The risks of banning Awami League activities

The Awami League returned to power in December 2008 with a sweeping electoral victory, buoyed by widespread public hope that it would offer a more democratic alternative to the Bangladesh Nationalist Party, which had governed from 2001 to 2006. However, those hopes were soon dashed. Electoral manipulation, suppression of free expression, institutional corruption, politicisation of state institutions, and extrajudicial killings quickly became defining features of the Awami League’s 15-year rule.

While previous governments were not free of such abuses, the scale and intensity under the Awami League were unprecedented, justifying a description of it becoming authoritarian. The regime also introduced particularly disturbing practices—most notably, the institutionalisation of enforced disappearances and a cult-like glorification of Sheikh Mujibur Rahman. Nevertheless, up until July 16, 2024, the Awami League’s rule, could still be characterised as a deeply entrenched, albeit extreme, extension of Bangladesh’s broader political culture.

The events between 16 July and 5 August, changed all that. Student-led protests were met with a brutally violent crackdown by the government. Estimates suggest around 1,000 people were killed during this period. A UN fact-finding report directly attributes this severe repression to the Awami League government and its orders to law enforcement authorities to shoot to kill. Such brutality was unprecedented in post-independence Bangladesh and marked a significant shift from anything that any government or party had previously done. On 5 August, when the army refused to fire upon protesters, the regime quickly collapsed.

This led to an urgent national question: What should be done about the Awami League – and in particular should it be banned?

There is little doubt that during July and August 2024, very serious crimes were committed—potentially rising to the level of the offence of Crimes against Humanity—and many of those allegedly responsible were key figures in the government and the party’s leadership. They must be investigated and, if evidence warrants, prosecuted and convicted.

But what about the party itself? Should it be allowed to operate in Bangladesh and continue participating in national politics, particularly in the upcoming general elections?

Following demonstrations in central Dhaka—initiated by student groups and strongly supported by Islamist organisations—the government announced on Saturday that the Cabinet had decided to “ban all activities of the Awami League, including in cyberspace, under the Anti-Terrorism Act, until the trial of the Bangladesh Awami League and its leaders at the International Crimes Tribunal is completed.”

On Monday, in an amendment to the law, the government set out what “banning all the activities” of the party meant.  From now on “the publication of any press statement on behalf of or in support” of the Awami League is prohibited as is a “campaign of any kind in the mass media, online, social media or any other medium” in support of the party. The “holding of processions, meetings, or press conferences or giving public speeches” is also prohibited.

One key issue is whether the Awami League as a political party should be held collectively responsible for the atrocities committed by the government. Proponents of the ban argue that the distinction between the party and the government is meaningless—that the party apparatus and its affiliated groups were deeply complicit in the state’s violence.

Indeed, it is difficult to separate the two. Photos and videos do show party leaders and activists—some armed—at times alongside security forces during the violence. However, most of the killings appear to have been carried out by law enforcement officers, likely under orders from a relatively small circle of top leaders. The UN Fact Finding report also notes only that “elements” linked to the party actively supported the repression. This raises a question of scale: How far did the party, as an institution, participate in the bloodshed?

Ultimately, this is a matter of evidence—something that can only be determined through the judicial process at the International Crimes Tribunal.

The Awami League’s conduct after the events of July and August also matters. Since the crackdown, no senior party figure has accepted any wrong doing on the part of the party or government. The party remains under the control of its former leadership, which has rejected the UN’s findings and shown no intention of reform. Sheikh Hasina, the former Awami League prime minister still its figurehead and leader, continues to agitate from abroad, including apparently threatening killings. In addition social media accounts linked to the party persist in publishing disinformation, both about the events in July/August 2024 and contemporary Bangladesh. This posture—defiant, unreformed, unrepentant and possibly seeking to destabilise the country —bolsters the case for suspending the party’s operations.

These are the core arguments in favor of the ban: that by actively participating in the killings and refusing to acknowledge its role, the Awami League has forfeited its right to take part in Bangladesh’s democratic politics. Yet banning the operation of the party carries profound risks.

First, it  will likely have a very serious impact on political freedom and civil liberties. The Awami League is the country’s oldest political party, with deep roots in the independence movement and a wide support base. Millions of its supporters had no role in the events of July–August 2024. Many back the party for its social liberalism, its secular values, its developmental record, or simply for its historic legacy.

Under the new ban, the political rights of all these millions of people have effectively been stripped away. Any expression of support for the Awami League—whether spoken, written, or shared online—could potentially be treated as a criminal act. Even peaceful gatherings of Awami League supporters—possibly even informal social meetings—risk being met with arrests. This creates a climate of fear, opening the door to surveillance, harassment and arbitrary detention, and will cast a deep chill over freedom of speech and rights of assembly. It will also have a significant impact on media freedom, as newspapers and TV stations will need to be extremely cautious about what they publish concerning the Awami League.

There is a real risk that this ban signals the beginning of a new cycle of repression—one disturbingly similar to the tactics previously employed by the Awami League itself against its political opponents but now enshrined formally in law. Already, being an Awami League supporter in Bangladesh carries the risk of arrest on dubious or politically motivated charges relating to July/August murder cases. With the ban in place, such detentions may well escalate, further undermining human rights.

Moreover, by excluding such a major political force, the interim government risks disenfranchising a significant portion of the electorate. Most AL supporters are unlikely to transfer their allegiance to other parties; many may simply abstain from voting altogether. In effect, a large segment of the population may once again find its party excluded from the ballot.

One of the most persistent criticisms of the Awami League was its refusal to hold free and fair elections. Now, the interim government, supposedly a reforming government is poised to repeat the same mistake, by presiding over another national vote in which millions of citizens are denied meaningful political choice.

And what becomes of those millions now excluded from political and speech rights? As one commentator writing on the ban stated: “Exclusion fuels grievances, delegitimises transitions, and often leads to further cycles of instability. He goes onto say that, “Banning the Awami League risks transforming an already wounded democracy into a vengeful exclusionary system, creating martyrs out of perpetrators and further polarising an already fractured society.” This is the real political danger of this ban.

Equally troubling is the process by which the decision appears to have been made. The government seems to have capitulated to the threats of a relatively small but vocal group of protesters making highly coercive demands, with little regard for the broader consequences.

At 7:30 p.m. on Saturday, student leader Hasnat Abdullah publicly threatened the government: “If the announcement [to ban the Awami League] doesn’t come within this hour, we will take control of the area from InterContinental Dhaka to Banglamotor.” Protestors had already occupied the area of the capital city called Shahbagh. “We are not retreating anymore. We will leave the streets only after the Awami League is banned. We will announce even tougher programmes.”

An hour later the interim government’s council of advisors met and agreed to the ban. Shortly afterwards the law adviser made the announcement public.

The government’s official justification was unconvincing and appeared hastily assembled. “This measure is to protect the country’s security and sovereignty, ensure the safety of July Movement leaders and activists, and protect plaintiffs and witnesses of the International Crimes Tribunal,” read the press release. Whilst these concerns are legitimate, they could have been addressed through far less drastic—and far more legally and democratically defensible—means.

If moral culpability were the sole criterion, the case for banning the Awami League would be overwhelming. But democratic governance demands a broader perspective—one that weighs the impact on political pluralism, civil rights, and long-term national stability. On those grounds, the risks posed by the ban outweigh any potential justifications.

But the decision has been made. Now, the country must contend with the consequences.

* David Bergman is a journalist. He has been writing for many years on the ICT trial process and Bangladesh. 

* The views here are the writer’s own.