Trusting the trustees

Bangladesh’s interim government was born not at the ballot box but in the streets. The July 2024 uprising swept away a government that many citizens viewed as unaccountable and abusive, creating a dangerous vacuum that needed to be filled quickly to prevent drift or disorder. Professor Muhammad Yunus and his advisers stepped into that breach with an ambitious reform agenda and an assurance: they would help shepherd Bangladesh toward a new democratic order, not replace one unaccountable arrangement with another.

That assurance now hinges on a single, fragile asset: credibility. The paradox of any unelected interim authority is straightforward. It must exercise extraordinary power in the name of restoring democracy, yet it lacks the most basic source of democratic legitimacy—an electoral mandate. This tension now sits at the center of Bangladesh’s politics. The key question is no longer whether the reforms in the July Charter are well designed, but whether ordinary citizens believe that those advancing them have both the right—and the restraint—to do so.

From necessity to overreach: In the early days after the uprising, the interim government’s legitimacy came from necessity and performance rather than elections. It did things that previous governments could not—or would not—do: it halted many politically motivated cases, ordered investigations into serious past abuses, and established reform commissions on the constitution, judiciary, police, public administration, and the election system. For people who had lived through years of impunity and one-party dominance, this signaled that ‘business as usual’ might finally be coming to an end.

But necessity is not a permanent mandate. As stability returns, public scrutiny naturally sharpens. Parties kept out of power question who is being pursued and who is being spared. Old elites argue that the commissions provide intellectual cover for the preferences of a narrow circle of reformers. Some lawyers contend that the chosen path for the referendum and constitutional amendments stretches the letter—or at least the spirit—of the existing constitutional order. Critics also argue that, regardless of the outcome, the referendum has been framed in a way thatwill not yield a clear, meaningful expression of informed public will.

And finally, when Professor Yunus appears on television urging a ‘Yes’ vote on the reform package, the question becomes unavoidable: is the interim government acting like an umpire—or like a player on the field?

This is why credibility matters so deeply. The same actions can be interpreted as responsible stewardship or partisan overreach depending on whether citizens trust the interim government’s intentions—and its self-control.

What does credibility mean at home: For Bangladeshis, the interim government’s credibility rests on at least four pillars.

First — time-bound power. From the beginning, the government’s legitimacy has rested on its temporary nature: oversee reforms, hold credible elections, and hand power back to elected representatives. Once that promise becomes elastic—once “unfinished reforms” is perceived as a pretext for delay—trust evaporates quickly. A transitional government can ask for patience, but it cannot ask for open-ended time. The February 12, 2026, election date represents a concrete commitment, but many skeptics question whether the interim government will honor it regardless of the referendum outcome or political pressures.

Second — procedural restraint. The July Charter is presented not as an individual vision but as the product of commissions, consultations, and negotiations, with disagreements recorded. That process gives the interim authorities a legitimate shield: these are ‘national proposals,’ not the property of any one person or group. But that shield holds only if the interim government behaves like a facilitator. When advisers and government officials campaign vigorously for one side of the referendum, or when state resources appear to be mobilised to promote a ‘Yes’ vote, the line between administering the process and campaigning within it begins to blur. While the government argues it has a right to advocate for reforms it believes in, critics note that when state authority overwhelmingly aligns with one option, the ethical foundation of a referendum weakens.

Third — self-denial of political spoils. Bangladeshis know their politics. Many will assume that power today is used to secure advantage tomorrow—parliamentary upper-house positions, cabinet posts, ambassadorships, regulatory influence, or protection for business networks. The most convincing countersignal is visible self-denial. If key interim figures publicly commit not to use current offices to secure future advantages for themselves or their families, they would send a powerful message: this is truly transitional authority, not a stepping stone.

