Naming organised violence is not an act of destabilisation. It is an act of responsibility.

In Bangladesh today, violence no longer arrives as an unexpected shock. Under the current interim government led by Nobel Peace Laureate Muhammad Yunus, alongside several renowned human rights activists, violence now arrives with familiarity, sequence, and intent. An attack occurs. There is brief outrage. Silence follows. Then another group becomes the next target.

Supporters and leaders of the Bangladesh Awami League are assassinated, assaulted, or intimidated. Baul and Lalon practitioners are threatened, their spaces disrupted. Folk singers fall silent. Hindu homes and temples are attacked, and lives are lost. Cultural institutions are vandalised. Shrines are desecrated. Each incident is treated as isolated, yet together they form a single, deeply disturbing narrative.

This is not random disorder. This is organised violence.

Violence becomes organised not only when it is openly commanded, but when it is patterned, predictable, and politically meaningful. In Bangladesh today, the targets are not chosen by chance. They share a common thread: political opposition, religious minority identity, cultural pluralism, and spiritual traditions that resist rigid orthodoxy. When the same kinds of people and institutions are repeatedly attacked, the message is unmistakable. Certain identities are being pushed out of public life.

International law is unequivocal on this point. Bangladesh is a state party to the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, which obligates the state not only to refrain from violating rights itself, but to actively protect individuals from violence by others. When authorities fail to prevent foreseeable attacks, when investigations are slow or selective, and when accountability remains elusive, responsibility does not evaporate. Under international legal standards, inaction in the face of predictable harm constitutes a breach of duty. Silence becomes a form of permission.

The targeting of Awami League supporters and its affiliated wings represents more than political rivalry. It is a form of political erasure and cleansing. Violence used to intimidate people out of organising, speaking, or even being visibly associated with a political identity strikes at the core of democratic participation. International law does not recognise “acceptable” and “unacceptable” political beliefs. The right to participate in public life belongs to all—especially to those who have lost power.

Equally alarming is the violence directed at Bauls, Lalon followers, folk artists, and cultural spaces. These traditions embody Bengal’s pluralistic soul. They speak of spiritual humanism, dissent, and coexistence. Their silencing is not incidental; it is ideological. When cultural expression is attacked because it challenges dominant narratives, violence becomes a tool to reshape society’s moral and spiritual boundaries. International human rights law recognises culture as a protected right, not a luxury, precisely because destroying culture is a way of destroying communities without firing a gun.

The repeated attacks on Hindu communities and religious institutions deepen this concern. Under international standards, states carry heightened obligations to protect minorities. When minority homes, temples, and festivals are targeted again and again, and when protection proves inadequate, the violence can no longer be dismissed as sporadic communal tension. It becomes organised communal violence—marked by predictability and reinforced by impunity. History offers painful lessons about where such patterns lead when they are ignored.

Muslim shrines, too, have come under attack. These sacred spaces have long represented an inclusive, compassionate Islam rooted in local culture and interfaith coexistence. Their desecration reflects a broader struggle over identity and belief, where violence is used to impose a narrower and exclusionary vision of faith. This, too, is organised violence: symbolic, ideological, and strategic.

Perhaps the most dangerous aspect of the current moment is the sequence itself. Violence unfolds, pauses, resumes, and expands. Each incident tests how much can be done without consequence. International conflict-prevention frameworks identify this escalatory pattern as an early warning sign. Societies rarely collapse overnight; they are conditioned—incident by incident—to accept fear as normal.

The idea that violence must be openly ordered by the state to be considered organised is a dangerous myth. International law recognises responsibility not only in action, but in omission. When attacks are foreseeable and prevention is absent, when perpetrators are not held to account, and when victims are left exposed, violence becomes structurally enabled. Neutrality in such circumstances is an illusion.

Bangladesh still has a choice. It can confront this pattern honestly, uphold its constitutional promise of pluralism, and meet its international obligations by protecting all citizens equally—regardless of political belief, religion, or cultural identity. Or it can allow violence to continue shaping the nation’s political and social landscape through fear.

Naming organised violence is not an act of destabilisation. It is an act of responsibility. When violence becomes a method, silence becomes complicity. History will judge which path Bangladesh chose.

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

The interim government’s influence extends deep into the judiciary. Judges are pressured; prosecutors are politicized.

Instead of being released on bail granted by the High Court Division of the Supreme Court of Bangladesh, on 4 September 2025, Khodadad Khan Pitu (60), former President of the Naogaon District Bar Association and President of the Human Rights Lawyers’ Forum, Naogaon, was re-arrested by Naogaon Sadar police from the gate of Naogaon District Jail.

