But I shall never forget my people, especially at a time when the rise of extremist ideologies and violent political and religious persecution puts Bangladesh at serious risk of a period of decline from which it will take many years to recover.

Recently, the unelected Interim Government of Bangladesh, headed by Muhammad Yunus, announced that elections would be held on February 12th, 2026. The country’s largest secular political party, Awami League however, has been eliminated from the political process through violent persecution – including numerous lynchings, unjust imprisonment and torture – and arbitrary administrative measures.

This troubling chaos and political vacuum has given extremist political parties with a fanatical religious ideology – the Jamaat-e-Islami in particular – free rein to assume power, in the absence of a secular counterpart that historically stood against and prevented its rise. This alarming situation will inevitably give rise to years of instability and serious threats to regional security. It is imperative that the international community, and the United States in particular, ensure that any elections are free, fair, and all-inclusive.

As many human rights organizations have reported, since the overthrow of the constitutional government in August 2024, there have been numerous violent attacks against Hindu, Christian, Buddhist, and other religious minorities and their places of worship. These reports document patterns of collective punishment in districts associated with secular and opposition political parties, and districts with a sizable minority population.

Several opposition political figures, including myself, have been sentenced to death in widely-condemned trials before the International Crimes Tribunal of Bangladesh, and there is a serious fear that arbitrary executions may follow.

Ironically, the Tribunal was created in 1973 to prosecute the collaborators who assisted the Pakistani army in the genocide during the 1971 War of Independence under the leadership of my father Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, during which some 3 million Bangladeshi civilians were murdered and countless women and girls became victims of horrific sexual violence. These are the same political forces that are now seeking a come-back with the apparent support of the Interim Government.

When I was elected in 2008, Bangladesh was a hotbed of extremist forces and terrorism. In its tenure of 16 years, my government worked, under enormous pressure, to keep these fanatical movements contained and to protect the secular constitution of the country.

As a result, Bangladesh saw long periods of stability and unprecedented economic prosperity that witnessed an astonishing 500% increase in per capita GDP, lifting millions out of poverty. This progress was achieved against the backdrop of several plots to assassinate myself and my sole surviving family member, my sister Sheikh Rehana. All of our parents and siblings, including our 10-year old brother, were murdered in cold blood in 1975 by the same political forces that are today seeking power.

Extremist ideologies rarely vanish; they wait for opportunities created by political exclusion, institutional weakening and social fear. Today, all of the guardrails that once constrained them have started to crumble. But I have arisen from this valley of death before and will do so again, with one conviction: that it is my sacred duty to protect the democratic rights of Bangladesh and to promote the dignity of its people. I will continue to stand for this struggle no matter who tries to silence me.

Invariably, during this period of extraordinary prosperity, mistakes were also made, and there are many lessons to be learned on the historical path of progress. In particular, during 2024, amidst a campaign of hate propaganda, misinformation and violent insurrection, numerous protestors and police officers were killed.

I had immediately ordered an impartial inquiry to establish responsibility for these tragic deaths, which the Interim Government has abandoned in favour of politicized sham trials and death sentences, while at the same time offering immunity to those who instigated the violence. The purpose of the agitators was simply the unconstitutional overthrow of the Government, which resulted in my exile to India on August 5th, 2024, and the current predicament.

But I shall never forget my people, especially at a time when the rise of extremist ideologies and violent political and religious persecution puts Bangladesh at serious risk of a period of decline from which it will take many years to recover.

The exclusion of the secular Awami League from forthcoming elections is inextricably tied to the rise of extremists, who present a dire threat not only to the people of Bangladesh, but also to the United States and its allies, as a once stable, secular, and prosperous country descends into a source of perpetual instability, decline and terrorism.

Bangladesh, with a population of 170 million, is situated in a vital strategic region, at the centre of the Bay of Bengal, between India and Myanmar. If it falls in the hands of extremists and their global network, its fallout will carry consequences far beyond its borders.

Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not reflect Milli Chronicle’s point-of-view.

Hyenas of the defeated forces of 1971 now roam unchallenged.

A medieval darkness has descended upon the sacred land of independent Bangladesh. Law and order lie in shambles. Robbery and organised plunder now stain towns and villages alike. The nation stands captured by anti-Bangladesh forces—those who once trembled before the ideals of 1971 but now strut shamelessly across the land in this grim interregnum.

