It was Anton Chekhov who introduced this principle and generations of writers mostly adhered to it.
‘One must never place a loaded rifle on the stage if it isn't going to go off.’
It roughly means that every element introduced in a story must be necessary and eventually has to play some role in it. The unrelated and, therefore, superfluous details should be removed.
Ishraque Hossain isn’t a writer and probably hasn’t heard of Chekhov or his Gun. He had a revolver instead of a rifle and it didn’t have any role in the largely performative act that took place in his constituency.
The gun never went off. As the later events suggested, it didn’t serve any other purpose other than to get him fired from the cabinet.
The optics, however, were shocking. The incident expectedly and perhaps tragically went viral. It reminded older people of former Awami League MP Dr HBM Iqbal and Moqbul Hossain. For the younger crowd, it was a reminder of the Long July, when the BAL leaders and armed cadres flanked by the Police, BGB and RAB roamed the streets and indiscriminately fired on the protesters.
Only 7-8 months into what most observers believe is its first of multiple terms in office, BNP didn’t need these visuals.
Things moved on fast. The social media backlash followed whatever euphoria it created among the party faithfuls. The MP, the son of affable Late Khoka Bhai as Gopibag people affectionately called him, removed it from his social media accounts.
A few kilometers away on the other side of town, PM Tarique Rahman was probably taking stock of his busy day visiting multiple important locations around the city. Whatever satisfaction the trip had given him must’ve been wiped out by the social media buzz before the night was over.
Ever since he took office, the PM has been besieged by one issue after another from both internal and external sources. Now he has been asked to deal with an issue that he probably didn’t want to deal with.
While the visuals definitely played an important part in his subsequent decision, the PM must have been aware of the message the youngest member of his cabinet actions have sent to the electorate.
Comedian Rami Belson has once said, ‘It's better to keep your mouth shut and give the impression that you're stupid than to open it and remove all doubt.’ Everyone already knew the law enforcement agencies are struggling to deal with the deteriorating law and order situation but Ishraque Hossain’s actions dispelled all the doubts.
To make matters even worse, the Department of Narcotics Control, which has so far avoided any serious scrutiny for its efforts, came under media spotlight. In the last few months, the proliferation of drugs has become a huge talking point. A number of grisly rapes, murders, and have been committed by drug addicts.
The department, entrusted with controlling narcotics, appears to have achieved the remarkable distinction of remaining largely invisible while the drugs themselves are everywhere. Yaba has become a familiar feature of neighbourhood crime stories, and the networks supplying it seem considerably more efficient than the agencies tasked with dismantling them.
Of course, Bangladesh has tried the more theatrical approach before. Sheikh Hasina's much-publicised war on drugs produced hundreds of deaths, allegations of extrajudicial killings and enough official declarations of success to suggest the country had finally defeated the menace. The drugs, unfortunately, were not informed of their defeat.
The Department of Narcotics Control has a rather less cinematic mandate: gather intelligence, disrupt trafficking networks, investigate suppliers and help prevent addiction. None of these duties requires a state minister with a firearm chasing suspected addicts through the streets.
If anything, Ishraque's performance raised an inconvenient question. If an elected lawmaker feels compelled to personally conduct an armed anti-drug operation in his constituency, what exactly are the institutions paid to do that job doing?
The answer, presumably, would make for a less entertaining video.
In his brief tenure at the helm, Tarique Rahman has become used to the extremely challenging nature of his job. The young minister’s actions have now put him into yet another tricky situation.
There’s an internal pressure to rein in the overzealous and talkative BNP leaders. Externally, he had to establish that his government is committed to improve itself and provide governance. The decision had to be a perfect one which would fulfill his dual objective.
Late evening, he came up with the most practical one. Ishraque has to go. If he can fire one of the most recognizable legacy politicians, he can fire almost anyone else. If his Press Office can spin the move, it’ll also mean that he’s prioritizing meaningful actions over the performative.
After criticizing him for his decision making in the last few months, even his vociferous critics will have to admit that it’s a politically astute, bold, and incisive move. Perhaps they can make an exception and say something which Sheikh Hasina’s autocratic tenure had a cringy thing to say….‘Thank you, PM.’
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Nayel Rahman is a political analyst