It is almost painful to watch, isn’t it? It is like watching a group of teenagers build a beautiful, complex stage for a school play, sweating and bleeding over every detail, only to have the grumpy principal walk out and give a three-hour lecture on dress codes instead. This is the situation in Bangladesh right now. The students thought they were the main characters. They thought this was their movie. But as the dust settles on their revolution, they are finding out the hard way that in the world of politics, the people who shout the loudest rarely get to hold the microphone.

We watched the students take to the streets. It was very dramatic. It was full of passion and fire. They wanted change. They wanted a new world. They managed to push out the old leadership, which is no small feat. Give them a round of applause for that. But here is the cold, hard truth that history loves to teach us over and over again: knowing how to tear something down is not the same thing as knowing how to build something up. Breaking a window is easy. Installing a new one that doesn’t leak requires a totally different set of skills.

And into this vacuum steps the Islamist party. They are the ones who actually won big in the election. While the students were busy celebrating their moment of glory, this party was busy counting votes. The news tells us that this party is dedicated to running the country under Islamic law. That is a very specific, very strict rulebook. It is usually not the kind of rulebook that matches the vibe of a young, modern student revolution. So, how did they win? How did the party of strict religious rules win the seats that the revolution opened up?

They did it with the oldest trick in the political book. It is a trick as old as time. They lied. Well, let’s be polite and call it "branding." They ran on a "moderate" platform. They smiled for the cameras. They used soft words. They acted like a friendly uncle who just wants everyone to get along. They didn't scream about strict laws during the campaign. They talked about stability and values. They sold a version of themselves that looked safe. And the voters bought it.

It is truly a tragic comedy. You have these voters, tired of the chaos, looking for an answer. And here comes a group that is organized. That is the key word: organized. Revolutions are messy. They are loud and chaotic. People get tired of the noise very quickly. The Islamist party offered quiet. They offered order. They have been around a long time. They have networks. They have a machine. The students had slogans; the party had a database. In a fight between a slogan and a database, the database wins every single time.

Now, the students are looking around, confused. Their revolution has been overshadowed. The headline isn't about the brave youth anymore; it is about the rise of a party that wants to change the fundamental laws of society. The students wanted freedom, but they might have just handed the keys to a group that believes in strict control. It is the classic "bait and switch." You order the steak, but the waiter brings you a bowl of plain rice and tells you it is better for your soul.

This is why I always sigh when I see people cheering for a sudden regime change without a plan. Nature hates empty space. If you create a hole in the government, someone is going to fill it. Usually, it is the person with the most discipline and the best organization. In Bangladesh, that wasn't the kids with the spray paint. It was the religious party with the long-term plan.

The saddest part is the surprise. Everyone acts shocked. "Oh no, how did this happen?" It happened because politics is boring work. It is meetings and handshakes and counting numbers. The students were too busy being revolutionary heroes to do the boring work. The Islamist party was not. They did the homework. They showed up. And now, they get to decide what the future looks like.

So, the revolution is over. The party is just getting started. The students are learning the harshest lesson of adult life: just because you start the fire doesn't mean you get to cook the dinner. Sometimes, you just burn the house down so someone else can build a fortress on top of the ashes. Welcome to the real world, kids. It’s disappointing, isn’t it?