[🇧🇩] National Security of Bangladesh

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Source : https://www.PKDefense.com

Challenges and Options for national security of Bangladesh.

 

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THE MISSING COMMISSION: Why avoid national security reform?

BANGLADESH, a country born out of war and bloodshed, now finds itself at another critical juncture. Once, in the 1980s and 1990s, the military and foreign service attracted the sharpest minds — men and women who saw these institutions not merely as jobs, but as the last line of defence for a...

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THE MISSING COMMISSION: Why avoid national security reform?
Abdul Monaiem Kudrot Ullah 14 March, 2025, 00:00

BANGLADESH, a country born out of war and bloodshed, now finds itself at another critical juncture. Once, in the 1980s and 1990s, the military and foreign service attracted the sharpest minds — men and women who saw these institutions not merely as jobs, but as the last line of defence for a fragile state. But time has not been kind to these pillars of national security. The military, once an institution of prestige, is now entangled in a web of political machinations, its independence steadily eroded.

The whispers have grown louder. Figures like General Iqbal Karim Bhuiyan have spoken of how the military’s professional ethos has been suffocated under the weight of political interference — an interference spearheaded by Sheikh Hasina and the Awami League. The allegations go further: that India’s intelligence agency, RAW, has played an invisible yet decisive role in military leadership appointments. If true, this is not just meddling — it is a profound compromise of Bangladesh’s sovereignty.

Yet, beneath these claims lies a deeper question: Was the military truly a helpless victim, an institution shaped by external forces? Or did it, in some way, acquiesce to its fate? There is scant evidence of organised resistance within its ranks to fend off these encroachments. Instead, the military seems to have chosen silence, retreating into a posture of passive compliance, settling for accommodation rather than defiance.

This internal decay, however, mirrors the worsening external environment surrounding Bangladesh. The nation sits at the heart of a volatile neighbourhood. To the west, India’s strategic designs view Dhaka more as a pliant partner than a sovereign equal. To the east, Myanmar’s instability casts a long shadow, presenting a steady, though low-grade, security threat. Further north, the geopolitical rivalry between China and the United States looms, threatening to spill into South Asia at any moment. In such a climate, Bangladesh can ill afford a weakened security apparatus, politically compromised and fractured. Yet, inexplicably, no national security reform commission exists — no serious initiative to assess the vulnerabilities that have plagued the country for decades.

Anu Anwar, in the Diplomat, reminds us that these issues are not new. They have been swept aside or buried under layers of political expediency, left to fester and corrode. Thus, the cycle persists — political interference, military acquiescence, and a security framework that is woefully inadequate for the demands of the modern world.

The sting of salt cuts deep and the ghost of the sea haunts me. As a former naval officer, I carry the weight of complicity, the heavy burden of watching as my own institution withered. Did we — the so-called guardians of the nation — stand by as the pillars of our defence were dismantled? Did we, in our polished boots and crisp uniforms, become silent spectators in the destruction of our own house?

They speak of political interference now, using it as a convenient excuse to mask their own cowardice. Yes, from Ershad’s time, the rot began to take hold, creeping like mould. But it was never so all-encompassing, so insidious, and so soul-crushing. Then, there were still whispers of resistance, faint glimmers of resolve. Now, we have been reduced to puppets — tin soldiers, dancing to the whims of political masters.

We have been declawed, reduced to nothing more than a spectacle, a fleeting show in a grand political theatre. The roar of engines, the gleam of steel — once symbols of national strength — now ring hollow, empty echoes of promises never fulfilled. We are no longer defenders of the nation; we have become tools, pawns in a political game.

And what of the sea, that vast, indifferent witness? Does it remember when we sailed with purpose, when duty called us beyond the petty confines of politics? Or does it mock our impotence now, our silent submission? The sea, like the nation, carries the scars of our betrayal.

They have stolen our dignity, our sense of purpose, leaving us with nothing but the bitter taste of regret. As the storms gather on the horizon, as geopolitical forces shift, we are left to ask: what have we become? A nation where the guardians have become the guarded, where the protectors have become the protected, where the military is reduced to a mere political prop. A nation where the very sea we once sailed on now threatens to swallow us whole in our shame.

And what of the Awami League? For decades, it had styled itself as the guardian of secularism and democracy, drawing comparisons to India’s Congress Party. But their political survival was a brutal game, one that often demands subjugation rather than sovereignty. The price of longevity, in this case, had been submission — to regional hegemony, to patronage networks that demand loyalty over competence, and to a political structure that thrives on obedience rather than strategic foresight.

History is riddled with evidence of these concessions: the Farakka Barrage agreement, the 25-year bilateral treaty, the more recent transit and transshipment deals — all inked under the shadow of Delhi’s influence. Each agreement has further eroded Bangladesh’s autonomy, driving a wedge between the Awami League and the military. This distrust is no recent phenomenon; it dates back to 1971, when India’s indispensable role in Bangladesh’s liberation gave way to a post-war reality where the military increasingly viewed the ruling party as an extension of Indian strategic interests. The formation of the paramilitary Rakkhi Bahini, allegedly at India’s behest, was perceived as a deliberate effort to sideline the military’s authority. Suspicion festered, and it has never truly healed.

