I don’t know how this originated, but since long, we have been hearing people say different things about Sheikh Mujibur Rahman (known as Bangabandhu) and Ziaur Rahman (addressed as President Zia), often placing one in the category of a leader and the other as a statesman.
How much research sits behind such labels is not something I am fully aware of, but political scientists have repeated these classifications for decades, sometimes more from habit than rigorous study.
Most think that Mujib played the central symbolic and political role in the movement that led to Bangladesh’s independence. His strength always seemed to come from his ability to inspire, mobilize, and unite people toward a shared cause.
Nevertheless, it is important to acknowledge that freedom fighters from many backgrounds fought with remarkable commitment, and it was their collective effort that ultimately secured us victory. The tensions that existed between different groups of fighters were real, but the broader struggle did not leave much room to dwell on them.
When we discuss leadership in classrooms, Zia is often mentioned as a situational leader. As a major in 1971, he made the announcement of independence on behalf of Mujib, a decision that carried huge risk. Whether others could have done it or not, it was Zia who stepped forward at that moment.
His later role in the war, as a commander, placed him firmly among those who took up arms directly, and many who served under him or alongside him held him in regard for that.
At the same time, Mujib’s leadership during the turbulent years before and after independence was marked by his ability to rally masses, articulate aspirations, and embody the emotional centre of a nation struggling to be born. These qualities -- voice, presence, influence, connection with ordinary people -- are often what political theorists describe when they speak of someone as a “leader.”
A leader is usually defined by the urgency of the moment, by the power to shift the public mood, and by the ability to bring people together in times of pressure. By that measure, it is not difficult to see why Mujib has long been placed in that category.
Zia, on the other hand, is often spoken of in contexts where structure, order, or institutional direction were needed. A statesman, in the way many political thinkers use the term, is someone who tries to stabilize, consolidate, and put systems in place, even if the path is not straightforward.
Zia’s emergence came during a period of political upheaval when institutions were fragile and loyalties uncertain. He responded by bringing in professionals, technocrats, and administrators such as Jamal Uddin Ahmed, M Saifur Rahman, Jahir Uddin Khan, and others from varied backgrounds which was an approach aimed at broadening participation and reducing the dominance of any single group.
His intention, as political scientists often observed, seemed to be the creation of a platform that could accommodate different viewpoints, even if every choice was not universally appreciated.
Freedom fighters, journalists, and bureaucrats have often remarked that those who didn’t face the Pakistan army or the razakars directly would never fully grasp the intensity of the war. Newspaper accounts list over 151,000 certified freedom fighters, though their roles varied widely. Many contributed through supportive channels, while those in direct combat, including many who later aligned with or supported Ziaur Rahman, risked their lives on the front lines.
After 1975, the political landscape went through turmoil. Mujib’s associates became disorganized and divided, and different accounts have described varying levels of loyalty, confusion, or failure during that time. The events that unfolded involved specific segments of the military, and formal reports did not assign responsibility to Zia for the assassination. Some who later joined other political camps were criticized for not being able to provide adequate protection to the president of the republic.
History records coups, counter-coups, and a fragmented political environment that eventually created the conditions in which Zia emerged as a national figure. Whether he pursued this position intentionally or simply responded to a vacuum remains a matter of interpretation. What is clear is that he had to operate in an environment where political patience was thin and administrative structures were unstable.
Mujib, meanwhile, inherited a war-ravaged economy. The country needed rebuilding from scratch, and international support was critical. For various reasons that have been analyzed from multiple angles, such support did not materialize at the scale required.
Zia, with his disciplined background and measured public persona, approached international engagement differently, seeking ties across regions ranging from the Middle East to Europe and North America. Each, in their respective contexts, attempted to move the nation forward, though their challenges were markedly different.
Over time, political narratives have coloured both figures in different shades, depending on who was in power and what public mood prevailed. Yet, outside the rhetoric, Mujib remains inseparable from the birth of the nation, and Zia remains inseparable from both the battlefield and the transitional period that followed. Their legacies are intertwined with the country’s history, and neither can be discussed without acknowledging the complexity of the times they lived through.
In today’s Bangladesh, where society is once again reflecting on what kind of leadership the moment demands, the discussion around leaders and statesmen feels less like a comparison of personalities and more like an exploration of qualities.
A leader shapes emotion and direction; a statesman shapes structure and continuity. We once desperately needed a leader, and later, a statesman. But now? We possibly need more of a statesman.
Mamun Rashid is an economic analyst. This piece is the expanded version of a lecture on Leadership offered at National Defense College (NDC).