On 5 September, he was produced before the court in connection with a 2024 case filed over an incident in 2022 under the Explosive Substances Act, and the court ordered him sent to jail.

Earlier, in the early hours of 17 July 2025 (around 2:30 a.m.), police had arrested him from his residence in the Chokmoyrdi Post Office area of Naogaon town. Although his name was not initially included in the 2024 case of vandalism and arson at the local BNP office, it was later added during the investigation, and he was sent to prison after being presented in court. He subsequently obtained bail from the High Court Division of the Supreme Court of Bangladesh.

Prior to that, he had voluntarily surrendered and obtained bail in another case filed during the July movement against attacks on students and ordinary citizens.

On 2 September 2025, twelve lawyers in Barguna District surrendered before the District and Sessions Judge in a case related to vandalism and arson at a BNP office. The court denied them bail. Eight days later, the High Court granted six weeks’ bail to ten of them. Yet, moments before their release, they were re-arrested under a newly fabricated case filed under the Special Powers Act by Betagi Police Station and sent straight back to prison.

Among those re-arrested were Mahabubul Bari Aslam, former President of the Barguna District Bar Association, and Advocates Mojibur Rahman, Saimum Islam Rabbi, Humayun Kabir Poltu, and Nurul Islam. Their brief taste of freedom became a cruel illusion, underscoring a chilling reality: even High Court bail cannot protect lawyers from politically engineered persecution.

These are not an isolated incidents. Rather, between August 2024 and September 2025, Justicemakers Bangladesh in France (JMBF) documented 75 incidents of imprisonment affecting 203 lawyers. Each case reveals a deliberate strategy: fabricated charges, coerced surrenders, manipulated court procedures, and prolonged pre-trial detentions.

The largest share of these imprisonments arose from attempted murder (15 incidents, 103 victims) and murder (25 incidents, 43 victims)—serious accusations crafted to discredit and intimidate. Other allegations include sabotage, vandalism, seditious conspiracy, and extortion, laws selectively revived to target politically active lawyers or those defending victims of state abuse.

The regime has weaponized the law itself, turning courts into instruments of fear rather than justice. Lawyers affiliated with the Bangladesh Awami League (BAL) have been particularly targeted, with legal compliance—surrendering or filing bail applications—used against them as evidence of guilt.

The case of Advocate Abu Sayeed Sagar, former Dhaka Bar Association president, epitomizes this tactic. During the 2023 Supreme Court Bar Association election, a minor scuffle became the pretext for charges against him. After securing six weeks of anticipatory bail, Sagar voluntarily surrendered on 5 October 2025 to renew it. Instead of a hearing, he was denied bail and jailed. Under the Yunus-led interim government, surrender no longer signifies compliance with the law—it becomes a trapdoor into imprisonment, illustrating how even lawful acts are punished.

Among the 75 documented incidents, 57 involved arrests leading directly to imprisonment. Lawyers have been detained at home, in offices, and even in courtrooms, signaling that no professional stature offers protection.

Each detention removes one voice and intimidates countless others. Bar associations hesitate to convene; young lawyers adopt silence as a survival tactic. The courtroom, once a sanctuary of justice, now functions as a stage for repression.

Behind these numbers are shattered lives. Prisoned lawyers endure overcrowded cells, denial of medical care, and restricted family visits. Many have lost their livelihoods; some have fled abroad to continue their work in exile. Families live in fear, and entire legal communities operate under siege, paralyzed by collective anxiety.

Since mid-2024, the Yunus administration, installed under the banner of “transition and reform”, has systematically dismantled civil liberties, silenced journalists, and targeted professionals aligned with the Awami League. A Nobel Peace laureate now presides over a government that governs through fear, betraying the principles for which he was once celebrated internationally.

The interim government’s influence extends deep into the judiciary. Judges are pressured; prosecutors are politicized. Bail hearings are postponed indefinitely, and lawyers are denied access to case files. This violates Bangladesh’s Constitution and Article 9 of the ICCPR, which prohibits arbitrary detention. Courts have shifted from being protectors of justice to instruments of political repression.

In today’s Bangladesh, detention is preventive, not punitive. Lawyers are imprisoned before dissent occurs, neutralizing critics and stifling independent advocacy. By incarcerating defenders of justice, the government effectively incarcerates the legal conscience of the nation.

