Sheikh Hasina’s death sentence raises the big question: What’s ‘international’ about Bangladesh’s ICT?

A police personnel patrols around Bangladesh's International Crimes Tribunal (ICT) court in Dhaka on November 18, 2024. (Photo by Abdul Goni / AFP)

For years, Bangladesh’s International Crimes Tribunal (ICT) has projected itself as a pillar of global justice. It borrows the vocabulary of Nuremberg and The Hague, yet its reality is far removed from the international standards those names evoke. Behind the facade of the word “international” lies a court that is deeply domestic, politically controlled, and structurally isolated from the global justice system it seeks to imitate.

Formed under The International Crimes (Tribunal) Act of 1973, the ICT has always been a national mechanism, accountable only to Dhaka’s executive. Its authority does not stem from any international treaty, nor does it have recognition or oversight from the United Nations or the International Criminal Court (ICC). Despite its name, the tribunal has never been part of the international justice network.

The numbers behind the tribunal

According to ICT documents accessed by News18, the tribunal handled two major clusters of cases before 2024. One set dealt with trials of 1971 “rajakars” or collaborators during Bangladesh’s Liberation War. The other targeted members of the Jamaat-e-Islami party.

In 2023, the ICT recorded 36 FIRs and 187 accused, out of which 71 were arrested and 77 remained absconding, while several had died. Over the last decade, the court received 772 complaints, consolidating them into 105 cases. It has investigated 74 cases, with 27 pending and 34 currently under trial. So far, 42 verdicts have been delivered, resulting in 70 convictions, including six executions.

Behind these figures lies a pattern: the tribunal has worked swiftly when politically convenient and stalled when politically risky.

Why it is not ‘international’

A close reading of the 1973 Act makes it evident that the ICT’s “international” status exists in name only. Its staff consists solely of Bangladeshi judges, prosecutors, and investigators -- many known to have close ties with the ruling establishment. There are no international judges, no global prosecutors, and no external oversight of any kind.

The tribunal functions exclusively under Bangladesh’s domestic law, which has not been aligned with the Rome Statute of the ICC or other international criminal law standards. One of the Act’s sections even grants individual judges the power to issue arrest warrants and detain suspects indefinitely. It reads:

“Any member of a Tribunal shall have power to direct, or issue a warrant for, the arrest of, and to commit to custody, and to authorise the continued detention in custody of, any person charged with any crime specified in section 3.”

Section 3 further states that the tribunal “shall have the power to try and punish any individual or group of individuals, or any member of any armed, defence or auxiliary forces, irrespective of his nationality, who commits or has committed, in the territory of Bangladesh, whether before or after the commencement of this Act, any of the crimes mentioned.”

While the list of crimes, such as murder, genocide, and crimes against humanity, mirrors international law, the process does not. No recognised global court allows a single member to unilaterally issue arrest warrants or deny bail without a collective judicial process.

Oversight ends, influence begins

Unlike true international courts, the ICT’s structure is deeply enmeshed in Bangladesh’s political apparatus. Judges are appointed, transferred, and removed at the discretion of the government. Prosecutors are often political appointees. International lawyers have been barred from representing defendants, and the tribunal has rejected attempts by the UN to participate or monitor proceedings.

This resistance to external scrutiny is not accidental. International legal frameworks prohibit the death penalty, something the ICT continues to impose. That alone isolates it from the very system it claims to belong to.

The tribunal’s jurisdiction also remains narrowly national; it only covers crimes committed on Bangladeshi soil and by those within its borders, primarily related to the 1971 war. It is not a hybrid or transnational court but a domestic tribunal masquerading as one.

Political justice disguised as legal process

Critics argue that the ICT’s timing and verdicts often align neatly with the political needs of the ruling regime. The court’s harshest sentences have disproportionately targeted members of opposition parties, particularly Jamaat-e-Islami and the Bangladesh Nationalist Party (BNP).

Procedural irregularities have been frequent. Defence lawyers have reported truncated hearings, limited cross-examinations, and heavy reliance on hearsay evidence. Death sentences have been confirmed within days, and appeals are narrow in scope.

These practices violate the very principles of impartiality and due process that define international justice. No UN-backed tribunal would endorse such speed or selectivity.

Justice that never leaves Dhaka

The ICT claims to represent international ideals, yet it stands entirely outside the international legal framework. It has no recognition from the UN, no listing in global legal registries, and no shared jurisprudence with institutions like the ICC, ICTR, or ICTY.

What emerges is a court created for domestic political theatre, not for global justice. It has served to legitimise the government’s narrative of wartime heroism while punishing political rivals under the guise of accountability.

Now, as the same tribunal has gone on to sentence the ousted Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina to death, it underscores how the ICT has evolved from a court of war crimes to a tool of political retribution.

The court that never crosses borders

In essence, Bangladesh’s ICT is international only in title. Its power begins and ends within Dhaka’s boundaries. It has no treaty-based foundation, no external supervision, and no commitment to the global legal order it pretends to represent.

It stands today not as a symbol of justice, but as a cautionary tale of how political power can dress domestic vengeance in the language of international law.