All of Bangladesh has now turned into a vast mass grave. On average, more than 10 people are murdered every day. In March alone, there were 316 killings. Hundreds of unidentified bodies lie abandoned on streets, in drains, and in empty houses. And presiding over this bloody spectacle with cold, silent leadership is one twisted, greedy, shameless fraud—Muhammad Yunus.
Treading over the sweat, blood, and corpses of the Bangladeshi people, Yunus now seeks to become the hero of a mockery called the “interim government.” In truth, however, he is the chief architect of this politics of murder, the mastermind behind the violence, and the living symbol of conquest and seizure. Yunus and his hired agents want to break this nation apart and rebuild it to serve their own interests. In their wake, they leave only the stench of rotting blood and the cries of despair, paving the way for a new regime of open, shameless occupation.
In Dhaka, a university student, Zahidul Islam Parvez, was murdered over a trivial incident. In Chattogram, a young man was killed while trying to stop a mugging. In Khulna, a family was torn apart by bloodshed in a battle for dominance. Yunus’s seeds are planted in every corner of these tragedies. It is by climbing the staircase of these murders that he hopes to rise to the pinnacle of power.
But we have not forgotten: this country is not his family estate.
Yunus is a hypocrite who wears the mask of peace while stabbing from behind. He is an opportunist who grovels before foreign masters while setting fire to his own country, posing for photographs frame by frame. His dream? Power.
His path? Corpses.
His language? Conspiracy.
If anyone still believes Yunus is “neutral,” let them visit every police station in the country and count how many have been murdered in these past two months.
This blood-drenched land is now screaming: the mastermind behind these killings, this orchestrated chaos, this rampant lawlessness—is Yunus.
He does not only want political power; he wants to stab at the very body of the state’s structure. Today he buys the media, tomorrow he will hijack the judiciary, and the day after, he will try to march into the military cantonments. He has no intention of stopping—because he knows the moment he stops, his mask will fall.
There is only one question left:
How many more corpses will it take before this nation finally wakes up? When will we tear away the mask of this bloodthirsty fiend?
