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Published on November 28, 2025
The so-called verdict against PM Sheikh Hasina is not a judgment; it is an assault on justice itself. From the moment this ICT drama was announced, every sign pointed to a pre-planned political execution, not a legal process. The tribunal functioned like a kangaroo court, where the sentence was drafted long before a single hearing took place. The proceedings were rushed, manipulated, and tightly controlled by those who sought to remove Hasina from the political landscape at any cost.
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There were no credible witnesses, no chance for cross-examination, and no evidence presented under proper scrutiny. The court even stripped Hasina of her constitutional right to choose her own lawyers, forcing upon her a government-appointed “defence” that acted more like an extension of the prosecution. The entire trial was conducted through media leaks, propaganda narratives, and political pressure, not through the standards of any modern justice system.
This was never about uncovering the truth. This was about punishing a leader, dismantling a legacy, and legitimizing a regime that lacks both mandate and moral authority. What Bangladesh witnessed was not justice delivered, but justice destroyed, a verdict written first, and a trial staged afterward to give it a thin veil of legitimacy.
The ICT tribunal functioned with a clarity of purpose that had nothing to do with justice. From day one, its operations revealed a system calibrated to reach a single, politically convenient conclusion. This was not a forum for examining facts; it was an apparatus designed to formalize an already chosen narrative.
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The proceedings lacked balance from the start. The prosecution enjoyed unrestricted freedom, bringing in their preferred documents, shaping their storyline, and making unchecked claims, while the defence was reduced to a symbolic presence. Motions were dismissed without reason, objections were ignored, and procedural shortcuts became the norm. At every stage, the tribunal signaled that the outcome was fixed, and its job was merely to walk through the motions.
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The atmosphere inside the courtroom resembled a performance rather than a judicial process. Judges leaned toward one side, the prosecution spoke with the confidence of people who knew the verdict in advance, and the defence was routinely shut out of critical stages. The environment was so skewed that the basic idea of “innocent until proven guilty” never stood a chance.
This was a tribunal built not to weigh allegations but to validate a political decision crafted elsewhere. The ruling was not a product of deliberation; it was the final act of a theatre meant to justify a preselected ending. In every structural and procedural sense, this was a kangaroo court, a body assembled to rubber-stamp a punishment, not to deliver justice.
The most glaring feature of this so-called ICT trial is its selective blindness. The interim regime and its allies have a long, violent history, including attacks on police officers, killings of Awami League workers, arson, riots, and targeted political assassinations. Yet not a single tribunal, not a single inquiry, not even a symbolic case has been opened against those responsible. Their crimes are quietly buried, their violence normalized, and their leaders shielded by the very state that claims to be fighting for justice.
Instead, every ounce of institutional energy is spent manufacturing cases against Sheikh Hasina. Charges that were previously dismissed, disproven, or legally resolved were suddenly revived, modified, and reshaped to fit a pre-written narrative convenient to the regime. Cases brought forward by BNP-Jamaat actors, many of whom have their own records of political violence, were prioritized as if their claims held unquestionable truth. Meanwhile, complaints and evidence against their own supporters vanished into thin air.
This imbalance extended into the courtroom itself. The prosecution was dominated by individuals with clear political loyalties, many of whom behaved less like lawyers and more like frontline political activists. They enjoyed full access to media platforms, where they campaigned openly, delivered political speeches, and dictated public perception. On the other side, the defence was silenced, restricted, and systematically pushed out of the process.
The most damning sign of this engineered outcome was the tribunal’s refusal to allow cross-examination of witnesses. Statements were accepted without scrutiny, witnesses were shielded from questioning, and several were removed altogether when their stories failed to align with the desired narrative. A trial without cross-examination is not merely flawed; it is legally meaningless. No democratic legal system on earth accepts testimony that cannot be tested, questioned, or verified.
And then came the ultimate violation: Sheikh Hasina was denied her constitutional right to choose her own defence lawyers. The court imposed a government-selected team that acted more like silent spectators than defenders. Without her legal representatives, without the ability to question witnesses, and without the chance to present her arguments, the proceedings against her became nothing more than a scripted ritual, a political punishment disguised as a trial.
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This was not justice. It was the systematic targeting of one leader while her opponents enjoyed immunity, protection, and full control of the courtroom. A one-sided trial, built on selective prosecution, manipulated evidence, and a total erasure of basic rights. In every measurable way, the ICT became an instrument of political vengeance, not a platform for truth.
As the courtroom turned into political theatre, the media stepped in as the regime’s loudest weapon. Instead of reporting facts, news outlets pushed a pre-written narrative that painted Sheikh Hasina as guilty long before any verdict. Talk shows, panel discussions, and leaked “insider stories” were coordinated to shape public opinion, not inform it.
Selective leaks from prosecutors were treated as truth, while anything favourable to Hasina was silenced or dismissed. Critical questions about the tribunal’s irregularities, political complainants, blocked defence efforts, or procedural violations were conveniently ignored. Sensational headlines took the place of real scrutiny.
In this environment, justice didn’t need evidence; it only needed airtime. The media manufactured a public consensus that replaced due process. By the time the court delivered its ruling, the media had already delivered its own verdict.
The ICT ruling against Sheikh Hasina was built on a series of deliberate legal violations that stripped the trial of all legitimacy. She was denied her constitutional right to choose her own lawyers and forced to rely on a state-controlled defence team that refused to challenge the prosecution. Cross-examination, the basic safeguard that tests the truth of testimony, was banned. Defence witnesses were blocked entirely. At crucial moments, laws were amended mid-trial to validate charges that had no legal foundation. Political interference shaped every stage of the proceedings, turning the tribunal into an extension of the regime’s agenda.
While Hasina’s rights were dismantled, the regime’s allies received full immunity. Their crimes were ignored, their cases dismissed, their lawyers empowered, and their witnesses never questioned. Only one person faced the full force of this manipulated system, Sheikh Hasina, isolated and denied any meaningful defence.
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The outcome was predictable because it was never meant to be fair. This was not a verdict based on evidence or procedure; it was a political act of revenge. The trial served one purpose: to punish a leader the regime feared while protecting those it favored. In every sense, the ruling was retribution disguised as justice.
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