Every four years, Bangladesh turns out to be somewhat peculiar. Walk through any neighborhood — Dhaka, Rajshahi, and a village you have never heard of — and what you will see draped from rooftops and balconies is not red and green. It is sky blue and white, gold and green, and red, black, and gold. There is no exception in the World Cup Football 2026, hosted by the United States, Mexico, and Canada. The flags of Argentina, Brazil, Germany, and France are hoisted, though the countries of most of these supporters have never visited and probably never will.
From a sociological standpoint, it is genuinely fascinating. Few nations on earth produce this level of collective devotion to foreign football teams or clubs. But here is the thing: when you pull back from the cultural spectacle and look at it through the lens of law, what looks like harmless sporting enthusiasm runs headlong into some fairly unambiguous legal territory. Bangladesh’s framework on flag use is not vague. The Bangladesh National Anthem, Flag and Emblem Order of 1972, together with the People’s Republic of Bangladesh Flag Rules enacted the same year, sets precise boundaries. Rule 9 is where this conversation starts and largely ends. Under that rule, foreign flags may be displayed at diplomatic missions — embassies, high commissions, and international organizations.
Foreign flags may be flown at the official residence or on the vehicle of a visiting foreign head of state. They are permitted at formally designated international conferences and specific diplomatic events. Outside those categories, any display of a foreign flag requires prior government approval. That is not a loophole. That is the rule. What this means practically: the average supporter who hoists a Brazilian flag from his third-floor window is, legally speaking, a violation, especially in general terms. So is the family that hangs Argentine colors across their gate. So are most of the thousands of such displays that define any World Cup year in this country.
But there are also constitutional counter-arguments. The fans are not entirely without a legal leg to stand on, and it is worth engaging that argument seriously. Article 39(2) of the Constitution guarantees freedom of speech and expression as a fundamental right. A person who loves Argentina is not pledging allegiance to a foreign state; they are expressing a sporting preference, an emotional attachment, a form of personal celebration that hurts no one. That argument has genuine moral weight.
But the National Constitution itself qualifies that freedom. The same document makes clear that reasonable restrictions may be imposed by law — specifically in the interest of state security, public order, or relations with foreign states. Article 21(1) places a duty on every citizen to abide by the Constitution and the laws of the republic. The right to expression and the obligation to respect the law occupy the same document. You can not pick one and ignore the other.
There is the state’s deliberate inaction regarding the usage of the flags of favorite World Cup teams. The government does not move against World Cup flag displays. Local administration looks the other way. There are no arrests, no notices, no enforcement actions of any kind. In legal scholarship, this is sometimes called “customary inaction” — where the state, sizing up political and social realities, makes a practical decision not to enforce a provision even when it technically applies. Unsurprisingly, the High Court of Bangladesh rejected a writ petition that challenged the legality of hoisting foreign flags during the World Cups in 2018, indicating there is no bar on it at the time of the World Cups.
But it is not the same as the law not existing. The absence of enforcement does not make it unconditional. Even if the state will not actively prosecute World Cup flag enthusiasts, there are lines that have no ambiguity whatsoever. No foreign flag should fly at a height equal to or above the national flag. This is not a technicality; this is a foundational principle of flag protocol that virtually every country in the world recognizes. It is increasingly common to see an enormous Argentina or Brazil banner hung above a tiny red-green flag. A foreign flag larger than Bangladesh’s own national flag is not a grey area — it is a violation.
Flying a foreign flag on the same pole as the national flag is also illegal outright. And perhaps the most quietly disrespectful practice of all is those faded and tattered foreign flags left dangling from buildings for months after the final whistle, battered by monsoon rains and fraying in the sun. Under international conventions, this constitutes disrespect toward the foreign nation whose flag it is. An irony is that supporters expressing love for Argentina and Brazil by leaving their flags to rot.
The answer is not a crackdown at all. Deploying police against millions of football fans to enforce certain ways of hoisting foreign flags would be disproportionate, undesirable, and absurd. But the current situation — where people do not even know that they exist and do not apply certain rules of hoisting flags — is not a sign of a mature civic culture either. What this moment calls for is something simpler: public education, a clear government communication on what is permitted and what is not during World Cups, and some collective self-awareness.
The supporters can support Argentina with full conviction and still fly Bangladesh’s flag higher. Supporters can love Mbappe without leaving a foreign flag during the World Cup. Supporting another country’s football team is a seasonal emotion — vivid, real, and worth celebrating. But enjoying the World Cup and respecting some rules of hoisting foreign flags are not in conflict and do not require much effort.
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