In a political landscape already straining under uncertainty, the National Consensus Commission’s recent proposals touted as a pathway to constitutional clarity and decentralised justice—now appear to contain the very seeds of institutional ambiguity and potential abuse. At a media briefing held at the Foreign Service Academy on the tenth day of the Commission’s second-phase dialogue, Vice-Chairman Professor Ali Riaz announced that participating political parties had reached a rare consensus: the declaration of a state of emergency should never again be weaponised for political ends.

However, beyond this lofty ideal lies a troubling lack of specificity. The proposed changes to Article 141 of the Constitution particularly clauses (a), (b), and (c), which govern the declaration, implications, and legal scope of emergency rule have yet to be fully articulated. The Commission suggests that all provisions under Article 141 will be subject to amendment, addition, subtraction, and revision. Yet, in true Bangladeshi political fashion, the devil remains in the unspoken details.

Article 141: The Slippery Slope of Silence

For decades, Article 141 has existed as a dormant yet potent clause, often invoked in the country’s darkest political chapters—from the curfews of the '70s to the technocratic repression of the 2007-08 military-backed caretaker regime. The article, as it currently stands, grants sweeping authority to the executive, enabling the suspension of fundamental rights and reshaping of legal frameworks in the name of “national security.”bYet, as the strategic circle has observed across past emergencies, the legal scaffolding that supports Article 141 lacks judicial oversight or parliamentary ratification. The Consensus Commission’s failure to address this democratic deficiency in its public discourse is conspicuous—and worrying. Without binding clauses for Supreme Court validation or Jatiya Sangsad approval, the same legal ambiguities that enabled past political crackdowns remain firmly in place.

Courting Complexity: Judicial Expansion or Jurisdictional Chaos?

Equally concerning is the Commission’s proposal to expand subordinate courts to upazila levels in phases an initiative that, at first glance, appears to reflect a progressive shift toward judicial accessibility. However, upon closer inspection, this proposal rests on a fragile foundation. The plan lacks statutory benchmarks, administrative infrastructure, and clarity on how jurisdictional overlaps will be handled.

The Commission recommends that courts in Sadar Upazilas be integrated with the respective District Judge Courts and that existing Chowki and Island Courts be “maintained.” Yet, no institutional framework has been proposed to regulate these hybrid or parallel structures. Legal experts warn that without uniform judicial standards, upazila-level courts risk becoming subject to political patronage, especially in rural constituencies where local elites and party cadres exert considerable influence. A decentralised court system without decentralised accountability is not justice it’s jurisdictional gerrymandering.

Radical Inclusivity: Dialogue with Shadows

The Commission’s multi-party dialogue includes participation from 30 political parties, ranging from the centre-right BNP to Islamist formations such as Jamaat-e-Islami. While the spirit of consensus is commendable, the presence of historically controversial parties raises valid concerns about ideological dilution.

Observers fear that involving parties with a history of opposing secular governance and constitutional pluralism may result in backdoor attempts to reinterpret key clauses—including those related to secularism, war crimes, and gender justice. Without a publicly disclosed charter or red-line principles, the reform initiative is vulnerable to ideological subversion disguised as inclusive dialogue.

Public Missing from the Public Interest

Perhaps the most glaring omission in the Commission’s roadmap is the people themselves. At no point during the current phase of dialogue has there been any meaningful consultation with civil society, legal scholars, or the broader public. In a country where constitutional amendments have historically been tied to regime preservation rather than genuine reform, the exclusion of public voices only fuels suspicion. If the proposed changes are indeed in the national interest, then why not make the draft proposals public? Why not subject them to parliamentary scrutiny before sealing agreements behind closed doors?

Conclusion: A Consensus Without a Compass

The work of the Consensus Commission was envisioned as a corrective moment in Bangladesh’s fragile democracy. But unless the roadmap is revisited with transparency, legal precision, and civic participation, the Commission risks becoming yet another institution that preserves elite consensus at the cost of constitutional clarity. Amending Article 141 without restricting its discretionary misuse is akin to giving a loaded weapon new polish. Expanding the judiciary without institutional guardrails is to build courtrooms on sand. And seeking national unity without public trust is no consensus it is camouflage. If reforms are to be meaningful, they must begin not with political convenience, but with constitutional courage.