Unbowed and Undefeated

If Khaleda Zia’s politics is judged only by the arithmetic of power, it remains incomplete. Her politics was, at its core, the politics of moral standing, where the question was not what I got, but what I did not agree to become. In the language of philosophy, it was not the politics of outcome but the politics of principle. She felt that not all victories are visible, and not all defeats are truly defeats. She did not enter politics from the comfort of power’s inner chambers but by seeing the brutal reality of power. If her political life were to be summed up in one sentence, it could be: she did not do the politics of revenge but made her position clear through rejection. This rejection was simple, firm and above personal gain and loss.

That power changes people is almost a proverb in politics. But in the case of Khaleda Zia, the opposite appeared to be true. Power did not inflate her arrogance. She rarely spoke the language of vengeance, for she believed that revenge does not make politics bigger but diminishes it and that a society that makes revenge its policy ultimately consumes itself. Her politics, therefore, were in drawing boundaries, not in creating enemies, which had been evident even in the moments of political triumph. In a video message delivered at a BNP rally in Dhaka on 7 August 2024, following the ouster of the fascist Awami League government, she said, “Let us build a society based on love, peace and knowledge, not destruction.” The words were not an immediate strategy but rather a brief expression of his long political philosophy. It is noteworthy that she did not utter a single negative sentence about her main political rival. In Bangladeshi politics, where personal attacks have become almost the norm, this restraint is a statement in itself: power struggles do not mean hatred.

In the history of philosophy, “saying no” is often seen as the highest form of moral agency. The refusal to leave the country in 2007 or the boycott of the 2014 elections, many think, were strategically harmful but morally clear. She demonstrated that morality sometimes makes one lonely, yet it is the last refuge of integrity.

Her simplicity was not stylistic but philosophical. “I have no address outside the country,” she said once, which was more an assertion of identity than just a declaration of patriotism. For her identity was grounded in the territory and the people, not in the office; she could not imagine herself outside the country. In modern politics, where a safe exit option is often considered the last refuge of leaders, her refusal to do so was a kind of moral resistance. If politics is to be practised, she believed, it has to be practised on the soil; and if the consequences come, they have to be accepted here too. This inflexibility is not a dramatic bravery but a kind of silent self-respect.

Khaleda Zia’s rise in politics was neither scripted nor inevitable. After President Ziaur Rahman was killed in 1981, she found herself in a political reality where leadership meant a struggle for survival. The decision to boycott the 1986 elections during the anti-Ershad movement was the first major defining moment of her character. When others chose to take advantage of participation, she rejected what she saw as illegitimacy. It yielded no immediate reward but laid the foundation of her politics.

That same attitude reappeared most clearly before the 2014 elections. She remained steadfast in this position, saying that she would not participate without a neutral electoral framework. Reportedly, she was offered to share power in exchange for participation, which she declined. Putting everything at stake – ministerial influence and even the political future of the party – she said that if the elections were not acceptable, then power was worthless.

And, she paid the price for it. Imprisonment, lawsuits and loneliness followed her. Being the only prisoner in Dhaka Central Jail for a long time was a political reality, where compromise could have made the situation easier. Her words – “We don’t have to do anything; they will rot on their own” – were not a threat but an expression of faith in time as the ultimate arbiter of injustice. It is actually a kind of Stoic philosophy: the most effective response to injustice is not to corrupt oneself. It was with this belief that she accepted solitary confinement but did not bargain. Even in moments of humiliation in her personal life, she did not choose the language of revenge. Her tears during her eviction from her cantonment residence were a silent protest and a plea for justice to God.

Khaleda Zia’s politics were simple, but not easy. She took a clear stand instead of complex strategies. Rather than suppressing her opponents, she remained steadfast and showed that being tough in politics does not mean being cruel, and being inflexible does not mean being vindictive.

History may continue to debate the shortcomings of her governments. But there will be no disagreement about one thing: she never made politics a tool for personal revenge and did not abandon herself in the pursuits of power. She valued holding on to morality more than holding on to power, which is ultimately the hardest path. History will remember Khaleda Zia as a firm leader, one who knew that not all battles can be won but had to fight hard.