In Bengali, there is a proverb: ‘jhike mere bouke shekhano’ which, translated into English, means, beating the maid to teach a lesson to the wife. The purpose is simple: sending the message to the woman of the house that unless she mends certain aberrant ways, she would also be chastised.
Of course, in the current social credo, that proverb is deeply sexist. We do not support any kind of physical assault either on the domestic help or on the wife.
However, the saying is seeing a resurgence, especially with the current ‘no-prisoner’ approach of the law enforcers against drugs. There have been several ‘shoot-outs’ around the country and today’s newspapers state that in the latest confrontations, 11 more drug traders were killed.

For obvious reasons, this sudden ferocity of the law has taken several quarters by surprise; but honestly speaking, there was no other way!

The truth is, if a drug trader is caught, s/he can come out of jail after serving a short period and go back to what they were doing before.

Therefore, the question may rise: do we endorse these gunfights which result in traders ending up in the morgue with their bodies riddled with bullets?

This again provokes a moral debate leading to an unsavoury conclusion: If Bangladesh’s legal treatment of people convicted of drug related crimes had been stringent, such deaths would be condemned by all.

Reality, sadly, speaks otherwise. Exploiting loopholes, drug traders have often mocked the legal system.

Be that as it may, the current drug operation is welcome; though it seems that only the foot soldiers are at the receiving end of our law.

So, is this a sort of warning to the big fish that unless they give up their involvement with drugs, especially Yaba, they would be the next target?

Past history is not encouraging

This is not the first time the law has launched comprehensive campaigns against narcotics. Let’s go back a few decades to a time when the drug which ruled was the codeine-based cough syrup Phensedyl. This cough syrup, once available over the counter, was banned in the early 80s when it became clear that the medicine for cough was being used to induce prolonged stupors.

The price of a bottle rocketed; the syrups began to infiltrate Bangladesh through the border with India.

Over the years, the drug’s code name underwent several changes from Dyl to Cat to Chhoi inchi (meaning six inches to denote the size of the bottle) to merely Inchi.

All throughout the 80s and 90s, the syrup kept on entering Bangladesh with certain factories sprouting within our country, adding other substances like Eunoctin sleeping pills to make the product more powerful.  

Initially the legal response was lackadaisical, almost incredulous: how can a cough syrup be so deadly?

By the time society realised, it was too late. One whole generation born during or just after the Liberation War was hooked. Shipments were seized, drug traders arrested but the menace of Phensedyl was unstoppable.

Did we lose the battle against Phensedyl?

The problem with our society is that people rarely want to admit a failure. We actually lost the war against the cough syrup. The simple reason being that, while field level operators were caught, often punished, the masterminds regularly managed to remain behind the curtain.

As we now see a nationwide Yaba crackdown, that same question resurfaces: will it only touch the lower layers and leave out the top goons?

Not a single ‘Phensedyl Godfather’ was ever caught and tried. By the word godfather I refer to the ones who control the network, maintain the political connections, ensure connivance of the law enforcers while outwardly appear to be responsible, sometimes publicised as philanthropic figures of the community.

This inability (impotence is possibly the right word), to place before society a top notch drug lord in handcuffs has provided a sense of invincibility for successive generation of drug king-pins.

A sense of impunity had entered the drug traders long ago when they realised that in its fight against Phensedyl, the authority will only reach up to a certain level and never venture beyond it.

Yaba on the road from lavish roots

This Methamphetamine-based tablet, widely known as the ‘crazy drug’ because it triggers a hyperactive feeling marked by euphoria and invincibility, started from the affluent sections of society. In the initial days, the pink demon spread to Dhaka’s upmarket circles via models, actresses plus celebrity seekers who skilfully exploited the social perception that people who are famous or well-known cannot be involved in drugs or anything unlawful.

Today Yaba may have reached all corners of the country but the trade’s top ranking controllers use their upper middle class social glamour and wealth as an impenetrable shield to control the nation-wide operation.

The law needs to infiltrate this section otherwise, the current drive won’t have any lasting impact.

Reportedly, several names of influential political leaders have come up in connection with Yaba though they could not be arrested since ‘the drug was not found in their possession.’

Do we expect a drug lord to move around with his products or keep banned narcotics at his home? Come on, don’t be ridiculous! They will not have any visible evidence which may implicate them.

We know that, the law knows that – it’s not rocket science!

Here the law needs to take help of high tech gadgets and surveillance equipment.

Tapping phones to bugging residences plus offices with round the clock monitoring will easily lead to the evidence that has been eluding them.

We are getting news of ‘encounters’ between the law and drug dealers; but what is essential is an unprecedented breakthrough. Some king pin, irrespective of political allegiance, handcuffed and taken into custody.

Against the fiery rhetoric of the law recently, what is needed is a sensational arrest; something that will make people rise up and acknowledge the sincerity of the ongoing drive.  

Alas, the question is: do they want to catch the top bosses or, like so many times in the past, just send another warning?

Just to keep in mind: too many warnings only dilute the actual message!

Towheed Feroze is a journalist, teaching at the University of Dhaka.