Today, if we look back not just with reverence, but with a resolve that draws from the unhealed wounds and unbowed spirit of a nation forged in fire. The liberation of Bangladesh in 1971 was not merely a military victory, but the birth of a people’s identity, a sovereign cry etched in blood and sanctified by sacrifice. It came at the staggering cost of three million lives and the brutal violation of over three hundred thousand of our brave women. This land, bathed in tears and resilience, emerged from the ashes of genocide, carried forth by the indomitable will of its children.
But in this tale of triumph, there lies a festering wound—the remnants of the defeated, the shadows of betrayal, and the poison of those who aligned with the brutal oppressors – Pakistani army and their direful local collaborators, especially, Jamaat-e-Islami mass-murderers.
I also speak of the stranded Bengalis and the Bangla-speaking Pakistani loyalists who, during the war, chose not their own soil, but the boots of the Pakistani army under which they willingly knelt and served. These individuals, bound not by geography but by a shared contempt for Bangladesh's liberation, operated as enablers of atrocity and messengers of massacre.
In 1971, factions such as Jamaat-e-Islami, members of the so-called Peace Committees aligned with the Pakistan Democratic Party (PDP), Nezam-e-Islami, and parts of the Muslim League actively collaborated with the Pakistani military. They identified freedom fighters, sympathizers, intellectuals, and ordinary civilians who dreamt of an independent Bangladesh. These collaborators orchestrated the arrests and executions of countless patriots. Many, like myself, witnessed firsthand the blood-soaked rampages, where the chant of “Allahu Akbar” was desecrated, repurposed to sanctify slaughter.
The slain were not even granted the dignity of burial. Their bodies, discarded like refuse, were left to decay under open skies, desecrated by scavengers. And their killers? They gloried in their deeds, invoking religion not as solace, but as a sword of cruelty.
Yet, with the assassination of our founding father, Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, on 15 August 1975—a crime born of conspiracy and committed with unholy precision by traitors like Khondokar Mushtaq Ahmed and aided by a cabal of morally bankrupt military men—these enemies found a second life. The anti-liberation forces, though politically and morally defeated, rose from the ashes like a virus left unchecked.
Military regimes under General Ziaur Rahman and later General Hussain Muhammad Ershad did not merely tolerate these agents’ of 1971's horrors—they nurtured them. General Zia, once celebrated as a freedom fighter, became an architect of betrayal. In pursuit of power, he legitimized the very groups that once cheered on the slaughter of their own people. The constitution of 1972, which had enshrined the values of secularism, nationalism, socialism, and democracy, was butchered to make way for these wolves in political clothing.
There was no public call to reintegrate these collaborators. The nation’s collective will reject their return. Yet Zia, with unparalleled audacity, freed convicted war criminals, restored their citizenship, and reintroduced them to public life. Figures like Golam Azam, who had fled and been rightly stripped of citizenship, were brought back as prodigal sons—not in shame, but with state honours. It was a betrayal that tore at the very moral fiber of our nation.
Ershad, Zia’s successor in the uniform of tyranny, did the same. He, too, spat on the graves of the martyrs by offering sanctuary to the very enemies they had resisted. Both military regimes gave birth to political parties in the barracks of cantonments, weaponizing national institutions, intelligence agencies, and the treasury to empower their allies—the ideological heirs of 1971's traitors.
Then came the widow of Zia—Khaleda Zia—who presided over another decade of damage. During her rule, she did the unthinkable: she appointed war criminals like Motiur Rahman Nizami and Ali Ahsan Mohammad Mujahid as ministers of her cabinet. Salauddin Quader Chowdhury, another notorious butcher of 1971, became her close advisor. She did not merely tolerate anti-liberation elements; she enshrined them at the highest echelons of state power.
As a result, the ideology of 1971’s defeated forces crept into our education, our politics, our bureaucracy. The poison seeped into our youth, many of whom today have no real understanding of the Liberation War’s horrors. The darkness that once seemed vanquished has returned, wearing new masks, but breathing the same venom.
We buried the two-nation theory in 1971. Bangladesh was founded as a secular, inclusive republic where people of all faiths could coexist in peace. Yet, time and again, that vision has been sabotaged by those who view the land not as a sanctuary of equality but as a pawn in their quest for power and vengeance using the religion – Islam or Muslim identity.
Let us be clear: these anti-liberation forces are not a political opposition. They are the antithesis of our nation’s founding principles. They embody the spirit of defeat, the ghosts of collaborators, the agents of genocide. In no civilized country are such factions granted legitimacy. The victors govern. The vanquished must atone.
It is imperative that Bangladesh codify into its constitution that only those who revere the liberation, accept the national symbols, and uphold the core values of the 1971 war can participate in politics. Anyone who rejects these—be they parties, individuals, or organizations—must be barred permanently from political life. Their citizenship must be revoked. Their right to vote, denied.
We must not falter again. We must remain ever vigilant. The events of 5 August 2024 serve as a grave reminder that these forces have not surrendered. But we, the patriots of Bangladesh, must ensure that they are defeated not just on the battlefield, but in the annals of history, in the minds of the youth, and in every heartbeat that echoes the chant “Joy Bangla.”
This sacred land cannot accommodate those who once facilitated its attempted destruction. No nation permits its traitors to walk the same halls as its heroes. No country should elevate the hands that once spilled its blood.
It is our duty—those of us who marched into battle in 1971, those who carry the legacy of that struggle, and those who cherish freedom—to ensure that Bangladesh remains a nation driven by the spirit of liberation. We owe this to our martyrs. We owe this to the generations yet unborn.
In this critical hour, we eagerly await the return of Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina, the torchbearer of Bangabandhu’s legacy, whose leadership is crucial to countering the resurgence of darkness. Her presence symbolizes continuity with our past, and a bulwark against revisionist forces.
Let us declare with unwavering certainty: this nation belongs to those who bled for it, not those who betrayed it. There is no place in Bangladesh for the ghosts of 1971. There is no sanctuary for those who collaborated with the butchers of our people. And there never will be.
This is our vow. This is our oath. To preserve the sanctity of our Liberation War of 1971 and to eternally resist the resurgence of betrayal.
By Anwar A. Khan:
By Anwar A. Khan, is a frontline Freedom Fighter of the 1971 war, who fought to establish an independent Bangladesh. Today, he continues to serve as an independent political analyst, offering insight on national politics, human rights, and international affairs.
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