It’s striking that Khondaker Mostaq Ahmad has resurfaced in the national conversation after decades of near-silence, resurrected by a recent passing anecdote in the social media.

In my opinion, few figures in Bangladesh’s history evoke such paradox–-at once reviled, underestimated, instrumental, and quietly strategic.

During the Liberation War, he stood almost alone in recognizing the necessity of preserving the American channel. In a moment when the expatriate government tilted largely toward the Indian and Soviet blocs, Mostaq maintained a posture that was either prescient or opportunistic—depending on who’s telling the story.

Some accounts suggest he acted under party directive; others claim he was freelancing geopolitical diplomacy.

After independence, during Mujib’s tenure, he continued to cultivate Western connections—even as Tajuddin Ahmad, under pressure from New Delhi, curtailed his influence within the state.

One may contest his intentions, but not his grasp of the emerging global chessboard.

And then came August 1975. When the country found itself suddenly leaderless, Mostaq stepped into the vacuum—mostly as a caretaker of narrative and optics.

This is where the debate becomes uncomfortable: had Sheikh Mujib’s centrally concentrated rule lingered longer, Bangladesh may well have steered toward institutional collapse.

Mostaq’s intervention, however controversial, brought a modicum of civilian reconfiguration at a moment of dangerous military ascendance. If he did so while privately mourning Mujib as a mentor or paternal figure, that only compounds the tragedy—and the irony.

His political maneuvers after the coup however were methodical.

First came the reshuffling of the armed forces leadership, including the elevation of Ziaur Rahman—arguably Mostaq’s most consequential decision.

Then, the structural weakening of the Awami League which included detaining its senior leadership and neutralizing its organizational muscle. At the same time it ensured stripping it of succession capability, at least for a considerable time.

When the Khaled Mosharraf counter-coup emerged—whether truly “pro-Awami” or simply factional-military—it encountered a devastated civilian leadership bench.

There was no one left prepared to govern.

Historical assessment

To reassess Mostaq is not to sanitize him. He remains a deeply polarizing figure, associated with betrayal and constitutional mutilation.

But it’s also intellectually lazy to flatten him into a caricature. He was neither merely a villain nor merely a schemer—he was an agent of realpolitik in a country still struggling to understand its own identity and sovereignty.

And leverage between East and West.

History seldom gives clean heroes or pure antagonists. Mostaq stands as proof that Bangladesh’s political foundations were shaped by the uncomfortable mechanics of power–-who understood it, who wielded it, and who was willing to bear the historical blame for doing so.

Even if Mostaq never personally harvested the political dividends of his actions, those who came after him certainly did.

The generation that followed was spared the burden of competing against the heavyweight Awami League leadership that once dominated the national stage.

Instead, comparatively moderate figures such as Malek Ukil and Asaduzzaman Khan helmed the party in diminished form, while politicians like Mizanur Rahman Chowdhury migrated to alliances with Ershad—vindicating the effectiveness of Mostaq’s earlier political neutralization.

It is also likely that Mostaq was the first to institutionalize the shift from “Joy Bangla” to “Bangladesh Zindabad,” embedding it into a formal presidential address.

What began as Major Dalim’s rhetorical flourish became, through Mostaq, a sanctioned slogan of state—a subtle but symbolic recalibration of national sentiment.

Yet the most fascinating chapter of his story arrives later. After the November shift in power, he was jailed by Khaled Mosharraf. Under Zia, he was imprisoned again—this time on allegations of conspiracy and corruption.

Multiple coup attempts rattled the armed forces during Ziaur Rahman’s tenure, and if the accusations are grounded in fact, then Mostaq may have been one of the few civilian politicians of that era who remained consistently and actively opposed to the permanence of military rule.

Seeing through the veneered lense

My own view is that Mostaq possessed a deeper grasp of the political psyche of “Bangul-land” [pejorative term to portray the madness in Bangladesh] than many of the celebrated figures of his generation.

His reputation for maintaining “foreign lobbies” made him too unpredictable….and too connected for the prevailing power brokers to risk leaving him free.

After half a decade behind bars, any pathway back to national relevance had already closed. Ershad may have finally released him—but tellingly, never once considered him an ally.

In the end, Mostaq occupies that peculiar space in history reserved for those who changed the direction of a nation—without ever securing their own place within its rewards.

In the final 15 or so years of his life, Mostaq receded into near anonymity, living quietly on Aga Masih Lane in Old Dhaka like any other aging resident of the neighborhood. He died there on March 5, 1996, at 78—just months before the election of June 12 ushered Sheikh Hasina into power for the first time.

I’ve often wondered whether history—or fate—granted him a gentler end than what befell many others implicated in the Mujib assassination, perhaps in recognition of actions or intentions more layered than his public legacy suggests.

In the post-Hasina political era, as shallow commentary and meme-driven narratives have turned once-obscure figures into Gen-Z folklore, I kept expecting a more thoughtful reassessment of Mostaq’s place in national memory.

Perhaps that reassessment is finally taking shape. His misfortune is that he never wrote his own account—and no chronicler ever fully attempted it for him. In almost any other country, a figure with his geopolitical imprint would have drawn scholarly treatment, not just partisan condemnation.

If nothing else, it’s worth acknowledging the irony: the very behaviors for which Mostaq is vilified—pragmatic alliances and political opportunism—have since become standard operating procedure for Bangladesh’s ruling class.

One could even argue that Mostaq’s breed of realpolitik—however flawed—yielded structural outcomes that served the state. The politics of many who followed, by contrast, have produced the familiar parade of rent-seeking: licenses, permits, monopolies, the quiet foreign suburbs of Begumpara, and grand-scale capital flight.

History doesn’t absolve Mostaq. But perhaps it’s finally ready to study him with honesty rather than reflex.

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Nayel Rahman is a political analyst