For 15 and a half years, between 2009 and 2024, Bangladesh was governed by a political culture that elevated Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, Sheikh Hasina’s father, to a status greater than history and closer to doctrine.
The transformation did not happen overnight. It was built brick by brick: murals across district towns, statues at intersections, Bangabandhu Corners in public institutions, commemorative volumes, state-funded films, endless seminars and anniversary programmes, and a proliferation of institutions bearing his and his family members’ names. Crores were spent to ensure that Sheikh Mujib was omnipresent. So much so that he became indistinguishable from the Liberation War itself. Over time, the narrative hardened: to question the scale of his portrayal was to question the birth of the nation.
Yet, the Liberation War of 1971 was not the work of one man. It was the product of millions of freedom fighters, political leaders, student activists, cultural organisers, rural villagers, defecting officers, and ordinary citizens who bore extraordinary costs.
When history compresses that vast, collective struggle into a single towering personality, it does injustice to everyone else. The more the state insisted on singular glory, the more frustration simmered beneath the surface. It became visible after Hasina’s departure in the wake of the student-led mass uprising. Some of the reactions were extreme and indefensible. But beneath the excesses lay a message: people were rejecting overglorification. Mujib’s historical stature did not require exaggeration. His role was already monumental. By inflating it beyond proportion, the state had rather weakened his legacy.
Now, Bangladesh stands at another political turn. The return of BNP after nearly two decades inevitably brings renewed attention to Ziaur Rahman, whose role during the 1971 war—including broadcasting the declaration of independence from Chattogram, and fighting and giving leadership on the ground—remains historically significant. During Hasina’s regime, many of Zia’s contributions were marginalised or erased from official memory. It was, therefore, natural to expect that a democratic political transition would restore balance. But early signs suggest something else: inversion and sometimes sheer neglect.
At this year’s Amar Ekushey Boi Mela, much like last year, numerous “Zia Corners” and dedicated shelves featuring books on Ziaur Rahman are prominently visible—a commendable move. What is disappointing, however, is the relative neglect of other war heroes and the Liberation War itself, whether through dedicated corners, stalls, or newly published titles.
A report by bdnews24 noted that, as of March 3, the fair’s management did not include any titles on the Liberation War in its regular bulletins of newly released books. However, at least nine new titles on the subject were available at the stalls.
More ironic is the programming of Bangladesh Television (BTV), long known to reflect the priorities of whichever party occupies state power. Since the beginning of March, BTV has been airing a segment in its news bulletins titled “Uttal March,” a day-by-day recollection of the events of March 1971. The initiative is also praiseworthy, but its execution is problematic. The introductory montage and title card centre overwhelmingly on Ziaur Rahman’s independence declaration, featuring multiple images of him, while offering little visual or narrative space to other central figures.
During the historical recounting, the pattern becomes subtler but more telling. Names like Yahya Khan and Zulfikar Ali Bhutto are pronounced without hesitation. But when it comes to leaders and mass organisers within the then East Pakistan—those who mobilised, negotiated, declared, marched and defied—the script drifts into passive constructions. During the broadcast, actions occur, but actors dissolve. Protests happen; flags are raised; resistance builds. Yet, who did those things goes unspoken.
A passive voice is not merely a stylistic choice. In historical narration, it can be overtly political. When agency is removed, memory becomes blurred. When names disappear, accountability and contribution fade.
Even ahead of March 7, there has been little effort to commemorate the day Sheikh Mujibur Rahman “effectively declared the independence of Bangladesh,” as noted by Unesco on its official website. Judging by the practices during the 15 and a half years of Hasina’s regime and early signals on social media, the historical significance of March 7 is very much at risk of being politicised, much like the way Ziaur Rahman’s radio announcement of independence was downplayed during the Awami League regime.
If such patterns get established, Bangladesh risks sliding once more into a “specific narrative”—a curated version of history where only one camp’s hero is glorified while another’s presence is dimmed. The country has already witnessed how such monopolisation of memory breeds resentment.
The Liberation War of Bangladesh is too foundational, too sacred, and too complex to be reduced to partisan ownership. Mujib’s leadership mattered. Zia’s actions mattered. So did Tajuddin Ahmad and Syed Nazrul Islam’s wartime governance. So did the student leaders of 1969 and 1971, the unnamed freedom fighters in villages and border camps, women who endured unspeakable trauma, diplomats, cultural activists, the farmers who sheltered fighters, and the families who never saw their loved ones return. A mature nation does not fear multiplicity in its history. It embraces it.
After the July uprising, many imagined a new Bangladesh where truth would not carry a party label, archives would be open, and history would be written with evidence rather than expediency. That vision demands intellectual honesty from all sides, not merely a transfer of narrative control from one political camp to another.
The Ministry of Liberation War Affairs may not yet be fully attentive to how state media is framing the narrative, therefore shaping public memory. If so, this is the moment for correcting the course. A national broadcaster must serve history, not hierarchy. A book fair must celebrate scholarship, not proximity to power. And a government confident in its legitimacy should not need to curate history defensively.
Bangladesh’s past is large enough to contain all its protagonists, but only if they are allowed to be named.
Jannatul Naym Pieal is a Dhaka-based writer, researcher, and journalist. He can be reached at [email protected].
Views expressed in this article are the author's own.
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