By Md Syful Islam, Ankara | 05 April 2026
A Moment of Change
On the 36th of July 2024, through a fierce and bloody struggle, the fall of a long-standing authoritarian regime marked the beginning of a new chapter in Bangladesh’s political history. This change was not only about replacing a government. It was a historic moment that raised fundamental questions about how the state should function, how power should be used, and how accountability to the people should be ensured. But does such a moment truly lead to structural change, or does it remain limited to a simple transfer of power?
This moment can therefore be described as a window of opportunity. For a long time, there had been growing demands to uproot a fascistic system, authoritarian governance, constitutional autocracy, the concentration of power around Ganabhaban, institutional weakness, massive capital flight, enforced disappearances and killings, widespread looting, and a deeply oppressive system. All these issues came to the forefront. The demand on the streets was not just for a change of rulers, but for a change in the system itself. In other words, people wanted a state in which power would not be concentrated in the hands of a single party but balanced through checks and balances. A system where equality, values, and social justice would be ensured, where all forms of inequality would be removed, and where the core forces of society would be guided by the will of the people. But were these demands only the language of protest, or were they meant to shape the actual structure of governance?
With this goal in mind, the interim government formed reform commissions in 11 key sectors, including the constitution, electoral system, judiciary, police, and an anti-corruption commission. Based on their recommendations and discussions with political parties, the July National Charter was formulated in 2025. It included major proposals, such as limiting the Prime Minister’s powers, introducing a bicameral parliament, creating an independent system for appointing judges, and ensuring a neutral administration during elections. On paper, this framework looks well-organized. But is the political will to implement it equally strong?
Here lies the main problem. This charter has no binding legal status. The way to give it legal force was through a referendum. In that referendum, the people of Bangladesh responded strongly, with 68.69 percent supporting the reforms. But after the BNP-led government came to power with a two-thirds majority, the process slowed down. The referendum ordinance, which should have been presented and passed in parliament, was not brought forward. This raises an important question: is the public mandate meant for real change, or only for political legitimacy?
There are even recommendations to cancel important reform ordinances taken by the interim government. As a result, the window of opportunity is gradually shrinking. When the BNP-led government shows reluctance to give legal form to this process, it is no longer just an institutional weakness. It becomes a clear political position. Do we really want to turn this opportunity into real change, or are we slowly allowing it to fade away? If the rules do not change, then even if the faces of rulers change, the nature of governance will remain the same. This moment is not only political. It is also a moral and constitutional test.
A Pattern of Failure
The failure of state reform in Bangladesh is not new. It is a repeated pattern. At almost every political turning point, promises of reform have been made. But after coming to power, those promises have gradually disappeared rather than been implemented. So the question is no longer whether reform will happen. The real question is why reform keeps failing. If the same promises are made every time and then forgotten, is the problem with individuals or with the political system itself?
An important example comes from the period after the 1990 mass uprising. At that time, the Awami League, BNP, and left alliances agreed on a common framework. It included commitments to judicial independence, free and fair elections, and a balance of power. But after coming to power in 1991, the BNP did not implement these commitments. The unity that was built during the anti-authoritarian movement quickly broke down once power came into play. So was that unity only for protest, not for governance?
In 1991, during the caretaker government, 29 task forces were formed under Professor Rehman Sobhan. A total of 255 experts and professionals worked on reform proposals across key sectors, including administration, economy, education, agriculture, and the judiciary. Ideas such as merit-based promotion, an independent anti-corruption commission, judicial independence, and banking reform remain relevant today. But the elected BNP government did not adopt them. The reason was clear. These reforms would have reduced their control over power. This raises a basic question: Is the state run for the people, or to hold on to power?
The same pattern appeared again during the 2007 to 2008 caretaker government. The Regulatory Reforms Commission, led by Dr. Akbar Ali Khan, proposed 153 reforms to simplify business, reduce bureaucracy, and improve transparency. But after coming to power in 2009, the Awami League largely ignored them. A few ideas were partly implemented, but overall, the effort failed. So are reforms accepted only when they do not threaten power?
Looking at all these events together, one clear reality appears. Whenever interim governments try to build a foundation for reform, elected governments often see it as a threat. As a result, reform efforts do not continue. They become weak and disconnected. If elected governments themselves block reform, then what is the real purpose of democracy?
In this context, the situation after 2024 needs careful evaluation. The current reform process is at a similar turning point. If political interests once again become dominant, the July Charter may face the same fate as earlier reform efforts. If history keeps giving the same warning, will we ignore it again?
