In March 1971, Dhaka stood on the edge of a storm that would unravel one of South Asia’s most defining geopolitical unions. The air was heavy with uncertainty, and what started as negotiations meant to preserve unity slowly turned into the first tremors of disintegration. Could the idea of a united Pakistan survive the weight of Bengali aspirations? Could political compromise outrun a history of neglect?
Sheikh Mujibur Rahman’s Awami League had just swept the 1970 elections, winning 160 of the 162 seats allocated to East Pakistan—enough to command a majority in Pakistan’s National Assembly. The verdict was clear. The people of East Pakistan had voted for autonomy, if not outright self-rule. But the corridors of power in West Pakistan were not prepared to accept that message. President Yahya Khan flew to Dhaka on March 15 to initiate talks with Mujib, and soon after, Zulfikar Ali Bhutto joined the conversation. Tensions, however, were immediate. Mujib arrived with a black flag on his car, a sign of protest. Even the venue of discussions was contested—Yahya had two chairs placed in a bathroom to offer Mujib the privacy he demanded. That image, both absurd and symbolic, captured the mood of a dialogue built more on mistrust than on hope.
Negotiations flickered uncertainly for over a week. Bhutto viewed compromise as surrender, and Mujib, though still calling for a united Pakistan, was unwavering in his demand for East Pakistan’s autonomy. Yahya, increasingly desperate, tried to ease the mood with humour. But laughter was no match for long-standing resentment. On March 23, when Pakistan marked its Republic Day with fanfare in the west, Dhaka fell silent. The national anthem wasn’t played. Instead, the rooftops were dotted with red and green flags bearing the golden map of a new country not yet born. Then came the night of March 25. As darkness fell, Pakistani military units launched Operation Searchlight—a brutal attempt to crush dissent. Tanks moved through Dhaka’s streets. Dhaka University was stormed. Students were pulled from their dormitories and executed. Professors were shot. The lights went out, and with them, any remaining illusion of peace. Mujib was arrested from his home that night. The instructions were clear: capture him alive. A dead Mujib would be a martyr, and that was something the regime could not afford. But thousands died anyway.
The world outside remained in the dark—literally and figuratively. Foreign journalists staying at the Intercontinental Hotel faced censorship. Equipment was confiscated, and stories were buried. But a few managed to escape with the truth. British journalist Simon Dring smuggled out notes of the carnage. Antony Mascarenhas, a Pakistani journalist, fled the country and later published an explosive exposé in The Sunday Times titled “Genocide.” These voices became the conscience the international community so sorely lacked. Even as U.S. officials in Dhaka, like Archer Blood, decried the violence in cables to Washington, geopolitical interests overpowered humanitarian instinct. Would global silence have continued if those early reports never made it out?
India, however, could not afford silence. Ten million refugees crossed into its borders. Eastern states struggled under the weight of displacement. But as despair grew, so did resolve. India began training the Mukti Bahini, a Bengali resistance force. The movement was no longer underground—it had found its allies, its voice, and eventually, its army.
More than five decades later, the legacy of March 1971 remains etched in history. In Bangladesh, it is memory. In Pakistan, it is often denial. And around the world, it remains a case study in how democratic mandates, if ignored, can set nations ablaze. Can any nation, even today, afford to silence the will of its people without inviting consequences? The answer lies in Dhaka’s long night—the night when a country was broken, and another was born.
Riya Goyal is a trainee journalist at Cult Current. The views expressed in the article are
her ownand do not necessarily reflect the official stance of Cult Current.