SINCE the fall of Sheikh Hasina and the end of her fifteen-and-half year rule on August 5, a great number of writers, intellectuals and opinion leaders have rightly described her and he government as autocratic.

But this was not the case when the Hasina regime was well-entrenched in power and people were writhing under the oppressive rule. While there was no dearth of criticism of her regime as a whole, viewing her as the prime mover and the chief patron was few and far between. Her wrongdoings were the elephant in the room that not many wanted to talk about, as they didn’t dare to risk her wrath and cruelty.

Years ago, I started writing in newspapers to talk about the Hasina government’s corrupt and undemocratic practices. I raised my voice against its tactics of enforced disappearances, secret detentions and extrajudicial killings. However, given the harrowing stories of dissent voices and members of opposition parties being victims of Hasina’s repressive government, I worried about adverse consequences and reprisals.

It was not easy then to tell the truth and call a spade a spade. At one point, I asked some of my journalist friends if there was a way to continue writing about such issues without jeopardising my personal safety.

One of the responses that I received from my well-wishers amounted to this: As long as you criticised the government as a composite system and did not touch on the corruption involving Sheikh Hasina and her family members, you could probably avoid getting into hot water. That is to say, the state might or might not turn a blind eye if you spoke ill of other ministers, but pointing fingers at the inner circle of Hasina’s family could have serious consequences.

It was not easy then to tell the truth and call a spade a spade. At one point, I asked some of my journalist friends if there was a way to continue writing about such issues without jeopardising my personal safety.

One of the responses that I received from my well-wishers amounted to this: As long as you criticised the government as a composite system and did not touch on the corruption involving Sheikh Hasina and her family members, you could probably avoid getting into hot water. That is to say, the state might or might not turn a blind eye if you spoke ill of other ministers, but pointing fingers at the inner circle of Hasina’s family could have serious consequences.

For years, all these reminded me of a quote from an early seventeenth-century English literary text that was part of our undergraduate course at the University of Dhaka.

Early seventeenth-century Britain was a glorious period for drama. It witnessed the production of some of William Shakespeare’s most prominent plays such as Othello (1604), King Lear (1606) and Macbeth (1606) as well as John Webster’s The White Devil (1612) and The Duchess of Malfi (1614). Many of such dramas deal with politics and power and take readers through ‘the labyrinth of legitimacy and illegitimacy, succession and usurpation.’ They touch on conflicts and bloodshed in the palace. Writers used literature then — as they do now — to direct and guide rulers to a just method of government.

In The Duchess of Malfi, Webster exposes madness, inward corruption and abuse of power among the ruling class and suggests ways to achieve a transition from chaos to order. Set in early sixteenth-century Italy, this revenge tragedy is inspired by a real story.

The protagonist, the Duchess, is a young widow. She develops a relationship with her steward, Antonio, and secretly marries him. Thus, she defies the wishes of her two powerful brothers — Ferdinand and the Cardinal — by marrying someone beneath her status. As violent intrigues and murderous plots of the villains unfold in the story, all major characters are killed in gruesome ways.

The tragic play opens with a dialogue between Antonio and a courtier named Delio. The former has recently returned to Italy after staying in France for a long time. Delio asks Antonio: ‘How do you like the French court?’

Antonio expresses his admiration for the French court. Voicing his high regard for the French monarch, Antonio narrates that the French king introduced reforms and established order first in his own palace. He expelled all ‘flattering sycophants’ and ‘dissolute and infamous persons’ from his court’:

‘Considering duly that a prince’s court

Is like a common fountain, whence should flow

Pure silver drops in general, but if’t chance

Some curs’d example poison’t near the head,

Death and diseases through the whole land spread.’

The above excerpt from Webster’s play is one of those statements that I learnt by heart effortlessly. It refers to a universal truth. Prevalence of socio-political and economic evils in a country is characteristically a top-down (not bottom-up) phenomenon.

This is exactly what happened in our country during Sheikh Hasina’s rule. Her office and those around her were the fountainhead from which many springs of treachery, corruption and murderous rampage flowed and contaminated our beloved land. If all of us had realised and said it earlier in clear terms, we might have achieved liberation from her debilitating misrule long ago.