Can Justice Exist without the Death Penalty?

Forgiveness is a virtue. But not every crime or circumstance makes forgiveness easy. 10 October marks the World Day Against the Death Penalty. Across the world, thousands of people remain under sentences of death. At the heart of the debate lies one of our most fundamental rights: the right to life. Everyone has the right to live. But what happens when someone deliberately takes away another person’s right to life?

What do we say about children whose lives are brutally cut short before they can discover their future? They could have grown up, built families, contributed to their communities and helped shape their countries. Their deaths destroy not only lives but countless possibilities.

Consider elderly parents who see their adult child as their last source of hope. After decades of raising that child and dreaming of their future, they may lose everything because of another person’s deliberate act. Can we really tell such parents that their demand for justice does not matter?

The right to life is fundamental. But justice matters too. This is where my own position on the death penalty becomes complicated.

Bangladesh has not abolished capital punishment. Under Section 302 of the Penal Code 1860, murder is punishable by death or life imprisonment, along with a fine. The law therefore allows the most severe punishment for the gravest offence against life.

Yet Bangladesh is not alone in retaining it. According to Amnesty International’s figures as of 31 December 2025, 113 countries had abolished the death penalty for all crimes, while 145 had abolished it in law or practice. Fifty-four countries remained retentionist, and 25,508 people worldwide were under sentence of death at the end of 2025. These figures reflect growing international questions about whether the state should have the power to take a life as punishment.

According to Amnesty International’s figures as of 31 December 2025, 113 countries had abolished the death penalty for all crimes, while 145 had abolished it in law or practice. Fifty-four countries remained retentionist, and 25,508 people worldwide were under sentence of death at the end of 2025.

Consider the case of eight-year-old Ramisa Akter. In June 2026, a tribunal sentenced Sohel Rana to death for raping and murdering her. His wife, Swapna Khatun, was also sentenced to death for assisting in the crime. The case subsequently went before the High Court through appeals and a death reference.

Ramisa could have had a future and contributed to her family and society. Cases like hers make it difficult to view the death penalty debate through statistics alone. They force us to confront the value of the life taken and the suffering left behind.

At the same time, I do not believe every horrific crime should automatically result in a death sentence. Anger cannot guide criminal justice. Due process, a fair trial, reliable evidence and rigorous judicial scrutiny must come first. However, society may reasonably ask whether the most severe punishment should remain available for exceptionally deliberate, brutal and destructive crimes.

In a developing country like Bangladesh, we must also consider what meaningful accountability looks like when someone is sentenced to life imprisonment. Limited public resources do not justify depriving prisoners of their basic human rights. Yet victims and their families must not feel forgotten once media attention fades. Justice is not revenge, and compassion for an offender should not erase the victim’s suffering.

Perhaps this is why the debate is so difficult. We must recognise both the immense value of human life and the grave consequences of deliberately destroying an innocent life.

I am not convinced that the death penalty should be imposed casually or simply because a crime has shocked the public. Nor am I convinced that it should disappear completely, regardless of the circumstances.

If it remains part of the law, it must be an exceptional punishment, subject to strict safeguards and judicial review. If society moves towards abolition, it must also build a justice system that makes life imprisonment meaningful, protects victims, supports their families and ensures that punishment reflects the seriousness of the crime.

On a day dedicated to ending the death penalty, somewhere in the world, a mother may also be pleading for justice for a child she can never bring home. Both realities exist at the same time.

Mercy matters. Life matters. Justice matters too. The hardest question is not whether we should forgive, but what justice should look like when forgiveness feels impossible.