There is a certain irony in the way power ends. For some, it fades quietly; for others, it collapses amid disgrace. And for Professor Muhammad Yunus, once celebrated being Nobel laureate who rode into helm of power in August last year and seen as the savior of Bangladesh is ending in a spectacle – a spectacle that looks less like statesmanship and more like a “Last Supper” staged on the world’s diplomatic stage, mostly because of his series of controversial actions, including empowering religious bigots as well as corruption sharks within his inner circle. Yunus too has grabbed at least 26 business ventures either under the umbrella of his own – “Grameen Bank” as well as other seen and unseen business establishments in the world.

At the twilight of his interim “government”, Yunus currently is in New York City to attend the United Nations General Assembly (UNGA). His critics – and even loyalists are claiming, during this trip, Yunus has spent hundreds of billions of takas from the national exchequer. In my opinion, by all accounts, this was his farewell performance, the last opportunity to leave behind an image of dignity and restraint. Instead, it turned into an exhibition of extravagance, nepotism, and the very political culture he had once promised to rise above.

Although the official travel booklet listed 62 delegates, including advisers and security personnel – yet government records revealed the real number: 104. Among them were not just bureaucrats and diplomats but also leaders of three political parties— Bangladesh Nationalist Party (BNP), Jamaat-e-Islami, and the little-known National Citizen Party (NCP). This little known and newly born NCP is yet to get registered with the Election Commission in Bangladesh, despite the fact, it enjoys state patronize as being a brainchild of Yunus himself. This blending of political operatives into what was supposed to be a non-partisan, caretaker delegation betrays the very essence of what Yunus’s government claimed to be: neutral and transitional.

Businessmen, relatives, and party loyalists would routinely find themselves in the mix, enjoying the privileges of taxpayer-funded junkets. But Yunus had claimed to be different. He had promised austerity, efficiency, and a break from the patronage-driven practices of Bangladesh’s political class. What we saw instead was continuity with a different face.

It is tempting to argue that Yunus deserves some indulgence—that he, after all, came into power at a moment of crisis and needed political allies. But this excuse collapses under scrutiny. A “government” that arrived as a corrective to partisan abuse cannot then justify repeating the same abuses.

Consider the symbolism: Akhtar Hossain of the National Citizen Party refused to shake hands with a South Korean former minister on stage – just because she was female – which can be seen as an act that betrayed both chauvinism and religious rigidity. Tasnim Jara, by contrast, displayed confidence and grace in her engagements. Yunus himself shook hands, but the delegation’s conduct revealed incoherence. What message does this send about Bangladesh? That its interim government cannot even maintain a coherent code of diplomacy? That women can be publicly slighted at the whim of one official’s personal conviction?

One recalls the adage: when you represent a nation, you are no longer just yourself. By tolerating such contradictions within his official entourage, Yunus sent the message that his government lacked not only discipline but also principle.

Critics have rightly noted that Yunus is no exception to the dynastic impulse of South Asian politics. Sheikh Hasina was pilloried for taking her son and daughter to international forums. Yet Yunus, the supposed reformer, has taken his daughters along—last year one, this year two. He surrounded himself with seven advisers and six political associates. For a man who built his reputation as a crusader against corruption and nepotism, this is more than inconsistency – it certainly is hypocrisy.

The larger question is not about one family trip. It is about credibility. When Yunus castigated political dynasties, many Bangladeshis believed he offered an alternative. But what alternative is it when the same indulgences—lavish entourages, family privileges, and unaccountable perks—define his own rule?

The deeper tragedy lies in what Yunus failed to do with his over a year in power. Bangladesh was given a rare chance—a reset button after years of authoritarian drift. Citizens, exhausted by a culture of impunity, handed Yunus something close to a blank check. Instead of structural reform, he presided over inertia. He is doing it or he is being made to do it.

Meanwhile, Yunus continues to get warmest support from President Donald Trump and his administration despite the fact of Yunus’ global fame of being dear friend and financial associate of George Soros, Bill Clinton and Hillary Clinton. Yunus also is known as one of the front-ranking Trump-haters, who had during the previous years spent significantly to destroy political prospects of Trump. Commenting on such odd-marriage between Donald Trump and his harshest rivals, strategic analyst Brahma Chellaney has noted, Trump’s recalibrated South Asia policy is not simply about bilateral deals but about building leverage over India. His family-controlled crypto venture’s partnership with Pakistan, coupled with overtures toward Bangladesh under a strong West aligned government (not Yunus’s shaky interim government), reflects a deliberate effort to forge a twin axis of pressure against Modi. For Trump, Pakistan provides the military leverage, while Bangladesh offers the narrative of anti-Indian sentiments that Washington can showcase as a counterweight to India’s creeping illiberalism.

The calculation is blunt: by strengthening Islamabad and dangling legitimacy before Dhaka’s unelected rulers, Trump believes he can extract trade concessions from New Delhi without firing a diplomatic shot.

Yunus’s defenders often point to his Nobel Prize, his “innovations” in microcredit, and his global network of admirers. Yet the very aura that once gave him moral authority has now curdled into self-indulgence. He has been accused of surrounding himself with “thieves and looters”, of sheltering cronies, of tolerating corruption in his ranks. Even if some of these accusations are exaggerated, the perception itself is damning.

History is replete with reformers who squandered their moment. Mikhail Gorbachev is remembered not as the savior of the Soviet Union but as the man who presided over its disintegration. Mohammad Yunus risks a similar fate: not as the statesman who renewed Bangladesh, but as the Nobel laureate who, when entrusted with power, proved himself indistinguishable from the political class he criticized.

This brings us back to New York, to what many are calling Yunus’s ‘Last Supper’—a reminder of that fateful evening when Jesus Christ gathered his disciples for a final meal, only to face betrayal and the inevitability of his crucifixion(!). He could have ended his interim tenure with dignity—an austere delegation, a disciplined diplomatic message, a reaffirmation of Bangladesh’s democratic commitments. Instead, he ended it with the pomp of 104 companions, the embarrassment of internal incoherence, and the unmistakable stench of hypocrisy.

The lesson is sobering. Bangladesh does not lack talent, nor does it lack opportunities for reform. What it lacks is leadership with the courage to resist the temptations of power—the private perks, the familial privileges, the short-term political bargains. Yunus also wanted to exhibit that he is enjoying bipartisan support by showing his political entourage.

When future generations look back at this interregnum, they will not ask whether Yunus had good intentions. They will ask why, with such global stature and moral capital, he chose to replicate the very practices he condemned. They will ask why, when entrusted with a blank check of public trust, he delivered only the same old script: patronage, hypocrisy, and squandered opportunity.

The tragedy of Muhammad Yunus is not that he was corrupt in the ordinary sense. It is that he promised to be different and proved to be the same. And in politics, as in life, broken promises often do more damage than open betrayals.

Though BNP in particular is impatiently waiting for February 2026 general elections – in fact, there will be no election in Bangladesh, and many surprises are yet to be unfolded in the next few weeks.

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Source: Weekly Blitz :: Writings