IN THE tumultuous arena of the current political landscape, the police force has been thrust into the spotlight, often for all the wrong reasons. Once seen as a bulwark of public order, today it stands accused of abandoning its foundational role in favour of a dark purpose. Mass shooting, an unauthorised use of lethal force and the dereliction of duty became disturbingly frequent which are behaviours more suited to the blood-stained streets of war zones than the corridors of civil governance.
To understand this troubling transformation, one must navigate the murky waters of political manipulation that have corroded the force from within. The police were not always this way. Under previous administrations, including earlier term of 1996鈥�2001 of the prime minister Sheikh Hasina, the reshuffling of personnel was common. Yet, it was seldom part of a broader political strategy. Since her return to power in 2008, the rules of the game have changed dramatically. What was once a respected institution is now a mere pawn, bent to the will of those in power, where uniforms and batons have served not the public but the interests of a select few.
The politicisation of the police force was not a sudden event. It was a slow and insidious process, played out behind closed doors, where allegiances were traded like commodities. This transformation was not about a few rogue officers. It was systemic, deliberate and devastating in its impact. Sheikh Hasina鈥檚 administration, unlike her previous tenure, took the politicisation of the police to new heights, wielding the force as an instrument of political strategy rather than as a neutral protector of the people.
This strategy has not gone unnoticed. The echoes of discontent are loud among citizens who have seen the police not as a shield but as a potential threat. What is remarkable, and tragic, is that the very essence of policing had been corrupted. And, here lies the critical truth: the police no longer serve the law; they have served power. The line between justice and politics was not just blurred but willfully erased.
Reforming this broken system will not be an easy task. It requires more than just a reshuffle of ranks or a new coat of paint on old practices. It demands a wholesale re-imagining of what the police mean to a society. True reforms will necessitate dismantling the entrenched loyalties that have poisoned the force, establishing checks and balances that operate beyond the reach of political influence and reinstate the fundamental idea that police officers are public servants, not enforcers of political will.
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A force divided: roots of factionalism
THE seeds of discord within the police force were sown in the chaotic aftermath of independence, long before Sheikh Hasina鈥檚 decisive turn in 2008. It was in 1973, under Sheikh Mujibur Rahman鈥檚 administration, that the first cracks appeared in the nascent institution. The appointment of 140 freedom fighters, known as the 鈥楾ofail batch鈥�, as deputy superintendents of police, marked the beginning of a deep and dangerous politicisation of law enforcement. This group, handpicked not through examination but through political kinship, was a stark departure from the meritocratic principles that should have guided the selection of such ranking officials.
Parallel to the Tofail batch, another faction emerged: police officers from military backgrounds, brought into the fold under Sheikh Mujib and his successor president Ziaur Rahman. These officers, often seen as having sympathies for the Bangladesh Nationalist Party, embodied a starkly different ethos: one rooted not in the revolutionary zeal of the 1971 war but in a more disciplined, regimented tradition. The battle lines were drawn, not on the streets but within the walls of police barracks and briefing rooms, where loyalty to the ruling party dictated the career trajectory.
This internal rift, initially simmering beneath the surface, began to boil over during Hasina鈥檚 first term in the late 1990s. The freedom fighter officers, products of a revolutionary past, found themselves increasingly at odds with their military-trained counterparts. What began as silent mistrust soon exploded into open animosity, with each group accusing the other of harbouring political biases that were crippling the force鈥檚 integrity. The conflict between the factions did not remain a mere internal squabble. It became a public spectacle, bleeding into the very fabric of the institution. In one particularly telling episode, a confrontation erupted during a police week event, where members of the 1973 batch openly denounced their military-aligned colleagues in front of prime minister Sheikh Hasina. Some were so emboldened that they pounded tables in anger, hurling accusation with a sense of entitlement that could only come from years of unchallenged patronage.
What followed was a predictable cycle of purges, reassignments and compulsory retirements, a macabre dance of power that would recur with each shift in government. When the Bangladesh Nationalist Party returned to power in 2001, it was their turn to exact retribution, reinstating military-affiliated officers and sidelining those from the Tofail batch. This perpetual tug-of-war did more than disrupting careers. It corroded the very soul of the police, turning it from a national force into a fractured, partisan battleground. Each administration used the police as a weapon to solidify power, rather than as an independent body sworn to uphold the law.
This historical divide, once rooted in the complex aftermath of a bloody war for independence, has since metastasised into an unending cycle of distrust, manipulation and political exploitation. The force鈥檚 loyalty has become a commodity, bartered and sold to the highest bidder in corridors of power. It is not just a tragic legacy; it is a living reality, shaping every decision, every appointment and every fractured relationship within the ranks. As long as this shadow of politicisation looms, the police will remain trapped in an endless spiral of division and dysfunction, serving not the people, but the ever-shifting tides of volatile political landscape.