Reforms in Jeopardy
The most important question before the 13th Parliament now is the future of the 133 ordinances issued by the interim government. Among them, around 20 important ordinances have been recommended for repeal, and 16 more are suggested for consideration later rather than being turned into law immediately. This is not just a procedural matter of lawmaking. It will determine whether post-2024 state reform will become reality or remain limited to paper. If decisions are delayed at this stage, is the entire reform process being pushed toward uncertainty?
The most severe impact is on the judiciary. The Supreme Court Secretariat Ordinance was a fundamental step toward ensuring real independence by removing administrative control of the courts from the Ministry of Law. Similarly, the Judicial Appointments Council Ordinance aimed to bring judicial appointments into a transparent institutional process, free from executive influence. If these two ordinances are not implemented, then how meaningful will judicial independence remain in practice, even if it exists in the constitution? If appointments and administration remain under executive control, can that independence truly exist?
The most uncomfortable reality is that the political force that claimed to be the biggest victim of enforced disappearances is now moving toward repealing the law on their prevention and remedy. Over the past decade, hundreds of people have been disappeared, and many were held for years in secret detention facilities known as “Aynaghar.” If this law is not implemented, the message is clear. Justice for enforced disappearances will remain uncertain. Then a difficult question arises. Who can guarantee that disappearances, secret detention, and that dark reality will not return?
In the same way, the amendment to the National Human Rights Commission could have ensured independent investigation powers and effective oversight over security and administrative institutions. If it remains pending, human rights protection will again become a paper promise. Can power without accountability ever limit itself?
The situation is no different in the area of anti-corruption. The amendment to the Anti-Corruption Commission was meant to strengthen its ability to investigate and prosecute high-level corruption. If it is not implemented, then bank looting, money laundering, and influence-based corruption will continue as before. At the same time, ordinances related to the referendum and economic reform also remain pending, even though they are essential for public participation and accountability. So is this delay simply administrative, or is it a deliberate choice?
The biggest concern is the idea of “later consideration.” Experience shows that later often means never. The longer a law is delayed, the lower its priority. Once a reform process stops, it becomes very difficult to restart it. So is this delay just a postponement, or is it a slow way of weakening reform?
This is no longer just about whether a few ordinances will survive. It is about how independent the judiciary will be, whether human rights violations will be addressed, and how effectively the state can fight corruption. In other words, this is the moment that will decide whether the foundation of post-2024 change will hold or slowly collapse. The opportunity created by the bloodshed of July now faces a critical test. Will it simply disappear?
Limits of the Constitution
The current uneasy situation is largely shaped by the complexity surrounding constitutional legitimacy. The government argues that ordinances issued during the interim period are insufficient for permanent change and must be enacted into law by an elected parliament. This argument is partly valid. However, in practice, it often becomes a way to delay reform. So is the question of legal legitimacy truly about proper procedure, or is it being used to slow down change?
The deeper problem lies within the structure of the constitution itself. Article 48(3) requires the President to act on the advice of the Prime Minister in almost all matters. As a result, the role of the President becomes largely ceremonial, and executive power becomes concentrated in the hands of the Prime Minister. This concentration limits the independence of other institutions. It creates the risk of direct or indirect influence over the judiciary, the Election Commission, and other constitutional bodies. Without changing this structure, how far can reform really go?
Similarly, Article 70 limits the independence of parliament. If a member of parliament votes against the party’s decision, they risk losing their seat. As a result, members follow party instructions instead of taking independent or principled positions. This turns parliament into a body that approves party decisions rather than an independent lawmaking institution. In such a system, can parliament truly drive reform?
In this context, the debate between ordinances and bills becomes more significant. On the one hand, parliament is presented as the sole source of legitimacy. On the other hand, if parliament does not prioritize reform, then changes initiated through ordinances will never be completed. In this way, the argument of legal legitimacy can become a tool to block real change.
The referendum issue makes this tension even clearer. Public support has already been expressed through the referendum. Yet instead of acting on that mandate, procedural arguments are being emphasized. So the issue is no longer just about method. It is about political will.
There is now a clear gap between legal language and reality. The real question is not only how change will happen, but whether there is any genuine intention to bring change at all. The constitution itself states that all power belongs to the people. If that public will is ignored, then how meaningful is the claim of legal legitimacy?
Politics Over Reform
The current stagnation in state reform is rooted in political distrust and calculations of power. Although there was agreement in principle in the July National Charter, that consensus is breaking down at the implementation stage. Reform is no longer about principles. It has become a matter of political calculation.
Because of its majority in the 13th Parliament, the BNP is now the main decision-making force. Its position is that the ordinances of the interim government and the July Charter are not automatically binding. According to the constitution, only the elected parliament has the authority to make laws. This allows them to take a slow and step-by-step approach to reform, especially on issues like limiting executive power. But is this caution based on practical reasoning, or is it simply a way to maintain control over power?