Fourth — even-handed justice. After years of human rights violations, enforced disappearances, and corruption, the demand for accountability is strong—and justified. The interim government has re-established the International Crimes Tribunal (ICT) and issued arrest warrants for former Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina and others. But if investigations are seen as one-sided, targeting one party or network while others are quietly spared, the language of justice quickly turns into the perception of ‘victor’s justice.’ Credibility requires clear criteria for pursuing cases, independent oversight, and due process, even when the accused are deeply unpopular. The point is not softness; it is legitimacy. Recent reports also raise concerns about continued extrajudicial killings and mob violence under the interim government—suggesting that reforming security forces and establishing the rule of law remains unfinished business.

Motives versus institutions: Public debate often gets trapped in guessing Professor Yunus’s personal motives. Is he driven by ego? By a desire to restore reputation? By genuine conviction? The honest answer is that outsiders cannot know, and in any case, motives are rarely pure or singular.

But focusing on personality risks missing the deeper issue. Bangladesh’s future will depend less on one person’s intentions than on whether the rules of the game are being redesigned so that no future leader—elected or unelected—can easily concentrate power, capture institutions, and convert the state into a family or party enterprise.

This is the institutional promise of the July Charter: term limits and safeguards against overconcentration; stronger conditions for constitutional change; more credible appointment processes for bodies such as the Election Commission and the Anti-Corruption Commission; clearer guardrails for any future caretaker arrangements; and stronger checks on executive dominance through bicameral legislature and opposition representation in key parliamentary positions.

If such safeguards are enacted and respected, they will outlast any individual; if they remain aspirational—applied selectively, or diluted when politically inconvenient—then even the best-written charter will not prevent a return to familiar patterns: politicised enforcement, administrative capture, and cyclical authoritarian temptation.

Why this matters in everyday life: For citizens struggling with high prices, job insecurity, weak services, and pervasive corruption, debates about constitutions and legitimacy can seem remote. Yet credibility and reform durability are not abstract concerns; they shape daily life in concrete ways.

If the interim government comes to be seen as simply another unelected group imposing its own blueprint, the next elected government will face strong incentives to undo what has been done. That would likely trigger a familiar cycle: politicised appointments, weakened oversight bodies, selective enforcement, and state power used to reward loyalists with contracts, licenses, loans, and jobs. Businesses and officials will again wait to see who is ‘in’ before making decisions. Ordinary citizens will again find that party ties matter more than merit, and that informal payments become the toll for routine services.

If, on the other hand, the interim government keeps its promises—stays within a clear time limit, administers a process that major political forces can accept as broadly fair, and then exits centre stage—the new rules have a chance to stick. Politics will remain contentious, but within a more predictable framework. Over time that can mean more impartial policing, fairer recruitment, fewer informal “tolls,” and public resources that flow more toward services and less into private pockets.

The one thing this interim government must get right: An interim government can never fully substitute for an elected one. What it can do is act as a trustee: hold the house in trust until the owners—the voters—choose who governs next. In Bangladesh’s current moment, behaving like a trustee means three concrete things: keeping to the promised timetable; refusing to become the dominant political actor in the referendum and election; and rejecting any attempt to turn transitional authority into permanent advantage.

The February 12 referendum presents a critical test. A referendum derives legitimacy not merely from turnout or legality, but from genuine competition of ideas. When nearly all major political parties support a ‘Yes’ vote, when government officials campaign actively for one side, and when organised advocacy for ‘No’ is largely absent, voters may perceive the process as predetermined rather than participatory. The question is not whether the reforms in the July Charter have merit—many do—but whether citizens truly feel free to choose.

If the interim leadership can navigate this moment with genuine restraint—administering a fair process rather than dominating it, keeping its exit promise regardless of the referendum result, and maintaining even-handed justice—its lack of an electoral mandate may be forgiven in light of the role it played in turning a street uprising into a stable democratic transition. If it cannot, then no amount of elegant constitutional text will prevent the country from sliding back toward the very mistrust, polarization, and authoritarian temptation that brought people onto the streets.

February 12 will decide more than a referendum result. It will test whether those who assumed power to restore democracy know when to let go.

Dr M G Quibria is an economist whose career bridges academia and international development. mgquibria.morgan@gmail.com