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The Bangladeshi leader’s delusional belief in her own invincibility precipitated her downfall amid a Gen Z revolution.

After weeks of antigovernment protests, on August 5, Bangladesh’s Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina stepped down and fled the country in a spectacular turn of events. Until the last moments of her rule, her grip on power seemed all but absolute even after the deaths of hundreds of students who hit the streets demanding first reform of civil service job allocations and then her resignation.

Hasina’s stubborn refusal to compromise, overreliance on state violence, and deep patronage ties to a privileged clientele class had long disconnected her from the Bangladeshi public. She perhaps did not see the extent to which she had lost the support of the majority until the very end, leaving her with no choice but to flee the country. The collapse of her 16-year rule renders both a cautionary tale to dictators worldwide and a proof of the sheer willpower of a nation’s disillusioned youth.

The irony is that Hasina herself rode the wave of young people’s support when she led the Awami League party in contesting the 2008 elections, which it won with a landslide.

During her first term, she capitalised on youth sentiments in order to go after political leaders accused of committing war crimes during Bangladesh’s war of independence in 1971. She started executing opposition leaders while sparing the guilty of the same sin in her party. In 2013, she ordered a brutal crackdown on a sit-in by religious school students whom she had labelled radical Islamists, resulting in dozens of deaths.

In hindsight, that should have been a warning sign to the Bangladeshi public. But they chose to keep faith in Hasina, who promised shiny new infrastructure and more employment.

She did not spare any opportunity to trumpet her family tragedy and attacks on her life. Her family, including her father, Mujibur Rahman, the founder of the nation, was slain in a military coup in 1975. That she had no one but the people of Bangladesh to serve became her rallying cry; and it was too raw, too powerful to defy.

Drawing on the wellspring of family lores and legacy, she relentlessly assailed her detractors, often calling them spawns of “razakars”, a derogatory term used to describe the abettors of the Pakistani military during the war of independence. Last month, she resorted to her time-tested rhetoric again, which provoked outrage among the protesters and demands for an apology from her. She, of course, found it too beneath her to apologise for or even acknowledge the harm her words had caused.

Hasina’s refusal to listen to what people wanted stemmed from her long-held belief in her own political invincibility. As the scion of Bangladesh’s founding father, she had cultivated an image of herself as an unassailable, almost deity-like figure – the undisputed daughter of democracy.

Compromising, in her mind, would have been an unthinkable sign of weakness that could have undermined the cult of personality she had built around herself over her 15 years in power. Even as her grip on the country slipped, Hasina remained convinced that her legacy and the loyalty of her core supporters would ultimately shield her from having to make such a humbling concession.

Hasina’s fall from disgrace is of her making only. In pursuit of total power, she alienated her allies both at home and abroad. She went after those she held grudges against, from the ailing former Prime Minister Khaleda Zia to the nation’s only Nobel Laureate, Professor Muhammad Yunus, putting them under house arrest.

Countless political activists, writers, and intellectuals were either imprisoned or disappeared during what can justifiably be called a “reign of terror”. Even sympathisers who attempted to offer her good-faith counsel were not spared from her wrath.

Under Hasina’s leadership, Bangladesh was once seen as a model for those countries struggling to straddle competing powers in their neighbourhoods. But that balancing act imploded, too, as she fully entrenched into India’s orbit, unnerving China.

Western countries also grew frustrated with Hasina’s flagrant violation of democratic and human rights principles. The United States started to show its displeasure with her government, sanctioning in 2023 government officials found responsible for impeding the democratic process or involved in corruption.

But a defiant Hasina wore the American reprimand as a badge of honour and repeatedly mocked Washington for falling short on issues like public safety. Her bloody crackdown on the student protests from their start only deepened the diplomatic rift.

Hasina assumed excessive force would do its work as it had done before. But she could not fathom the depth of discontent among the people over myriad issues, over the system of which she was the face. Student protests soon morphed into a mass movement, a Generation Z revolution.

Hasina was inclined to apply even more force in a desperate attempt to cling to power, but her closest advisers warned against it, fearing the potential for even greater bloodshed. Her own son later revealed that she did not want to leave, but ultimately decided to do so on the insistence of her family, perhaps saving her from an even more humiliating end.

Indeed, her authoritarian rule had alienated not just the public, but also key international allies and fleeing the country to India was her best option.

Sheikh Hasina’s precipitous downfall in Bangladesh represents a pivotal moment, not just for the country, but for the broader global struggle between democracy and authoritarianism. The Bangladeshi youth have delivered a striking rebuke to those seeking to snuff the democratic aspirations of the people. Their victory serves as a powerful rejoinder to dictators who believe their grip on power is unassailable.

As the world watches the unfolding events in Bangladesh, leaders across the globe must heed this cautionary tale. The lesson is clear: Underestimate the power of your citizens at your own peril.

This triumph for democracy in Bangladesh offers a glimmer of hope at a time when the forces of autocracy appear to be on the march. The Bangladeshi youth have proven that even the most entrenched of dictators are vulnerable to the collective power of a mobilised citizenry. Their struggle has demonstrated that the human thirst for freedom and self-determination is a potent force, even against the most formidable political machines.

Arafat Kabir is a Bangladeshi writer, investment banker in North Carolina and a former contributor to Forbes Asia. He has written extensively on South Asian politics and his articles have appeared in the Washington Post, Wall Street Journal, Nikkei, and elsewhere.

This article was originally published on Al Jazeera.
Views in this article are author’s own and do not necessarily reflect CGS policy.