As Bangladesh finds itself on the tip of another critical juncture in its turbulent political history, the country is struggling with a question that will shape its political landscape for years to come: Should the Awami League, the party that dominated its politics for over a decade and a half, be banned outright from participating in the democratic process? The political and ethical dilemmas surrounding this question have generated intense debate among politicians, analysts, and citizens alike. The government’s perception, as articulated by Chief Adviser Dr Muhammad Yunus, is not to ban the Awami League— despite growing calls from the Jatiya Nagorik Party (NCP) and youth movements— and has only deepened the crisis.
This moment in Bangladesh’s politics is not simply a question of partisan disagreement. It represents a crisis of democratic legitimacy, transitional justice, and state stability. Juan J. Linz and Alfred Stepan, in their influential work Problems of Democratic Transition and Consolidation, argue that a functioning democracy requires not only formal institutions but also “democratic commitment” from major political actors. The crisis in Bangladesh today illustrates what Linz and Stepan described as “democracy without democrats.” Many of the country’s key political stakeholders— whether in the ruling interim government, Jamaat-e-Islami, or the emergent NCP— appear committed less to the principles of democratic pluralism and more to political exclusionism.
The call to ban the Awami League rests on charges of genocide and crimes against humanity committed during the July movement and in prior years under Sheikh Hasina’s administration. While the demand for accountability is justified within the framework of transitional justice, the outright banning of a major political party raises difficult questions about pluralism and the minimum conditions of democratic competition. Political theorist Giovanni Sartori, in Parties and Party Systems (1976), warned that excluding large constituencies from the political process could lead to “delegitimization” of the entire system, rendering elections meaningless as vehicles for consensus and representation.
According to reports, the BNP and the Jamaat-e-Islami have tactically refrained from supporting an outright ban, aware that the international community frowns upon such draconian measures. Large democracies in the West, as well as the United Nations fact-finding mission, have signaled clear disapproval of banning any political party. As Linz famously remarked, “Exclusion breeds radicalization.” The Awami League, even if tainted by accusations, still commands support from a significant proportion— 30 to 40 percent— of the population, according to Army Chief quotations cited by Asif Mahmud. Ignoring or suppressing such a constituency risks breeding alienation and potentially violent insurgency.
The demands for holding Awami League leaders accountable are rooted in what Ruti Teitel terms “transitional justice,” which she defines in Transitional Justice (2000) as “the conception of justice associated with periods of political change, characterized by legal responses to confront the wrongdoings of repressive predecessor regimes.” While the trial of war crimes and crimes against humanity is legitimate and necessary for social healing, the danger lies in instrumentalizing justice for political gain.
The chief adviser’s announcement that certain Awami League leaders will face justice, possibly at the International Criminal Court (ICC), seems an attempt to balance demands for accountability with the pressures of maintaining political inclusion. Yet, this selective approach risks falling into what Teitel identifies as “extraordinary justice,” which often undermines legal norms and may erode public trust in impartial judicial processes.
The concern articulated by the experts— that the youth-led NCP is pursuing the wrong strategy by calling for executive orders rather than building public consensus and following due process— echoes the caution of political theorists who emphasize the need for legitimacy in transitional justice mechanisms. As Priscilla Hayner notes in Unspeakable Truths (2011), “Justice that is not perceived as legitimate, fair, and impartial can perpetuate grievances and hinder reconciliation.”
Bangladesh’s current crisis also demonstrates the fraught relationship between military and civilian power. The July movement, the subsequent involvement of security forces in politics, and the military’s apparent ambivalence about the role of the Awami League highlight a dangerous politicization of the armed forces.
Samuel Huntington’s classic work The Soldier and the State (1957) argued that military professionalism requires strict separation from political engagement. Yet in Bangladesh, military actors have become central players in shaping political outcomes, from the appointment of Dr Yunus as chief adviser to alleged proposals for “rehabilitating” the Awami League presented in cantonment meetings, as reported by Hasnat Abdullah.
Security analysts warn that dragging the army into political discourse risks undermining civil-military relations and destabilizing state security. Now is not the time for division but for integration. History shows that when military institutions become arbiters of political legitimacy, democratic institutions tend to erode, as seen in Pakistan and Egypt.
The heightened military presence in Dhaka— from Baitul Mukarram to Shahbagh— raises further concerns about the balance of power between democratic institutions and coercive apparatuses. As political scientist Ayesha Jalal has observed in The State of Martial Rule (1990), reliance on military force to maintain public order often signals institutional decay rather than democratic consolidation.
At the heart of Bangladesh’s current political impasse lies a deeper existential question: Who represents the nation? Benedict Anderson’s concept of the “imagined community” suggests that nationhood is a shared narrative constructed through common institutions and participation. Yet Bangladesh’s post-independence political trajectory has been flawed by contested narratives of legitimacy and betrayal, whether over the role of the Awami League, Jamaat-e-Islami, or the BNP.
The NCP’s rhetoric— casting the Awami League as a “genocidal party” and calling for its exclusion— appeals to a moralistic narrative of purification. But as political theorist Chantal Mouffe argues in The Democratic Paradox (2000), the health of democracy lies in the ability to transform antagonism into agonism— an adversarial relationship in which opponents recognize each other’s legitimate right to exist and compete.
The politics of exclusion not only risks delegitimizing the democratic process but also deepens national polarization. The fears articulated by security analysts— that hostile foreign actors might exploit these divisions— are not unfounded. International experience shows that polarization, when unresolved, leads to chronic instability. Steven Levitsky and Daniel Ziblatt, in How Democracies Die (2018), warn that “mutual toleration” and “institutional forbearance” are critical norms in sustaining democracy. When one party seeks the annihilation of another, democracy itself is imperilled.
The National Unity Commission’s ongoing dialogue offers a glimmer of hope, though profound disagreements remain over election sequencing and constitutional reform. BNP’s insistence on parliamentary elections and NCP’s demand for a Constituent Assembly highlight the difficulty of reaching a consensus. Yet compromise is essential.
Political scientists Arend Lijphart and Donald Horowitz both advocate for power-sharing arrangements in deeply divided societies. Lijphart’s Consociational Democracy model, though criticized for entrenching elite dominance, offers practical mechanisms— grand coalitions, mutual vetoes, and proportional representation— that could ease tensions.
Bangladesh’s democratic actors must resist zero-sum approaches and embrace dialogue. Transitional justice processes should be transparent, participatory, and consistent with international standards. Banning the Awami League may satisfy immediate political demands but risks undermining the country’s (already) fragile democratic institutions.
The political decisions made in the coming months— whether to pursue reconciliation or exclusion, dialogue or coercion— will determine whether the country moves toward stability or chaos.
If Bangladesh is to avoid the fate of many post-conflict states— where cycles of revenge and exclusion perpetuate instability— it must heed the lessons of political science: democracy requires both justice and inclusion. The challenge lies in finding the delicate balance between them.
