On May 10, Bangladesh’s interim government took the extraordinary step of banning all political activities of the Awami League (AL), the ruling party led for 15 years by former Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina. The party’s suspension, executed under the country’s Anti-Terrorism Act, came in the wake of last year’s massive student-led protests, known as the “Monsoon Revolution,” which toppled Hasina’s government and resulted in the deaths of over 1,400 people.
The decision has divided observers. For some, the ban represents long-overdue accountability for a regime accused of mass repression. For others, it sets a dangerous precedent of collective punishment, risks deepening political polarization, and could undermine Bangladesh’s fragile democratic transition.
As the country prepares for its next national elections, now slated for late 2025 or early 2026, the future of one of South Asia’s most significant political parties hangs in the balance.
The student uprising that began in July 2024 was initially sparked by anger over education policies, economic hardship, and corruption. But the demonstrations quickly escalated into a nationwide anti-government movement. Thousands of students, opposition activists, and ordinary citizens took to the streets to demand new elections, reforms, and justice for years of alleged abuses by Hasina’s regime.
The government’s response was brutal. Security forces, often aided by pro-government student groups like the Bangladesh Chhatra League (BCL), deployed tear gas, rubber bullets, and live ammunition against demonstrators. Human rights groups documented arbitrary arrests, torture, disappearances, and sexual violence – tactics reminiscent of previous crackdowns under Hasina.
By early August 2024, facing collapsing authority and growing international condemnation, Hasina resigned and fled the country. An interim government led by Nobel laureate Muhammad Yunus assumed power, pledging to oversee a democratic transition.
Initially, the new government focused on holding individuals accountable. Dozens of AL officials, police commanders, and BCL leaders were arrested or charged. In October 2024, the BCL was officially designated a terrorist organization. A United Nations fact-finding mission later confirmed widespread abuses and urged prosecutions for crimes against humanity.
Then, in May 2025, the interim Cabinet escalated matters further by banning the Awami League itself. Officials said the party would remain banned until a special tribunal concluded its proceedings against senior leaders. The Election Commission quickly followed by suspending the AL’s registration, effectively barring it from contesting the next election.
Supporters of the ban argue that the AL’s actions during the crackdown, alongside years of democratic erosion, justify strong measures. They point to the concept of “militant democracy,” which allows states to defend themselves by banning groups that actively subvert democratic institutions.
They cite global precedents: the Nazi Party’s prohibition in post-war Germany, the dismantling of Saddam Hussein’s Baath Party in Iraq, and post-genocide restrictions in Rwanda. In each case, banning a political movement was seen as essential to prevent renewed violence or authoritarian relapse.
In Bangladesh’s case, defenders of the ban argue that the AL ceased functioning like a democratic party long ago. Over the past decade, elections were marred by irregularities and boycotts, the judiciary was politicized, and opposition figures were routinely jailed or silenced. The crackdown in 2024 was simply the final, bloody chapter of a repressive regime unwilling to relinquish power.
But critics contend that banning the country’s oldest and most electorally dominant party risks violating basic democratic norms. They argue that even authoritarian parties can, and often must, be reformed, not outlawed. Millions of Bangladeshis still identify with the AL’s historical role in the country’s liberation and development, even if they disapprove of Hasina’s leadership.
“The danger,” warned one U.N. official earlier this year, “is in punishing political affiliation rather than criminal conduct.”
One of the most concerning aspects of the ban is its blanket nature. All AL political activity – including its women’s, youth, and student wings – is suspended. Its offices are closed, websites taken offline, and events cancelled. While top leaders face charges, the ban extends far beyond those under formal investigation.
For ordinary party members and supporters, many of whom had no role in the violence, the decision effectively strips them of their political voice. They cannot campaign, organize, or vote for their preferred party. In a country already deeply polarized between the AL and its main rival, the Bangladesh Nationalist Party (BNP), this could fuel further alienation and resentment.
Bangladesh’s political history is already marked by cycles of vengeance. During its time in power, the AL banned Islamist parties like Jamaat-e-Islami and brought war crimes charges against its leaders. Now, similar legal tools are being turned against the AL itself. Without safeguards, the practice of banning parties could become a normalized tactic in Bangladesh’s politics used by whichever side holds power.
The legal process behind the ban also raises questions. Rather than stemming from a court ruling, the decision came from an executive order under the Anti-Terrorism Act, a law critics say has been repeatedly abused for political purposes. The tribunal trying AL leaders is the same International Crimes Tribunal (ICT) previously criticized for its limited procedural safeguards and allowance of trials in absentia.
Furthermore, the interim government is unelected, operating under emergency powers. While it has promised to restore democratic norms, using broad anti-terror laws to suppress a political party, even temporarily, risks repeating the authoritarian methods it claims to oppose.
What happens if AL leaders are acquitted? Or if the tribunal stalls? Does the party remain banned indefinitely? There is little clarity about what conditions must be met for reinstatement, fueling concerns that the suspension could become permanent by default.
A critical factor driving the ban was public pressure. In early May, massive rallies in Dhaka demanded the AL’s dissolution. Protesters, many of them students who had lost friends in the crackdown, viewed the party’s removal as a necessary step toward justice.
Bangladesh has a long history of student activism playing a decisive role in political change, from the Language Movement of 1952 to the fall of the Ershad dictatorship in 1990. The 2024 protests fit this tradition. However, governing by street pressure poses its own risks. The interim government may feel compelled to satisfy protester demands quickly to maintain legitimacy, even when the decisions are legally or politically complex.
While the protesters’ grievances are valid, a sustainable democracy requires deliberative institutions, not just popular mobilization. If political outcomes are determined by who commands the largest or the loudest crowd, it undermines long-term stability.
The ban also has implications for Bangladesh’s international image and regional dynamics. India, traditionally an ally of the Hasina government, has expressed unease about the shrinking space for political opposition. New Delhi worries that prolonged instability or a surge in Islamist political forces could spill over into its northeastern states.
Western partners have similarly called for inclusive elections and cautioned against political retribution. Bangladesh’s participation in global forums and its access to aid and trade benefits could be affected if the transition is seen as undemocratic.
That said, the international community has also welcomed steps toward accountability, including investigations into protest deaths and the release of political prisoners. The challenge for the interim government is to maintain that balance: punishing crimes without descending into partisan vengeance.
With elections on the horizon, the question is not just whether the AL should be banned, but whether Bangladesh can build a democratic system resilient enough to handle its return or its legitimate exclusion.
Some observers have suggested a middle path: allowing reformist elements within the AL to reconstitute under a new banner, distancing themselves from past abuses. Others advocate for a truth and reconciliation process that enables victims to be heard while opening avenues for rehabilitation for those not personally implicated in violence.
Ultimately, Bangladesh’s democratic future depends not just on holding the guilty accountable, but also on creating space for peaceful political competition. If the ban is used to entrench a new one-party dominance, it will repeat the very mistakes that fueled the uprising in the first place.
The choice is stark: either justice that paves the way for pluralism, or retribution that sows the seeds of future repression.