It was Italian philosopher Antonio Gramsci who so eloquently diagnosed the paradox of transition: "The old is dying, and the new cannot be born; in this interregnum, a great variety of morbid symptoms appear."
If ever a nation embodied this moment of existential limbo, it is Bangladesh today—a land suspended between a crumbling past and an uncertain future, where the ghosts of discredited institutions haunt a populace increasingly cynical of politics and politicians alike.
For decades, the ruling elite, much like a stubborn old tree with deep but decaying roots, has weathered storms of dissent, surviving not through ideological appeal but by sheer force of control over traditional power bases.
Yet, every political system has an expiry date, and the current regime—despite its tactical victories—finds itself governing a country where faith in its institutions has all but evaporated.
The judiciary, the legislature, the bureaucracy—all have lost their veneer of impartiality, becoming mere cogs in the machinery of expedient power.
The once-revered electoral process, meant to be the bedrock of democracy, now appears to be little more than an elaborate charade, appeasing only those who stand to benefit from the status quo.
But history is unkind to those who believe they can sustain an illusion indefinitely.
An election, no matter how choreographed, cannot serve as an elixir for an ailing political order, nor can it permanently placate a populace that grows ever more disenchanted.
The crisis is not one of mere governance but of legitimacy itself—an intangible currency without which no regime can hold indefinitely.
An abyss of inequality: Power’s greatest precipice
If there were ever a textbook example of the consequences of unchecked economic disparity, Bangladesh might be writing its latest chapter.
The chasm between the privileged few and the struggling many has never been wider, and this imbalance is not merely an economic inconvenience—it is a political time bomb.
The ruling elite may have cocooned itself in a citadel of opulence, insulated from the struggles of the working class, but such fortresses tend to crumble when the foundations beneath them quake.
Economic inequality is no longer just a statistic—it manifests itself in daily life.
The unbridgeable gap between the luxurious enclaves of the powerful and the destitute realities of the working class is fuelling resentment, and in a society where social mobility is a distant dream, this disparity breeds not just economic frustration but political rage.
The masses may be momentarily divided by electoral theatrics, but hunger, joblessness, and despair have a unifying force of their own.
While the political discourse is preoccupied with power struggles, the very land beneath the nation’s feet is eroding—both literally and metaphorically.
Climate change, once dismissed as an esoteric concern for future generations, is now an immediate and terrifying reality. Environmental devastation, rising sea levels, and unchecked urban expansion are slowly but surely altering the very fabric of life.
The irony is cruel: while power-hungry politicians jostle for control over a nation, the ground they seek to rule is sinking, both metaphorically and, in some regions, quite literally.
This cocktail of crises—political stagnation, economic stratification, and environmental degradation—has all the ingredients for an upheaval.
Whether it arrives in the form of spontaneous street protests, mass disobedience, or an uncontainable economic implosion remains to be seen.
Colours of cyclical disillusionment
Perhaps the most tragic element in this political theatre is the predictability of disillusionment.
Today, some clamour for an election as the panacea to political decay; tomorrow, the same voices may find themselves back on the streets, disillusioned yet again by the failure of reformers to deliver.
The cycle repeats, much like a tragic play where the actors change but the script remains painfully familiar.
Reformists, if they seize power, will quickly realise that inheriting a broken system is a poisoned chalice.
The resources needed to sustain the ambitions of loyalists are finite, and public patience is fleeting.
If they fail to stabilise, they, too, will be reviled, as have those before them.
The people’s scepticism of politics is not irrational—it is learned, shaped by decades of betrayals and dashed hopes.
The inevitable reckoning
The question is not whether a reckoning will come, but when and in what form.
Gramsci’s crisis is not just a theoretical construct—it is a lived experience for nations in the throes of transition.
Bangladesh’s fate will not be determined by a singular event but by the accumulation of unaddressed grievances, by the slow but inevitable erosion of a political order that no longer commands faith.
For now, the old order may stagger on, bruised but unbroken.
The election may serve as a temporary balm, an illusory moment of normalcy.
But beneath the surface, the fault lines widen, the discontent simmers, and the storm gathers.
The past clings desperately to life, but the future waits impatiently to be born.
And in between, Bangladesh remains—adrift in the twilight of transition.