Bangladesh is obliged to follow the UN Basic Principles on the Role of Lawyers (1990) and the ICCPR, both guaranteeing lawyers the right to perform their duties “without intimidation, hindrance, harassment, or improper interference.” The mass imprisonment of lawyers under the Yunus government is a direct violation of these commitments, making the administration complicit in systematic human-rights abuse.

The international community must act decisively. The UN and other human-rights bodies should conduct thorough fact-finding missions, while international legal associations monitor trials and document violations of due process. Governments should consider targeted measures, including visa bans and asset freezes against officials responsible for repression, and provide emergency visas or asylum for lawyers facing imminent arrest. Silence from Nobel committees, universities, or civil-society leaders can no longer be tolerated; neutrality in the face of such abuses is complicity.

The mass imprisonment of lawyers in Bangladesh represents a moral collapse of governance. By criminalizing advocacy itself, the Yunus-led interim government has weaponized justice as an instrument of fear.

Muhammad Yunus, once celebrated for empowering the powerless, now presides over a regime that suppresses those who defend them. The world must judge him not by accolades, but by the lives of those jailed for defending the law.

When defenders of justice are silenced, it is not only lawyers who are imprisoned—it is the conscience of Bangladesh itself.

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

Statistics cannot capture the sound of a cell door closing on a lawyer who once argued for others’ freedom.

It began, as so many stories of injustice do, with a courtroom and a promise of fairness that never came.

On 2 September 2025, twelve lawyers in Barguna district walked into the District Sessions Judge’s Court—heads high, robes pressed, faith intact. They had come not as fugitives, but as officers of the court, surrendering in good faith to defend themselves against false and fabricated charges of vandalism and arson at a local BNP office.

The judge denied their bail. They were taken away in handcuffs.

Eight days later, on 10 September, the High Court granted six weeks’ bail to ten of them. For their families waiting outside prison gates, it was a moment of relief—wives preparing meals, children waiting at the door. But as the release orders reached the jail, the cruel machinery of the Muhammad Yunus–led interim government moved again.

Moments before their release, the lawyers were re-arrested under a new case fabricated under the Special Powers Act by the Betagi Police Station and sent straight back to prison.

Among them were Mahabubul Bari Aslam, former President of the Barguna District Bar Association, and Advocates Mojibur Rahman, Saimum Islam Rabbi, Humayun Kabir Poltu, and Nurul Islam, respected figures in their communities. Their “freedom” lasted mere minutes—a cruel illusion that turned hope into heartbreak.

This episode exposes the grotesque logic of repression now governing Bangladesh: even when the highest court speaks, its voice is silenced by handcuffs. Bail means nothing; legality itself has become a crime.

In a democracy, imprisonment should be a last resort, used only when guilt is proven beyond doubt. But in today’s Bangladesh, under a regime led by a Nobel Peace laureate, imprisonment has become a first response—a weapon of control, not justice.

According to documentation by Justicemakers Bangladesh in France (JMBF) between August 2024 and September 2025, there were 75 incidents of imprisonment involving 203 lawyers. These are not isolated misfortunes. They are deliberate acts of political engineering, designed to dismantle independence within the legal profession, particularly among lawyers affiliated with the Bangladesh Awami League (BAL) or those who dared to defend victims of state abuse.

Each story reveals a pattern: fabricated charges, coerced surrenders, manipulated hearings, and endless pre-trial detentions. The justice system, once a shield of rights, now functions as an arm of persecution.

The Anatomy of Fabrication

Behind every fabricated case lies a story of fear.

According to JMBF’s findings, the largest share of imprisonments arose from false charges of attempted murder (15 incidents, 103 victims) and murder (25 incidents, 43 victims).

These were not random choices—they were deliberate. Murder charges carry the heaviest stigma, branding lawyers as violent criminals and ensuring long detentions before trial. The government didn’t just want to silence these lawyers—it wanted to erase their credibility, to paint defenders of justice as enemies of peace.

Other common allegations—sabotage (8 incidents) and vandalism (9 incidents)—served as flexible tools to justify mass arrests. And then there are the colonial-era relics—seditious conspiracy and extortion—revived like old weapons from a dictator’s arsenal.

These laws once served imperial masters; today, they serve an interim regime that governs through fear, turning patriotism into sedition and dissent into treason.

Arrest as a Weapon of Fear

Among the 75 imprisonment incidents, 57 involved arrests leading to imprisonment, affecting 73 victims. These were not ordinary law-enforcement actions—they were public performances of power.

Lawyers have been detained from homes, offices, and even from courtrooms. The message is unmistakable: no one is untouchable.

