Khaleda Zia as a shaper of history

The death of Khaleda Zia on December 30, 2025, has prompted an outpouring of emotion and political remembrance, and for good reason. But much of that remembrance remains trapped in familiar binaries: rivalry versus reconciliation, hero versus villain, victory versus defeat. What is often missing from these reactions is a more sobering question: beyond political triumphs and losses as well as personal animosities, what did she contribute to our democratic architecture?

The truth is, Khaleda Zia has been a big influence on our democratic journey, as her leadership coincided with—and at times influenced—critical democratic pivot points in Bangladesh: the fall of military rule, the restoration of parliamentary government, and the search for procedural solutions during crises of electoral legitimacy.

It would not be an exaggeration to say that her entry into politics was triggered by a rupture. Following President Ziaur Rahman's assassination in 1981, she transitioned from a private life into a hostile political arena. By the late 1980s, under military ruler HM Ershad, opposition politics needed not only sustained dissent but also proper coordination. Khaleda Zia became a central figure in alliance-based mobilisation against the regime, particularly through the BNP-led coalition. The anti-Ershad movement culminated in his resignation in December 1990, restoring democracy and electoral politics.

Her role in that transition remains one of her core achievements. Bangladesh then moved towards the 1991 elections. Khaleda Zia became prime minister in March 1991. The key question then was one of constitutional design: would Bangladesh remain effectively presidential in its concentration of power, or return to a parliamentary system in which executive authority is directly accountable to the legislature? The Twelfth Amendment of 1991 reintroduced parliamentary government, reducing the presidency to a largely ceremonial role. It proceeded through a rare moment of multi-party cooperation. In a country where politics often treats opposition as an enemy rather than a competitor, this stands out as a meaningful, if fragile, democratic norm.

If her first term symbolised the return of parliamentarism, her decision in 1996 regarding electoral administration points to another democratic contribution that deserves mention. The demand for a neutral electoral environment grew out of the lived experiences of mistrust, political violence, and fears that incumbents would rig the rules of competition. During the 1996 crisis, Khaleda Zia's government faced mounting pressure over election legitimacy and moved towards institutionalising a caretaker framework to oversee elections. Even those who debate the long-term consequences of caretaker politics can recognise the democratic logic of that moment.

Her second term, from 2001 to 2006, unfolded amid major disputes over the state's coercive capacities. Critics often highlighted rising polarisation and the corrosive normalisation of winner-takes-all instincts. The point here is not to offer either a hymn or an indictment, but to recognise how her career illuminates a persistent truth: in weakly institutionalised democracies, leaders can simultaneously defend electoral competition and damage democratic culture.

That is why the moments following Khaleda Zia's death felt politically significant. The millions who gathered at her namaz-e-janaza, the state-declared mourning period, and the visits of international dignitaries were more than rituals of respect. They served as public affirmations that a vast number of people regarded her as an inseparable part of the republic's democratic heritage. Some mourners called her "mother"—a term that is emotional, yes, but also political, a homage to a legacy of protection, sacrifice, and moral claim. Such endearments do not settle the historical debate surrounding her eventful career, but they do show her impact.

So how should one remember her? Not as a saint, and not as a villain. She should be remembered as an agent of democratic reopening in 1990, as an architect of parliamentary restoration in 1991, and as a leader whose choices during moments of legitimacy crisis helped keep competitive politics from collapsing into pure chaos.

Bangladesh has often treated politics as a battlefield where the goal is to eliminate the rival, not to out-argue them. Khaleda Zia's life both embodied that tragedy and, at key moments, resisted it through rule-making and the transfer of authority. So if her death is to mean something beyond mourning, it should serve as a prompt to rebuild the democratic ethic that institutions require: an opposition that is legitimate, competition bounded by rules, and power that is temporary by design.

Arifur Rahaman is a PhD student of political science at the University of Alabama, USA.

Views expressed in this article are the author's own. 

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