When Secular Democracy Fails: How Religious Extremism Finds Space to Rise
Democratic secularism does not collapse only under the assault of religious extremism; it often erodes from within, weakened by its own failures. When democratic institutions become hollow, corruption replaces accountability, and secular politics loses its moral credibility, space opens for faith-based extremism to present itself as an alternative source of justice, identity, and dignity. In such moments of disillusionment, religion is no longer confined to belief—it becomes a political refuge for anger and alienation, challenging the very foundations of the secular democratic order.
By Newswriters Editorial Desk
Bangladesh stands at a defining crossroads, torn between two sharply contrasting political philosophies. On one side is Sheikh Mujibur Rahman’s founding vision of a secular, inclusive nation rooted in linguistic identity, constitutional democracy, and pluralism. On the other is the rising influence of figures like Madaras educated Osman Hadi, whose politics draws strength from religious moralism, grievance-driven nationalism, and confrontation with perceived internal and external enemies. The struggle between these two worldviews is not merely about leadership or ideology; it is about the very meaning of Bangladesh’s nationhood and which philosophy will ultimately shape its political future.
From the secular, inclusive nationalism of Sheikh Mujibur Rahman to the polarising, religiously charged rhetoric of Osman Hadi, Bangladesh’s political journey reflects a profound transformation in the idea of the nation itself. What began as a liberation movement rooted in linguistic identity, pluralism, and constitutional democracy has, over decades of military rule, political violence, and institutional decay, drifted toward grievance-driven populism and moral absolutism. The rise of figures like Osman Hadi signals not merely generational change, but a deeper ideological shift—one in which faith increasingly competes with citizenship, and external hostility replaces internal reform as the language of politics.
Osman Hadi is a case in point. Though he was assassinated and silenced as an individual, the ideological agenda he articulated has not died with him. Instead, it has acquired a martyr’s aura, giving renewed emotional force to the narratives he championed. His rhetoric—steeped in religious moralism, grievance politics, and hostility toward pluralism—continues to resonate among sections of a disaffected youth. This is precisely what makes his legacy more dangerous than his life. While Hadi is gone, the worldview he popularised threatens to fracture the very foundations of Bangladesh’s nationhood, challenging its secular origins, undermining civic identity, and replacing the idea of a shared republic with a politics of exclusion and perpetual confrontation.
Bangladesh’s new political heroes are no longer forged primarily in the ideals of liberation, constitutionalism, or inclusive nationalism that defined its founding generation; they are emerging instead from anger, grievance, and moral certainty.
In a society fatigued by entrenched elites, weakened institutions, and shrinking democratic space, charismatic figures who speak the language of victimhood, faith, and confrontation now command attention. These new heroes promise dignity rather than governance, identity rather than policy, and resistance rather than reform. Their rise marks a decisive shift in Bangladesh’s political imagination—from a nation once defined by collective struggle for freedom to one increasingly shaped by polarisation, populist rhetoric, and the search for moral saviours in an age of disillusionment.
The political trajectory of Osman Hadi offers a revealing case study of how madrasa-based religious socialisation, when combined with populist politics and grievance-driven nationalism, can contribute to ideological extremism and social polarisation. His life does not demonstrate that madrasa education inevitably produces radical figures, but it does illustrate how an insular moral worldview, if left unmoderated by civic pluralism, can later be weaponised in the political arena.
Religious extremism rarely emerges in a vacuum. It feeds on democratic decay—on institutions that no longer listen, political parties that no longer represent, and secular ideals that have lost their ethical force. When democracy becomes procedural rather than participatory, faith-based movements step in to offer moral clarity, emotional belonging, and a sense of purpose that failing secular systems no longer provide.
Osman Hadi’s formative years were spent in a religious environment shaped by madrasa education and clerical authority. Raised in a household where religious instruction was central and moral certainty was emphasised, his early intellectual formation prioritised obedience, doctrinal clarity, and communal identity. Such an upbringing is designed to produce moral discipline and religious continuity, not political pluralism.
The madrasa system rarely prepares students to negotiate ambiguity, accept ideological diversity, or engage constructively with secular institutions. Instead, it instils a worldview in which truth is singular, authority is hierarchical, and dissent is suspect.
This early formation became visible in Hadi’s later political rhetoric. His speeches consistently reflected a binary moral universe. Politics was framed not as a contest of ideas or policies, but as a struggle between justice and corruption, dignity and humiliation, faith and subservience. This language mirrors the moral absolutism typical of unreformed madrasa pedagogy, where ethical questions are settled through doctrine rather than debate. When such a framework is applied to national politics, it erodes the foundations of democratic coexistence.
