Each year when the sun rises on the sixteenth of December, it carries a weight of memory that no calendar page can fully hold. Victory Day arrives as both a celebration and an indictment, a reminder of what was won and a question of what we have done with that victory. On this day in 1971, the Pakistani military forces finally laid down their arms at the Race Course Maidan, now Suhrawardy Udyan, and Bangladesh appeared before the world as a sovereign state. The victory came from the collective courage of a people who refused to kneel and carried the dream of independence. The nine months of war left a trail of mass graves, violated women, burned homes, and shattered families, yet it also left something indestructible, the conviction that a nation born out of sacrifice must honour the values for which so many died.
The writers of antiquity often said that freedom purchased with blood imposes duties on those who inherit it. Thucydides wrote that a nation defines itself not merely by the wars it fights but by the character it nurtures after victory. In that sense, Victory Day is not only about remembrance but also about introspection. 54 years after independence, we are compelled to ask ourselves whether we have lived up to the expectations that accompanied that moment of triumph. The victory was glorious, but history does not reward nostalgia. It demands accountability.
The dream of independence was never limited to geography. Yes, the people wanted to be free from the political exclusion and economic deprivation imposed by the Pakistani ruling class. But they also wanted institutions rooted in justice, political participation for every citizen, and an economy that allowed dignity for all. In the early days of the republic, there was a fragile but earnest hope that democracy would take deep roots. Yet the nation repeatedly stumbled. Military takeovers, political assassinations, party feuds, constitutional distortions, and cycles of mistrust eroded institutional development. Democracy survived in form but often suffered in spirit.
The philosopher John Stuart Mill warned that democracy without virtue becomes a tyranny of factions. In Bangladesh, political competition rarely evolved into cooperation for national goals. Even on matters of state interest, consensus remained elusive. The tendency to choose party before country has cost the nation dearly. The result is a democracy that breathes but often gasps for air.
Yet no narrative of Bangladesh can be written without acknowledging the achievements. Poverty has declined, literacy has expanded, women have entered public life with unprecedented vigour, and infant mortality has fallen sharply. The nation has leapt ahead in agricultural productivity, garments exports, remittances, and small-enterprise innovation. Per capita income has risen enough to draw global attention. The Bangladesh of today is far more capable than the Bangladesh of 1971. But capability does not erase fragility. Progress can be genuine yet incomplete.
The government formed after the mass uprising of July and August faces a historic burden. The expectations are high because the country has already seen how power can distort institutions, how unchecked authority can damage the social contract. The people, despite their patience, have grown deeply intolerant of governance built on repression, disappearances, politicization of administration, and the culture of impunity that once allowed powerful individuals to pillage banks and launder public wealth abroad. The collapse of several private and Islamic banks, the erosion of the rule of law, and the centralization of power in the executive office have reminded citizens that independence can be secured only once, but freedom must be protected every day.
To say that injustice has increased globally does not excuse the erosion of values at home. Fyodor Dostoevsky once observed that the degree of civilization in a society can be judged by entering its prisons. In Bangladesh, one might extend this idea to its police stations, its courts, its administrative files, and its banking system. When laws bend to suit the rich and the powerful, when justice becomes negotiable, when morality dissolves into opportunism, society begins to corrode from within. Victory Day demands that we look honestly at this corrosion.
Our foreign policy too stands at a sensitive crossroads. Bangladesh has long benefitted from balanced diplomacy. The support we received from India during the Liberation War remains etched in the nation’s consciousness, and the role of the then Soviet Union was instrumental in shaping the geopolitical landscape that allowed our independence to succeed. Those debts of gratitude are real. Yet modern diplomacy is not guided by sentiment but by strategy. Today Bangladesh must navigate the competing interests of the United States and India with caution, avoiding the temptation to lean towards one at the cost of antagonizing the other. The global system is increasingly bipolar, with one axis shaped by the United States, the European Union, NATO and the G7, and another by China, Russia and their allies. In such a world, small and medium states like Bangladesh cannot afford reckless alignments. They must protect their sovereignty through strategic neutrality, much like the ideals once imagined in the Non-Aligned Movement.
Economic dependence also shapes sovereignty. The role of the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund in our policy landscape cannot be viewed only through the lens of development loans. These institutions, driven by the interests of powerful nations, often push reforms that align more with global financial priorities than with local needs. Accepting assistance without losing autonomy requires discipline, something only a united political culture can sustain.
