There is a common saying in Bangladesh: "Bhalo manush rajniti korte pare na", meaning that good people cannot do politics. It reflects a deep-rooted distrust of politics. But it also raises a question: why do people choose to enter politics in the first place? A simple answer might be ideology, conviction or a desire to serve the people. Undoubtedly, such individuals exist. But is that the whole reality?
Devoting years to a party, organising cadres, mobilising crowds, managing elections and confronting opponents — all of this comes at a cost. There is a price attached to one's time and labour, and often to the personal risks involved. How do political organisations pay this price?
Not everyone expects direct financial gain.
Some seek social status, others desire positions or titles, and some look forward to future electoral nominations. For some, however, politics is also an investment. When the expectation of profit becomes intertwined with investment, the very meaning of acquiring power can shift.
Consider a local organiser who has kept party workers together through years in opposition. When the party wins, what does he expect in return? The problem begins when legitimate political costs are recovered through privileged access to public resources or the abuse of influence.
A party comes to power by securing millions of votes. Yet its grassroots organisational strength relies on a relatively small number of local leaders and organisers. They have followers, business connections and local influence. Without them, even central directives can be difficult to implement.
So, does the central leader control the local leader, or does the local leader's organisational clout make the central leadership somewhat dependent on them?
Likely, both are true.
Running a political organisation requires a steady stream of funds. Where does this money come from? Members and businesspeople? Or informal control over markets, transport terminals, contracts and other economic activities?
Businesspeople have their own needs: security for their operations, access to the administration and, sometimes, an edge over competitors.
Those capable of leveraging political influence can provide these advantages. Not all such relationships are illegal. But when the boundary between legitimate political cooperation and the extraction of illicit benefits becomes blurred, extortion and abuse of influence can gain a foothold under the guise of politics.
Perhaps a significant explanation for corruption in Bangladesh lies here. Corruption is not always merely the result of individual greed. Sometimes, economic benefits become intertwined with political power, and the expectation of such benefits becomes linked to political loyalty.
After the Awami League government fell in August 2024, Prothom Alo reported that control of transport association offices and terminals was shifting from figures linked to the Awami League to those linked to the BNP.
A 2024 study by Transparency International Bangladesh (TIB) estimated annual illicit payments of Tk1,059 crore in the private bus sector, most of which involved Bangladesh Road Transport Authority (BRTA) officials, alongside collections by police and politically connected groups.
In Feni, a Prothom Alo investigation described allegations that economic networks once controlled by Awami League leader Nizam Hazari had been divided among BNP factions. Some of those named denied wrongdoing.
This is not about any specific party. Individuals and centres of power have changed, yet opportunities to convert political influence into economic gain remain.
The recent attack on the Radda maternal and child health centre in Mirpur brings the problem into sharper focus. Several local BNP figures were accused of involvement. The BNP and its affiliated bodies subsequently dissolved three committees and expelled 14 leaders and activists, although the party statements did not explicitly link those decisions to the Radda incident. A member of parliament elected to a reserved seat also resigned following allegations. The central leadership has visibly attempted to adopt a firm stance.
However, the question lies elsewhere. When a party's leadership publicly condemns extortion and land grabbing, why do some at the local level continue to act so recklessly? Do they believe they can avoid consequences? Or does the problem run deeper than individual misconduct?
We often say that politics needs good people. That is true. But is it possible to run a political system with good people alone when organisations need money, transparent ways of financing them remain weak, and opportunities to benefit economically from political influence are so vast? Transparent party accounts matter, but so do legitimate ways of supporting local organisational work. Otherwise, the incentives remain, whoever holds the post.
A political leader who relies on local organisers to win power may find it difficult to stand against their economic interests once in office. The central leadership may genuinely wish to end extortion.
But where political and financial relationships have become deeply entrenched, expelling one leader may not dismantle the network around them. Their followers, sources of funding and local influence may remain.
We cannot assume these relationships lay behind the Radda incident. Nor can political dependency excuse a crime. Understanding an incentive is not the same as justifying an act.
Party punishment also cannot replace the law. Arrests have been made in the Radda case, and eight accused were placed on remand on 8 October. Limited healthcare services have resumed while repairs continue. The real test is whether the investigation reaches everyone responsible and whether the same standards apply when the accused are better connected.
We often say that politics needs good people. That is true. But is it possible to run a political system with good people alone when organisations need money, transparent ways of financing them remain weak, and opportunities to benefit economically from political influence are so vast?
Transparent party accounts matter, but so do legitimate ways of supporting local organisational work. Otherwise, the incentives remain, whoever holds the post.
A corrupt leader can be expelled, and another can take their place. But if the same economic expectations are attached to that position, the new incumbent will face the same temptations.
Perhaps our most difficult task is not identifying the corrupt, but building a political culture in which economic benefits need not be the reward for political loyalty.
Apon Zahir is a research fellow at the Centre for Governance Studies (CGS).