On August 15, 1975, the people of Bangladesh woke up to a radio announcement declaring an indefinite curfew and the death of Sheikh Mujibur Rahman.

Upon hearing the news, Major General Ziaur Rahman, the second-highest-ranking officer in the army, calmly told his juniors that while the president had been killed, there was still a vice president and the constitution should be upheld.

Had the army chief and other senior officers demonstrated the same resolve as Zia and rallied behind Syed Nazrul Islam, the course of history might have been different.

This was not the first time Ziaur Rahman had stressed the importance of subordinating the military to a civilian, constitutional government. In March 1971, during his first radio speech, he declared that he was leading a provisional government to fight against Pakistan.

Understanding the legitimacy of a civilian government, Zia later clarified in an iconic speech that Bangladesh’s government was under Sheikh Mujib.

His broadcast was later incorporated into the Mujibnagar Proclamation, which affirmed the political leadership’s supremacy over the military forces leading the war for independence.

Not only Zia but also the commanders of the Mukti Bahini acknowledged the political leadership. Many nations have emerged from violent conflict, but it is hard to think of a case where the military willingly laid down their arms and relinquished power to a leader who had chosen to stay away from the battlefield.

Bangladesh was an exception, where the political power in December 1971 did not stem from the military.

However, by August 1975, political power shifted back into the hands of the military, and by November, Zia found himself at the helm.

True to his actions in 1971 and his advice in August 1975, Ziaur Rahman worked towards integrating the military into a constitutional framework.

He believed that by transitioning into a civilian politician, he could foster a political culture that would help avoid the kind of crises leading to coups.

Additionally, he believed his military background, combined with bolstering the army’s resources, would deter any potential coup plotters.

Failed demilitarization process

Regardless of one’s views on his politics, it is clear that Ziaur Rahman failed in his attempts at demilitarization.

First and foremost, Zia was killed in a failed coup—just one of several attempts against his regime. More significantly, his political success inadvertently encouraged a number of ambitious generals to seek the role of a national savior.

Zia’s successor, HM Ershad, followed a similar path—first as army chief, then as a military strongman, and ultimately as a civilian politician. While he succeeded in taming the army and never faced a direct coup threat, his downfall came when he attempted to suppress a student-led urban uprising.

The army’s refusal to help him crush the protests, led by Army Chief Lt. Gen. Nuruddin Khan, marked the end of his regime.

It appears that the Bangladesh army would rather accept civilian leadership than engage in widespread violence against civilians. This makes sense when you consider that the army’s rank and file are drawn from the same socioeconomic class as the university students leading the protests.

The officers in charge of suppressing such demonstrations are likely to have close ties to the very people they are ordered to target. Without a strong ideological foundation that motivated the army to defend Ershad’s rule, his regime was always vulnerable to popular uprisings.

A similar scenario unfolded in August 2007, albeit on a smaller scale, which ultimately dashed Moeen U Ahmed’s political aspirations (though Moeen’s ambitions and abilities were nowhere near as formidable as Ershad’s, let alone Zia’s).

This history offers another way to approach demilitarization—through protests and uprisings that force generals to subordinate themselves to civilian rule.

However, history also shows that successful uprisings are rare, and even those that seem victorious often lead to unforeseen consequences. In the context of Bangladesh, protests may bring down one general, but they don’t seem to prevent the rise of another.

Armed forces meddling in politics

Once again, we find ourselves at a point in history where the armed forces are deeply entangled in politics.

The Monsoon Revolution is barely eight months old, and the protests against the authoritarian Hasina regime have already surpassed those against Ershad in size and intensity, with much harsher reprisals. The army has been deployed, and there is notable discontent among junior officers, along with external pressures.

During a staff conference on August 3, Gen Wakar-uz-Zaman instructed his troops not to use force against civilians under any circumstances—marking a pivotal moment in military intervention.

This was followed by Gen Wakar’s assumption of responsibility, though it must be noted that he did not claim power—an important distinction.

This is not mere rhetoric. The army has been tasked with maintaining law and order nationwide because the civilian police force, thoroughly corrupted and manipulated by the Hasina regime, essentially collapsed in July 2024 and has yet to regain its functionality.

If great power comes with great responsibility, does the reverse hold true as well? According to Gen Wakar, the answer is no. He has neither assumed power, suspended the constitution, nor imposed martial law or a state of emergency.

The distrust of the army remains a central theme in our political discourse, and rightfully so, given our history. This wariness should keep us alert to the dangers of Bonapartism in our military institutions. After all, the Bangladesh Army was born out of mutiny.

The army, however, has ingrained in its institutional culture a respect for civilian political authority that dates back to its very origins. This is why Major Zia, after his initial radio address in March 1971, referred to a government formed under Mujib's leadership.

It’s also why the Mukti Bahini fought under the authority of the Mujibnagar government and why the Bangladesh Army returned to barracks after the war. Similarly, on the morning of 15 August 1975, Zia stated that if the president were dead, the army should uphold the constitution and allow the vice president to take over.

Gen Wakar, too, took responsibility—his words—on 5 August, stating that he had worked with youth leaders and politicians to establish a civilian government and had not assumed power.

It seems that, like Zia in 1971 and 1975, Wakar is following the same principles.

The burden on the army

However, he still carries the burden of ensuring stability in the country, as we remain in this de facto extraconstitutional interregnum. We find ourselves in an extraordinary situation where the military is actively involved in politics.

The real question now is: how do we bring this to an end?

Our history suggests that two things are needed to end military involvement in politics: generals willing to subordinate themselves to a constitutional order, and a civilian government capable of upholding that order.

Zia followed the constitutional path in 1971, as did Nuruddin Khan in 1990. After 1975, Zia had to create a new constitutional order by transforming himself into a civilian politician.

So far, Wakar seems to be following in the footsteps of Zia 1.0 and Nuruddin, aiming to avoid the path of Zia 2.0. But the only way this can happen is through elections and the transfer of power to the people’s representatives.

Wakar is well aware of this and has been calling for elections by winter 2025. In over seventy years of military involvement in the politics of Pakistan and Bangladesh, he is the only general who has consistently advocated for an election.

That said, an election is not a cure-all. A free and fair election always carries the potential for a result one might not favor—just ask Yahya Khan! An election in Bangladesh could lead to anything from a Jamaat landslide to a BNP landslide.

Early signs suggest that the BNP isn’t interested in meaningful constitutional reforms, which would leave us vulnerable to the winner-takes-all politics that enabled Hasina's despotic rule.

The army also has its own dark history, one that an elected government, alongside a newly liberated civil society and media, must carefully examine.

It’s not just the civilian police that enabled Hasina’s brutal regime—military intelligence tapped into citizens' phones, and officers were complicit in severe human rights violations. Those responsible must be held accountable.

While that remains true, it doesn’t change the fact that an elected government is essential before Wakar and his forces can truly return to their barracks.

This is why any call—whether from social media figures like Pinaki Bhattacharya or from politicians who oppose elections because they’re not prepared to face the voters—for Wakar to step down should be met with extreme skepticism.

Removing the most significant army chief since Zia would only lead to more instability and further delay elections. Such a move wouldn’t resolve military interference in politics—it would pave the way for even greater militarization.

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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