When Merit Meets Politics in Public Service

Major General Md Mostafizur Rahman, SUP, ndc, hdmc, afwc, psc, PhD (LPR) 

is former Chief Instructor of the Armed Forces War Course at the National Defence College, Bangladesh

In every political era, particularly when a party assumes power with a strong mandate, a familiar pattern emerges within public discourse: we begin to label people. Civil servants, military officers, technocrats, academics —many are quickly tagged as being “aligned,” “connected,” or “favoured.” Sometimes these labels are based on evidence. Often, they are based on perception. And perception, once formed, is difficult to reverse.

But what if we paused and asked a deeper question: why are we so quick to associate professional advancement with political allegiance?

In Bangladesh, as in many democracies and transitional political systems, public institutions operate within a political environment. Governments change, policies shift, and new leadership teams seek trusted individuals to implement their agenda. This reality is neither new nor uniquely Bangladeshi. Across the world, from established Western democracies to emerging systems, incoming administrations appoint people they trust in key policy roles. Political leadership, after all, must be able to govern.

However, tension arises when this political dynamic begins to overshadow professional merit. When promotion, posting, or recognition appears to depend less on competence and more on perceived proximity to power, institutional morale suffers. The damage is not always visible. It unfolds quietly—in corridors, in officers’ messes, in administrative offices—through conversations that begin with a sigh: “It doesn’t matter how well you perform.”

This perception—whether fully accurate or partially exaggerated—has profound consequences.

First, it creates an unfair burden on professionals who strive to remain politically neutral. Instead of being presumed impartial, they may feel compelled to prove it. Their family history, personal associations, and social networks may come under scrutiny. Neutrality becomes something to defend rather than something assumed. This reversal erodes dignity.

Second, it distorts ambition. Ambition in itself is not a flaw. It is often the engine of excellence. A young officer who aspires to command, a civil servant who dreams of leading a ministry, or a professional who seeks institutional reform—these ambitions are healthy. But when systems appear to reward visibility over competence, ambition may shift direction. Energy that should be invested in mastery risks being redirected toward impression management.

The deeper issue here is not politics; it is ethics.

Healthy institutions rest on three pillars: professionalism, ambition, and ethical integrity. Professionalism ensures expertise and responsibility. Ambition provides drive and innovation. Ethics establishes boundaries. When these three remain balanced, leadership becomes transformative. When ethics weakens, ambition can become corrosive, and professionalism can be instrumentalised for narrow ends.

Bangladesh’s public institutions have produced generations of highly trained and capable leaders. Many have served with distinction nationally and internationally. Their careers reflect dedication, sacrifice, and discipline. Yet even in such environments, perceptions of politicisation can create cynicism. And cynicism is dangerous—not because it sparks rebellion, but because it breeds quiet disengagement.

The most concerning consequence of politicised perception is not that some individuals rise faster than others. It is that trust in the system erodes.

Trust is the invisible capital of any institution. Soldiers must trust command structures. Civil servants must trust evaluation processes. Citizens must trust that the state functions beyond partisan interest. When trust declines, institutions may continue to function administratively, but their moral authority weakens.

It is also important to draw careful distinctions. Not every promotion during a particular political era is politically motivated. Not every high-ranking official is aligned with a party. Conversely, not every criticism is baseless. Public discourse must resist the temptation of sweeping generalisation. Labelling individuals without due process or verified evidence damages both personal reputation and institutional credibility.

We must also acknowledge a complex global reality: political leadership naturally seeks policy alignment. In many Western democracies, senior advisory and policy roles are explicitly political appointments. However, these systems typically maintain a clear distinction between political appointees and career professionals. Structural safeguards protect the continuity of the professional service. The key difference lies in transparency and institutional boundaries.

In Bangladesh, strengthening such boundaries would reduce suspicion. Clear, merit-based promotion criteria. Transparent evaluation mechanisms. Independent oversight structures. Ethical leadership training. These are not luxuries; they are necessities for institutional longevity.

The question then becomes: how should an ethical leader operate within a politicised environment?

First, by anchoring loyalty to the Constitution and the rule of law rather than to individuals. Governments change; institutions endure. Second, by maintaining professional excellence regardless of recognition. Recognition may fluctuate with political tides, but competence compounds over time. Third, by exercising restraint. The true test of power is not its display, but its disciplined use.

There is also a broader societal responsibility. Media, intellectuals, and citizens must cultivate a culture of fairness in public judgment. Criticism is essential in democracy. But criticism must be grounded in evidence, not insinuation. When accusations become casual, they undermine both accountability and justice.

A related concern is the conflation of political alignment with criminal misconduct. Allegations of wrongdoing must be investigated through lawful channels. Due process is not a favour to the accused; it is a safeguard for society. When we allow rumour or political rivalry to substitute for legal standards, we weaken the very institutions we claim to defend.

At the heart of this debate lies a paradox. Political neutrality often earns respect but may not always guarantee elevation to the highest positions. Yet history suggests that reputations built on integrity outlast positions secured through expediency. Leadership is ultimately measured not only by rank or title, but by contribution to institutional stability.

Bangladesh stands at a stage where institutional maturity matters deeply. As our economy grows, as our global engagement expands, and as our internal political landscape evolves, the strength of our institutions will define our trajectory. Merit must be visible. Neutrality must be respected. Ethics must be non-negotiable.

The future of leadership in Bangladesh does not depend on eliminating politics from governance— that would be unrealistic. It depends on ensuring that politics does not consume professionalism or erode integrity.

If we look deeper, beyond labels and whispers, we may discover that many professionals are simply striving to serve within complex realities. Some will succeed, some will feel overlooked, and some will navigate pressures differently. But the health of the system depends on one enduring principle: fairness.

In the end, institutions outlive regimes. Titles fade. Political eras pass. What remains is the collective memory of whether we strengthened our institutions—or weakened them through suspicion and expediency.

The moral test of leadership is not how close one stands to power, but how firmly one stands by principle.