The unmaking of an authoritarian regime

by Habib Zafarullah

We are the children of ’71, the heirs of ’24,

The guardians of freedom’s sacred door.

Our vigilance, our courage, our unity true,

Will keep Bangladesh forever new!

IN THE blistering summer of 2024, a political volcano erupted in Bangladesh. A seemingly insignificant demonstration against civil service quotas turned into a historic, national upheaval that changed the political terrain of the nation. Sheikh Hasina’s tenure as Bangladesh’s ‘iron lady’ lasted more than fifteen years, but it ended abruptly. Driven by a tidal wave of anger and resolve, thousands of protesters took to the streets despite a military curfew and a state of near emergency. In a final, dramatic act that signalled the end of an era, Hasina resigned and fled the country as the enraged people closed in on her official residence.

This was no ordinary protest. It was a generational reckoning, an outright rejection of a system that had come to be associated with authoritarian power, economic marginalisation and structural injustice. It may be regarded as one of the most important manifestations of popular power in recent history, teaching valuable lessons about the mechanics of democratic opposition and the galvanising potential of youth-led action in the digital era. The insurrection, a confluence of heroism and sorrow, demanded nothing less than democratic renewal.

What ignited the crisis? The initial cause of the rebellion was a High Court judgment in June 2024 to re-establish a government service quota system. That ruling preserved 30 per cent of government posts for the descendants of those who fought in the 1971 Liberation War, essentially overriding a 2018 government plan to eliminate it. At first glance, the issue seemed technical and bureaucratic. But this legal manoeuvre was far from mundane; for millions of young Bangladeshis, it was a potent symbol of everything wrong with their nation’s social and political direction. It struck at the heart of the country’s most pressing tensions: a demographic dividend that had soured into a demographic dilemma.

Secure government jobs were one of the last avenues for middle-class stability and social mobility, as the private sector offered few good opportunities due to economic mismanagement and widespread corruption. The reinstated quota felt like a betrayal of the country’s founding promise, as it effectively reserved these desired positions for a politically connected constituency. It validated a long-standing annoyance: that in modern-day Bangladesh, political connections and inherited privilege take precedence over merit, hard work and personal tenacity.

The students’ frustration was rooted in harsh economic realities. Despite Bangladesh’s impressive GDP growth over the past decades, opportunities for its educated youth remained scarce. The higher education system was churning out millions of graduates each year, but the job market couldn’t absorb them. In a cruel paradox, many who had excelled academically and embraced global connectivity through social media faced unemployment rates that exceeded 40 per cent among university graduates. They noticed that jobs that should have been open and based on merit were filled via a network of patronage that went back to the battle for independence in 1971. The quota system encompassed not only employment opportunities but also principles of justice and respect. It was clear evidence that the social compact had been breached.

The quota issue was just the beginning. While the initial catalyst was a single legal decision, the protests were underpinned by a broader dissatisfaction with a regime considered increasingly authoritarian, corrupt and economically exclusionary. The movement revealed three interconnected crises that had been building in Bangladesh for years: a social crisis of generational exclusion, a political crisis of creeping authoritarianism, and an economic crisis of structural inequality.

Bangladesh’s so-called ‘demographic dividend,’ with nearly two-thirds of its 170 million people under 35, had soured into a demographic dilemma. This vast, educated youth population felt systematically locked out of meaningful participation in the country’s political and economic life. The quota system crystallised their sense that Bangladesh had devolved into a gerontocracy, where inherited status and political loyalty mattered more than ability or ambition. The students who led the protests came from diverse backgrounds and universities across the country, but they were united by a shared experience of diminished expectations. They were a generation that had been promised a bright future but found their aspirations trapped in a system that seemed to have no place for them.

Sheikh Hasina’s administration had been steadily dismantling democratic institutions for years. Mass arrests, judicial pressure and political intimidation were used to systematically destroy opposition parties. Media outlets and critical journalists faced increased intimidation and censorship. Funding for civil society organisations was discontinued, and leaders of these organisations were imprisoned on false accusations. The ruling party was able to win elections through manipulation rather than actual popular support thanks to this political repression. The students understood that this unresponsive and unrepresentative political system was inextricably linked to their economic complaints. They realised that a government that had become incompetent was the direct cause of the dearth of employment and opportunities.

