I first heard that Osman Hadi, the political firebrand who had emerged like a comet out of the sky during those heart-stopping days of last year's Uprising, had been shot from my wife, around 30-40 minutes after it happened last Friday (Dec. 12). It was around 3pm. I'd been bingeing all morning on all the Ashes content, relishing the end of the abomination called 'Bazball' that England had imposed on the cricketing world, without much knowing what they were even doing, I suspect. It had to happen right then.

She sounded pretty distraught, but for some reason her words went completely over my head. Failed to register. I heard what she said, but it was as if I had no idea what they meant, so I had to ask her to repeat them.

"Hadi has been shot," she said, still sounding pretty upset.

I didn't know what to say. All I could do was ask: "Is he okay?"

"Janina," she said, her tone a bit how-am-I-supposed-to-know, before adding that 'they' were taking him to the hospital.

We were both befuddled, as much by what had happened, as by the awkward role reversal we had just performed. Like any responsible consumer of news and information in this age, Esha was still exercising caution over Hadi, if not being downright skeptical. I, on the other hand, was a believer, convinced that here was a young man with a smart head on his shoulders, and his heart in the right place. I was aware of the bad rap the establishment had tried to bestow on him, branding him first as too extreme, and then as too profane - a symbol of the breakdown in norms and mutual respect in the political arena. I found both these notions laughable, but more on that later.

For now I had to find out what happened. I saw my socials had blown up, and the news was everywhere, but all the updates were pretty rudimentary. I was still not very upset, truth be told. Something inside me failed, or refused to believe that it could be too serious. There were conflicting reports on whether they managed to get him. Some said the bullet grazed his ear, others that it didn't penetrate the brain. And I wanted to believe them, so I did.

It wasn't until the DMCH doctors came in front of the cameras and gave their first update, when he was about to be shifted to Evercare, that one learned the bullet had gone in one side, the right, and exited the left, just under the ears. Whoever had shot him, had not missed. They also said they had 'no good news to offer' at that stage. In a matter of hours, everything had gone topsy-turvy.

There was no good news, and no hope even, but I clung to a little exchange the two doctors had in front of the cameras, very fleeting, but I now realise it was all we had. While explaining that they had put Hadi on the ventilator to give him artificial respiratory support, they turned to each other momentarily and one said to the other, "Although we noticed there was effort on the patient's part, and he was able to breathe on his own, didn't we?"

It had indicated to them that he was fighting for his life, and that was encouraging to them. It was all I needed to keep hoping, throughout the next week, as they took him to Singapore and we waited painstakingly for some significant update. Right until the very end, I refused to believe they could take him away from us.

Over the last few months, I had come to view Hadi almost as a force of nature, like a pocket cyclone. Diminutive and unassuming, always dressed in a simple punjabi, you would never guess the boy with the permanently unkempt hair carried the kind of fire in him that he did, till he would look you in the eye and start speaking.

There was a lot said, in the wake of the July Uprising, about the new language of protest it introduced - generally, the verdict had been that it was novel and effective, but a significant quarter had also expressed reservations that it was too profane. Hadi had been a prime target for these people, who if you look up their history, would probably reveal some connection to the fallen Fascist regime. In general, as someone consuming Bangladeshi media for over three decades, working in the media for a decade-and-a-half, I had always felt that a studious refusal to be irreverent had worked to the media's detriment.

Hadi, responding to the criticism of him, made no apologies. He asked to put the focus back on who he was swearing at. "I have no regrets about swearing at a fascist."

The day NCP went to Gopalganj, as news came in of their being trapped by the locals in a defiant show of support for AL, Hadi, standing in the rain at his own program in Dhaka, declared the end of Gopalganj as a district - with different upazilas distributed among the neighbouring districts. With some choice words thrown in between, you could take that as a threat, and that is what people did of course, absurd as it was. What was clear from the start was that Hadi was going to get no quarter from the cultural establishment, who knew that he would prefer to put them out to pasture. He had spoken of both Chhayanaut and Shilpakala with withering disdain, and branded individual artists as 'beholden to Kolkata'.

