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BAN OR A BANE?

The ban on the Awami League seems to be a decisive end to an era, but it is more likely the beginning of a new chapter in Bangladesh’s endless political drama.

By Atif Shamim Syed | October 2025


In a move that shook an already divided nation, Bangladesh’s interim government banned all activities of the Awami League (AL) in May 2025. AL is the country’s oldest and most historically significant political party. The ban used the Anti-Terrorism Act (ATA) of 2009, which ironically was the same law AL enacted to crush its opponents.

The ban marks a dramatic escalation in Bangladesh’s unstable political story. This decision, which targets the party of the nation’s founding father, Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, is not just a simple political tactic. This defining moment compels the country to confront its history, question justice, and redefine its future.

The ban came nine months after a massive change in Bangladeshi politics. In July 2024, student-led mass protests driven by seething anger over economic problems, strict government rule, and election rigging exploded into a nationwide rebellion. The AL government responded with a deadly crackdown, resulting in 1,400 UN-confirmed deaths.

The interim government that assumed power following Sheikh Hasina’s swift exit justified the ban. They stated it was a mandatory legal measure due to the ongoing trials of AL leaders for crimes against humanity and genocide. By ceasing AL’s digital engagements and all activities until the conclusion of the trials, the government wanted to cut off AL’s power to gather supporters, influence court cases, or disturb the fragile political process. AL’s well-known student wing, the infamous Bangladesh Chhatra League (BCL), was also banned under the same ATA law.

Political reaction to the ban shows deep divisions within the Bangladeshi society. AL’s biggest rivals are the most ardent supporters of the ban. The most important among them is the Jamaat-e-Islami (JI), giving way to a deeply shocking paradox: In a stark reversal, the party that was historically banned for its opposition to Bangladesh’s secular ideals is now leading the charge to outlaw the very party that established those ideals. Besides, the newly created National Citizens Party (NCP) and different right-wing groups have created a united front against AL.

The response from the Bangladesh Nationalist Party (BNP) has been more careful and strategically unclear. At first, the BNP Secretary General said the party had “no objection to AL participating in elections, but criminals must face trial.” This demonstrated a commitment to justice within a multiparty system. However, after the ban was imposed, BNP’s tone changed, stating that the “party was happy with the government’s decision.” This change suggests a clever and calculated political opportunism. To understand what this ban could mean, one must look at it through the lens of Bangladesh’s long history of using party bans as a political weapon. History shows that such steps never work, and sometimes they backfire.

Between 1972 and 1975, Sheikh Mujibur Rahman’s government banned religious parties, including the JI, to solidify Bangladesh’s secular foundations. This ideological ban was meant to cleanse the state of elements that threatened its very existence. The ban was removed by President Ziaur Rahman, who was seeking a broader political base for himself. By 1979, the JI was back in politics.

Later, in the early 1980s, military ruler Hussain Muhammad Ershad limited political activities and arrested leaders. He did not impose official political bans; instead, he used raw force to coerce opponents into submission.

In 2013, the AL government cancelled JI’s registration and prevented it from participating in the elections. More recently, the AL government banned JI again in August 2024 during the student protests. The ban was cancelled within weeks.


There are several reasons for the failure of political bans. First of all, the ban deals with a political party’s legal status rather than the ideological or socio-economic grievance that feeds its support. Second, when laws like the ATA are used in a pick-and-choose manner, the process is seen as biased revenge, not fair justice.

Third and the most important: Bans build resilience. In a divided culture, supporters of a banned party often see this action as an attack on their identity, making their determination stronger and pushing their activities underground.

The most profound consequence of the AL ban might be ideological. Before independence, the party’s main foundation was Bengali nationalism—a secular, language-based cultural identity that unified all Bengalis. While the AL used this ideology to justify its rule and push opponents to the margins, it maintained a strong balance against far-right politics and religious extremism.

With the Awami League out of the picture for the time being, the ideological space it controlled is now empty. The BNP, which promotes a religion-based “Bangladeshi nationalism,” may see an opportunity to rebrand itself. It could try to bring in parts of secularism and Bengali nationalism to widen its appeal, showing itself as a party able to stop extremist groups from taking over. However, this will be very tricky. On the other hand, the partnership of JI and right-wing groups with the anti-AL movement suggests that these forces are already stronger. They might ask for a bigger chunk of the political pie.

Awami League is a party with a long history of struggle and survival. It was persecuted before independence, and also after Mujib’s assassination in 1975. It spent more than a decade in political wilderness before returning to power in 1996. AL has shown that it can recover from any calamity. However, the challenges it currently faces fundamentally differ from those of the past.

Awami League is not only facing political opposition, but it is also facing a moral judgment. The brutal crackdown of July 2024 was recorded in real-time on social media. The videos of violence, the photographs of victims, and the live streams of protests are a permanent digital record. This has created a powerful, worldwide story of the AL as an oppressive force, a sharp contrast to its historical image as a party of liberation. This damage to its reputation may be its most difficult challenge, especially among a younger, digitally-native generation.

Moreover, the legal framework being used against AL is one of its own making. The ATA and other laws jailed opponents, silenced critics, and suppressed dissent. The party now finds itself targeted by its own weapon, facing the very legal suppression it tailored to perfection. The public does not miss this irony. It also weakens any claims that the party might make to paint itself as a victim.

The ban on the Awami League is presented as a necessary step toward justice for the victims of the July 2024 crackdown. There is a strong argument that a party whose leadership is on trial for serious crimes should not be allowed to operate freely.

However, the lessons of history and the complexities of the present suggest that this path is replete with danger. By using a tool that has consistently failed to achieve lasting political stability, the government risks further dividing society, pushing AL supporters underground, and creating a martyr narrative around the party.

True justice and lasting stability require more than just banning a political group. They need an independent and transparent judicial process for those accused of crimes, a restructuring of the state’s security system, and a national conversation to rebuild broken democratic institutions that allow peaceful political competition. The ban on the Awami League seems to be a decisive end to an era, but it is more likely the beginning of a new chapter in Bangladesh’s endless political drama. The space left behind will not stay empty for long, and what fills it will decide the nation’s direction for decades to come.

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