Dominance of the centre and silence of the margin in the system of governance

After the July mass uprising, the central question facing Bangladesh’s socio-political landscape is not who will come to power, but what kind of state structure the country will have. The balance of power that has long remained confined within the centre of Dhaka must now be reimagined.

What will this new structure look like? How will the relationship between the centre and the margin be reorganised? And how will ordinary people—especially those in rural and marginalised areas—create space for their experiences, needs, and aspirations within it?

If democracy is to extend beyond the act of voting and shape people’s everyday realities, these questions must be addressed. A meaningful answer can be found only through fundamental reform of the local government system.

Bangladesh’s development narrative is often confined to the story of the centre's success. A Dhaka-centric economy, policymaking, administration, and concentration of power have long been permanent features of national politics. Within this structure, villages, upazilas (subdistricts), and unions remain outside the sphere of decision-making.

In fact, the stark inequality between the centre and the margin persists through a discriminatory local government system—one that remains powerless and dependent on the centre.

The local government system of Bangladesh has evolved within a context of historical inequality. It is “decentralised” in name only but remains deeply entrenched in the long shadow of central control. The rural Union Parishad—the oldest and most grassroots institution—has effectively become an extension office of the ministry. Its budget, projects, and even staff recruitment are all determined in Dhaka.

Urban institutions such as city corporations and municipalities enjoy comparatively greater financial and administrative autonomy, and their decisions are implemented more swiftly—largely because they are embedded within central networks. For instance, the amount of public expenditure per citizen in Dhaka is many times higher than that for a resident of a rural Union Parishad.

Yet nearly 70 per cent of the population still lives in villages, relying on Union Parishads for everything from birth registration to old-age allowances and housing schemes. However, these local bodies have virtually no control over budgets, personnel, technology, or policymaking authority.

This structure reflects not just administrative but also political power—where decision-making is concentrated in the hands of a few groups, leaving the lived experiences and needs of marginalised people at the periphery.

Although representatives of upazila, union, and district councils are elected, their actual authority is severely limited. The keys to budgets, development projects, and administrative decisions remain in the hands of the central bureaucracy. As a result, marginalised communities are unable to reflect their needs and experiences in national policy through local government. This is why development plans often fail to align with reality—roads are built where they already exist, while areas in desperate need of flood protection embankments remain neglected.

This unjust and unequal structure is not merely an administrative failure—it is a political–economic arrangement in which power, resources, and influence are concentrated in the hands of a few elite groups. In neo-Marxist analysis, the state is seen as an instrument that serves the interests of the ruling elite. In Bangladesh, this elite class is not only economic but also administrative and political. From their position at the centre of power, they determine the rules of state resource distribution.

A centralised structure means that power remains confined to a few. Decisions are made in Dhaka, but their impact is felt in the remotest villages. As a result of this elite capture, local people—especially women, the poor, and marginalised communities—are excluded from policymaking. Representative bodies such as union parishads, municipalities, and district councils cannot become truly participatory, because the real decision-making power does not lie in their hands. Democracy thus remains limited to voting, and citizen participation becomes merely symbolic. The disorder, corruption, and sense of inferiority that pervade local political life are reflections of this structural incapacity.

Why, then, has this unequal structure persisted for so long? The answer lies in the logic of political economy. A cycle of mutual dependence has evolved through the centralisation of power and control over resources. Politicians seek to maintain control over administration and resources, while bureaucrats want to retain ownership of policies and processes. Both sides benefit from centralisation. For the central government and bureaucracy, this inequality serves as an incentive structure—a system that provides opportunities for control, recruitment, projects, and the allocation of resources.

Decentralisation, on the other hand, would mean losing that control. The ruling elite’s interests are deeply tied to maintaining this centralised order. Hence, despite numerous reform proposals, they are rarely implemented. In practice, decentralisation would require breaking the chain of shared interests that binds political parties, bureaucracy, and economic elites together—a transformation that has yet to occur. This is the core political barrier to reforming the local government system.

The consequences of this inequality extend beyond administrative weakness—it also undermines democratic participation. When people see that their elected representatives lack real decision-making power, their motivation to engage in politics diminishes. Democracy then turns into a top-down relationship, where ordinary citizens become spectators rather than participants.

Therefore, any new political vision for Bangladesh must place local government reform at its centre. Reform must go beyond institutional adjustments—it must involve a reorganisation of power in which state policy begins not from the centre, but from the lived experiences and needs of marginalised people.

Reform means, first, ensuring financial autonomy—granting local government bodies the authority to generate their own revenue and gain direct access to development budgets.

Second, it requires administrative decentralisation, so that government officials at the upazila and union levels are accountable to elected councils, not the other way around.
Third, reform must promote broader political participation, enabling citizens to take part directly in budgeting, planning, and monitoring processes.

Some recent decisions by the interim government have once again brought the issue of centre–periphery inequality to the forefront. For example, the sudden decision to hand over the management of Chittagong Port to a foreign company came at a time when there had been no major complaints about the port’s operations. Such a decision appeared to bypass both local and national consultation processes. Similarly, over a hundred actionable recommendations from various reform commissions—such as those on police reform and local government reform—remain unimplemented. This raises a crucial question: is the delay merely due to administrative complexity, or is it the result of silent resistance from invisible vested interests?

To give real substance to the popular vision of a “New Bangladesh” that emerged after the mass uprising, there is no alternative to decentralisation. The financial and administrative powers of Union Parishads and municipalities must be strengthened. A new social contract must be built around key principles—local revenue collection authority, citizen participation in project selection, budget transparency, and opportunities for women’s leadership.

The central government’s role should be one of policymaking and support, not control. Unless local administrations become both politically accountable and economically capable, democracy will remain a spectacle confined to the capital. The mass uprising has reminded us that the true measure of democracy lies not in the politics of the capital, but in bringing change to the lives of people on the margins.

The strength of the state becomes sustainable only when there is equity in decision-making and resource distribution. Therefore, the next stage of Bangladesh’s democratic journey could be a participatory decentralisation—one in which every citizen, from the Union Parishad to the city corporation, feels that the state truly belongs to them.

Bridging the gap between the centre and the periphery is not just an administrative task of local government reform—it could form the very blueprint of a new political vision for Bangladesh, where both development and democracy grow from the bottom up.

#Kazi Maruful Islam is a professor at the Department of Development Studies, University of Dhaka.