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.

The report focused on human rights violations, particularly extrajudicial killings and custodial deaths committed by law enforcement personnel as well as prison authorities during the period from August 2024 to July 2025.

The report was prepared based on the research of JMBF Executive Committee member Ms. Jannatul Ferdous and edited by JMBF’s founding president, Advocate Shahanur Islam. It compiled information on 70 deaths in 60 incidents across the country, where extrajudicial killings and custodial deaths occurred at the hands of law enforcement agencies, prison authorities, and other security forces.

According to the published information, among the deceased, 55% (43 people in 33 incidents) died directly at the hands of security forces, while 45% (27 people) died in prisons, mainly due to torture in police remand and medical negligence. Almost all of the deceased were leaders, activists, or supporters of the Bangladesh Awami League, although minority communities, workers, and non-political citizens were also victims of killings.

The report mentioned that during a peaceful protest rally in Gopalganj, the army opened fire and killed five people. In addition, in Gaibandha and Gopalganj, Awami League supporters were killed through brutal physical torture by joint forces. In Khagrachhari, three indigenous people were killed by joint forces’ firing following a communal attack.

Furthermore, six leaders and supporters were killed in various prisons due to physical torture in police remand. In Dhaka, two garment workers, including one woman, were killed in police firing during a wage movement. In Barishal, a child was killed in Rapid Action Battalion (RAB) firing. In Bogura prison, five leaders lost their lives due to medical negligence.

JMBF’s observation showed that the highest number of incidents occurred in Dhaka Division, where 23 incidents caused 28 victims. After that, in Chattogram, 21 people were killed in 17 incidents. This means that 70% of the total incidents occurred in politically important regions like Dhaka and Chattogram, the report stated.

Apart from this, significant incidents also occurred in Rajshahi, Khulna, Sylhet, Rangpur, Barishal, and Mymensingh divisions, though fewer in number. While in Dhaka and Chattogram more people died directly at the hands of security forces, in Rajshahi custodial deaths were higher.

According to the report, besides the police, the army, joint forces, Rapid Action Battalion (RAB), Coast Guard, Navy, Air Force, intelligence agencies, and the Department of Narcotics Control were also involved in these incidents. This wide involvement indicates that the problem is not isolated accidents, but rather the result of a massive failure of accountability of state agencies, JMBF believes.

Among the causes of death, torture and subsequent deaths in prisons following torture in remand accounted for the highest number. After that, many were killed by direct shooting, JMBF mentioned in the published report.

In addition, it noted that with specific intent and purpose, leaders, activists, and supporters of the opposition political ideology Bangladesh Awami League, and inhabitants of indigenous communities in the Chittagong Hill Tracts, were deliberately killed through official negligence and medical negligence.

The deceased were not limited only to political opponents. Almost half of the deceased were affiliated with Bangladesh Awami League politics, while the rest were members of the Bangladesh Nationalist Party (BNP), hill-based political parties, or ordinary citizens without political affiliation. This shows that custodial deaths are not only politically targeted but also pose risks for all citizens in state custody, the report stated.

According to the report, out of 70 deaths in extrajudicial killings and custodial deaths, families of only seven victims were initially able to take legal steps. The remaining 63 families—that is, 90% of the families—could not take legal action due to fear and a repressive environment. JMBF described this situation as a “deeply entrenched culture of impunity.”

This situation perpetuates a culture of immunity in the country and further reduces people’s trust in state institutions. The report also mentioned that although the interim government admitted the need for reforms in law enforcement and the judiciary, progress is slow and no effective steps have yet been taken.

Robert Simon, a prominent French human rights activist and chief advisor of JMBF, said, “This report is not only a record of atrocities committed in Bangladesh but also a roadmap for accountability. The international community must recognize that ongoing extrajudicial killings and custodial deaths in Bangladesh are not isolated incidents—they are part of a planned attack on human rights and democracy. If urgent action is not taken now against these incidents, Bangladesh will very soon turn into a fascist state, which is extremely alarming.”

Advocate Shahanur Islam, prominent human rights lawyer and founding president of JMBF, said, “Instead of keeping promises, the Yunus administration has turned state institutions into tools of repression. Police, army, and prison authorities are carrying out human rights violations with complete impunity, while the judiciary has been compromised. An almost autocratic situation has been created in Bangladesh, and the silence of the international community is encouraging this repression.”

In its report, JMBF, through urgent recommendations, called upon the interim government to immediately stop all kinds of extrajudicial killings and custodial torture, to form an independent international investigation commission, and to bring the accused to justice under existing law.

In addition, the JMBF report called for the restoration of judicial independence, strengthening of social organizations, and appealed to the international community, such as the United Nations, European Union, International Criminal Court, and foreign governments, to identify and impose sanctions on the accused, suspend security cooperation, and consider referring the situation in Bangladesh to the International Criminal Court.

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.

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.