For decades, the global development fraternity has genuflected at the altar of Professor Muhammad Yunus—the soft-spoken “messiah of microcredit,” lionised from Oslo to Washington as the man who singlehandedly reinvented the architecture of poverty alleviation.
But far away from the applause of Western capitals, within Bangladesh’s own borders, an altogether different chronicle has festered beneath the surface—a chronicle of vanishing funds, phantom institutions, creative accountancy, and a labyrinthine empire that appears less like a humanitarian miracle and more like a corporate matryoshka doll of influence, impunity, and immaculate self-promotion.
Into this disquieting narrative steps a man who once served at the very heart of Bangladesh’s intelligence and diplomatic apparatus—Aminul Hoque Polash, who spoke to The Sunday Guardian‘s Manoranjana Gupta from exile on British soil, compelled by conscience and cornered by fear. His testimony, drawn from confidential archives, declassified files, internal financial records, and the institutional memory of a state apparatus he once helped safeguard, offers not merely a counternarrative but an explosive repudiation of the carefully curated mythos surrounding the Nobel Laureate.
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In this unflinching exposé, Polash alleges that behind Yunus’ serene exterior lies a decades-long architecture of appropriation: of ideas, of institutions, of public money, and ultimately of the very narrative of Bangladesh’s development. What he reveals is not merely a fall from grace; it is a systemic unmasking of a man who, he claims, mastered the art of turning public benevolence into private dominion. This is not the story the world has been told. This is the story the world was never meant to hear.
Q: You were once inside Bangladesh’s security establishment. What chain of events forced you to flee and continue this fight from exile?
A: I never imagined I would have to flee my own country. For nearly a decade, my work in national security and diplomacy was rooted in evidence-based assessments. But the moment my inquiries led into the financial ecosystem surrounding Muhammad Yunus, everything shifted. Senior colleagues quietly warned me that I had stepped into territory no one touched. When the Yunus-backed interim regime came to power through an unconstitutional pathway, my environment changed overnight. My name began circulating inside intelligence circles. I was informed discreetly that discussions were underway about “neutralising” me—making me disappear quietly. My family, too, was mentioned as collateral. When the new regime abruptly withdrew me from my diplomatic posting in India, it became clear that returning home would be suicidal. Exile was not a choice; it was the only way to stay alive, protect my family, and continue telling a truth they wanted buried.
Q: You’ve released original university archives from the 1970s. In blunt terms, what do these documents say about Yunus’ claim that he “invented” microcredit?
A: They dismantle that claim completely. The Rural Economics Programme papers—bearing Yunus’ own signature—show that the Jobra lending experiment was not his personal innovation. It was a Ford Foundation-funded, university action-research initiative executed by junior researchers: Swapan Adnan, Nasiruddin, H.I. Latifee and others. Yunus supervised only the deep-tubewell cooperative component, yet over time he erased every other contributor. His first act of wrongdoing wasn’t financial—it was the appropriation of intellectual credit. That erasure-and-rebranding model became the blueprint for everything he built afterward.
Q: Internationally he’s hailed as a saint of poverty alleviation. From your investigation, what lies behind this global persona?
A: The world sees a benevolent innovator; Bangladesh has witnessed the machinery behind that myth. The system Yunus created revolves around one principle: take public resources, move them out of public oversight, and reroute their benefits into private structures. Grameen Bank used donor money to build the Social Advancement Fund. That fund was quietly moved into a private body, Grameen Kalyan—beyond the state’s reach. And from there emerged a network of subsidiaries: Grameen Telecom, Grameen Fund, and dozens more. They appeared decentralised and philanthropic. In reality, they operated as a tightly controlled ecosystem anchored to a single individual. By 2022, Grameen Telecom had collected Tk 10,890 crore in dividends from Grameenphone. The workers who generated that value received almost nothing. This wasn’t poverty reduction—it was poverty extraction.
Q: When you followed the money, what patterns or mechanisms struck you as most alarming?
A: The sophistication of the financial choreography. Donors believed they were uplifting the rural poor, but the money moved through a loop designed to consolidate control: Grameen Bank → Grameen Kalyan → Grameen Telecom → Other Yunus-linked entities. One example tells the story. Grameen Kalyan transferred Tk 53.25 crore to Grameen Telecom for a guaranteed share in Grameenphone dividends. That deal generated over Tk 2,222 crore in payouts—none of which reached the rural borrowers who legally owned the money. Even the Tk 437 crore workers’ settlement—meant as overdue dividends—ended up partly in private accounts of union leaders and lawyers. Once you understand the system, it stops looking like mismanagement and starts looking like architecture.
