In the aftermath of Monday’s harrowing air disaster at Milestone School and College, the air in Dhaka still feels thick, not just with smoke and grief, but with unanswered questions. The images are etched into the national memory now: children burnt beyond recognition, parents howling on live television, classrooms transformed into charred graves.

For a nation that has known its share of tragedy, this one cuts deeper, because the victims had just begun to live.

And yet, what followed in the hours after the crash was something no less powerful than the tragedy itself.

People poured into the National Institute of Burn and Plastic Surgery – not for answers, but to give. Blood. Time. Comfort. Elderly men who could barely stand queued beside university students and members of the hijra (third gender) community, offering up whatever they could for the chance that a child might be saved.

This spontaneous, uncoordinated eruption of empathy recalled the most humane chapters of our recent history – the floods of last year in the eastern part of the country, the Rana Plaza catastrophe a decade ago – when Bangladeshis, stripped of political slogans and divisions, simply became human in the best possible way.

But even as that spirit moved the nation, something uglier crept into view.

While so many stepped forward with selfless intent, an unsettling trend unfolded alongside. Rescue workers and medical teams reported severe disruption from crowds of onlookers, many not there to help, but to film.

The desperation of burn victims was turned into fodder for social media. Children crying in pain, parents collapsing in shock – these moments were captured and circulated for clicks, views, and money.

This is not journalism. This is not documentation. It is exploitation. And, in a time of crisis, it costs lives. Every moment spent pushing through crowds, every second lost to a camera flash, is time stolen from those who needed saving.

There must be a clear and national reckoning with this obsession for virality. Empathy cannot be reduced to a trending hashtag.

Protest with purpose, not pandemonium

Unsurprisingly, the tragedy has fuelled widespread anger. Students have taken to the streets demanding accountability, not just for the crash, but for broader systemic failings. Questions are being asked: Why was a fighter jet flying over a densely populated area? Why was not the school relocated from the flight path? Why are military training flights not better regulated?

These are legitimate, necessary questions. Protest is a democratic right, and, in post-authoritarian Bangladesh, an essential one. But some recent scenes – the storming of government compounds, vandalism, injuries – threaten to undermine that legitimacy. We must be careful. If justice is the goal, chaos cannot be the method.

To the protesting students: the country hears you. But with that voice comes responsibility. Protest must remain rooted in principle, not provocation. This is a moment for strategy, not just slogans.

Beware the wolves in mourning cloaks

In the background of this chaos lurk familiar shadows. The remnants of the ousted fascist Awami League regime have been quick to exploit the tragedy, pushing disinformation and sowing discord to manufacture instability. Their aim is clear: to stir unrest, delegitimise the interim administration, and lay the groundwork for a political return.

This is not conjecture. It is a pattern we have seen before – from 2013’s Hefazat crackdowns to the manipulation of student movements in 2018. The playbook is always the same: hijack public outrage, muddy the facts, and turn grief into political capital.

This time must be different. Anti-fascist forces, student groups, and everyday citizens must remain alert.

We must not let genuine demands for reform be hijacked by those who thrive on division and disorder.

The bigger picture and the urgency of reform

Beyond immediate questions of accountability lies a deeper problem: structural negligence. In what modern city does a military jet train above schools and residential blocks? Why do we continue to rely on outdated aircraft, many of them known for their poor safety records? How many more lives must be lost before aviation protocols are overhauled?

This is not just about Milestone School. It is about the intersection of unchecked militarism, poor urban planning, and a systemic disregard for civilian safety.

A comprehensive, independent investigation is essential – not just into the crash, but into the policy failures that made it possible.

Unity is our strength – let us not lose it now

Despite everything, the response from the people of Bangladesh offers hope. It reminds us of the same unity we saw during the catastrophic floods last year, when students, businesses, army personnel, and ordinary citizens mobilised at lightning speed to help the afflicted.

The same unity emerged during the uprising against the authoritarian rule of the Awami League last year. This sense of ownership, this commitment to each other is our greatest national resource.

But unity must be defended. From those who would divide us. From opportunists who would hijack our pain. From our own worst instincts – apathy, complacency, cynicism.

The same people who held up saline bags, arranged ambulances, and offered blood, must now demand reforms. The same students who marched should also engage in dialogue.

The same voices crying out for justice must ensure that justice does not become a tool for vengeance.