Extrajudicial Ban on Awami League : Is Yunus Fighting for Justice or Engineering a Power Grab?

In an astonishing and deeply polarizing turn of events, the Awami League—Bangladesh’s oldest, most influential, and historically pivotal political party—has been banned. Its offices shuttered, its digital presence scrubbed, its top leaders either imprisoned or forced into exile. The very party that led the nation to independence in 1971 now stands accused of betraying that same republic, branded a threat under the Anti-Terrorism Act by an unelected caretaker government headed by Nobel Peace Prize laureate Dr. Muhammad Yunus, plunging the nation into a political crisis of unprecedented magnitude.

This is not the first time the Awami League has faced existential threats. In 1971, on the eve of Bangladesh’s struggle for independence, the Pakistani military regime outlawed the party in an attempt to suppress Bengali nationalist aspirations. That decision proved catastrophic for Pakistan’s unity and instead fueled a full-scale liberation war that birthed a new nation. Again, in 1975, under Sheikh Mujibur Rahman’s controversial turn toward authoritarianism, the Awami League was absorbed into a one-party system known as BAKSAL, a move that led to growing dissent and the eventual assassination of Mujib himself. Despite such upheavals, the Awami League managed to reemerge through grassroots resistance, legal rehabilitation, and electoral victories—particularly under Sheikh Hasina’s leadership after her return in 1981.

However, the ban in 2025 feels categorically different. It has not been born of popular revolt, civil unrest, or legislative consensus. Rather, it appears to be the calculated result of decisions made behind closed doors by a so-called neutral caretaker government. Dr. Yunus, long admired globally for his contributions to social enterprise and poverty alleviation, now finds his reputation under intense scrutiny. Allegations have surfaced regarding his covert cooperation with Islamist factions and the formation of the National Citizen Party (NCP), allegedly with backing from Jamaat-e-Islami and US funds. These developments raise pressing questions: is this new political formation truly aimed at restoring justice and balance, or is it simply a strategic maneuver to eliminate rivals and reshape the nation’s political future?

The Awami League has demonstrated remarkable resilience over the decades. From near decimation to electoral triumphs in 1996 and 2008, it has weathered storms that would have annihilated lesser parties. Yet history has an uncanny way of repeating itself, sometimes with darker undertones. The ban in 2025 may well mark the most severe test of the party’s endurance—and of Bangladesh’s democratic institutions.

As the dust settles, critical questions remain: Is Dr. Yunus acting as a reformer, purging a corrupted system? Or is he orchestrating a power grab cloaked in the language of neutrality and reform? And perhaps most importantly—can a nation still claim to be a democracy when political competition is silenced not by votes, but by force?

The Present Ban: Political Necessity or Authoritarian Overreach?

The Yunus-led interim government’s decision to ban the Awami League under the Anti-Terrorism Act has sparked outrage and suspicion, both within Bangladesh and internationally. What was initially framed as a crackdown on electoral fraud and historic atrocities has now expanded into an outright political purge. The ban appears less about justice and more about consolidating a fragile, unelected regime under the guise of reform.

Crucially, this sweeping decision came amid vocal pressure from unlikely bedfellows: the newly-formed National Citizens Party (NCP), backed by remnants of Jamaat-e-Islami and radical youth factions that spearheaded the July uprising. Dr. Yunus’s links to this unholy alliance are troubling. Though once lauded globally for his work in microfinance, Yunus now stands accused of aiding the political rehabilitation of Jamaat elements—long discredited for their role in war crimes—by granting them indirect legitimacy through the NCP. Has the Nobel laureate, in his bid for "stability," compromised with the very forces that once fractured the nation's soul?

Moreover, Yunus's interim regime is rapidly acquiring the traits of authoritarianism: media censorship, judicial subservience, and the weaponization of "anti-terror" laws to silence dissent. What mandate does this unelected caretaker have to dismantle the country's oldest political institution? And why outlaw an entire party instead of pursuing legal cases against individuals? The justification that the Awami League poses a "threat" to national security rings hollow when one considers the broad, collective punishment being meted out to millions of its supporters.

In targeting an entire political party—however flawed—Yunus's administration risks rewriting democracy in Bangladesh as a privilege for the favored few, rather than a right for all. The irony is sharp: in claiming to cleanse the system, the interim government may be entrenching the very impunity it claims to eliminate.

