Engineer Fokor Uddin Manik

Democracy in Bangladesh often looks like a marketplace. Voters are the customers, politicians are the shopkeepers, and power is the golden pot that everyone bargains for year-round. Sometimes, new offers arrive. Once, the banner said—“One man, one vote.” Now, the shiny new flex reads—“Proportional Representation (PR): Season Offer for Small Parties.”

Small parties are overjoyed. They imagine the parliament suddenly turning into their showroom. But let’s be honest—this showroom’s doors are not always open for voters. Citizens will not directly choose their representative. That is why some mockingly say, “I’ll cast my vote in Sandwip, but my MP will come from the Maldives.” Dreams shimmer in one eye, but the cold wind of reality blows in the other.

PR means small parties become stars overnight. But are they really the players? Not quite. They are bargaining chips hanging in the auction bag. A party with five MPs will threaten to block the budget; a party with eight MPs will demand a price for constitutional amendments. Parliament will turn into an auction house—where policies sell in installments and ideals go on discount.

Foreign actors will enjoy this show. Small parties mean division, and division makes foreign intervention easier. NGO reports will proudly state, “Democracy has become more inclusive,” “Minorities now have a voice.” But in reality, parliament will look like an international trade fair stall—while voters remain outside, allowed only to gaze.

Bangladesh’s politics has always been dominated by two stalls—Awami League and BNP. One offers discounts, the other claims VAT evasion. Small parties were usually spectators. But with PR’s elevator, they suddenly become players. In parliament we may hear: “Without our six MPs, the budget won’t pass.” Another will warn, “Without our eight MPs, the government won’t survive.” Forming a government will resemble a wedding ceremony where the groom must keep an entire neighborhood of relatives happy.

The sharpest irony of PR is this: the voter’s voice is not reflected at the individual level, but only in numbers. You may vote for your favorite candidate, but the seat will be decided by proportional calculation. In the marketplace of democracy, voters become spectators, standing outside the fair with a ticket in hand—smiling on the face, hollow inside.

Of course, PR has its advantages. The real ratio of votes will be reflected, and one-party dominance will shrink. But the larger problem is cultural. In our politics, “compromise” is seen as weakness, and “coalition” is synonymous with bargaining. Thus, under PR, governments will be fragile; instability will rise. A five-year term might collapse in five months. Foreign embassies will grin: “Another season of mediation begins in Bangladesh.”

So, the final question remains—does PR truly strengthen democracy, or is it merely a showroom decorated for the foreign market? Small parties may rejoice, NGO reports may celebrate, foreign embassies may smile. But the voter? Once again, he will remain a spectator, standing outside, clapping in the fair, still wondering: when will democracy truly belong to him, and to the candidate of his choice?

In the fair of democracy, offers come and go. Today it is PR, tomorrow app-based voting, the day after blockchain democracy. PR’s banners may gather dust on the shelves, while the voter keeps searching for the eternal answer—democracy, after all, for whom? For the people, or for the foreign market?

The writer is a Political Analyst & Social Thinker
President – Computer Science & Engineering Alumni Association, Jagannath University. He can be reached at Email: fokoruddincse@gmail.com