From Machete Attack to Exile: A Conversation with Bangladeshi Publisher, Writer and Editor, Ahmedur Chowdhury also known as Tutul, Who Refused to Remain Silent
Ahmedur Chowdhury reflects on the power of words, the cost of telling the truth, and the ongoing fight for freedom of expression in a country where it can cost you your life.
Bangladesh: A Country in Transition
Bangladesh stands at a historic crossroads. Following the collapse of Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina’s long-standing regime in the fall of 2024, and following her escape from the country, an interim government led by Nobel laureate Muhammad Yunus now governs the nation.
In the wake of this political upheaval, Bangladesh’s media landscape is also undergoing a major transformation.
For decades, journalism in Bangladesh has remained under tight state control, marked by self-censorship and brutal repression of dissent. Under the guise of cybersecurity laws, critical voices were silenced, secular thinkers hunted down, and press freedom severely restricted.
Three Decades at the Forefront of Free Expression
Few have faced these pressures as directly as Ahmedur Chowdhury, also known as Tutul.
As the founder of Shuddhashar, a magazine that has long championed freedom of expression in Bangladesh, Chowdhury has spent more than three decades promoting progressive and secular voices, even after surviving a near-fatal machete attack in 2015. His resilience, now living in exile in Norway, where he continues to publish, speak out, and resist, is truly inspiring.
In this interview, Chowdhury reflects on the power of language, the personal cost of telling the truth, and the urgent and enduring importance of defending free expression in countries where doing so can be deadly.
What threats did he face? What motivated him to become a publisher and editor? What challenges does he now face in exile, and what message does he have for young writers in Bangladesh and other countries where speaking freely can be life threatening.
- What inspired you to start Shuddhashar magazine in 1990?
Ahmedur Chowdhury: In 1990, I was a student in class 11. At that time, I was immersed in the intense love of poetry. I was also influenced by the history of French art movements, which were strongly connected to poetry and other branches of literature. Around the same time, I was introduced to the concept of the Little Magazine—a non-institutional, non-commercial, and experimental magazine style focused on socio-political ideas as well as art and literature. I became obsessed with this concept. I searched for a little magazine in my city but failed to find one. Eventually, I decided to publish one myself.
While riding my bicycle, the name “Shuddhashar” came to mind one day. Despite having no prior experience, I took the initiative to start publishing, and this was the context in which Shuddhashar began.
It is worth noting that when the first issue of Shuddhashar was published, the mass movement against the military dictatorship in Bangladesh had intensified. That movement ultimately led to the resignation of the dictator, President Ershad. I personally participated in that mass movement. Ten days after the dictator stepped down, the first issue of Shuddhashar was published. This was a time when hopes for democracy were rising.
Since then, through many ups and downs, Shuddhashar’s publication has continued. From a little magazine to book publishing to today’s online, multi-level platform, Shuddhashar can be seen as a socio-cultural and intellectual movement.
Can you take us back to that day in October 2015? What do you remember most vividly, and how has survived that attack changed your perspective as a person, a writer, and a publisher?
Ahmedur Chowdhury: I have not been able to forget the day of October 31, 2015, even though I have tried. I do not feel comfortable identifying myself with that day. But, indeed, my identity is now a refugee, and to validate this identity and current position, I have to relive the memory of that day again and again.
Even though I have lost everything, changed my geographical location, and become a refugee, my perspective or commitment as a writer and publisher has not changed at all. I am still working as before “to inspire, not to impress” (Shuddhashar’s slogan in English).
But I am no longer the same person. I no longer have the confidence to take on new initiatives or the ability to organize what is necessary. The constant writer’s block also frustrates me deeply.
Despite everything, I no longer have to fear being attacked. This is a great relief and gives me peace of mind.
What was it like to leave Bangladesh, your home, your readers, your writers?
Ahmedur Chowdhury: The experience of leaving something is never sweet. It is also painful, even if it is the right choice. Everything left behind is stored in the memory bank. The human mind is like that. This has been my experience also. I can dig into the box of nostalgia and say that once upon a time, I, too, had a home. Once upon a time, I had an office, colleagues and staff, and a familiar barber, and I took holidays with family and friends. I was the publisher of many authors. I organized many events to honor their work and to promote better writing and publication standards among youth and colleagues. I even knew and had friends with many who bought books from my publication. Now, there is nothing left. Now, there is no one left.
Does exile give you more freedom or a different kind of burden?
Ahmedur Chowdhury: In an article I wrote, I tried to summarize exile in this way: Exile is a strange combination of feelings, circumstances, and consequences that, at once, contain and express both an ending and a conclusion in a powerful way. These feelings, circumstances, and consequences revolve solely around those who are either lucky or unlucky enough to be exiled.
Looking at the lives of exiles throughout history, exile often appears as a doorway to freedom and liberation. This freedom is imagined as an escape from the sword of one’s homeland and society, from suffocating surveillance, and from the inability to breathe freely. It is an escape from the stifling weight of trying to live one’s own life and truth in a particular historical-cultural moment.