But unity is precisely what Bangladesh has lacked for decades. The absence of national consensus has weakened institutions and hollowed out political confidence. No government since 1972 has pursued a genuine policy of broad national unity. The failure to accommodate diverse political voices created a fertile ground for authoritarian tendencies and ultimately led to the collapse of once-dominant political forces. The recent mass uprising and the toppling of Sheikh Hasina government and the subsequent formation of an advisory council composed of non-partisan individuals reflect the people’s erosion of trust in political parties. Citizens may not articulate it explicitly, but their approval of the current transition reflects a desire for a political order built not on revenge but on reform.
This transitional moment offers both danger and possibility. If the advisory council succeeds in ensuring a genuinely fair election, it may revive public faith in democracy. But if it becomes another power structure disconnected from the people, cynicism will deepen. The stakes are high because the country stands at a moral crossroads. The collapse of public character would be far more catastrophic than any economic downturn.
Philosophers from Aristotle to Hannah Arendt have warned that republics collapse not when enemies invade but when citizens stop believing in the ethical foundations of their state. Bangladesh must take this warning seriously. A society that normalizes corruption, forgives injustice, tolerates inequality, and celebrates opportunism is a society that undermines its own independence.
A disturbing consumerism has gripped not only the affluent but also the middle classes and the youth. The market has become the moral compass. Students once inspired by political ideals now dream more of shortcuts than of service. Their aspirations are shaped not by institutions of learning but by the behaviour of the ruling elite. If leaders treat public office as a private fortune, why would young minds believe in public responsibility? The state’s moral failures echo through the psychology of its citizens.
Yet not all is bleak. History shows that renewal often emerges from moments of rupture. Just as the youth of 1969 and 1971 carried the nation toward liberation, a new generation today is beginning to question the failures of their elders. Their demand for accountability, transparency, and justice signals that moral exhaustion does not have to be permanent. They read new books, debate new ideas, and voice criticisms not to condemn the nation but to rescue it from complacency. Their dissent is not rebellion. It is patriotism.
Writers too bear responsibility. The public intellectual is not merely a recorder of events but a guide through the fog of uncertainty. Literature, philosophy, and history remind societies of their deeper obligations. When Rabindranath Tagore wrote that the mind must be fearless for the nation to be free, he spoke of a mental liberation that political independence alone cannot guarantee. When Jean Paul Sartre argued that humans are condemned to be free, he meant that freedom imposes burdens that cannot be evaded. Bangladesh must confront these burdens honestly. The state cannot reform without intellectual courage, and intellectual courage cannot flourish without freedom of expression.
Victory Day is therefore not merely an anniversary. It is a moral checkpoint. It asks whether we have used our human and natural resources justly. It asks whether truth still has a home in our public life. It asks whether lies still triumph through noise and intimidation. It asks whether we have built a state worthy of the martyrs who died believing in a better tomorrow.
If we want a new future, we must first cultivate new thinking. The ideals of democracy, socialism, nationalism, and internationalism that once guided political movements have lost meaning, not because they were flawed, but because they were misused. They must be reinterpreted for an age shaped by technology, globalization, and shifting power blocs. The fourth industrial revolution offers possibilities but also threats. A society that becomes a passive consumer of technology risks losing its humanity. Machines can liberate labor but they can also enslave the mind. The cautionary words of Aldous Huxley and George Orwell remind us that technological progress without ethical progress can turn freedom into illusion.
The future of Bangladesh will depend on whether we can generate a new political philosophy rooted in universal welfare. Such a philosophy must place dignity above development, justice above growth, and truth above convenience. It must recognize that national unity does not mean sameness but cooperation, not silence but dialogue, not conformity but conviction.
Victory Day teaches us that liberation is never final. It must be earned again and again. The courage that won the war in 1971 must now be transformed into the courage to confront our failures. The sacrifice that bought our independence must now inspire the sacrifice needed to reform our institutions. The unity that defeated occupation must now be reborn to defeat injustice, corruption, and inequality.
On this Victory Day, let us renew the pledge that independence will not be a relic but a living force. Let us believe that truth can still prevail if we defend it, that justice can still stand if we uphold it, and that the dreams of 1971 can still guide us if we remember them. The struggle did not end when the Pakistani army surrendered. It continues in every fight against injustice and every act of honesty.
There is no final victory in the story of a nation. There is only the endless pursuit of a more just, humane, and enlightened future. Bangladesh has walked far, but the road ahead is long. The task is difficult, but so was the war of liberation. And just as the people triumphed then, so can they triumph now.
H M Nazmul Alam is an Academic, Journalist, and Political Analyst based in Dhaka, Bangladesh. Currently he teaches at IUBAT. He can be reached at [email protected]
