As Bangladesh moves toward its 2026 general elections, a troubling silence persists in political commentary and public discourse. It is not about parties or manifestos, but about people—communities that have remained invisible for more than half a century. The question that deserves to be asked, but rarely is, remains stark: who speaks today for Bangladesh’s Bihari community?
For over fifty years, Urdu-speaking Biharis—non-Bengalis rendered stateless in the aftermath of 16 December 1971—have lived at the margins of Bangladeshi society. Accused collectively of collaboration with Pakistan during the war of independence, they were confined to makeshift settlements that hardened into permanent camps, spaces of administrative ambiguity and social exclusion.
Pakistan, expected to repatriate those who identified with it, absorbed only a fraction—around 170,000—between the mid-1970s and early 1980s. Hundreds of thousands were left behind, stranded in a political no-man’s-land: unwelcome in Pakistan, unintegrated in Bangladesh. This abandonment was not accidental; it was sustained through inertia, convenience, and selective silence.
Legal progress in Bangladesh has been halting and uneven. A 2003 High Court ruling granted citizenship to a limited category of camp residents born after 1971. A broader 2008 judgment extended voting rights and citizenship recognition to many others, yet those who were adults at the time of the war remain trapped in ambiguity. Citizenship, for many Biharis, exists on paper but not in lived reality.
This stagnation is striking given Bangladesh’s political churn. Between 1971 and 2024, the country experienced nearly fifteen governing authorities—civilian, military, and caretaker alike. Yet across regimes and ideologies, the outcome for Biharis scarcely changed. Their marginalisation proved remarkably durable, surviving democratic transitions and authoritarian interludes alike.
As the 2026 elections approach, there is a real risk that these communities will once again be instrumentalised—or simply ignored. This fear is not speculative; it is rooted in patterns that have repeated themselves for decades.
First, Pakistan’s abdication of moral responsibility has removed a crucial layer of accountability. Symbolic statements have replaced sustained advocacy. With flights operating and diplomatic channels open, there is no longer a logistical barrier to repatriation for those who wish it. The delay is political, not practical. In its absence, the Bihari issue slips off Dhaka’s agenda, leaving courts—rather than elected leaders—as the sole arena of redress.
Second, selective historical memory continues to cloud accountability. Political figures are admired without reckoning with their historical roles, while uncomfortable chapters are smoothed over in the name of national unity. This sanitisation erases responsibility and trivialises the suffering of those who paid the price for political realignments. For many, the enduring pain lies not only in exclusion, but in the bitter irony that loyalty was punished while defection was rewarded.
Third, journalism has largely retreated from this subject. In private, reporters concede that such narratives are discouraged. On television screens and editorial pages, silence prevails. The result is a double erasure: from history and from contemporary politics. As elections near, invisibility itself becomes a mechanism of marginalisation.
Fourth, the pursuit of diplomatic “normalisation” has come at the cost of truth. Forward-looking relations between states cannot be built on the burial of betrayal and collective punishment. Reconciliation without acknowledgement is not reconciliation; it is amnesia.
Even Islamist political parties in Pakistan—often vocal on identity and solidarity—have failed to champion the cause of the stranded Biharis. This failure exposes a harsh reality: shared faith or historical alignment does not automatically translate into political protection. Justice cannot be deferred indefinitely under the guise of diplomacy or pragmatism.
Today, bilateral engagement between Pakistan and Bangladesh is increasingly transactional. Trade, military cooperation, cricket, and cultural exchanges dominate headlines. These may yield strategic or economic dividends, but they leave unresolved the social injustices that do not offer immediate utility. Communities that cannot be monetised are easily sidelined.
The irony is painful. Generations in Pakistan were taught that Bengalis fought for liberation because they were marginalised by distant elites. History has turned cruelly circular. Today, those speaking Bangla appear on screens fluent in Urdu, shaking hands across borders, while the descendants of those who remained loyal live confined in camps.
Choosing peace over prejudice is wise and necessary. But peace that rests on exclusion is fragile. What justification remains for denying structural, symbolic, and societal inclusion to a population that has already endured decades of disownment?
Bangladesh now faces a moral and political test. The Bihari question is not a relic of 1971; it is a living indictment of selective memory and transactional diplomacy. Leadership that claims moral authority cannot allow this population to be forgotten yet again.
Citizenship must be more than documentation. Housing, education, employment, and civic participation must accompany legal recognition. Anything less is partial justice.
The 2026 elections offer Bangladesh an opportunity—not merely to count votes, but to correct history. To embrace the third generation of camp-born Biharis as equal citizens would not weaken the nation’s liberation narrative; it would mature it. It would demonstrate confidence, empathy, and moral clarity.
Being disowned is among the most enduring injustices. Bangladesh has a chance—perhaps its last—to ensure that this injustice is not repeated. If liberation once meant breaking free from domination, perhaps true victory now lies in refusing to perpetuate exclusion.
History’s unfinished work still waits. The ballot box in 2026 can either ignore it—or finally bring it to a close.