The illegal and unconstitutional “Interim Government” led by Prof. Dr. Muhammad Yunus has exposed its moral bankruptcy by failing to safeguard the sanctity of our national icons—Bangabandhu Memorial Museum, his murals, his statues, and the homes and temples of our religious minorities, especially the Hindu community.

Hyenas of the defeated forces of 1971 now roam unchallenged. Bangladesh has been thrust into the hands of the very criminals and collaborators whom history had once consigned to disgrace.

Let us be absolutely clear: Sheikh Hasina’s fall did not occur because of a student-led anti-quota movement. That movement was merely the surface ripple concealing a deep and treacherous undercurrent. From the very beginning, the unrest was a meticulously crafted pretext—a multilayered, billion-dollar blueprint engineered by a powerful Western intelligence agency acting in close concert with its local henchmen.

Among these were Dr. Yunus, long a favoured protégé of foreign powers; the Jamaat-BNP nexus; the Pakistani ISI; extremist right-wing Islamist networks; an ambitious army chief and his loyal cabal; and even the strategic manipulations of the Chinese dragon. Together, this unholy coalition executed a hawk-eyed operation to unseat Sheikh Hasina through an unlawful coup on 5 August 2024.

The objective of this foreign power was as brazen as it was sinister: to compel Bangladesh to surrender Saint Martin’s Island. Situated in the northeastern Bay of Bengal, the island offers unparalleled strategic advantage over Southeast Asia and the broader Indo-Pacific. Sheikh Hasina, steadfast and patriotic, refused to reduce Bangladesh to a tributary state by allowing the establishment of a foreign military base.

For this refusal, she was removed.

What followed her ousting exposed the true barbarism of the conspirators. Looting, arson, temple desecration, forced occupation of minority homes, and unchecked violence swept across the nation with an intensity unseen in decades.

The perpetrators were not faceless; they were the same elements who opposed the Liberation War in 1971—Jamaat-e-Islami mass-murderers, their Shibir offspring, extremist mullahs, and various mercenary groups driven by religious bigotry and political vengeance.

On television, I witnessed scenes that seared my soul: a Hindu girl being dragged away by bearded zealots in a van while her father ran behind, crying in desperation; mobs of students—many naïve, many manipulated—raiding Sheikh Hasina’s home and proudly displaying stolen sarees before TV cameras; thugs parading items looted from the Prime Minister’s residence as if these were trophies of national triumph.

These were not acts of rebellion; they were acts of savagery.

And then came the final abomination: the attack on Bangabandhu’s historic home at Dhanmondi 32—the lighthouse of our national identity. What kind of nation allows the house of its founding father to be desecrated? What kind of creatures tear apart the very symbols of their own freedom?

These hellish beings sought not only to erase Sheikh Hasina’s legacy but to wipe out every sign of the Awami League’s monumental development achievement—bridges, highways, mega-projects, and the billions of dollars invested for the people’s welfare.

The “Interim Government” formed on 8 August 2024—under the shadow of guns and the blessing of foreign manipulators—had no constitutional basis. It was a grotesque aberration led by an octogenarian whose own judicial record is marred by convictions for labour law violations. Yet he postured as a saviour while presiding over the country’s descent into ruin.

Russia had warned us. On 15 December 2020, and again in 2023, Moscow publicly stated that a certain Western power intended to topple Sheikh Hasina if she returned to power. They predicted an Arab-Spring-style operation—one centred on university students, amplified by media propaganda, and lubricated by covert funding.

The children of this country—who never saw 1971, who do not know the long, treacherous shadow of the U.S.-Pakistani conspiracy behind Bangabandhu’s assassination—walked blindly into a geopolitical minefield. One day, they will look back in regret, realising they were pawns in a far greater game. By then, the damage may be irreversible.

Why were the verdicts timed as they were? Why did certain newspapers and television channels give extraordinary coverage from the very first hour? Who coordinated the protests? Who supplied funds, food, and logistics? Who weaponised social media? Who reaped the benefits? These questions answer themselves.

