Brig Gen HRM Rokan Uddin (Retd)
For decades, the people of this country have lived under the shadow of elections that were elections in name only. Votes were cast, but ownership of those votes never truly rested with the people. Sometimes manipulation was crude and blatant—open administrative bias, security-backed takeover of polling centers, ballot boxes filled under the cover of night. At other times it was more refined—opposition candidates neutralized before polling day, legal mechanisms twisted for political ends, and fear silently injected into the minds of voters. People saw it, understood it, and yet were repeatedly forced into submission. Against this long history of humiliation, disenfranchisement, and repression, the recent bloody revolution marked a profound rupture. It did not merely bring down a ruling clique; it transformed the political consciousness of the nation. For the first time in a long while, people began to believe that politics could be purified, that elections could regain sanctity, and that state power could genuinely flow from the ballot.
This expectation was not naïve idealism. It was a legitimate demand paid for with blood. Young people, students, workers, and ordinary citizens poured into the streets not for a change of faces, but for a change of system. They rose with the conviction that they would never again be forced to witness a staged election or accept the theft of their votes as an unavoidable fate. They envisioned a state where voting would be an act of dignity, where citizens would be true owners of sovereignty, and where institutions would serve the public rather than dominate it. Within this aspiration lay the seed of a new political culture—one in which morality, not raw power, would define legitimacy.
History, however, teaches a sobering lesson: the period following a revolution is often the most perilous. Defeated forces rarely disappear; they regroup, adapt, and return in new forms. Today, once again, the air carries the unmistakable scent of election engineering—this time not loud and visible, but subtle, calculated, and deeply deceptive. The associates and beneficiaries of the fallen fascist order understand that the old methods no longer work. Society is more aware, digital platforms amplify scrutiny, and public tolerance for open fraud has collapsed. Consequently, they have adopted a different strategy—one that wears the language of legality, stability, reconciliation, and “normalcy,” while quietly manipulating the process from within.
This new form of engineering begins long before polling day. It starts with narrative construction. People are told that the past must be forgotten, that accountability is a luxury, and that stability requires compromise. These arguments sound reasonable on the surface, but beneath them lies an effort to normalize impunity. Those who systematically destroyed electoral integrity, suppressed dissent, and converted the state into a partisan instrument are being reintroduced into public life without moral reckoning. Gradually, attention shifts from justice to “moving on,” from truth to convenience. In this environment, manipulation does not need force; it thrives on silence and fatigue.
Alongside narrative management comes institutional influence. Instead of overt orders, pressure is applied through incentives, career calculations, fear, and strategic inaction. Administrative neutrality is weakened not by confrontation, but by quiet accommodation. Election-related institutions are nudged, not commanded, into predictable behavior. This invisibility is precisely what makes the process dangerous: when manipulation is unseen, resistance weakens.
At the same time, division is deliberately cultivated. Forces that once stood united during the uprising are encouraged to distrust one another. Rumors, character assassination, and ideological labeling are weaponized. Social media becomes a battlefield of confusion—who is a patriot, who is a traitor, who represents the revolution, who has betrayed it. As citizens become entangled in these manufactured conflicts, the central question fades into the background: will the election be genuinely free and fair? Fragmentation serves the engineer far better than repression ever did.
A segment of the media plays a critical role in this transformation. Past crimes are softened, authoritarian practices are relativized, and the revolution itself is recast as disorder or excess. Legitimate public concerns are framed as extremism; vigilance is portrayed as intolerance. Over time, this erodes confidence and dulls public resolve. Fatigue sets in, and fatigue is the greatest ally of manipulation. When people grow tired, they begin to accept irregularities as inevitable and injustice as the price of stability.
In this moment, responsibility once again returns to the people. A revolution does not conclude with the fall of a regime; it must be defended through civic engagement, institutional integrity, and electoral vigilance. A free and fair election is no longer just a constitutional requirement, it is a moral obligation owed to those who sacrificed their lives, to those who were injured, and to generations yet unborn. To surrender this process now would mean that blood was shed only to reinstall the same structures under a different arrangement.
Vigilance, however, must not be confused with hysteria. It means asking questions, demanding transparency, and refusing to normalize the abnormal. Why are discredited actors being rehabilitated without accountability? Why are electoral decisions made behind closed doors? Why are certain violations dismissed as insignificant? These questions must be raised calmly but persistently. Equally important is resisting provocation. Those who engineer outcomes often seek instability, because chaos provides justification for extraordinary measures and undemocratic interventions.
Determination is essential. Peaceful elections do not occur by chance; they are secured through collective will. Determination means defending voting rights without resorting to violence, remaining firm without abandoning discipline. Civil society, students, professionals, workers, women, and the diaspora all have roles to play. Knowing one’s rights as a voter, educating others, documenting irregularities, and engaging in peaceful civic action are not optional—they are the very mechanisms through which democracy survives.
History warns us that fascism rarely returns through force alone; it returns through complacency, confusion, and silence. If this opportunity is once again surrendered, it would constitute a profound betrayal of revolutionary sacrifice. This election, therefore, is not merely about who governs. It is a test of national dignity. The real question is not who wins or loses, but whether the process itself belongs to the people.
To ensure a free, fair, and peaceful election is to lay the foundation for a different future—one in which no citizen will again have to bleed for the right to vote. This responsibility cannot be deferred or diluted. The present generation must decide whether it will allow manipulation to reclaim the system, or whether it will defend its hard-earned aspirations with unity, vigilance, and resolve. History will remember this moment clearly, and its judgment will be unforgiving.
hrmrokan@hotmail.com
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