“The most effective way to destroy a people is to deny and obliterate their own understanding of their history.“
— George Orwell
In today’s Bangladesh, this Orwellian prophecy is no longer fiction; it is reality.
On the morning of August 5, 2024, Bangladesh did not just lose a government—it lost its democracy, its constitution, and its rightful place in the world. What unfolded was not a peaceful transition of power but a carefully choreographed coup, executed by unelected technocrats, backed by foreign powers, and led by none other than Muhammad Yunus, the so-called Nobel laureate whose ambition has always outstripped his integrity.
Let us be clear: this was no people’s revolution. There were no ballots cast, no mandates given. What we witnessed was a naked seizure of power, camouflaged in the language of reform and resistance. In reality, it was a systematic hijacking of state institutions, political narrative, and historical truth.
The architects of this coup did not just remove Sheikh Hasina—they attempted to erase everything she and the Awami League stood for. With one stroke, the legacy of Bangabandhu was thrown into question, the hard-earned achievements of the past 15 years were cast aside, and the machinery of the state was handed over to opportunists and ideological mercenaries.
Yunus and his clique of elite academics, NGO operatives, and foreign advisors didn’t come to restore democracy—they came to redefine it to suit their own interests. They weaponized the frustrations of a generation, manipulated a grieving nation, and replaced a government elected by millions with a puppet regime born in the backrooms of embassies and donor boardrooms.
This article will expose the full extent of the distortion, deception, and democratic destruction now unfolding in Bangladesh. From rewriting history books to staging court trials against political opponents, from glorifying mob violence to silencing the media—this is a war against truth and a betrayal of the nation’s soul.
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And those who orchestrated it—from Muhammad Yunus to his foreign enablers—must be named, shamed, and held to account.
Erasing the Truth: The War of 1971 and the Systematic Demonization of Awami League
One of the most dangerous tools of authoritarian ambition is historical amnesia, and in today’s Bangladesh, we are witnessing a cold-blooded attempt to rewrite the very soul of the nation. The legacy of 1971, forged in blood and sacrifice, is being methodically distorted to serve the political agenda of those who neither shed blood for this country nor ever accepted the principles on which it was born. At the heart of this sinister campaign is a disturbing alliance between unelected technocrats and ideological remnants of anti-liberation forces, with Muhammad Yunus acting as a symbolic figurehead.
The Liberation War was not just a battle for independence—it was a revolution against exploitation, discrimination, and Pakistani colonialism. Yet today, we see a deliberate push to strip that struggle of its ideological context, to reduce it to a mere historical footnote. The towering legacy of Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujibur Rahman—our undisputed Father of the Nation—is being pushed aside in favor of revisionist narratives that either ignore his leadership or malign it outright. His speeches, his vision, and his sacrifices are being strategically erased from the national consciousness, replaced with sanitized versions of history that downplay the role of the Awami League in achieving and building Bangladesh.
This is not accidental. It is a calculated political strategy aimed at decapitating the moral and historical authority of the Awami League—the party that led this nation to freedom and has consistently upheld democratic and secular values in the face of extremism and chaos. Instead of acknowledging the Awami League’s historic and developmental contributions, its opponents have made it a scapegoat for all of Bangladesh’s challenges. Corruption, cronyism, and repression are hurled as blanket accusations, often without evidence, while ignoring the transformational economic progress, digital revolution, and social safety net expansions spearheaded under Sheikh Hasina’s leadership.
The demonization of the Awami League is not just political rivalry—it is a deliberate campaign to delegitimize the very idea of inclusive, progressive governance. By branding the party as autocratic, its critics seek to justify extra-constitutional interventions, international interference, and backdoor takeovers. The same quarters that once celebrated Yunus as a “savior” of the poor now prop him up as a “savior” of democracy, while conveniently ignoring his elitist detachment from the realities of working-class Bangladeshis and his open flirtations with unelected power.
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What we are witnessing is not just political opposition—it is an ideological war against the foundational spirit of Bangladesh. A war where history is twisted, heroes are vilified, and the Awami League is targeted not for its failures, but for its very success in keeping the country united, stable, and moving forward. This is a betrayal not only of facts but also of the millions who laid down their lives in 1971 to see a free, just, and sovereign Bangladesh.
The Coup of 2024: Manufactured Uprising, Foreign Meddling, and Yunus’s Double Game
The so-called “people’s uprising” of 2024 was no spontaneous revolution. It was a manufactured coup—a carefully orchestrated scheme designed not to rescue democracy, but to hijack it. Behind the curtain stood Muhammad Yunus, the self-proclaimed savior of Bangladesh, whose true allegiance seemed far more aligned with foreign powers than with the democratic will of the people.