JMBF’s data show this pattern across the country—murder, attempted murder, sabotage, vandalism, and “seditious conspiracy” cases repeated with numbing precision. Arrests have become a psychological weapon, designed to terrify not just individuals but the entire legal fraternity.

Each detention silences one voice—and intimidates a hundred more. Bar associations hesitate to meet; young lawyers choose self-censorship over survival. The courtroom, once a place of courage, now feels like a cage.

The Trap of “Voluntary” Surrender

Perhaps the most insidious tactic employed by the interim government is the manipulation of voluntary surrender.

JMBF documented 18 such incidents, involving 130 lawyers—many accused of “attempted murder” or “vandalism.” These were lawyers who followed the law, who appeared before judges when summoned. Yet, instead of receiving fair hearings, they were immediately remanded or imprisoned.

The ordeal of Advocate Abu Sayeed Sagar, former president of the Dhaka Bar Association and ex-Legal Affairs Secretary of the Awami League, epitomizes this tactic.

During the politically tense 2023 Supreme Court Bar Association election, a brief scuffle became the pretext for criminal charges. Sagar obtained six weeks of anticipatory bail from the High Court. Then, on 5 October 2025, he voluntarily surrendered before the Dhaka Metropolitan Sessions Judge’s Court to renew his bail—a lawful and responsible act.
Instead of being heard, he was denied bail and sent to jail by Judge Sabbir Fayez.

This case shows how the Yunus-led regime has weaponized compliance itself. What should have been a routine legal procedure became a punishment for obedience.
Under Yunus, surrender no longer signifies respect for law—it is a trapdoor to imprisonment.

A Regime Built on the Ruins of Rights

The persecution of lawyers is not an accident—it is a blueprint of authoritarian control.

Since mid-2024, under the pretext of “transition,” the Yunus-led interim government has suspended civil liberties, silenced journalists, and targeted professionals suspected of political disloyalty.

The irony is unbearable: a man once celebrated for empowering the poor now presides over the imprisonment of those defending the powerless.

The Collapse of Judicial Independence

Every dictatorship begins by capturing the courts. The Yunus government has done one worse—it has hollowed them out from within.

Judges are pressured, prosecutors politicized, and bail hearings endlessly delayed. Lawyers are denied access to case files, while police fabricate evidence with impunity.

This is not merely domestic injustice—it violates Bangladesh’s obligations under Article 9 of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR), which prohibits arbitrary detention.

When judges become instruments of fear instead of arbiters of law, the entire edifice of justice collapses.

Imprisonment as Preventive Repression

In this new Bangladesh, imprisonment no longer follows crime—it anticipates it.

Lawyers are detained not for what they did, but for what they might do. This is preventive repression—criminalizing potential dissent.

By incarcerating lawyers, the regime has effectively imprisoned the idea of justice itself. When defenders become defendants, a nation’s moral compass is lost.

The Human Cost

Statistics cannot capture the sound of a cell door closing on a lawyer who once argued for others’ freedom.

Many imprisoned lawyers languish in overcrowded cells, denied medical care, cut off from their families. Some have been beaten. Others have fled abroad, leaving behind shattered practices and broken lives.

In every courthouse corridor, fear now walks silently. The rule of law has been replaced by the rule of intimidation.

The International Dimension of Betrayal

When Muhammad Yunus took charge, many abroad saw him as a reformer—a moral voice who would guide Bangladesh toward democracy.

But moral authority demands moral action. The mass imprisonment of lawyers is a betrayal not just of Bangladesh’s Constitution, but of international law and the ideals Yunus once symbolized.

Bangladesh is bound by the UN Basic Principles on the Role of Lawyers (1990), which guarantee that lawyers must perform their duties “without intimidation, hindrance, harassment, or improper interference.”

Under Yunus, every one of those principles has been broken.

The Erosion of Democracy in the Name of Transition

The government calls itself “interim.” But its methods are permanent tools of authoritarianism.

It claims to save democracy by suspending it; to ensure order by silencing dissent. History knows this lie well—from Chile to Egypt, every junta has claimed necessity as its moral cover.

Bangladesh today stands on that same precipice.

A Call for International Solidarity and Accountability

The time for polite diplomacy is over. The international community must see beyond the Nobel halo and confront the stark reality unfolding in Bangladesh, where lawyers are imprisoned for defending justice. Independent investigations by the UN and other human-rights bodies are urgently needed to document the systematic persecution of legal professionals. International legal associations should actively monitor trials and proceedings, recording every violation of due process, while governments must consider targeted sanctions, including visa restrictions and asset freezes, against officials responsible for repression.

