Today, as Bangladesh Awami League celebrates its 76th founding anniversary, it does so not merely as a political party, but as the soul of a nation—an undying beacon that has weathered storms, conspiracies, and carnage to stand by the dreams of the Bengali people. Born in the heart of Old Dhaka at the Rose Garden on 23 June 1949, the party has marched through the annals of history with blood on its feet and resilience in its heart. It has endured bans, betrayals, and brutal killings. Yet, like a Phoenix sculpted from the ashes of sacrifice, it has always soared back—ignited by the spirit of the working class and the hope of the helpless.
And today, as I write, the Awami League finds itself amidst one of the gravest chapters of its existence. Under the draconian grip of an unelected, unconstitutional interim regime led by Dr. Muhammad Yunus, the party’s existence has been criminalised. Registration revoked, operations banned, and tens of thousands of its supporters either jailed, silenced, or slaughtered. In the span of ten harrowing months, over 400 men and women have been lynched for their allegiance, and more than a quarter million have been incarcerated. This is not mere repression—it is a cold, calculated political genocide waged under the guise of order.
But today, I don’t seek to merely recite the Awami League’s litany of glories or its present sorrows. This party, forged in the crucible of injustice, has never sought pity. It has fought, bled, and risen time and again. My purpose here is to confront the manufactured myths—the venomous falsehoods propagated to smear this party’s legacy. I will speak on three fronts: the so-called ‘monopoly’ over the Liberation War narrative, the warped claims of political intolerance, and the weaponised rhetoric surrounding electoral integrity in Bangladesh.
A recurring accusation thrown at the Awami League is that it has hijacked the Liberation War’s legacy. But let history’s scars speak. In recent months, sacred monuments of our independence have been desecrated—Bangabandhu’s historic residence on Road 32, the Liberation War Museum, even the Mujibnagar Complex have not been spared. The sacred slogan “Joy Bangla,” once our battle cry for freedom, is now a trigger for state-backed execution. Pro-liberation students have been murdered, war heroes garlanded with shoes. And yet, the so-called defenders of 1971 remain silent—complicit in their cowardice.
It is a national tragedy that, 54 years after independence, the agents of Pakistan’s ideology are again resurgent. War criminals like ATM Azhar have had their executions nullified. Jamaat-e-Islami marches unashamed through Shahbagh, cheered like patriots. Even the bloodstained name of Ghulam Azam echoes once more in public spaces. Meanwhile, the real freedom fighters are hunted like fugitives. This travesty has roots—roots planted by Ziaur Rahman, who legitimized these traitors by placing them back in power. He made Shah Azizur Rahman, a collaborator, the Prime Minister. Khaleda Zia carried forward that toxic legacy, taking Jamaat to the seat of power, handing them flags soaked in the blood of martyrs.
To accuse the Awami League of politicizing the Liberation War is not only disingenuous—it is cruel. It is the only party that has carried that flame with dignity, honor, and responsibility. Others have trampled it underfoot in their rabid hunger for power.
Let us speak now of political tolerance. No party in the democratic world has suffered such an unending storm of state-sponsored violence as the Awami League. In 1975, Father of the Nation Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujibur Rahman was assassinated with his entire family. On 3 November, the four national leaders were executed inside prison walls. Since 1981, Sheikh Hasina has dodged death eighteen times. In 2004, grenades rained down on her in an attack executed with state complicity. And yet, Khaleda Zia stood in Parliament and mocked her—accusing her of carrying explosives in her purse. As if this grotesque theatre was not enough, she began celebrating her birthday on 15 August—the darkest day in our national memory.
Between 2001 and 2006, over 3,500 Awami League activists were massacred by BNP-Jamaat regimes. And despite all this, Awami League never chose vengeance. The killers of Mujib and the war criminals of 1971 were tried through years of lawful and transparent justice—not mob revenge. Today, as thousands of AL supporters are rounded up and tortured, let it be said—no such horror was meted out to BNP or Jamaat under any AL government. The myth of Awami League’s intolerance is a mirror held up by those who cannot bear to see their own reflection.
Now, on the matter of elections. Only once in Bangladesh’s democratic journey has power been transferred peacefully—by the Awami League in 2001. But it was BNP who plunged the nation into darkness with its sham election on 15 February 1996. BNP corrupted the caretaker government system, manipulating judicial appointments to install loyalists. This power hunger led directly to the 1/11 military-backed interregnum. Still, Awami League led the fight back to democracy and returned to power through a landslide in 2008.
In 2013, Sheikh Hasina personally invited Khaleda Zia to dialogue. She offered ministries, compromise, and peace. But BNP chose sabotage. They boycotted the 2014 polls and unleashed petrol-bomb terror on school buses and public transport. In 2018, they participated only to field multiple candidates per seat, turning democracy into a marketplace of nominations. And in 2024, again they absconded.
Is the system perfect? No. But who derailed it? That question demands honesty.
People expect more from the Awami League—and rightly so. For it is the party that gave them a homeland, dignity, identity. Under Sheikh Hasina, Bangladesh has leapt forward—economically, diplomatically, globally. But we must also see the burden this party carries—the conspiracies it endures the misinformation it fights, the assassinations it survives. While others dance with razakars and extremists for power, Awami League stands alone—often bruised, but never broken.
To walk in the Awami League’s shoes is to walk barefoot on blades. Yet it keeps walking. Not for itself, but for Bangladesh.
So before one crucifies this party, let us remember its crucifixion began long ago—and it never asked for sympathy, only justice.
The history of Awami League is the bloodline of Bangladesh itself. A saga of struggle, a hymn of hope, a prophecy of progress. As long as this red-green flag flutters in the wind, Awami League shall endure—and once more, it shall lead this nation back into light.
Joy Bangla. Joy Bangabandhu.
