When a government bans a political organization, it faces a legal obligation to ensure that the ban does not reach back in time. This is not just a technical requirement; it is one of the oldest rules of constitutional law — the prohibition on ex post facto laws. The reason for its existence is simple. In a democratic society, a government cannot retroactively classify a past action as a crime, with punitive consequences that were not a crime at the time the law was enacted.

Following the ouster of the Awami League (AL) government on August 05, 2024, the Muhammad Yunus-led interim administration violated this principle by expelling and suspending students allegedly associated with the Bangladesh Chhatra League, the students’ wing of the AL, from public universities in Bangladesh without any hearing, charges, or even the constitutional rights granted to students. It is a consequence that the current administration has the authority, and the constitutional obligation, to correct.

None of these students has been convicted in a court of law. None has been given an individual hearing. Many have never been informed of a specific charge. They have been told — through show-cause notices and administrative rulings — that their academic lives are over.

The human consequences extend far beyond the campus. Students are outcasts, socially ostracized, and are hiding out. One student has not returned to his home in two years. Another could not attend a close family member’s funeral. False criminal cases were filed against the fathers of suspended students. Family businesses were taken. Multiple students record, in their voluntarily submitted testimonies, having stood at the edge of suicide. “There were many times I felt like committing suicide so that everything would just end. But thinking of my family and considering religious aspects, I could not do it,” said one of the students whose testimony was collected for the purpose of writing this piece.

The student testimonies were personally collected by the author and serve as a testament to the systemic persecution of students affiliated with the Chhatra League that has been ongoing since the collapse of the AL government in August 2024.

These testimonies were provided voluntarily, signed, and made available for documentation and advocacy purposes. They describe — across five separate accounts, with convergent language and grief — the same experience: a future planned, possibly underway, and cancelled by an institution that proceeded without the legal authority it claimed.

There are two specific, separable legal concerns that the current administration is well-positioned to address.

First, the ban must not have a retrospective effect.

The conduct for which students are being punished — political affiliations, social media posts, and attendance at campus protests — occurred in July and August 2024, before the ban was enacted. A foundational principle recognized in Articles 31 and 35 of Bangladesh’s constitution and in the international human rights obligations Bangladesh has undertaken is that no person may be penalized for conduct that was lawful at the time it was committed. Affiliation with the Chhatra League before October 2024 was not an offense. It cannot be treated as one now.

A formal directive by the university administration or the government to this end will not reinstate any of the proscribed organizations. All it will do is ensure that the ban has the legal force intended by the constitution – namely, prospective, not retrospective. No disciplinary process initiated by any university based purely on pre-ban association can continue until then.

Second, proceedings against individual students must be individual.

In November 2025, the Proctor’s Office at the University of Dhaka issued a show-cause notice to 403 students at once, calling upon them to justify themselves against being expelled permanently from the institution. The offense referred to in the notice in full was “occurrences from July 15 until August 5, 2024,” without specifying individual crimes and evidence on record against anyone. The then-proctor also recommended “cancelling the degree certificates of those students who have already graduated.” Initially, the university’s fact-finding committee identified 128 students out of the 403 who were expelled. An additional 275 faced the prospect of permanent administrative expulsion.

83 students of the 403 filed written replies to the show-cause notices. In its reply, it claims that the notice “presumes guilt” and shifts the burden of proof to the students, which is unconstitutional because the principle of “innocent until proven guilty” is a basic rule of justice in both civil and criminal cases. The reply cites Articles 27, 31, and 32 of the Constitution regarding equality before the law, protection by the law, and the right to life, respectively, and the rule of audi alteram partem, meaning that “no man should be condemned unheard.” This argument is constitutionally valid. Individual hearings with individual evidence and individual judgment are not merely procedural formalities. They are constitutional prerequisites.

The scale of what surrounds these individual cases is not incidental. During the interim administration’s regime, mob violence and the breakdown of the rule of law became an “alarming routine” across academic institutions, targeting students and teachers. In all instances, the interim administration’s silence was concerning; in some cases, the interim administration even justified the mob action.

The interim administration’s regime is over. Now comes the real test: whether a constitutionally-grounded government will honor the very protections that make the constitution meaningful, or exploit the transition as cover for extralegal punishment. The rule of law demands the former.

Student politics in Bangladesh sit in limbo. From the 1952 language movement through independence and the transition to democracy, students have been at the center of every pivotal moment in Bangladesh’s history. Yet their politics remain deeply controversial because of the violent practice, confrontation, and a history of bloodshed. Many students affiliated with the Chhatra League believe student politics is not a vehicle for power and should not exist merely for slogans. “We want to identify real problems within the education system and develop practical, forward-looking solutions,” one of the student leaders of the organization said in his reply when asked why he chose to enter student politics. Sharing his political vision, he states, “We wanted politics to become more intellectually grounded and socially constructive.” He saw student politics as a mechanism for strengthening social cohesion and national confidence — not deepening divisions. For him, as for many, the ban on the Chhatra League was a blow to his vision.

In personal communications, most of the students expressed their visions for the future. All of them had a plan: a government job, a stable salary, and a future in which their mothers, fathers, and siblings would be safe. Those plans are now frozen. Graduation dates have disappeared into indefinite postponement. Tutoring income — for several of them, their only income — ended when they were forced to flee. Some are borrowing money to eat. Despite the exhaustion and the fear of the unknown, these students are hopeful that the truth shall prevail.

A student of the University of Chittagong was expelled indefinitely for responding to the slogan “Who am I, who am I? Razakar, Razakar” with “Bengali, Bengali.” The message he conveyed through this response, without making any formal accusation, touches a deep historical tension. The word “Razakar” was used in the 1971 Liberation War to refer to Bengalis who sided with Pakistan against the Bangladesh independence movement and were treated as traitors. The self-identification of protesters in July 2024 as “Razakars” caused much controversy in the country, due to its historical associations with collaborationism, Islamic fundamentalism, and genocide. The student’s response to the Razakar chant with “I am Bengali” is an expression of a patriotic and inclusive national identity and is not a crime under Bangladeshi law. He states:

Despite not committing any criminal offence or illegal act, I have been expelled from the university solely for believing in the spirit of the Liberation War and being affiliated with a partisan political organisation. As a citizen of an independent, sovereign country, I have the right to organize.

It is a statement of principle, asserted with quiet dignity by a young man who has lost almost everything except the conviction that he was right.

Each of the testimonies gathered for documentation echoed the same yearning: “I enrolled at the University with a beautiful dream in my heart.”

The phrase “beautiful dream” carries a particular weight in these testimonies. It does not describe a vague aspiration. It describes a contract — the agreement between a country and its young people that effort, sacrifice, and belief in something would be repaid with a future. The youth are calling for protection as citizens, referencing Bangladesh’s Constitution. The Constitution, which predates every political development since August 2024 and which will outlast all of them, says their futures cannot be murdered arbitrarily with a flick of a pen.

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Several individuals interviewed for this piece requested anonymity due to safety concerns. The documented expulsions, threats of detention, and ongoing repression of student activists in Bangladesh make public attribution dangerous. Their anonymity reflects the real risks of dissent. All claims have been corroborated through institutional records, documentation, and multiple independent accounts.