When Questions Become Dangerous

On the night of August 24, a friend sent me a message: The link to my article no longer worked. The previous evening, Daily Waadaa had published my opinion piece examining a proposed $3.4 billion bridge project involving a company reportedly linked to the Home Minister’s son. 

I questioned the proposal’s financing, procurement arrangements, and potential conflicts of interest. Within a day, the article had disappeared.

I do not know why. That uncertainty is central to this story. A missing article does not, by itself, prove censorship. An editor may discover an error, receive credible contradictory information, or decide that a piece requires further review.

When an article concerning politically connected interests disappears without explanation, the silence leaves a question that deserves an answer.

For Bangladesh, that question carries the weight of recent history. During Sheikh Hasina’s long rule, journalists and citizens learned how costly criticism could become.

The Committee to Protect Journalists has documented the repressive legacy inherited after her removal and urged subsequent authorities to protect media freedom. 

The damage extended beyond the people who faced direct retaliation. Fear shaped the decisions of those who watched, calculating what they could safely investigate, publish or say.

The July uprising raised the hope that Bangladesh could leave that calculation behind. The movement culminating on August 5, remembered by protesters as July 36, carried an aspiration larger than a change of government.

It promised a different relationship between citizens and power, one in which officials would answer questions rather than make people afraid to ask them.

That promise faces its most meaningful test when scrutiny reaches those who govern today. My article concerned a proposal, not a completed transaction.

That distinction matters. A proposed investment must not be described as secured financing, just as questions about a business arrangement must not become allegations of criminal conduct without evidence. Responsible commentary requires precision.

Yet a proposal of this scale plainly warrants examination. What financing commitments exist? What obligations might fall on the government? How would contractors be selected? What experience and financial capacity do the participating companies possess? What safeguards would address potential conflicts of interest?

These questions belong in public discussion before commitments become binding and taxpayers inherit obligations. Political connections make transparent answers more necessary.

Daily Waadaa initially gave those questions a hearing. The article appeared on its website and social-media platforms at approximately 11 p.m. on August 23.

Readers shared it, and friends contacted me to discuss it. The following night, a scholar of South Asia at Georgetown University alerted me that the link was no longer accessible.

I remain grateful to the newspaper for publishing the piece. I also retain considerable respect for its leadership, including the courage demonstrated during the July movement.

A relatively new outlet may confront pressures that outsiders cannot fully appreciate. Nothing in this episode justifies assuming that its editors acted in bad faith.

Nor can I identify who, if anyone, sought the article’s removal. That would require evidence I do not possess. What I can ask for is an explanation. If the article contained errors, identifying them would allow correction.

If the newspaper withdrew it for editorial reasons, explaining those reasons would protect its credibility. If someone applied political pressure, that interference deserves public scrutiny. Transparency would serve everyone concerned.

A separate incident raises a similar question. According to accounts brought to my attention, Channel One published a report about alleged racketeering around Dhaka University and the alleged involvement of senior Jatiyatabadi Chhatra Dal figures.

The report reportedly disappeared from its online platform shortly afterwards. 

I cannot independently establish why it was removed, and its disappearance should not be presented as proof of political intervention.

Nevertheless, a clear explanation would matter. News organizations must be able to correct mistakes, and people named in their reporting must have a fair opportunity to respond.

The public should also be able to distinguish an editorial correction from a politically compelled deletion. 

The standard must apply equally when scrutiny concerns BNP, Jamaat, NCP or any other organization. A commitment to press freedom that weakens when one’s own allies come under examination offers little protection at all.

International experience shows how media independence can erode without a formal declaration of censorship. In Hungary, Human Rights Watch documented how political influence over media ownership, discriminatory allocation of state advertising and obstacles to independent reporting undermined pluralism.

Pressure could operate through the commercial conditions of journalism as well as through direct restrictions.

Bangladesh need not follow the same path for the lesson to matter. Newsrooms depend on revenue. Owners may have other business interests.

Reporters need access to officials and protection from harassment. When those dependencies become instruments of political influence, the consequences can spread far beyond a single article.

An editor who sees another outlet suffer may decide against commissioning an investigation. A reporter may remove a name before submitting a story. A publisher may conclude that an unanswered question is less costly than an offended minister.

Much of this retreat leaves no public record. Readers see the stories that survive, rarely the ones abandoned before publication. The absence of criticism can then create a false impression of consensus, encouraging leaders to mistake a subdued press for a satisfied public.

This is why my concern extends beyond my own column. I have other platforms. I can publish elsewhere, speak on television or reach readers through social media. A young reporter investigating local corruption may have none of those options. If established writers encounter uncertainty about the consequences of scrutiny, that reporter has still greater reason to hesitate.

The resulting loss belongs to society. A questionable contract goes unexamined. A conflict of interest remains concealed. A flawed policy continues because those who understand its weaknesses decide that speaking carries too much risk.

Journalism, of course, must earn public trust. Freedom does not excuse fabrication, reckless accusation or the refusal to correct an error.

Editors should verify consequential claims, seek responses and make corrections visible. Opinion writers must distinguish fact from inference and suspicion from proof.

Government officials have corresponding responsibilities. They can publish documents, dispute an argument and request a correction. Serious wrongdoing by journalists should be addressed through fair and proportionate processes. Political influence should never become an informal power to erase inconvenient reporting.

The present government has an opportunity to establish that principle through its conduct. Ministers should make clear that their offices, relatives and associates are open to legitimate scrutiny.

Media outlets should be able to report attempted interference without fearing repercussions. Public advertising, accreditation and regulatory decisions should follow transparent criteria that protect editorial independence.

These protections must extend to hostile publications as fully as to sympathetic ones. Their credibility will depend on what happens when a report is embarrassing, a columnist is abrasive or an investigation reaches someone close to power.

The sacrifices of July deserve that institutional legacy. Citizens who demand accountability should not have to negotiate new boundaries around whom they may question. The right to scrutinize power cannot depend on the goodwill of whoever temporarily holds it.

One missing article does not establish a return to authoritarianism. It does, however, present an opportunity to reject secrecy and reaffirm a principle before uncertainty hardens into distrust.

The newspaper can explain its decision. Those concerned by the article can answer their questions. Anyone who sought to influence its publication can account for that conduct.

I would welcome a factual rebuttal to what I wrote. Public debate becomes stronger when evidence corrects an argument. What should trouble us is the possibility that an argument can disappear while its questions remain unanswered.

Bangladesh has already paid dearly for a political culture in which caution became silence and silence sheltered power. The promise of July was that citizens would no longer have to choose between speaking honestly and living without fear.

That promise must be held when the questions become uncomfortable.

Dr Mohammad Nakibur Rahman is a professor of Finance at the University of North Carolina and the US spokesperson for Jamaat-e-Islami Bangladesh.