Most critically: Sheikh Hasina has not resigned. She remains the lawfully elected and rightful Prime Minister of Bangladesh. Her removal was effected at gunpoint—by an unworthy army chief and his mango-twigs, acting under the directives of foreign masters and their local Islamist proxies.

Today, Bangladesh is being forced toward a Hamas-ISIS styled banana republic, a grotesque distortion of the secular, democratic state for which we fought in 1971.

As a frontline Freedom Fighter who witnessed the brutal birth of Bangladesh with my own eyes, I pledge—until my final breath—to proclaim: Joy Bangla, Joy Bangabandhu, and Joytu Sheikh Hasina. Bangladesh awaits her return. And return she shall.

Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not reflect Milli Chronicle’s point-of-view.

In a cruel twist of fate, the criminals’ progeny now don the robes of righteousness while the true patriots stand accused.

In the dismal theatre of Bangladesh’s recent political tragedy, a new act of deception unfolds. Draped in the solemn garb of justice but driven by blood-soaked ambitions, the International Crimes Tribunal (ICT) Bangladesh now stands as a grotesque caricature of its former purpose.

The very institution once designed to mete out justice for the heinous atrocities of 1971 has been infiltrated—occupied—by those whose ideological ancestors – Jamaat-e-Islami mass-murderers bathed this soil in the blood of innocents.

Today, the hangman wears a wig, and justice lies gagged beneath his boot.

The ICT Bangladesh, once hailed as a beacon of national redemption, is now but a blighted husk—a sanctimonious facade controlled by those who once sought to crush the very birth of Bangladesh in 1971. Its judges, its prosecution panel, and its operatives are no longer guardians of truth. They are, in many cases, ideological descendants or direct cronies of the very Jamaat-e-Islami mass murderers who collaborated with the Pakistani army to massacre our people in 1971.

This is no idle allegation. It is a scream from the soul of a wounded nation. How did the butchers of Al-Badr and Al-Shams—the enforcers of genocide—regain the power to adjudicate truth and fiction? How dare they now point a crooked finger at the very architects of our liberation?

Those who once carried the green flag of Pakistan into our neighborhoods, who torched our villages, raped our mothers, and hanged our fathers, now sit in judgment over HPM Sheikh Hasina—the daughter of our founding father—and the Awami League stalwarts who carried the torch of independence through blood and fire.

The July–August 2024 events in Bangladesh—twisted into a grotesque narrative of state-led genocide—are being weaponized by these impostors. 98% murders were committed by the Jamaat-Shibir butchers and their direful mango-twigs! But they have now seized the ICT Bangladesh as their instrument, not of justice, but of revenge. They seek to rewrite history, to humiliate the legacy of 1971, to exonerate the traitors and criminalize the freedom fighters.

This is a blasphemy of the highest order.

The tribunals have become kangaroo courts where truth is the first casualty. The prosecutors do not seek justice; they seek retribution for the defeat their fathers suffered in 1971. The judges do not interpret the law; they distort it, drape it around the gallows they build for patriots. These are not courts of law. They are execution chambers for history itself.

Let us remind these usurpers: HPM Sheikh Hasina’s government did not commit genocide in July–August 2024. Her government sought to preserve order when chaos was unleashed by foreign-backed infiltrators, aided by the very ideological heirs of Jamaat-e-Islami.

The arson, sabotage, and killings were not orchestrated by the state, but by a coalition of dark forces determined to unseat the legitimate government and restore the regime of direful collaborators.

Let there be no confusion—this is not merely a judicial matter. It is an existential crisis. The ICT Bangladesh has mutated into a Trojan horse of the Jamaati-Shibir nexus. Its continued existence in this form is a mockery of every martyr who bled on the soil of Bengal for freedom. The very men who once branded the war of 1971 as “haram” and pledged allegiance to the occupying Pakistani forces are now masquerading as custodians of justice.

How far have we fallen when the freedom fighters must plead their innocence before the ideological descendants of their oppressors?

In courtrooms darkened by deceit, verdicts are preordained. The hallowed robes of justice are smeared with the filth of hypocrisy. And those who cry for a fair trial for Sheikh Hasina and her colleagues are dismissed, vilified, and condemned.

Yet it is the nation that must rise.

