Maybe, to some extent, it was inevitable that Bangladeshis would turn their anger at a house located at Road 32/11, Dhanmondi, Dhaka.

To some, it was the house of fascism. To others, it stood as a beacon of Bangladesh’s hard-won independence. Regardless of perspective, the fate of Bangabandhu Bhaban, Dhanmondi 32, or to some, House 677—a two-story structure in Dhaka, Bangladesh—has become an unmistakable symbol of the country’s ongoing political unrest. Known as Bangabandhu Bhaban and later as the Bangabandhu Memorial Museum, the building was inextricably linked to Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, the man revered as the nation’s founding father. He was called Bangabandhu, meaning the friend of Bengali people. On the night of February 5, however, an enraged mob reduced this historic landmark to rubble, erasing decades of national memory in a single night of fury.

House 677 didn’t always go by that name. It was once renamed House 10, and its street designation changed from Road 32 to Road 11. Yet, its original name endured, an ever-present reminder of its historical significance. It was more than a residence—it was a living testament to the birth of Bangladesh. This was the house where the foundations of independence were laid, where momentous political movements gained momentum, and where, in 1975, Mujib and most of his family were brutally assassinated in a military coup that shook the nation.

Since its establishment in 1961, House 677 has undergone multiple transformations. Initially a single-story dwelling, it was expanded in 1962 into a two-story residential structure. Mujib and his family lived there until the tragic events of 1975. After the assassination, the house was sealed off, standing in eerie silence until 1981, when it was put up for auction. Mujib’s daughter, Sheikh Hasina, purchased it that same year through the House Building Finance Corporation. Upon her ascension to the premiership, she ensured that House 677 was preserved as a historical site, converting it into a museum in 1994. Under its new identity as the Bangabandhu Memorial Museum, it welcomed visitors who wished to experience Bangladesh’s history up close—until earlier this month, when it met its tragic end.

The museum encapsulated the life and legacy of Mujib, displaying a vast collection of photographs, documents, and personal artifacts. Visitors could walk through its halls and glimpse the past through interactive exhibits and virtual tours, reliving the nation’s journey toward independence. Even the building’s architecture was a relic of its time, offering a tangible link to Mujib’s era—where he resided, met guests, and made decisive moves against the oppressive rule of the then-West Pakistani government.

But history does not always remain frozen in time. The first assault on House 677 came when Hasina fled to India on August 5, 2024, following a student-led movement that ended her 15-year tenure. However, tensions reignited when her Awami League party announced a general strike and a national address, further enraging student activists and opposition factions. The response was swift and unforgiving.

Protesters, interpreting Hasina’s speech as a provocation, launched what they called a “bulldozer mission.” Armed with hammers, sticks, and bamboo poles, they stormed House 677, breaking through its walls with fierce determination. The mob escalated its destruction as the night stretched on, bringing in an excavator and a crane. By Friday morning, the house had been leveled to the ground. The fall of House 677 was complete—a symbolic erasure of an era.

The destruction, however, did not end there. That same night and into the following Thursday, anti-Hasina demonstrators widened their scope, torching homes, businesses, and offices associated with the Awami League. Even actress Meher Afroz Shaon—who had recently spoken in favor of Hasina—saw her home targeted and vandalized. The unrest spiraled, sweeping through the capital with an uncontrollable force.

Despite the interim government’s stern warnings of “decisive action” following the devastation, Bangladesh’s law-and-order situation continues deteriorating. Led by Muhammad Yunus, the interim government faces a nation teetering on the precipice. Over the past six months, mob justice, targeted attacks on minorities, and violations of women’s rights have reached alarming levels—historic sculptures and murals, once symbols of cultural identity, have been systematically demolished by anti-Hasina elements. Religious hardliners have successfully forced the cancellation of women’s football matches in multiple districts, while actresses and performers have been pressured into silence, fearing reprisals.

Bangladesh’s intellectual circles are sounding the alarm. Every day, citizens live in fear. The specter of military rule looms ominously over the horizon. If the current trajectory of lawlessness, destruction, and sectarian violence persists, the country may not only lose its democratic integrity—it may lose itself entirely.