Mufti Amir Hamza, the Jamaat-e-Islami MP for Kushtia-3 and an Islamic orator with a disgusting history of controversy, has elevated self-promotion to divine levels. On Thursday, after a meeting with officials at Kushtia Medical College, he told journalists: “There is no God (‘uporwala’) in Kushtia anymore—I am the supreme overlord.”
In case anyone missed the memo, he added: “If someone tries any shady dealings or corruption, just mention my name. Tell them, ‘Money has already been given to Maulana Saheb—go contact him.’”
With this much power in Kushtia, he declared: “I will see who really runs things here.”
The district administration was present, including Deputy Commissioner Iqbal Hossain and the medical college principal, Dr. Shahidul Islam. Hamza also promised good news within seven days—presumably involving ribbon-cutting ceremonies for new departments at the medical college, which he described as a place of deep emotional attachment for local people.
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A Sudden Case Of Divine Elevation
This isn’t Hamza’s first foray into bold self-positioning. Labelled by critics as a fraudulent orator who fabricates explanations of Islam and the Quran, he has flip-flopped politically with impressive agility.
During the Awami League era, he loudly proclaimed his support, claiming all his relatives were AL members and declaring that anyone not backing the party wasn’t a true Muslim. He stirred additional controversy by praising the beauty of Indian film actresses, like Rashmika Mandanna, and belting out Hindi songs at waz mahfils.
Post-2024 political upheaval, he pivoted smoothly to praising Jamaat-e-Islami and its leader, Dr. Shafiqur Rahman—right in time for his successful run as a Jamaat MP in the February 2026 elections.
Moral Policing
Hamza’s newfound authority seems to extend to enforcing his personal vision of piety. According to reports, including coverage by BBC Bangla, he recently led a campaign in Patikabari Bazar during Ramadan, accompanied by a plainclothes police officer from the local camp. In a widely circulated video, the officer barks orders at shopkeepers: “No carrom, no TV—end of story in Ramadan!” Hamza stands nearby, offering milder but supportive commentary about behaving during the holy month.
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The result? Local businesses shut down games and screens under duress, sales suffered, and residents felt intimidated. The police superintendent later clarified there were no official directives for such restrictions—the officer was simply acting on Hamza’s prompting. Hamza downplayed it as a gentle “appeal from a sense of deen” (faith), but critics see it as classic power abuse: using his MP status and religious persona to bully citizens into compliance.
Senior journalist and political analyst Probir Kumar Sarker called the behaviour “shameful and unconstitutional,” stressing that Bangladesh’s laws safeguard personal and religious freedoms. No one—not even a Jamaat MP—has the right to impose a narrow interpretation of piety through threats, especially when no public complaints existed, and no worship was being disturbed.
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Preach One Thing, Practice Another
This is the same figure who built a following on fiery sermons yet praises Bollywood glamour when convenient, switches party loyalties like seasonal outfits, and now positions himself as Kushtia’s unchallenged overlord.
From “supporter of the ruling party means true Muslim” to moral enforcer in bazaars, Hamza’s career is a masterclass in adaptability—or hypocrisy, depending on who’s judging.
Whether he’s cutting ribbons at medical colleges or cutting fun at tea stalls, one thing is clear: in his Kushtia, the supreme authority has spoken—and apparently, it’s him. Locals might want to keep an eye on that “good news” in seven days. Who knows what other divine interventions are coming?
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