Listen to thisEditorial Comments are provided by the writer in their personal capacity and without prior sight of journal content.
Child and Youth Care (CYC) often manifests in moments of raw, unfiltered human connection, not policy. A care leaver, now married with two children, sent me a WhatsApp message a few weeks ago, saying:
'Sir bap ma keu nai tu, maje maje mone hoi ami pakhi hoa ure apnar kace chole jai, r apnar kace sob kosto joma dia apnar aktu ador jotno nia nijeke fresh kore abar fire asi. Miss u sir. Amar jonno doa koiren. ami r duniar kosto nite parce na. manus kub sarthopor.'
Translation: ‘Sir, as I don't have my parents anymore, sometimes I feel like becoming a bird and flying to you, just to pour out all my pain, feel a bit of your care and affection, refresh myself, and then return. Miss you, Sir! Pray for me, I can't take the pain of this world anymore. People are so selfish.’
Knowing her for over twenty-five years, I sensed her distress behind poetic metaphors typical of daughters seeking parental support. I called her immediately. Her voice trembled as she spoke of Abdul Hamid Bhuiyan, founder of the children’s home where she grew up, critically ill in a hospital in Thailand. Hundreds affectionately call him ‘father’, ‘ED Sir’ or ‘Baro Sir’. She felt guilty for not visiting, yet her words reflected profound love. The conversation moved between his illness, Gaza's violence, Bangladesh's political turmoil, her husband's work, her children's schooling, and inflation. Yet repeatedly, she returned to ED Sir, his health, and her fear of losing him.
This heartfelt connection stands in stark contrast to the dominant global narrative about residential child and youth care.
The Colonial Campaign Against Residential Care
Today, residential care faces growing opposition worldwide. Pressure groups, NGOs, and donor governments—particularly in the UK, USA, Australia, and some European countries, advocate for a global deinstitutionalisation (DI) policy. They push a simplistic dichotomy: residential care is universally harmful, whilst family care is inherently beneficial, loving, and economical.
Such claims lack universal acceptance or rigorous research. This DI movement, often ideological, imposes one-size-fits-all models with colonial overtones, risking the dismantling of effective local systems simply because they don't conform to Western standards.
The narrative that institutional care is a 'den of abuse, neglect, and exploitation', while family care is 'full of love, affection, and care', is a crude stereotype. To challenge this stereotype, Abdul Hamid Bhuiyan's decades of work in Bangladesh offer a living counter-narrative to the global chorus condemning residential care.
A Home Born from Despair
Over thirty years ago, Hamid founded a children's home for children of sex workers, rescuing hundreds from brothels and preventing their involvement in illegal activities.
The Children's Home evolved organically from an education centre initially serving the harijan community near a brothel. When children from the brothel began attending, tensions emerged—both groups considered themselves superior, rooted in their parents' professions. Attendance plummeted as they refused to share learning spaces.
Recognising the underlying discrimination, a separate education centre for the children of sex workers was established. It soon discovered a horrifying reality: underage girls were being forced into sex work, boys into drugs, human trafficking, and murder. When twelve girls, once students at the centre, were taken away and never returned, it served as a stark warning.
A desperate girl Shahana's plea to be saved from prostitution, Hamid founded a small residential centre for thirty-four children. This grew into Sonar Bangla Children’s Home, a sanctuary for hundreds.
A Father to the Fatherless
The Home offered more than shelter — it provided children with parental love, education, healthcare, and emotional security. Many graduates became teachers, nurses, entrepreneurs, and social workers. For them, Hamid was never an ‘administrator’. He was, and is their father.
Despite leading an organisation of 10,000+ employees, Hamid spent each Friday (weekends for others) at the Home after Jummah, eating with children, hearing their stories, and guiding them until illness confined him to the hospital. He once told me:
‘When I am stressed and need to make an important decision, I go to the children’s home. Spending time with them clears my mind.’
This commitment forged an enduring paternal bond. During my tenure, representatives from 79 countries visited and were inspired by the care, protection, and empowerment model that thrives despite mafias, political interference, and social stigma.
Love in Their Words
When Hamid's health deteriorated, requiring complex surgeries, hundreds expressed concern on social media. Their words reveal profound truths about love and care, challenging negative DI portrayals and Western narratives describing residential care as abusive, family-destroying, educationally poor, and emotionally stunting.
A young woman wrote:
'ED sir, you are the father I never had; if you don't get well soon, we won't; we are all praying every day because without you, we wouldn't know what father means.'
Another reflected:
'ED sir treated me like his own daughter; I teased him, asked for things, and talked back—he smiled, gave, no anger or distance. Now he's in a hospital far away, and I feel like a child again, wanting to visit him, care for him, and wait by his side.’
A young man emphasised:
'Baro Sir, you pulled me out from (para) brothel; every Friday, you sat with us at Home, asked about us. Without you, who'll sit with our brothers and sisters there?'
A care leaver, now working as a manager, wrote:
'Our beloved Executive Director, the main driving force and a great human being, is seriously ill. We are praying for him. "اللهم رب الناس أذهب البأس اشفِ أنت الشافي لا شفاء إلا شفاؤك شفاءً لا يغادر سقما" O Allah, the Lord of mankind—remove suffering, heal him. You are the only Healer. No healing except Yours. Grant healing that leaves no trace of illness.'
