Over the past six weeks, while working on the BRAC Institute of Governance and Development (BIGD)’s Voting Behavior and Perception study, we travelled across Khulna, Pabna, and Barishal, speaking with people in hundreds of informal conversations. Almost everywhere, the reaction was the same. At tea stalls, the moment we mentioned the referendum, people looked at us blankly. Then they asked: “What is this yes/no vote? What happens if I tick yes? What happens if I tick no? Can you please explain?”
Even after the interim government spent an estimated BDT 140 crore on the referendum campaign, after banners appeared in almost every bank branch, after imams were asked to mobilise voters from mosques, and after school teachers were instructed to spread the message, most people at the grassroots still do not know what they are being asked to vote for on February 12.
The July Charter asks voters to vote for an upper house of the parliament, changes to the Election Commission, thirty reform proposals, and implementation mechanisms. But none of this has been explained in language that ordinary people understand. So, they fill the gaps with explanations from relatives, community groups, neighbourhood gossip, and Facebook posts that cannot be accurately verified.
We heard four main narratives surrounding the referendum during our fieldwork; each of them has spread widely and is shaping people’s voting preferences on this issue. And each of them is either dangerously misleading or outright false.
The first narrative posits that voting ‘yes’ for the referendum will erase the Liberation War of 1971. We heard this repeatedly. People spoke with genuine pain. Their fathers fought in the war, and their families sacrificed. Now they feel that voting for the referendum would mean betraying that sacrifice, erasing the memory of the war, and accepting that their whole political choice was somehow wrong. This fear has spread especially among older voters, freedom fighter families, and communities where the Awami League (AL) built its support on the memory of independence. The logic goes something like this: AL led the liberation struggle, and it is now banned. The interim government wants you to vote for the referendum, which means you will be rejecting everything the AL stood for, including the liberation war itself.
The July Charter says nothing about the Liberation War or any changes to Bangladesh’s historical foundations. But the rumour has taken hold, and once a rumour connects to something as sacred as national independence, facts cannot easily dislodge it.
The second narrative carries significant implications. Across conservative localities, people are led to believe that voting ‘yes’ will remove “Bismillahir Rahmanir Rahim” from the Constitution. This rumour has created real panic. We met people who spoke about it with anguish in their voices. “If we omit this invocation of the Almighty,” they asked, “what is left of Bangladesh? What kind of country will our children inherit?”
This claim has no basis in the July Charter. The July Charter does not touch Article 2A, which declares Islam as the State religion. It does not change the constitutional preamble. Nothing in the reform proposals threatens religious identity in any way. But the rumour has spread through community gatherings and social media forwards. In remote areas, where information travels slowly and trust in government is low, this theory has achieved near-universal appeal. People believe it because they heard it from someone they trust, the local imam, a respected elder, or a family member. And they have no way to verify the authenticity of this claim.
The third narrative circulates that voting ‘yes’ will somehow enable Dr. Muhammad Yunus to be in power for another five years. The referendum, in this version, is a trick. The interim government wants to stay permanently. Vote yes, and you are voting to cancel democracy.
Dr. Yunus has clearly stated that he will step down after the February polls. The referendum has nothing to do with extending anyone’s tenure. But in an environment flooded with misinformation, such clarifications get lost. People believe what confirms their suspicions.
The fourth narrative is perhaps the most emotionally complicated. It says that voting for the referendum means permanently eliminating the Awami League from Bangladesh’s political scene. The party is already banned under the Anti-Terrorism Act. Its leader has been sentenced to death. For millions of people who voted for the boat symbol their entire lives, who inherited this political identity from their parents and grandparents, the referendum feels like a final verdict.
Rumours have always existed in politics. What troubles us is that the government’s own campaign has done almost nothing to counter them. BDT 140 crore has gone into encouraging people to vote for the referendum. But government agencies and representatives are yet to effectively clarify or explain what the ‘yes’ vote entails. Nobody has engaged with ordinary citizens to walk them through the proposals in simple language. Nobody has directly addressed their fears or clearly stated that the Liberation War is not being erased, that Bismillahir Rahmanir Rahim will not be removed from the Constitution, and that the referendum is not about extending anyone’s power.
Instead, the campaign has created new suspicions. People question: if the referendum is truly beneficial for the public and will lead to lasting reforms, why would the government invest heavily in mobilising votes but not in clarifying its purpose and limits through public dialogue and engagement? If the reforms are genuinely popular, why the propaganda? These are reasonable questions with no clear answers.
The young people we spoke to present a different kind of problem. About 56 million voters are between 18 and 37 years old. Many of them participated in the July uprising. They risked their lives. They saw friends die. They believed they were fighting for a new Bangladesh.
Now they are handed a ballot paper with complicated questions about constitutional reform. Some are enthusiastic, but many feel betrayed. They wanted justice, accountability, and transformation. What they got was a procedure.
One student said, “Our friends died for change. This does not feel like change.”
For many young voters, there is a painful gap between what they fought for and what they are now being offered. The referendum cannot bridge it.
There is also the silent majority voter group. People who are neither passionate supporters of the referendum nor committed opponents. People who have no strong political identity did not participate in July, and just want to get through their days without trouble. We met many such people. A housewife making tea while her children completed their homework, a vegetable seller arranging his wares in the morning market, a rickshaw puller waiting for passengers. When we asked about the referendum, they shrugged. Will voting yes or no change the price of rice? Will it make the roads better? Will my children get jobs?
These voters may decide the outcome. They will vote based on whatever impression they have formed in the final days before the election. They are the most vulnerable to last-minute rumours, neighbourhood pressure, or whatever theory reaches them through their phone the night before.
Nobody is speaking to them. Nobody is addressing their actual concerns. The referendum debate happens among political activists, in newspaper columns, and on television talk shows. It does not happen in the places where most Bangladeshis actually live.
A referendum matters only when people understand what they are being asked to decide. When explanations are missing, confusion takes over. Even meaningful reforms lose their value if voters are left unsure. In the end, what matters is whether people understand the choice well enough to decide for themselves.
