The case targets members of the progressive People’s Party and its dissolved predecessor Move Forward Party, who in 2021 sought changes to legislation that protects the monarchy from criticism. The court said proceedings would begin on June 30 and confirmed that 10 serving lawmakers among the accused would not be suspended pending trial.

Thailand’s lese-majeste law is among the strictest globally, carrying penalties of up to 15 years in prison per offense. Critics, including members of the opposition, have argued that the law has been used to suppress dissent and political opposition.

The court’s move marks the latest setback for Thailand’s liberal, anti-establishment bloc, which has faced a series of judicial rulings in recent years. In early 2024, a court ruled that efforts by Move Forward to amend the law were unconstitutional and undermined the democratic system.

The party was subsequently dissolved, with its members regrouping under the People’s Party banner.Among those named in the case are party leader Natthaphong Ruengpanyawut and deputy leader Sirikanya Tansakul.

Despite strong polling support, the People’s Party finished second in February’s general election to the Bhumjaithai Party led by Prime Minister Anutin Chanvirakul, after earlier being blocked from forming a government following its 2023 election victory.

Ultimately, it raises questions of profound importance: Is it possible to transform a nation without resorting to bloodshed? 

The movement to ban the Awami League was hardly an isolated event; rather, it traced its origins to the student unrest that erupted in July 2024. Initial grievances focused on education policy, persistent corruption, and the burdens of economic hardship, but the agitation rapidly escalated into violence. 

The coalition of dissent widened as Islamist organizations and right-wing groups joined the mobilization, their rhetoric coalescing with that of newly formed student parties, National Citizen’s Party. The public discourse became saturated with serious allegations: both the Awami League and its student affiliate, the Chhatra League, faced blame for violent reprisals and the deaths of hundreds during the previous year’s protests. Over time, the demonstrators’ demands intensified. Calls emerged for the party to be designated a terrorist organization and for its leadership to be prosecuted before the International Crimes Tribunal.

This pressure culminated in a significant government response. Chief Advisor Muhammad Yunus declared the party banned under the Anti-Terrorism Act, pledging that the prohibition would remain until all charges had been legally examined. While many protesters celebrated this outcome, the broader atmosphere in Dhaka remained charged with anxiety and uncertainty. The Awami League, a party whose history is deeply intertwined with the founding of Bangladesh in 1971, now found itself the subject of condemnation and legal scrutiny by the very populace it once liberated from Pakistan. 

A Unique Protest to ban

The demonstration against the Awami League rapidly escalated into a deeply unsettling display of extremist fervour. Islamist groups, including those reported to have connections with organizations such as Al Qaida, became highly visible among the protesters. Notably, Mufti Jashimuddin Rahmani—a cleric widely recognized for his radical ideology—publicly brandished the flag of Islam, a symbol that, after years of association with violent acts, now carries significant and troubling connotations.

Representatives from Hizb ut-Tahrir, Hefazat-e-Islam, and associates of Rahmani with criminal convictions gathered, their collective presence casting an unmistakable pall over the city’s atmosphere. The demonstration fragmented with Jamaat E Islami and Islami Chatra Shibir; both groups chanted slogans like, “No Awami League in the land of Nizami, no Awami League in the land of Golam Azam,” referencing individuals convicted of war crimes in 1971 as if they were figures worthy of admiration and they owned Bengal. Another segment of the crowd escalated the rhetoric further, openly issuing death threats: “Catch and slaughter Awami League one by one.”

The environment became saturated with hostility—a manifestation not of peaceful political dissent, but of incitement to violence. At this point, the gathering ceased to resemble a lawful protest; rather, it devolved into a perilous spectacle in which the boundaries between legitimate calls for justice and extremist violence were dangerously obscured, seemingly fuelled by both state endorsement and radical zeal.

The Controversial Ban

The international community observed the unfolding events with marked concern. Human rights organizations, like Human Rights Watch characterized the ban on the Awami League as arbitrary, raising questions regarding the government’s intentions—was this a pursuit of justice, or an attempt to suppress dissent? The United Nations previously expressed alarm over banning what it described as diminishing civil liberties, while India openly voiced apprehension on democratic future as a response to the ban. 

The government justified its actions under the pretext of national security. Yet, this raised a crucial issue: who defines the parameters of security when the opposition is excluded from participation? Many questioned the legitimacy of a democracy that outlaws its oldest political party. The ban’s reach extended beyond politicians—it affected students, women, and entire communities. Such measures prompted debate over whether this constituted justice or amounted to collective punishment.

