Rule of law, minister . . . not 'crossfire'
IT was not a gaffe. It was outrage plain and simple that Shipping Minister Shahjahan Khan caused the other day. In one unbelieving instant, he left us all feeling not only disappointed but low in spirits as well. We expect things of nobler note from ministers; we crave wisdom from those the gods and the people have placed on the higher perches of life.
But none of those wonderful bits of thought seem to be making their way to our doorsteps any more. Minister Shahjahan Khan tells us, with force verging on conviction, that doing away with people in so-called "crossfires" is the right thing to do. And it is right, says he, because it will put the fear of the state in these "criminals," to a point where eventually all criminality will come to an end. And he tells us something more, which is that when conventional laws fail to deal with crime, it is "crossfires" which come in to correct the situation.
Now, a word about these "crossfires," a shameful legacy we have clearly inherited from the dark era of the BNP-wallahs and the Jamaatis. It is a simple, speedy way of handling men considered criminal in nature, not by law but by the vengeful instincts that turn powerful individuals into moving machines of terror. You get hold of a man, who may or may not be a bad man, who may or may not have committed a crime. You take him out to a field in the pitch dark of night or in the light of the pale moon and you shoot him dead. The next morning, you are informed, very politely, that as the security forces were taking him away, they came under attack from his cohorts. An exchange of fire ensued and in the process the arrested "criminal" was killed.
The stranger part of the story is that none among the security personnel is wounded or killed and none of the cohorts of the alleged criminal is killed or wounded or detained. It has been a standard way of ensuring rough justice. And it has become a predictable affair. It used to be a scandal that the Awami League decried in its days in opposition. Once in power, said its leading lights, it would move to put all "crossfire" deaths to a deserved end.
The Awami League is in power. But the "crossfire" deaths have gone on. And now that Minister Shahjahan Khan has informed the country in unequivocal terms of the necessity of "crossfires," you can be pretty sure that all those good intentions of old will rapidly be pushed aside. That, you might argue, is the way politics works. Before the elections, you pledge to bring about change. After the elections, it is a matter of how soon you can revert to the bad old ways.
That apart, there is that rather irritating question which has now arisen as a result of the shipping minister's remarks. Are we to take his comments as just his own, with no bearing on the policy of the government on the "crossfire" issue? Or should we suppose that he has spoken for the government, that indeed the administration feels that deaths by "crossfire" are a potent and efficacious way of handling crime?
To the first question, our answer is simple: ministers are not permitted, by the very fact of their being in office, to air personal opinions. If they wish to open their hearts to the country, they must first make sure that they resign. Else they will only be embarrassing, even undermining, the government.
To the second question, we are not sure of the answer. The government has not contradicted Shahjahan Khan. Neither has it defended him. That is a parlous position for any government to take. And do not forget that this happens to be a democratically elected government whose first duty is to ensure security of life for all citizens. It cannot afford to be ambiguous or ambivalent about the positions it means to adopt on these and other issues.
And a fundamental premise on which security of life bases itself is the respect the state has or should have for the rule of law. It cannot arrogate to itself the right to take away the life of a citizen, indeed to put him to shame and embarrassment and agony, without an application of the due process of law. Modern sensibilities cannot be made short shrift of, for they are instrumental in the promotion, strengthening and preservation of life and liberty. Where such sensibilities are ignored or trampled on, it is wild justice which takes over. It is an invitation to disaster. If the state can kill without any questions being asked, what will prevent individuals from coming together in vigilante groups and putting a whole country to the torch?
The question is futile, the inquiry is pointless. Yet we are tempted to ask: what would Bangabandhu make of the doings of his twenty-first century political heirs and followers were he yet around?
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