Q: You’ve described a sophisticated tax-avoidance architecture surrounding Yunus. What did your investigation uncover about his personal and institutional tax practices?
A: The evidence is staggering. Yunus shifted nearly Tk100 crore of personal wealth into trusts he controlled—classifying the transfers as “loans” to avoid non-waivable taxes. The National Board of Revenue demanded Tk15.4 crore. He challenged it repeatedly; every court rejected him. The Supreme Court upheld the liability. Across his institutions, nearly Tk2,000 crore in taxes remain unsettled. Instead of paying, he weaponised the legal system—filing case after case to delay enforcement. It was a strategy, not a misunderstanding.
Q: The labour court conviction was widely seen as a landmark case. What did the evidence reveal about how employees inside the Grameen ecosystem were treated?
A: It exposed a deep hypocrisy. Workers at Grameen Telecom were denied lawful benefits and dividends for years. Ninety-nine were fired during the pandemic. Even after the court ordered their reinstatement, they were not allowed to enter the building. The Labour Court held 21 hearings, scrutinised the evidence, and ruled decisively that Yunus’ institutions violated multiple labour laws. But once he assumed political power in 2024, that conviction evaporated almost instantly. Justice did not proceed—it was erased by influence.
Q: The Tk437 crore workers’ settlement became a national flashpoint. From your vantage point, what does that episode expose about the ecosystem Yunus built?
A: It exposes the operating logic of the system. Grameen Telecom deposited Tk437 crore to distribute overdue dividends. Yet Tk26 crore quickly moved to a union account, and Tk 25 crore moved into the personal accounts of union leaders and lawyers. The High Court called the transfers “dubious.” Bangladesh Bank froze the accounts. The Anti-Corruption Commission began investigating. But when the political winds shifted, everything slowed to a halt. It revealed how workers’ rights were weaponised for negotiations that benefited everyone except the workers.
Q: You’ve pointed to foreign remittances during the 2006-08 caretaker era. Why do these transactions matter in understanding Yunus’ long-term political ambitions?
A: They show that his political aspirations did not appear in 2024—they have existed for decades. During the caretaker regime, when he attempted to launch a political party, nearly Tk48 crore entered his personal accounts. Much of it was never properly declared to the tax authorities. Some of it moved into accounts belonging to a travel-related company. Placed against the political timeline, these inflows look less like donations and more like political capital. The same pattern resurfaced in 2024—with deeper networks and more strategic precision.
Q: The speed at which Yunus’ legal troubles vanished after the 2024 interim government took charge shocked many. What exactly changed once he assumed real power?
A: Everything changed—and at a pace unprecedented in Bangladesh’s history. Within weeks: * His six-month labour conviction disappeared. * A major ACC case regarding misuse of workers’ funds was withdrawn. * Five additional labour cases were dismissed. * A yoghurt adulteration case vanished. * Tk666 crore owed by Grameen Kalyan was cancelled after a mysterious High Court reversal. * The NBR granted Grameen Bank a sweeping five-year tax exemption. No other individual in modern Bangladesh has had such a systematic legal cleansing in such a short timeframe. It did not happen organically. It happened because he was finally in a position to clean his own slate.
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Q: Several key state positions have gone to individuals linked personally or professionally to Yunus. How deep does this network of influence run?
A: It runs far deeper than the headline names. His nephew, Apurba Jahangir, became Deputy Press Secretary without meaningful experience. His long-time aide, Lamiya Morshed, now holds influence in national development frameworks. Beyond these appointments is a broader quiet capture—Grameen-linked individuals embedded within ministries, regulators, and licensing bodies. Decisions appear administrative, even polite. But this is how state capture works: not through loud purges, but through strategic placement of loyalists.
Q: Western governments and global institutions still treat Yunus as an untouchable icon. Why do you believe the international community remains blind to the evidence you’ve laid out?
A: Because the world fell in love with a tale—a professor with a Nobel medal uplifted rural women with microloans. It was the perfect development fairytale for donors and diplomats. Questioning it felt inconvenient. But myths cannot override court verdicts, missing taxes, vanished convictions, or the real stories of workers denied their rights. The West still sees the symbol; Bangladesh has lived with the system.
Q: Finally, what would you say to people—particularly in the West—who continue to see Muhammad Yunus as a saint-like figure beyond scrutiny?
A: Stop judging him by a prize he received 20 years ago. Judge him by what he has done with power now. Look at the cases that disappeared. Look at the loyalists placed across the state. Look at the financial trails and the speed with which they were wiped clean. And if he believes his legacy is untarnished, he should welcome a full, international forensic audit—line by line—of every institution and every vanished case. If he has nothing to hide, he should have nothing to fear.
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