Md. Nurul Haque
Once allies in a stormy union of political convenience, the Bangladesh Nationalist Party (BNP) and Jamaat-e-Islami now resemble estranged partners fighting over an empty house. Their alliance, built on shaky trust and shakier morals, has come apart, and the country is watching the dissolution unfold like a daytime soap opera. What was once an awkward arrangement of necessity has now turned into a full-blown rivalry. But this isn’t just a personal spat between two parties; it mirrors the fragmentation, fatigue, and futility that define Bangladesh’s broader opposition politics.
BNP’s relationship with Jamaat has always been more about numbers than chemistry. The Four-Party Alliance in the early 2000s was not founded on ideological compatibility but rather on electoral strategy. BNP, being the larger entity, provided the votes and staff. Jamaat contributed discipline, a controversial ideology, and a steadfast grassroots network. For BNP, it was an alliance of numbers; for Jamaat, it marked a political resurrection after decades in limbo.
But every resurrection needs a reckoning.
Jamaat never shed the long shadow of 1971. Its opposition to the Liberation War and subsequent accusations of war crimes made it a permanent moral outsider, even as it sat in Parliament and Cabinet. When the Awami League regained power in 2008, it quickly moved to revive the war—crimes tribunal. Jamaat’s top brass was decapitated in the dock, and the party lost its registration. BNP, too, began its descent—not into martyrdom, but into mismanagement, muddled messaging, and messianic leadership that refused to pass the torch.
And here lies the irony: while Jamaat was being legally dismantled, it was quietly reorganizing. While BNP was busy boycotting elections and biting its own tail, Jamaat was grooming new faces, rewriting its narrative, and rebuilding its field-level machinery. It didn’t just retreat into the shadows—it turned those shadows into strategic shelter.
Today, the roles are oddly reversed. Jamaat—the party with a past no one wants to discuss—is now whispering about the future. BNP—the party that once led the opposition—is shouting about a past it refuses to acknowledge. Jamaat operates community schools, charity drives, and Quran circles in this absurd theatre. BNP, meanwhile, is still running in circles—organising protests without a plan, issuing press statements without a strategy, and treating every youth uprising as an inconvenient meeting to reschedule.
For all its sins—and they are grave—Jamaat has clarity. It understands its audience: conservative, religious-minded voters disenchanted with the ruling regime’s secular rhetoric and the BNP’s chronic confusion. Jamaat has rebranded itself as a moral alternative, despite the historical baggage that continues to haunt it. Jamaat’s discipline and Islamic social welfare model stabilize many rural and semi-urban areas within a perpetually broken system.
BNP, on the other hand, cannot decide whether it’s a centrist savior, a nationalist holdover, or a club of tired aristocrats waiting for divine intervention. Its leadership remains trapped in the echo chamber of London flats and Dhaka drawing rooms. Internal democracy is as mythical as unicorns. Youth leaders are muzzled or ignored, while the same worn-out faces read from outdated playbooks.
Even its relationship with Jamaat is a liability; it can’t shed or sell it. It loses a large segment of its activist network if it cuts ties. If it clings on, it alienates moderates and embarrasses itself in front of international stakeholders. It’s a bit like trying to quit smoking while still carrying a lighter.
Meanwhile, the Jamaat has sniffed the opportunity. It no longer wants to be the bridesmaid—it wants to return to the altar. Its leaders openly lobby for party registration, testing public waters through rallies and social outreach, and preparing to field candidates under alternative banners if needed. Its reinvention, while still controversial, is at least coherent. BNP’s strategy, by contrast, is like a blank page in a history book—uncertain, unreadable, and increasingly irrelevant.
Yet Jamaat’s road to redemption is far from guaranteed. Its past will continue to be a red flag for secular and progressive forces. But in a political climate where ideology has taken a backseat to identity and organisation, Jamaat’s slow, calculated return may resonate with a generation disillusioned by the government’s heavy hand and the opposition’s empty fists.
So, what now?
BNP must realize its greatest enemy is not the ruling party, Jamaat, or state repression. Its greatest enemy is internal decay. If it wishes to remain politically alive, it must do more than protest—it must reform. That means decentralising leadership, investing in youth, clarifying its ideological stance, and ditching its addiction to nostalgia. In short, it must stop acting like a party that deserves power simply because it once had it.
Jamaat, meanwhile, must confront its past head-on. Without accountability or at least acknowledgment, its future will always be tainted. Rebranding only works when it’s accompanied by reform, not just retouching.
And what if neither party rises to the occasion? Then the opposition vacuum will widen—and something will fill it. It could be a third force—perhaps a coalition of civil society, youth-led movements, or a technocratic platform promising governance over grievance. Or it could be something darker: opportunists, extremists, or authoritarian-lite actors masquerading as change-makers.
Either way, nature and politics abhor a vacuum. If BNP and Jamaat keep failing to evolve, they won’t just lose the next election. They’ll lose the right to call themselves alternatives.
The curtain is still in this tragicomedy of Bangladeshi opposition politics, but the audience is growing restless. Unless someone rewrites the script, the people of this country—ordinary, exhausted, betrayed—will once again be forced to choose between the devil and the deep blue ballot box.
Jamaat-e-Islami, despite its legal setbacks and wartime stigma, has staged a quiet but calculated comeback by doubling down on ideological discipline, grassroots outreach, and social welfare programs that resonate in rural and conservative pockets abandoned by mainstream politics. In contrast, once the torchbearer of opposition, the BNP now stumbles through a maze of internal decay, plagued by centralised leadership, sidelined youth voices, and a muddled vision that fails to inspire a generation hungry for change.
While Jamaat retools itself with methodical precision, BNP lurches from protest to paralysis, clinging to nostalgia rather than crafting a roadmap for renewal. This dichotomy has opened a dangerous vacuum in opposition politics—one ripe for a third force, perhaps emerging from civil society, youth movements, or technocratic circles, that can offer principled leadership, policy-based discourse, and inclusive reform. However, such a force must survive political headwinds and embody the integrity and clarity that both BNP and Jamaat have failed to deliver in a political landscape increasingly defined by cynicism and fatigue.
The Writer is an Assistant Professor of English at IUBAT and a PhD candidate at UPM