But why did he even care?

A happy childhood

Sharif Osman Hadi was born into a family steeped in Muslim scholarship, as the youngest of six siblings, in Nalchhity, now a municipality in Jhalakathi district down in Barishal. These are the families that maintain their own history of their communities, as historically the Muslim and Hindu communities would be interspersed among each other, when there was more parity in numbers. Hadi's father was a respected 'hujur', imam of their local mosque as well as the vice principal at a madrasah. Widely known as 'Hadi hujur', he was also known for always standing up for what was right.

The late 'Hadi hujur' was a lifelong follower of President Ziaur Rahman, or 'Shaheed President Zia' as Osman always refers to him. "Abba could go on talking about Shaheed President Zia's integrity for days," he says. He would also take his son to the local BNP office, where Osman was introduced at a very young age. He grew up surrounded by the love of his family, his community and even his teachers.

The brothers all attended one of the country's most renowned madrasahs - N.S. Kamil in Jhalakathi, also known as Nessarabad Madrasah, after the respected alem who founded it. Among other things, it is famous for incorporating not just a science curriculum - but even the arts, including music, drama, recitation - everything but dance. Hadi revelled in the extracurricular activity, and very often would travel to Dhaka to represent the school in some competition, and return with the top prize. It is his very cultural upbringing that allows Hadi to speak about Bengali culture with authority.

And of course, his performance of 'Bidrohi', National Poet Kazi Nazrul Islam's masterpiece. It is the most riveting recitation of the rebel's anthem you will ever see, as Hadi snarls and soars and almost swears, his every vein pulsating with its ferocious rhythm, its invincible ethos. Available on Youtube, it leaves everyone spellbound, and captures Hadi as the cultural force he had become. The boy from the madrasah, presenting a take on Nazrul like no one had ever done before, stripped down to raw emotion. Like Chhayanaut had never seen before. Yes, he was a threat to the establishment.

Hadi based his work in the cultural domain with Inqilab Moncho as a channel to fight Indian hegemony. He wanted to break Delhi's "cultural hold" over Bangladeshis, that he regarded as a threat to sovereignty.

In the last days of his life, Hadi was increasingly busy trying to cover every inch of the sprawling urban constituency of Dhaka-8, where he was running, somewhat audaciously, as an independent candidate in the next election, pending the EC's approval. Now of course there will be no need for that.

The Assassination

On December 12, while returning from Friday prayers during the election campaign, he was fatally shot by a motorcycle-riding assailant in Nayapaltan, Bijoynagar, in the capital. When he was taken to Dhaka Medical College for treatment, thousands of supporters and well-wishers expressed their grief and anger. He passed away on December 18 while undergoing treatment at the Singapore General Hospital.

Osman Hadi had been receiving threats from Awami League leaders and activists since November this year. Awami League supporters were seen rejoicing over his shooting. A brief outline of these events in Sharif Osman Hadi's short but scarred life is given below.

On August 13, 2024, he formed Inqilab Manch with the declaration of "standing against all hegemony, protecting independence and sovereignty and building a state based on justice." He was the convener of this organization.

From 8 May 2025 to 10 May 2025, a movement was started demanding the banning of Bangladesh Awami League as a terrorist and seditious organization, the inclusion of provisions for the trial of political parties in the International Crimes Tribunal Act, and the issuance of a declaration of the July Revolution. Osman Hadi was one of the voices of this movement.

Former Chhatra League leader Dalton Saubat Hira made several threats against Osman Hadi, calling for violence against him and revealing his address and phone number.

Before the Awami League's alleged lockdown program on November 13, Dalton Saubat Hira wrote in a post on November 11, "Some people should be paid their dues by the 13th, if they dare to come out. Hadi is one."

