On August 5, the Nobel Prize–winning interim head of Bangladesh’s transitional government announced on national television that parliamentary elections would take place in February 2026—before Ramadan—and pledged to notify the Election Commission in time to prepare the vote.

Five days later, on August 10, Chief Election Commissioner Nasim Uddin narrowed the window further: the first week of February 2026, with the exact date to be set roughly two months in advance. These elections will be the first since the dramatic ouster of longtime Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina in August 2024, toppled by a student-led uprising many now call Bangladesh’s “second liberation.” The present political mood echoes Pakistan’s tumultuous 2007–2013 interregnum—an uneasy mix of caretaker rule, contested legitimacy, and curbs on parties and the press.

Muhammad Yunus assumed office in August 2024 amid mass protests against Hasina’s 15-year tenure, a period her critics decried for authoritarian reflexes, corruption, and the silencing of dissent. Yet the record is not merely monochrome. Under Hasina, Bangladesh posted some of Asia’s fastest growth—often 6–8 percent annually. Per-capita income more than doubled from 2009 to 2022 as the garment sector matured into a global hub that created millions of jobs. Poverty and extreme poverty fell sharply; social programs, particularly for rural and low-income families, expanded; the government built the Padma Bridge, upgraded highways and rail lines, and achieved near-universal electrification.

Those achievements coexist with deep concerns. Hasina’s governments were widely criticized for constraining press freedom, harassing opponents, and clouding electoral transparency. The question now is whether Yunus’s transitional government is correcting those abuses—or reproducing them in different form.

Reports of repression persist. More than 640 journalists have been targeted through violence or imprisonment, and prominent outlets such as The Daily Star and Prothom Alo have faced intimidation. Meanwhile, the new authorities, while condemning the opacity of past polls, have taken steps that raise their own credibility problems—most notably, moves that effectively bar the Awami League from participating. As analyst Rezaul Karim Rony notes, the caretaker coalition’s early unity has frayed, with competing agendas coming to the fore. Security forces have launched sweeping crackdowns—dubbed “Operation Devil Hunt”—that have led to hundreds of thousands of arrests.

Religion and politics add another volatile layer. The Yunus government formally lifted the ban on Jamaat-e-Islami on August 28, 2024; in May–June, the Supreme Court restored the party’s registration, clearing a path to contest the 2026 vote. Jamaat leaders met with Muhammad Yunus in October 2024 and later endorsed holding elections, while warning that a flawed process could trigger a “serious national crisis.” The rehabilitation of Jamaat—combined with releases of Islamist figures and relaxed controls on other groups—has been read by many as a tilt toward a more explicitly religious politics. Simultaneously, civil-society monitors have reported intensifying attacks on religious minorities, especially Hindus, and acts of vandalism against sculptures and sacred imagery during festivals such as Durga Puja.

Bangladesh’s insurgent anti-corruption energy also has a vehicle: the National Citizen Party (NCP). Many of its founding leaders—among them Nahid Islam and Asif Mahmud—emerged from the “Students Against Discrimination” network that spearheaded mass demonstrations against Hasina’s government.

The NCP calls for a new constitution via a Constituent Assembly and imagines a “Second Republic” that dismantles dynastic politics, patronage, and endemic graft. It champions judicial independence, decentralization, minority protections, and transparent institutions to safeguard the 2024 uprising’s gains. Early polling places the NCP behind the established Bangladesh Nationalist Party (BNP) and Jamaat, and its categorical refusal to participate under the current Election Commission could blunt its ability to translate street momentum into seats—at least in the short term.

The stakes for 2026 are therefore double-edged. On one side lies the promise of democratic renewal after years of creeping illiberalism; on the other, the risk that transitional rule becomes its own instrument of exclusion. Free and fair elections require more than an early-February date. They demand a level playing field for all parties—including the Awami League—robust protections for journalists, and rules that are administered by institutions trusted across the spectrum. They also require vigilance against sectarian intimidation, whether in the form of targeted assaults on minorities or the politicization of religious identity to narrow the civic space.

Bangladesh stands at a hinge moment. If the caretaker government pursues credible reforms, allows genuine competition, and protects fundamental rights, the 2026 vote could mark the beginning of a sturdier democratic order. If it does not—if party bans, mass arrests, and selective enforcement persist—the election risks becoming another exercise in managed pluralism, the Trojan horse by which democracy is ushered in only to be emptied of its meaning.