On the other hand, Jamaat-e-Islami and the National Citizen Party are calling for faster implementation. Their argument is simple. History shows that after elections, ruling parties often move away from reform promises. So, unless changes are quickly given legal protection, they may be lost. Their opposition to repealing or delaying 20 ordinances reflects this concern.
The National Citizen Party goes further, arguing that the current constitutional structure is insufficient and that a new constitutional system is needed. However, due to their limited presence in parliament, they do not yet have the political strength to implement this idea. As a result, their proposal creates pressure, but does not determine outcomes.
These different positions have created a clear tension. On one side is the demand for rapid reform. On the other hand is the insistence on a slower, parliament-based process. But in this struggle, the most important element is being lost. That is the public expectation.
The unity that emerged during the 2024 uprising was based on the demand for systemic change. But now that demand is being replaced by political calculation. This raises an unavoidable question. Is this change really about transforming the system, or is it simply about redistributing power?
The answer to this question will shape the future of politics. If people feel that their expectations are being ignored, trust in the democratic process will weaken. And that loss of trust can lead to instability.
The Cost of Stagnation
If this stagnation in state reform continues, Bangladesh may once again return to the same old cycle, where governments change, but the nature of governance does not. No matter which party comes to power, it will ultimately rely on the same centralized, unaccountable state machinery. Elections may take place, governments may change, but the use of power will remain unchanged.
The first impact of this situation will fall on the judiciary and the protection of human rights. If judicial independence is not established in practice, if appointments and administration are not freed from executive influence, then the rule of law will remain limited to paper. If the law on preventing enforced disappearances and initiatives for protecting human rights remain pending, then the families of victims will once again face the same old question: Is justice against the state truly possible?
The second major impact will be on anti-corruption efforts and economic governance. If the Anti-Corruption Commission is not strengthened, if accountability in the financial sector is not improved, and if administrative reforms are stalled, then bank looting, money laundering, and an economy driven by political influence will continue as before. The consequences are not only economic. Public trust in the state will decline even further.
But the most serious damage will be political. The 2024 uprising created a new sense of hope. People believed that this time, not only the government but the nature of the state itself might change. If that hope remains unfulfilled, people will begin to believe that movements, elections, sacrifice, even bloodshed, cannot bring structural change. There can be no more dangerous message for democracy than this.
This frustration is not only emotional or moral. It has real political consequences. When people feel that normal political and constitutional processes do not respond to their demands, anger builds up in society. Over time, that anger can lead to instability, conflict, or the rise of non-institutional forces. History shows that when legitimate institutions fail to meet expectations, uncertainty deepens.
For this reason, the failure of state reform is not just a policy failure. It is the seed of a future crisis. The decisions that are being delayed today will affect the judiciary, the economy, human rights, and political stability all at once in the future. So this stagnation cannot be dismissed as a temporary administrative issue. It raises a fundamental question: will Bangladesh become an accountable state, or will it repeat history?
The Way Forward
Bangladesh now stands at a clear crossroads. On one side is the repetition of the past, in which opportunities for reform are lost amid political calculations. On the other side is a real opportunity to transform the public aspirations of post 2024 into a lasting institutional structure. The question is whether this opportunity will be used or lost once again.
First, the important ordinances that are currently pending must be brought to parliament and passed without delay. Especially those related to the judiciary, the prevention of enforced disappearance, the human rights commission, and anti-corruption must be turned into law quickly. Without these, the foundation of reform cannot stand.
Second, there must be a serious discussion on key constitutional provisions. Articles 48(3) and 70 have created a structure that weakens democratic balance. Without addressing this concentration of power, real systemic change will not be possible.
Third, the July National Charter must be moved from a political promise into a legal framework. It is not the manifesto of a single party. It is a collective commitment formed at a historic moment. Issues such as a bicameral parliament, a neutral election system, and institutional accountability require a minimum national consensus.
Fourth, a minimum level of trust must be rebuilt among political parties. If reform is treated as a tool to weaken opponents, no lasting change will be possible. At the same time, continuous pressure from civil society and the media is essential. Past experience shows that without public pressure, major reforms do not survive.
In the end, this is not only a matter of policy. It is a question of political will and moral responsibility. The movement of 2024 created an opportunity, but turning that opportunity into reality depends entirely on the current political leadership. If this reform process stops now, the same questions will return in the future, but at a much higher cost.
The decision must be made now. Will Bangladesh use this opportunity to build an accountable and balanced state, or will it once again return to the same cycle, where governments change, but nothing truly changes?