Once a fierce critic of the Bangladesh Nationalist Party (BNP), former foreign minister Hasan Mahmud now finds himself in an unexpected role. The Awami League (AL) politician, currently in London, has recently sung the praises of the BNP – or, as some would say, tried to “woo” his once-despised rival. After more than 15 years of relentless criticism and bashing of the BNP, Hasan’s sudden change, following the ouster of his government by the July uprising, has left political analysts and laypeople perplexed. A tale as twisted as a Dickensian plot, his evolution from BNP heckler to reluctant admirer is nothing short of literary satire.

Let’s return to a simpler time: the days of Mahmud’s all-out attacks on the BNP, almost as consistent as the sunrise, and twice as intense. He described the BNP as “parasite party“and often credited them with conjuring up chaos as easily as Shakespeare’s Iago wove plans into Othello. BNP leaders, he said, were always architects of anarchy.”deceive the masses” and ” haunted by the ‘Ghost Tarique“, referring to the party’s acting president, Tarique Rahman. His words were chosen with such precision and taste, it was as if he had plucked them from Dante’s hell, throwing the BNP leaders in circles of political damnation.

One could almost hear his booming voice, imbued with theatrical contempt, recounting the BNP’s supposed failure to win the favor of the people as he proudly flaunted AL’s achievements with an air of undeserved grandeur. “The BNP has presented a false advisor to Joe Biden,” he proclaimed with mock indignation, using his program like a medieval troubadour, weaving stories about the blunders of his rivals with all the flair of a Marlowe villain.

With the sudden overthrow of authoritarian AL rule, Mahmud went from denouncing the BNP’s every move to praising the virtues of “restore democracy,” a concept he had once used as a cudgel to quell dissent. His rhetoric, once full of sarcasm and contempt, now drips with the cloying appeal of a suitor trying to rekindle an old flame – except, well sure, that the “old flame” is the very party he tried to extinguish.

Now, as if reliving Romeo and Juliet, he calls for “work togetherr” with the BNP for the “greater good” of Bangladesh. Ironically, Mahmud became a sort of Capulet seeking Montague’s embrace, promising a collaborative future that he had once vehemently rejected. Some critics took the usually call this performance “The Tragedy” of Dr. Hasan, a farce in which a once-proud antagonist now plays the role of political supplicant.

Not long ago, Mahmud defended AL’s “unassailable” record of peace and prosperity. He proclaimed with the conviction of an ancient Greek orator that his party had brought unprecedented development to the country. He mocked the BNP’s concerns about democratic reforms, calling them desperate ploys by a “party that cannot survive without scandal”. He mocked the BNP’s advocacy of free and fair elections, calling it “elaborate hypocrisy.“And yet here he stands now, as humbled as King Lear on the stormy moor, calling for the very reforms he once considered folly.

At a recent event – ​​his first appearance after weeks of silence following the uprising – Mahmud seemed almost repentant, although it was clear that old habits die hard. Attempting a dignified pivot, he assured his audience that he was “always a defender of democratic values.” The line was delivered with the sincerity of a Restoration comedy character, and the audience responded with what could only be described as a collective gasp of disbelief.

A careful observer might draw comparisons to Chaucer’s Pardoner, a man who sells indulgences with a face so serious that one could almost forget his questionable dealings. Much like the Pardoner, his new alignment with the BNP’s calls for transparency and electoral fairness reeks of opportunism disguised as redemption. “I agree with the BNP on many points,” he said in a voice as soft as an actor’s monologue, his words carefully rehearsed for maximum effect.

Mahmud went beyond simple agreement; he now echoes the BNP’s proposals as if they were his own, including the idea of ​​a bicameral parliament. With a straight face, he praised the BNP acting president for “championing the cause of intellectual inclusion”, seemingly oblivious to his own years-long campaign against him and the BNP. In a feat of cognitive dissonance that would make Orwell proud, Mahmud now promotes Tarique’s vision for governance reform, a cause he once called “antithetical to Bangladesh’s stability.”

One wonders if this newfound admiration is genuine or is it just a last ditch attempt to salvage its relevance in the current scenario? Perhaps he sees himself as a changed man, like Scrooge on Christmas morning, proclaiming his repentance to an unsuspecting world. Yet, unlike Scrooge, Mahmud does not have the charm of a man humbled by self-consciousness; instead, he projects the aura of a politician whose beliefs change as easily as the tides.

This metamorphosis, this shedding of an old skin for a new one, is almost too convenient to believe. Just as Shakespeare’s Polonius quickly switches allegiances to remain in favor with the court, Mahmud’s chameleon-like shift seems less an act of principle than a strategy of survival. The difference, however, is that Polonius’ fickleness ultimately led to his downfall – a warning that Mahmud would do well to heed.

In his new role as a reluctant ally of the BNP, Mahmud’s journey resembles that of a Molière character – perhaps Tartuffe, the unctuous hypocrite who feigns virtue to gain favor. If history is to be believed, his overtures will likely arouse the same suspicion and ridicule as Tartuffe’s grand gestures. After all, in the court of public opinion, where actions speak louder than words, Mahmud’s record as AL’s attack dog cannot be erased by a few conciliatory statements.

As we watch this spectacle unfold, we can’t help but see the humor in Mahmud’s plight. Here is a man who spent over a decade opposing every action of the BNP, only to find himself on the other side of the table, professing solidarity with those he once ridiculed. It’s a story worthy of satire, a drama of contradictions playing out on the national stage. Perhaps the moral of Mahmud’s story is one that he himself would have difficulty accepting: that in politics, as in literature, irony has the gift of catching up with those who expect it. the least.

SM Nazmul Alam is a lecturer in the Department of English and Modern Languages ​​at the International University of Commerce, Agriculture and Technology (IUBAT). He can be reached at (protected email).

The opinions expressed in this article are those of the author.

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