Pakistan’s Foreign Minister Ishaq Dar’s visit to Dhaka in August 2025 was characterised by cordial exchanges, positive messaging on regional cooperation, and the signing of six agreements. But when Bangladesh renewed its demand for an apology for the horrors of 1971, Dar maintained that the matter had already been ‘settled twice’, seemingly alluding to the 1974 Tripartite Agreement and Parvez Musharraf’s 2002 ‘expression of regrets’. As Bangladesh celebrates its 54th birth anniversary today (December 16), the quintessential question of Pakistan’s apology ought to resurface.

Dar’s visit was a breakthrough in Pakistan-Bangladesh relations after the fall of the Hasina regime. However, his denial of apology reflects the deeper reality of Pakistan’s attitude towards its past. For Bangladesh, an apology is an unfinished obligation that carries the weight of law and history, but for Pakistan, it is a door best kept closed. Yet, even if Islamabad were to say the word that Dhaka has waited for 54 years, one would question—would ‘sorry’ be enough?

Apologies do matter in international law. They are not mere gestures of courtesy but recognised forms of reparation when states violate international legal obligations. The UN International Law Commission’s Articles on State Responsibility specify that reparation may take the form of ‘satisfaction’ (Article 37)—a principle the International Court of Justice confirms in its landmark judgements in the Corfu Channel case (UK v. Albania) and the Gabcikovo-Nagymaros (Hungary v. Slovakia) case—holding that acknowledgement of wrongdoing may be required to discharge state responsibility.

Pakistan’s reluctance is easy to comprehend, as apologising for 1971 would also mean accepting responsibility for war crimes, crimes against humanity, and arguably, genocide. The massacres, rapes and mass displacements of that period were not ordinary excesses of war; they constituted the gravest crimes known to humanity. To admit to them is to acknowledge wrongdoing of the highest order, and with such acknowledgement comes a variety of legal, political and economic consequences. An economically and politically fragile Pakistan in 2025 would not want to trigger those consequences.

Pakistan fears that an apology might trigger demands for reparations, much as Germany’s post-Holocaust apologies were tied to compensation. It could also amount to recognition of genocide, which carries obligations under the 1948 Genocide Convention to punish perpetrators (Article 4). Pakistan’s parliament, by contrast, has condemned Bangladesh’s war crimes trials. While some trials conducted during Hasina’s regime were indeed worth condemning for lacking due processes that international law demands, a blanket condemnation was a move in the opposite direction. Moreover, one apology often begets another.

But even if such an apology comes, it cannot stand alone. While Germany apologised repeatedly for the Holocaust, it also mandated education, built memorials and created reparations programmes. Canada, too, did not stop at apologising to its indigenous people for the ‘residential schools’ system but also established a Truth Commission, funded cultural centres and created scholarship programmes. South Africa’s transition from apartheid rested not only on apology but also on truth-telling and institutional reform.

What might this mean for Pakistan? Unlike an economically advanced power such as Germany or Japan, Pakistan might not have the financial surplus to pay significant reparations. But in any case, the enormity of the crimes of 1971 cannot be quantified in money alone, as the suffering was beyond calculation. If options for reparations in cash are limited, Pakistan’s obligation must be discharged through other forms of acknowledgement and responsibility.

To begin with, Pakistan could revamp its school curricula. ‘Pakistan Studies’ textbooks continue to describe 1971 as the result of ‘Indian aggression’. While that is partly true, to reduce the Bangladesh Liberation War to such narratives is a massive distortion, erasing atrocities committed by Pakistan. Honest curricula would acknowledge that it were not just the Indian tanks that destroyed Pakistan’s unity but rather Pakistan’s own actions against its own population.

Furthermore, Pakistan can fill the vacuum on ‘memorialisation’ by adding a section in its national museums—or even building a dedicated memorial—to memorialise the atrocities committed by its army. It can learn from Bangladesh, which has built the Liberation War Museum as a national repository of truth and memory. Releasing (officially) the report of the Hamoodur Rahman Commission (a war investigation commission led by Pakistan’s ethnically Bengali Chief Justice Hamoodur Rahman, who chose to stay in Pakistan even after the division of the country), which documented massacres, rapes and misconduct by senior officers, will add yet another brick. Similarly, establishing ‘Genocide Studies Centres’ or endowing ‘Transitional Justice Chairs’ in Pakistani universities could create the intellectual and moral space for research and debate about 1971.

Pakistan has already offered gestures such as the Pakistan-Bangladesh Knowledge Corridor, which promises 500 scholarships for Bangladeshi students over five years. The Pakistan Technical Assistance Programme has also recently increased its scholarships for Bangladesh from five to twenty-five. Building these human bridges are useful steps, but without acknowledgement of the atrocities, they remain gestures of charity masquerading as goodwill rather than acts of reconciliation.

For Bangladesh, the demand for an apology from Pakistan is not only justified but also unavoidable. Yet when that apology comes, the next question will arise: Is ‘sorry’ enough? The answer is ‘no’, as words without deeds are hollow. Pakistan’s present-day economic limits may constrain reparations—and 1971’s crimes may defy quantification—but responsibility is not optional. The Pakistani apology—when it comes—must be accompanied by memorialisation, education, research and people-to-people exchange.

Internationally, 2025 is perhaps the most opportune moment for Pakistan to apologise to—and reconnect with—Bangladesh, especially as both countries’ ties with hegemonic India remain strained. Domestically, however, in the wake of Field Marshal Asim Munir’s dictatorial consolidation of power following India’s illegal aggression in May (which has recently been reinforced by the 27th amendment to their constitution), apologising can hardly be the instinct of a leader whose legitimacy rests on projecting strongman-like strength. And in any case, even if that apology were to come, it would mark the beginning of a true reckoning only when accompanied by appropriate actions.