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Strategic calculus: AL masterstroke
AFTER 2008, the politicisation of the police reached a new and insidious level. The Awami League, having returned to power with renewed vigour, systematically reshaped the force, sidelining key officers who remained neutral or had even a hint of opposition leaning. This was no ordinary reshuffle. It was a re-engineering of the force鈥檚 very essence, designed to transform it from a neutral enforcer of the law into a partisan weapon wielded by those in power. From the lowest ranks of constables to the highest echelon of command, new appointment increasingly reflected allegiance to the Awami League. Political connections became a requisite to advancement, eclipsing merit and undermining professionalism. Consequently, the police force, rather than protecting the citizenry, became a bulwark of the ruling party鈥檚 political machinery.
The full extent of this infiltration became starkly apparent through clandestine meetings between ranking police officers and Awami League representatives. Behind closed doors, a chilling exercise in political triage unfolded: lists of officers were meticulously compiled and annotated with labels of 鈥榣oyal鈥� or 鈥榰nreliable.鈥� Those deemed unfriendly to the ruling party were exiled to professional purgatory, denied promotions, transferred to remote posting and stripped of prestigious opportunities like UN peacekeeping missions and coveted foreign training programmes. This was a masterstroke of political control, cynical in its brilliance and devastating in its impact. The police, once an institution of public trust, was now split along partisan lines, with ranks filled by those who understood that survival meant enforcing the will of the government rather than upholding the law.
For the citizens, this transformation was catastrophic. The police, corrupted by political favour and beholden to party interests, lost their way, abandoning the impartiality that is the bedrock of justice. In this environment, the law became fluid, shaped by the shifting needs of those in power. Ordinary citizens paid the price daily, struggling to trust that the guardians of peace were acting in their interests.
The turning point was not just a moment in time; it marked the point of no return. As the police force continued to serve the interests of the Awami League, the question loomed larger: who would then serve people? The force had become a reflection of the political decay 鈥� a microcosm of a state where loyalty trumped law and where the machinery of power ground relentlessly onward, indifferent to the damage it caused.
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Bitter harvest of politicisation
THE consequences of this relentless politicisation rippled across the core of democratic fabric. The police now stood accused of serving as a partisan force, a blunt instrument upholding the interests of the then ruling Awami League. This transformation came at a staggering cost: public trust in law enforcement eroded to a dangerous low, replaced with a pervasive sense of betrayal. Officers perceived as loyal to the regime received extraordinary promotion, lucrative allowances and unearned accolades, often with scant regard for competence or professional conduct. Meanwhile, those who remained neutral or showed signs of disloyalty were exiled to professional wasteland, their careers derailed by political vendetta.
The result was a force riven with fear, favoritism and corruption. The pressure to conform to the ruling party鈥檚 expectations created an environment where professional integrity was sacrificed for political expediency. Officers knew that advancement hinged not on dedication to the law but on willingness to toe the party line, transforming the police into an arm of the political apparatus, more concerned with crushing dissent than protecting citizens.
This corruption of purpose extended beyond internal decay. It struck at the heart of the fragile democracy. Elections, critical moments of democratic expression, increasingly became battlegrounds where the police were deployed not as neutral overseers but as agents of the ruling party鈥檚 strategy. The elections of 2014, 2018, and 2024 stood as stark reminders of the deep politicisation. Allegations of police misconduct were no longer whispered accusations but loudly proclaimed truths: officers intimidating opposition supporters, harassing dissenters and brazenly tilting the electoral scales in favour of the Awami League. The evidence was clear in the accounts of ordinary citizens, whose experiences of police brutality and intimidation had become tragic norms. Harassment at polling stations, raids on opposition gathering and the unchecked suppression of dissenting voices were expected features of the political landscape.
The metamorphosis of the police into a political actor had devastating consequences for democratic ethos. The rule of law, once a cornerstone of governance, was subverted, replaced with a rule of political expediency where law enforcement acted not as impartial guardians but as willing accomplices to the ruling party鈥檚 ambitions. The state鈥檚 monopoly on force, which should serve the people, was leveraged to protect a political class that clung to power at all costs.
For citizens, this was the bitter harvest of politicisation: a police force that no longer answered to people but to the political elite ensuring its survival. The repercussions were profound, threatening not only the integrity of law enforcement but also the very foundation of democracy. As long as the police remained ensnared in the web of political loyalty, the dream of a fair and just society remained out of reach, eclipsed by the shadow of power wielded without accountability.
