The illusion of reform

by Monwarul Islam

THE July Uprising of 2024 was a people’s uprising, a moment of collective defiance that brought down the authoritarian Awami League regime and awakened hopes for comprehensive reform. It was a rare instance in Bangladesh’s history where popular mobilisation compelled real political change. In its wake, an interim government was formed — not through a democratic mandate, but as a compromise broadly accepted in the interest of stability and transition. For a time, it seemed the momentum created by the uprising might carry forward into genuine transformation.

Yet a year later, those hopes remain largely unfulfilled and we are growingly afraid that those hopes will remain unmet. The slogans that inspired the uprising — ending inequality and restoring democracy — have not materialised in practice. Political polarisation continues unabated. Violence has not subsided. And most tellingly, the governance that followed appears to have betrayed the very spirit that animated the uprising. The interim government’s reform agenda has also proven both overstated and underwhelming, failing to deliver on its promises in any meaningful way.

In light of what has unfolded since August 2024 — and ongoing developments — the most reasonable assessment is that prospects for meaningful reform in any major area are now extremely slim. Is it too pessimistic to say there is virtually no chance of meaningful reform? Perhaps. But given the trajectory thus far, that outcome seems increasingly likely.

Where does the responsibility for this failure lie? 

The interim government has struggled to implement even modest reforms. The major political parties, locked in conflict and unable to compromise, have rendered large-scale reform efforts effectively unworkable. The situation has been further complicated by a series of disruptive protests from various groups, some within the very apparatus of the state. And there is a deeper question worth asking: was the notion of a ‘new Bangladesh’ — often referred to as Bangladesh 2.0, envisioned as a societal reset emerging from the uprising — fundamentally flawed from the outset? Likely, all these factors have played a role.

The challenges become clear when one considers the government’s difficulties in executing even minor bureaucratic reforms. The difficulty that the government faced in restructuring the National Board of Revenue or in introducing the Government Service (Amendment) Ordinance 2025 reveals the structural rigidity of the state. If such small, incremental changes provoke this level of institutional backlash, the idea of deeper reform seems increasingly far-fetched.

This is where the problem lies: not only in the resistance to reform, but also in the overwhelming faith placed in such reforms as panacea. The government and various sections of civil society have all perpetuated the idea that change can be achieved through legislative and institutional fine-tuning. A deluge of commission reports and recommendations have followed, creating the illusion that passing the right laws will automatically fix the country’s structural problems.

But this narrative is dangerously simplistic. It fails to account for how power functions in reality. Reform, no matter how well-intentioned or well-crafted, often falters without the political will or institutional capacity to enforce it. Even the best laws cannot, on their own, transform lived realities.

Consider, for example, the proposed constitutional reforms. One suggestion is to replace the existing foundational principles — ‘nationalism, socialism, democracy, and secularism’ — with a new set: ‘equality, human dignity, social justice, pluralism, and democracy.’ These may reflect more contemporary values, but would such a change in language genuinely affect how power is exercised or how governance functions? That seems improbable, particularly in the current political climate.

This is not to dismiss the constitutional or other reform commissions entirely. Many of their recommendations are thoughtful and worthwhile. But the political environment in which they exist is deeply fragmented. It is highly unlikely that political parties will achieve consensus on the more substantial reform proposals. Even in sectors where consensus appears more attainable — such as health, where most parties broadly agree with reform commission findings — there is no guarantee that meaningful implementation will follow.

Meanwhile, the interim government has deprioritised key recommendations from several commissions, including those on labour, women’s affairs, and healthcare. Instead, it has focused on what it terms ‘basic or minimum reforms’: installing the caretaker government system, adjusting the presidential election process, establishing a judicial secretariat, considering a bicameral parliament, and revising how heads of constitutional bodies are appointed. The assumption seems to be that correcting these institutional arrangements will by itself lead to real democracy. Political parties, for their part, are, meanwhile, selectively contesting these proposals according to their own interests, further entrenching division.

But even if consensus is achieved will that ensure genuine democracy? Will it empower people? Suppose, for argument’s sake, that elections are henceforth free and fair under a mutually agreed caretaker framework. Even then, would citizens be anything more than occasional voters summoned at intervals?

This is the heart of the problem: democratic structures are being prioritised over democratic substance. Even if all proposals, now under consideration, are implemented, without mechanisms for public participation in governance — in decision-making and oversight — democracy will remain a managed affair. It may look democratic from the outside, but it will function as a sophisticated form of authoritarianism.

People’s voices have long been marginalised in Bangladesh’s political culture. State institutions are not designed to amplify those voices; rather, they absorb, neutralise or ignore them. The July Uprising was one of the rare occasions when people directly confronted state power and briefly reclaimed their agency. It was a moment of rupture in an otherwise closed political order. But sustaining that rupture — transforming it into durable democratic practice — requires far more than institutional tinkering.

In the end, the extensive reform efforts of the interim government may well turn out to be an exercise in futility. The country is no closer to resolving the contradictions that led to the uprising. Instead of transformation, we have seen rhetorical gestures. Instead of democracy, managed governance. And instead of progress, a slow return to elite control.

Still, the July Uprising lit a flame — a defiant call against inequality, injustice and authoritarianism. Let that flame not be extinguished by paper reforms or broken promises. Let the spirit of July endure — and let us prepare, with clarity and resolve, for the long, unfinished journey ahead.

Monwarul Islam is an assistant editor at New Age.