It was supposed to be an interlude of integrity—a break from the venality and brutality of partisan politics. Instead, the interim government of Dr. Muhammad Yunus, buoyed by the moral aura of a Nobel Prize, has become a cautionary tale in how lofty promises collapse under the weight of corruption, incompetence, and misplaced trust in tainted allies. If Bangladesh’s trajectory continues on this path, the country will emerge from this experiment not rejuvenated, but dangerously weakened.

Broken Promises and a Culture of Concealment

The signs of decay were apparent early. In his second address to the nation, Yunus promised an unprecedented step toward transparency: full publication of income and asset declarations for himself, his advisors, and senior officials. The idea was to set a new standard—proof that Bangladesh could be governed in daylight. One year later, only one advisor has complied, and even that declaration has raised eyebrows for omissions. The rest have remained silent, hiding behind excuses and bureaucratic inertia. When leaders cannot fulfill even their own signature pledges on transparency, it is not a delay—it is a confession.

This secrecy would be troubling enough on its own, but it sits atop a mound of credible allegations. ABM Abdus Sattar, the private secretary to Khaleda Zia, has accused at least eight advisors of “immense corruption,” claiming intelligence agencies hold the same information. These are not the mutterings of a random provocateur—Sattar is a seasoned bureaucrat who knows the cost of making such accusations. And yet, rather than confront these claims head-on, the government’s response has been classic Bangladeshi damage control: blanket denials, press statements from bureaucrats, and a hope that public outrage will dissipate with the news cycle.

The pattern is depressingly familiar. When allegations surfaced that  assistant private secretary of one Adviser, had illegally accumulated Tk 300 crore in a matter of days, the case was buried without serious investigation. The Anti-Corruption Commission did nothing. And why would it? Under Yunus, the ACC has been reduced to a ceremonial body—good for lecturing schoolchildren on honesty, but toothless when faced with real power.

Tainted Allies and Erosion of National Integrity

The rot extends beyond civilian advisors. Yunus’s reliance on retired military officials with chequered pasts has deepened public cynicism. Consider one  Major General, convicted and sentenced to death for his role in the 2004 Chittagong arms smuggling case—the largest in Bangladesh’s history, involving weapons bound for insurgents in India’s northeast. His conviction stands as a grim reminder of how deeply national security was once compromised by the very people entrusted to protect it.

Then there is one retired Brigadier General, a man whose father was convicted of war crimes and who himself has courted outrage by publicly questioning the established history of the Liberation War. His claim that the figure of martyrs, Bangladeshi dead is “imaginary” are not mere academic quibbles—they are incendiary acts that reopen the deepest wounds of the nation’s identity. Moreover, his remarks about the national anthem have embarrassed both the government and the political party representing its ideology.

And let us not forget one of Ex-Army chief, whose commentary on recent political upheavals—including unverified claims about a “quasi-revolution” and Sheikh Hasina’s escape—has fueled instability rather than calmed it. While Bhuiyan has styled himself as a voice of military restraint, his interventions have often carried a political charge, adding to the perception that Bangladesh’s armed forces are not fully divorced from partisan maneuvering.

This unholy alliance of Nobel laureate moralism and discredited military influence is producing exactly what one might expect: a government both self-righteous and self-serving. Abroad, Yunus presents himself as the savior of a struggling democracy; at home, his administration looks and acts like every other patronage machine before it. Tax exemptions and business approvals flow suspiciously toward companies linked to his family. Multiple vehicles, meant for public service, are co-opted by advisors for personal use. Reform commissions are announced with fanfare, then quietly fade into irrelevance.

Reform Mandate Squandered

The judiciary, once hailed as the last guardrail, has been instrumentalized as a political weapon. Judges and prosecutors appointed under Yunus have pursued cases that look less like justice and more like vendettas—particularly against the remnants of the Awami League leadership. Meanwhile, cases involving deaths in police custody, allegations of torture, and extrajudicial killings languish without action. When even the courts are perceived as extensions of executive will, the rule of law becomes a fiction.

Many of us will argue that he inherited a broken system and has had to navigate a minefield of entrenched interests. That is true. But the measure of leadership is not the absence of obstacles; it is the willingness to confront them. Yunus has done the opposite—choosing to accommodate the worst actors in the name of stability, even if it means perpetuating the very dysfunction he pledged to eradicate.

The BNP’s own behavior in this period has been equally dispiriting. Faced with the possibility of elections in February 2026, the party has oscillated between fawning praise for the government and theatrical outrage, depending on how close it thinks it is to the ballot box. The BNP keeps falling into the traps set by this government. There is virtually no chance of the election being held on time; rather, the election trap has been used primarily to keep the BNP away from engaging in a movement.

Transparency International Bangladesh has concluded that corruption under Yunus may, in some areas, exceed that of the Awami League era. This is not merely an embarrassment—it is an indictment. Yunus campaigned for this interim role as a reformer, a man above the political fray who could steer Bangladesh toward clean elections and credible governance. That mantle is gone. What remains is a government addicted to secrecy, incapable of delivering on its most basic promises, and increasingly defined by the company it keeps.

Window for Action is Closing 

Bangladesh is not yet beyond saving. But the window for corrective action is closing. The first step must be full disclosure—of assets, income, and the terms of any deals made with political parties or retired military officials. Second, the judiciary must be allowed to act independently, even if it means indicting those close to the Chief Advisor. Third, figures with criminal convictions or histories of undermining national unity should be nowhere near the levers of state power.

In the end, Yunus may find that his greatest failure is not the scandals that have already emerged, but the corrosion of hope that followed him into office. A nation that once believed it had found a principled steward now sees another operator in the same tired political theater—just with better English and a Nobel medal. If that perception hardens, history will not remember Yunus as the man who rescued Bangladesh from the brink. It will remember him as the man who pushed it closer.

 (The author is a political and strategic analyst based in Dhaka, Bangladesh. Views expressed are personal. He can be reached at writetomahossain@gmail.com)