What began as a quiet outcry from disillusioned job seekers over the quota system erupted into a nationwide uprising, igniting a generation starved for justice, dignity, and the promise of a new dawn.

From the storm’s wreckage emerged a symbol of hope — an interim government helmed by Nobel Laureate Prof Muhammad Yunus. He vowed sweeping reforms, transparency, and a rebirth of politics.

But now, twelve months on, a single question haunts campuses, tea stalls, and living rooms alike: Have the promises of the revolution become reality, or has it failed to forge any real change?

At the uprising’s core burnt a fierce demand for a fair, merit-based system for government jobs.

Under the old quota policy, reserved seats for select groups—like freedom fighters’ descendants—often pushed aside more qualified candidates. This injustice sparked widespread frustration among the youth, fuelling an unstoppable revolt.

The original quota system locked away 56% of government jobs behind reserved categories—leaving a mere 44% open to merit-based competition. Of that reserved share, 30% went to descendants of freedom fighters, 10% to women, 10% to residents of underdeveloped districts, 5% to minorities, and just 1% to people with disabilities.

In the wake of the uprising, on 21 July 2024, the Supreme Court of Bangladesh overhauled the quota system, drastically shifting the balance. Merit-based recruitment surged to 93%, while quotas shrank to 5% for descendants of freedom fighters and 1% each for ethnic minorities, the third gender, and persons with disabilities—signalling a decisive move toward fairness and inclusion.

The interim government pledged to create 100,000 new jobs, a bold promise that remains largely unfulfilled as the country’s job market steadily deteriorates.

 According to the International Labour Organisation, 30% of Bangladeshi youth are neither in education, employment, nor training. Unemployment hits young women hardest, with 23% out of work—compared to 15% of young men—highlighting a glaring gender disparity.

 In 2024, just 18,000 government jobs were available—an overwhelming mismatch for the over 2 million young people entering the job market that year.

“We were promised change, yet everything feels the same,” said Mohammad Rafiq, a 25-year-old Dhaka University graduate.

 “The system may have shifted, but the harsh reality remains untouched,” he said.

The private sector hasn’t escaped unscathed. In the past year, a dozen garment factories employing nearly 40,000 workers have shuttered—including several tied to the politically connected Beximco Group. These closures followed the arrests of nearly 10,000 business figures linked to the former ruling party.

 Abdullah Al Kader, a former garment worker with the Beximco Group, said, “They promised change with the new government, but for people like us, life has only grown harder.”

 Despite mounting challenges, the interim government has managed to deliver several noteworthy economic gains.

 Foreign exchange reserves surged from just over $24 billion in May 2024 to nearly $32 billion by June 2025—driven by a crackdown on illicit capital flight, record-breaking remittance inflows, and fresh injections of IMF funding.

 Inflation, which had soared to 11.7% during the July 2024 crisis, eased to 8.5% by June, offering a measure of relief to burdened consumers.

Yet for many, especially the youth who once filled the streets demanding change, economic gains mean little without tangible opportunities to build a better future.

 The quotas have shifted, but jobs remain elusive. One year after the uprising, the hopes that once set the streets ablaze still linger, unfulfilled in the hearts of millions of youth.