From the outset, the movement masquerading as a student-led protest over quotas showed signs of deeper engineering. How did a policy dispute balloon overnight into a national crisis? Who funded the logistics behind massive rallies, media campaigns, and legal battles? The answer points to a nexus of NGO-backed networks, foreign embassies, and powerful figures like Yunus, whose Nobel Peace Prize served as a convenient shield while he undermined the very peace and democracy he claimed to support.
Yunus’s double standards were glaring. While parading himself as a champion of democratic reform, he remained conspicuously silent as mobs attacked elected representatives, toppled state institutions, and dismantled the democratic order. His allies were emboldened by foreign approval, as Western think tanks and media outlets—long critical of Sheikh Hasina’s independence and refusal to toe the line of Western hegemony—suddenly found moral justification to support regime change. This wasn’t about accountability; it was about control.
What unfolded in 2024 was not a collapse—it was a staged demolition. A functioning elected government was driven out under the guise of mass discontent. State media was seized, Awami League leaders were vilified or arrested, and the judiciary was used as a weapon rather than a safeguard. And yet, amidst this chaos, Yunus and his foreign backers portrayed themselves as liberators.
Subversion of the Constitution: A Democratic Suicide
Capturing power illegally wasn’t the only thing Muhammad Yunus did—he also attempted to erase the very foundation of our republic: the Constitution of Bangladesh.
For decades, the Constitution stood as a living testament to our people’s hard-won independence and democratic aspirations. It enshrined the principles of secularism, justice, and the sovereignty of the people. But after the orchestrated collapse of the elected Awami League government in 2024, Yunus and his unelected clique launched a quiet but brutal war against this very document—not by guns and tanks, but through deletions, distortions, and dangerous reinterpretations.
With alarming speed, clauses that embodied our democratic essence were sidelined. Fundamental principles—such as the supremacy of the people, the authority of parliament, and the commitment to electoral legitimacy—were either suspended or reworded beyond recognition. Instead of going to the people for a mandate, Yunus clung to power through vague proclamations, legal gymnastics, and the silence of a complicit judiciary.
Under the pretense of “restoring order” and “cleaning politics,” Yunus’s regime undermined the electoral process itself. The Election Commission was hollowed out. Laws were passed without parliamentary oversight. Basic civil liberties were suspended or restricted under new “emergency reforms.” The government of the people, by the people, for the people—replaced by a rule of bureaucrats, technocrats, and foreign-advised appointees.
The irony was staggering: a Nobel laureate who once claimed to fight poverty ended up bankrupting the nation’s most sacred democratic principles. In the name of reform, he launched a full-frontal assault on the very mechanisms that ensure checks and balances. No elections. No opposition. No voice.
This wasn’t just unconstitutional. It was anti-constitutional—a betrayal not only of the letter of the law but of the spirit of 1971. And it was done with full knowledge, full intent, and chilling indifference.
History will remember this as more than a political crisis. It will remember it as a democratic suicide committed by an unelected regime intoxicated by power and obsessed with erasing its predecessors. And Muhammad Yunus was the architect.
Betraying the Youth: False Promises, Real Damage
Muhammad Yunus and his interim regime weaponized the frustrations of the youth. Their genuine discontent with systemic issues like unemployment, corruption, and lack of representation was cleverly manipulated into a force that would help him dismantle democracy itself. He didn’t empower the youth—he used them. He turned them into pawns in a political chess game, baiting them with false narratives and utopian promises while hiding his real intent: to erase the electoral mandate and seize power through backdoor deals.
What followed was catastrophic. Instead of job creation, there were mass layoffs. Instead of student-friendly reforms, there was brutal suppression on campuses. Universities turned into war zones; student leaders who dared to question the new regime were silenced, arrested, or worse—disappeared. The very generation that once dreamed of building Digital Bangladesh was now stuck in a nightmare of broken promises, internet blackouts, and ideological purges.
Yunus’s government went further. It restructured youth organizations to promote cronies, sidelining those who had a real grassroots presence. State-run youth development programs were halted or redirected toward regime propaganda. Internship opportunities promised in the early days of the coup evaporated into thin air. The slogans that once filled Shahbagh and TSC now ring hollow—reminders of a movement hijacked by elites who never cared about the struggles of ordinary youth.
This wasn’t just a betrayal. It was a calculated demolition of a generation’s future — all to satisfy the ambitions of one man and his foreign-backed clique. A nation that once prided itself on its young demographic dividend now watches as its brightest minds flee the country, demoralized and disillusioned.
In using the youth to climb the ladder of power, then kicking it away once he reached the top, Yunus proved that his so-called revolution was never about renewal. It was about revenge, and the youth of Bangladesh paid the price.
By: albd.org
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