The bureaucracy that outlived every regime
"It is not enough to seize the state; the state machinery itself must be dismantled."
This very idea marks the key difference between an uprising and a revolution in political theory. It emerged while reflecting on the failure of the Paris Commune 150 years ago and has since reappeared throughout history whenever victorious political struggles have failed to achieve real transformation, ending instead in lost revolutions or counter-revolutions.
For all latest news, follow The Daily Star's Google News channel. Strange as it may sound, the power structure in Bangladesh has seen no fundamental change from the British era to the present day. The very foundation that determines whether other transformations in society can take root remains almost untouched. Its outward forms may have shifted—sometimes in the name of Bangalee nationalism, sometimes Bangladeshi nationalism, at times through dictatorship, or through alliances and coalitions; but beneath it all, the structure has remained deeply bureaucratic.
Efficient and capable civil servants are essential for any functioning system. But bureaucracy can, at times, turn into a self-sustaining organism—its own preservation and privilege becoming the state's primary priority. The state's prosperity is no longer its goal; the state itself becomes a host for the bureaucracy to feed on. Unfortunately, that is the fate our country has inherited as well.
After the British left, bureaucracy emerged as the most powerful force in Pakistan. In a 1972 essay, Pakistani sociologist Hamza Alavi observed that in postcolonial societies, "the military and bureaucracy cannot be seen simply as tools of a single ruling class in the classical Marxist sense."
Anyone familiar with Pakistan's history will recognise this: before taking power, Iskander Mirza and Ayub Khan rose from the civilian bureaucracy; after Ayub's coup, the military bureaucracy took command. Even Sheikh Mujibur Rahman noted this trend in The Unfinished Memoirs, identifying the crisis of the Pakistani state from its birth: "They began to depend entirely on the bureaucracy inherited from British times. Whatever the bureaucrats said, they followed." He also wrote: "Khawaja Nazimuddin appointed a bureaucrat, Chaudhury Mohammad Ali, as finance minister. He was then the secretary-general of the government. This is when the open game of bureaucracy in Pakistani politics began. One bureaucrat became governor general, another finance minister… Politicians began to lose to the bureaucratic alliance." Writer Abul Mansur Ahmad also pointed to the weakness of politicians as the reason bureaucracy became so dominant. Despite internal conflicts, this alliance between military and civilian bureaucrats ran Pakistan throughout its history.
While it is true that the political situation in early Pakistan—marked by instability and weak democratic processes—does not mirror Bangladesh exactly, a local class of businessmen and industrialists has indeed developed here. Yet the same question remains: compared to the bureaucracy, how strong is this local productive class? Or, to frame it differently: in business, industry, taxation—even corruption—who depends on whom? In his autobiography, Rehman Sobhan recalls being harassed by petty bureaucrats in the 1960s while working in the leather trade. Do we not still witness similar behaviour today?
In all developed capitalist states, bureaucracy serves as a support system—important, but not the decision-maker. Political parties, representing social classes, make decisions; the bureaucracy merely implements them. But in Bangladesh, our productive class survives only by adjusting to an almost self-contained bureaucratic system.
The alliance between bureaucracy and global capital is also significant. One example of this is World Bank's recent loan agreement with the government for the ICT sector, where a significant portion was allocated for bureaucrats' training, consultants and importing overpriced software for government offices, but not on developing Bangladesh's existing software industry. According to several experts, this may actually reduce software-related employment over the coming decades, despite the country's abundance of skilled engineers.
A recent report offers a broader picture: in the past 10 years, Tk 20,000 crore has been spent on bureaucratic training. A large portion of this expenditure often goes into buying unnecessary or overpriced foreign services and products. Training is vital, but it should have gone to experts, teachers, and researchers—those capable of using the knowledge for a lifetime and passing it on to others, including bureaucrats. The goal should have been to create permanent skilled manpower for agriculture, industry, or waste management, not bureaucrats, who simply rotate between departments.
So how do we understand this alliance between bureaucracy and global capital? In today's Bangladesh, bureaucrats decide the fate of entrepreneurs, not the other way around. Government decisions on national resources do not reflect the interests of productive classes; the ultimate authority lies with bureaucrats.
Our state now seems like a graveyard of bureaucratic failures in education, industry, agriculture, and every other sector. Each hardworking entrepreneur, every citizen struggling to make a living, appears to exist merely to feed a vast bureaucratic machine.
Civil bureaucracy cannot rule directly, as Pakistan's early years showed. In practice, military bureaucracy has often proved the most convenient form of rule for both sides. Yet, such regimes face crises of legitimacy. Without ideological acceptance, no rule can survive without spending enormous resources to maintain control. That is why political parties often need to adopt certain ideologies as a façade. People's will does not form the source of all power of the state; rather, it is the interest of the bureaucracy. In Bangladesh, under former prime minister Sheikh Hasina, the state was transformed into a fully bureaucratic-police system, justified in the name of the Liberation War and "countering extremism."
Many now argue that the July uprising could not bring about any structural transformation. Indeed, most organisers of the movement, and even the advisers who emerged from it, seemed unprepared, or unwilling, to confront or reform the bureaucracy. But bureaucracy is not a formless crowd; it has institutional memory. So, it is no surprise that one of the first commissions formed after the uprising was the Public Administration Reform Commission—staffed largely by bureaucrats themselves. Those who came to power have, in many cases, been subdued or neutralised, while the bureaucratic state remains intact. In fact, during this interim period, bureaucrats have quietly expanded their control over local government and education.
The aspiration of the 2024 uprising stopped right at the wall of bureaucracy. Yet, it sent a clear message: the old order will not last forever. For beneath the surface, the bureaucratic structure of Bangladesh can no longer contain the growing pressure of its people. History shows that sometimes wise rulers reform such systems. Otherwise, new waves of public resistance will continue to rise, seeking the deep transformation that remains unfinished.
Firoz Ahmed is a member of political council, Ganosamhati Andolon and former president of Bangladesh Chhatra Federation. He has also served as a member of the Constitutional Reform Commission under the interim government. The article was translated from Bangla. He can be reached at [email protected].
Views expressed in this article are the author's own.
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