Equally critical is the protection of at-risk lawyers, with states providing emergency visas and asylum to those facing imminent arrest. Silence or neutrality from global institutions, including Nobel committees and academic bodies, is no longer acceptable; it amounts to tacit complicity in the erosion of democracy and the rule of law. The world must act decisively to uphold both human rights and the integrity of the legal profession in Bangladesh.

When the Defenders Become the Accused

The mass imprisonment of lawyers in Bangladesh marks a moral collapse of governance.

By turning the courts into instruments of punishment, the Yunus-led interim government has criminalized justice itself.

Imprisonment has ceased to be a verdict; it has become policy.

Muhammad Yunus once preached empowerment. Today, his government practices suppression.

The world must judge him not by medals, but by the misery of those imprisoned for defending freedom. Because when the defenders of justice are silenced, it is not only lawyers who are imprisoned—it is the conscience of Bangladesh itself.

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

This was not a case of crowd control gone wrong. This was a premeditated act of state terror.

On July 16, 2025, Bangladesh witnessed one of the darkest and bloodiest chapters in its recent history. What unfolded in Gopalganj was not a random outbreak of violence—it was a calculated, state-sponsored massacre, deliberately executed by the interim government of Nobel Peace Prize laureate Muhammad Yunus. This regime, which came to power under the banner of restoring democracy, justice, and human rights, has now exposed its true face: repressive, authoritarian, and dangerous.

The government forces—comprising both police and military—opened fire on unarmed demonstrators in the heart of Gopalganj. At least four people were confirmed dead and more than a hundred sustained injuries. The deceased have been identified as Dipto Saha (25), Ramzan Kazi (24), Sohel Molla (35), and Imon Talukder (28)—all ordinary citizens. What they faced on that fateful day was anything but ordinary. Their crime? Defending the legacy of the Father of the Nation, Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, against a political organization that was permitted to spew venom unchecked.

The crisis was sparked by provocative and deeply offensive statements made by the National Citizens Party (NCP), a fringe group that enjoys the quiet backing of the Yunus administration. During their “March to Gopalganj” rally, NCP leaders vowed to “bury Mujibism” and destroy Bangabandhu’s mausoleum. For the people of Gopalganj—who consider Bangabandhu’s memory sacred—this was an open declaration of war.

In response, residents from various parts of the district, including Gandhiyashur, Ulpur, Chowrasta, and the old bus terminal, began gathering peacefully to protest these threats. These were not armed rebels or political militants. These were farmers, students, day laborers, and shopkeepers—united not by political affiliation but by a common sense of justice and respect for the country’s founding leader.

But instead of diffusing tensions or holding the NCP accountable, the government treated these peaceful demonstrators as enemies of the state. Troops and police descended on the crowd, opening fire without warning. Tear gas filled the air. Live bullets ripped through flesh. Social media videos show soldiers stomping on wounded protesters, dragging lifeless bodies, and making sure that those on the ground would not get up again.

The brutality was not limited to the moment of confrontation. Several reports indicate that bodies were secretly removed. In one particularly harrowing video, a police officer can be heard saying of a gravely injured man, “He’s pretending to be dead,” before tossing him like garbage into a police van. In another clip, white tissue protrudes from a bullet wound in a young man’s abdomen.

This was not a case of crowd control gone wrong. This was a premeditated act of state terror. The fact that multiple agencies coordinated this attack across several sites, under the watch of senior government advisors, makes it even more chilling. Sources reveal that the advisors for Home, Law, and Local Government were monitoring the situation in real-time from Police Headquarters, ensuring a seamless execution of this violent suppression.

From a legal perspective, the actions of the Yunus administration are indefensible. Articles 31, 32, and 35 of the Constitution of Bangladesh guarantee the right to life, personal security, and due process. None of these constitutional protections were upheld in Gopalganj. The victims were neither charged with crimes nor given a chance to defend themselves. They were summarily executed.

Domestic law—including the Police Act, the Code of Criminal Procedure (CrPC), and military conduct regulations—clearly stipulate that the use of deadly force must meet three criteria: necessity, legal authorization, and proportionality. None of these thresholds were satisfied. No police officer or soldier was harmed. No government property was destroyed. And yet, lethal force was used.

The crimes in Gopalganj also constitute clear violations of international law. Articles 3 and 5 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights affirm the right to life and the right to be free from cruel, inhuman, or degrading treatment. Articles 6 and 7 of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR), to which Bangladesh is a signatory, prohibit arbitrary killing and torture by state actors. These treaties are not just symbolic—they carry binding legal obligations.

