The contrast could not be more stark.
When the fury of Nepal’s Gen Z protesters subsided after days of reckless destruction, Kathmandu found itself stripped of priceless manuscripts, shattered heritage sites, and, most painfully, its image as the serene child of the Himalayas—a refuge where visitors once sought solace from modern life’s pressures.
Dhaka, by contrast, experienced a different arc. In July–August 2024, student-led uprisings shrouded themselves in the language of patriotism and the echoes of 1971. However, what initially appeared to be a genuine movement soon revealed itself as deceptive, having been hijacked by forces with motives far removed from national liberation.
In just 27 hours, Nepal’s Gen Z destroyed their parliament and the historic royal palace, reducing centuries of cultural memory to ashes. Nepal’s newly appointed Prime Minister, former Chief Justice Sushila Karki, spoke with clarity: these were “criminal acts against the country,” carried out with such precision that they raised “questions of a conspiracy.”
In Dhaka, however, the story unfolded differently. On August 8, 2024, Nobel Laureate Muhammad Yunus was thrust into power amid the chaos. In his first address, he urged citizens to refrain from storming institutions and intimidating individuals. Yet, unlike Karki, he stopped short of calling the violence what it was: criminal destruction.
Instead, Dr. Yunus released hundreds of offenders—including Islamist militants with links to international terror networks—back onto the streets.
This divergence set the tone.
Karki, following the constitution, promised free and fair elections within six months—and provided a specific date.
Yunus, in contrast, equivocated. Pressed by both domestic and international actors, he hinted at elections and announced an election timeline for February of next year, but without specifying a date.
His hesitation fueled suspicion that, by hook or by crook, he intended to cling to power. This was not new: his failed attempt to enter politics in 2007 already testified to his ambitions.
Karki also sent a clear message to the young protesters: go home, return to your studies, rebuild your nation.
Yunus, instead, hailed Gen Z activists as his “appointers.” Even as teachers were humiliated, professors were driven from classrooms, and the sacred bond between student and teacher was severed, Yunus remained silent. As an academic himself, his failure to defend education was not only lamentable but historic in its betrayal.
The contrast deepened in governance. Karki framed her interim administration as a constitutional bridge through crisis. Yunus, however, built his government by bypassing or demonizing the constitution. Where Karki condemned pillage and plunder as a crime and launched investigations into both protester and police deaths, Yunus issued blanket indemnities for protesters between July 15 and August 8—effectively sanctioning lawlessness.
By doing so, he stripped the families of nearly 3,000 slain policemen of their fundamental right to seek justice.
This unprecedented move raises serious doubts about Dr. Yunus’s own complicity, as well as that of the July–August 2024 activists, in the orchestrated killing of hundreds of students—deliberately staged to ignite public outrage against Sheikh Hasina’s government.
Dr. Yunus dismissed the destruction of the historic home of Bangladesh’s founding father—along with every sculpture erected in his memory—as nothing more than anger directed against Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina.
By granting such impunity, he enabled the rise of the most virulent form of fundamentalism, under whose shadow almost every museum, hundreds of Sufi shrines, and centuries-old sculptures and artifacts were ravaged.
He further trivialized the organized persecution of minorities, particularly the Hindu community, by labeling it “politically motivated,” effectively granting religious charlatans and militants a carte blanche to target them and demolish their places of worship.
Under his indulgence, a dreadful culture of mob rule took root, one that still haunts the country today and will reverberate for decades to come.
By contrast, Nepal’s former Chief Justice, Sushila Karki—who assumed leadership of the caretaker government—issued a stern warning that mob violence would not be tolerated, drawing a sharp line between protest and anarchy.
Most tellingly, Yunus hailed the fall of a constitutional government as part of a “meticulous design,” while Karki pointed to “conspiracies by outsiders.” One narrative sought sovereignty through accountability; the other surrendered it to chaos.
A year on, the verdict on Dr. Yunus is becoming clear. While it may be premature to judge Karki’s approach a success, Yunus’s failures are unmistakable. His government now faces searing international criticism for gross human rights abuses.
Once hailed as a reformer, he is now accused of eroding democracy, dismantling institutions, and compromising sovereignty.
Worse still, as Bangladesh drifts toward entanglement in regional conflicts, its citizens remain deliberately kept in the dark.
Two cities, two uprisings, two leaders. One chose the path of responsibility; the other, the lure of power. History will not judge them equally.
History may overlook missteps, but it never forgives betrayal—and Yunus’s betrayal of Bangladesh will echo far beyond the brief chapter of his influence.
Rana Hassan Mahmud
Rana Hassan Mahmud is Executive Director, Center for USA-Bangladesh Relations.
- Rana Hassan Mahmud#molongui-disabled-link
- Rana Hassan Mahmud#molongui-disabled-link
- Rana Hassan Mahmud#molongui-disabled-link
- Rana Hassan Mahmud#molongui-disabled-link
