When the Yunus government assumed office, it moved swiftly to reassess key aspects of Bangladesh’s Rohingya policy. There have been conferences with diplomats and senior officials, including a high-level Rohingya conference at the UN, attempts to restart stalled repatriation dialogue, and, importantly, an end to further relocations to Bhasan Char. The administration has also overseen controversial camp-level elections and initiated consultations on long-term strategy.
What has not been examined despite being the most immediate layer of governance Rohingya refugees encounter daily is the institution of the camp-in-charge, or CiC.
The CiC is the state’s principal representative inside each camp -- a bureaucrat with powers that range from surveillance and security coordination to dispute resolution, NGO approval, movement control, reporting to RRRC, and in some cases, the convening of mobile courts.
These are extraordinary powers even in normal administrative settings. In a closed population with no citizenship, legal protections, or meaningful oversight, they become something closer to unchecked authority.
In short, the government has debated relocation, repatriation, and international diplomacy. It has not examined something far more basic - who rules the camps, and how.
A system built for patronage
Recent research on Rohingya camp governance shows that the system has evolved into a patron-client network, where officials, intermediaries, and camp power-brokers trade influence and resources while refugees remain dependent. At the centre of this structure is the CiC, who sits atop a pyramid linking state authorities, NGOs, and majhis.
This pattern is not anecdotal. A study by Nurul Huda Sakib, Nusrat Mahmood, and Tasbir Ul Islam (patron-client relationship in the Rohingya camps) shows how the CiC sits at the centre of a layered system of control involving camp administration and aid agencies. The study suggests that restrictions on movement, tight control of resources and heavy surveillance are aimed less at safeguarding refugees than at keeping the camp under administrative control.
As legal scholars Sakhawat Sajjat Sejan and Abu Bakker Siddiq further argue in their analysis of the Rohingya’s exclusion from the criminal justice system, the problem extends beyond governance into law itself.
Over a million Rohingyas are labelled as Forcibly Displaced Myanmar Nationals, not refugees, which means they are effectively excluded from Bangladesh’s formal justice system. This exclusion amounts to a “rights-denying legal apartheid” where justice is mediated through majhis, CiCs, clerics, and NGOs rather than courts.
Bangladesh’s own Constitution guarantees protection of law and due process to “every person for the time being within Bangladesh” (Articles 31 and 35), which includes non-citizens. Denial of legal remedies is therefore not merely poor policy, it is a constitutional breach.
When authority is concentrated in a single unelected administrator with wide discretionary powers and the population has no access to courts, the question is not whether abuses will occur, it is how often, how violently, and with what impunity.
Two recent cases demonstrate this.
Case study 1: Teknaf
A leaked APBn report dated October 7, 2025 (and now widely circulated) details serious concerns about CiC Abdul Hannan’s management of Nayapara camp. It cites his repeated absence from key operations, his tolerance of illegal markets and ration diversion, his interference in legal processes, and even a conflict of interest involving goods found in a warehouse linked to an associate.
The document concludes that these practices are undermining oversight and destabilizing the camp, warning of a “loss of control and significant deterioration of the camp’s overall situation.”
This is not a political attack by civil society or advocacy groups. Rather, it is an assessment from Bangladesh’s own security forces, written to senior authorities. It describes a Rohingya camp bureaucrat acting not as a guardian of vulnerable refugees but as a local power-centre whose inaction and patronage networks destabilize the camp.
The lesson is structural. If a CiC is negligent or compromised, there are few corrective mechanisms other than internal complaints, and even those may be influenced by the same power dynamics.
Case study 2: Bhasan Char
If the Teknaf case illustrates negligence, Bhasan Char reveals something more severe -- allegations of active violence.
In recent weeks, more than a dozen Rohingya refugees have contacted me describing assaults, arbitrary arrests, mobile-court sentences without due process, and widespread fear under the recently appointed CiC, Md Munibur Rahman.
Their accounts follow a strikingly similar pattern -- refugees of all ages, including minors and elderly relatives, were beaten. APBn officers detained individuals and delivered them directly to the CiC. Groups were intimidated or collectively punished, prompting families to flee the island. Interrogations involved electric wires to beat the soles of feet and other forms of physical force.
Some refugees report that Munibur allegedly declared at a coordination meeting that he was “the biggest gangster on the island” and that “no one is above [him].” Several also said he instructed majhis not to take offenses to the police, but instead to report them directly to him or to BRAC’s legal team even though BRAC has no authority to investigate criminal matters.