Most significantly, under Article 7 of the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court (ICC), a “widespread or systematic attack directed against any civilian population” with knowledge of the attack constitutes a crime against humanity. The scale, coordination, and brutality of the crackdown in Gopalganj fit this definition. The state’s actions were not spontaneous reactions—they were carefully planned, organized, and executed.

Moreover, the psychological and political intent behind the crackdown—instilling fear in the populace and punishing dissent—aligns with the legal concept of persecution. The Rome Statute also defines persecution as a crime against humanity when it involves the intentional and severe deprivation of fundamental rights against a group or population.

The violence was accompanied by state-led information suppression. Mainstream media, many aligned with corporate interests or controlled by the administration, portrayed the protesters as aggressors. Headlines read, “Protesters Clash with NCP Supporters,” conveniently omitting the fact that the protesters were reacting to hate speech and threats against a national monument. Social media platforms saw posts taken down, accounts suspended, and internet speeds throttled to limit the spread of video evidence.

This chilling attempt to rewrite history in real-time is as dangerous as the violence itself. The Yunus administration not only targeted bodies in Gopalganj—it also targeted the truth.

It is also essential to question the deafening silence from the international community. In the past, Western governments, human rights organizations, and UN bodies have been quick to condemn incidents of far lesser gravity. Why then the muteness in the face of such a blatant and bloody abuse of power? The answer may lie in what experts call “strategic silence”—a diplomatic tactic used to maintain relationships with governments seen as useful for regional stability, investment, or geopolitical leverage.

This selective outrage is not just hypocritical—it is dangerous. It sends a message to repressive regimes that they can act with impunity, as long as they serve the right interests. But human lives are not bargaining chips. The people of Bangladesh are not expendable.

Muhammad Yunus, long hailed as a global icon of peace and innovation, now finds his name linked to one of the most heinous acts of state violence in the country’s history. His administration was not elected—it was installed. And with no democratic mandate, no transparency, and now no respect for life, it lacks all moral legitimacy.

Yunus cannot absolve himself by citing ignorance. As the head of government, he bears ultimate responsibility. The International Criminal Court must open a preliminary investigation into the events in Gopalganj. So must the UN Human Rights Council. Independent investigators must be granted immediate access to the affected regions, witnesses, and all government communications related to the crackdown.

Justice must also extend beyond prosecution. The families of the victims must receive reparations. Medical treatment must be provided to the wounded. And the right to protest—enshrined both in domestic and international law—must be restored and protected.

The world must speak now, not later. Every moment of silence adds another layer of injustice to the already unbearable burden borne by the victims’ families.

Let us also remember that this is not just a Gopalganj issue. It is a national crisis. Today it is Gopalganj—tomorrow it could be any district, any village, any street. This massacre marks a turning point in Bangladesh’s democratic journey. It is a test of our collective conscience, both within the country and beyond.

The names of Dipto, Ramzan, Sohel, and Imon are etched in blood into our national memory. Their deaths are not just personal tragedies—they are political warnings. Their sacrifice demands not only mourning but mobilization.

We urge all human rights defenders, legal bodies, international institutions, and concerned citizens of the world: do not let this massacre be swept under the rug. Demand accountability. Demand justice. Demand the truth.

The Yunus administration must be held accountable for crimes against humanity. Bangladesh cannot move forward if its people continue to be crushed under the boots of authoritarianism. Democracy is not built on the silence of the dead, but on the voices of the living demanding justice.

History will remember this day. And history will not forgive those who remained silent.

This situation also reflects a collapse of the justice system. A culture of impunity has taken root, eroding public faith in the legal system.

For the first time in Bangladesh’s history, an interim government has been formed under the leadership of a Nobel Peace Prize laureate. Many hoped this government would end political unrest and repression, ushering in a new era of good governance and justice. Yet, in just ten months, this government has become synonymous with suffering and disillusionment for ordinary citizens.

On July 9, 2025, in the heart of Old Dhaka, the brutal broad-daylight murder of a businessman was not merely a homicide—it was a stark, naked revelation of state failure. This failure goes beyond the cruelty of the act or the audacity of the perpetrators. It is rooted in the government’s silence, the inaction of the administration, and, above all, the arrogance of criminals operating under political protection.