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Reforms to restore police credibility
BANGLADESH stands at a critical juncture. To reclaim the integrity of its police force and win back public trust, the nation must break free from the deeply entrenched politics that has transformed law enforcement into a tool of control and coercion. This is not merely about reforms; it is about redefining how the police operate, moving them away from political influence and returning them to their rightful role as impartial enforcers of the law. The path ahead is fraught with resistance, but it is clear: depoliticising the police requires dismantling a culture of partisanship that has long rewarded loyalty over competence and obedience over accountability. To untangle the police from politics, we must institute independent, transparent processes for appointment, promotion and disciplinary action. This transformation will allow the police to serve the people without fear or favour, and with the integrity that their role demands. The following points may be taken considerations:
Complete reorganization: The police hierarchy is bloated, riddled with inefficiency and often top-heavy with ranking positions that serve no public purpose. It is time to streamline the leadership structure, cut down unnecessary bureaucracy and reallocate resources to frontline services where they are needed most.
A civil service, not a militarized force: The police should function as a civil service entity, distinct from military operations. The militarisation of the force has fostered a culture of intimidation rather than community services. Re-imagining the police as protectors of the public, rather than enforcers of state power, is vital to restoring their role within society.
Law amendment and accountability: The laws governing police conduct must be revised to ensure greater accountability. This includes instituting clear guidelines on the use of force, strict penalties for violation and ensuring that the law acts as a check on power rather than a shield for misconduct.
Independent civilian agency: An independent civilian agency free from political influence to investigate police misconduct should be established. The body would operate impartially, ensuring that allegations of abuse are handled with the necessary rigor and fairness, free from political meddling.
Restrictions on use of lethal weapons: Military-grade weapons should be restricted to specialised units such as the APBN, with oversight by a dedicated small arms committee led by the chief of general staff. Everyday policing should focus on de-escalation rather than confrontation.
Strengthened civilian oversight and independent oversight board: A comprehensive civilian oversight structure is essential, extending from the home affairs ministry down to local levels. Establishing an independent civilian oversight board composed of well-meaning civilians, legal professionals, and human rights advocates will be pivotal. This board would:
鈥� investigate public complaints: Handle complaints against police misconduct impartially, ensuring every officer is accountable to the public rather than political interests.
鈥� recommend disciplinary action: Empower the board to recommend disciplinary actions or legal charges where necessary, ensuring no officer is above the law.
鈥� mandate rights and ethics training: Ensure all officers receive comprehensive training in human rights, ethics, and community service. Such programmes will emphasise impartiality, integrity and the need to uphold the law without bias.
鈥� facilitate overseas training: Provide opportunities for officers to train in friendly countries with advanced policing systems to enhance their professional standards and learn best practices in rights-respecting law enforcement.
Rigorous scrutiny of current human resources: A thorough review of all current officers to assess involvement in past misconduct, corruption or disciplinary breaches should be conducted. Those found guilty should face appropriate legal consequences, including dismissal.
Strengthened internal affairs unit: The internal affairs unit within the police to conduct investigation into misconduct, with direct reporting to the civilian oversight board, should be enhanced. This unit must operate with the independence necessary to hold officers accountable from within.
Accessible complaint mechanisms: A secure and accessible system for filing complaints against police officers should be established. This system must protect whistle-blowers from retaliation and ensure that grievances are promptly and fairly addressed, restoring public confidence in the police.
These reforms are not just ideals but essential steps to reclaim the police as a force for justice, committed to the rule of law. Only through such profound changes can we win back public trust and ensure that the police fulfill their most fundamental duty: to protect and serve all citizens impartially, beyond the reach of political influence.
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A call for a new dawn
BANGLADESH stands at a critical juncture, teetering on the brink of a new era. The recent student-mass uprising offered immense potential for a fresh start. The interim government, recognising the urgency of the situation, has made strides towards reform. However, the police force remains a troubling anomaly, its integrity compromised by deep-seated politicisation.
The police have become enforcers of partisan interests. To break this destructive cycle, Bangladesh must radically re-imagine its approach to law enforcement. The police must be freed from the clutches of political influence and realigned with its core mandate: to serve the people with impartiality, transparency, and accountability.
Reforms, though challenging, are not just necessary. They are the only path forward to restoring the police as a truly independent guardian of justice. Only then can the police reclaim its rightful role, upholding the principles of fairness and protecting the democratic fabric of the country, without fear or favor. For too long, citizens have watched their protectors transformed into enforcers of a different kind, watching from the sidelines as the force lost its way. The path forward is neither simple nor clear, but it is necessary. The police must be returned to their rightful role, not as the foot soldiers of power but as guardians of the peace, accountable to the law and the people they serve. Until this transformation occurs, the police force will remain mired in the same endless spiral of politicisation, mistrust and fear.
The stakes have never been higher and the choice is stark: continue down this dangerous path, or make the bold, difficult decision to reform. The future of Bangladesh hangs in the balance.
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Abdul Monaiem Kudrot Ullah is a retired captain of the Bangladesh navy. Hasan Chowdhury from United States and retired brigadier general Mahbub helped him in this article.
