Saturday, 08 November, 2025
“Revolutions are not singular events; they are the heartbeat of the oppressed rising again and again.”
Nowhere does this truth pulse more fiercely than in Bangladesh—a land where the cry for justice and democracy refuses to fade. How many times must a nation rise from the depths of despair and repression before its rulers finally hear the heartbeat of its people?
Time and again, Bangladeshis have surged forward in waves of courage and defiance—each uprising a reminder that the nation’s spirit can be silenced, but never subdued. Two moments stand as shining testaments to that resilience: the revolution of 7 November 1975 and the mass uprising of July 2024.
The National Revolution and Solidarity Day, observed on 7 November 1975, remains one of the most decisive—and debated—turning points in Bangladesh’s history. On that day, ordinary citizens and patriotic soldiers rose together against tyranny, reclaiming their right to shape the nation’s destiny. Nearly half a century later, the mass upheaval of July 2024 echoed that same defiant energy. Both movements were born of a shared impulse: the rejection of autocracy and the reassertion of the people’s sovereignty.
Power, when unchecked, blinds its holders to the lessons of their downfall. Leaders who ignore history often forfeit the future, and nations that forget their past risk losing their identity. As Bangladesh marks this day, the nationalist forces led by the Bangladesh Nationalist Party (BNP) commemorate not just an event, but an ideal—the enduring belief that freedom and justice must never bow before fear or force. The BNP’s ten-day observance of 7 November is not merely ceremonial; it is a reaffirmation of the principles that ignited the 1975 revolution and remain vital in the continuing struggle for political accountability.
The story of 7 November was forged in crisis. Bangladesh had already endured the tragic assassination of its founding leader, Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, on 15 August 1975—a seismic event that plunged the young republic into turmoil. In the months that followed, intrigue and revenge consumed the state. On 3 November, four national leaders—Syed Nazrul Islam, Tajuddin Ahmad, M. Mansur Ali and A. H. M. Qamaruzzaman—were brutally murdered inside Dhaka Central Jail. Khandaker Mushtaq Ahmed, a discredited figure from Mujib’s own inner circle, seized the presidency, deepening the nation’s distress as rival military factions vied for power.
National Revolution and Solidarity Day is more than a historical commemoration—it is a moral reckoning. It challenges leaders to learn from history rather than repeat it, and it reminds citizens that democracy survives only when they are vigilant enough to defend it.
Amid this chaos, Major General Ziaur Rahman, a decorated freedom fighter and respected military officer, was placed under house arrest by a faction led by Brigadier Khaled Mosharraf. The move provoked deep resentment among rank-and-file soldiers and civilians who regarded Zia as a symbol of integrity and courage. Tensions reached breaking point on 7 November, when soldiers and citizens joined forces to free Zia—an act that would forever alter the course of Bangladesh’s history.
Dhaka erupted with the cry of “Sepoy–Janata Zindabad!” as tanks rolled through the streets and citizens poured out in solidarity. For many, it was a spontaneous uprising of unity and resistance—a people’s revolt against a faltering and fragmented regime. Zia’s release became a beacon of hope amid uncertainty. To his supporters, he represented discipline, stability, and the promise of a nation ready to rise above factionalism.
The day would later be enshrined as National Revolution and Solidarity Day—a symbol of the unbreakable bond between the armed forces and the people. For the BNP, which Zia would later found, 7 November remains a cornerstone of its political identity: a living testament to the people’s power to resist tyranny and reclaim their dignity.
Yet 7 November also serves as a sobering reminder of how easily democracy can be undermined when power becomes an obsession rather than a duty. The revolution was not only about liberation—it was also about betrayal, bloodshed, and the enduring struggle to define Bangladesh’s political soul.
Ziaur Rahman’s rise in the aftermath of 7 November was marked by a relentless pursuit of stability in a nation torn between anarchy and dictatorship. His leadership embodied the spirit of reconstruction. Like Churchill in Britain’s darkest hour, Zia urged his people to unite and rebuild. His timeless call—“Be united and work hard to take the country forward”—became a rallying cry for a weary and divided people.
