‘Bangladesh’s Prodigal Son’: A review of narrative, power, and politics

Charlie Campbell's essay 'Exclusive: Bangladesh's Prodigal Son', published in TIME magazine, has appeared at a critical juncture in Bangladesh's political history. It is a well-researched piece, fluent in narrative style and cognizant of geopolitical realities. 

The essay aptly situates Tarique Rahman's return within the broader context of political transformation in Bangladesh following the fall of Sheikh Hasina. However, simultaneously—perhaps unintentionally—it also reproduces those long-constructed narratives that were forged during the era of authoritarian rule and have remained active in the public psyche even after its demise.

I read this essay as a professional diplomat—one who has served under both the governments of Begum Khaleda Zia and Sheikh Hasina. From that experience, I say this—on one hand, the essay is an example of strong journalism; on the other, it stands as a living testament to how state power builds, destroys, and exports personal reputations internationally.

Strength and positive aspects of the essay

TIME's essay does not present Tarique Rahman as a singular 'savior' in any way. Instead, it portrays him as a measured, introspective, and principled political figure—one who has returned after long exile to a deeply divided society. Bangladesh's economic crisis, geopolitical balancing, post-July mass uprising instability, and the rise of Islamism—all are presented in a balanced and research-based manner.

Particularly noteworthy is the essay's clear acknowledgment of institutional repression, enforced disappearances, and the partisan co-option of state institutions during Sheikh Hasina's tenure. It also examines the interim government's reform efforts, highlighting both their achievements and their limitations.

Additionally, the essay considers the post-Liberation War political inheritance in contrast with the new expectations of Generation Z.

In this sense, TIME presents Bangladesh not as a moral fable, but as an unfinished democratic project—complex, contested, and still evolving.

Where the narrative remains incomplete

However, the title "Prodigal Son" is as politically problematic as it is literally appealing. Because this term reproduces a reputation that was systematically constructed, applied, and internationally established over the past seventeen years—a period during which Tarique Rahman was effectively deprived of his right to present his own case.

For nearly two decades, citizens living in Bangladesh and abroad could not hear his voice. This was not merely a consequence of exile; this silence was deliberately imposed through court orders, media censorship, and a culture of fear. 

In this context, a profound irony of the essay is this: while stories of his alleged corruption were widely propagated, his own statements were legally banned.

Lack of evidence and questionable adaptation

The most crucial question lies here: why such an extreme discrepancy between the magnitude of the allegations and the outcomes of the evidence?

Tarique Rahman, his wife, his associates, and their financial dealings—all were subjected to exhaustive scrutiny. Even the involvement of foreign agencies, such as the FBI, was widely referenced. Yet, after all this, no conclusive evidence ever surfaced that matched the scale of the horrific corruption narratives systematically fed to the world.

This does not foreclose all criticism of him—the corruption during the 2001–2006 BNP government cannot be entirely denied. But the question remains: was he uniquely corrupt, or uniquely targeted?

While the essay mentions the overturning of court verdicts, the lack of deeper analysis on how law itself becomes a political weapon within an authoritarian system is evident.

Generational perception and diplomatic responsibility

Even the quoted US diplomatic cables must be seen in this context. These cables often reflect briefings provided by the host government—not independent investigations. Citing them without analysing their source allows political narratives to become permanently embedded in history.

Historical examples of such failures abound. In South Africa, for years, Nelson Mandela was labeled an "extremist," "terrorist," or "threat to stability" in Western diplomatic and intelligence files—when in reality, he was a symbol of the just rights of the majority. The United States itself did not formally remove Mandela from its terrorism watch list until 2008.

Similarly, Vietnamese nationalist leader Ho Chi Minh was often presented in many Western diplomatic cables solely as a "communist threat," ignoring the social base and popular support of his anti-colonial national movement. This misjudgment later made a long and bloody war inevitable.

Another significant example is Congo's Patrice Lumumba. The first democratically elected Prime Minister of independent Congo was portrayed in US and European diplomatic documents as "immature," "risky," and "pro-Soviet." In reality, he was a symbol of sovereign leadership for a newly independent nation. That flawed narrative ultimately provided the moral justification for his elimination.

Even more recently, in the lead-up to the Iraq war, Western diplomatic and intelligence assessments failed completely to grasp the actual situation. The narrative built upon information provided by state machinery and politically motivated briefings was later proven false, but by then, a country's structure had crumbled.

In all these cases, the core problem is the same—diplomatic cables and documents often do not capture the voices of real society; instead, they preserve the narratives of the ruling state apparatus, the elite class, and influential lobbies as history.

'Prodigal'—or a son of the soil?

In a country where a meticulously crafted political narrative has been continuously fed to the people for nearly 17 years, the use of the term prodigal raises more questions than it answers. 

This term inherently carries notions of wastefulness, moral deviation, and unearned privilege—yet it also quietly assumes that a reputation built through censorship, judicial pressure, and controlled media should be accepted unquestioningly. To accept that narrative without analysing how it was constructed is to legitimise a story that never had the opportunity to be tested in a free and competitive political space.

