Nothing corrodes a nation more swiftly than the public perception that justice has become selective, arbitrary, and subservient to power.
When citizens begin to believe that innocence invites persecution while confessed criminals stroll freely under the open sky, the very foundations of the Bangladesh Republic begin to tremble.
Recent events have intensified such anxieties.
The reported arrest of eminent economist Professor Abul Barkat, also a veteran freedom fighter of the 1971 war field to establish Bangladesh in connection with an explosives-related case, following his recent release on bail in a corruption case, has bewildered many observers.
The development has provoked profound questions throughout society.
Critics ask, with understandable incredulity, what conceivable role a distinguished academic and public intellectual could have played in such matters.
The apparent incongruity has deepened concerns regarding due process and proportionality within the legal system.
Meanwhile, public discourse has been equally disturbed by reports that individuals accused or convicted of grave offences have, in some instances, secured freedom and resumed normal lives with astonishing ease.
Such developments foster a dangerous impression that there exist two separate standards of justice—one for the powerless and another for those possessing influence, connections, or political utility.
Nothing is more fatal to the rule of law than the appearance of double standards.
A society may tolerate poverty. It may endure economic hardships. But it cannot indefinitely survive the erosion of confidence in its institutions.
Courts command respect not because they possess coercive power but because they embody impartiality and moral authority.
Once citizens begin to suspect that justice itself has become uneven, cynicism supplants trust, and disillusionment replaces hope.
The tragedy extends beyond individual cases.
Thousands of ordinary citizens languish behind bars awaiting justice after 5 August 2024 in Bangladesh, while many perceive that others enjoy extraordinary privileges.
Such perceptions, whether entirely justified or not, create a poisonous atmosphere where the scales of justice appear to tilt according to political winds rather than legal principles.
Equally troubling are allegations that influential figures remain insulated from legal scrutiny altogether.
In a healthy democracy, no individual—regardless of reputation, wealth, or international acclaim—should stand above the law.
Accountability is not a privilege reserved for the weak; it is the indispensable cornerstone of republican governance.
If allegations arise against any public figure, they should be examined impartially and transparently through established legal mechanisms.
Selective accountability is merely another name for injustice.
The greatness of a judiciary lies not in its majestic buildings or ceremonial robes but in its unwavering devotion to fairness.
Judges are entrusted with a sacred responsibility: to protect citizens from arbitrary power and to ensure that justice is administered without fear or favour.
Their legitimacy rests upon public confidence. Without that confidence, courtrooms become mere theatres of procedure devoid of moral authority.
Bangladesh emerged from the crucible of 1971 with dreams of building a society founded upon equality, democracy, and the rule of law.
Those aspirations demand institutions capable of treating all citizens alike.
The widow, the labourer, the professor, the politician, and the celebrated statesman must stand equal before the law.
Such equality is not merely a constitutional principle; it is the soul of civilized nationhood.
History teaches a sobering lesson. Nations are seldom destroyed solely by external enemies.
More often, they decay from within when justice becomes politicized, institutions become compromised, and ordinary people lose faith in the guardians of the Republic.
Bangladesh deserves better.
Its citizens deserve courts that inspire confidence rather than bewilderment, prosecutors guided by evidence rather than expediency, and a legal order where neither influence nor ideology determines one’s fate.
For when justice itself appears absurd, the tragedy transcends individual cases.
It becomes the tragedy of a nation. And no republic can long endure when its people cease to believe that justice remains blind, balanced, and supreme.
