Political movements do not become dangerous when they speak the language of faith; they become dangerous when they claim a monopoly over virtue. This observation, adapted from British philosopher Isaiah Berlin, has rarely been more relevant than in today’s Bangladesh.
Following the 2024 collapse of the authoritarian regime of Sheikh Hasina, the nation stands at a jagged crossroads. In the vacuum left by the old guard’s corruption and repression, Bangladesh’s largest religion-based party, Jamaat-e-Islami, has emerged from the shadows, rebranding itself as the only disciplined, “moral” alternative in a sea of chaos.
But beneath this veneer of moderation lies a fundamental question: Can a party rooted in ideological absolutism govern a pluralistic democracy without shattering it? That question will be answered, at least in part, at parliamentary elections held on February 12.
Jamaat has mastered the art of the “dual message.” In the air-conditioned rooms of diplomatic missions, senior leaders offer soothing platitudes. They speak of constitutionalism and disavow the immediate implementation of Sharia law. They want the world to see them as a benign, faith-based civil society movement.
On the ground, however, the mask slips. In the villages and town squares where elections are actually won, the rhetoric isn’t about civic duty—it is about divine mandate. Here, voting becomes a test of faith rather than a political choice. To vote for Jamaat is to earn a “divine reward”; to vote against it is to invite moral decay.
By framing the ballot box as a portal to the afterlife, Jamaat effectively excommunicates the opposition. Jamaat-affiliated figures like Barrister Shahriar Kabir have publicly characterized a vote for the party’s electoral symbol, the Daripalla (the scales), as an imanic, or faith-based, duty.
Despite the public relations offensive, Jamaat’s own founding documents remain a stubborn obstacle to its “moderate” narrative. Its constitution still affirms that sovereignty belongs to God alone—not the people. Its ultimate objective remains Iqamat-e-Deen, the establishment of Islam as a totalizing way of life.
In this vision, the state is not a protector of individual rights but an instrument of moral transformation. It subordinates law to a specific religious interpretation and treats popular sovereignty as a temporary, conditional nuisance.
A party genuinely committed to Bangladesh’s constitutional principles—equality, individual liberty and social harmony—would begin by aligning its ideology with those principles. Jamaat has not.
This ideological rigidity manifests most sharply in the party’s vision for the female half of the population. The party chief, or ameer, Dr Shafikur Rahman and his senior leadership have already floated a social agenda that would “reward” domestic confinement, reduce women’s working hours and regulate female mobility.
These proposals signal a worldview in which women’s economic independence—the engine of Bangladesh’s US$450 billion economy—is treated as a problem to be managed. In a nation where women account for about 35% of the formal workforce and the vast majority of the garment sector, these policies amount to a blueprint for national regression.
The exclusion is already structural: Jamaat’s elected policymaking body lacks a single woman. When senior leaders suggest women should perform only before other women, they signal an intent to scrub female visibility from public life, the media, and the education system.
Even absent formal legislation, the danger lies in “moral surveillance”—the informal enforcement of “acceptable” behavior through community pressure. We have already seen a preview.
Last year, a female student at Dhaka University was publicly harassed for the “improper” draping of her orna, a long, lightweight scarf often seen as a marker of modesty. When the perpetrator was arrested, the Tauhidi Janata Islamist street movement assembled to demand his release; upon his release on bail, he was welcomed with garlands.
This spectacle sent a blunt message: Moral enforcement can override legal process, and public intimidation can reshape outcomes. When ideological authority is diffused across neighborhoods rather than anchored in courts, justice becomes a performance and mob rule replaces institutions.
The global record is instructive. In Turkey, the AKP incrementally advanced conservative norms while claiming constitutional fidelity. In Afghanistan, the spectrum ends with the total erasure of women from public life.
Jamaat’s recent gestures toward inclusivity—such as nominating a Hindu candidate—reflect political calculation rather than ideological transformation.
A system that derives legitimacy from religious morality may tolerate minorities at the margins, but it cannot secure equal citizenship. In such a framework, dissent is easily recast as disrespect for faith, and disagreement becomes a moral offense rather than a democratic right.
Philosopher Karl Popper famously warned that unlimited tolerance must lead to the disappearance of tolerance. The danger facing Bangladesh is not only authoritarianism from above, but a tyranny enforced horizontally—by self-appointed guardians of morality.
Bangladesh’s voters are understandably fatigued by past failures. But change should not be mistaken for progress.
If Jamaat succeeds in establishing a monopoly over virtue, it will substitute legal accountability with ethical certainty, and the first casualty will be the very pluralism that allowed it to rise.
The country’s future depends on a vigilant public that recognizes the difference between moral persuasion and moral coercion. Bangladesh must decide if its democracy can withstand demands for conformity disguised as virtue.
Kazi Jesin is a journalist and hosts several popular television talk shows on politics and current affairs