While Bangladesh’s macroeconomic indicators had improved significantly, a point often lauded by international observers, the benefits of this growth had been concentrated among a small elite connected to the ruling party. Corruption had become endemic, with major infrastructure projects serving as vehicles for rent-seeking rather than genuine development. Non-performing loans to politically connected borrowers plagued the banking sector, while small entrepreneurs struggled to access credit. The students knew that the quota system and an economic framework that valued political allegiance over talent and creativity restricted their career options. They thought their future was being ruined by a system of patronage that benefitted some people but injured a lot of others.

The 2024 uprising was unique because it quickly changed from a protest about one issue to a full-on challenge to the political system. This change happened because of what the government did, which turned out to be a terrible mistake. Hasina used violence that had never been seen before instead of talking to the students and making changes to address their real complaints. There were riots, and the police shot real bullets at people who were protesting peacefully. The government declared a ‘state of emergency,’ which meant shutting down the internet and putting people under curfew.

This heavy-handed response fundamentally shifted public opinion. The widespread revulsion at the state-sanctioned violence dwarfed the initial anger over the quota system. Parents, teachers, workers and everyday citizens took action after witnessing the deaths and injuries of young people, the nation’s children, who were demanding fairness. People from all walks of life now joined a movement that had begun with students. The movement’s moral authority was solidified in blood, and its demands expanded from a narrow focus on quotas to a full-throated call for the government’s overthrow. A single-issue protest transformed into a national rebellion during this moment of brutal repression.

The students demonstrated extraordinary organisational savvy and resilience. They leveraged social media for planning and coordination even during internet outages, using VPNs and encrypted messaging services. They maintained a disciplined, nonviolent front despite beatings and arrests. They articulated a clear vision for a democratic alternative, earning the support of a broad coalition that included opposition parties, civil society organisations, and even disillusioned members of the ruling party. This unity underscored the depth of the public’s frustration and the legitimacy of the students’ demands.

The Bangladesh uprising belongs to a long and distinguished tradition of student-led movements that have reshaped nations and regions. Like the 1989 Tiananmen Square protests in China, the 2011 Arab Spring, and the 2019 Hong Kong democracy movement, it demonstrated the power of young people to challenge entrenched authoritarian systems. The movement also resonated with historical struggles where educational grievances served as a foundation for broader liberation movements, such as the 1976 Soweto uprising in South Africa and the 1968 student protests in France.

Nevertheless, what set the Bangladesh movement apart was its seamless blend of digital age organising and conventional mass mobilisation. Similar to the Arab Spring, it depended heavily on social media for communication and organisation. However, unlike some digital-age movements that faltered after losing online momentum, the Bangladeshi protesters established strong offline networks. This hybrid approach allowed them to continue their actions even after internet access was restricted, showcasing a new model of resistance that is both technologically savvy and physically grounded.

The movement also reflected a global trend of youth-led political activism. From Chile’s student movement to India’s anti-corruption protests, young people worldwide have been challenging established political systems they perceive as corrupt, exclusionary and unresponsive. The Bangladesh uprising stands as a testament to this global phenomenon, highlighting a new generation’s readiness to take to the streets when traditional political channels fail to address their needs and aspirations.

The uprising proved that even an entrenched authoritarian government could be challenged by a determined popular movement. The students proved that political change could be achieved via prolonged, organised, nonviolent opposition. But do we see a democratic horizon? Then what are the challenges and opportunities? The successful ousting of Sheikh Hasina opened a new, but fraught, chapter for Bangladesh’s democratic future.

The aftermath of the uprising showed how difficult it is to turn an effective protest into a real institutional transformation. The interim government, which took over, was determined to initiate a ‘reset,’ but one must question how, given that the previous regime had rendered the entire system dysfunctional. It has been very serious about transitioning towards democracy, even though the problems with society, politics and the economy that led to the uprising persist.

The students’ movement was remarkably effective in opposing the regime, but constructing new institutions and political processes would require a different set of abilities, including patience, negotiation and long-term commitment. Protesters would have to change from being an opposition group to a group that works with other political parties and civil society to help the interim government realise its objectives.

If the movement’s ideas about merit-based administration, socioeconomic inclusion and democratic engagement bring about enduring changes in Bangladesh’s political culture and institutions, it will be recognised as a real turning point in the country’s history. The uprising marked a significant beginning, yet the true challenge lies in ensuring that it catalyses a sustainable and improved future.

Dr Habib Zafarullah is an adjunct professor of public policy at the University of New England, Australia, and former professor of public administration at the University of Dhaka. He is the founding president of the South Asian Network for Public Administration.