When democracy returned to the country in 1991, the people in my hometown, Senbagh (Noakhali 2), were upset first. This was because their favorite leader was not allowed to run for election.

Backed by people from all walks of life, Advocate Abdul Mannan—my classmate’s father—went to Dhaka to secure a nomination for Member of Parliament. Unfortunately, he came back empty-handed. He was a good and brave man who had fought against the Ershad government. Almost everyone in Senbagh believed his hard work for the party would earn him the nomination. For them, the result was very hard to accept and felt deeply unfair.

Whispers had then turned into loud conversations – – one Zainul Abedin Faruk had managed to secure the MP nomination from BNP. According to the rumor, an influential student union (DUCSU) leader from the BNP was paid just 500,000 taka for it. It was very disappointing to see Advocate Mannan lose. He was a man who had bravely stood up to a dictator. He wasn’t defeated by a rival party, but by secret deals within his own party. Years later Mr. Manna quit the party. This was a quiet and dignified protest against a corrupt system that chooses wealth and connections over honesty and sacrifice.

And so began the long era of Mr. Faruk. The subsequent elections in the nationalist BNP stronghold of Senbagh were mere formalities, but his reputation was being forged by a series of incidents that painted a clear picture of his controversial character. The story of his enduring reign is not one of populist service, but a masterclass in political machinery, opportunism, and the gradual entrenchment of a political dynasty, a narrative that began with a betrayal and continues with a sense of entitled succession.

The sensation Faruk created reportedly by publicly slapping a schoolmaster was not just an act of arrogance; it was a demonstration of power, a message that he was above the respect owed to educators and pillars of our society. Then came the news, printed boldly in the newspapers, of his removal from the prestigious post of Chief Whip, mired in a women’s scandal. For his constituents, it was a national embarrassment. Yet, he seemed to possess a Teflon-coated political skin.

His political strategy, as we observed from afar, was one of calculated visibility. During the hartals and blockades in Dhaka, he was a master of the camera. He had perfected the art of appearing in the media frame, his face a mask of manufactured excitement and fervent rhetoric. For those brief television moments, he was the face of the movement. But when the cameras were off, and the people of Senbagh were in distress during Hasina’s 16-year rule, he was conspicuously absent. For over a decade, he remained detached from the very people he represented, his connection to Senbagh reduced to a constituency on paper, while his real stage was the political theater of the capital Dhaka.

He tightened his grip on Senbagh politics by making a clever move: he resigned as the local BNP president after 26 years. At a meeting convened at his own home, he announced his resignation and, under the guise of seeking opinions, tactfully orchestrated the election of his successor: his daughter, Tamanna Faruk. This was a breathtakingly audacious move. The anger within the party ranks was palpable, a silent fury against the establishment of a family system that mocked the very idea of internal democracy.

Today, as a new electoral cycle approaches, the whispers in the tea stalls and marketplaces of Senbagh have grown into a resonant chorus. The sentiment on the ground is stark: “Even if a banana tree is made the BNP candidate, it could win easily, but not Faruk.” The people have not forgotten his decades of neglect, his scandals, and his arrogance. They see a man who has been absent for over a decade, whose only recent contributions have been staged camera acts in Dhaka.
The consensus is clear: if a strong alternative emerges, particularly from a party like the Jamaat with a formidable candidate, the carefully constructed edifice of the Faruk dynasty could crumble.

This time, it is not just about party symbols or political loyalties. It is about accountability. The people of Senbagh are ready to reject a legacy of detachment and entitlement. They are waiting for an opportunity to prove that their votes are not a hereditary right, but a sacred power to choose a representative who remembers the way home, not just the road to Dhaka. The story that began with the betrayal of an Advocate Mannan may well be concluding with the collective awakening of an entire constituency.

Writer : Joint secretary at Overseas Correspondents Association, Bangladesh