It is a true tragedy when a weapon, sharpened diligently to eliminate opponents, returns as a fatal boomerang. The fluctuating significance of the terms “Razakar” and “Muktijoddha” in Bangladeshi politics over the past five decades mirrors such a tragedy. This saga has culminated in a definitive closure through the recent student movement, which has left hundreds dead, and thousands wounded, arrested, or missing – often bearing the marks of pathological violence.
The term “Razakar” (literally “volunteers” but meaning “traitors” or “collaborators” in Bangladesh’s context) gained currency during Bangladeshis’ nine-month war of independence against Pakistan, which began on March 26, 1971. The Razakars collaborated with the Pakistan Army, which committed genocidal atrocities.
However, from the beginning the term carried complexities. Some Razakars were not defenders of the Pakistani state or its ideology but were motivated by financial gain and personal vendettas. Others enlisted under pressure and threats, to save their and their family members’ lives. Intriguingly, many enlisted to turn the system in their favor to save their community or neighborhood. Some in this category even included the Muktijoddhas (freedom fighters of 1971). The term “Razakar” thus became a symbol of both extreme brutality and a strategy to survive in a volatile time.
When Sheikh Mujibur Rahman returned to Bangladesh as its prime minister after being imprisoned in Pakistan during the war, he was embroiled in the ambivalence surrounding the category of Razakar. Recognizing the need for unity in a post-war country and the fluid context in which Razakars operated under different circumstances, he offered a general amnesty to Razakars and other collaborators following some trials.
Of the approximately 35,000 to 40,000 Razakars (including those merely “registered for investigation”), about 20,000 were arrested, and fewer than 1,000 were convicted. A vast majority of those convicted received general amnesty.
Rahman’s government even extended amnesty to the masterminds of the Razakar forces and other collaborator agencies, including the two wartime governors in Dhaka, General Tikka Khan and Abdul Malik. In his December 15, 1973, meeting with a British diplomat, Rahman said he was “genuinely pleased” when he learned that the amnesty for collaborators had been welcomed in London. He remarked that he liked “doing kind-hearted things,” and believed the “time had come to give these people another chance and let them do some useful work.”
This earlier and less celebrated version of Nelson Mandela’s Truth and Reconciliation efforts reflected a pragmatic approach, acknowledging the need for unity in a war-ravaged country.
The concept of Razakar took on a strange afterlife in the 1990s, when old wartime group identities were revived to gain political leverage. This flared up around the question of a “quota” system in public sector recruitment reserved for the Muktijoddhas (freedom fighters) who gallantly fought for Bangladesh’s independence.
According to Awami League government sources, the number of Muktijoddhas in 1971 ranged between 70,000 and 190,000, at most. Taking the highest estimate, this constituted 0.27 percent of the population of 70 million in 1972. After the war, Muktijoddhas were rightfully honored for their sacrifices with titles, awards, and allowances. In addition to these well-deserved privileges, 30 percent of public sector jobs were reserved for this 0.27 percent of the population. While this seems disproportionately large – and was not called for by the Muktijoddhas themselves – the discrepancy remained largely unnoticed due to the empathy and respect the veterans earned through their selfless contributions during the war.
By the third anniversary of Bangladesh’s independence in 1974, both the Razakar and Muktijoddha issues were largely laid to rest. With the passing of the first generation, these issues should have run their natural course. However, the current ruling establishment, tempted by the political benefits of this institutionalized patron-clientage system, retained the 30 percent quota for the children of the Muktijoddhas in 1997 and extended it to their grandchildren in 2009.
Despite the inclusion of their grandchildren, about 29 percent of the quota positions remain unaccounted for. So, who fills these vacant positions?
Over the years, these quotas have been overwhelmingly filled by Awami League supporters, resulting in appointments across various sectors including the administrative branches, judiciary, military, police, educational institutions from primary to university levels, as well as in every other conceivable area of governance.
If nearly 30 percent of government jobs are filled by the Awami League supporters under the Muktijoddha quota, the remaining positions have also largely become inaccessible due to an abstract notion of “Muktijuddher chetona” (Spirit of the Liberation War). This “spirit” effectively brands anyone not loyal to the Awami League as Razakar, with loyalty checks often extending two to three generations.
This injustice and marginalization appeared increasingly untenable in recent years, especially as the unemployment rate soared from 2.9 percent in 2009 (when the quota was extended to the grandchildren of freedom fighters) to a conservative estimate of 5.1 percent in 2023. In Bangladesh, where Gen Z stands at the center of the demographic dividend with their versatility, willingness to face fair competition, and fearless quest for justice, the students and youths found themselves burdened by this colossal discrimination and violation of both the national constitution and the Universal Declaration of Human Rights regarding fair employment opportunities.
So when, in late July 2024, the prime minister of Bangladesh castigated the students demanding reforms to the quota system as “Razakar’s progeny,” she represented merely a quarter of a percent of job aspirants against more than 99 percent. It was hardly surprising that the students, with an ironic twist, responded with chants like: “Who am I? Who are you? Razakar, Razakar!” “We demanded our rightful claim but got branded as Razakar!” and “Razakar, Razakar. Who said so? Who said so? Dictator, Dictator!”
This is how the hegemonic weapon of “Razakar,” which the current establishment has wielded for decades, has come back to haunt it. The government finally agreed to reform the quota system following a bloody battle against students, which university colleagues in Bangladesh have termed the “July Massacre.” But this does little to alter the larger context in which this movement has taken place, because the quota system is not merely a plot but a symptom of a wider challenge facing Bangladesh.
The “freedom fighter quota,” underpinned by an abstract concept of the “Spirit of the Liberation War,” essentially serves as an incentive to secure the loyalty of students and youths, ultimately transforming each jobholder appointed under this system into a cog of Bangladesh’s autocratic machine. For a government that has lost domestic and international support through fraudulent elections, massive corruption, and severe human rights violations, this patron-client system is one of the last mechanisms it clings to in order to perpetuate power.
For the students, the quota system epitomizes systemic, institutional injustice and discrimination, further dividing a nation already strained politically and economically. A new Gen Z resistance has been a long time coming. The binary and divisive labels of “Razakar” and “Muktijoddha” will not deter the youths from pursuing an inclusive, fair, and just society. The Gen Z Spring is here to stay, whoever is in power.