The details of the incident expose extreme brutality. The victim, Lal Chand alias Sohag, aged 39, was a scrap trader. The murder took place around 6 p.m. in front of Gate No. 3 of Mitford Hospital on Rajani Ghosh Lane—at a time when the city’s bustle had not yet paused for the evening. Approximately 19 to 20 assailants arrived on seven motorcycles and surrounded him. They beat him with bricks, stones, and concrete blocks, dragged him through the street, stomped on his body, and celebrated with barbaric delight. Bystanders, terrified, dared not intervene. The killing was filmed and quickly went viral, sparking outrage across the country.

But this was not an isolated act of violence. It was a premeditated murder over extortion. According to local sources, influential leaders of the BNP’s affiliated organizations—Jubo Dal, Chhatra Dal, and Swechchhasebak Dal—had demanded five lakh takas in extortion from the victim. Upon refusal, he was murdered. The most alarming aspect is that despite political names being linked to the incident, no visible or effective administrative action has been taken. While a few arrests have been made, the masterminds remain untouched.

This single murder reflects the severe deterioration of Bangladesh’s law and order situation. But the broader statistics are even more terrifying. According to data from the Bangladesh Police Headquarters, under the interim government led by Nobel Peace Laureate Dr. Muhammad Yunus, crime has surged at an alarming rate in just ten months (September 2024 to June 2025).

During this time, 3,554 murders were committed nationwide. There were 4,105 cases of rape and 12,726 incidents of violence against women and children. Additionally, 610 armed robberies, 1,526 cases of banditry, and 97 riots occurred. There were 819 kidnappings, five acid attacks, 2,304 burglaries, and 7,310 thefts. Disturbingly, there were also 479 recorded attacks on law enforcement agencies, underscoring the gravity of the situation and the state’s loss of control.

These figures are not just numbers—they are testimony to a historic failure of governance and a complete collapse of public safety. That such horror could unfold in such a short span does not merely indicate governmental incompetence; it suggests a troubling absence of political will.

Dr. Muhammad Yunus is a globally renowned figure. He earned the Nobel Peace Prize for empowering women through microcredit. Yet, under his leadership, this interim government has utterly failed to guarantee even the most basic level of security for its citizens.

People had hoped that this administration would eliminate irregularities, corruption, and repressive politics, and establish a peaceful political climate. The reality, however, is grim: instead of confronting crime, this government appears to have surrendered to it.

Even more alarming is how senior members of the interim government, particularly the press wing of the Chief Adviser, continue to deny the surge in crime, downplaying the justice crisis with shocking indifference.

In most cases, perpetrators are shielded from the law due to their political affiliations. Political influence over police investigations is so blatant that many cases are suppressed before any inquiry begins. Even the judiciary appears to be under invisible pressure, casting serious doubt over the possibility of justice.

This is not merely a failure of the police force—it is a reflection of a profound moral and political void within the government. The interim administration came to power promising to protect human rights and uphold the rule of law. Yet, its actions suggest it has become a guardian of special interest groups, abandoning the safety of ordinary citizens. How incompetent must a government be for a businessman to be murdered so savagely in one of the capital’s busiest areas in broad daylight?

This situation also reflects a collapse of the justice system. A culture of impunity has taken root, eroding public faith in the legal system. As hope for justice fades, people either remain silent or are tempted to take the law into their own hands. This is a dangerous trend that is pushing society toward chaos.

Citizens’ basic demands are security, justice, and accountability from the state. A government that fails to provide these cannot claim to be democratic or people-oriented.

Dr. Yunus’s interim government wanted to be seen as an ethically superior body before the next elections. But now, one must ask: How ethical is this government? A businessman was killed in the street, and the government responded with token statements instead of concrete actions.

International human rights organizations, usually vocal about Bangladesh, have gone conspicuously silent. Groups like Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International, which previously condemned rights violations in the country, have offered no reaction to this alarming deterioration—as if law and order and human rights are flourishing under Dr. Yunus’s interim government.

In reality, police forces are increasingly accused of collusion with criminals, damaging Bangladesh’s image globally. And while mainstream media remains cautious due to fear of reprisals, social media is abuzz with criticism and outrage. Yet the government has offered no substantive response. Instead, it continues labeling these incidents as “isolated,” denying the depth of the crisis—an attitude that signals something even more dangerous.

What the country urgently needs now is an independent, neutral, and accountable administration—one that serves the people, not political or financial elites. Not just in Sohag’s case, but for every murder, rape, or major crime of the past ten months, there must be impartial investigations and swift justice.

The government must move beyond press briefings and acknowledge reality. It must immediately publish a clear roadmap to combat crime, ensure access to justice, and hold institutions accountable.

Bangladesh is no longer a poor, repressed nation. Its citizens are now aware, digitally connected, and demand answers. If those in power fail to act now, the people will soon hold them accountable in the court of history.

