A Former Chief Justice in a Wheelchair
The image should trouble the conscience of Bangladesh. An 82-year-old former chief justice, once the highest figure in the country’s judiciary, was brought into a Dhaka courtroom in a wheelchair. He was surrounded by heavy police security. His hands were cuffed. A helmet was placed on his head. A bulletproof vest covered his frail body.
This was not the presentation of a dangerous fugitive captured after years on the run. This was Justice A.B.M. Khairul Haque, a man who once presided over the Supreme Court of Bangladesh, interpreted the Constitution, and represented the highest authority of the judicial branch.
Whatever one’s political view of him may be, the scene was painful, degrading and deeply symbolic. A state that parades an elderly former chief justice in such a manner does not merely humiliate one man. It humiliates the judiciary itself.
But the greater concern is not only the inhumane nature of the spectacle. The deeper crisis lies in the legal pattern unfolding around him.
Justice Khairul Haque has now been implicated in yet another murder case. This comes after he had already secured bail in seven separate cases. Each time a court appeared to open the door to his release, another case was brought forward to keep him behind bars. Now he has been shown arrested in an eighth case.
This is the central issue.
When bail is granted but freedom never follows, bail becomes fiction. When a person is shown arrested case after case despite judicial protection, the legal process stops being a search for justice and becomes punishment by procedure. And when the person being subjected to that process is a former chief justice, the message becomes chilling: not even the highest former guardian of the judiciary is safe when political revenge captures the machinery of law.
“The same accused cannot be in two places at the same time.”
The current government led by Tarique Rahman and its supporters often describe Sheikh Hasina’s administration as fascist. They have used that language repeatedly to justify political and institutional changes after the fall of the Awami League government. But a government cannot claim democratic moral authority while using the courts to persecute political opponents, former officials and symbolic figures of the previous era.
Fascism is not defined only by speeches, slogans or party labels. It is defined by conduct. When the state humiliates the elderly, ignores judicial safeguards, piles implausible accusations on political targets and uses criminal cases to keep people imprisoned despite bail, it begins to behave in the very manner it once condemned.
The Khairul Haque case now gives Bangladesh a real-world test of that conduct.
The allegations against him are not merely serious; they are increasingly implausible. Prosecutors are attempting to connect an 82-year-old former chief justice to violent incidents that occurred during the turmoil of Aug. 5, 2024. But the way these accusations are being layered one after another raises a fundamental question: is the state trying to prove a crime, or is it simply trying to keep a political target in custody at any cost?
That question became unavoidable during the latest hearing, when defense lawyer Mostafizur Rahman challenged the prosecution’s logic. Prosecutors were effectively alleging Khairul Haque’s involvement in multiple incidents occurring around the same time in different parts of Dhaka.
Rahman’s response was simple, direct and devastating.
“The same accused cannot be in two places at the same time,” he told the court.
That sentence exposed the weakness at the center of the prosecution’s approach. Criminal prosecution must be built on evidence, consistency and legal reasoning. It cannot be built on the desire to attach a politically controversial name to as many cases as possible.
The prosecution reportedly argued that a person may be involved in a crime without being physically present, through online communication, messages or remote instructions. In theory, that may be possible in some cases. But if such a claim is used loosely, without clear evidence and strict legal standards, it becomes dangerously elastic. It allows the state to connect anyone to anything. It allows suspicion to replace proof. It allows political anger to dress itself in legal language.
That is why this case is so alarming.
The High Court had already directed that Justice Khairul Haque should not be shown arrested in unspecified cases without clear legal grounds. Yet that protection has not prevented authorities from implicating him again. The latest arrest order is therefore not simply another procedural step. It appears to be a direct challenge to the authority of the judiciary itself.
Defense lawyer Monayem Nabi Shahin said as much after the hearing. Speaking to journalists outside the courtroom, he said, “Today’s order amounts to contempt of court. Earlier, the High Court had directed that Khairul Haque should not be shown arrested in any unspecified case. But defying that order, he has now been shown arrested in an eighth case.”
