What is our war now? Our parents laid down their guns before the Father of the Nation, Sheikh Mujibur Rahman.
Their children, spent lives rebuilding what war left behind—fighting communal violence and resisting those who used religion as a weapon against a secular Bangladesh.
In 2024, we were drawn into a quieter, more insidious war: A war against slithering silence. Or worse—against words, twisted into weapons and hidden lies. Stories half-told, voices borrowed or forged.
Disinformation walks freely, enveloped in the solemn face of journalism and PR. It wounds deeper than it helps, harming millions in the name of their cause.
When journalism surrenders its ethics to those who commit genocide, terror funds, or manipulative global power—it opens a path paved not with facts, but distortions.
Truth becomes selective. Narratives shift. Accuracy, fairness, and completeness are abandoned. And through that something collapses in silence: Our shared humanity.
Last week, BBC Eye released an audio-driven report. Its claim: that former Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina personally ordered a deadly police crackdown during the July 2024 Jatrabari clashes.
An 18-second audio clip, allegedly her voice, framed as a “shoot-to-kill” command.
But questions bloom like bloodstains.
Who was she speaking to?
Who was being instructed?
Whose arrest was being ordered?
In what operational situation was the use of force being discussed?
None of this is revealed. And yet—BBC assumes, with troubling certainty that the clip refers to unarmed protesters.
But how?
Isn’t it more honest to admit that we simply don’t know what preceded or followed that instruction? That this is a sliver of a larger conversation, removed from its spine—its characters, its stakes, its tension?
And if the outlet or the source truly had the full audio, why wasn’t it released?
What was the risk in revealing the full truth—unless the full truth contradicted the desired narrative?
The BBC presents the audio as credible—not through a transparent chain of custody, but via an “independent expert.” That expert? Toby Cadman—not a forensic analyst, but a barrister who once served as a paid legal adviser to Jamaat-e-Islami. An Islamic group infamous for its anti-liberation stance and ideological ties to the armed forces of Pakistan.
Now, Mr. Cadman resurfaces— not as counsel, but as a validator of claims made by BBC against Bangladesh’s former Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina. Is this coincidence? Or choreography?
Even BBC’s cited audio firm, Earshot, concedes the clip is only “highly unlikely to be fake” — not impossible.
In political warfare, that sliver of uncertainty is everything.
Still, the contradictions pile up.
The BBC also claims Earshot authenticated the clip as “not edited or manipulated.”
But that raises a fundamental question: If the audio is just 18 seconds—clearly a snippet of a longer exchange—isn’t selecting one slice of something and presenting it as the whole ‘omission’?
Then there’s the matter of metadata.
A thorough forensic audit should reveal not only whether an audio clip was tampered with, but also when and where it was recorded. If the BBC had access to Earshot’s forensic expertise, why rely on an unnamed “internal source” to determine the date? Why is there no direct forensic comment on the origin of the audio?
More troubling is the silence—neither the BBC nor Earshot has publicly addressed these questions. In their place, individuals aligned with the current dismantling of Bangladesh’s institutions have dismissed the matter altogether, even going so far as to suggest that metadata can be forcefully imposed upon those asking, in the most demeaning way imaginable. What does such a stance suggest? And why should those making such statements speak in place of the BBC?
This isn’t the first time international media and agencies have come under scrutiny in last one year—and not without reason.
During and after the July–August 2024 unrest in Bangladesh, the allies of the political and extremist groups—including Jamaat-e-Islami, its youth wing Islami Chhatra Shibir, Hizb ut-Tahrir (banned in the UK and other countries), and Al-Hindal Sharaqiya (a militant network reportedly mobilized to wage jihad against India) and Students Against Discrimination (SAD)—disseminated a dramatically inflated death toll, often citing “thousands” killed in a genocide.
These claims were echoed by allied groups such as the Bangladesh Nationalist Party (BNP).
A disputed figure of 1,400 deaths later appeared in a UN report—cited without source verification—giving that number an air of legitimacy. This figure was quickly adopted by these groups and SAD leaders, members of the King’s Party (NCP), and affiliated violent mob groups.
However, the Interim Government ultimately disavowed the 1,400 figure and released an official tally of 834 verified deaths. Separately, the SAD platform documented 453 deaths up to April 2025, claiming each was cross-checked and verified.
Subsequent reviews revealed that the original figures included deaths unrelated to the protests, killings by non-state actors, and casualties incurred during arson, rape, and mob violence. In a few instances, individuals listed as deceased were later appeared alive, having come out of hiding.
The use of inflated, decontextualized, or incorrect data reflects more than poor data management. It illustrates a deliberate strategy to weaponize data in shaping national and international narratives—obscuring facts, eroding accountability, undermining democratic institutions, and even a democratic government.
So we need to ask the questions, and we think it is the right question, that BBC failed to ask: Why this story? Why now?
A legally grounded review of the BBC’s editorial choice must begin by examining the timing and provenance of the content.
The decision to release an 18-second audio clip—without full context, forensic authentication, or source clarity—raises questions about journalistic due diligence and potential legal implications.
When extrajudicial force failed, the assault shifted: from physical elimination to narrative execution and judicial abuse.
The campaign moved to silence her voice, erode Bangladesh’s political legacy that link her with the nation, and rewrite history—through selective leaks and complicit journalism.
The release of the BBC audio clip appears to follow a familiar strategic arc. The broadcast coincided with a highly sensitive period in Bangladesh.
