THE July uprising stirred a renewed sense of hope that Bangladesh’s damaging political cycle might finally be broken, paving the way for a governance system that genuinely serves its citizens. ‘Reform’ quickly became the national watchword. In response, the interim government formed several commissions to draft proposals on constitutional changes, elections, administration, policing, the judiciary, and more. These commissions have indeed produced an array of recommendations.
Yet the critical question remains: who will implement them? Success is widely seen as resting on the goodwill of political parties, particularly the dominant Bangladesh Nationalist Party, which reformers attempt to persuade. Hopes are also invested in a new generation of student leaders who might deliver systemic change, while most ordinary citizens withdraw to the routines of daily life. The logic appears sound: political parties are the most organised actors in society, commanding large support bases, and the expectation is that they will ultimately see reason and act responsibly. A National Consensus Commission has even been established to broker dialogue among the parties, as though political consensus automatically equates to national consensus. But history urges caution. On 21 November 1990, at the height of the anti-Ershad movement, three major alliances signed the ‘Tin Joter Ruprekha’ — a framework promising ‘full democracy and democratic governance.’ Born of a popular uprising, it was never realised, ultimately discarded in the name of political expediency once the parties regained power. Today we risk repeating that mistake. Leaving reform to others, however well-intentioned, generates only fragile hope. Without active public involvement, even the most promising moments are destined to fade into disappointment.
There is a deep-seated belief that free and fair elections will transform a corrupt state into a democratic one, and that legislatures always represent the people. Yet both long-established parties and those born of the July uprising have often failed to prioritise citizens’ interests. Structural realities explain why. The sheer cost of elections forces parties and candidates into dependence on wealthy donors, corporations, and business groups, skewing their allegiances even before they enter office. A recent case illustrates the point. During the funding debate around the inauguration of the National Citizen Party, the party sought to demonstrate transparency through a crowdfunding campaign. But at its launch, Convenor Nahid Islam acknowledged a sobering truth: no single party, however earnest, can overcome the entrenched political economy that privileges elite interests. Beyond financing, politicians are caught in the relentless pursuit of career advancement, making sustained commitment to public interest rare. Nomination processes, shaped by wealth, connections and internal rivalries, further limit meaningful participation for ordinary citizens. This challenge is not confined to Bangladesh. In the United States, for instance, studies such as Larry Bartels’ ‘Unequal Democracy’ and Princeton and Northwestern’s ‘Testing Theories of American Politics’ demonstrate how governments consistently prioritise the preferences of the wealthy over those of the general population.
Another illusion within reform debates is the belief that well-drafted laws or robust constitutions can, by themselves, safeguard democracy. But constitutions and statutes are not self-enforcing. Courts have neither armies nor budgets, and their rulings require compliance by other branches. When rulers calculate that defiance carries no consequence, constitutional guarantees are simply ignored. Even in long-standing democracies such as the United States, often regarded as a model of institutional independence, norms can be trampled. The defiance of judicial rulings during Donald Trump’s presidency illustrates that no system is immune. If such erosion can occur in a country with entrenched institutional traditions, it underscores a vital truth: no legal framework can protect against authoritarianism without sustained public vigilance and accountability.
This is precisely the trap Bangladesh faces. Elections repeatedly deliver governments beholden to elites, while constitutional checks have proved powerless to restrain autocrats such as Sheikh Hasina, who systematically dismantled every limit on executive authority. Citizens are reduced to passive voters, asked only to decide which elite syndicate will govern next. Once in office, rulers consolidate power, crush institutions, and leave the public with little recourse beyond periodic uprisings. The pressing question, then, is how to break this cycle so that elected officials govern for the people instead of monopolising power.
The answer lies in what was achieved during the July uprising itself. It was not institutions or elections that ended Hasina’s rule, but collective citizen action. That same power must now be institutionalised and safeguarded. One promising route is through citizens’ assemblies — forums where ordinary people, chosen by lot, deliberate on national issues. Imagine a political system where decision-making power rests not in parliaments or reform committees dominated by elites, but in assemblies of madrasa students, bus drivers, garment workers, farmers, teachers, private university students, hawkers, rickshaw pullers and day labourers. These are the people who risked their lives during the uprising, yet they have long been reduced to numbers, voting blocs, or stepping stones for political elites. Randomly selected from across society, they could wield real decision-making authority.
Citizens’ assemblies would mirror society in its diversity of gender, age, income, education, ethnicity and geography. Legislators and local officials would be chosen by lot from the adult population. With no campaigns, donors, or party nominations, the nexus of politicians, business interests and cultural elites would collapse. Participants would serve for limited terms, weeks or months, before stepping aside, ensuring constant turnover and fresh perspectives. This system would bypass concerns such as Article 70 of the Constitution, which restricts parliamentary voting freedom, or endless negotiations over term limits. Crucially, deliberation would replace electoral posturing. Citizens would hear from experts, stakeholders, and diverse voices before reasoning together toward common ground. Unlike election-driven politics, where narrow deals and threats decide outcomes, assemblies would base decisions on evidence and honest deliberation.
Sceptics may question whether citizen assemblies could function in a deeply polarised country like Bangladesh, or whether ordinary people are capable of managing complex national issues. Yet history proves otherwise. Ancient Athens relied on lotteries for public office, medieval Italian republics did the same, and modern juries of randomly selected citizens routinely decide weighty cases in the United States. More contemporary evidence is stronger still. The OECD has documented nearly 300 citizens’ assemblies worldwide. Mongolia has even legislated that assemblies must deliberate on constitutional amendments. In 2017, Ireland convened a citizens’ assembly of 99 randomly chosen citizens to debate abortion reform in a deeply Catholic society. Despite expectations of resistance, after careful deliberation the assembly recommended legalisation, later endorsed in a national referendum. Experience shows that given time and space, ordinary citizens can overcome bias and reach thoughtful decisions. Politics is not the preserve of technical experts; it is about collective choices. Experts can advise, but decision-making belongs to the people themselves.
Admittedly, this proposal does not resolve every logistical detail, such as organising civic lotteries, structuring deliberations, or integrating assemblies into existing systems. Yet Bangladesh need not start from scratch. Around the world, there are tested models, documented guidelines, and practical experiences to adapt. The idea may seem unfamiliar, even radical, given our political imagination has long been confined to parliaments and parties. But that is precisely why it matters. It signals the beginning of a national conversation about alternative futures. No one suggests abolishing elections or parties overnight. But Bangladesh could take a modest first step by convening a citizens’ assembly on a relatively non-contentious issue, thereby reviving the spirit of July.
Citizens’ assemblies will not always deliver perfect outcomes. But perfection is not the point. Their true value lies in teaching people how to govern collectively, how to listen, deliberate and think beyond narrow interests. They are schools of democracy, nurturing the habits of citizenship and creating the conditions for a more inclusive, accountable, and participatory political order. If Bangladesh is to escape the illusion of consensus among elites, it must find the courage to root reform in the people themselves.
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Jonaed Iqbel is a development professional.
