Confusion Galore: Let’s Talk Reality

In less than a fortnight, Bangladesh is scheduled to hold a national election alongside a referendum – two exercises of democratic consequence compressed into a single, uneasy day.

The political temperature is rising, as is the volume of rhetoric. Pre-election mud-slinging is in full swing, accompanied, as so often before, by violence. Whether this cycle is marginally more or less violent than previous ones is a debate for another time. What demands urgent attention now is something more corrosive: the scale of confusion engulfing citizens and voters.

This confusion is not accidental. It is systemic.

Across the country, voters are struggling to understand what, exactly, they are being asked to decide in the referendum. The July Charter has been presented as a single proposition, demanding a binary "yes" or "no". But democratic consent does not function in absolutes. What happens if a voter agrees with certain provisions but fundamentally disagrees with others? No meaningful explanation has been offered. In the absence of clarity, the referendum risks becoming an exercise in coerced endorsement rather than informed choice.

Compounding this uncertainty are persistent rumours – neither confirmed nor firmly denied – that there may be a 180-day gap between the election and the transfer of power to the elected government. If such a plan exists, citizens have the right to know. If it does not, the failure to categorically dismiss it is deeply irresponsible. In a country with a long history of contested mandates and eroded trust, ambiguity fuels suspicion.

The decision to hold the referendum before the national election, and to conduct both on the same day, has only intensified these concerns. The operational challenges are obvious: multiple ballots, voter comprehension, polling-station logistics, and the integrity of counting mechanisms. Adding to this is speculation that the counting and declaration of results may take up to seven days. Delayed transparency in a polarised political environment is not a technical inconvenience; it is a democratic risk that demands immediate explanation from the interim government and election authorities.

Yet while citizens grapple with these fundamental questions, public discourse has been aggressively diverted elsewhere.

The lead-up to the election has been marked by a disturbing escalation in language, particularly online. Political debate has descended into slamming, shaming, and targeted abuse, much of it openly gender insensitive. Women in public life – politicians, journalists, activists, and voters – have been subjected to demeaning, moralistic, and often gender-biased attacks. This is not incidental excess. It is the familiar grammar of patriarchy reasserting itself at a moment of political transition.

Such language is painful not only because it harms individuals, but because it reinforces a wider system of exclusion. Patriarchy, long embedded and resilient, polices women's participation in public life and shrinks democratic space. Gendered hostility is not merely cultural; it is political. It intimidates, distracts, and silences, while conveniently shifting attention away from accountability, policy substance, and power.

The Bangladesh Nationalist Party (BNP), one of the country's leading political parties, along with Jamaat-e-Islami, has announced its election manifesto. As outrage dominates the airwaves and timelines, voters are being steered away from harder questions. What, beyond slogans, are political parties offering the people of Bangladesh? The promises are familiar: ending corruption, eliminating discrimination, strengthening the economy, and creating opportunities for young people. But slogans are not strategies, and intentions are not policies.

Bangladesh's demographic reality makes this lack of specificity alarming. Of a population approaching 177 million, nearly 28 per cent – around 50 million – are young people. Another 28 per cent are children under the age of 13. This is a nation whose future is already here. Yet unemployment, underemployment, and skills mismatches remain entrenched. How, exactly, will jobs be created at scale? How will young citizens be equipped to compete in a rapidly shifting global economy? How will parties ensure rule of law rather than impunity – and deliver effective governance and accountability?

Budgetary trends offer limited reassurance. While overall allocations have increased, spending on health and education remains insufficient relative to need. Gender-responsive budgeting continues to focus heavily on social protection and legal frameworks, with far less attention to dismantling structural economic barriers. Climate allocations rise even as climate displacement accelerates. Development priorities shift, but without a coherent narrative of long-term transformation.

Meanwhile, the economy remains heavily dependent on remittances and the ready-made garment sector – both vulnerable to global volatility. Diversification, innovation, and social mobility are discussed in broad strokes, not as concrete plans.

We would like to believe that this election, and the transfer of power that follows, will proceed smoothly. We would like to believe that those who emerge as leaders will rise above old habits and entrenched interests. But hope is not a substitute for accountability.

Bangladesh stands at a generational crossroads. The individuals and alliances that assume power now will shape the country's trajectory for decades. They inherit a state marked by prolonged autocratic rule, institutional erosion, deep political polarisation, and unresolved grievances, all while navigating a complex and unforgiving geopolitical landscape.

The guard is changing. The question is whether the new guard understands the weight of this moment – and whether it can offer citizens clarity, dignity, and a credible path forward. Confusion cannot be the legacy of this election.