Banning the Awami League: A step backwards for Bangladesh’s democracy

In a moment of stunning political rupture, Bangladesh’s interim government under Mohammad Yunus has officially banned the Awami League (AL)—the very party that led the country to independence in 1971. The decision was made under growing pressure from radical Islamist factions and student agitators aligned with the National Citizen Party (NCP), many of whom have declared the AL an enemy of the people. For a movement that began with promises of democratic renewal, this is a catastrophic mistake—one that threatens to dismantle Bangladesh’s political pluralism and bury the spirit of 1971 under the weight of ideological revenge.

The Awami League is more than a political party; it is one of the foundational pillars of the Bangladeshi state. It led the country through the bloody liberation war, standing for the values of secularism, pluralism, and national self-determination. To erase it from the political landscape is to deny the very soul of the Republic. This is not merely a bureaucratic decision—it is a symbolic and historical rupture that risks pushing the country into the arms of reactionary forces that have long sought to undermine the original vision of independence.

At the heart of this ideological redirection is Mahfuj Alam, widely regarded as the mastermind of the Monsoon Uprising. A powerful behind-the-scenes strategist, Alam has long admired the strongman tactics of Chairman Mao and the centralised command of Soviet leaders. In earlier Facebook posts and private lectures with his fellow activists, he praised Mao’s revolutionary discipline and state-building visions. His ideological bent has never been subtle—he has openly declared that the cultural politics and political economy of “Mujibism” must be dismantled entirely, even after the banning of the Awami League. In his words, the “social fascism” cultivated under the League must be defeated to construct a new political settlement in a “league-free Bangladesh.”

Under his influence, the Monsoon Uprising is not unfolding as a democratic course correction but increasingly resembles a cultural revolution of its own intent on remoulding the nation’s identity, not through inclusion or reform, but by purging symbols, narratives, and parties rooted in 1971. The AL’s excesses and authoritarian turn in recent years warrant strong critique, but what is being undertaken now risks replacing one form of authoritarianism with another—just dressed in revolutionary garb. AL does need a mea culpa moment. An apology. It failed in ending the culture of impunity. It got involved in the repression it was supposed to end. Does that signal a wider problem with Bangladesh's body politic? Yes, it does. Violence is inherent in the system. It's part of the body politic. A perpetual cancer that brings the country to its knees. Yunus needs to tackle that, not give concessions to extremists.

There is a recurring pattern in Bangladeshi politics. Every regime, once entrenched in power, begins with the language of reform and democracy, only to gradually adopt the tools of repression and centralisation. The Awami League came to power with the slogan, ‘End the Culture of Impunity.’ What we are seeing now is no exception. It must be said frankly: Sheikh Hasina’s democratic backsliding, her use of security forces to silence dissent, and her relentless drive for dynastic permanence are not unique. They could just as easily have come from the Bangladesh Nationalist Party (BNP) had they remained in power. The headlines that condemned Hasina today are mirror images of those once used against Khaleda Zia. The problem is not one party—it is a system that rewards domination, violence, and punishes moderation. NCP are being sucked into the corroding body politic. They were supposed to liberate the nation from repressive, destructive politics. Perhaps they have bitten off more than they can chew.

Now, by outlawing the AL, Bangladesh has created a vast political vacuum. And the forces best poised to fill it are not democrats or reformists—they are radical Islamists who have long opposed the secular ideals of 1971. These groups, which were once rightly suppressed under AL rule for undermining national unity and stoking communal hatred, are now being rehabilitated into public life. It is no exaggeration to say that their quiet ascent could pose a deeper threat to the country’s democratic and cultural future than any single political party ever did.

Furthermore, banning the Awami League disenfranchises millions of citizens. It is not merely a political entity—it is a movement with a broad base across villages, cities, and the diaspora. Its supporters include farmers, students, professionals, war veterans, and human rights defenders. To silence their voice from national life is to declare that their story no longer belongs in the fabric of the nation. That is not democracy. That is erasure.

History teaches us that purges never end with the first target. Once you legitimise the use of state power to ban one group, it becomes easier to silence others. If the Monsoon Uprising hoped to offer a fresh path forward, it must now confront a hard truth: it is drifting into authoritarian mimicry of the past. Justice cannot be served through obliteration. True democratic reform lies in accountability, constitutional revival, and inclusive debate—not in blanket bans and ideological purges.

The decision to eliminate the Awami League from public life is not a correction—it is a calamity. Mahfuj Alam’s attempt to remake Bangladesh by imitating Maoist fervour and Soviet rigidity will only set the stage for future repression. The future of Bangladesh must be inclusive, not revisionist. No democracy can thrive by amputating its past.