A mother of two wrote:
'Baro Sir organised my wedding, stood like a father when no one else would; if Allah doesn't bring you back, I don't know how to tell my children their grandfather is gone.'
One message captured the sentiment of hundreds:
“প্রতিটা সন্তান তার বাবা মার কলিজার টুকরো। আর প্রতিটা বাবা মা সন্তানের মাথার মুকুট। বাবা বিশাল এক আকাশের মত ছায়া মাথার ওপর। আর স্যার তো আমাদের সবার অভিভাবক...”
Translation: ‘Every child is a piece of their parents’ heart, and every parent is their child’s crown. A father is like the sky that gives shade. And ED Sir is that sky for us all … may Allah grant Sir good health and bring him back to us soon.'
Another care leaver expressed her deep gratitude:
“একজন যত্নশীল পিতা একজন দায়িত্ববান অভিভাবক। আমার মত শতশত এতিমের মাথার ওপর মায়া মমতা আদর স্নেহ ভালোবাসার এক উদাহরণ এই মহান মানুষটি…..আমার মত হাজার পোলাপানের অভিভাবক হয়ে আছেন।…… আমার বিয়ের পর মাঝে মাঝে স্যার আমাকে অফিসে ডাকতেন আমি কেমন আছি কিভাবে সংসার সামলাতে পারছি কি না তা জানতে। …… আল্লাহ রব্বুল আলামীন যেন আমার স্যারের নেক হায়াৎ দান করেন ও সুস্থ্য করে আমাদের মাঝে ফিরিয়ে দেন”
Translation: 'He is a caring father and guardian. This great man is an example of compassion, affection, and love for hundreds of orphans like me. Since losing my parents, he never made me feel orphaned, acting as a guardian to thousands like me.
After my marriage, Sir would call to check on me, never making me feel like a former student but like his own daughter, fulfilling my desires and needs.
With other high-ranking officials, you must be formal, but our ED, Sir? He's so humble and down-to-earth… I could talk, joke, and ask for things— no formalities, like a father and daughter—sharing everything openly. He never showed annoyance or reluctance.
Now, Sir is seriously ill. I request everyone: please pray for him. May Allah give him health and bring him back soon.'
Do these voices resemble those 'destroyed' by institutional care? NO. They speak of love, care, protection, gratitude, safety, dignity and a paternal figure who gave them identity and future. They call him Father and Saviour, not abuser.
Evidence Against the False Dichotomy
Hamid and his team demonstrate that the 'family' versus 'institution' dichotomy is false. These children needed only one opportunity, which Sonar Bangla provided through a caring, culturally respectful environment, proving residential care can offer protection, empowerment, and security, fully aligning with the UNCRC and UN Guidelines for Alternative Care of Children.
The Global Charter: Moral Authority and Hypocrisy
The push for ‘care reform’ continues to romanticise family-based care while demonising residential settings, ignoring that ‘family’ isn't always ‘safe’. No large studies prove better outcomes from family placements. Many fostered or adopted children face new neglect, identity confusion, and loss. The DI agenda, in its zeal, risks dismantling systems that have saved millions.
The recent championing of a Global Charter on Children's Care Reform at the UN General Assembly, calling for ending institutional care and ensuring every child grows up in a 'safe, loving family'—championed by figures like the British Deputy Prime Minister—resembles the historical arrogance of colonial interventions, imposing Western policy on nations with vastly different realities. The moral authority of such efforts is compromised when the same governments remain silent on atrocities like the bombing of children in Gaza. NGOs campaigning for DI rarely speak against these humanitarian failures.
How can such voices define 'care' or 'reform' globally?
A Living Legacy
As Hamid fights for his life, hundreds of his ‘children’ pray for him. Their lives, lived with dignity, faith, and purpose, are his enduring testimony.
He did not just provide shelter; he offered belonging. He did not just rescue children; he restored their humanity.
This is authentic CYC practice grounded in love, culture, and faith. It isn’t imported. It grows from local soil, from the lived realities.
There are thousands of Hamids worldwide, unsung heroes whose care models are being erased by Western funding priorities. Their stories would expose the hypocrisy of those claiming moral authority in defining ‘best practice’.
Beyond the Western Script: A Single Candle in the Dark
The legacy of Hamid will endure even as international agencies celebrate the closure of children’s homes. Countries like Australia are re-evaluating the consequences of deinstitutionalisation. Practitioners call for a return to community-based residential models after witnessing the failures of rushed reforms.
Eventually, the global DI movement must reckon with harm caused—tearing down safe havens without offering alternatives. By then, countless children will have lost their chance at care.
Hamid's work reminds us love cannot be standardised; care cannot be exported. He is more than a founder. Thousands call him father, not because they were institutionalised, but because they were humanised. He is a father beyond blood — a living challenge to the Western orthodoxy of child care reform.
People like him never truly die; they live through the stories, gratitude, and prayers of those they have uplifted.
As care leavers pray across Bangladesh and beyond, their voices rise as lament and lesson: that real care isn’t defined by policy frameworks or Western funding agendas. It’s defined by love, faith, and the human connection that no institution, and no reform, can replace.
We join these young people in praying for Abdul Hamid Bhuiyan's swift and full recovery.
Ameen.
