injustice done to me is what I ask the Creator for in my final prayer. I have no grievances against anyone, but O State, you have not only denied me my rights, but you have also killed my mind in addition to keeping me alive physically. One day, I hope, justice will be served.
“Kill me as many times as you will—I will be reborn as a brilliant sun and write a new history!”
A Story about a Broken Dream
