Since the successful uprising which overthrew the oppressive regime of Sheikh Hasina, her time in power has been vigorously analysed. Among the labels being applied, much of it retrospectively as Bangladesh re-evaluates a long shadow on its history, is a regular invocation of fascism. From journalists and academics to former opposition politicians and the current leadership, many have rushed to add Hasina to the ranks of infamous fascist dictators.
As a matter of public perception, it can be seen as a useful shorthand for the atrocities committed by Hasina and her cronies. As a matter of accuracy and academic rigour, however, it is not the correct framing of her actions, nor is it a political philosophy that the Awami League could be properly accused of following. This might come across as an exercise in pedantry, especially to the millions of people who now have the opportunity to shape their own destinies free of her terror.
Nonetheless, words matter. While there is no excuse or justification for the decades of oppression and violence that Hasina and the Awami League regularly meted out – and this is absolutely not any attempt at apologia – properly understanding our past is one of the key means of rectifying our future. The study of history and utopianism comes with a consistent respect for valuing the power of terminology, and it is in that spirit that I put forward these reflections. (A brief note here to say that I am specifically focusing on Hasina’s tenure from 2009 to 2024, as that was the period in which she fully took control of the country and her own legacy.)
Emerging in Italy during World War I before spreading to other European countries (most notably, Germany), fascism is a far-right political ideology which relies on ultranationalism and authoritarianism. It is usually characterised by a dictatorial leader, a centralised government that uses autocratic measures, a strong use of militancy as a legitimate form of internal policy, a forcible suppression of any form of opposition, a belief in a superior identity (usually along ethnic or racial lines), and a strong regimentation of society and the economy.
These central beliefs are usually reinforced by developing a cult of personality around the political leadership and their party, enforcing violent subjugation of all undesirable identities, and an embracing of violence as a means to national rejuvenation. Historically, fascist movements have risen up as a means of challenging the status quo, framing themselves as underdogs and outsiders who speak for a silent majority. They rely heavily on propaganda and misinformation coupled with the ever-present threat of political violence.
Hasina’s policies can certainly be understood as having some fascist tendencies, especially around the suppression of criticism and opposition, and the use of autocratic measures. However, many key facets of fascism are missing from her tenure. One of the most obvious differences is that Hasina never laid claim to an ethnonationalist identity for the country.
Bengali supremacy as an ideology to suppress Adibashi communities has been a longstanding concern in the country, but it was not something that was unique to Hasina or the Awami League. Meanwhile, the suppression of queer communities and religious minorities were not seen as a crucial means to save a Bangladeshi or Bengali identity. None of this is to say that marginalised communities did not face horrific conditions under Hasina, but it is important to understand what the reasons behind such oppression were – and, equally, what the reasons were not.
Two facets of fascism seem, on the surface, to apply to Hasina’s regime – those of state militancy and the cult of personality. Some of these aspects may indeed be seen as pillars of Hasina’s tyranny, but nuance is vital. Like the various cadres of the Awami League’s political offshoots, fascist militancy did originate within the ranks of their respective parties. However, unlike what we see in Bangladesh, fascism was always quick to formalise these party fringes into state security, police, and armed forces. While Bangladesh’s equivalents were certainly complicit, it would not be accurate to say that they were built from Awami League ranks.
Similarly, Hasina’s cult of personality seems to align with fascism’s obsession with strong leadership, but there is one key difference. In fascism, idolising the dictator is the first step in idolising the party as a whole. Loving the tyrant meant loving their ideology and vision for the nation, and this meant that other party leaders were included in the mythologisation of nationhood (though to a lesser extent than the party head). In Bangladesh, the ultimate target of adulation was not the Awami League, but the Sheikh bloodline, and even other party leaders had to pay their respects to the family. It was not an ideology that was being put on a pedestal but a flesh-and-blood dynasty.
Incidentally, this particular form of dynastic worship also precluded the Awami League and Hasina from positioning themselves as underdogs upending the system. The Sheikhs were the system and Hasina’s stranglehold was seen as a protection of Bangladesh’s glory.
If we do then reject fascism as the appropriate label for Hasina, it would still be helpful to consider an alternative. The historical description of fascism provides a useful option. As mentioned earlier, fascism relies on the use of autocratic governance and the term “autocracy” is arguably the best fit to describe the period of 2009-2024.
Let us consider its features. Autocracy relies on absolute power being held in the hands of a single ruler (check); said ruler develops and then maintains total control over civil liberties but does not outright abolish them (check); they rely not only on political suppression but also the co-option of the intelligentsia (check); they rely on the support of societal elites (check); they utilise rigged elections and biased legislatures to project legitimacy (check); and they often create an easily maintained lineage for succession (check).
While we can reasonably argue that some of Hasina’s policies had fascist tendencies, autocracy appears to be the best fit when putting forward critiques. Which brings us to the most pertinent question of all – why does this all matter? Utopianism is a form of thinking where people respond creatively to major flaws in society to come up with innovative, and often grassroots, solutions, with a goal of working towards an idealised world. In order for these visions of a just and emancipatory future to be realised, we need to have a thorough understanding of our past and present.
Calling Hasina a fascist is an easy way out of recognising the issues that still need to be rectified. It bypasses the complicity of the intelligentsia and the social elites, without considering the need for accountability. It assumes that the removal of the tyrant has fixed state mechanisms like the armed forces and the police. It ignores the systemic discrimination of marginalised communities in the present by not dealing with the wider rhetoric of supremacy that continues to haunt them. Most worryingly of all, it breeds complacency in assuming that the only thing to do to avoid the lurch to fascism is to simply avoid Hasina.
Given concerns such as unfair magistracy powers for the military, the ongoing violent persecution of minority communities, and the quiet rehabilitation of people who took advantage of Hasina’s autocracy, we can see that Bangladesh is still in a fragile state. My utopianist ethos means I will always believe in the potential for our citizenry to respond to these challenges with transformative compassion and goodwill. A mass movement brought us the possibility of true liberation and there too lies the power for social transformation. Let us not ignore that vision by refusing to contend with the true nature of what we dealt with – and what we still have left to do.
Ibtisam Ahmed is a Bangladeshi academic specialising in utopianism, decolonial history, and queer theory.
This article was first published on Netra News.