It surfaced nearly forty days after former Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina was convicted in absentia got six months in jail for contempt of court. Legal scholars and observers cited serious procedural flaws and irregularities in the conviction’s handling.
Since July 2024, hundreds of cases have been filed against her cabinet, family, and party officials.
Local leaders have also faced violence, including brutal killings by suspected extremist actors.
The volume and speed of these charges raise credible concerns about selective justice and due process.
Such patterns suggest possible misuse of judicial mechanisms for political reprisal or intimidation of opposition.
Among the most serious allegations circulating since July 2024 has been the claim that Sheikh Hasina personally ordered the killing of students during the July 2024 anti-quota protests.
This accusation—widely propagated, across the media channels and protest-aligned platforms—has not, to date, been substantiated by any credible legal evidence or independent investigative finding.
From a legal perspective, does such a claim meet the evidentiary threshold required for formal indictment?
From an ethical standpoint, the repetition of unproven allegations undermines the principles of responsible public discourse and the presumption of innocence fundamental to the rule of law.
As the elected head of government, former Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina operated within the legal and constitutional framework of Bangladesh. In the immediate aftermath of the student death during the July events, she initiated multiple forms of institutional response:
-an FIR was lodged the same day,
-a post-mortem was conducted,
-a high-powered departmental inquiry was formed, and
-within days, a judicial commission was announced.
These were not the actions of a government trying to suppress the truth—they were the very procedures expected under democratic governance and the rule of law in Bangladesh.
Yet, the Interim Government overturned them. Its broader narrative appears driven less by facts and more by a strategic effort to delegitimize the previous government’s internationally recognized counter-extremism record and Sheikh Hasina’s symbolic connection to the Liberation War and the founding spirit of Bangladesh.
Over the past decade, Bangladesh has cooperated with numerous international partners, including the United States, to advance anti-terrorism programs. These efforts, backed by operational and legislative reforms, significantly contributed to peace-building and regional stability. Far from violating democratic norms, they fulfilled Bangladesh’s obligations under both domestic law and international commitments to combat violent extremism.
Ironically, many of the groups who cried “genocide” a year ago also opposed counter-extremism efforts and had long labelled the previous government as “anti-Islamic.” Even the operations to save lives during the Holey Artisan attack was framed by them as “anti-Islam.”
Ironically, it was the same government that created structural pathways for Madrasa students to enter public universities—an inclusive reform promoting educational and job equity.
In this context, equally troubling is the role of international platforms and media.
When international reports repeat protester claims without referencing legal findings, institutional responses, or relevant context, they risk legitimizing a one-sided narrative.
That narrative does more than question a government—it seeks to erase a decade-long effort to establish a rule-based, internationally engaged, and secular democratic order.
Such erasure has long-term implications. When political memory is reshaped through selective storytelling, the very foundations of justice—and the institutions built to uphold it—are placed at risk.
The release of a partial, unverifiable clip by BBC not only lacked transparency but may have contravened journalistic ethics, specifically regarding accuracy, fairness, and avoidance of harm.
If the audio was sourced from confidential legal proceedings—as some critique suggest—its unauthorized release may also constitute a breach of evidentiary protocol and judicial confidentiality, potentially compromising ongoing cases.
Such attempt isn’t new.
BBC report has been cited by the Guardian. How it emboldened the illegal steps is evidential in the case of economist Dr. Abul Barkat. He was arrested on Thursday, July 10, 2025, right after the report.
The real reason is evident. He published a book titled ‘Political Economy of Madrassa Education in Bangladesh: Genesis, Growth, and Impact.’
In this light, the BBC’s editorial judgment warrants scrutiny.
The report foregrounds an ambiguous audio clip, targeting a former head of government. In doing so, it diverts attention from urgent human rights violations unfolding in real time.
These include enforced disappearances, custodial deaths, extrajudicial killings, Rape, Torture on Minority, Manipulative conversion of Hindus, and mob lynchings.
There are also credible reports of coordinated acts of extreme violence, including ritualistic slaughter to Allah. Many of these acts are allegedly carried out by decisions, supports of the current un-mandated Interim Government, and executed by the state-backed non-state actors.
International media outlets are held to high standards of impartiality, verification, and ethical reporting, especially when operating in conflict zones or fragile democracies.
When these standards are compromised, the risk is not merely reputational—it is juridical and humanitarian.
In this case, the BBC’s reporting could be construed as aiding in the weaponization of narrative, intentionally or not.
If based on unauthenticated or illegally obtained material, the broadcast could raise liability under both domestic and international laws concerning defamation, interference in legal processes, and incitement to political violence.
Such reporting not only undermines constitutional order but may also embolden several extremist groups currently mobilizing in Bangladesh. These groups have declared intentions to dismantle the secular state, amend the Constitution, and pursue reconciliation with Pakistan-widely viewed as a geopolitical client of the UK and USA.
In amplifying selective narratives, international media risks legitimizing actors working against Bangladesh’s sovereignty and legal framework.
To be clear, criticism of state actors is legitimate and necessary.
But it must be based on verifiable facts, presented within the appropriate legal and historical framework.
Anything less not only fails journalistic duty but may expose media institutions to Unpleasant situation, such as, legal challenge and public distrust.
In Bangladesh today, truth requires more than good intentions. It demands precision, accountability, and awareness that partial truths in volatile contexts can cause whole harms.