We must speak not just as citizens, but as inheritors of a sacred cause. We must rise in unison against this vile masquerade of justice. We must denounce the ICT Bangladesh for what it has become—a collaborator’s tribunal, a platform for vengeance, a stage for the desecration of our liberation war.

The institutions that betray the soul of a nation have no right to exist.

It is, therefore, imperative that ICT Bangladesh in designedly the current form be disbanded—tout de suite. Its structure, infiltrated by Jamaati sympathizers, has lost all credibility. Its verdicts are poisoned, its judges compromised, its mission perverted. The house must be torn down, brick by brick, and a new temple of justice must be built upon its ashes—one that honors the martyrs, that reveres the truth, and that punishes the real criminals of our blood-stained past.

This is not merely a political stance. It is a moral imperative.

Let us revisit the history these court jesters now seek to erase. In 1971, over three million of our people were butchered. Over three hundred thousand women were raped. The killers were not nameless shadows—they wore uniforms provided by Pakistan and were guided by the murderous hands of Jamaat-e-Islami and their Al-Badr militias. They swore to crush the dream of Bangladesh. They failed—because brave men and women stood tall, among them Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, his true-blue lieutenants and his indomitable daughter HPM Sheikh Hasina.

And now, fifty-four years later, we see the grotesque irony of history: the children of those butchers deciding the fate of those who built this nation.

No! A thousand times, no!

We cannot allow this to continue. We must name the imposter judges. We must unmask the collaborators in prosecutor’s clothing. We must confront every verdict that reeks of vengeance and vendetta. The ICT Bangladesh, as it stands today, is a dagger in the back of our history. It has become a safehouse for the ideological murderers of 1971.

If we stay silent, we become complicit.

This is the hour to rise—not with arms, but with truth. Not with blood, but with remembrance. Let every Bangladesh’s people who still feels the heartbeat of 1971 throb in their veins raise their voice. Let the youth know that justice is not a costume, that truth cannot be handed over to traitors, that history must be defended.

Sheikh Hasina is not on trial. Bangladesh is.

This tribunal is not about the past. It is a cold war for the future.

Do not allow the hangman’s wig to fool you. Beneath it is the same rotting head that once declared our liberation illegal, our flag a provocation, our language a blasphemy.

Disband ICT Bangladesh as it is twisted now to serve their evil designs. Root out the Jamaati infestation. Purge the judiciary of traitors. Let the nation reclaim the moral compass of 1971.

And to those who sit in judgment today—be warned. The people of Bangladesh are not blind. The river of our memory runs deep. And when justice returns, as it must, it will not be cloaked in hypocrisy. It will come roaring like a storm, not to hang patriots, but to redeem them.

History does not forget.

And neither shall we. A vile masquerade of justice – The International Crimes Tribunal, Bangladesh beneath Jamaati-Shibir butchers’ cloak.

Ultimately, it raises questions of profound importance: Is it possible to transform a nation without resorting to bloodshed? 

The movement to ban the Awami League was hardly an isolated event; rather, it traced its origins to the student unrest that erupted in July 2024. Initial grievances focused on education policy, persistent corruption, and the burdens of economic hardship, but the agitation rapidly escalated into violence. 

The coalition of dissent widened as Islamist organizations and right-wing groups joined the mobilization, their rhetoric coalescing with that of newly formed student parties, National Citizen’s Party. The public discourse became saturated with serious allegations: both the Awami League and its student affiliate, the Chhatra League, faced blame for violent reprisals and the deaths of hundreds during the previous year’s protests. Over time, the demonstrators’ demands intensified. Calls emerged for the party to be designated a terrorist organization and for its leadership to be prosecuted before the International Crimes Tribunal.

This pressure culminated in a significant government response. Chief Advisor Muhammad Yunus declared the party banned under the Anti-Terrorism Act, pledging that the prohibition would remain until all charges had been legally examined. While many protesters celebrated this outcome, the broader atmosphere in Dhaka remained charged with anxiety and uncertainty. The Awami League, a party whose history is deeply intertwined with the founding of Bangladesh in 1971, now found itself the subject of condemnation and legal scrutiny by the very populace it once liberated from Pakistan. 