Ziaur Rahman’s rise in the aftermath of 7 November was marked by a relentless pursuit of stability in a nation torn between anarchy and dictatorship. His leadership embodied the spirit of reconstruction. Like Churchill in Britain’s darkest hour, Zia urged his people to unite and rebuild. His timeless call—“Be united and work hard to take the country forward”—became a rallying cry for a weary and divided people.
Under Zia’s leadership, Bangladesh witnessed the restoration of multi-party politics, the revival of press freedom, and the launch of rural development programmes that transformed the socio-economic foundations of the nation. His policies emphasised decentralisation, self-reliance and grassroots empowerment, defining a pragmatic nationalism distinct from the ideological rigidity of earlier regimes.
For Zia, democracy was not a slogan but a discipline—anchored in accountability, productivity and national pride. His vision was of a Bangladesh that stood on its own feet, guided not by dependence but by the strength of its people’s ingenuity. Yet his journey was cut short. His assassination in 1981 once again exposed the perilous cycle of Bangladesh’s politics, where revolutions rarely end peacefully and often consume their own architects.
The spirit of 7 November resurfaced nearly fifty years later. The mass uprising of July 2024 bore the same unmistakable rhythm of resistance—a people’s movement against entrenched authoritarianism. After sixteen years of concentrated rule under Sheikh Hasina, the masses, joined by sections of the military, reclaimed their voice. The scenes were hauntingly familiar: civilians and soldiers standing shoulder to shoulder, demanding justice, renewal and democracy.
The parallels are striking. Both revolutions were fuelled by frustration at political exclusion, both sought the restoration of democratic rights, and both reaffirmed the enduring alliance between Bangladesh’s people and its armed forces. In each case, when the state turned deaf to dissent, the streets became the stage for the people’s verdict.
As Victor Hugo wrote in Les Misérables, “Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise.” For Bangladesh, 7 November and July 2024 represent such dawns—moments when the people, exhausted by oppression, refused to surrender their destiny. Their message is clear and timeless: democracy cannot be suppressed for ever.
Yet revolutions, however righteous, must evolve into responsible governance if they are to sustain their promise. The history of 7 November teaches that unity born in revolution must mature into politics grounded in inclusion, dialogue and accountability. Without that, the nation risks repeating the same cycle of hope and heartbreak.
As the political heir to Ziaur Rahman’s vision, the BNP faces a profound challenge: to translate that legacy into a modern democratic mission. It must prove that its commitment to democracy extends beyond rhetoric—that it can heal divisions, uphold accountability and chart a credible roadmap for national renewal. The lessons of 1975 and 2024 are not merely about toppling autocracy; they are about building institutions resilient enough to prevent its return.
Zia’s philosophy—rooted in nationalism, self-reliance and people’s empowerment—remains deeply relevant today. His call for unity and hard work should guide the present generation of leaders as they navigate a post-authoritarian transition. For democracy is not merely an electoral ritual; it is a covenant of trust between rulers and the ruled. When that trust is betrayed, revolutions become inevitable.
As William Faulkner observed, “The past is never dead. It’s not even past.” The spirit of 7 November continues to live in Bangladesh’s collective memory—a reminder that liberty must be defended continuously, not commemorated passively. Each generation inherits the unfinished struggle of the last and must decide whether to protect or squander that inheritance.
National Revolution and Solidarity Day is therefore more than a historical commemoration—it is a moral reckoning. It challenges leaders to learn from history rather than repeat it, and it reminds citizens that democracy survives only when they are vigilant enough to defend it.
Bangladesh’s long march—from the turmoil of 1975 to the upheaval of 2024—reveals a pattern that is both inspiring and cautionary. Revolutions ignite hope, but only integrity and institution-building can preserve it. The ultimate lesson of 7 November is not about bloodshed or power—it is about resilience.
As the nation reflects on this day, it must remember that the price of freedom is eternal vigilance. Democracy demands courage, discipline and an unwavering commitment to justice. Forgetting that lesson invites history to repeat itself. Learning from it ensures that the heartbeat of the people—the rhythm of revolution—will always beat in the service of freedom, not in the shadow of fear.
( The writer is the Editor of THE BANGLADESH EXPRESS, the Founder Chairman of Bangladesh Journalists’ Foundation For Consumers & Investors (BJFCI) and Former Information and Research Secretary of JASAS Central Committee. He may be reached at email: [email protected]).
