No one knows when the dark times in Bangladesh’s history will come to an end. The nation has constantly been navigating a “state of crisis” since its independence. In the fifty-four years since 1971, this sense of crisis has never truly subsided. And while it is true that the landmass of Bengal has existed since the beginning of geological time, perhaps never before—certainly not in these last fifty-four years—has it experienced such prolonged turmoil and bloodshed.
Despite the apparent upward trends in economic indicators and substantial infrastructural development, Bangladesh has proven that a country does not necessarily become stable or peaceful through such progress alone. The people remain engulfed in fear and insecurity. Towering skyscrapers, metro rail, the Padma Bridge, the Karnaphuli Tunnel, sprawling flyovers, and new industrial zones—if these were true indicators of happiness, then Sheikh Hasina would never have been branded a "fascist" and forced to flee, the ruling Awami League would not have fallen, and its leaders would not have had to go into hiding or exile.
Is happiness a luxury for the people?
Who doesn’t want to be happy? But not everyone is able to be. As the lyricist of a song once said: “Everyone wants to be happy, but not everyone is; perhaps not everyone is destined for happiness.” Bangladesh ranks so low in every global happiness indicator that to expect joy in the near future is almost delusional.
According to the 2025 World Happiness Report, based on 2024 indicators, Finland remains the happiest nation for the eighth consecutive year. Their happiness is rooted in mutual trust, strong social safety nets, human rights protections, and freedom from corruption. Their government commands such deep public confidence that even the idea of state corruption is barely conceivable. Citizens enjoy the liberty to make personal choices freely, alongside access to quality healthcare, income security, and long life expectancy.
Meanwhile, the people of Bangladesh appear condemned to an endless ocean of misery. Of the 137 countries listed in the report, Bangladesh ranks among the 20 most unhappy nations in the world. Even the war-ravaged people of Ukraine have reported higher happiness levels than Bangladeshis.
Indicators such as uncontrolled inflation, mass unemployment, rampant corruption, and deteriorating public safety make it impossible to claim the people are happy. These issues are interconnected. When former Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina once cheerfully revealed to journalists that a peon in her office had amassed Tk 400 crore and travelled by helicopter, she was inadvertently highlighting both the country’s development and its unbridled corruption under her rule.
She frequently boasted of metro rail, the Padma Bridge, flyovers, tunnels, broadband, and mobile connectivity. Her inner circle amplified such narratives. These were presented as symbols of national joy and achievement. Meanwhile, the people remained silent, understanding what was happening but too afraid to speak. Much like in the fable of the tyrant king where speaking out could cost one's head, under Sheikh Hasina’s rule, dissent was often met with enforced disappearances, secret torture chambers, extrajudicial killings, or fake "encounters."
Since she and her party declared they were happy, and since they insisted that the country had become “the next Singapore,” it was expected that the public must be happy too. Yet despite these claims, the people endured years of anguish under Hasina’s 15-year authoritarian reign. That youth eventually rebelled in July 2024 was the most visible sign that people had not been happy—and they had had enough.
The tyranny of personal happiness
Sheikh Hasina and her inner circle enjoyed personal happiness. Like many cruel and autocratic rulers before her, she focused solely on her own pleasure and that of her family. To preserve this, she unleashed the full power of the state, including ordering law enforcement to fire on protesting youth. The order was obeyed, as ever, without question.
But happiness founded on repression does not last. Hasina's empire of joy collapsed. She ensured the prosperity of her inner circle—such as the multi-crore peon—so they would protect her regime. But when danger loomed, none came forward. They quietly made escape plans for themselves.
Bangladesh has endured martial law twice in its history, during which constitutional and democratic institutions were suspended, political activity banned, and the media censored. Yet even military rulers never exercised the level of brutality that Hasina did over 15 years while claiming to be a democratically elected leader. Not even Pakistan's General Ayub Khan inflicted the kind of cruel repression on East Pakistanis that Hasina did on her own people.
Hasina pursued her version of "happiness" through vengeance and the abuse of state machinery. Like the notorious Roman emperor Caligula, whose sister’s death drove him to a campaign of irrational, brutal terror against the aristocracy, Hasina’s happiness was sourced from the pain and misery of the people. Caligula’s tyranny, driven by personal grief and paranoia, was eventually ended by his own inner circle—much like Hasina’s fate, which was sealed by betrayal from those closest to her.
The inherited kingdom of suffering
There is no denying that Sheikh Hasina considered Bangladesh her inherited property, passed down from her father, Sheikh Mujibur Rahman. Though the constitution declares that sovereignty belongs to the people, Hasina and her followers often referred to the country as her father's domain—echoing the colonial-era "Permanent Settlement" introduced by the British East India Company.
Niccolò Machiavelli once wrote, “Men may forget the death of their father, but not the loss of his inheritance.” Hasina went a step further—she neither forgave her father's killers nor tolerated any threat to his legacy. Yet she could not permanently secure her claim. Happiness ultimately eluded her.
The general public may not be deeply read or politically sophisticated, but when provoked, they rise with unshakeable force in search of an elusive happiness. They gave their lives in 1971, and again in 2024, all in the hope of a better future. But the long-awaited happiness has yet to arrive.
Author: Senior journalist and translator residing in the United States
Bd-pratidin English/ ANI
