In his August 3 speech at Shaheed Minar, Nahid Islam called not only for the resignation of Sheikh Hasina but also for broader political reforms to prevent the return of autocratic governance in Bangladesh.

Bangladesh Nationalist Party (BNP) now similarly proposed constitutional reforms to follow a free and fair election, emphasizing the need to safeguard the nation against future despotism.

This consensus reflects a recognition that the constitution had inherent flaws even before Hasina’s three allegedly rigged elections solidified her grip on power through violence and coercion.

The current debate is less about whether the constitution needs reform and more about identifying the specific issues, exploring potential solutions, and determining the path to implementation. This discussion begins with a focus on the problems.

Before 2011, there was a recurring debate in Bangladesh about a "return to the 1972 constitution," with some claiming that all political issues stemmed from deviations from its so-called "high ideals."

However, as Abul Mansur Ahmed noted in 1973, the lofty ideals enshrined in the original constitution were themselves a source of future political instability.

While those ideals remain, additional provisions—such as declaring Islam the state religion or mandating the display of Sheikh Mujibur Rahman’s portrait in state institutions—have been layered onto the document, further complicating its purpose.

One significant issue with the constitution is its sheer volume of superfluous and symbolic elements, which some argue dilute its functionality.

However, these oddities, while controversial, may not have direct operational implications. Instead, the core vulnerabilities lie in the functional features of the constitution—both in its original 1972 form and its 2011 amended version—that have left Bangladesh's political system dangerously susceptible to authoritarianism.

The challenge ahead is to identify the structural weaknesses in Bangladesh’s constitution and design a framework that protects democracy and governance, free from the grip of past despotisms.

Several structural features of the current system—such as the unitary state with no effective local government, the first-past-the-post electoral system, the concentration of power in the Prime Minister’s office, and the ban on floor-crossing in parliament—have fostered a winner-takes-all political culture.

This centralization of power has created conditions ripe for authoritarianism. Addressing these issues requires a step-by-step reexamination of our political framework.

Revisiting the historical context

Bangladesh’s modern political journey began as a province in British India and later as a federating unit of Pakistan.

Upon independence, the country inherited a provincial administrative structure, transforming it into a sovereign unitary republic. While this transition made sense historically, it also embedded a centralizing tendency in the political system.

Remaining a unitary state has its advantages. Federations often thrive in countries with significant ethnic, cultural, geographic, or economic diversity—contexts where separate governing units like states or provinces are necessary.

For example, the cultural and political landscapes of Texas and New York in the United States are vastly different, justifying their distinct governance systems.

In Bangladesh, however, such differences between regions like Chittagong and Khulna are less pronounced, making the replication of state machinery across regions inefficient.

However, maintaining a unitary state does not require the extreme centralization currently in place.

Bangladesh’s political system could benefit significantly from empowering local governments and decentralizing administrative functions.

By striking a balance between unity and regional autonomy, the country can create a governance model that strengthens democracy while avoiding unnecessary bureaucratic duplication.

Reforming the constitution to reflect this decentralization is a crucial step toward dismantling the structures that enable despotism and creating a system more resistant to authoritarian tendencies.

Interestingly, the three pre-1990 governments, often labeled as "autocratic," made notable attempts to decentralize power from Dhaka.

Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, through his Bakshal framework, envisioned district and city mayors and governors with authority over local law enforcement and infrastructure.

For instance, a Police Superintendent would still be appointed from Dhaka for a fixed term but would report to the local mayor or governor.

Similarly, Ziaur Rahman introduced the concept of gram shorkar (village governments) tasked with resolving local disputes through salish (arbitration).

HM Ershad took a step further by establishing upazilas, where chairpersons were responsible for delivering essential local services.

Even before independence, Ayub Khan delegated developmental functions to "basic democrats" (akin to union council members), who also served as the electoral college for an all-powerful presidency.

And going back over a century, the British Raj initiated elected local councils in the region to foster local governance.

These moves toward devolution had less to do with empowering citizens and more to do with serving the central regimes' interests.

Fearful of urban elites and their potential to challenge authority, these governments sought to strengthen their own patronage networks through local governments.

The resistance to local power

Between 1991 and 2011, however, the political landscape shifted. Members of Parliament (MPs) from both major political parties strongly opposed empowering local governments.

Their unanimous resistance stemmed from a reluctance to see their authority diluted, as local governance was the only sphere where they could exert tangible influence.

This opposition effectively rendered local government officials powerless in practice, limiting them to symbolic roles.

The stakes were particularly high because in Bangladesh’s political culture, politicians are judged primarily on their performance at the local level.

Consequently, MPs jealously guarded their control over local affairs, often to the detriment of meaningful decentralization.

As a unitary state, Bangladesh did not have an immediate need for an upper house in its parliament.

However, this meant that in the unicameral legislature, opposition members were left with very limited legislative power. Adding to this, Article 70 of the constitution, which prohibits floor-crossing, further restricted the legislative influence of government MPs, binding them to the party line.

The fact is–the controversial Article 70 wasn’t created in a vacuum; it emerged against a backdrop of rampant political corruption. During the parliamentary politics of Bengal and Pakistan between 1937 and 1958, legislators frequently traded votes for money or favors.

Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, as a young politician, witnessed this firsthand—once even standing guard outside a veteran legislator’s restroom to prevent political horse-trading.

Determined to prevent such practices, Mujib insisted on the inclusion of Article 70 in the 1972 constitution to curb floor-crossing.