A Unique Protest to ban

The demonstration against the Awami League rapidly escalated into a deeply unsettling display of extremist fervour. Islamist groups, including those reported to have connections with organizations such as Al Qaida, became highly visible among the protesters. Notably, Mufti Jashimuddin Rahmani—a cleric widely recognized for his radical ideology—publicly brandished the flag of Islam, a symbol that, after years of association with violent acts, now carries significant and troubling connotations.

Representatives from Hizb ut-Tahrir, Hefazat-e-Islam, and associates of Rahmani with criminal convictions gathered, their collective presence casting an unmistakable pall over the city’s atmosphere. The demonstration fragmented with Jamaat E Islami and Islami Chatra Shibir; both groups chanted slogans like, “No Awami League in the land of Nizami, no Awami League in the land of Golam Azam,” referencing individuals convicted of war crimes in 1971 as if they were figures worthy of admiration and they owned Bengal. Another segment of the crowd escalated the rhetoric further, openly issuing death threats: “Catch and slaughter Awami League one by one.”

The environment became saturated with hostility—a manifestation not of peaceful political dissent, but of incitement to violence. At this point, the gathering ceased to resemble a lawful protest; rather, it devolved into a perilous spectacle in which the boundaries between legitimate calls for justice and extremist violence were dangerously obscured, seemingly fuelled by both state endorsement and radical zeal.

The Controversial Ban

The international community observed the unfolding events with marked concern. Human rights organizations, like Human Rights Watch characterized the ban on the Awami League as arbitrary, raising questions regarding the government’s intentions—was this a pursuit of justice, or an attempt to suppress dissent? The United Nations previously expressed alarm over banning what it described as diminishing civil liberties, while India openly voiced apprehension on democratic future as a response to the ban. 

The government justified its actions under the pretext of national security. Yet, this raised a crucial issue: who defines the parameters of security when the opposition is excluded from participation? Many questioned the legitimacy of a democracy that outlaws its oldest political party. The ban’s reach extended beyond politicians—it affected students, women, and entire communities. Such measures prompted debate over whether this constituted justice or amounted to collective punishment.

Tensions escalated throughout Dhaka; the disappearance of protestors and the retreat of supporters into clandestinity reflected the climate of fear and uncertainty. While some framed the crackdown as a necessary purge, most observers interpreted it as symptomatic of broader societal anxiety.

International actors, including foreign governments and NGOs, called for transparency, adherence to legal norms, and meaningful reforms. The interim government promised stability, yet the cost of such “order” remained ambiguous and contested.

This situation provokes reflection: Is this the outcome for which Bangladesh’s founders struggled in 1971, or does it represent a cyclical return to past traumas under new guises? When national symbols are suppressed and political expression is stifled, what remains of democratic governance?

Critics drew a distinction between punishing an organization and addressing criminal behaviour, underscoring the dangers of conflating the two. The world now watches closely, questioning who ultimately benefits from the absence of opposition, and who might be targeted next.

What’s next for Awami League?

The recent ban is undeniably severe, and the authorities’ response has been rigorous, even unyielding. Yet, as reported by Voice of America, public sentiment does not overwhelmingly align with the ban. Notably, in district bar elections, lawyers affiliated with the Awami League performed unexpectedly well. However, in many districts the interim Government forced them not to participate. Online surveys continue to indicate that the party retains substantial support, frequently leading in popularity. So, is this a conclusion, or merely another episode in a protracted political journey?

Historically, the party has confronted similar obstacles. After 1975, the Awami League operated clandestinely but ultimately re-emerged, playing a pivotal role in the 1990 movement for democracy. At present, many of its leaders are in hiding; their residences have been ransacked and their financial assets frozen. Some face threats of violence, torture, and live under persistent fear. Nevertheless, history offers important lessons. The Awami League was conceived in resistance, matured in secrecy, and spearheaded the independence war of 1971. The critical question is whether such resilience can be summoned once again.

Arguably, this period represents one of the most formidable challenges the party has faced. Growing anti-incumbency sentiment and the ban itself are compelling the organization to reassess its strategy and reconnect with foundational principles. This moment calls for a renewed study of Mujib’s legacy, the pre-independence struggle, and the dynamics of political survival. Operating covertly, the party must reorganize, adapt, and remain patient heading for a Non-violent cultural revolution. 