On November 14, he posted another post titled "Hadi Mission on the Way" and also threatened Fatima Tasneem Juma of Inqilab Manch.

On the same day, he posted Osman Hadi's phone number and permanent address on Facebook and called for violence against Osman Hadi and his family members. He posted at least 5 posts about Hadi that day. Earlier, on September 28, he posted a post calling for the killing of Osman Hadi "Killing is obligatory."

It is worth noting that on that day, Osman Hadi had said that he had received death threats through calls and texts from at least 30 domestic and foreign numbers within three hours.

Osman Hadi was supposed to go to various mosques for his election campaign after Friday prayers on December 12. At noon, while he was riding a rickshaw along Bijoynagar Calvert Road, two helmeted men on a motorcycle shot him. He was taken to Dhaka Medical College Hospital. Later, from there, he was taken to Evercare Hospital. On December 15, he was taken to Singapore for advanced treatment and admitted to Singapore General Hospital.

Sharif Osman Hadi breathed his last while undergoing treatment there on Thursday, December 18.

Because he was running against BNP heavyweight Mirza Abbas, the finger of blame initially pointed, rather simplistically, at the BNP candidate. But this made no sense. Hadi had never disrespected Abbas. Till the end, his inspiration in politics remained 'Shaheed President Zia', apart from a local BNP leader in Nalchhity, whose name I don't quite recall at the moment. His decision to not join NCP, after joining the Nagorik Committee, was likely due to the new party going too hard, too soon against BNP. He repeatedly insisted in his speeches, "We must not corner BNP."

Who killed him?

A full-fledged nationwide effort immediately commenced, with some media outlets joining in to try and identify the killers, following the release of a suspect's photograph by the Dhaka Metropolitan Police (DMP).

On Saturday (December 13), the DMP published a photograph of a suspected assailant involved in the attack and urged the public to provide any information that could help identify or locate the person.

Since the attack, various claims about the attacker's identity have circulated online. Digital investigative outlet The Dissent published a report using OSINT tools (open source intelligence) that identified the suspected shooter as an activist of the banned Chhatra League from the capital's Adabor area.

According to The Dissent, the claim was made after a comparative analysis of multiple photographs, including CCTV footage gathered from police, images of the person seen shooting Hadi, images from Hadi's election campaign, and footage of an individual seen at the Inquilab Cultural Centre on December 9.

The outlet reported that the individual appearing in all three incidents closely resembles a person named Faisal Karim Masud, also known as Daud Khan. It said facial similarities were found after analyzing CCTV footage from the Inquilab Cultural Center dated December 9, police-collected CCTV footage from the December 12 attack, photographs published by mainstream media, and more than 50 images posted on Facebook and Instagram accounts under the name Faisal Karim Masud, as well as posts from pro-Awami League pages and individuals.

The Dissent further stated that verification using two facial detection applications showed a match between Faisal Karim's images and the person visible in the CCTV footage from the Inquilab Cultural Center.

Their investigation also identified Karim as an ex-leader of Chhatra League, who held a post in the organisation's Adabor unit.

A notable detail highlighted was a distinctive wristwatch seen on the shooter's left hand, which closely matches the same design of wristwatch worn by Faisal Karim Masud in multiple photos found on his Facebook and Instagram profiles.

In November 2024, several mainstream media outlets published reports with photographs of Faisal Karim, stating that he had been arrested by RAB as the prime accused in an armed robbery case involving the looting of Tk 1.7 million from an office in Adabor, Mohammadpur. However, he was later released on bail.

During the course of the week, more details came out to support the claim, and also identified the motorcyclist he rode with as an AL associate.

As for young Hadi, he goes out with a nation bestowing its love. And still feeling it is not enough. But he has left us with the revolution still unfinished, against an enemy that is not ready to give up what was its turf once. Hadi's analysis of the Awami League, as a political science graduate from Dhaka University, was the sharpest among all his comrades. Losing him is the most serious tear till now, on the fabric of the July Uprising.