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“Revolutions are not singular events; they are the heartbeat of the oppressed rising again and again.”
Nowhere does this truth pulse more fiercely than in Bangladesh—a land where the cry for justice and democracy refuses to fade. How many times must a nation rise from the depths of despair and repression before its rulers finally hear the heartbeat of its people?
Time and again, Bangladeshis have surged forward in waves of courage and defiance—each uprising a reminder that the nation’s spirit can be silenced, but never subdued. Two moments stand as shining testaments to that resilience: the revolution of 7 November 1975 and the mass uprising of July 2024.
The National Revolution and Solidarity Day, observed on 7 November 1975, remains one of the most decisive—and debated—turning points in Bangladesh’s history. On that day, ordinary citizens and patriotic soldiers rose together against tyranny, reclaiming their right to shape the nation’s destiny. Nearly half a century later, the mass upheaval of July 2024 echoed that same defiant energy. Both movements were born of a shared impulse: the rejection of autocracy and the reassertion of the people’s sovereignty.
Power, when unchecked, blinds its holders to the lessons of their downfall. Leaders who ignore history often forfeit the future, and nations that forget their past risk losing their identity. As Bangladesh marks this day, the nationalist forces led by the Bangladesh Nationalist Party (BNP) commemorate not just an event, but an ideal—the enduring belief that freedom and justice must never bow before fear or force. The BNP’s ten-day observance of 7 November is not merely ceremonial; it is a reaffirmation of the principles that ignited the 1975 revolution and remain vital in the continuing struggle for political accountability.
The story of 7 November was forged in crisis. Bangladesh had already endured the tragic assassination of its founding leader, Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, on 15 August 1975—a seismic event that plunged the young republic into turmoil. In the months that followed, intrigue and revenge consumed the state. On 3 November, four national leaders—Syed Nazrul Islam, Tajuddin Ahmad, M. Mansur Ali and A. H. M. Qamaruzzaman—were brutally murdered inside Dhaka Central Jail. Khandaker Mushtaq Ahmed, a discredited figure from Mujib’s own inner circle, seized the presidency, deepening the nation’s distress as rival military factions vied for power.
National Revolution and Solidarity Day is more than a historical commemoration—it is a moral reckoning. It challenges leaders to learn from history rather than repeat it, and it reminds citizens that democracy survives only when they are vigilant enough to defend it.
Amid this chaos, Major General Ziaur Rahman, a decorated freedom fighter and respected military officer, was placed under house arrest by a faction led by Brigadier Khaled Mosharraf. The move provoked deep resentment among rank-and-file soldiers and civilians who regarded Zia as a symbol of integrity and courage. Tensions reached breaking point on 7 November, when soldiers and citizens joined forces to free Zia—an act that would forever alter the course of Bangladesh’s history.
Dhaka erupted with the cry of “Sepoy–Janata Zindabad!” as tanks rolled through the streets and citizens poured out in solidarity. For many, it was a spontaneous uprising of unity and resistance—a people’s revolt against a faltering and fragmented regime. Zia’s release became a beacon of hope amid uncertainty. To his supporters, he represented discipline, stability, and the promise of a nation ready to rise above factionalism.
The day would later be enshrined as National Revolution and Solidarity Day—a symbol of the unbreakable bond between the armed forces and the people. For the BNP, which Zia would later found, 7 November remains a cornerstone of its political identity: a living testament to the people’s power to resist tyranny and reclaim their dignity.
Yet 7 November also serves as a sobering reminder of how easily democracy can be undermined when power becomes an obsession rather than a duty. The revolution was not only about liberation—it was also about betrayal, bloodshed, and the enduring struggle to define Bangladesh’s political soul.
Ziaur Rahman’s rise in the aftermath of 7 November was marked by a relentless pursuit of stability in a nation torn between anarchy and dictatorship. His leadership embodied the spirit of reconstruction. Like Churchill in Britain’s darkest hour, Zia urged his people to unite and rebuild. His timeless call—“Be united and work hard to take the country forward”—became a rallying cry for a weary and divided people.
