Dr. Yunus’s Speech: Lofty vision or recycled reassurance?

One year after the July Uprising, Chief Advisor Dr. Muhammad Yunus delivered a speech to the nation outlining an ambitious vision for the country’s future. At first glance, it might appear that this government genuinely intends to bring about change. However, as the colorful narrative of hope unfolded, it also triggered a sense of déjà vu—we’ve heard these promises before. Different governments, different faces, and different regimes have repeatedly assured the people of new beginnings, only to abandon those very beginnings when it no longer served their interests. Rooted in that collective experience, the people today listen not with hope, but with skepticism. The question naturally arises: Is this yet another version of the old game, only with a new spokesperson?

A year has passed. A brief review of how the lives of the country’s lower and middle classes have changed over this year reveals the reality behind the speech. Unchecked price hikes, farmers being denied fair prices for their crops, unemployed educated youth, a shortage of essential medicines, chaos in the healthcare sector, energy deficits, and weak infrastructure—none of these issues have seen meaningful progress. In some cases, things have only worsened. Against this backdrop, how credible are the Chief Advisor’s assurances of development?

The speech mentioned reforming the judiciary and tackling corruption. Yet, justice remains a privilege reserved for the wealthy. Case backlogs have grown, higher court verdicts rarely trickle down, and the notion that "files don’t move without bribes" is still the grim reality for the average citizen. The Anti-Corruption Commission has failed to establish its credibility. When high-ranking government officials accused in major corruption scandals continue to travel abroad without hindrance, it naturally leads the public to wonder—are these anti-corruption drives only meant for low-level staff?

The July Uprising was meant to herald a new democratic awakening, institutionalized through the “July Charter.” It inspired a profound hope that the nation would finally escape the grip of autocratic rule and establish a transparent, accountable, and organized governance system. But today’s reality casts doubt on those aspirations. The spirit of “July” now seems to symbolize a fragmented, disorganized, and disappointing system of governance.

Take, for example, the central rally on August 5. A train with a capacity of 676 passengers brought just 17 so-called “July Fighters” to the capital. Does this reflect the scale of change people hoped for? The symbolic heart of the uprising has been reduced to a mere formality—presented in such a careless and dismissive manner that it borders on contempt for public expectations. More baffling is the absence of several senior leaders of the National Conciliation Program (NCP)—which claims to be the "sole agent" of the July uprising—from the main event in Dhaka, as they were reportedly in Cox’s Bazar. Their absence not only raises doubts but also questions the sincerity of their commitment to the ideals of July.

These scattered incidents suggest that the “Spirit of July” may now be confined to electoral posters and political rhetoric. It no longer resonates with the lived experiences or administrative realities of the people. There is a growing disconnect between the ideals upon which the uprising was built and the actions of the current government. People are beginning to ask: Was the change they fought for merely a shift in power, or was it meant to be a true transformation that would positively impact every aspect of their daily lives? At this moment, the “Spirit of July” appears more like a fugitive from reality—highlighting the vast gap between promises and actions.

Dr. Yunus spoke of national dialogue, inclusive governance, and growing international confidence. But what is the true nature of this dialogue? Is it just a token gesture where select parties are invited to sit around a table? Were the voices, objections, and demands of those who attended taken into account? And what about the parties that were not invited—have they been effectively excluded from the national conversation? If the dialogue fails to truly represent the people, it becomes little more than political theater. It is therefore entirely reasonable to question the transparency, inclusivity, and decision-making processes of such engagements.

The “July Charter” contains admirable themes—economy, education, employment. But if these promises lack implementation plans, timelines, and mechanisms of accountability, they amount to nothing more than cheap political deception. We’ve seen many charters in the past, filled with words of development, peace, and progress, only to be shelved while those in power focused solely on improving their own fortunes. Is it really unfair, then, to label the “July Charter” as yet another product of lofty rhetoric?

The people are weary. They don’t want more promises—they want proof. They want to see tangible changes in governance, transparency in administration, faith in the justice system, and security in the economy. If those in power try to cover up these demands with flowery speeches, then public withdrawal of trust becomes a rightful and inevitable response. Anyone can draft a visionary blueprint, but to secure a place in history, one must back it up with clear, actionable steps.

The question that matters most now is this: Can this government truly make a difference? Not just in contrast to previous regimes on paper, but in a way that delivers real benefits to the people’s lives. If the government chooses to float on the comfort of political rhetoric, ignoring public needs, frustrations, and anger—then this rare opportunity will be lost. And if public trust collapses for one last time, it won’t take long for the moral foundation of governance to crumble.

Dr. Yunus’s speech came at a time when the nation is confused, fatigued, and divided. It could have sown seeds of optimism—had there been even a single solid foundation laid in the past year to give his lofty ambitions credibility. But in the absence of that foundation, the speech becomes an abstract political portrait, with little real-world impact.

Still, it is not too late. If this government truly intends to build a people’s state, it must work on the ground—in people’s lives—not just through speeches, but through visible, transformative action. Otherwise, this speech will become just another entry in the archive of recycled assurances—filled with high hopes, but quietly buried in the sands of harsh reality.

Chiranjan Sarkar is a columnist.