Yet, at the same time, this freedom traps the liberated writer or artist in an invisible prison filled with old and new traumas, writer’s block, and a painful separation from the self. This same freedom can turn into a mirror image that reflects despair and emotional rupture, creating a volatile and contradictory mix of emotions that ultimately defines the condition and identity of exile.
So, on the practical side, this freedom has become a new burden because I ultimately feel I can no longer contribute anything. I’m free from threats and danger, but no one cares.
After October 31, I had to abandon all my work and plans, but I was determined to continue somehow. So, I traded my previous plans for new dreams and hopes. I eagerly wanted to do many things in my new home and was determined to overcome any challenges. I also wanted to give back to the country that has given me safety. I’ve managed to do some things but have not found a space for myself here.
I now understand that I am only a refugee. I may be free, but the reality is that all my time and energy are focused on the daily challenges of finances, healthcare, and overcoming obstacles to integration.
The problem with this freedom is that it is also a responsibility. I survived, while others did not. I was invited to live in exile while others suffocated and lost their voice under extreme repression. For that reason, it is incredibly painful to realize my limitations here.
Knowing exiled writers’ challenges, I have wanted to motivate and inspire them. Several times, I tried to organize an exiled poetry event, and I also hoped to put together some programs to help other exiles. I have wanted Shuddhashar to involve more exiled writers as contributors to theme-based issues. Shuddhashar has also been interested in conducting research projects on the lives of exiles and highlighting those experiences on the website and through in-person events in Norway. I still want to do these things, but I no longer have the confidence or the ability to organize what is necessary. I always thought that effort and determination would be enough, but we don’t realize how much it depends on having the right connections and knowledge about how systems work.
You continue to publish the work of murdered writers like Avijit Roy. What does that responsibility mean to you?
Ahmedur Chowdhury: My work of editing the Little Magazine and publishing books has always revolved around a sense of responsibility to inspire others, just as I have been inspired. Publishing the books of Avijit Roy and Ananta Bijoy is part of that responsibility.
After the attack on Shuddhashar in 2015, no other publisher dared to take on the responsibility of publishing such books. After Avijit was killed and even while I was receiving death threats, I said that Shuddhashar would not refrain from publishing books considered controversial by conservative Islamists and the politicians who appeased them. Even after all avenues for Shuddhashar’s work in Bangladesh were shut down, I did not stray from this commitment.
Publishing was never just a business for me. It was and continues to be a socio-cultural-intellectual movement. Therefore, I can’t imagine a life without this kind of work.
I believe writing is the most important means of rationally and meaningfully influencing people’s thoughts and mindsets. I dream of a humane society grounded in democratic values. That’s why I believe knowledge-based efforts—through writing and education—can help motivate and prepare people to embrace and build a tolerant, diverse society and state.
What makes a piece of writing worth risking your life to publish in general and in a country like Bangladesh?
Ahmedur Chowdhury: If writing is a genuine commitment to art, to society, to the state, to the environment, and to the people, then for a writer, nothing is too great a risk. A committed writer who refuses to compromise on truth, justice, and artistic integrity ultimately chooses either art or death. For such a writer, staying silent is not an option. The power of meaningful writing lies in its ability to challenge, provoke, and inspire—and that is always worth the risk. Similarly, a publisher who is genuinely committed to these democratic values has no other choice but to publish the work of writers who seek the betterment of society and the world.
What’s the most dangerous thing about remaining silent?
Ahmedur Chowdhury: Silence is undoubtedly dangerous, but the meaning and consequences of silence depend on who is being silent, whether it’s a writer or publisher under threat or an exiled writer living far from home.
In a country where free speech is under attack, self-censorship might allow someone to survive and live to fight another day. But that silence can also signal that repression has succeeded. When fear silences an entire generation, damaging democratic values and free thought can take decades or longer to repair. We’re seeing that in Bangladesh now. Even after last year’s tremendous revolution, it is a difficult process to undo the many repressive policies and structures developed over decades of corruption and increased authoritarianism. Additionally, people no longer know what a democratic culture looks and feels like, so it is hard to imagine a path forward.
Exiled writers, however, face a different kind of silence. Exile can feel like freedom in one sense but like imprisonment in another. It often leads to deep isolation, disconnection from one’s community, and a sense of invisibility. An exiled writer may remain silent for many reasons, including trauma, fear, lack of platform and local support, or simply exhaustion.
But whether inside the country or in exile, being silent or being forced into silence through systematic repression enables injustice and discrimination to grow unchecked. Silence erodes democratic values and human rights. That is the actual danger, and we see it happening in several countries we thought had strong records of freedom of speech and democratic culture.
What is your message to young writers and publishers in Bangladesh?
Ahmedur Chowdhury: I have hope for young, aspiring Bangladeshi writers and publishers. The youth of Bangladesh today are smarter, more modern, and more globally connected. Many young people are getting involved in writing; some are even taking on the risky challenge of publishing. I believe that if the political situation in Bangladesh can offer even a somewhat democratic environment if the government can provide basic guarantees of freedom of speech, public safety, and human rights, then the youth of Bangladesh will be able to capture the world’s attention as writers and publishers.