This move further centralizes power in the CiC’s office and sidelines complaint channels. Others described punishments handed down through mobile courts without any documentation provided to families.
These allegations should not be seen as isolated misconduct. They reflect a system in which CiCs effectively act as judge, prosecutor and enforcer for a stateless population with no access to the courts.
As Sejan and Siddiq point out, the denial of legal status pushes Rohingya into informal justice systems run by administrative elites who exercise sweeping quasi-judicial power with almost no external scrutiny.
The study by Sakib, Mahmood, and Islam also shows that punishments in the camps, though presented as administrative or security measures, take place entirely outside any legal framework and are justified as “exceptions.” In practice, this treats refugees not as rights-bearing individuals but as a population to be controlled.
It is this logic that allows summary punishment, forced compliance, and intimidation to function under bureaucratic authority rather than judicial oversight.
On Bhasan Char, several refugees say the CiC is being heavily influenced by a junior official, CMO Faisal, whom residents believe is pushing many of the harsher measures. This points to a wider structural problem -- when a CiC is new or inexperienced, other power-brokers can shape decisions from behind the scenes.
This not only blurs who is actually responsible but also helps maintain a system where no one is held to account. That makes it harder to hold anyone accountable, as responsibility becomes blurred, but the impunity remains.
On November 14, I contacted Md Munibur Rahman by phone and later emailed him a formal list of questions outlining the allegations against him and the administration. These included queries on assault, intimidation, mobile-court sentencing, accountability, due process, his relationship with CMO Faisal, and the reported exodus of residents. When I asked him about these allegations, he replied that it was up to the refugees themselves to “prove” their claims.
But this response only highlights the deeper structural problem. Rohingya have no meaningful way to do so. They have no access to formal complaints mechanisms, no ability to file cases, no freedom of movement to reach courts, and no independent body to which evidence can be safely submitted.
In a system where the accused official controls both the process and the space, demanding “proof” from refugees becomes a way to shut down accountability, not uphold it.
He ultimately declined to answer without authorization. That refusal itself illustrates the governance problem. CiCs operate in a system where their authority flows downward, but accountability only flows upward and only when permitted.
A system without law
It is often argued that Bangladesh cannot be expected to provide full legal protections to refugees without ratifying the 1951 Convention. This argument is misplaced. The obligation to provide due process already exists under Bangladesh’s Constitution, criminal law, and international human rights treaties such as the ICCPR.
Bangladeshi courts have repeatedly made it clear that fundamental rights apply to every person inside the country, not only to citizens. This was emphasized in cases involving the stateless Bihari community, where judges ruled that someone’s nationality, or lack of it, cannot take away their constitutional protections.
Courts elsewhere have taken the same view. Important decisions in Australia and Europe have confirmed that even people without citizenship or legal papers must still be treated fairly and given access to justice.
In theory, refugees can access limited legal support through NGOs, but in practice they cannot file cases, move freely to attend court, or seek remedies without CiC or National Security Intelligence (NSI) approval. Academic studies show that most everyday criminal disputes are handled informally by CiCs and majhis, with formal procedures largely bypassed.
Only in serious cases -- such as murder, rape, or armed violence -- do police intervene. This mixed system blurs the roles of different authorities. It lets camp officials make decisions that should belong to the courts, with no real oversight. That lack of checks and balances creates a clear risk of widespread abuse.
Taken together, the academic evidence from both studies reveals a continuity between the camps in Cox’s Bazar and Bhasan Char. They operate not merely as humanitarian spaces but as administrative spaces of exception, where rights are suspended and governance is maintained through discretionary executive power. In such a model, the CiC becomes the executor of a policy framework built on control rather than legal protection.
This is not simply a humanitarian issue but a violation of constitutional law.
What should change
If the Yunus government is serious about a humane refugee policy, reform must begin where refugees actually live and with the officials who govern them. Three steps are immediate.
- Replace individual discretion with written procedures;
- Ensure that mobile-court sentencing, detention, and disciplinary measures follow codified rules and are subject to appeal;
- Establish external oversight and complaint mechanisms so refugees can report abuse without fear of retaliation.
CiC tenure should be limited to prevent the consolidation of local patronage networks, as the Teknaf case makes clear. Any credible reform must also address the structural flaw of the current model, that is to say an administrative system that vests sweeping power in a single state official without independent checks.
The issue is not whether Bangladesh shelters the Rohingya but whether it governs them lawfully.
Shafiur Rahman is a journalist and documentary filmmaker focusing on the politics of refugee management in South and Southeast Asia. He writes the Rohingya Refugee News newsletter.