In the end, if even a Nobel Peace Prize winner cannot bring peace to the people, then that Nobel Prize becomes a cruel irony of history. And if this interim government cannot ensure even basic security, then the legitimacy of any future election or political process it oversees will be called into question. The answer must come now—not in words, but in action.

Author: Human Rights Lawyer; Laureate of the French Government’s Marianne Initiative for Human Rights Defenders 2023; Founder President of JusticeMakers Bangladesh in France (JMBF). You can reach him by email: shahanur.islam@jmbf.org; Website: www.jmbf.org

The interim government led by Nobel laureate Muhammad Yunus has thus become a dark chapter of impunity, mob violence, and moral decay.

The people of the country had high hopes from the interim government led by Nobel Peace Prize laureate Muhammad Yunus. With his international reputation, commitment to human rights, and determination to avoid political bias, the nation expected stable, transparent governance. But within just 10 months, those hopes have been shattered, replaced by a terrifying reality marked by mob violence, impunity, and state indifference.

On July 3, in Koraibari village of Bangra Bazar police station in Muradnagar upazila, Comilla, a brutal mob violence incident occurred under the pretext of drug dealing. A mother and her two sons and daughters were mercilessly killed, and another daughter seriously injured. Yet, no case has been filed, and no arrests made. The victim family’s hope for justice now seems impossible, leaving them with little option but to abandon demands for punishment.

Since August last year, under the interim government led by Muhammad Yunus, mob violence has become a frequent and horrifying reality.

Want to seize someone’s house? Label them an Awami League opponent or assign some other false tag, then unleash mob violence against them. Want to take over a business? Spread violence by branding the owner a political opponent. Want to evict someone from a government or private institution? Use the same dirty tactics and start mob violence. Want to confiscate property? Do the same. Didn’t receive extortion money? Target them. Have a longstanding feud? Politicize it and trigger mob violence.

This is how mob violence runs rampant in the country today. And the government remains indifferent—often, these acts occur with the tacit approval or direct involvement of government-backed groups.

According to reports in various Bangladeshi newspapers, under the interim government led by Muhammad Yunus, from September last year to June this year—a period of just 10 months—174 people have been killed and 281 seriously injured in mob violence incidents. In the six months from January to June 2025 alone, 62 people were killed and 206 seriously injured. In June, 41 mob violence incidents resulted in 10 deaths and 47 serious injuries. These statistics are a shameful indictment of the state of law and order.

It is deeply regrettable that the government has failed to take effective action against these crimes. Instead, the government press wing denies these incidents and presents the term “mob” as merely a political narrative of the Awami League, which is utterly condemnable and suggests government complicity.

Government officials must not forget that “mob” is not a political label but a description of unlawful, violent behavior. Wherever violence, disorder, or lawlessness occurs, it is rightly identified as “mob behavior,” regardless of politics. Governments and analysts worldwide use this term in similar contexts.

This government is not only failing but, in many cases, silently enabling violence. The inaction of law enforcement, lack of investigations, failure to arrest criminals, and denial of events as “political propaganda” reveal a deliberate avoidance of responsibility.

The ruling party also propagates a narrative that the Awami League, during its rule, committed numerous extrajudicial killings and fostered impunity — trying to justify those acts and deepen a culture of lawlessness.

The current government attempts to downplay mob violence by labeling it an Awami narrative. However, mob violence is a real, social-political violent phenomenon, not a political label. This government misleads the public by politicizing it to cover its failures.

Even critics of mob violence are branded “Awami League supporters” by the government. They forget that dissent cannot be politically tagged. Criticizing a protest does not make someone a “soft Awami.” This is a clear attempt to suppress political expression.

While people suffer attacks, looting, and killings, the government ignores their plight, dismissing them as “not mobs, but reactions.” This indifference and moral decay during a Nobel laureate’s tenure will be remembered as a disgrace.

The culture of calling lies truth, criminals innocent, and protesters “Awami Collaborator” is dangerously growing.

The government suppresses protests by politically tagging protesters. Criticism of violence is met with accusations of being “enemies of Awami League,” and even neutral voices are labeled “soft Awami.” This is an attack on democratic rights. If it continues, freedom of speech will disappear.

The interim government led by Nobel laureate Muhammad Yunus has thus become a dark chapter of impunity, mob violence, and moral decay. Its governance symbolizes a broken state, not justice or rule of law.

Unless accountability is ensured immediately, the country’s future will plunge into darkness. The sole responsibility lies with the Yunus government — and history will judge it harshly.