The Awami League’s unwavering tilt towards India had, for years, placed the military in an agonizing vice of contradiction. It stood, as it always had, as the supposed guardian of national security, yet found itself overshadowed by a civilian government that critics argued was all too eager to align itself with India’s strategic designs. The rift was palpable — an open wound between the forces of governance and the armed might, leaving the country’s security apparatus in a state of fractured uncertainty. As Bangladesh neared another political crossroads, the question remained suspended in the air: Would the military assert its traditional power, reclaiming its role as the defender of national sovereignty? Or would it continue to play second fiddle to political patronage, a pliant and submissive force in a game that no longer belonged to it?

The political parties, those chattering monkeys in their gilded cages — BNP, Jamaat, the newly minted NCP, a chorus of hollow echoes — they have abandoned the very notion of national security, tossed it aside like a soiled rag. Instead, they offer us a cacophony of anti-India screeches, a thin, brittle noise, devoid of substance, a mere pantomime of patriotism.

And so, the interim government, left to its own devices, drifts in this vacuum of silence, unchallenged, unquestioned, as it refuses to birth a national security reform commission. What else could they offer, these political entities, but their tired, divisive narratives? The silence, you see, is not just deafening; it is a weapon.

The world is shifting, a tectonic dance of power, and Bangladesh, a pawn on this grand chessboard, stands precariously, its fate hanging in the balance. ‘Friendship to all, malice towards none,’ they chant, a mantra as hollow as their promises. Diplomacy today is a viper pit, a game of calculated moves, but Dhaka’s leadership, it seems, prefers to drift, rudderless, without a compass, without a spine.

The military, once a symbol of national strength, now finds itself adrift, no longer tethered to the authority it once respected. The relationship, once strained under Sheikh Hasina’s rule, has fractured entirely, a rupture made undeniable on August 5. They may have tolerated her, but trust was never there — her closeness to India always an unsettling undercurrent. And now, with her no longer in power, that schism remains, a festering wound, bleeding into a region where tensions still simmer and the air remains thick with unspoken threats.

The ghosts of past regimes haunt the security apparatus, a spectral army of corruption and servility. Those who dared to speak truth, to push back against the rot, were cast aside, exiled, their careers buried beneath the weight of political patronage. The survivors? They perfected the art of submission, of bending the knee, of becoming nothing more than puppets on a string.

Hasina’s tenure, a masterpiece of manipulation, saw the militarisation of the police, the commercialisation of the military. Commanders turned into corporate executives, police into enforcers of political will. The armed forces, once the guardians of sovereignty, now stand as hollow shells, their capabilities atrophied, their spirit broken.

And the silence on national security reforms, the absence of a National Security Council, an indictment, a damning indictment of those who claim to lead. Countless commissions, yes, on education, on governance, on economics, but none for the very survival of the nation. The closest attempt, a mere whisper in 1996, faded into irrelevance, like a forgotten dream.

Is national security truly a priority? Or is its neglect a deliberate strategy, a way to keep the armed forces neutered, powerless? A strong National Security Council would be a bulwark against external threats, a shield against internal chaos, but they refuse, they refuse, revealing a complacency that may prove fatal.

Bangladesh, moving past the Hasina era, stands at a precipice. The storm is not coming; it is here. A military stripped of its independence, a security apparatus designed for obedience, a nation caught in the crossfire of regional power struggles.

Establishing a national security council, crafting a strategic diplomatic framework, these are not options; they are imperatives. Without them, we are adrift, at the mercy of external forces, doomed to internal instability. Good people follow rules; righteous people transform systems, wise men say. But where are the righteous? Where are the ones who will dismantle the rot, who will reclaim the soul of the nation?

The tragedy is not just the decline, but the deliberate, systematic dismantling, the slow, insidious erosion of integrity, the way those who should have resisted barely noticed until it was too late. ‘Chira unnata mama shir’, their motto, a hollow echo now, a call to arms for a ghost army.

Bangladesh stands at a crucial juncture, its future hanging in the balance. The call for a security sector that serves the people — not the whims of political factions or foreign powers — has never been more urgent. And at the heart of it all lies a stark truth: the very essence of democracy is rooted in institutions that stand on accountability, not blind obedience. But what does democracy mean when the institutions meant to protect it are fractured beyond repair?

Yet, there are those who cling to the old guard, warning that any attempt at change will usher in chaos, preferring stagnation over the uncertainty of progress. But Bangladesh, once again, finds itself at this crossroads, where the demand for a security apparatus rooted in national interests — free from external manipulation or internal partisanship — is deafening.

The real tragedy lies not in the inevitable decline, but in the way it unfolded — so methodically, so quietly — that those who should have resisted were lulled into complacency until it was far too late. As the nation wrestles with its past, one unshakable truth remains: only institutions built on accountability can uphold the fragile promise of democracy.

Abdul Monaiem Kudrot Ullah is a retired captain of the Bangladesh navy.​