While Article 70 effectively stopped MPs from voting against their party, it didn’t entirely strip them of legislative responsibilities.

In theory, MPs could still initiate bills, participate in committee processes, scrutinize the bureaucracy, and vet key appointments. Opposition members could play a significant role in these oversight functions.

However, from 1991 to 2011, there was little incentive for MPs to exercise these roles. Neither party leadership wanted legislators to display independence or initiative.

Laws were typically drafted by bureaucrats in the law ministry under the prime minister’s directives, with parliament merely serving as a rubber stamp.

Both ruling and opposition parties resisted efforts to strengthen the legislature's role in reviewing executive decisions or appointments, whether in government or opposition.

In this system, MPs received no recognition or reward from party leadership for being active legislators.

As a result, most MPs turned their attention to local affairs, which remained one of the few arenas where they could exercise influence and build their political reputation.

This shift further weakened the role of parliament as an institution of governance and oversight.

Over the course of their five-year term, MPs became the de facto rulers of their constituencies, akin to elected nawabs.

They took charge of local institutions such as school and mosque committees, sports clubs, and cultural societies—those were their formal roles.

Informally, MPs controlled the local government machinery, deciding which projects would be implemented and who would carry them out. By the time Sheikh Hasina returned to power, MPs were even allocated development funds to distribute within their constituencies.

The emergence of a localized political culture

Eminent journalist ABM Musa, in 1973, recalled having to mediate marital disputes in his capacity as an MP, and by the 2010s, this wasn’t much different.

The party leadership typically left MPs to manage these local affairs, as their primary role was to win elections and stay in power.

The candidates who secured the most votes were often from political dynasties, local Robin Hood or Don-like figures, or wealthy businessmen who could afford the cost of nomination.

A “good” MP was one who focused on the development and welfare of their area—improving infrastructure (elaka’r unnoyon), providing job opportunities for locals (elaka-bashi’r chakri-bebsha’r shujog), and securing benefits for their constituents.

In this framework, MPs had little incentive to support the empowerment of local governments, such as upazilla chairpersons or city council mayors, as they would be seen as competition for influence.

The weaker the local bodies, the more the electorate held MPs accountable for their performance at the local level.

This created a feedback loop: MPs increasingly shifted from being national legislators to local politicians. As a result, the executive power in Dhaka became more centralized, with the legislature losing its functionality as a check on the executive branch.

The MPs’ focus on local power ultimately contributed to a political system where national governance was sidelined, and the executive dominated without effective legislative oversight.

Over time, Bangladesh’s political system developed a dysfunctional structure where those who were elected couldn’t run ministries or shape policy, while those who had the necessary expertise to govern couldn’t get elected.

As a result, prime ministers often appointed party loyalists—usually from within their own ranks—as ministers, while unelected advisors effectively ran the country.

In some instances, ministers and advisors clashed, causing paralysis; in others, ministers engaged in corruption, while advisors set policy.

This dysfunction marked Bangladesh’s democracy after 1991, even before Sheikh Hasina consolidated power in 2011. The problems were exacerbated by both the electoral system and historical factors.

Bangladesh inherited the British first-past-the-post (FPP) electoral system, which amplifies electoral swings. For instance, in 2001, the BNP and its allies won a two-thirds majority, but by 2008, the same alliance won only about a tenth of the seats.

Meanwhile, the Awami League’s vote share actually increased between 1996 and 2001, and the BNP’s vote share was higher in 2008 than in 1991.

Under the FPP, elections were more about securing seats than winning votes. Political parties aimed to win 151 seats, and they selected candidates who could retain these seats, not necessarily those who could serve as effective legislators.

The focus was on individuals who could act as local power brokers or “nawabs” of their constituencies, not on those with the skills to scrutinize government policy or legislation.

Even in opposition, party leadership preferred individuals who could organize street politics and run election campaigns rather than those with legal expertise or policy knowledge.

A cycle of political struggle

The political institutions that Bangladesh inherited and created after 1991 shaped the country’s political environment.

The BNP realized it had control over many aspects of government, while the Awami League found itself sidelined.

Sheikh Hasina immediately set her sights on regaining power, vowing to never give the government a moment of peace. Her party employed its traditional strength—street protests (andolon)—as a tool for resistance.

In response, the BNP, in a panic, rigged a by-election in Magura, giving the Awami League a reason to escalate its protests. By 1996, BNP recognized that street politics alone would not work and thus introduced the concept of alliances.

After the 2001 elections, the Awami League also resorted to protests, formed a larger alliance, and engaged in behind-the-scenes maneuvering, leading to the political crisis of 1/11. Meanwhile, each successive government further centralized power, intensifying the dysfunction in the country’s political system.

All of this happened because, in a winner-takes-all system, losing is simply not an option.

Before the political crisis of 1/11, the existence of two dominant parties helped maintain a rough balance of power.

However, that equilibrium was shattered by the infamous minus-2 plot, and thereafter, Sheikh Hasina pushed through the 15th Amendment, setting the stage for what followed.

While politics may have been reignited after the events of 36 July, simply restoring the previous constitutional setup—before Hasina's authoritarian rule—will not suffice.

Even if future leaders embrace democracy and we avoid another potential despot, the old system still holds inherent vulnerabilities that could lead to future authoritarianism.

This is precisely why comprehensive reform is essential.

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J Rahman is an economist and a writer. The article first appeared in his newsletter ‘Mukti’. It is republished here with stylistic edits and the author’s permission