Destiny has a way of repeating itself for those who ignore its first warning. When its lessons are dismissed, fate does not return in whispers—it crashes back like a storm: louder, harsher, and utterly unforgiving.

That storm struck with full force on Monday, as the International Crimes Tribunal—once the very institution the ousted Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina created and weaponised to suppress her opponents—delivered a death sentence against her and her associate former Home Minister Asaduzzaman Khan Kamal.

The three-member tribunal, chaired by Justice Md Golam Mortuza Majumder, unveiled a 453-page judgment at noon, broadcast live to millions. Hasina was sentenced to death on two counts of crimes against humanity, while Asaduzzaman Khan received a death penalty on one charge. Both were tried in absentia. Once the most powerful figure in Bangladesh, Hasina now watches her downfall from exile in India. The tribunal she forged as a political weapon has become the instrument of her reckoning. Prosecutors accused her of killings, disappearances, torture, and widespread repression during last year’s July–August mass uprising—the very abuses that triggered her fall.

Monday’s verdict is more than a legal decision—it is a national reckoning. It tests whether Bangladesh can finally break the cycle of political impunity or descend once again into vengeance and repetition. Hasina once turned the tribunal into a battlefield; now, that battlefield delivers her reckoning. History has returned to her door, and this time destiny refuses to be ignored.

Millions watched the drama unfold, recalling the timeless lesson of hubris. Greek tragedies often depict the downfall of arrogant rulers struck down by divine or moral law. Modern parallels abound: Saddam Hussein, Muammar Gaddafi, Nicolae Ceaușescu—leaders who once seemed untouchable but ultimately faced the full force of fate. Fate, when ignored, returns like a storm: unforgiving and overwhelming. On Monday, that lesson was reaffirmed with brutal clarity as Hasina’s own rhetoric of justice thundered back upon her.

For future leaders, the lessons are clear: authority must be tempered by responsibility, power must operate within legal and moral bounds, and governance must serve the national interest above personal ambition. Monday’s verdict is more than a legal milestone; it is a warning. Political legacies built on fear, repression, or illusion of invincibility are fragile.

For more than a decade, the ICT served as Hasina’s battlefield—a means to silence rivals, reshape narratives, and cement power. Now, that same tribunal stands as the dock where her legacy hangs in the balance. She is not alone: former Home Minister Asaduzzaman Khan and ex-IGP Chowdhury Abdullah Al-Mamun also face justice. Mamun has confessed and turned state witness, isolating his former superiors and shaking the remnants of the Awami League. The ICT continues to manage 45 cases linked to the uprising, investigating killings, disappearances, and torture, while also probing the Awami League as a political organisation. Never before has a ruling party been subjected to such sweeping legal scrutiny.

Security across Dhaka and surrounding districts was heightened, with army platoons and Border Guard units deployed around the tribunal and key strategic locations. Despite nationwide shutdowns called by the Awami League, sporadic arson and bomb attacks broke the tense calm in Dhaka, Savar, Kushtia, and Gazipur. The usually congested capital streets were eerily quiet, a city holding its breath for history to speak.

Hasina faces further legal peril: three more tribunal cases await, covering enforced disappearances, torture, and the Shapla Chattar killings. Thirty 1971 war crimes cases remain frozen, as the reconstituted tribunal prioritises the July uprising. The central legal debate over the applicability of the 1973 International Crimes Tribunal Act was settled in August 2024: superior command responsibility would be thoroughly examined, and the tribunal holds sweeping authority to prosecute crimes against humanity regardless of era.

The irony is stark. Hasina’s fall evokes painful echoes of her father, Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, the nation’s founding leader, assassinated on 15 August 1975 after forming BAKSAL, the one-party, one-leader system. Both father and daughter illustrate the peril of unchecked authority. Mujibur’s BAKSAL aimed to stabilise the nation but alienated key actors, fomented dissent, and led to his violent demise. Decades later, Hasina’s similar trajectory—consolidating power, leveraging institutions for advantage, sidelining opponents—created only a short-term façade; the long arc of accountability remained inevitable.

For future leaders, the lessons are clear: authority must be tempered by responsibility, power must operate within legal and moral bounds, and governance must serve the national interest above personal ambition. Monday’s verdict is more than a legal milestone; it is a warning. Political legacies built on fear, repression, or illusion of invincibility are fragile.

The arc of justice and history will, inevitably, return to settle its account. Bangladesh’s next generation of leaders would do well to study this history carefully, recognising that leadership is a trust—and misuse of that trust invites punishment, both from the law and from history itself.

( The writer is the Editor of THE BANGLADESH EXPRESS, the Founder Chairman of Bangladesh Journalists’ Foundation For Consumers & Investors (BJFCI) and  Former Information and Research Secretary of JASAS Central Committee. He may be reached at email: [email protected]).