Only a handful of individuals in Bangladesh possess the capacity to move public sentiment simply through their presence. Khaleda Zia remains one of them. The scenes unfolding over recent days around the former prime minister, now critically ill in a Dhaka hospital, attest to the deep emotional connection she continues to inspire.
People from diverse walks of life have gathered along pavements, courtyards and nearby streets – some with hands raised in prayer, others silently offering respect to a woman who has stood at the centre of the country’s turbulent political journey for decades.
Whatever one’s political position, the emotion surrounding her signals something profound: for countless Bangladeshis, Khaleda Zia still personifies the nation’s democratic yearning. Their affection lives in memory.
Few recall that before rising to political prominence in South Asia, she lived a modest life. The assassination of her husband, President Ziaur Rahman, pushed her unexpectedly into the political arena. Nevertheless, she went on to lead the Bangladesh Nationalist Party (BNP). She endured arrest, surveillance and threats, becoming an unforeseen emblem of resistance against the military regime of Hussain Muhammad Ershad.
She led mass movements, faced repeated detentions and spent long spells in solitude. Yet she never bowed before authoritarian rule. Her role in the popular uprising that toppled the military government in 1990 was significant. Her election as prime minister in 1991 marked the revival of parliamentary democracy after extended military dominance.
Her governance focused on practical concerns: food-for-education programmes, rural service initiatives, employment generation and structural reforms that gradually steered Bangladesh towards a more liberal economy.
Some critics labelled her cautious, while supporters saw her as steady and composed. But her leadership broke ground in a society deeply rooted in patriarchy. She occupies an exceptional position in South Asian political history as one of the earliest democratically elected female leaders in the Muslim world. Her leadership lacked the hallmarks of a personality cult; she neither belonged to a dynastic line nor displayed imperial authority.
While Sheikh Hasina’s leadership is often portrayed as centralised and forceful, Khaleda’s approach is markedly different – understated, balanced and reserved. Many therefore affectionately refer to her as the ‘gentle lady’, a term denoting grace rather than fragility. Her legacy is both political and emotional. For those who experienced the democratic shifts of the 1980s and 1990s, her leadership evokes a period when democratic space, though imperfect, felt more open, diverse and tolerant.
Thus, the crowds gathering near her hospital bed reflect more than concern for her health; they represent a longing for a political culture free from vindictiveness, repression and intolerance.
Public response to her illness has become an unspoken acknowledgement – a remembering of her contributions and a yearning for civility in politics. Even those who never supported her speak with respect, while former adversaries now pray for her recovery. Political rivalry often obscures such sentiments, but moments like this reveal that some leaders become part of a nation’s shared memory, even for opponents.
Notably, these expressions of support carry no hostility. Bangladesh has experienced severe political polarisation, divided for years between the Hasina and Khaleda camps. Yet her illness has temporarily softened these divisions, reminding many that before facing prosecution or political humiliation, she was a woman who endured immense personal tragedy, political turbulence and public scrutiny with quiet fortitude.
Her humanity has shaped her political legacy. She was never authoritarian, nor a fiery speaker. She did not turn the political stage into spectacle. She governed with a serene, maternal dignity that touched the hearts of ordinary people.
Outside the hospital, people do not speak of ideology but of respect and civility. They see her as someone who remained a symbol of humanity within a harsh political climate.
Whether she recovers or not, her legacy will endure. Bangladesh will remember her not only as a political figure but as a guardian of civic aspiration – a leader whose humility defined her style.
To many, she represents an alternative model of leadership – less vengeful, less calculating. Even in frailty, she remains an object of public respect.
Perhaps this is the ultimate assessment of a political life – not the offices held or years spent in power, but the emotional depth one carves into the nation’s collective memory.
(The writer is the Press Minister at the Bangladesh High Commission in New Delhi. This article is a translation of his work published in Asia Times.)
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