As 2025 began, with inflation climbing beyond 11 percent and mass demonstrations bringing major cities to a standstill, Sheikh Hasina’s Awami League government crumbled without fanfare. Yet rather than allowing democratic forces to claim power, the country’s military apparatus and entrenched elites deployed a well-worn crisis solution: the installation of a widely respected technocrat. That technocrat was Muhammad Yunus, the Nobel Peace Prize-winning economist celebrated for pioneering microcredit, not for running nations.
His selection wasn’t meant to spark democratic transformation. He was positioned to stabilize the situation while leaving fundamental power arrangements untouched. The mandate couldn’t be more explicit: pacify the streets, satisfy international donors, stage elections by 2026, then step aside. Western capitals celebrated the appointment. The IMF eased its stance. Editorial pages proclaimed it a precious opportunity for democratic renewal.
Yet this isn’t a democratic transition at all. It’s a strategic intermission by the elite. Without acknowledging this reality, Yunus’s tenure risks becoming merely another cushioned landing for authoritarian forces, which are already positioning themselves for a comeback.
Why Yunus, Why Now?
Throughout more than ten years in power, Sheikh Hasina’s Awami League maintained an iron grip over Bangladesh. The party’s 2018 electoral triumph, securing 257 of 300 parliamentary seats, drew widespread condemnation from international observers, with Human Rights Watch declaring the contest “neither free nor fair.” Opposition figures found themselves behind bars, the judiciary fell under political influence, and press freedom withered. What remained of democratic institutions served primarily to legitimize authoritarian rule.
This system began unraveling by the end of 2024. Economic pressures intensified as headline inflation surged to 11.38 percent in November, remaining at double-digit levels through the first months of 2025. Thousands of demonstrations erupted across Dhaka, drawing tens of thousands to the streets. Yet the political opposition, weakened by years of marginalization and internal divisions, could not claim leadership. The military, which had long operated as an unspoken guarantor of stability, chose to intervene.
Instead of pursuing an outright takeover, military leaders endorsed a technocratic transition strategy. Muhammad Yunus, internationally respected, without partisan affiliations, and perceived as clean, was appointed as interim leader in January 2025.
Reform Without Power
Yunus’s government has unveiled an ambitious reform agenda, announcing new measures for election transparency and campaign finance oversight, plans to restructure both the judiciary and electoral commission, commitments to free political prisoners while reopening channels with opposition groups, and investigations into the mega-contracts awarded under the previous administration. Additionally, his team is developing a comprehensive “governance reform package” designed to rebalance civil service operations, modernize media regulations, and reinforce judicial independence.
These initiatives align perfectly with diplomatic expectations. Yet beneath the surface, fundamental dynamics remain unchanged. Career bureaucrats remain loyal to the Awami League. The judiciary proceeds with extreme caution. Meanwhile, the military, though publicly endorsing the transition, maintains its capacity to halt the entire process should reforms encroach upon its core interests.
Yunus may occupy the highest office, but he operates within institutional frameworks designed to repel meaningful change.
How This Will Fail
Scholars of democratization have examined these scenarios extensively over recent decades. These “managed transitions” rarely culminate in authentic democratic governance.
The field of transitology demonstrates that electoral contests and leadership changes represent only surface-level shifts. True democratic transformation occurs exclusively when entrenched power holders commit to operating under fundamentally new political frameworks, a principle central to Juan Linz and Alfred Stepan‘s influential work on democratic consolidation.
The critical distinction lies in whether transitions emerge from genuine popular pressure or elite calculation. Managed transitions typically serve to preserve existing power structures while creating an appearance of democratic progress. Without authentic commitment from all major stakeholders to accept uncertainty in political outcomes, these processes tend to revert to familiar patterns of concentrated authority.
The Awami League is out of office but not out of the system. The opposition remains too weak. The military is still the ultimate arbiter. And Yunus, despite his Nobel laureate status, lacks a political base, a mass movement, and the coercive power to implement real change.
His legitimacy is borrowed from Western donors, foreign embassies, and the institutions he’s supposed to reform. This creates a fundamental vulnerability: legitimacy derived from external sources rather than domestic popular support can be withdrawn as easily as it was granted. When push comes to shove, Yunus must ultimately defer to the very forces that placed him in power. The reform agenda itself becomes hostage to the tolerance of those who benefit from the status quo.
As Guillermo O’Donnell warned, without embedded and protected institutions, transitions collapse, not necessarily into dictatorship, but into something more deceptive: an illusion of democracy, where elites reshuffle power while keeping the system intact.
That’s what makes Bangladesh’s moment so fragile. And so familiar.
A Global Pattern
Bangladesh follows a well-established pattern. This same script has played out in Egypt and Tunisia, where initial democratic openings gave way to managed restorations of authoritarian control. The consistent theme remains unchanged: replace the public face while preserving the underlying power structure.
The stakes extend far beyond Bangladesh’s borders. As the world’s eighth-most populous nation, a crucial garment manufacturing hub, and a strategic bridge between India and China, Bangladesh occupies a critical position in global affairs. The country already confronts severe climate challenges, with rising sea levels, devastating heatwaves, and mass rural displacement threatening millions of its citizens. Political upheaval amplifies these existing vulnerabilities exponentially.
Should this transition collapse, the consequences will ripple across regions, leading to increased volatility, disrupted global supply chains, accelerated climate-driven and politically motivated migration, and yet another example of democratic rhetoric concealing elite preservation. The international community’s eagerness to celebrate premature success reflects a dangerous pattern of wishful thinking. These same actors have repeatedly mistaken managed transitions for genuine democratization, only to express surprise when authoritarian forces reassert control. Bangladesh represents another test of whether external observers can distinguish between real democratic progress and carefully choreographed political theater.
Preparing for Yunus to Exit
Muhammad Yunus bears no responsibility for breaking Bangladesh’s democratic institutions. However, he has inherited the complex task of overseeing their deterioration.
Speaking at a recent World Governments Summit session, Yunus articulated his mission: “My role is not to lead a new party, but to help reset the institutions that were captured.”
Although his motivations appear genuine, good intentions cannot single-handedly dismantle a system rooted in elite dominance and institutional corruption. Without transforming temporary measures into permanent legal frameworks, any progress he achieves risks being reversed immediately upon his departure. The fundamental challenge lies not in individual leadership but in structural transformation that outlasts any single administrator. History demonstrates that technocratic interludes, however well-intentioned, often serve as breathing space for entrenched interests to regroup and adapt. The very elite networks that necessitated this intervention remain largely intact, waiting for the appropriate moment to reassert influence. What unfolds in Bangladesh represents not democratic transformation but rather a calculated political intermission, postponement masquerading as meaningful reform.
As O’Donnell, Linz, and Stepan cautioned, absent genuine elite consensus and robust institutional foundations, transitions conclude not with democracy but with authoritarian restoration.
Bangladesh’s trajectory does not point toward transformation, but rather toward repetition.
