The police today find themselves in a peculiar bind — damned if they act, damned if they do not. They are, on the one hand, accused of inaction, negligence and, even, complicity when citizens face mob attacks, kidnapping, or daylight robberies. They are, on the other hand, condemned for excessive force, partisanship and brutality whenever protests are suppressed or political gatherings are dispersed. Between silence and force, the institution appears to be walking a razor’s edge, never fully escaping criticism no matter which direction it turns.
The events of the past year have only sharpened this paradox. After the political upheaval of July 2024, expectations from the police rose dramatically. Citizens demanded order, accountability and a restoration of trust. Yet, what has unfolded, instead, is a cycle of conflicting accusations — too harsh in dealing with students, too lenient when political supporters defy bans, too passive in the face of public crimes and too aggressive when met with dissent. This contradictory space has given rise to the idea that the police are caught in a ‘double crisis,’ unable to reconcile their mandate with public expectations in a deeply fractured political and social environment.
At its core, this is not only an issue of operational efficiency. It is also a reflection of the broader political uncertainty that defines the present moment. The police, as the most visible arm of state authority on the street, inevitably become the target of both anger and expectation. They embody the state’s ability, or inability, to enforce order and, therefore, bear the brunt of the frustration when society perceives imbalance, injustice or weakness.
Political rallies have been allowed to defy bans, party supporters have marched to symbolic power centres and opposition groups have occupied public spaces with relative impunity. Yet, when students of the engineering university attempted to voice anger near the residence of the chief adviser, they were met with a heavy-handed response. Baton charges, injuries and clashes followed, raising accusations that the police treat different actors unequally, depending on their political weight. In public memory, such contrasts are not forgotten. They build the perception that neutrality is a luxury the force cannot, or will not, afford.
This unequal application of authority is, perhaps, the greatest threat to the legitimacy of law enforcement. Once the public begins to believe that laws are enforced selectively, confidence in justice erodes. The police are not merely tasked with maintaining order. They also carry the symbolic burden of fairness. When fairness is questioned, even the most routine operations —traffic stops, arrests and dispersal — become loaded with suspicion. The irony is that in some instances, the police may genuinely be constrained, yet perception alone is enough to undermine credibility.
The shadow of July still looms large over the institution. During that turbulent period, police stations were attacked, officers were killed and public rage spilt over into direct confrontations with the force. That violence left scars, both literal and psychological. Many officers now operate with a heightened sense of vulnerability, reluctant to risk their lives in situations where political motives blur the lines of accountability. If officers use force, they risk prosecution and public outrage. If they do not, they risks becoming the next victims. It is a precarious calculation that erodes morale and paralyses decision-making.
This erosion of morale is compounded by the failure to deliver justice for those officers killed in the upheaval. Without recognition, protection or closure, the message conveyed internally is that sacrifice will not be honoured. For a force that depends on discipline and loyalty, such disillusionment is corrosive. The result is a demoralised institution that hesitates in moments requiring decisiveness yet overcompensates in situations where power can be exerted with relative impunity.
At the same time, the public has grown less forgiving. Viral videos of robberies occurring in front of passive officers or of mobs operating unchecked have amplified perceptions of ineffectiveness. Citizens now demand not only fairness but also effectiveness, the ability of the police to shield them from crime without fear or favour. When people are attacked in daylight while officers stand nearby, it sends out a message of impotence that no official explanation can easily repair. In a digital age, where every act is recorded and circulated, the police cannot afford the luxury of silence.
Underlying all of this is the unresolved question of political influence. The history of Bangladesh is littered with examples of law enforcement being used as a political tool, sometimes to suppress opposition and sometimes to shield allies. This legacy has created a deep-seated suspicion that the police serve not the law but whichever political current dominates at a given moment. Even when individual officers act with integrity, the weight of institutional history colours perceptions. The absence of structural reform means the police are left trapped in an image crisis, unable to redefine themselves outside the shadow of politics.
The recently submitted reform commission report was supposed to address some of these systemic flaws, yet its recommendations remain unimplemented. Without reforms, the same patterns will persist: excessive force in moments of political sensitivity, inaction in moments of criminal urgency and endless accusations of bias. Structural inertia allows the cycle to continue, ensuring that the double crisis remains not an aberration but the norm.
The contradiction at the heart of the police’s predicament is that they are asked to be both the shield and the sword of the state, often simultaneously. They must protect citizens while defending authority, remain neutral while acting under political directives and apply force while respecting rights. These demands are not unique to Bangladesh. They are challenges faced by law enforcement worldwide. But in the societies where political uncertainty is constant and accountability structures are weak, the contradictions are magnified to breaking point.
The way forward requires more than operational adjustments or rhetorical assurances. It demands a rethinking of the police’s role within society. Neutrality cannot be performative. It must be institutionalised through insulation from political directives, clear accountability mechanisms and transparent enforcement practices. Without this, every incident will be interpreted through the lens of partisanship, further alienating the public and endangering officers.
Equally important is the need to restore morale within the force. Officers must be assured that if they act within the boundaries of the law, they will not be abandoned to political scapegoating. The absence of such guarantees only encourages passivity or excessive caution. At the same time, accountability for misconduct must remain firm. Protecting officers does not mean shielding wrongdoing. It, rather, means creating an environment where justice is consistent, whether the accused wears a uniform or not.
Ultimately, the crisis of the police mirrors the crisis of politics. A society that views law enforcement through the prism of partisanship cannot expect impartiality from its protectors.
If politics continues to instrumentalise the police, then neutrality will remain an illusion and the double crisis will persist. The public will continue to distrust, the officers will continue to hesitate and every clash, robbery or rally will reignite the same debate.
In the end, the measure of a state’s strength is not in how it suppresses its dissenters but in how it protects its citizens fairly, without fear or favour. Until the police are freed of the impossible burden of serving two masters — political power and public trust — they will remain trapped in the cycle of criticism that now defines their existence. Whether through silence or through force, their actions will always be judged inadequate. The only escape from this double crisis lies not in temporary adjustments but in a genuine transformation of the relationship between politics, society and the rule of law.
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HM Nazmul Alam is an academic, journalist and political analyst.
