In every society that claims to be democratic, the court is the last refuge of the ordinary citizen. The legislature may be dominated by the majority, the executive may be subject to political whims, the police may bend under pressure from the powerful -- but the court is supposed to stand as the sanctuary of justice. It is the institution where the weak can speak against the strong, where a single citizen may challenge the might of the state. Yet, when violence breaks out in front of a sitting judge, when lawyers themselves are accused of attacking journalists in the courtroom, one must ask whether that sanctuary has begun to collapse from within.
The recent incident at Dhaka Metropolitan Magistrate’s Court, where a journalist alleged that he was punched and beaten by lawyers while covering the bail hearing of a fellow journalist, is more than just another courtroom scuffle. It is an indictment of the culture of impunity that has infected our institutions. The presiding magistrate reportedly stood up and left the court as the chaos unfolded. That image -- the judge leaving his bench as violence rages in front of him -- is not merely symbolic, it is catastrophic.
The irony is bitter. Courts are the very spaces where disputes must be resolved through reason, evidence, and procedure -- not through fists, threats, or mob intimidation. To dismiss this as a “commotion” or a one-off incident would be a dangerous mistake. Such incidents reveal the fragility of the rule of law in countries like Bangladesh, where legal institutions have long been under stress from political interference, corruption, and cultural habits of informal power. The court is supposed to be neutral ground, but when lawyers -- the very officers of the court -- turn aggressors against journalists whose role is to observe and report, we descend into a theatre where justice is mocked before it is even delivered.
Consider, for contrast, how courts in mature democracies enforce decorum. In the US, even a frown or muttered insult directed at a defendant can lead to contempt charges. When Donald Trump appeared in court in New York last year, as controversial as the case was, the sanctity of courtroom procedure was observed. Judges did not allow heckling, journalists were permitted under strict guidelines, and any attempt at physical intimidation would have been met with immediate sanction. This does not mean that the US system is flawless -- indeed, Trump himself claimed harassment and unfair treatment -- but the principle that no one may raise a hand against another in front of the judge remained inviolable.
Contrast this with what we have just witnessed: Lawyers pushing, punching, and attempting to drive journalists out of the courtroom while the presiding magistrate withdrew rather than intervened. If violence can unfold in the presence of the judge, what protection remains for the accused, for witnesses, or even for ordinary litigants?
Cicero, the Roman statesman, once warned: “We are all servants of the laws in order that we may be free.” But servants of the law must behave as such. When lawyers -- who swear an oath to uphold justice -- become perpetrators of disorder, they betray not only their profession but the very foundation of democracy. Their robes are not shields of impunity; they are supposed to be symbols of responsibility.
In truth, this is not just about one courtroom in Dhaka. Across much of the developing world, the courtroom experience has become humiliating and unsafe for defendants, witnesses, and even observers. Accused individuals are jeered at on the court steps, photographed and mocked in the press, insulted by rival supporters, and occasionally assaulted in custody. The presumption of innocence, supposedly the cornerstone of criminal law, is often discarded long before trial. The late Justice VR Krishna Iyer of India once said: “Procedure is the handmaid, not the mistress, of justice.” Yet in our courts, neither the procedure nor the justice seems to be in charge.
This is not a matter of being developed or underdeveloped. It is a matter of principle. Even in South Africa under apartheid, where the judiciary was deeply compromised, there were moments when judges insisted on proper treatment of defendants. Nelson Mandela himself, during the Rivonia Trial, was given the chance to speak for hours in his defense. Compare that with today’s situation where defendants in Bangladesh are sometimes shouted down, denied dignity, or physically endangered on the very day of their hearing.
The danger of such a trajectory is immense. If the courts lose credibility as neutral spaces, citizens will cease to bring their disputes there. Instead, they will resort to street justice, vigilantism, and political muscle. The courtroom will become irrelevant, and democracy will hollow out from within. In Pakistan, repeated attacks on courts and judges by political activists have already weakened public confidence in the system. In Sri Lanka, lawyers themselves have been known to clash violently inside courtrooms. Bangladesh cannot afford to go down that road.
What then must be done? First, the judiciary itself must assert its authority. A judge cannot leave the bench when violence erupts. The courtroom is under his control, and he has both the right and the duty to order contempt proceedings against anyone -- be they lawyer, journalist, or public official -- who disturbs its order. Without that firmness, the message is that the bench can be bullied into silence.
Second, the Bar Councils must recognize that their profession’s legitimacy depends on discipline. A lawyer who raises his hand against a journalist is no longer acting as an officer of the court but as a thug in a robe. Immediate suspension, followed by investigation, should be the minimum response. Anything less erodes public trust not just in individual lawyers but in the legal profession as a whole.
Third, the safety of defendants, journalists, and litigants must be treated as part of the justice process itself. To bring an accused to court is not simply a bureaucratic ritual -- it is a constitutional duty. Their dignity must be protected until conviction, not trampled by mobs or hostile lawyers. The International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, which Bangladesh has ratified, guarantees the right to be tried with fairness and dignity. Our courts must live up to those commitments.
The incident at Dhaka’s court may fade from the headlines soon. But if it does not provoke introspection and reform, the long-term damage will be irreparable. A society where the court is unsafe is a society teetering on the brink of anarchy.
When the shield of law becomes a weapon in the hands of those meant to protect it, citizens are left defenseless. The choice before Bangladesh today is stark: Either restore order and dignity to the courts or accept that justice has become another victim in the melee.
HM Nazmul Alam is an academic, journalist, and political analyst based in Dhaka, Bangladesh. He can be reached at [email protected].