A non-violent cultural revolution, at its core, does not emerge through slogans or public altercations. Instead, it finds its genesis in artistic expression—music, poetry, and the collective act of remembering. Such change germinates in intimate gatherings, within the retelling of stories about figures like Mujib and the struggles of founding leaders, and in the songs that once served as a unifying force for the nation.

Both the young and the elderly revisit historical narratives, not for the sake of lamentation, but to derive lessons about resistance that is devoid of animosity. Art, within this context, evolves into a vehicle for protest, while protest, conversely, assumes the qualities of art. This form of revolution proliferates in educational spaces, in casual conversations at tea stalls, and within the quiet but resolute refusal to embrace violence. Ultimately, it raises questions of profound importance: Is it possible to transform a nation without resorting to bloodshed? 

The Awami League has demonstrated a remarkable capacity for cultural and political resurgence in the past. Whether it can transform present adversity into renewed opportunity is a new challenge. Ultimately, as has so often been the case in Bangladesh, the outcome will be difficult, but the grand return is far from over. 

Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not reflect Milli Chronicle’s point-of-view.

Bangladeshi democracy has always been a bit of a balancing act—it’s fragile, often disputed, and shaped by deep mistrust among the parties involved.

Yunus stepped in like a hero after Sheikh Hasina’s narrow safe exit. Seriously, why Yunus though? Sure, that Nobel Prize glow—“banker to the poor,” all very inspirational. But running a whole country? That’s a bit out of his usual comfort zone, isn’t it? Critics aren’t buying his résumé for democracy. He’s got a squeaky-clean political record, yeah, but there’s the tiny problem of zero political success, too.

Did any of that bother the crowd of fired-up July protesters celebrating him? Or the business bigwigs who just wanted things to stabilize for a minute? Doubt it. People were desperate for any kind of shake-up. Someone new. Yunus just fit through the vibe—calm, politically unknown, totally untested on the big stage. Yunus on many occasions on International and National Media, claimed he or his cabinet has no plans to ban Awami League. He has gone to the extent that it is up to Awami League if they want to participate or not, yet Awami League activities were repressively banned without any referendum.

Islamists, NCP stage ‘Mist Spray’ protest in Summer to ban Awami league?

Awami League-oldest, secular, the party that led Bangladesh to freedom. But now, its legacy is questioned. Sheikh Hasina, the longest serving female Prime Minister, once stood in parliament and called Yunus the “Blood Sucker of the poor”. Now, the tables have turned. The UN’s fact-finding report blamed Hasina, her party, and security forces for the deaths of at least 1,400 people during the 2024 protests-children among the victims, crimes against humanity, said the report. Awami League pushed back: the report lacked their side, relied on unnamed witnesses and many more accusations. But who listens to the Awami League now? The UN’s word carries more weight, its credibility unshaken in the global court of opinion.

Protests went on for days, with people demanding that the Awami League be banned. The crowd was a bit of a weird mix — Islamists like Mufti Jasimuddin Rahmani, Asif Adnan, Hizbut Tahrir, Jamaat-e-Islami, and Hefazot-e-Islam all shouting for the party to be shut down. Some wondered if this was a real uprising or just a show put on by the government. Some said the ultimatum to Yunus wasn’t genuine, just a way to make the ban look legit.

Yet, Yunus, now acting as the caretaker, ordered a gentle mist spray at the summer camps — basically keeping the protesters hydrated, not firing bullets. Did that cool things down or just buy some time? The protesters weren’t all in agreement about singing the National Anthem. Some felt uncomfortable with singing it because it was written by Rabindranath Tagore, many referred to him as Hindu despite him being from the Brahma Samaj. The protest interestingly wasn’t joined by BNP, other centrist, leftist parties but the newly formed student party NCP looked like they were a cover to the Islamists.

Is Banning Awami league a legitimate move?

Some argue that banning the Awami League because, as the ruling party, it ordered killings and human rights abuses—many of its members carried out these acts—seems understandable on some level. However, doing so amounts to punishing the party collectively, which is problematic. International human rights laws and criminal justice principles emphasize that responsibility should be based on individual actions, not on group membership. Punishing the entire party ignores this important rule and can lead to more harm. History shows that punishing groups doesn’t stop violence; instead, it often fuels cycles of revenge, pushes authoritarian measures, and weakens efforts for real justice and reconciliation in transitioning societies.

