From hope to uncertainty: Path of interim govt

Fourteen months ago, a mass uprising had raised a wave of hope across the nation. The arrival of the interim government under Dr Muhammad Yunus had inspired dreams of a new dawn. Many described it as a “government of morality” or a “bridge of change”. The dream was indeed grand, and no one doubted its promise. But now, after fourteen months, if someone asks what this government has actually delivered, there is no clear answer. After so much death, blood and sacrifice — what have the people gained? Apart from lofty speeches and frequent foreign trips, Professor Yunus seems to have little to show to the nation.

The chief adviser has reportedly travelled to fourteen countries on thirteen separate occasions — which sounds impressive at first. But where are the real results of those visits? No new trade deals, no major investments, no significant agreements — nothing tangible has materialised for Bangladesh. The numbers tell a plain story: plenty of talk, little substance. The dream has begun to fade; disappointment now overshadows everything. The protocol chaos during the Rome visit was not just a minor blunder — it exposed how inexperienced the government remains in diplomacy.

Subsequent trips abroad have failed to inspire optimism. There have been no notable successes — neither in the economy nor in strategic affairs. The most painful aspect is that whenever the chief adviser attends a European conference, Bangladeshis holding its passport find themselves struggling to get visas in countries like India, the UAE, Qatar, Malaysia, or Japan.

Our foreign policy is gradually becoming isolated. The outside world now sees Bangladesh as a country trapped in crisis, not one managing it effectively. One of the key promises of the interim government was transparency and a corruption-free administration. Upon taking power, the chief adviser had announced that advisers would soon disclose their assets. That promise remains only on paper. This reflects the true face of our political culture — a habit of forgetting transparency once in power. The pledge to fight corruption has turned hollow. When there is such a gap between words and deeds, it is only natural for public trust to erode.

Law and order has deteriorated to the point where the nation feels held at knifepoint. We have seen disorder before, but never of this magnitude. Since independence, Bangladesh has rarely witnessed such prolonged anarchy. “Mob terror”, “burning bodies”, “attacks on police” — these are no longer isolated incidents but daily news. What happened at the grave of Nural Pagla in Rajbari was not only about religious frenzy; it revealed the helplessness of the state. The state still has power but seems incapable of using it. The chief adviser posted police data on Facebook claiming crime rates were “stable”. But does “stable” now mean making peace with crime? Crime has become our daily companion.

The murder rate has reached a record high this year. In the first nine months alone, an average of eleven murder cases have been filed every day. Simply put, the country feels like a death trap. Unknown bodies are surfacing in rivers. In the past twenty-two months, more than seventy-three corpses have been recovered from the rivers and canals of Khulna, Bagerhat, Satkhira and Pirojpur — twenty-seven of them unidentified. If this continues, fear will only deepen. Criminals grow bolder, and people grow lonelier. Today we see mobs delivering justice in the streets, police unable to protect themselves, and the state standing helplessly as a spectator. In a country where everyone feels unsafe in front of everyone else, no one is truly safe.

Questions are also being raised about the judiciary. Independence is missing there too. As before, the courts seem to await instruction; justice has disappeared. The entire system is suffocating. Senior Supreme Court lawyer Z I Khan Panna aptly remarked, “There is law, but no rule of law.” When the home adviser publicly declares that “those arrested will not be granted bail”, it is not a personal opinion — it is the death announcement of judicial independence. The judiciary now looks like a shadow of the executive. Where courts lack freedom, people quickly lose moral strength — that is the truth.

After the July uprising, many said nothing new could come from the old leadership; real change required new faces. Some young advisers were appointed, but they too have disappointed. Not long ago, adviser Asif Mahmud had seemed like someone who could truly make a difference. Now he has become a central figure of controversy — not a matter of pride. Leaked audios, administrative corruption, and a dramatic BCB election have turned his leadership into a glaring example of “old mistakes of a new generation”.

Preventing Tamim Iqbal and a few club officials from contesting the BCB election is not merely damaging for cricket — it is a blow to institutional democracy itself. When fairness vanishes from the sports field, one cannot expect it to exist in the larger arena of national life. Meanwhile, the interim government — made up of many familiar NGO faces — has failed to deliver on its lofty environmental promises. Syeda Rizwana Hasan had once declared war against polythene; but what has become of that war? Polythene remains everywhere, and Dhaka is still one of the world’s most polluted cities — nothing has changed.

The Panthakunja Park at Karwan Bazar being swallowed by the expressway shows how our environmental policy is working against its own goals. That cannot be called progress — it is regression. And if the government’s environment adviser knows who produces polythene yet takes no action, then this so-called “war” exists only as a headline.

There is no relief in markets, investment or the economy. Prices keep soaring, suffocating ordinary people. Rice, oil, lentils — everything is getting costlier, but incomes are not rising. Former BGMEA director and Denim Export Ltd’s director Mohiuddin Rulon has said openly, “Foreign buyers are waiting for an elected government.” In other words, no one has confidence. With no investment and no jobs, people stand idle in the streets. Hundreds of garment factories have shut down. Mounting unemployment has pushed the nation into an unfamiliar crisis. The economy now seems to be held together by trembling hands.

Freedom of the press, too, feels strangled. Cases involving murder and violence have been filed against 266 journalists — an unprecedented wave of repression. Editors’ Council president Mahfuz Anam rightly said, “This is a disgrace for us.” Once journalists were labelled as loyal to Sheikh Hasina; now many are seen leaning towards BNP or Jamaat. Only power has changed hands — not the state of press freedom. The media is trapped between two poles: political allegiance on one side and mob fear on the other. International human rights groups are finally speaking up. The joint letter from six organisations — Human Rights Watch, CPJ, and CIVICUS among them — was a strong warning for Bangladesh. And the government’s response? “We have nothing to say.” This silence has become the country’s most powerful language — a diplomacy of muteness.

The interim government has turned out not to be a government of change but rather the custodian of suspended progress. Born out of a revolutionary moment, it was expected to deliver transformation. But fourteen months later, everything has been buried under administrative routine. Those who were supposed to be symbols of morality are now preoccupied with their own survival. Those who once marched on the streets dreaming of a new dawn have withdrawn into weary shadows. Professor Yunus once said, “We will restore trust.” In reality, it has become clear how hard it is to build trust — and how easy it is to lose it.

The story of these fourteen months is like looking into a mirror — a stark gap between expectations and reality, filled with broken promises, failed leadership, and a fading public faith. There is no doubt Bangladesh will rise again — but this time, not for more promises. This time, people will rise to reclaim what is rightfully theirs.

Chiraranjan Sarkar: Columnist