“Constitutions do not create dictators, but the paper cannot save you from the man who holds the pen.”
In majority of nations today, and throughout history, the constitution stood as a symbol of a collective agreement or promise that the ruling powers shall serve the people instead of enslaving them like primitive kings used to. Yet, throughout history, we have seen the rise of dictators or as we may often call it in the 21st century: Authoritarian regimes. This constitutional promise often shatters not because the constitution allows tyranny & authoritarianism, but because those entrusted to uphold its promise end up reinterpreting it for personal gains. Fascism, dictatorial or authoritarian regimes in any form is not born from parchment and ink, rather it is nurtured by ambition cloaked in legality.
Constitutions are by design, defensive documents. Whether modeled on the Westminster system of parliamentary democracy, the federal framework of the United States, or hybrid forms emerging in postcolonial states, constitutions are generally intended to serve as barriers against autocracy. That is why constitutions codify checks and balances, establish independent judiciaries, and enshrine fundamental rights. None of the modern constitutions, including Bangladesh’s, adopted in 1972 as a vision of nationalism, socialism, democracy and secularism supports fascism or authoritarianism.
Yet, history has constantly demonstrated an uncomfortable truth, that durability of democracy depends less on words written in a constitution and more on the ethics of those interpreting it in their executive roles. When political leaders decide that power is an end in itself, they end up twisting constitutional interpretations to serve their agenda. What commences as “constitutional reforms” eventually becomes revisionism: subtle at first glance, then evident, transforming democratic instruments into tools of control and power. This subtle shift from democracy to authoritarianism never happens overnight. Rather, it unravels through a process that shown to appear lawful. Leaders exploit legal ambiguities, politicize the judiciary, and weaken regulatory oversight institutions under the smoke of stability and development. The constitution remains intact on the surface, but the custodians of the constitution exploit it.
Examples across continents and history currently show the same story. For instance, in Russia, constitutional amendments extended presidential term limits, often justified in terms of political stability and national continuity. In India, emergency provisions were weaponized in the 1970s to justify suspension of civil liberties. In Turkey, constitutional referendums consolidated executive power into one office. Viktor Orbán in Hungary did not stage a coup; he used parliamentary supermajorities to pack courts, redraw electoral boundaries, and rewrite constitutional rules to entrench his own power. Interestingly, all these examples were achieved through ostensibly ‘legal’ means.
Bangladesh’s experience is not far from this pattern. Decades of amendments, some seeking stability, others cementing control, have rendered the original constitutional spirit nearly unrecognizable. The framers of 1972 Constitution envisioned a shared sovereignty between the state and its citizens, today that balance feels precarious when political opposition, press freedom, and public accountability face constant strain.
The fault, however, lies not with the constitution, but with those who handle it as a pliable tool instead of a sacred compact. When citizens grow tired of authoritarian practices, they often rally under the calls for reforms. They want changes to the constitution, replacing clauses and rearranging institutions, thinking it can reverse decades of political and institutional decay. No amount of amendment can restrain a leadership devoid of ethics determined to dominate. The constitution is only as powerful as those willing to defend it in spirit, not merely in procedure.
In Bangladesh, successive governments have revised the constitution in the name of efficiency, stability, or representation. Some reforms were necessary, others served partisan convenience. Each time, the underlying issue was that of a leadership culture that confuses loyalty with compliance.
Think of the constitution as a compass. It points toward liberty and justice but cannot force a traveler to walk in that direction. When national leaders discard the compass for convenience, the path inevitably leads to centralized control, however democratic the route claimed to be. Elections continue, courts function, parliament convene but accountability vanishes.
Democracy’s greatest test is not its structure but its spirit. Fascism does not emerge because the constitution allows it, it arises when citizens, courts, and institutions stop resisting leaders who reinterpret the law to match their ambitions. The moral degradation of leadership precedes the legal degradation of governance. For Bangladesh, the challenge is twofold: reclaiming constitutional integrity from political influence and rebuilding citizens’ confidence that laws serve justice, not authority.
As the global viewpoint shifts toward strongman politics and digital propaganda, the defense of democracy will depend on cultural maturity. Leaders willing to be limited, citizens willing to question, and institutions willing to resist applause for autocracy disguised as progress.
The world does not lack constitutions, rather it lacks constitutionalists. The text remains pure. It is human ambition that corrupts it. Until nations, Bangladesh included, learn that moral leadership cannot be legislated, constitutional reform will remain a revolving door opening to hope, closing on disappointment.
Written by:
Shafqat Aziz
Barrister (of Lincoln's Inn)
LLM Corporate Law, NTU
Industry & Alumni Fellow, NTU
PGDL, UWE Bristol
LLB, BPP University
Accredited Civil-Commercial Mediator (ADR-ODR International)
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