What we call conservatism does not arise suddenly. It is rooted in a desire to preserve social stability and tradition. As a result, conservative customs and local practices exist in many communities. In villages, these are often formalized as “village rules,” or gama-panyat, norms that define what must and must not be done.

If I were to say that my grandmother, my mother’s mother, belongs to a generation that preserved the tradition of the kerosene lamp, it would be both fitting and accurate.

Bangladesh’s political landscape entered an extraordinary turning point in 2026. The fall of the Sheikh Hasina government, which had dominated power for nearly two decades, not only reshaped Bangladesh but also disrupted the geopolitical balance across South Asia.

A photograph of a burned body stripped of identity, stripped of pride, stripped even of sensation has painfully captured the public’s attention following the attack on the Darlatchaung prisoner-of-war detention camp.

“Are we Arakan people all going to become traders and merchants? Will our people stop studying altogether? It is impossible for an entire nation to live without education. One day, everyone will study again. No matter how long it takes, no matter how long we go without salaries, I will wait for that day.”

This raises important questions: could relations between Bangladesh’s new government and Arakan see a meaningful shift? What policy direction might Bangladesh’s ruling party take? And how might urgent issues, border stability, humanitarian access, and the Muslim/Rohingya refugee crisis evolve amid ongoing conflict in Myanmar?

In most wars, there are lines that even amid brutality are understood not to be crossed. Prisoners of war, their families, clinics, and detention facilities are supposed to be among them. In Arakan, Myanmar’s military has erased those lines from the sky.

The Rohingya crisis is often described as one of the world’s most protracted humanitarian emergencies. That description is accurate but incomplete. Today, the crisis is no longer confined to the violence of 2017 or the refugee camps of Cox’s Bazar.

The sound of aircraft engines and the sudden thunder of bombs became part of daily life for civilians who had little warning, nowhere to hide, and no meaningful protection.

People across Myanmar, facing war, poverty, and countless forms of suffering, are among the greatest victims of propaganda and information warfare. In the same way, Myanmar's democracy and human rights still feel like trying to catch a radio signal in the rainy season appearing and disappearing, cutting in and out, never stable.

As an initial step, it may be wise to use credible intermediaries-trusted political party representatives and civil society figures not directly affiliated with ULA (United League of Arakan)/AA-to open talks and create a channel to the Bangladesh government.

The promise he kept was not made to a person, a family, or an institution. It was made to the country. He did not swear an oath before witnesses. He carried it alone.
 

Hadi, who was widely embraced as a parliamentary candidate representing a new, reform-driven generation, died on December 18 after being shot by unknown gunmen in central Dhaka three days earlier. His assassination has ignited a firestorm that now engulfs the streets of Bangladesh’s capital — a storm fueled by grief, rage, and suspicion.

Both leaders operated within systems where the military remained the ultimate arbiter of power. Their shared miscalculation was failing to build resilient civilian institutions capable of outlasting military dominance.

On December 10 — International Human Rights Day — a military jet dropped bombs on Mrauk-U Public Hospital in Myanmar’s Arakan (Rakhine) State. More than 30 people were killed, including patients seeking treatment and family members keeping vigil at their bedside. Over 70 more were injured. The hospital’s main building was reduced to rubble.

It’s a crisis that defies intuition. How can a place so abundant in rainfall be perilously dry for months every year? The answer lies not in the clouds but on the ground: a catastrophic failure of infrastructure, compounded by civil war and a vacuum of accountable governance.

This article looks beneath the lovely image of the Naf to explore the bitter realities hidden beneath its surface.

This essay is less a critique of what he has said than a tracing and analysis of the Commander's political ideas and dialogues-following the footprints of his expressed positions.

In this article, I argue that while Fortify Rights' investigative work remains critical, it would benefit from deeper conflict-sensitive adaptation: one that recognizes ULA/AA's governance ambitions and local realities and frames its findings in ways that minimize unintended harmful consequences in an already fragile setting.