Hasina Had to Fall, But Political Rhetoric Could Imperil Bangladesh's Democracy

The Diplomat

3 days ago

Words like 'fascist,' 'revolution,' 'enemy of Islam,' and 'genocide' have been used to describe Hasina's rule. But are any of these labels correct?
On August 5, 2024, Sheikh Hasina's Awami League (AL) government fell under the weight of mass protests. The protests began with students challenging an unfair job quota system, but quickly grew into a nationwide uprising against her rule. Workers, professionals, and religious groups joined forces, furious at a government that answered demands and criticism with bullets and batons.
After 15 years of unyielding rule, Hasina's downfall was met with street celebrations, but also a fierce effort to shape history.
Opposition forces, including the Bangladesh Nationalist Party (BNP), Jamaat-e-Islami (JI), the emerging National Citizens Party, and a mix of leftist and far-right alliances. labeled the AL 'fascist' and many portrayed the ousted party as an 'enemy of Islam,' while declaring the movement a 'revolution' and labeling the brutal crackdown and massacre as a 'genocide.'
These powerful words shape how people understand events and how they pass them on to future generations, often in ways that can harm a fragile democracy.
The word 'fascist' conjures images of Mussolini's Italy or Hitler's Germany: ultranationalist regimes obsessed with violence, myth, and total societal transformation. In his influential book 'The Nature of Fascism' (1991), scholar Roger Griffin defines fascism as a form of 'palingenetic ultranationalism,' meaning a rebirth of the nation through force.
Hasina's AL showed some 'proto-fascist' features (elements that suggest a possible move to fascism), including a strong personality cult around Hasina and her father, Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, rising Bengali nationalism used to suppress critics, and violent crackdowns. However, it lacked crucial elements like ethnic or racial supremacy and mass paramilitary movements. The AL remained officially secular and center-left, and its repression targeted all opposition rather than focusing on a specific ethnic enemy. Thus, although the party showed worrying authoritarian tendencies, it does not fit the strict definition of a fascist or far-right regime. Instead, its system aligns more with authoritarianism: limited political pluralism, centralized power by a small elite, and a focus on stability over transformative ideology.
The AL cracked down on dissent through heinous laws like the Digital Security Act 2018, manipulated elections in 2014, 2018, and 2024, indulged in fraud and voter suppression, and controlled the media, contributing to Bangladesh's Freedom House score of 40/100 in 2024, signaling a clear slide into authoritarianism.
Yet, it did not establish mass paramilitary terror squads or promote racial or religious supremacy on a genocidal scale. The AL relied heavily on the state security apparatus and its student wing, the Bangladesh Chhatra League, to silence opponents — a strategy more akin to Hosni Mubarak's Egypt than Hitler's Germany.
Human Rights Watch has documented at least 600 enforced disappearances in Bangladesh since 2009, and widespread political violence left deep scars. However, these were mostly politically motivated purges aimed at consolidating power, not ideological mass exterminations driven by ultranationalist zeal.
Calling the AL an 'enemy of Islam' goes even further.
Nearly 90 percent of Bangladeshis are Muslim, and faith is deeply woven into the national identity. The AL's secular leanings and its 2013 ban on JI and controversial 1971 war criminal verdicts created resentment among Islamist groups.
However, the party never destroyed mosques or banned religious practices. In fact, religious festivals, mosques, and madrasas thrived under government support. Islam has long been weaponized in Bangladesh politics to divide society and consolidate power. In the last 15 years, Islamist forces used this label to rally rural and conservative voters, framing the struggle as a religious movement rather than a fight for democratic accountability. This narrative risks fueling sectarian tensions that could outlast any political transition.
Meanwhile, branding the 2024 protests a 'revolution' stirs images of France in 1789 or Iran in 1979, when entire social, political, and economic systems were toppled and rebuilt. In Bangladesh's case, the events began as an uprising, a sudden, explosive push by students against a specific injustice. As the government took brutal action and different groups joined, it grew into a movement – a broader push for accountability and reform. However, a true revolution demands deep structural changes: dismantling entrenched power networks, reforming institutions, and rebuilding the social contract. Bangladesh's judiciary, bureaucracy, and economic structures are largely still the same. Only the people have changed.
