In a recent video, Hasnat Abdullah did something unusual in Bangladesh’s political culture. Rather than speaking only in broad promises or ideological rhetoric, he walked viewers through the details of government allocations in his constituency: how many kilograms of dates had arrived, how they would be distributed, which institutions would receive them, and who was responsible for carrying out the work. His stated aim was simple yet powerful; to stop ‘fraud’ by ensuring transparency and accountability and by letting citizens know how public resources were being used.
At first glance, the moment may appear minor: a politician explaining administrative matters on social media. Yet in the context of governance in Bangladesh, it represents something deeper and far more significant. Abdullah was not merely sharing information; he was demonstrating the procedure behind public action. He showed citizens the step-by-step movement of resources – who receives them, who distributes them, and how the system is supposed to function. In doing so, he inadvertently highlighted one of the most fundamental weaknesses in Bangladesh’s governance discourse: our national conversation is obsessed with process, while largely ignoring procedure.
In policy discussions, governance reforms, and public advocacy campaigns, the term ‘process’ dominates. Processes are the high-level narratives that describe how a system works in theory: how budgets are approved, how development projects are sanctioned, or how services are supposed to be delivered. These descriptions are often framed in institutional language, policy diagrams, and regulatory frameworks. They are useful for designing systems and ensuring administrative order. But they remain distant from the everyday experience of ordinary citizens. Procedures, by contrast, are the lived mechanics of governance. A procedure explains what happens step by step. It identifies who performs each task, what documents are required, where a citizen must go, how long each stage should take, and who is responsible if something goes wrong.
A process can be monitored primarily by experts – policy analysts, bureaucrats, auditors, and specialized oversight bodies. It requires technical knowledge, access to internal documentation, and familiarity with administrative language. Procedures, however, can be understood by anyone. When procedures are clearly described in plain language, the citizen becomes capable of monitoring the state. This distinction also explains why so many governance systems in Bangladesh remain opaque despite decades of reform efforts. Transparency initiatives often publish institutional structures, regulations, and organizational charts.
Even when accountability mechanisms exist, they typically identify offices rather than individuals. Reports mention the ‘relevant department,’ the ‘concerned authority,’ or the ‘designated office.’ Rarely do they identify the specific officer responsible for each stage of the procedure. This institutional anonymity creates a buffer between power and responsibility. When something goes wrong, accountability dissolves into bureaucratic abstraction.
The implications are profound. Without clearly documented procedures and identifiable responsibility, citizens cannot effectively challenge misconduct. A person seeking an electricity connection, a water supply line, a gas metre, or a land record often encounters a maze of informal instructions, shifting requirements, and discretionary decisions. In such an environment, corruption thrives – not only because some officials are dishonest, but because the system itself obscures the path to lawful service delivery.
This is why Abdullah’s seemingly simple act of publicly explaining allocations and naming those responsible matters. It points toward a different paradigm of governance: one in which every public process is translated into publicly accessible procedures.
Imagine if every government service in Bangladesh were accompanied by a clear procedural guide written in plain language. Each guide would explain, step by step, how the service is delivered. More importantly, it would identify the officer responsible at each stage. Citizens would know exactly where their application goes, who handles it, and how long the step should take. Such a system would also require something even more transformative: publicly accessible records of postings and responsibilities. If an officer or contractor leaves a position after overseeing a particular stage of a project, their record would remain attached to that step in the procedure. Should corruption, negligence, or abuse later emerge, responsibility would not disappear simply because the individual has moved to another post.
Of course, transparency alone is not enough. Procedures must also be actively disseminated and normalised within society. Governments often publish information on websites, assuming that access equals awareness. In reality, most citizens never encounter these materials. To truly empower the public, procedural knowledge must become part of everyday civic literacy. Civil society organisations, journalists, social media influencers, and elected representatives could help popularize simplified procedural guides. Short videos, infographics, and local awareness campaigns could explain how services are supposed to work.
Most importantly, procedural literacy should become part of formal education. Schools, colleges, and universities should teach students how basic public services operate: how to obtain a national identity card, how municipal services are delivered, how infrastructure projects are approved, and how citizens can lodge complaints when procedures are violated.
When procedural knowledge becomes widespread, the balance of power shifts dramatically. Officials can no longer intimidate citizens by exaggerating the complexity of a service. Nor can they exploit uncertainty to demand informal payments. And this brings us to a question that should make every citizen pause. How many of us actually know the procedures behind the public services we rely on every day? Do we know the exact steps required to obtain an electricity connection, install a gas meter, secure a water line, or process a municipal permit? Do we know who is responsible at each stage? For most people, the answer is no.
Instead, we rely on intermediaries, informal networks, or small unofficial payments to ‘speed things up.’ We pay extra to avoid harassment, to reduce uncertainty, or simply to ensure that the service arrives at all.
But would that still happen if the procedures were widely known and publicly documented? If every citizen knew the exact steps, and the names of those responsible, social media alone could become a powerful accountability tool. A single post exposing a procedural violation could mobilise public attention and force corrective action.
The writer is a Political and International Affairs Analyst
