New Delhi, June 1 (IANS) Nine months ago, Bangladesh seemed to be basking in the sunlit uplands of promise and reform. Today, that same horizon is cloaked in a gathering storm of disenchantment. The protagonist of this tragicomic reversal is none other than Nobel Laureate Dr Muhammad Yunus, whose ascent to interim leadership had been hailed as a beacon of hope in the aftermath of the July uprising.
Alas, the euphoric optimism that once accompanied his stewardship has now metamorphosed into a widespread disillusionment, manifesting in an unmistakable anti-Yunus sentiment that now pervades the streets, the institutions, and the collective psyche of the nation.
The chief advisor of the interim government, a mantle donned by Dr Yunus in the wake of broad-based endorsement from civil society, political parties, and the military, now finds himself grappling with an existential crisis. Recently, he even alluded to the possibility of resigning—an act born out of sheer frustration with the worsening political quagmire that envelops the country.
One could argue that the malaise he now finds so unpalatable is, in fact, the bitter fruit of the very seeds he sowed.
This interim regime was conceived with two noble mandates: to administer the country’s affairs with competence and impartiality, and to organise credible elections that would restore democratic order. The expectations, lofty as they were, were matched by the confidence reposed in Yunus.
Yet, from the moment he began articulating his grand vision for reform, a chasm began to open up between the ruling elite and the very constituencies that had welcomed his leadership. That chasm, now a yawning abyss, has been further deepened by policies deemed unilateral, decisions perceived as authoritarian, and legislative overreach that has alarmed not only domestic stakeholders but also international watchdogs.
The interim government, though not bound by a term limit, was implicitly expected to be transient—a temporary custodian of the nation’s polity, akin to previous caretaker administrations that functioned within a three-month window. An October 2024 survey by the South Asian Institute of Policy and Governance (SIPG) revealed that 53 per cent of Bangladesh’s electorate favoured a shorter tenure for the interim regime.
And yet, Yunus and his coterie of advisors appeared to prioritise an ambitious reform agenda over the foundational necessity of conducting timely elections. This insistence on structural overhauls, however well-intentioned, was interpreted by political factions as a veiled attempt to prolong their unelected stewardship. Unsurprisingly, the corridors of power began to echo with murmurs of discontent, which soon spilled out onto the streets as vociferous protests.
Yunus’s recurrent orations on the indispensability of reform, far from rallying support, only exacerbated intra-party divisions and engendered legislative initiatives that many deemed deeply problematic. It was only under the relentless pressure of sustained public mobilisation and political lobbying that he eventually offered a tentative election timeline—initially between December 2025 and June 2026, later postponed to February-June 2026.
Even this delay might have been tolerable had the government presented a cogent roadmap. Instead, its dithering only fuelled suspicions regarding the true motives of the interim regime.
Further aggravating matters were remarks from the home advisor suggesting that the people wished the interim government to remain in power for “five more years”, coupled with Yunus’s own ambiguous assertion that the government would stay “as long as people want them to”.
These statements only lent credence to the theory that the interim regime had grown too fond of the reins of power to relinquish them voluntarily. The military, once a tacit partner in this experiment, began to show signs of unease; the Army Chief’s pronouncement that elections ought to be held by December served as a subtle, yet unequivocal, rebuke.
But the discontent was not limited to electoral matters. Yunus’ foray into foreign policy through his proposal to establish a humanitarian corridor into Myanmar’s Rakhine State unleashed a torrent of indignation. Critics, including representatives from across the political spectrum and within the armed forces, interpreted the move as a dangerous compromise on national sovereignty.
The lack of consultation preceding the decision only intensified the backlash, with the Army Chief warning that such a corridor could turn into a “bloody passage”, risking both geopolitical entanglements and national pride.
In a similar vein, Yunus’s decision to grant operational rights of the Chattogram port to a foreign conglomerate—an action undertaken after a visit to the port city—was perceived as a reckless concession jeopardising the country’s economic independence. Once again, the absence of multi-party dialogue before arriving at such a consequential decision rendered the act deeply unpopular.
Perhaps the most egregious misstep of the interim government has been its legislative adventurism, shrouded under the aegis of reform but widely regarded as a political vendetta. Ordinances such as the Cyber Protection Act, amendments to the International Crimes (Tribunals) Act, and the Enforced Law Ordinance have drawn widespread ire.
Human Rights Watch, along with a litany of local and international organisations, has condemned these measures as a direct assault on fundamental freedoms and civil liberties. Ironically, Yunus, long a critic of authoritarianism, now finds himself accused of replicating the very autocracy he once decried.
Civil society, once his staunchest ally, has now turned against him. Student bodies, public sector workers, and professionals have joined hands in a synchronised chorus of resistance. Since November 2024, the readymade garments sector—long the engine of Bangladesh’s export economy—has been rocked by incessant strikes over unpaid wages and demands for a higher minimum wage.
The government’s belated wage hike did little to mollify the workers, especially against the backdrop of a punishing inflation rate that reached 9.17 per cent in April 2025.
The decision to bifurcate the National Board of Revenue (NBR) into separate entities for policy and administration proved to be yet another self-inflicted wound. Intended to boost efficiency, the reform instead provoked a full-scale strike, bringing the nation’s import-export operations to a grinding halt.
Employees demanded not just the repeal of the ordinance but also the removal of the NBR Chairman and full transparency regarding the recommendations provided by international financial institutions, which many suspect imposed such changes as a precondition for aid. Though the government eventually withdrew the ordinance, the wounds of mistrust remain unhealed.
If all this were not sufficient, the passage of the Public Service (Amendment) Ordinance marked a new nadir in the regime’s credibility. The law, empowering the government to summarily dismiss civil servants without due process, was widely dubbed a “black law”—a sinister tool for silencing dissent and cementing executive overreach.
The Secretariat protests that followed brought administrative services to a halt. The government’s response? Deployment of paramilitary forces—BGB, RAB, and SWAT—in a move chillingly reminiscent of the very regime that the July uprising had deposed for its fascist tendencies.
Thus, from its idealistic inception to its current state of near-pariahdom, the Yunus-led interim administration stands accused of squandering a rare moment of national unity and aspiration. The disillusionment is not confined to the elite or the intelligentsia—it has seeped into the veins of the working class, the bureaucracy, and the youth.
The anti-Yunus wave is no longer a metaphor; it is a sociopolitical reality, as palpable as it is vociferous.
In a tragic irony, the man once revered as a symbol of ethical governance and visionary leadership now finds himself at the receiving end of mass resentment. His regime, intended to be a transitional bridge to democracy, now risks becoming an impediment to the very process it was meant to safeguard.
As Bangladesh hurtles through this phase of democratic disenchantment, one is reminded of the immortal words of Charles Dickens: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” For Dr Yunus, the pendulum has decidedly swung to the latter.”
As the sun begins to set on this interim regime’s moral authority, let us hope the next dawn brings with it a renewed commitment to democratic integrity. For the soul of Bangladesh can only be nourished not by decrees and dogmas, but by the oxygen of participatory governance, civil liberties, and above all, the sovereign will of its people.
–IANS
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