M A Hossain,
As Bangladesh moves closer to its 13th parliamentary election and the accompanying referendum, the public mood is not festive. It is anxious. Instead of the familiar rituals of democratic competition—rallies, debates, leaflets, slogans—the country is bracing for something darker. Media reports suggest that at least 24 districts are now considered at high risk of political violence. Murders, armed clashes, intimidation, and organized fear are no longer treated as aberrations. They are anticipated. That alone should trouble any serious defender of democracy.
Bangladesh has, regrettably, been here before. Elections have too often been remembered less for ballots cast than for blood spilled. The assumption that voting seasons inevitably bring violence has become normalized, almost fatalistically accepted. This is not merely a law-and-order problem. It is a democratic failure. A society that cannot conduct elections without fear is a society that has yet to secure the most basic condition of self-rule: physical safety for its citizens.
Since campaigning began on January 22, reports of attacks and clashes have multiplied. The killing of a senior opposition figure in Keraniganj was not an isolated incident; it was a warning. Tensions over voter blocs—particularly minority voters and swing constituencies—have intensified competition at the local level. Add to this the post–August 5 security landscape, in which previously jailed extremist elements have been released on bail, and the picture becomes even more unsettling. These are not abstract risks. They are concrete vulnerabilities.
The government insists it is prepared. On paper, the security arrangement is staggering in scale. Nearly 900,000 personnel from various agencies will be deployed for the February 12 election. The police, Ansar and Village Defence Party, Border Guard Bangladesh, armed forces, RAB, navy, coast guard, and fire service will all be involved. Drones, dog squads, body cameras, and advanced surveillance technologies will supplement boots on the ground. Few developing democracies can claim to have mounted such an extensive security operation.
And yet, anxiety persists. That should tell us something important: security is not only about numbers. It is about credibility. When attacks on law enforcement personnel themselves are not swiftly or decisively contained, public confidence erodes. When violence occurs despite visible deployments, people begin to suspect that the problem is not capacity but will. Or worse, selectivity.
History offers an uncomfortable lesson. States that rely excessively on spectacle—large deployments, impressive statistics, stern press briefings—often neglect the harder work of preventive governance. Violence around elections rarely erupts spontaneously. It is usually preceded by weeks of intimidation, signaling, rumor-mongering, and the quiet mobilization of local muscle under political patronage. Intelligence warnings, when ignored or underplayed, later reappear as postmortems.
The political temperature today is undeniably high. Power struggles, efforts to marginalize rivals, and contests for local dominance have created a combustible mix. Past elections show a familiar pattern: pre-election clashes, election-day violence, and post-election reprisals. Candidates and supporters are attacked not only to influence outcomes but to settle scores. Ordinary citizens—shopkeepers, farmers, students—often become collateral damage. This is the most corrosive aspect of all. When voters fear for their lives, participation becomes an act of courage rather than a civic norm.
At that point, one must ask a blunt question: what is the meaning of an election that cannot guarantee the safety of those it claims to empower? Democracy is not validated by turnout figures alone. It is validated by the freedom with which citizens can exercise choice. Fear distorts choice. Sometimes it suppresses it entirely.
Responsibility here does not rest with the security forces alone. The Election Commission occupies a pivotal role. Its constitutional mandate extends beyond announcing schedules and supervising ballot boxes. Ensuring a peaceful electoral environment is not ancillary to its mission; it is central. Risk-mapped areas require special measures—early intervention, targeted monitoring, and clear red lines. Reactive policing is not enough when the warning signs are already visible.
Political parties, too, must confront their own culpability. Violence is rarely leaderless. It is often tolerated, excused, or quietly rewarded. When central leadership fails to restrain local actors, claims of innocence ring hollow. Power gained or preserved through bloodshed corrodes legitimacy from within. Democracies are not destroyed only by coups; they are also hollowed out by elections that normalize coercion.
Comparative experience is instructive. Countries that successfully reduced election-related violence—Indonesia after 1998, Ghana since the early 2000s—did so not merely through force but through political compacts, accountability mechanisms, and credible enforcement against perpetrators regardless of affiliation. The message was simple and consistently applied: violence will cost you power, not secure it.
Bangladesh’s own history underscores what is at stake. The struggle to establish voting rights has been long and costly. Sacrifices made in moments of national upheaval were meant to secure dignity, participation, and safety—not to replace one form of fear with another. When elections become synonymous with insecurity, that legacy is betrayed.
There is still time to change course. Visible security must be matched by impartial enforcement. Intelligence must lead to prevention, not retrospective explanation. Political leaders must speak clearly to their followers, not in coded ambiguity. And the Election Commission must assert its authority without hesitation.
A peaceful election will not solve all of Bangladesh’s political problems. But a violent one will deepen them all. If this vote is remembered as another bloody chapter, responsibility will not be diffused. It will be shared—by institutions that failed to act, by leaders who refused to restrain themselves, and by a political culture that treated fear as an acceptable tool.
Democracy begins with a simple promise: that citizens can choose without terror. Bangladesh deserves an election worthy of that promise. What the country needs now is not just security in uniform, but the courage to enforce the rules equally and early. A fear-free environment is not a luxury. It is the first, non-negotiable test of democratic seriousness.
M A Hossain, political and defense analyst based in Bangladesh. He can be reached at: writetomahossain@gmail.com
This article published at :
1. New Age, BD : 30 January, 26
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