While scrolling through Facebook, I came across this fun post. Someone was asking where he could buy one of those “Jhikimiki Jhikimiki” shirts that retired army officers seem to wear every now and then.

“Jhikimiki Jhikimiki”, for the uninitiated, is a Bangladeshi description of something excessively colourful, or flamboyant.

The gentleman was referring to Batik shirts, popularised in Malaysia and Indonesia, where they are worn for both formal and casual occasions. Somehow, retired Bangladeshi army officers have developed a particular affection for these garments. 

Later that same day, I came across another photograph circulating widely on Facebook.

This one featured disgraced Major General Ziaul Ahsan, currently facing trial before the International Crimes Tribunal over allegations of crimes against humanity, including enforced disappearances and killings.

There he was, approaching court in a casual shirt, wearing sunglasses and flanked by police officers.One could almost mistake the scene for the arrival of a visiting dignitary, or perhaps a particularly self-satisfied underworld don being escorted through his territory.

Social media users were furious. Why, they asked, was a man facing such grave allegations being presented in a manner that seemed to preserve his old aura of power?

It was a reasonable question. But anyone following Ziaul's conduct at the tribunal should hardly have been surprised. The swagger has been a long time coming.

It began, appropriately enough, with a birthday party.

In September, reports emerged that Ziaul had enjoyed a birthday celebration inside the tribunal's detention facility. There was talk of a cake, visitors and a rather relaxed interpretation of the rules governing people accused of some of the gravest crimes imaginable.

Prosecutors subsequently clarified that the celebration had actually been for another detainee, Fazle Rabbi. The tribunal issued show-cause notices over the incident and tightened security.

The chief prosecutor separately accused Ziaul of violating security regulations and warned that he could pose a sabotage risk. His sister and defence lawyer, Naznin Nahar, rejected the allegations and accused the authorities of targeting him.

The episode might have been dismissed as an administrative embarrassment. Instead, it became the first instalment in a series.

By October 13, the tribunal had ordered Ziaul to participate virtually in one of his trials because of security concerns. Apparently, managing the former general's journey to court had become a problem requiring technological innovation.

The official explanation was security. Fair enough. Courts must protect accused persons, witnesses and everyone else involved in proceedings.

But the arrangement also raised how had a detained former officer become such a complicated security proposition that bringing him to court required special arrangements?

Then on November 2, Naznin became embroiled in a heated exchange with prosecutor Gazi Monawar Hossain Tamim during the cross-examination of an investigating officer.

She objected to interruptions. He objected to her objections. Fingers were pointed. Tempers rose. Tamim complained that the courtroom atmosphere had deteriorated to something worse than a village arbitration meeting.

The judge challenged the prosecutor over his remarks.

By November 12, the spectacle had acquired a new dimension. Ziaul was back in court in person in that casual shirt and sunglass, this time for proceedings concerning the 2013 Shapla Chattar violence.

According to our own court report, when a police officer attempted to handcuff him, Ziaul refused. He questioned the legal basis for the restraint and was subsequently escorted out without handcuffs.

He also told journalists: “We will win. No one can stop us.”

Well, this is where the joke stops being funny. The allegations against Ziaul are not matters of ordinary misconduct.

On September 2, Abbas Mallik, a 60-year-old boatman, described to the tribunal how detainees were allegedly brought aboard trawlers in the Baleshwar River, shot and dumped into the water with sacks of cement tied to their bodies.

He said that Ziaul personally participated in killings. He described bodies being mutilated before disposal and boats left covered in blood. Abbas also spoke of his younger brother, Alkas, who disappeared after being summoned by RAB personnel.

He broke down in court. There are dozens of testimonies like these.

The families of the disappeared and the murdered are not attending a fashion parade by a disgraced military officer accused of unimaginably heinous crimes. They are waiting to get justice.

During Hasina years, Bangladesh witnessed security officials behaving as though the law were something they administered to others rather than something that applied to themselves.

The whole point of accountability is to end that culture, not give it a new venue. The courts cannot afford to become stages on which formerly powerful men rehearse their vanished authority.

Which brings me back to that Facebook post. Perhaps the gentleman searching for a “Jhikimiki Jhikimiki” shirt was onto something.

Ziaul already has the sunglasses. He has the swagger. He has the police escort, the courtroom confrontations and the confidence of a man apparently unwilling to accept that his circumstances have changed.

What he needs now is a proper silk Batik shirt. It would complete the package.

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Faisal Mahmud is the Managing Editor of Daily Waadaa