Mahfuz Anam
The student-led people’s movement toppling an autocratic government reminds me of a song by Sabina Yasmin: “Shob kota janala khule dao na, ami gaibo gaibo bijoyeri gaan” (Open all windows, I want to sing the song of victory). Though it was in praise of our Liberation War, it resonates in my heart today. Suddenly, we are living in a world without barriers of thought. Many of us had forgotten how to speak freely. We would always either switch off or put our mobile phone in the adjoining room, because of the surveillance regime that we lived under. Self-censorship became embedded in our subconscious. A small minority of print media tried to hold power to account while the rest competed with each other to genuflecting themselves to power. They opted for “lapdog” journalism rather than being the “watchdog.” Fear of saying anything other than the koshered version was so prevalent that frank opinions were only expressed in the most intimate of settings. Anybody speaking to us as journalists would preface their comments by saying “not to be quoted.”
For the last 10 years or more, nothing could be said against Sheikh Hasina or any member of her family. Expressions like “powers that be,” “highest level of decision-making,” etc were used while referring to the former prime minister. A law was enacted, under the guise of showing respect to the father of the nation, that made punishable even the slightest criticism of any member of Sheikh Hasina and her family. Throughout her tenure, the use of cartoons of the former PM, her sister, son, daughter, niece and nephew, or any negative comment about them, however well-documented, was not permitted, and harassment including jail term could not be ruled out. Anything but the “family” was the norm in our storytelling.