I would like to begin this write-up with the words of former UN Secretary-General Kofi Annan, who cautioned, “Impunity can and has, contributed to renewed conflict. We must be wise enough to recognize, respect, and protect the independence of justice.” This warning resonates with particular force in contemporary Bangladesh, where the July Uprising Protection and Liability Determination Ordinance has granted legal immunity to participants in the July–August 2024 mass uprising for acts committed in the name of “political resistance.” At the same time, the July National Charter 2025, announced by the interim government, promises both the “trial of the massacre” and the continuation of “legal immunity.” This inherent contradiction has generated serious legal, political, and ethical controversy.
In legal terms, immunity refers to a statutory exemption that shields individuals or groups from prosecution, liability, or punishment for acts that would otherwise constitute criminal offences. During war, revolution, or mass political upheaval, states sometimes enact special legal regimes to protect those who participated in resistance movements. When the state formally prohibits judicial proceedings for past conduct, this amounts to the institutionalization of immunity. Historically, victorious political forces often justify such measures in the name of nation-building, stability, and reconciliation.
Following the collapse of Sheikh Hasina–led Awami League government on 5 August 2024, an interim administration was formed within three days. Soon thereafter, advisers and movement coordinators began advocating legal protection for participants in the July uprising. The newly promulgated ordinance exempts individuals from “any criminal liability arising from activities organized for the purpose of political resistance” between 1 July and 31 August 2024. Political resistance has been defined as efforts to restore democratic governance by overthrowing a so-called “fascist government.”
The Legal Advisor publicly confirmed that if criminal cases have been filed against anyone due to activities organized for the purpose of political resistance, the government will take the initiative to withdraw them. At the same time, no new cases can be filed for such activities. However, protest leaders have attempted to distance themselves from acts such as the burning of metro stations, attacks on police installations, destruction of public infrastructure, and incidents of mob violence.
However, critics consistently warn that immunity frequently degenerates into entrenched impunity. Even, TIB Executive Director Dr. Iftekharuzzaman, who was chaired the ACC Reform Commission of this government, has warned that In the name of reform, such a legal framework is being created, which is practically creating opportunities for impunity and repeating the old system.
I confront this Immunity Ordinance from three critical perspectives; historical precedent, compatibility with the rule of law and human rights and constitutional validity.
A cursory review of history reveals that indemnity, immunity and impunity are primarily political instruments, often operationalized through legal mechanisms to shield political actors from accountability. Bangladesh’s own political experience demonstrates that impunity rarely delivers justice. Successive governments under Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, Ziaur Rahman, HM Ershad, Khaleda Zia and Sheikh Hasina enacted immunity laws, none of which withstood long-term legal and moral scrutiny.
In 1973, Sheikh Mujib issued a presidential order barring prosecution for acts related to the Liberation War, but Justice Debesh Chandra Bhattacharya later questioned its constitutionality. After Sheikh Mujib’s assassination in 1975, the Indemnity Ordinance prevented the prosecution of the killers. Although it was legitimized through the Fifth Amendment, it was repealed in 1996, leading to convictions and executions. In 2003, the Joint Operation Indemnity Act protected security forces accused of extrajudicial killings during Operation Clean Heart, but in 2015 the High Court declared the law unconstitutional. In 2010, the Electricity and Fuel Special Provisions Act curtailed judicial review of procurement decisions and was later suspended by the interim government. History therefore confirms that politicized immunity laws ultimately collapse under sustained legal and ethical pressure.
Globally, “holding perpetrators accountable” and “ending a culture of impunity” have become central demands of human rights movements. The UN Set of Principles for the Protection and Promotion of Human Rights through Action to Combat Impunity reflects this international shift toward accountability.
Historically, amnesty has sometimes been used to promote post conflict reconciliation, such as the US Amnesty Act of 1872 or Lebanon’s 1991 general amnesty. While such measures may serve political stability, they often deny justice to victims, leaving grievances unresolved. Impunity directly contradicts human rights, as the right to seek justice is fundamental and cannot be blocked by law. International law allows limited immunity for official acts, but it does not protect against crimes such as torture, extrajudicial killings, or crimes against humanity. The case of Chilean dictator Augusto Pinochet demonstrates that political office does not shield perpetrators from accountability for international crimes.
Although immunity is a legal concept, impunity is primarily political. Governments sometimes attempt to legitimize impunity, but this undermines human rights and the rule of law. Blanket exemptions from prosecution conflict with constitutional safeguards, equality before the law, and victims’ right to justice. They also risk weakening public trust in political institutions.
The interim government has invoked Article 46 of the Constitution, which allows Parliament to grant immunity for actions taken to maintain order during the 1971 Liberation War. The government argues that the July uprising falls within the “inherent meaning” of this provision. Legal Adviser Asif Nazrul stated that the July fighters liberated the country from fascist rule by risking their lives. Of course, they have the right to immunity.
I confront this argument with the reasoning of legal critics who firmly reject the analogy. The War of Liberation was against an external occupying force, whereas the July movement was directed against an elected government within the state. As they argue, “If you say, ‘I killed the police, I burned the police station, I murdered, I looted—give me immunity,’ that is not fair.”
Moreover, Articles 27, 31, and 35 of the Constitution guarantee equality before the law, protection of the law, and the right to a fair trial. Blanket immunity directly contradicts these fundamental rights. Many constitutional scholars argue that the ordinance exceeds the scope of Article 46 and undermines the constitutional framework itself.
Justice must be delivered through courts of law, not political decrees. Granting immunity for unpunished killings, torture, and destruction is not only unprecedented in democratic systems but also a profound assault on constitutionalism and human rights. Where the right to life is uncertain, all other systems become questionable.
Although the trauma of the July uprising remains fresh, history will inevitably ask difficult questions: Why were those responsible for massacres protected? Why was justice denied? Like many citizens, I find the interim government’s declaration of immunity deeply disappointing. Given Bangladesh’s political tradition, there is a legitimate fear that today’s immunity for revolutionaries may become tomorrow’s shield for rulers.
-The writer a Journalist with The Daily Observer and a Lawyer