Tensions escalated throughout Dhaka; the disappearance of protestors and the retreat of supporters into clandestinity reflected the climate of fear and uncertainty. While some framed the crackdown as a necessary purge, most observers interpreted it as symptomatic of broader societal anxiety.

International actors, including foreign governments and NGOs, called for transparency, adherence to legal norms, and meaningful reforms. The interim government promised stability, yet the cost of such “order” remained ambiguous and contested.

This situation provokes reflection: Is this the outcome for which Bangladesh’s founders struggled in 1971, or does it represent a cyclical return to past traumas under new guises? When national symbols are suppressed and political expression is stifled, what remains of democratic governance?

Critics drew a distinction between punishing an organization and addressing criminal behaviour, underscoring the dangers of conflating the two. The world now watches closely, questioning who ultimately benefits from the absence of opposition, and who might be targeted next.

What’s next for Awami League?

The recent ban is undeniably severe, and the authorities’ response has been rigorous, even unyielding. Yet, as reported by Voice of America, public sentiment does not overwhelmingly align with the ban. Notably, in district bar elections, lawyers affiliated with the Awami League performed unexpectedly well. However, in many districts the interim Government forced them not to participate. Online surveys continue to indicate that the party retains substantial support, frequently leading in popularity. So, is this a conclusion, or merely another episode in a protracted political journey?

Historically, the party has confronted similar obstacles. After 1975, the Awami League operated clandestinely but ultimately re-emerged, playing a pivotal role in the 1990 movement for democracy. At present, many of its leaders are in hiding; their residences have been ransacked and their financial assets frozen. Some face threats of violence, torture, and live under persistent fear. Nevertheless, history offers important lessons. The Awami League was conceived in resistance, matured in secrecy, and spearheaded the independence war of 1971. The critical question is whether such resilience can be summoned once again.

Arguably, this period represents one of the most formidable challenges the party has faced. Growing anti-incumbency sentiment and the ban itself are compelling the organization to reassess its strategy and reconnect with foundational principles. This moment calls for a renewed study of Mujib’s legacy, the pre-independence struggle, and the dynamics of political survival. Operating covertly, the party must reorganize, adapt, and remain patient heading for a Non-violent cultural revolution. 

A non-violent cultural revolution, at its core, does not emerge through slogans or public altercations. Instead, it finds its genesis in artistic expression—music, poetry, and the collective act of remembering. Such change germinates in intimate gatherings, within the retelling of stories about figures like Mujib and the struggles of founding leaders, and in the songs that once served as a unifying force for the nation.

Both the young and the elderly revisit historical narratives, not for the sake of lamentation, but to derive lessons about resistance that is devoid of animosity. Art, within this context, evolves into a vehicle for protest, while protest, conversely, assumes the qualities of art. This form of revolution proliferates in educational spaces, in casual conversations at tea stalls, and within the quiet but resolute refusal to embrace violence. Ultimately, it raises questions of profound importance: Is it possible to transform a nation without resorting to bloodshed? 

The Awami League has demonstrated a remarkable capacity for cultural and political resurgence in the past. Whether it can transform present adversity into renewed opportunity is a new challenge. Ultimately, as has so often been the case in Bangladesh, the outcome will be difficult, but the grand return is far from over. 

Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not reflect Milli Chronicle’s point-of-view.

Many supporters may retreat underground, potentially leading to the radicalization of splinter factions if their political aspirations are completely suppressed.

Jordan’s political landscape witnessed a seismic shift this week as the government formally banned all activities of the dissolved Muslim Brotherhood, a move experts describe as a turning point in the kingdom’s modern history.

Interior Minister Mazen Al-Faraya announced the decision on Wednesday, shortly after the shocking revelation of a foiled plot involving the manufacture of rockets by individuals allegedly linked to the Brotherhood. The disclosure, which sent tremors through Jordan’s security establishment, has fundamentally reframed the national conversation around the role of political Islam within the state.

Arab News senior journalist Hani Hazaimeh captured the gravity of the moment, stating, “Jordan’s decision to formally ban all activities of the dissolved Muslim Brotherhood marks a watershed moment in the kingdom’s modern political history — a decision that could reverberate well beyond its borders.”

Brotherhood’s Complicated Legacy

Since Jordan’s establishment in 1946, the Muslim Brotherhood has been a paradoxical player in the country’s political life — both an ally and a source of friction for the Hashemite monarchy. Unlike in many neighboring countries where the Brotherhood was outlawed, Jordan allowed the group to operate relatively freely, believing it could serve as a moderating influence against leftist ideologies like communism and Arab nationalism.