Hadi’s madrasa background also shaped his relationship with history. Like many products of religious seminaries, he appeared deeply influenced by narratives of historical loss, betrayal, and decline. These narratives, common in traditional religious education, emphasise the erosion of Muslim power and dignity over time. In political form, this translated into a worldview in which Bangladesh’s contemporary problems were not primarily institutional or economic, but civilisational. The nation was portrayed as weakened by moral decay and external domination rather than flawed governance.
This perspective fed directly into his anti-India rhetoric. India was not merely criticised as a dominant regional power or an assertive neighbour; it was framed as a civilisational antagonist undermining Muslim political agency. Such framing is characteristic of religiously informed grievance politics, where geopolitical disputes are absorbed into broader narratives of faith and identity. The madrasa-trained mind, accustomed to viewing history through moral struggle, finds such interpretations intuitive and emotionally compelling.
The danger of this approach lies in its simplification. Complex bilateral relations, internal political failures, and economic challenges were collapsed into a single external enemy. This rhetorical move unified supporters but deepened national polarisation. Political opponents were no longer wrong; they were collaborators. Dissent was no longer legitimate; it was betrayal. This logic flows naturally from a worldview that divides society into the righteous and the compromised, a division often reinforced during insular religious education.
Osman Hadi’s later exposure to secular education at a major university did not fully dilute these formative influences. Instead, it provided him with political vocabulary and organisational tools, which he layered onto a pre-existing moral framework. The result was not synthesis but instrumentalisation. Religious certainty gained political expression, while political grievances gained religious justification. This combination is particularly potent in societies struggling with democratic fatigue and institutional mistrust.
The madrasa influence was also evident in his conception of legitimacy. Authority, in his rhetoric, did not derive primarily from constitutional processes or electoral compromise, but from moral standing. He positioned himself and his movement as custodians of truth and dignity, implicitly delegitimising institutions that disagreed with him. This mirrors the clerical worldview in which authority flows from perceived moral purity rather than procedural accountability.
The shift from secular nationalism to religious populism is often less about belief than about betrayal. Citizens who feel abandoned by democratic governance are more likely to embrace leaders who frame politics as a moral struggle rather than a policy debate. In such conditions, extremism presents itself not as radicalism, but as restoration—of dignity, justice, and identity—at the cost of pluralism itself.
As his influence grew, so did the consequences of this worldview. Supporters began circulating expansive, civilisational imaginaries that blurred national boundaries and hinted at religiously defined political space. Even where Hadi himself avoided explicit territorial claims, the moral universe he promoted made such interpretations plausible. When politics is framed as a religious struggle, borders become contingent and coexistence becomes negotiable.
The aftermath of his death revealed how deeply polarising this rhetoric had become. The intensity of mobilisation, the targeting of symbols associated with India, and the moral outrage displayed by supporters were not spontaneous reactions. They were the logical outcome of years of rhetorical conditioning rooted in absolutist moral framing. The nation was not mourning a political figure alone; it was responding to the perceived martyrdom of a moral cause.
It is crucial to emphasise that this analysis is not an indictment of Islam or religious education as such. Many madrasa-educated individuals live peacefully and contribute positively to plural societies. However, the case of Osman Hadi demonstrates the danger of unreformed madrasa socialisation intersecting with populist politics in a fragile democratic environment. When religious formation is insulated from civic education, historical complexity, and constitutional values, it can produce leaders who are emotionally compelling but politically destabilising.
In Osman Hadi’s case, madrasa upbringing did not make him violent, but it shaped a moral lens through which politics became a zero-sum struggle. That lens, once projected onto national life, deepened divisions, weakened institutional trust, and strained regional relationships. National cohesion does not collapse because of faith; it collapses when faith is converted into an exclusive political identity that claims moral monopoly over citizenship.
Ultimately, Osman Hadi’s story illustrates a broader lesson. A nation cannot remain cohesive if significant segments of its leadership are shaped in ideological environments that do not recognise pluralism as a virtue. Madrasas become dangerous not when they teach religion, but when they fail to teach restraint, civic humility, and the legitimacy of difference. When those absences are carried into politics, the result is not reform, but fracture.
When Secular Democracy Fails, Extremism Fills the Void
The rise of religious extremism in societies founded on democratic secular ideals is ultimately a verdict on the failures of those ideals in practice. When secular democracy fails to deliver equity, transparency, and participation, it forfeits its moral authority, allowing religious absolutism to fill the vacuum it creates. Extremism thrives not because faith is inherently political, but because democratic systems lose the trust of the people they claim to represent. Unless secular politics renews itself through institutional reform, ethical governance, and genuine inclusion, it risks being displaced by movements that promise moral certainty while dismantling the pluralism that made democracy possible in the first place.
