The death of Bangladeshi artist Prolay Chaki was not a natural one. It stands as a brutal example of state negligence, administrative cruelty, and political vengeance. When a man suffering from severe chest pain while in custody at Pabna District Jail is denied necessary medical treatment, it can no longer be described as an accident—it is a failure of the state, indeed a crime.
According to family members, after Prolay Chaki complained of chest pain on Thursday, he was taken to Pabna General Hospital, a facility that has no effective arrangements for cardiac treatment. Despite his condition deteriorating, no prompt or appropriate decision was made. He was later sent to Rajshahi, but even there he was denied emergency medical support and kept inside a prison cell. The outcome was inevitable—cardiac arrest, followed by death. Had he received proper treatment in time, he could have survived. There is no room to deny this truth.
The most disturbing question is: what was Prolay Chaki’s crime? There was no case filed against him. On December 16, he was suddenly detained and sent to jail. He was a well-known singer, a cultural organiser, and the cultural affairs secretary of the district Awami League. In other words, his only “crime” was his political identity.
Under the interim government led by Dr Muhammad Yunus, allegations of Awami League leaders and activists dying in custody due to denial of medical treatment are not new. Families and human rights activists from various districts have repeatedly raised complaints that seriously ill detainees are not being sent to hospitals on time, are denied specialised treatment, and are even left inside prison cells while hovering between life and death. Yet no transparent investigation has been conducted, nor has any responsibility been officially acknowledged.
This is where political responsibility becomes unavoidable. When the state knows that a detainee is critically ill and still fails to ensure medical care, it cannot be dismissed as mere administrative negligence. It is the result of political directives—or at the very least, silent political approval. The prison authorities alone do not bear this responsibility; it squarely rests with those currently in power.
Prolay Chaki could have fled. His family urged him to do so. But he refused. “Why should I run? I have done nothing wrong,” he would say. That conviction has now cost him his life. A citizen’s belief—that being innocent means the state will not take his life—has been shattered.
The most painful truth is that there will be no thunderous statements over this death. No loud human rights crusaders will point fingers and demand accountability. Because the deceased was associated with the Awami League. As a result, it is as if he was not a human being at all, as if he had no rights. This mindset is now reflected in the conduct of the state itself.
But the Constitution says otherwise. Regardless of political identity, the right to medical treatment is a fundamental human right. Stripping a detainee of that right while in custody amounts to the state killing a person with its own hands.
Prolay Chaki’s death is a warning. Today it is him; tomorrow it could be someone else. The question is—will anyone take responsibility for these deaths? Or will prisons under Yunus’s tenure gradually turn into political death chambers, while the state silently evades all accountability?
The death of artist Prolay Chaki in custody is a prosecutable killing. We demand a full, independent, and internationally standard investigation. We want the names of those responsible. And above all, the state must bear the political responsibility for this death.
