A psychological reset for BNP, a moment of political recalibration for Bangladesh

Political parties, like individuals, sometimes require a psychological reset. For BNP, that moment arrived on Thursday. For most of the past decade, the party has been steered from afar by its acting chairman, Tarique Rahman, while in exile in London. His return marks a long-awaited exhilaration—especially for grassroots supporters who, year after year, had held their breath—and a historic moment for the nation.

Rahman landed in Dhaka accompanied by his wife, Zubaida Rahman, their daughter, Zaima, and—to the delight of his social media followers—the family cat. The symbolism was heavy. Just outside the airport terminal, the 60-year-old leader paused to stand barefoot, a gesture of reverence for the soil from which he had been absent for 17 years, before boarding a bulletproof bus that carried him in a festive procession to a reception venue. There, he addressed a sea of supporters. It was a grounding moment in every sense, bringing to an end a period of suspended animation that began with his departure to the UK in 2008 and worsened under Sheikh Hasina's authoritarian rule.

His return may help restore a measure of equilibrium to a fractured political landscape, but the road home was shaped by a new reality. Following Hasina's ouster last year, Rahman was relieved of politically motivated convictions in a litany of cases. Upon landing, he thanked Chief Adviser Muhammad Yunus by phone from the airport lounge for the security provided to him and his family. When he finally addressed the crowd, the most resonant passage of his speech came when he promised to build a "safe Bangladesh"—the basic concept of security that has felt elusive recently. He painted a picture of a nation free from the violence that has stalked its streets. He envisioned a nation where "every woman, man, and child can leave home and return safely."

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Tarique Rahman and the question of political renewal

Rahman called for unity rather than vengeance. His tone was inclusive and forward-looking as he sketched a vision of the country's recovery. Playing on the famous words of Martin Luther King Jr., he declared, "I have a plan. I have a plan for the people of my country." It was a deliberate rhetorical pivot—from grievance to governance. He also recalled the martyrdom of Sharif Osman Hadi in his struggle to restore democratic rights.

His emphasis on pluralism was also striking. "Just as there are people of the hills in this country, similarly there are people of the plain lands," he said, explicitly embracing Bangladesh's religious and ethnic mosaic—Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, and Christians alike. "We all want to build such a Bangladesh, the dream of which a mother sees," he added. The metaphor is politically astute. Rahman underscored the daunting demographics of the nation he hopes to lead: millions of young people and children, and a female population that makes up half the country.

In a departure from the pomp of the past, Rahman sat on a simple, unadorned wooden chair at the reception venue. It was a calculated visual metaphor: a rejection of the "throne" mentality that has long plagued the country's leadership.

The exile is over. Rahman's physical presence now serves as a counterweight to the swelling influence of rival political actors. The challenges ahead are immense, but as his bulletproof bus wound its way through cheering crowds in Dhaka, the prevailing mood was one of palpable relief. He is rightly credited with preserving party unity through the lean years of opposition. His second act—now waiting to play out on home soil ahead of a February election—will depend on whether he can charm a new generation and convince a nation emerging from trauma that he represents a fresh start, rather than a return to business as usual.