The paradox is that TIME's own essay provides ample material to challenge this prodigal framing. The article paints a picture of a person whose personal life was remarkably restrained; whose long life in exile lacked luxury or ostentatious wealth; and whose lifestyle stands in stark contrast to the opulent and opaque displays of wealth by figures associated with the fallen regime. These are not minor details; rather, they directly call into question an artificial caricature embedded in public consciousness for over a decade.

Speaking from my own experience as a professional diplomat, I have seen how this narrative was consciously promoted abroad. Given time, I would recall how highly reputable individuals were practically used as "salesmen" to deliver these narratives to US Congressmen and Senators. Notably, this was not limited to the period of the fallen regime; we saw similar efforts during the so-called '1/11 caretaker government' era as well.

From experience to maturity: A political evolution

Tarique Rahman is seen as able to endure ridicule, measured in speech, attentive to institutional reform, and consciously keen to stay away from a politics of vengeance despite long political persecution. 

These qualities alone do not guarantee effective governance, but at this moment, they signify an important point: this is not the return of a wasteful prodigal; rather, it is the return of a son of the soil emerging from long silence—one who has shaped himself through exile, observation, and time, and now seeks to establish his legitimacy not through the language of inheritance or allegations, but through a sense of responsibility, a willingness to learn, and restraint.

However, the matter was not limited to lobbying foreign governments or high-ranking officials. The country's leading dailies were forced into a competition to outdo each other—who could publish the fastest defamatory reports against Tarique Zia and his family. They were granted complete impunity in all these efforts. Had TIME probed deeper and uncovered some truths, the essay would have been more faithful to its own pursuit of justice.

The reality is so painful that not only was an individual or a family demonised; their social and political identity was so tarnished that even sensible people are now prepared to label Tarique Zia as a "changed man." As if he has moved away from all those wrongs which, in fact, he never actually committed. This nuanced and profound torment is not reflected anywhere in TIME's tone of celebration or melancholy.

Such examples are not rare in history. In Chile, Salvador Allende, democratically elected, was defeated by the combined propaganda of the state apparatus, media, and external forces. Similarly in Iran, Mohammad Mossadegh—a popular and reformist leader—was overthrown, a victim of state-controlled narratives and covert conspiracies. In all these cases, we see genuine political leadership defeated not by force of arms, but by orchestrated propaganda and character assassination.

I am not saying he is entirely innocent or angelic. He is certainly a human being—with both virtues and flaws. Yet the main point is, for the past seventeen years, and especially during the 1/11 caretaker government period (January 12, 2007, to January 6, 2009), an overwhelming and one-sided campaign was waged against Tarique Rahman, where he was afforded not even the slightest opportunity to defend himself. The situation was so exaggerated and one-sided that even the BNP's media cell was at one point forced to abandon attempts to publish rejoinders in newspapers.

The nation and the narrative—both at a crossroads

The nation and the narrative—both stand at the same crossroads. But the time is no longer just for discussion; the time is now for taking a firm stand. This is not merely a battle to win the minds of the youth; it is now an impassioned call to all senior citizens, politicians, and intellectuals who have witnessed with their own eyes that state-run mega-project of constructing the "Khamba Tarique"—a meticulously planned conspiracy to drive the axe of defamation into the psyche of an entire generation.

The time has come to present Tarique Rahman as a real, honest, and visionary political leader to those 25–35-year-olds who today know nothing of him beyond a negative symbol. But the greater task lies with those who, despite knowing and seeing all this falsehood, have remained silent for so long. This silence was relatively safe. But this very silence gave foundation to that conspiracy. Now that wall of silence must be broken.

In the words of a diplomat, there are many eyewitnesses to how this smear campaign was run in both international and domestic arenas. Their moral duty now is to speak up. Not just support; their voices must articulate that uncomfortable truth they have swallowed for so many years.

And for this, a strong, impartial, and universally acceptable investigation is needed. Let the "One Eleven" Commission be reinstated—no, let a new, powerful "National Conspiracy Investigation Commission" be formed. Its task will be to return to the pages of history, to delve deep into those documents, those plans, through which this brutal project of transforming the scion of a democratic family, a promising politician, into a universal villain was implemented.

A call to conscience

Our moral currency is exhausting. The moment to speak is not tomorrow—it is now. We must shatter this corrosive silence. This urgency is heightened by the stark reality that Jamaat-e-Islami, with its potent appeals yet profoundly alarming agenda, remains alien to the secular soul of the Bangladeshi majority. Their path is not our destination.

Thus, we are left with only one true option: to confront our own conscience and act. The future of Bangladesh depends not only on the policies Tarique Rahman may bring, but more fundamentally, on our collective fortitude to let truth speak its name.

In this light, "Bangladesh's Prodigal Son" is both a work of penetrating analysis and a monument to an incomplete introspection. It does not conclude a story but pries open a gateway—an entry point into a vital and long-suppressed national conversation. 

For this dialogue, both the nation of Bangladesh and the architects of its dominant political narrative must now, at last, brace for a reckoning too long delayed. It is a reckoning that will demand the bravery to dismantle fabricated tales and the moral clarity to reclaim a nation's authentic character.

Ambassador Sheikh Mohammad Belal is the Chief Executive Officer (CEO) at Common Fund for Commodities (CFC).

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the opinions and views of The Business Standard, nor of any institution or organisation associated with the author.