German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche wrote in his famous book Beyond Good and Evil, “He who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby become a monster himself.” Nietzsche’s observation is highly relevant to Bangladesh’s current social and political reality.
Fascism does not emerge overnight. It begins with arbitrary arrests and harassment of dissenters under various pretexts. When society starts compromising with such injustices, it gradually escalates to regular abductions and killings. During the July uprising against the long rule of deposed Sheikh Hasina, we witnessed such brutal suppression firsthand.
The aim of the July student and public uprising was not merely to overthrow oppressive rule; it was also a demand for a humane state. Our expectation was for a Bangladesh where dissent or protest would never be crushed.
However, the events in Shahbagh last Saturday, centred on the recitation of the 7 March speech, and the subsequent use of extreme repressive measures such as cases under the Anti-Terrorism Act, do not reflect the promise of that humane Bangladesh.
The police initially detained Md Asif Ahmed, employment secretary of Shahidullah Hall branch of Chhatra League, for playing the historic 7 March speech over a sound box.
In today’s reality, Chhatra League is considered a banned organisation, and Asif faces multiple serious allegations, including extortion and attacks on opponents. However, he was not detained or arrested on any of those charges.
Shahbagh police station officer-in-charge (OC) Moniruzzaman told reporters, “That person was playing Bangabandhu’s 7 March speech. This is prohibited, that’s why he was brought in.” Hearing this statement leaves one utterly baffled. Since when was the 7 March speech banned? Who declared it prohibited? Or is this restriction being enforced unofficially within the administration?
In Bangladesh’s history, the 7 March speech is more than a political event. Emotions, memories, and the nation’s political history are intertwined with this speech. Detaining someone for broadcasting it sends a troubling message to the public.
In protest of the detention, a few members of Chhatra League, led by former vice-president of Shamsunnahar Hall, Sheikh Tasnim Afroz Emi and joint-secretary of Zahurul Haque Hall unit, Abdul Al Mamun, attempted to hold a demonstration in front of Shahbagh police station.
During the protest, a group of people, led by a leader of DUCSU, obstructed Emi and Mamun, who were in a rickshaw, and forcibly took them inside Shahbagh police station along with the rickshaw.
Allegations say Abdul Al Mamun was beaten inside the station. It is also alleged that the police appeared there not as their protectors but as their arresting authority.
When a routine political protest or expression of anger is labelled as a ‘conspiracy against the state’ or ‘terrorism’ and cases are filed under stringent, non-bailable laws, it becomes nothing more than a tool for political vengeance. Does this incident indicate that the administration intends, like previous rulers, to slap the label of ‘terrorism’ or ‘anti-state conspiracy’ at any time to silence dissent?
In any civilised society, ordinary citizens or student groups have no right to take the law into their own hands. When allegations arise of someone being beaten inside a police station, and the police instead show the victim as the one arrested, it starkly reveals the helplessness of the state and the rule of law. This incident can be seen as nothing other than a new version of the familiar culture of fear that has characterised the Hasina era.
Another worrying aspect is the legal process surrounding this incident. On Sunday, the police showed these three individuals as arrested under the Anti-Terrorism Act and sent them to court.
The police case alleges that they were chanting provocative slogans through a loudspeaker facing the mosque while the Tarawih prayers were ongoing. The case also includes charges of attempting to carry out activities of a banned organisation, obstructing police work, and snatching the accused.
What requires close attention is the application of the Anti-Terrorism Act. This law is meant to suppress genuine threats to the state, such as real jihadist or large-scale terrorist activities. Simply playing a speech over a microphone, protesting in front of a police station, or having a routine dispute with the police cannot, under any circumstances, be classified as ‘terrorism’.
We have not forgotten how the previous autocratic government used the Digital Security Act, the Anti-Terrorism Act, and the Special Powers Act as effective tools to suppress opponents.
When a routine political protest or expression of anger is labelled as a ‘conspiracy against the state’ or ‘terrorism’ and cases are filed under stringent, non-bailable laws, it becomes nothing more than a tool for political vengeance. Does this incident indicate that the administration intends, like previous rulers, to slap the label of ‘terrorism’ or ‘anti-state conspiracy’ at any time to silence dissent?
If, in the name of opposing fascism, another form of fascism is born, if a repressive administration replaces the previous tyranny under a new guise, it would be a profound betrayal of the blood shed by hundreds of young people in July and August.
It is natural to feel anger or resentment towards banned organisations or the autocratic regimes against which the country’s students and people have struggled. That anger will persist until the wounds heal. But the state cannot be guided by emotion or public outrage. If a member of a banned organisation violates the law, they can be tried under the normal legal framework of the country.
However, if a minor protest has to be suppressed by invoking the Anti-Terrorism Act or alleging ‘provocative slogans’, it becomes clear that extreme arbitrariness is at work within the ruling class and the administration. The same mindset had guided the oppressive rulers of the previous regime.
In a democratic society, the voice of dissent will not always be pleasant. In many cases, it may be extremely irritating or contrary to the ideology of the majority. But that does not justify using brute force or abusing power to silence it.
If, in the name of opposing fascism, another form of fascism is born, if a repressive administration replaces the previous tyranny under a new guise, it would be a profound betrayal of the blood shed by hundreds of young people in July and August.
The arrests of Sheikh Tasnim Afroze Emi and others are not isolated incidents. They point directly to the fact that the institutional culture of fascism still pervades every corner of our society.
The practice of suppressing others’ freedom of speech to prove one’s ‘rightness’ and using law enforcement as a shield must be eradicated immediately, or it will have devastating consequences for the future of Bangladesh. The government must clearly articulate its stance on this matter.
The misuse of law must be stopped, and the lawlessness inside police stations—extrajudicial persecution and the public taking the law into their own hands—must be curbed. Otherwise, the dream of a humane and justice-based Bangladesh we have envisioned could quickly turn into a nightmare. The ghosts of past fascism must not, under any circumstances, seize our sovereign land, and it is now the state’s duty to prove this. The unconditional release of Emi and the rational application of the law could mark the true beginning of this humane transformation.
*Shoikot Amin, senior associate editor, Prothom Alo
*The opinion is the author’s own