The death sentence handed down to former Bangladesh Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina by the International Crimes Tribunal (ICT) was expected, yet it has plunged the country into an even deeper political and moral crisis.
What is unfolding in Dhaka is not merely a courtroom drama but a clash over legitimacy, accountability, and the very future of Bangladesh’s democracy. The month-long trial concluded with Judge Golam Mortuza Mozumder declaring Hasina guilty on three counts: incitement, ordering killings, and failing to prevent atrocities during last year’s student-led agitation.
“We have decided to inflict her with only one sentence — that is, a sentence of death,” he said. In court sat only one of the three accused: former police inspector general Chowdhury Abdullah Al-Mamun, who pleaded guilty and turned state witness. Former interior minister Asaduzzaman Khan Kamal is believed to be in hiding, while Hasina has lived in exile in New Delhi since she was ousted.
What makes the verdict combustible is not just its severity, but the larger context. The tribunal that sentenced Hasina was originally created to try Pakistani soldiers and collaborators responsible for the 1971 genocide. Its mandate was never meant to extend to domestic political events, let alone to prosecute a sitting or former prime minister on charges of “crimes against humanity.”
Hasina’s supporters argue that stretching the tribunal’s powers through an ordinance issued by a caretaker government amounts to a legal overreach designed to secure a conviction. In a strongly worded response from her place of exile, Hasina dismissed the ruling as “rigged” and “politically motivated” and announced her intention to challenge it before the International Criminal Court in The Hague.
She accused the unelected interim administration led by Nobel laureate Muhammad Yunus of weaponizing the judiciary to dismantle the Awami League and “foist an externally backed regime on Bangladesh.”
This allegation did not arise in a vacuum. The political upheaval that brought down Hasina was unprecedented in scale. What began as student protests against the controversial quota system — which reserved 30% of civil service jobs for veterans of the 1971 war and their descendants — erupted into a nationwide anti-government uprising.
Over decades, these quotas evolved from a gesture of gratitude to a mechanism of patronage, disproportionately benefiting Awami League loyalists. For many young Bangladeshis, it symbolised a deeper malaise: the shrinking space for merit, opportunity, and dissent. When the protests turned violent, Hasina’s government responded with a heavy hand, triggering further outrage. The security crackdown — lethal in several instances — became the rallying point for a broader anti-regime sentiment.
Amid the chaos, the army withdrew support, leading to Hasina’s dramatic fall and flight to India. The caretaker government that emerged — with Yunus as its symbolic head — has sparked its own controversy.
Opponents call it unconstitutional. Awami League leaders describe it as a “foreign-engineered regime change,” pointing to Yunus’s longstanding proximity to Western political and philanthropic circles, especially in Washington. Hasina herself has long accused the US of hostility toward her government due to disagreements over labour laws, governance reforms, and Dhaka’s tilt toward Beijing.
Whether these claims are grounded in fact or flourish in political mythology is still debated. But what is undeniable is that Yunus’s interim administration has relied on a coalition of groups, including hardline elements previously marginalised by Hasina’s rule. Labelling the Awami League a “terrorist party” further raises questions about whether this caretaker setup seeks reconciliation or retribution. Supporters of the tribunal argue that no leader, no matter how powerful, should be immune from accountability.
They say the charges — including the alleged order to fire on students — cannot be whitewashed as political persecution. Bangladesh, they contend, cannot heal without confronting state violence. Yet an equally compelling counterargument exists: justice delivered by a government without a democratic mandate, through a tribunal not authorised for such cases, risks becoming indistinguishable from vengeance.
The verdict against Hasina will shape Bangladesh’s democratic trajectory for years. If seen as legitimate, it may signal a new era of accountability. If viewed as politically engineered, it could deepen polarisation and set dangerous precedents. Hasina insists she is “not afraid to face my accusers in a proper tribunal where evidence can be weighed and tested fairly.”
For the sake of Bangladesh’s stability, that may be exactly what the nation — and the international community — must insist upon.
