Victims of autocrats: From Hamza al-Khateeb to Abu Sayed
During one of my visits to Bangladesh about 10 years ago, I used the Upakul Express to go to Dhaka from Brahmanbaria. Upon boarding the train, I found myself in the midst of a political discussion that primarily focused on Sheikh Hasina's rule in Bangladesh. The conversation was dominated by a man who identified himself as a rural Awami League leader from Akhaura. He seemed to have been gifted with self-confidence, energy, and enthusiasm. With anecdotes and remarkable linguistic dexterity, he captivated the audience. I quietly joined the enthralled listeners.
The Sheikh Hasina government's oppression of political opponents and gross human rights violations, including enforced disappearances, had already panned out by that time, portending ominous signs for the people of Bangladesh. The man from Akhaura proudly declared that his netri (leader) Hasina would rule the country for the rest of her life—at any cost. He added that if needed, she would kill hundreds of thousands of people. Then he threw a couple of rhetorical questions to the bewildered audience: didn't you see how many people Syria's Bashar killed to remain in power? Could anybody depose him?
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The Syrian tragedy was unfolding around that time. In 2011, a popular uprising erupted against Bashar al-Assad's oppressive rule. When the man on the train was boasting of his netri's brawn, about 150,000 Syrians had already been killed at the hands of Bashar al-Assad's security forces. The bloody crackdown continued, and the number of casualties eventually climbed to over half a million. Bashar al-Assad, who inherited power from his father in 2000, is still ruling Syria. The brutal strategy has worked for him.
The mention of Syria's Bashar al-Assad and his bloody suppression of the Syrians curdled my blood. I was gripped by horror and ghastly fear.
In Britain in 2001, I was talking to the celebrated British-Syrian writer and translator Adil Salahi. As we are both English literature graduates, we found a natural affinity between us. At one point, I asked him, "When did you last visit Syria?"
"About 20 years ago," he replied.
He gave me a prolonged gaze apparently to communicate that I was supposed to know what happened in his country in 1982. I got his message and didn't discuss the topic further. I thought it would be naïve to ask him why he had not visited his country of origin for decades.
In 1982, at the orders of Bashar al-Assad's father, Hafez al-Assad, Syrian security forces levelled the city of Hama and killed tens of thousands of Syrians. According to a report in The Guardian on August 1, 2011, in a three-week seize and bombardment, Syrian security forces razed Hama and combed the rubble to kill surviving rebels. Hafez al-Assad's cruelty kept him in power until his death in 2000.
When the 2011 Arab Spring turned into a success story in Tunisia and Egypt and dethroned their unelected and autocratic presidents, people in Syria saw a ray of hope. On February 16, 2011, about 15 or 16 school-going boys aged 10-14 years sought to show solidarity with the Arab Spring. On a wall of al-Banin High School in the southwestern Syrian city of Daraa, they spray-painted graffiti in Arabic, "Ajaaka al-daur ya Duktur" ("Your turn has come, O Doctor"). It was obviously a reference to, and a message for, Bashar al-Assad, who is a British-trained ophthalmologist. Predictably, the boys were detained and tortured. After Friday prayers on March 18, 2011, people in Daraa took to the streets demanding their release. Thus started the Great Friday protests, which routinely faced crackdown from the Syrian security forces. April 22, 2011 was the deadliest: security forces opened fire and killed at least 75 protesters in Syria on that day.
On April 29, 2011, 13-year-old Hamza al-Khateeb accompanied his father to a peaceful protest demonstration in Daraa, which came under attack from security forces. In the midst of a melodrama of shooting and bloodshed, Hamza got separated from his father and was detained along with other protesters. His dead body was returned to his family members after nearly a month.
According to an Al Jazeera report on May 31, 2011, Hamza's corpse bore scars of torture, including "lacerations, bruises and burns to his feet, elbows, face and knees, consistent with the use of electric shock devices and of being whipped with cable." His body was disfigured, and it was apparent that bullets pierced through his arms. There was "a deep, dark burn mark" on his chest, and his "neck was broken and his penis cut off."
Hamza's parents were shown only the face of the dead body. But his father Ali al-Khateeb pulled the blanket off Hamza's body, saw the mutilated body of his son and fainted. The secret police visited Hamza's parents and threatened them against speaking out or filing a lawsuit against the security forces.
