Jamaat Rajakars (War Collaborators) in the Parliament: A National Disgrace

Bangladesh was born from fire. It emerged from rivers of blood, the tears of mothers, and the sacrifice of millions who refused to bow before tyranny in 1971.

The Bangladesh Liberation War was far more than a mere political contest; it was a profound moral uprising against betrayal and tyranny inflicted by the brutal Pakistan Army and their sinister local collaborators—foremost among them the militant cadres of Jamaat-e-Islami. Today, their ideological heirs and new progeny—often concealed beneath fresh political banners such as the so-called National Citizen Party—continue to carry the same shadowed creed, seeking to cloak old betrayals in new disguises. 

In the national elections held in Bangladesh on 12 February 2026, the Bangladesh Nationalist Party (BNP) secured a commanding victory with 209 parliamentary seats, while Jamaat-e-Islami captured 68 seats, and the National Citizen Party (NCP) obtained 6 seats in the Jatiya Sangsad.

Therefore, any suggestion that collaborators of that dark era could find legitimacy within the sacred chamber of the national parliament on 12 March 2026 strikes at the very heart of our national conscience.

The term Rajakar is not simply a historical label. It carries the unbearable weight of treachery. During the 1971 Liberation War, Rajakars were collaborators who aided the bestial Pakistani occupation forces in suppressing the Bengali people’s struggle for independence. Their actions helped facilitate massacres, persecutions, and the systematic destruction of Bengali identity. 

Even today, the word evokes a profound sense of national trauma. Yet, even now, they refuse to acknowledge the true spirit and sovereignty of Bangladesh; their allegiance, in sentiment and ideology, appears to remain tethered to Pakistan, a nation whose historical enmity stands in stark contrast to the hard-won freedom and dignity of Bangladesh.

For a nation that endured such suffering, the parliament should symbolize the highest ideals of the republic—justice, dignity, and unwavering loyalty to the spirit of liberation. It is meant to be a sanctuary of democratic values, not a refuge for those whose ideological roots lie in betrayal of the nation’s birth.

When voices arise questioning why “Rajakars” are present or tolerated within the political arena, they are not merely expressing partisan frustration. They are echoing a deeper moral alarm. It is the cry of history itself demanding accountability.

Bangladesh’s political culture has long been shaped by the legacy of 1971. Generations have grown up hearing stories of resistance, martyrdom, and the indomitable courage of the freedom fighters. In classrooms, memorials, and cultural expressions, the Liberation War remains the defining narrative of the nation’s identity.

Yet the passage of time has also brought attempts to dilute, distort, or even erase that sacred memory. When individuals or groups associated with anti-liberation ideology attempt to occupy positions of national authority, the reaction from the public is often fierce. This is not surprising. A nation built upon sacrifice cannot easily tolerate the normalization of those who once stood against its birth.

The parliament of Bangladesh is not an ordinary building. It is a symbolic temple of sovereignty. Every seat within it carries the moral inheritance of the martyrs who gave their lives so that a Bengali nation could exist.

To allow the shadow of collaborationist politics to enter this sacred institution is to wound that inheritance.

The issue is not merely political rivalry. It is about historical truth. It is about protecting the ethical foundation of the republic. If the memory of 1971 becomes negotiable, then the moral compass of the nation itself begins to drift.

History offers countless warnings. Nations that forget their founding sacrifices often lose their moral clarity. When the line between heroism and betrayal becomes blurred, society risks descending into confusion and cynicism.

Bangladesh must resist that fate.

The people of this country have repeatedly demonstrated that they cherish the spirit of the Liberation War. From public protests to cultural movements, citizens have shown their determination to defend the dignity of the nation’s founding history. Even today, slogans declaring that “there is no place for Rajakars in the land of 1971” continue to resonate in public spaces and universities. 

Such sentiments reflect a powerful truth: the moral memory of a nation cannot easily be erased.

Parliament must therefore remain a fortress of that memory. It must reflect the values of sacrifice, freedom, and justice that gave birth to Bangladesh. Political disagreements are natural in any democracy, but loyalty to the nation’s founding ideals should never be compromised.

To question why Rajakars appear in the political sphere is not extremism. It is patriotism.

The martyrs of 1971 did not dream of a Bangladesh where the shadows of betrayal would sit beside the guardians of freedom. They envisioned a nation proud of its history and unwavering in its principles.

If the parliament truly represents the will and dignity of the people, then it must uphold that sacred legacy without hesitation.

The soul of Bangladesh demands nothing less.

Joy Bangla. Joy Bangabandhu.

Written by Anwar A. Khan 

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