Comparing Bangladesh’s current situation to transitional justice processes in places like South Africa after apartheid, Liberia following its conflict, or Bosnia is not quite accurate. Those scenarios involved extreme events like genocide, ethnic cleansing, or civil war. While Bangladesh faces serious challenges, it doesn’t meet the legal criteria for mass atrocities to that extent that would justify drastic measures like dissolving political parties. Even in those extreme cases, restrictions on political participation were used sparingly, temporarily, and often with international oversight or as part of negotiated agreements. So far, Bangladesh hasn’t experienced the kind of broad consensus or legal process needed to meet that high threshold. Also, frameworks like South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission were designed specifically for their contexts and weren’t meant to be general models for banning political parties in countries trying to rebuild democracy after authoritarian rule.

The UN Fact Finding report also simply mentions that elements connected to the party actively supported the repression. This makes you wonder: how much was the party involved in the violence? Recommendation 370 of the Office of the UN High Commissioner of Human Rights, Fact Finding report into the Bangladesh July/August killings state to refrain from banning political parties that would undermine genuine return to a multi-party democracy. Although, the report doesn’t qualify as a legal verdict, yet the report was unjustly cited by the interim to oppress, torture, imprison and attack on Awami League activities. The attacks happened with both law enforcement and mobs, sometimes through a mixture of both. After the forced resignation of Chief Justice through forced anarchy inside court premises and treating Awami League activists without ‘Innocent until Proven guilty’ shows the reality. The fairness of judiciary and trials are being questioned, many believe the verdict is ready and interim is just buying time for retribution.

The Amendment to repressive Anti-Terrorism Act

The newest update to the Anti-Terrorism Act really hits hard against free speech and the right to protest. First off, now the government can ‘temporarily suspend’ any group they suspect of being involved in terrorist activities, on top of their previous power to ‘prohibit’ an organization under Section 18. These powers, which previously only applied to prohibited groups under Section 20, now extend automatically to those that are suspended.

This means they can shut down offices, freeze bank accounts and assets, stop members from leaving the country, seize belongings, and even ban any public support or displays of solidarity for the group. Basically, the government can now quickly neutralize a party or organization with just a ‘temporary suspension,’ without having to go through the more permanent ‘prohibition’ process. But here’s the catch—how long does a ‘temporary’ suspension last? The law doesn’t say so, so in practice, it could go on forever, even if they call it temporary.

On top of that, they’ve massively expanded their power to prevent people from supporting or advocating for these groups under Section 20(e). It now clearly states that publishing statements, promoting online or through social media, or organizing marches, meetings, or press events in favor of or supporting the group is strictly forbidden. It’s an alarming step up in control, with serious implications for anyone speaking out or showing support.

Why Banning without referendum?

The Awami League, Bangladesh’s oldest and most influential party, was banned by the interim government without holding a referendum, even though surveys by Voice of America and others showed that most Bangladeshis didn’t support such a ban. While the interim authorities justified this move by citing the Anti-Terrorism Act and mentioning ongoing investigations into alleged crimes by Awami League leaders, they didn’t seek any direct public approval or hold a plebiscite. This has raised questions about whether the move really reflects democratic legitimacy.

Although the Awami League has faced serious accusations of electoral misconduct in the elections of 2014, 2018, and 2024, it has previously won allegedly free elections under caretaker governments, which shows it has broad support. In this case, it seems to be a victim of exclusion by an interim administration that has never gone to the electorate, not even at the local council level.

Gloomy path towards transition

Bangladeshi democracy has always been a bit of a balancing act—it’s fragile, often disputed, and shaped by deep mistrust among the parties involved. The accusations against the Awami League, whether it’s about election rigging or acting too heavy-handed, aren’t something new; they reflect a broader political culture where holding onto power sometimes seems more important than following the process.

Under the ban, millions of Awami League voter’s political rights are pretty much gone. Any kind of support for the Awami League—whether you say it out loud, write about it, or post online—could be considered a crime. Even just social meetings peacefully with other supporters might get you arrested. Prior to the ban, Bangladesh recently went multiple notches downward in the democratic index by the Economist Intelligence Unit (EIU).

Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not reflect Milli Chronicle’s point-of-view.