The first person to benefit from parole under Chief Adviser Muhammad Yunus was Jasimuddin Rahmani, a convict in multiple terrorism cases, who was allowed to attend his sister’s namaj-e-janaza (funeral).
His parole was approved within hours of his sister’s death in Barguna at 10:00am on 14 August 2024. Soon after her death, Narul Islam of Palash in Narsingdi applied for Rahmani’s parole. The application was granted almost immediately.
The following morning, Rahmani—accused of inciting followers to slaughter bloggers in 2013—was released for three and a half hours and flown to Barguna in a helicopter arranged by his associates.
In the parole order issued by then Gazipur District Magistrate Abul Fate Mohammad Shafiqul Islam, police were instructed to provide Rahmani with security. The order imposed several conditions, including a ban on political speeches or participation in political programmes. Rahmani paid little heed to these restrictions.
Upon arriving in Barguna, he attended the funeral and delivered a half-hour speech strongly criticising the Sheikh Hasina regime for branding him a top militant leader, which he claimed he wasn’t. He returned to prison after the permitted time but faced no legal consequences for violating parole conditions. Ten days later, he was granted bail and released from jail on 26 August. Since then, he has moved freely.
Parole on humanitarian grounds may sound like a routine legal facility. It was remarkably easy for someone like Rahmani, who had openly espoused extremist ideology. Yet this facility is not available to every prisoner.
It was denied to Bangladesh Chhatra League leader Juel Hasan Saddam, who lost his wife and only child tragically. His relatives had applied in Bagerhat instead of Jashore—an administrative technicality that proved decisive.
Both Jashore and Bagerhat are part of the same country and operate under the same legal framework. Parole is meant to be granted on humanitarian grounds, but that principle was ignored in Saddam’s case. The Bagerhat district magistrate could have forwarded the application to Jashore or sought guidance from higher authorities.
If a parole order could be issued within hours for Rahmani, enabling him to travel 281 kilometres by helicopter from Gazipur to Barguna, Saddam could have been allowed to travel 95 kilometres in a police van to bid farewell to his wife and child.
Instead, political bias and the overzealousness of politically aligned officials created a disturbing precedent—applying the same law differently to different citizens, despite the constitutional promise of equality before the law.
The pattern extends beyond parole.
Before and after Rahmani’s release, hundreds of detainees—including hardened criminals and militants—walked out of prisons on bail. Yet the same legal leniency was not extended to others.
For instance, many journalists arrested on trumped-up charges during the interim administration were repeatedly denied bail despite multiple petitions.
Rahmani’s helicopter ride and Saddam’s denied farewell expose the same truth: in today’s Bangladesh, justice is negotiated, not guaranteed. The law moves swiftly for those with ideological or political currency and stands still for those without it. It is a warning signal of a state sliding towards selective legality, where loyalty matters more than law and power matters more than humanity.
