In the whirlwind of political turbulence, Bangladesh finds itself at a crossroads, navigating through a state reconstruction process following the ousting of Sheikh Hasina on August 5. This seismic shift, triggered by a student-led mass movement, saw the establishment of an interim government under the stewardship of Nobel laureate Muhammad Yunus. Tasked with managing the state’s affairs and ensuring a smooth democratic transition, this interim administration has instead been engulfed in controversies and challenges that cast a shadow over Bangladesh’s uncertain future.
The aftermath of Sheikh Hasina’s abrupt departure has been marked by unprecedented upheaval, with chilling images and videos of mob desecration of murals and statuesof Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, the iconic Father of the Nation, emerging from Dhaka. These acts of desecration, including the burning of the Bangabandhu Memorial Museum—Rahman’s private residence turned into a monument of the Liberation War—shocked the nation and the world alike. This museum, housing personal archives and historic artefacts, stood as a testament to Bangladesh’s struggle for independence. Its destruction was not merely an attack on a building; it was a deliberate assault on the legacy of the man who symbolises the birth of the nation.
Criticism and justification flooded public discourse, with some drawing parallels between Hasina’s governance and Rahman’s so-called “one-party authoritarian rule.” Yet, these comparisons fail to acknowledge the broader implications of such actions. These mob attacks, which plunged the nation into a near-constant state of lawlessness, were not only politically motivated but also targeted symbolic representations of Sheikh Mujibur Rahman’s era, intertwining historical erasure with political vengeance.
Further adding to the controversy, the interim government, in what many perceived as a move to rewrite history, cancelled the national holiday commemorating August 15 as National Mourning Day. This day, revered as the anniversary of Sheikh Mujibur Rahman’s assassination alongside most of his family during a military coup in 1975, holds profound emotional significance for the country. By discontinuing this observance, the government alienated itself from a vast segment of the population. Awami League supporters defied this decision, holding their own commemorations, only to face violent reprisals from opposition supporters. This lack of intervention by law enforcement raised serious questions about the government’s complicity in these attacks. Muhammad Yunus’s dismissive response during a VOA interview, where he referred to Rahman’s legacy as “past” and “gone for sure,” without condemning the mob violence, further inflamed tensions. His remarks, devoid of empathy or acknowledgment of the significance of the Bangabandhu Memorial Museum, revealed a troubling disregard for Bangladesh’s historical identity.
Adding insult to injury, an unprecedented event took place in September at the National Press Club in Dhaka. For the first time in Bangladesh’s history, the death anniversary of Muhammad Ali Jinnah, the founder of Pakistan, was publicly celebrated with Urdu songs and poetry. This shocking development, coming from a nation born out of resistance to the imposition of Urdu during its time as East Pakistan, is a stark departure from the principles that fuelled the 1971 Liberation War. The celebration of Jinnah’s legacy in a country that sacrificed millions of lives to escape his vision of Pakistan is not only an affront to the memory of the Liberation War but also a blatant attempt to reshape the narrative of Bangladesh’s history.
The interim government’s efforts to further distance itself from Sheikh Mujibur Rahman’s legacy did not stop there. Recently, it announced the cancellation of eight national holidays associated with the Liberation War and Rahman’s contributions. The Awami League, Rahman’s political party, which has played an unparalleled role in the country’s independence, has been branded by the interim administration as a “fascist party.” Such a label, applied solely because of Sheikh Hasina’s leadership, dismisses the party’s pivotal role in shaping Bangladesh’s history and discredits its historic contributions.
The erasure of Rahman’s presence from public spaces continued unabated. In a social media post that sparked outrage, Mahfuj Alam, a representative of Students Against Discrimination and an advisor to the interim government, celebrated the removal of Sheikh Mujibur Rahman’s portrait from Bangabhaban’s Darbar Hall, calling him a “post-71 fascist.” Nahid Islam, another student leader advising the interim administration, echoed these sentiments, asserting that the government does not recognise Rahman as the Father of the Nation and would reevaluate every policy associated with the Awami League era.
The interim government’s approach has also extended to the very fabric of Bangladesh’s foundational philosophy. Sheikh Mujibur Rahman’s political vision, encapsulated in the 1971 Proclamation of Independence and the 1972 Constitution, emphasised nationalism, socialism, democracy, and secularism. Yet, the Attorney General appointed by the interim government, Mohammad Asaduzzaman, recently proposed removing the terms “socialism,” “secularism,” and “Bengali nationalism” from the Constitution. This suggestion aligns with an apparent shift towards establishing an Islamic state, a direction diametrically opposed to the secular and inclusive aspirations of the Liberation War. The removal of secularism from the Constitution is not a new phenomenon, but the current reforms signal a more profound transformation. By targeting the legacy of Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, the interim government appears intent on dismantling the very philosophies that form the bedrock of Bangladesh’s identity. Such moves threaten not only to rewrite history but also to alienate the youth, who spearheaded the July movement with hopes of a democratic and progressive future.
The celebration of Jinnah’s legacy, the removal of Mujibur Rahman’s portraits, and the erasure of national holidays are not isolated incidents; they are part of a calculated effort to redefine Bangladesh’s historical narrative. These actions suggest a concerted move to strip the nation of its secular foundations, replacing them with an ideological framework that contradicts the principles of the Liberation War. Bangladesh, now navigating what some have termed its “second liberation,” risks losing the essence of its first. The sacrifices of millions during the 1971 Liberation War were not made to see the nation descend into the same ideological oppression it fought to escape. The interim government’s reform agenda, while cloaked in the language of progress, seems more focused on erasing the past than building a better future.
The road ahead for Bangladesh is fraught with uncertainty. As the interim government forges its path, it must decide whether it will honour the nation’s history or rewrite it to serve a narrow political agenda. The soul of Bangladesh hangs in the balance, and its people must ask themselves: can a nation truly progress if it abandons the principles that gave it birth? History is not merely a collection of events; it is the identity of a nation. Erasing history, whether through mob violence or legislative reform, is a dangerous precedent. It not only robs future generations of their heritage but also undermines the sacrifices that made the present possible. Bangladesh stands at a crossroads, and the choices made now will determine whether it emerges as a beacon of progress or a shadow of its former self.
The narrative continues to unfold, and the world watches. The legacy of Sheikh Mujibur Rahman and the spirit of 1971 remains, for now, etched in the hearts of those who refuse to forget. Yet, with every step taken by the interim government, those memories face a greater risk of fading into oblivion.