On May 31, 2011, Bashar al-Assad "invited" Hamza's family members to Damascus. He offered them condolences and promised them investigation and justice. The state media regarded Hamza as a martyr and blamed the opposition for his death. Hamza's family members were quoted as saying that they were "overwhelmed" by the "kindness and concern" of the president.
Long story short, a two-and-a-half-minute clip of Hamza's grotesque dead body went viral on social media in Syria and beyond and became a symbol of a widespread uprising. Social media users declared "We are all Hamza al-Khateeb" in a show of solidarity with the movement. Families around Syria felt that Hamza was their own son, and protesters chanted, "With our blood and our souls we will defend you Hamza." Bashar al-Assad stepped up his violent campaign of repression and killed hundreds of thousands, and the rest is now history.
Let's turn our eyes to Bangladesh's resistance icon Abu Sayed, who was killed by security forces in the turbulent weeks leading to Sheikh Hasina's fall. An English literature student of Begum Rokeya University in Rangpur, Abu Sayed joined the July 2024 quota reform movement to protest against discrimination in government job recruitment. The movement gathered renewed momentum after, during a press briefing on July 14, the now deposed and runaway Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina used the term "Razakar" (traitor) to justify the controversial quota system.
The government launched a violent crackdown and the police opened fire on unarmed student protesters around the country. On July 16, Abu Sayed sought to defy police brutality. Fifteen metres away from the heavily-armed police personnel on a street near his university, he stood firm with arms wide open. Perhaps the unarmed Sayed put trust in the police of his country and couldn't fathom the depth of savagery that the security forces were encouraged to exercise. The police violated that trust and shot him once. He remained unruffled, calm and serene. They fired more bullets. Worn out, Sayed walked to the pavement and collapsed on the ground. He was brought to the hospital dead.
Point-blank shots of security forces killed at least half a dozen young people around the country on that day. Video clips containing gruesome images of the killings of Abu Sayed and other young people spread on social media. Security forces continued killing, and hundreds of protesters laid down their lives for a moral cause in the spirit of something larger than themselves. The youth of Bangladesh defied death, and Hasina fell and fled on August 5, 2024.
In a blatant attempt to protect the police and in stark contrast to reality, sub-inspector Bibhuti Bhushan Roy of the police camp of Begum Rokeya University wrote the First Information Report (FIR) on Abu Sayed's death, which stated, "The protesters fired weapons and threw chunks of bricks from different directions, and at one stage, a student was seen falling to the ground."
On August 11, 2024, Abu Sayed's family members shared that they were forced to meet Sheikh Hasina on July 28, 2024. Government officials brought them to Dhaka and put them in a hotel next to the police lines before transporting them to Gono Bhaban for a scheduled meeting with her. Hasina gave them two minutes of her time, just enough to get some photos taken, promising investigation and justice.
One photo featured in the media showed Sheikh Hasina hugging Abu Sayed's mother and shedding, what I believe, were crocodile tears. When Hasina was still in power, presumably to please her, one media outlet reported, "Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina has given her consent as Sayed's family members expressed their eagerness to meet her"—an example of media sycophancy par excellence.
That was not the only occasion when Hasina met family members of victims (presumably killed by her security forces) at her official residence. BNP leader Ilias Ali is one of the early victims of enforced disappearances. On May 2, 2012, Hasina met his wife Tahsina Rushdir at Gono Bhaban and assured her of investigation and justice. Saleha Begum, mother of another victim named SM Moazzem Hossain Tapu, met "Sheikh Hasina three times, the home minister 35 times, the inspector general of police five times and the Rapid Action Battalion director general three times so far to trace her son." Justice was never served.
The comparable patterns in the behaviour of Bashar al-Assad and Sheikh Hasina are staggering and tempt us to believe that one autocrat followed the playbook of the other. Both put the blame of the killing of their victims on their opponents. Both forced the bereaved family members of their victims to meet them, as they contrived to manufacture and show sympathy to them in public. Both presented themselves as kind and compassionate to the family members of their victims and promised them investigation and justice. Both ordered the use of force to crush protesters and perpetuate their rule. However, eventually, it has worked for one so far, but didn't work for the other.
On a final note, had Sheikh Hasina had her way and used the security forces to her full satisfaction to realise her wishes, perhaps we would have a different Bangladesh now.
Md Mahmudul Hasan, PhD, is professor in the Department of English Language and Literature at the International Islamic University Malaysia. He can be reached at mmhasan@iium.edu.my
Views expressed in this article are the author's own.
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