The Double Standards of the Interim Government

The interim government's decision to ban the Awami League while lifting the ban on Jamaat-e-Islami is a glaring display of hypocrisy that strips the regime of its moral and political legitimacy. This contradictory move sends a dangerous signal: that justice in Bangladesh is not about principle, but political convenience.

The Awami League, for all its controversies, is still the party that led Bangladesh to independence, bore the brunt of the Liberation War, and shaped the country’s post-1971 political landscape. Jamaat-e-Islami, by contrast, actively opposed that independence and collaborated with the Pakistani military in committing genocide against its own people. To ban the Awami League while rehabilitating Jamaat is not merely controversial—it is indefensible.

If Dr. Muhammad Yunus and his interim regime claim that the Awami League deserves to be banned for past abuses, electoral manipulation, or authoritarian governance, they must also answer for their rehabilitation of Jamaat. How can a party historically tied to the mass murder, rape, and systematic repression of 1971 be allowed to re-enter politics while the party that led the fight for freedom is erased from the public sphere? This is not justice—it is selective amnesia. It is political revisionism disguised as reform.

Jamaat's re-entry is not a small administrative gesture. It signals a fundamental betrayal of Bangladesh’s founding ideals. Jamaat’s ideology remains steeped in religious authoritarianism and anti-liberation sentiment. Their historical role in enabling genocide is not a distant memory—it is a living wound. By lifting their ban, the Yunus administration has effectively legitimized the forces that once sought to destroy the Bengali identity.

Meanwhile, the claim that banning the Awami League is necessary to protect July Movement activists only underscores the interim government’s insecurity. If this regime truly represents a democratic uprising, why is it so afraid of a weakened, disbanded political party? The idea that the Awami League, stripped of its institutions and leaders, still poses an existential threat suggests that the new rulers lack confidence in their own popular mandate. It implies that the ban is not about justice—but vengeance. Not about protecting democracy—but monopolizing it.

Dr. Muhammad Yunus, once a Nobel Peace Prize laureate and global icon of microcredit and social enterprise, now risks being remembered not as a reformer, but as an enabler of authoritarianism. His alliance with Islamist factions, and his silence on their historical crimes, casts a long shadow over his moral credibility. Rather than leading a democratic transition, he appears to be engineering a political purge.

Banning the Awami League: A Blow to Democracy and a Test of Dr. Yunus’s Credibility

The blanket ban on the Awami League, regardless of one's political leanings, marks a disturbing erosion of democratic norms in Bangladesh. Silencing one of the country’s oldest and most popular political parties—without full transparency, judicial independence, or public mandate—raises urgent questions not just about the future of Bangladeshi democracy, but also about the true intentions of the unelected regime now in power.

At the center of this crisis is Dr. Muhammad Yunus, a Nobel laureate whose global reputation rests on a legacy of microfinance and social entrepreneurship. But how does a champion of empowerment justify the disempowerment of millions of voters? How does a supposed advocate of civil society now lead a government that silences dissent, centralizes power, and criminalizes political opposition wholesale?

This is not a defense of any specific party’s wrongdoing—if crimes have been committed, they must be tried in credible, independent courts. But banning an entire party is not about justice; it is about political engineering. It is the authoritarian logic of fear disguised as reform.

Dr. Yunus’s government is attempting to reshape democracy from above, through legal maneuvers, elite consensus, and the removal of electoral competition. That is not democracy; it is technocratic authoritarianism. Is this the democratic renewal he promised? Or is he simply replacing one form of political dominance with another, more polished and globally palatable one?

If Dr. Yunus is sincere about his commitment to democracy, then he must act like a democrat, not just speak like one. That means immediately lifting the ban on the Awami League, holding individuals accountable through fair trials, and preparing for free, inclusive elections. Anything less is not reform—it is repression repackaged.

Bangladesh’s political history is marked by trauma, struggle, and the ongoing fight for representation. The banning of a major party does not heal that history—it repeats its darkest chapters. Democracy cannot be curated by elites or enforced by decree. It must be lived, risked, and respected—even when the results are politically inconvenient.

Ultimately, the people must decide Bangladesh’s future—not Dr. Yunus, not a closed circle of technocrats, and certainly not a government that fears the ballot box more than it fears injustice.