The Politics of Denial and Sheikh Hasina’s Final Circle

Rafael Ahmed Shamim :

Politics is never merely a game of power; it is also an endless test of responsibility. Yet Sheikh Hasina, Bangladesh’s longest-serving fascist ruler, now finds herself standing behind an impenetrable wall of denial.

In her first interviews with three major international media outlets—Reuters, AFP, and The Independent—since the people’s uprising, she sought to explain her role in that historic moment.

But her words were not simply political statements; they were, in effect, a document of self-defense presented before the court of history.

The tone, language, and message across all three interviews were cast from the same mold — carefully crafted as a defense brief.

There was no remorse, no apology, no space for self-reflection. By describing the massacre of students and civilians as an act to “suppress a violent rebellion,” Sheikh Hasina has not only reframed the narrative but also put her entire political legacy under moral indictment.

A Stateswoman’s Language of Self-Protection: In these interviews, Sheikh Hasina portrayed herself as a “prime minister fulfilling constitutional duty.”

She claimed that the actions of law enforcement during the crackdown were “decisions taken on the ground,” not directives from the central authority. Listening to her, one might think she was a distant observer, detached from the events unfolding in her own capital.

In truth, at that time she was the fully empowered executive leader, and every arm of administration operated under her explicit command. To now describe those events as the result of “errors in the chain of command” is not merely an evasion of responsibility — it is a calculated strategy of political escape.

The same Sheikh Hasina who once personally intervened in every administrative decision now speaks as though her government had suddenly acted beyond her control. It is a political theatre of the highest order.

This strategy is clearly a preemptive defense in anticipation of the international tribunal’s verdict.

Hasina knows that the judgment in the case of crimes against humanity will likely be delivered in her absence — and that history will not be kind to her. Thus, she is already attempting to shift the scope of accountability from “command responsibility” to “operational mistakes on the ground.”

Political Language and Moral Bankruptcy: In both her Reuters and Independent interviews, Hasina said, “I mourn for every child lost.” But mourning and responsibility are not the same. Where there was an opportunity for contrition, she offered sentiment.

In political discourse, such language is a way of neutralizing guilt — softening the moral weight of a crime with the vocabulary of sorrow.

Pakistan’s Yahya Khan, Egypt’s Hosni Mubarak, and Sri Lanka’s Mahinda Rajapaksa once used similar rhetoric to defend themselves. Sheikh Hasina’s language now falls squarely within that same circle — the rhetoric of a fallen ruler seeking justification rather than forgiveness.

The Uprising and the New Moral Reality: The 2024 people’s uprising in Bangladesh was more than a political revolt — it was a moral eruption. After years of authoritarian repression, students and citizens were not merely demanding change in leadership; they were demanding a cleansing of the nation’s conscience. In her response, Hasina lost both political and moral ground.

Her labeling of the protesters as “rebels,” the orders to suppress them, and the subsequent state propaganda all transformed her from a national leader into a cold administrator of force. A year later, her complete absence of remorse reflects the full moral decay that power had inflicted upon her.

The Tribunal, the Verdict, and Political Reconstruction: Sheikh Hasina’s ongoing trial before the International Crimes Tribunal is not merely a legal process — it is the central axis of Bangladesh’s political reconstruction.

She may call it a “mock trial,” but in reality, this process is defining a new moral and legal threshold in the country’s politics. Her politics of denial might convince a small circle of loyalists, but the broader public knows the truth: decisions of state violence are always made from the top.

The burden of that decision now rests upon history’s shoulders. When Hasina declares, “I do not fear,” she is not demonstrating courage—she is denying the verdict of history. But this is not a verdict of any courtroom; it is the judgment of the people, a verdict that exists beyond the reach of pardon.

Exile and the Politics of Flight: Hasina admitted in her interviews: “If I had stayed, my life would have been at risk.” That statement may be factually true, but politically, it is also an admission of failure. The leader who once proclaimed herself the protector of her people now claims to have fled for fear of them. Exile in politics is not new.

But the moral meaning of exile depends on the circumstances. By framing her departure as “a necessity for survival,” Hasina exposes a deeper reality—when a ruler loses legitimacy on her own soil, exile becomes not an act of escape, but a symbol of political isolation.

When she insists that “the Awami League will continue to play a role in the country’s future even if out of power,” she is acknowledging the end of dynastic politics. Deep down, she seems to know that Bangladesh’s political future now lies beyond her family’s reach.

Election Boycott and the Ethics of Dual Standards: Hasina complained, “If the Awami League is excluded from elections, millions will not vote.” The irony is sharp—she herself presided over three elections boycotted by the opposition. The same logic she once dismissed she now invokes as a defense. This is the moral duality of her politics.

Disappearances, Silence, and the Dark Face of the State: Across the three interviews, Hasina remained silent about enforced disappearances and extrajudicial killings during her tenure.

But silence, too, speaks volumes. The darkest dimension of state repression is not the act of violence itself, but the official silence that follows—the silence that erases names, memories, and accountability.

Once a global advocate for human rights, Hasina’s refusal to address this issue now stands as her gravest indictment. In the eyes of history, silence in the face of injustice is complicity.

Final Words: The Language of Evasion and the Judgment of History: Sheikh Hasina’s three international interviews stand as historical documents of denial. There is no admission, no remorse—only a calculated attempt at self-preservation.

It may win her a fleeting moment of sympathy, but it will not redeem her before history. Bangladesh now stands in a new moral landscape—where people no longer seek explanations of power, but accountability for it.

Sheikh Hasina may buy time through denial, but she cannot buy forgiveness. For this chapter of history is being written not in ink, but in blood, in tears, and in the unrecorded memories of thousands of vanished young lives.

In the end, denial may be a political weapon—but in history, it is surrender. Hasina’s interviews are not merely reactions to a political fall; they are the quiet signatures marking the end of an era in Bangladesh’s history.

(The writer is a Retired Teacher and Columnist, Gobindaganj, Gaibandha [email protected])