An Open Letter to Sheikh Hasina

Dear Sheikh Hasina,

From your present refuge in New Delhi, you must be observing the irreversible transformation unfolding in Bangladesh. History has shifted with a force few anticipated  --  and you now stand not at its helm, but at its judgment.

The central question is unavoidable: Have you searched your conscience to understand how you arrived at this moment?

For nearly two decades, you governed Bangladesh with unmatched authority. Parliament, administration, law enforcement, and the electoral machinery functioned under your decisive control.

You were granted -- and at times consolidated through fraudulent means --  successive terms and an extraordinary continuity in office. Yet those opportunities were squandered.

Democratic institutions were steadily weakened, oversight mechanisms diluted, and dissent increasingly criminalized. What might have been a stateswoman’s enduring legacy became a cautionary tale of power unrestrained.

Power, when unchecked, mutates.

Over the years, allegations multiplied -- systemic corruption, enforced disappearances, suppression of opposition voices, intimidation of journalists, manipulated elections, and the gradual erosion of constitutional safeguards.

Institutions meant to ensure accountability appeared progressively subordinated to partisan command. Public dissent was not engaged; it was subdued. Then came the most tragic chapter.

In the final phase of your rule, more than 1,400 protesting students and ordinary citizens --  young people, elderly men, women, even children --  lost their lives in crackdowns across the country.

The grief of families, the testimonies of survivors, and the images of bloodshed remain etched in the national memory. Instead of dialogue, force prevailed. Instead of restraint, escalation followed.

And when the unrest became uncontrollable, you fled to India in a manner widely perceived as ignominious -- leaving behind a wounded nation and a legacy under scrutiny.

History will not overlook that sequence.

You appeared not to have sufficiently reflected upon the lessons of 1971 -- when authoritarian arrogance provoked a people to rise in defiance. Nor did you seem to internalize the tragic fate of your father, Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujibur Rahman.

His assassination remains among the darkest chapters of our history -- a sobering reminder that leaders who lose touch with popular legitimacy ultimately stand on fragile ground, however secure they may seem.

Hubris has always preceded downfall. In Roman history, Emperor Nero is remembered not merely for misrule, but for the enduring image -- symbolic or literal -- of indifference while Rome burned.

Many citizens perceived a similar detachment when monumental projects and elaborate commemorations continued with huge public money, even during acute national hardship, including the COVID-19 crisis.

Leadership is not immortalized through statues or orchestrated pageantry; it is remembered for moral courage and compassion in moments of collective suffering.

In a profound twist of fate, the numerous statues of your father erected across the country --  intended to immortalize reverence -- became, in the aftermath of your disappearance, focal points for public anger.

What was conceived as a symbol of permanence transformed into a canvas of resentment. History’s irony can indeed be unforgiving.

You once publicly questioned the reported ill health of your political rival, Begum Khaleda Zia. When she eventually passed away, millions gathered in grief. In that solemn contrast, the nation rendered its own moral comparison --  between triumphal rhetoric and human dignity.

When she was barricaded in her own residence with trucks laden with sand, her only public appeal was to divine justice. Many now interpret subsequent events as history’s own verdict.

Just see where your children are today, and where Khaleda Zia’s son Tarique Rahman, who himself was a target of your relentless wrath.

I cannot help but wonder what judgment posterity will render upon your own passing. Will you be buried in your homeland or in a foreign country,  away from your people?

Following the controversial January 2024 election, as political tensions visibly mounted, I wrote in the Dhaka Tribune on January 25, 2024, urging a transition from confrontation to accommodation and compromise through a credible election under a neutral caretaker arrangement.

I argued that if you prevailed in such a contest, your mandate would be unassailable; if you lost, you would depart with dignity and secure a respected place in history. Either outcome would have elevated you.

That opportunity was declined.

Events accelerated toward rupture. Authority, once seemingly impregnable, dissolved with startling speed. The citizens who had long acquiesced withdrew their consent.

Yet even now, history’s ledger is not fully closed.

Nations can be unforgiving, but they are also capable of magnanimity when contrition is sincere. The people of Bangladesh are not inherently vindictive; they seek accountability, but they are also forgiving.

Bangobondhu's general amnesty extended to the 1971 collaborators was not contested by the people. A candid acknowledgment of excesses -- corruption tolerated, dissent suppressed, bloodshed permitted  --  would not diminish you.

On the contrary, it would display the moral courage absent in your final years in office. The newly elected Prime Minister, Tarique Rahman, has publicly emphasized reconciliation over retribution.

His stated conviction -- that “the joy of victory is complete only when the defeated feels secure before the victor”-- signals an opportunity for political maturity long missing in our national life.

It would be both prudent and dignified to recognize the democratic mandate and seek a lawful path home. No leader desires to conclude life in exile, severed from homeland and history.

Power may be accumulated. Fear may be imposed. But legitimacy cannot be indefinitely manufactured.

Your legacy will now be determined not by the years you ruled, but by how you confront the consequences of those years. History punishes arrogance --  but it sometimes honours repentance.

The choice, even now, remains yours.

Ashraf Ud Doula is a freedom fighter, a retired Major, a former Secretary to the Government, and a former Ambassador of Bangladesh.