A wave of politically driven renaming across Bangladesh after 5 August 2024 has raised serious fears of historical revisionism and a deliberate attempt to weaken the legacy of the Liberation War. What began as scattered administrative changes has grown into a nationwide debate over memory, identity and the political ownership of history. In the Month of Victory, when Bangladesh reflects on the Liberation War and honors the sacrifices of its martyrs, a deeply contentious decision by the Dhaka North City Corporation has reignited public anger.
Abdul Latif Road, a major thoroughfare stretching from Kasai Bari to Kanchkura Bazar and named after a martyred freedom fighter, has been renamed Muhammadullah Hafezzi Huzur Sarani. The new namesake is a religious figure with no connection to the locality and was opposed to the Liberation War, and many citizens view him as aligned with the anti-liberation politics of the 1970s.
For freedom fighters’ families, historians and civil society groups, this change is not an isolated renaming. It represents an erosion of the republic’s moral foundation. The Liberation War is the heart of Bangladesh’s national identity. To remove the name of a fallen hero and replace it with that of a figure linked to pro-Pakistani or anti-independence sentiment is regarded as a symbolic attack on the spirit of 1971.
Across the country, similar examples have surfaced since August 2024. Residents and observers point to roads, public buildings and local landmarks being renamed without consultation. Military bases and institutions have also undergone sweeping changes. In March 2025, eight major military establishments were re-designated, with proposals to rename sixteen more. Civil establishments linked to leaders of recent decades have similarly been retitled.
Urban spaces have been reshaped. Bangabandhu Avenue, one of Dhaka’s central roads, has been renamed as Shaheed Abrar Fahad Avenue. Analysts describe these changes as part of a broader dismantling of symbols tied to the Liberation War and key national figures. International reporting suggests that elements associated with Sheikh Mujibur Rahman’s legacy have been systematically removed from institutions, school curricula and public discourse since the 2024 political crisis.
Beyond renaming, many Bangladeshis are alarmed by direct damage to historical sites. The Bangabandhu Memorial Museum at Dhanmondi 32, steeped in the history of the nation and home to invaluable artefacts, was vandalized during the unrest of August 2024 and demolished a few months later. Murals, statues and monuments commemorating wartime sacrifice have also been defaced or destroyed in the volatile period that followed.
For ordinary citizens, these patterns are neither accidental nor isolated. They reflect a deeper struggle over the values that define Bangladesh. Public sentiment suggests a growing discomfort that the ideals of the Liberation War and the voices of progressive and secular communities are being deliberately sidelined. Groups long associated with anti-liberation politics, including factions linked to Jamaat-e-Islami and hardline religious ideologies, have begun to appear in influential roles, from local bodies to national advisory committees.
This shift in domestic politics is echoed in Bangladesh’s foreign relations. The warming of ties with Pakistan, a country whose military committed genocide and mass sexual violence against Bengali civilians in 1971, is viewed with unease by many. To those who lived through the war or lost family members to its brutality, watching anti-liberation elements regain influence feels like a painful reversal of everything won in 1971.
Critics warn that such changes amount to more than administrative adjustments. They fear an intentional rewriting of the country’s history. The removal of martyr names, the destruction of liberation monuments and the rise of anti-liberation actors together create the sense of a nation being steered away from its founding principles. Supporters of the changes often argue reasons of neutrality or bureaucratic uniformity, but for many Bangladeshis the reality feels different. They see a form of revisionism quietly unfolding.
As Bangladesh commemorates the Month of Victory, voices from across society are urging the authorities to halt these renaming and restore the names linked to the Liberation War. They argue that the memory of 1971 belongs not to any temporary political authority but to the people of Bangladesh.
At the same time, analysts and rights groups caution that the interim government, alongside influential Islamist allies, is showing signs of steering the country towards a more religiously driven model of governance. Many fear that this could open the door to policies shaped by Sharia-based frameworks, challenging the secular and democratic foundation on which Bangladesh was established.
The history of the nation bears the weight of immense sacrifice. Bangladesh emerged in 1971 through a people’s war, at the cost of nearly three million lives and the suffering of more than four lakh women. Out of this genocide came a promise: that the country would stand for secularism, democracy, justice and equality for all.
For those who carry the memory of 1971 in their families and in their hearts, the current shifts feel not only troubling but deeply painful. They see an ideological reversal underway, a movement away from the inclusive spirit of independence towards forces that once opposed the very birth of Bangladesh.
Bangladesh envisioned in 1971 was a nation rooted in freedom, human dignity and pluralism. Whether that vision endures in the coming years is now one of the most important questions facing the country.
Writer: Parvez Hashem, Lawyer and Human Rights Activist
