By S.M. Inam
Revolutions are rarely born in silence. They are stirred by anger, nurtured by hope, and eventually set alight by the will of a people who can no longer bear the weight of injustice. In the history of Bangladesh, two such turning points continue to shape its political identity and national psyche. One was a war of liberation meticulously planned and fought with purpose. The other, less structured but equally significant, was the uprising on November 7, 1975—a spontaneous revolt rooted in frustration and fear, erupting like a long-suppressed cry for change. These revolutions, though separated by only four years, came from different impulses but spoke to a common yearning: the right to self-determination.
The 1971 Liberation War, led ideologically by Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, was the result of long-standing grievances against the political domination of West Pakistan. It was also aided strategically by India, which supported the movement to serve its own regional interests. Sheikh Mujib’s speeches gave shape to the dream of an independent Bangladesh, even though he could not physically lead the armed resistance when it unfolded. Still, the nation was born out of that dream, carried forward by his allies and an outraged population. The liberation was, at once, a political triumph and a geopolitical manoeuver. It remains a celebrated milestone, enshrined in textbooks and national ceremonies.
But revolutions do not end with declarations of independence. They begin there. And that is where Bangladesh’s journey became complicated. The euphoria of 1971 quickly gave way to growing disillusionment. Sheikh Mujib, hailed as the Father of the Nation, was soon criticized for authoritarian governance, media censorship, and political intolerance. A single-party system replaced multiparty democracy. Dissent was discouraged. A devastating famine in 1974 highlighted the inadequacy of government response and revealed the fragile state of a young nation struggling under the weight of inflated expectations. Internationally, the Soviet Union offered limited support, and despite the initial sympathy for Bangladesh’s cause, the West and the Muslim world remained largely distant.
Discontent began to simmer, particularly among the military and the working class. Then came the events of November 7, 1975. The Sipahi-Janata Biplob—literally the ‘soldier-people uprising’—was a raw, unpolished revolution, erupting without the meticulous planning of the 1971 war. It was born out of betrayal, instability, and the thirst for a different kind of leadership. Amid this chaos, emerged Ziaur Rahman, an army officer turned national figure. He was not just a man in uniform. He was a man many saw as a symbol of order, pragmatism, and renewal. His leadership brought a sense of balance after months of political turbulence. He did not come from a dynastic background, nor did he inherit power through a party machine. He appeared, to many, as the people’s choice—an answer to their call for genuine reform.
While Sheikh Mujib had envisioned a sovereign Bangladesh, Zia was seen by his supporters as the one who could consolidate it. His policies gave a renewed sense of purpose. He initiated structural reforms, encouraged private enterprise, and sought to realign Bangladesh’s foreign policy away from dependence on a single power bloc. Under Zia’s leadership, the idea of Bangladesh as an independent, self-reliant nation seemed within reach. And yet, like many revolutions, his too was interrupted. His assassination in 1981 reopened the door to political instability. What followed was a cycle of mistrust, dynastic politics, and ideological polarization.
More than four decades later, Bangladesh continues to wrestle with the unfinished business of those revolutions. The dreams remain vivid in public memory, but the reality of their fulfilment is far less certain. On one side, the nation has made undeniable progress. There has been economic growth, infrastructure development, and improved literacy. But these advances have come alongside persistent concerns about political freedom, electoral fairness, and the role of external influences in domestic affairs. Rumors abound—some wild, some plausible—about the involvement of foreign powers in Bangladesh’s internal affairs. From diplomatic missions to intelligence networks, many believe that unseen hands still shape the contours of the country’s political landscape. Critics of the current government claim that national interests are being compromised behind closed doors, while those in power argue these accusations are little more than the noise of political rivals desperate for attention. The truth, as is often the case, likely lies somewhere in between.
Still, it is not just rumors that threaten the revolution’s legacy. It is the erosion of public trust, the sidelining of civil voices, and the tendency to view political opposition as treason rather than democratic disagreement. The people of Bangladesh deserve better. They deserve open institutions, free media, accountable leadership, and a judiciary unshackled by political pressure. These are not abstract ideals—they are the backbone of any revolution that seeks permanence. To secure the revolution’s future, the government must lead with transparency and humility. That means making policy decisions in the public eye, engaging citizens in national dialogue, and embracing scrutiny not as a threat but as a tool for progress. Above all, it requires a renewed commitment to justice—social, economic, and political. The revolution began with the people. It must be completed with them.
(The writer is a former government officer and a senior analyst on national and international affairs, can be reached at inam@metro-morning.com)