Over decades, the Brotherhood grew deep roots in Jordanian society. They ran charitable organizations, contested parliamentary elections, and provided social services where the state often fell short. Their advocacy for Palestinian rights, particularly during crises like the ongoing Gaza war, further bolstered their popularity, especially among middle and lower-class Jordanians disillusioned by economic hardship and political stagnation.

However, as Hani Hazaimeh pointed out, the relationship between the Brotherhood and the state was always a delicate balancing act.

“What once served as a pressure valve for societal grievances has, in the eyes of the state, transformed into a potential vector for subversion,” he explained.

The discovery of a clandestine rocket manufacturing operation — allegedly orchestrated by the son of a senior Brotherhood figure — shattered the Brotherhood’s carefully cultivated image of peaceful activism. Despite the group’s leadership quickly disavowing any involvement and reaffirming their commitment to nonviolence, the damage to their credibility was severe and immediate.

A Sweeping Crackdown

The government’s response was swift and uncompromising. Authorities moved to shutter Brotherhood-affiliated offices, freeze financial assets, and prosecute individuals associated with the now-outlawed group. It was made clear that political entities perceived to harbor or inspire threats to national cohesion would no longer be tolerated.

Domestically, this crackdown has reignited a fierce debate. Supporters argue that national stability must come first, especially in a region plagued by insurgencies and ideological extremism. Critics, however, caution against conflating legitimate political dissent with criminal subversion.

For many Jordanians, particularly those who once saw the Brotherhood as a voice for the marginalized, the move is bittersweet. The Brotherhood’s female-led platforms, community initiatives, and calls for social justice once filled a void left by the country’s traditional political parties. Yet the exposure of violent plots irreversibly damaged the group’s moral standing, leaving many questioning whether it can ever reclaim its former legitimacy.

A Broader Geopolitical Signal

Beyond Jordan’s borders, the decision carries significant geopolitical implications. It signals a clear alignment with regional powers such as Egypt and the UAE, both of which have taken hardline stances against Islamist movements.

“Regionally, Jordan’s decision represents more than a domestic policy shift — it is a calculated geopolitical signal,” Hazaimeh emphasized.

At a time when the Middle East is gripped by instability — with the Gaza conflict escalating tensions and Iran-backed militias gaining ground in Syria, Iraq, and Lebanon — Jordan’s leadership is acutely aware of the risks of internal radicalization. The foiled rocket plot was not merely a domestic incident; it was seen as a direct challenge to the state’s monopoly on force and a potential harbinger of wider unrest.

Challenges Ahead

The path forward for Jordan is fraught with uncertainty. Simply outlawing the Brotherhood will not erase its ideological influence overnight. Many supporters may retreat underground, potentially leading to the radicalization of splinter factions if their political aspirations are completely suppressed.

The Jordanian government thus faces a delicate balancing act. It must safeguard national security while still allowing space for legitimate political expression. If all avenues for peaceful dissent are closed off, the risk of pushing frustrated citizens toward extremism only grows.

At the same time, this moment offers a rare opportunity. With the Brotherhood sidelined, there is room for new, reform-minded political movements to emerge — ones that advocate transparency, inclusivity, and genuine democratic engagement.

However, as Hazaimeh rightly cautions, true progress requires more than just removing one set of political actors and installing another.

“The end of the Brotherhood’s formal political role could open space for new, reform-minded movements that advocate transparency, inclusivity and constructive engagement. But such developments will only materialize if the state demonstrates a genuine commitment to democratic renewal, economic equity and responsive governance.”

Without addressing the deep-seated socioeconomic grievances that allowed the Brotherhood to flourish in the first place, Jordan risks repeating the cycle of political repression and radicalization.

A Defining Moment

In essence, Jordan’s decision to ban the Muslim Brotherhood is about more than just one organization. It reflects a broader recalibration of the kingdom’s political identity in an increasingly polarized region. It’s a bold statement about the kind of future Jordan wants — one rooted in stability, security, and closer alignment with regional powers that prioritize order over ideological diversity.

Yet, the ultimate success of this approach will depend on what comes next. Will Jordan open up new pathways for citizen engagement and reform, or will it double down on security-first governance at the expense of political freedoms?

As Hani Hazaimeh poignantly summed up, “Whether this move ushers in a new era of stability or sows the seeds of future discord will depend largely on what the government does next — not just in terms of repression or security, but in its ability to offer a compelling, inclusive vision for the nation’s future.”

Only time will tell whether this bold decision will mark the beginning of a new, more stable era for Jordan — or merely a temporary lull in the kingdom’s ongoing political evolution.