Ziaur Rahman’s rise in the aftermath of 7 November was marked by a relentless pursuit of stability in a nation torn between anarchy and dictatorship. His leadership embodied the spirit of reconstruction. Like Churchill in Britain’s darkest hour, Zia urged his people to unite and rebuild. His timeless call—“Be united and work hard to take the country forward”—became a rallying cry for a weary and divided people.
Under Zia’s leadership, Bangladesh witnessed the restoration of multi-party politics, the revival of press freedom, and the launch of rural development programmes that transformed the socio-economic foundations of the nation. His policies emphasised decentralisation, self-reliance and grassroots empowerment, defining a pragmatic nationalism distinct from the ideological rigidity of earlier regimes.
For Zia, democracy was not a slogan but a discipline—anchored in accountability, productivity and national pride. His vision was of a Bangladesh that stood on its own feet, guided not by dependence but by the strength of its people’s ingenuity. Yet his journey was cut short. His assassination in 1981 once again exposed the perilous cycle of Bangladesh’s politics, where revolutions rarely end peacefully and often consume their own architects.
The spirit of 7 November resurfaced nearly fifty years later. The mass uprising of July 2024 bore the same unmistakable rhythm of resistance—a people’s movement against entrenched authoritarianism. After sixteen years of concentrated rule under Sheikh Hasina, the masses, joined by sections of the military, reclaimed their voice. The scenes were hauntingly familiar: civilians and soldiers standing shoulder to shoulder, demanding justice, renewal and democracy.
The parallels are striking. Both revolutions were fuelled by frustration at political exclusion, both sought the restoration of democratic rights, and both reaffirmed the enduring alliance between Bangladesh’s people and its armed forces. In each case, when the state turned deaf to dissent, the streets became the stage for the people’s verdict.
As Victor Hugo wrote in Les Misérables, “Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise.” For Bangladesh, 7 November and July 2024 represent such dawns—moments when the people, exhausted by oppression, refused to surrender their destiny. Their message is clear and timeless: democracy cannot be suppressed for ever.
Yet revolutions, however righteous, must evolve into responsible governance if they are to sustain their promise. The history of 7 November teaches that unity born in revolution must mature into politics grounded in inclusion, dialogue and accountability. Without that, the nation risks repeating the same cycle of hope and heartbreak.
As the political heir to Ziaur Rahman’s vision, the BNP faces a profound challenge: to translate that legacy into a modern democratic mission. It must prove that its commitment to democracy extends beyond rhetoric—that it can heal divisions, uphold accountability and chart a credible roadmap for national renewal. The lessons of 1975 and 2024 are not merely about toppling autocracy; they are about building institutions resilient enough to prevent its return.
Zia’s philosophy—rooted in nationalism, self-reliance and people’s empowerment—remains deeply relevant today. His call for unity and hard work should guide the present generation of leaders as they navigate a post-authoritarian transition. For democracy is not merely an electoral ritual; it is a covenant of trust between rulers and the ruled. When that trust is betrayed, revolutions become inevitable.
As William Faulkner observed, “The past is never dead. It’s not even past.” The spirit of 7 November continues to live in Bangladesh’s collective memory—a reminder that liberty must be defended continuously, not commemorated passively. Each generation inherits the unfinished struggle of the last and must decide whether to protect or squander that inheritance.
National Revolution and Solidarity Day is therefore more than a historical commemoration—it is a moral reckoning. It challenges leaders to learn from history rather than repeat it, and it reminds citizens that democracy survives only when they are vigilant enough to defend it.
Bangladesh’s long march—from the turmoil of 1975 to the upheaval of 2024—reveals a pattern that is both inspiring and cautionary. Revolutions ignite hope, but only integrity and institution-building can preserve it. The ultimate lesson of 7 November is not about bloodshed or power—it is about resilience.
As the nation reflects on this day, it must remember that the price of freedom is eternal vigilance. Democracy demands courage, discipline and an unwavering commitment to justice. Forgetting that lesson invites history to repeat itself. Learning from it ensures that the heartbeat of the people—the rhythm of revolution—will always beat in the service of freedom, not in the shadow of fear.
( The writer is the Editor of THE BANGLADESH EXPRESS, the Founder Chairman of Bangladesh Journalists’ Foundation For Consumers & Investors (BJFCI) and Former Information and Research Secretary of JASAS Central Committee. He may be reached at email: [email protected]).
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