This is a grave statement. It suggests that the problem is not only the treatment of one accused person. It suggests that judicial orders themselves are being emptied of meaning.
If the High Court says a person should not be arbitrarily shown arrested in new cases, but the state continues doing exactly that, then what remains of judicial protection? What remains of due process? What remains of the rule of law?
The answer is deeply uncomfortable: very little.
Justice Khairul Haque’s critics have long attacked him for the 2011 Supreme Court verdict delivered under his leadership that abolished Bangladesh’s constitutional caretaker government system. Critics argue that the ruling deepened political polarization and contributed to later electoral disputes. Supporters maintain that it was constitutionally justified and later politicized by rival political forces.
But even those who disagree with that verdict should ask themselves a basic question: should a former judge be politically punished years later for a constitutional ruling delivered from the bench?
If the answer is yes, then judicial independence is dead.
No judge can act independently if he knows that a future government may later drag him into criminal cases because it dislikes his past rulings. No court can remain free if judges are made to fear revenge from the next political order. No Constitution can survive if judicial decisions are later treated as political crimes.
This is why the current campaign against Justice Khairul Haque is bigger than one man. It is a warning to every judge, every lawyer and every citizen in Bangladesh. The message is clear: if your decision offends the ruling political force of tomorrow, the law may one day be turned against you.
This is not justice. This is vengeance wearing the robe of law.
The inhuman treatment of Justice Khairul Haque only deepens that concern. An elderly man in a wheelchair does not need to be displayed in a helmet, handcuffs and bulletproof vest unless the purpose is humiliation. Security can be maintained without degrading human dignity. The state can produce an accused person before court without turning the process into a public spectacle.
But in this case, the spectacle appears to be part of the punishment.
A former chief justice sitting silently in a wheelchair, surrounded by police, while fresh murder allegations are piled onto him despite repeated bail orders — this image captures the present crisis of Bangladesh’s justice system more powerfully than any legal analysis could.
It shows a judiciary being used against one of its own former leaders. It shows bail orders being neutralized by fresh cases. It shows the High Court’s protective direction being pushed aside. It shows how political anger can transform criminal procedure into a weapon.
The events of 2024 had already damaged Bangladesh’s institutions. Forced resignations, mob pressure, politically biased appointments and intimidation around courts created a dangerous new environment. Many judges and officials were pushed aside not through calm constitutional reform, but through fear and political pressure. That atmosphere has now produced a justice system where selective prosecution feels normal and institutional dignity appears optional.
Justice Khairul Haque’s case is a direct consequence of that environment.
The issue is not whether he is beyond accountability. No one is above the law. If there is credible evidence against any person, the courts must examine it. But accountability requires evidence, fairness and respect for due process. It cannot be built on endless arrests, contradictory allegations and open disregard for higher court directions.
A state that truly believes in justice does not fear bail. A government that truly believes in law does not need to humiliate an elderly former chief justice. A judiciary that truly functions independently does not allow its orders to be reduced to paper shields.
The repeated implication of Justice Khairul Haque in case after case is not a sign of accountability. It is a sign of a justice system under political capture.
That is why this case matters far beyond one courtroom in Dhaka.
If this can happen to a former chief justice, what protection does an ordinary citizen have? If the High Court’s direction can be bypassed in such a high-profile case, what hope remains for those without name, status or legal support? If bail can be defeated by the simple act of adding another case, then liberty itself becomes conditional on political convenience.
Bangladesh must confront the truth before it is too late.
The case against Justice Khairul Haque is becoming a test of whether the country still believes in law, or whether it has surrendered to revenge. It is a test of whether courts still matter, or whether they have become instruments in the hands of the powerful. It is a test of whether the state can distinguish between accountability and persecution.
Today, an 82-year-old former chief justice sits in custody despite repeated bail orders, implicated yet again in another murder case under allegations that strain basic logic.
That is not justice.
That is the collapse of justice.
Writer: Pulack Ghatack—Journalist and human rights defender.
Email: ghatack@gmail.com