The interim government, led by Nobel laureate Muhammad Yunus, has promised electoral and constitutional reforms, but as of mid-2025, these remain largely symbolic gestures rather than real systemic change. A fixed national election date is yet to be announced. Consequently, political polarization has been increasing day by day.
Now, ironically, AL supporters have started calling the Yunus-led interim government 'fascist.' The word has become almost a political weapon, thrown at rivals regardless of their actual practices or ideology. This dilution makes it harder to identify and challenge true authoritarian threats, and trivializes serious historical experiences of fascism.
Even after the fall of the AL, the same cycles of revenge politics persist. Cases against AL leaders now echo the tactics once used by Hasina's government against BNP and JI figures. Violence and crime remain widespread: 441 rape cases were reported in just the first half of 2025, already surpassing the total number for all of 2024. Extortion rackets previously controlled by AL loyalists have simply shifted hands, often ending up being run by BNP-aligned or other political party networks.
During the protests, women played a major role on the front lines, raising hopes that they would enjoy greater freedom and equality in the new political climate. However, the situation has worsened instead. Islamist groups have begun rallying against women's rights, calling for restrictions on gender equality and threatening those who speak out. This has created a discouraging effect on dissent and limited the space for genuine democratic progress.
So how can this truly be called a revolution? Where are the real changes promised by the slogans that youth boldly painted as graffiti on city walls?
Similarly, many have labelled the 2024 crackdown a 'genocide.' While it was undeniably a massacre and a grave human rights crime, it does not meet the legal definition of genocide under international law. Genocide, according to the 1948 U.N. Genocide Convention, requires acts committed with intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnic, racial, or religious group. In Bangladesh's case, the protesters were targeted because of their political actions, not because of their identity.
International organizations such as Human Rights Watch, Amnesty International, and the U.N. Human Rights Office condemned the 2024 violence as grave human rights violations and mass killings, but did not label it genocide.
History shows that words shape collective memory. Bangladesh's own Liberation War against Pakistan in 1971 is a powerful example. The official figure of 3 million martyrs has long been contested, with some estimates ranging between 300,000 and 500,000. Far-right groups have exploited these debates to question the legitimacy of the independence struggle itself. If today's movement is described using overheated terms like 'fascist' or 'revolution,' or 'enemy of the Islam' it risks similar distortion, potentially undermining its democratic core and leaving it vulnerable to future revisionism.
Hasina's era undeniably left deep wounds, destroying Bangladesh's democracy: at least 1,400 protesters were killed during the July-August 2024 crackdowns, systemic corruption, enforced disappearances, and repeated electoral manipulations.
Yet it also delivered economic gains. In 2018, the overall poverty rate in the country decreased to 21.8 percent, while the rate of extreme poverty fell to 11.3 percent. Infrastructure expanded rapidly, connecting rural communities and improving basic services although the country's debt raised.
Recognizing this duality is crucial. Erasing the achievements risks alienating millions who benefited economically, while ignoring abuses undermines calls for justice and accountability. The challenge now is to document the truth clearly and honestly, to tell the history based on verified data, human rights reports, and real economic records rather than slogans and hype.
The country has a rare opportunity to transform the energy of the 2024 uprising into meaningful democratic reform. But slogans alone cannot build institutions. Opposition parties must focus on strengthening the judiciary, ensuring free elections, and protecting fundamental rights, rather than simply hunting political rivals or rewriting history with catchy labels. Women who led marches hoped for genuine equality and freedom, but these dreams risk being buried under new waves of revenge and exploitation.
The fall of Hasina's AL should be a spark for rebuilding, not just retribution. Bangladesh has run for decades between resilience and fragility, and the words used today will contribute to shaping whether it can finally step toward a more inclusive, democratic future. Without careful attention to truth, the uprising's democratic heart could be lost, leaving behind another cycle of bitterness and broken promises.