War With Iran Demands Strategy, Not Just Strength

M A Hossain,

We've entered a new age of international warfare where it has become apparent in advance how a conflict may unfold prior to the start of that war. For example, aircraft carriers move from one location to another; military bases throughout the world are being emptied; and diplomats are speaking at a much faster pace, albeit with little or no candor. The U.S. military deployments in relation to Iran indicate we are seeing one of these instances.

The Pentagon has redefined their pattern of play and is executing a playbook. The overriding question at this time is not how the U.S. will attack Iran. Rather, what are the reasons for attacking Iran? And to what end?

Historically, the U.S.has fought many wars where tactical success was achieved faster than the U.S. had clarity on strategic objectives. Vietnam, Iraq, and even World War II provide ample proof of this fact - the U.S. has figured out how to wage war without a definitive end state yet has either forgotten that lesson learned or chose to ignore it. Iran could prove yet another example where this cycle continues.

War Assets in Motion

The most clear examples of preparation for military action against Iran are national assets: a carrier strike group is currently stationed at the Middle East; advanced missile defense systems (Patriot and THAAD) have been deployed within the region; all non-essential personnel are being removed from forward operating locations (Saudi Arabia and Qatar); and air tankers and heavy transportation aircraft are being moved into the region. None of this suggests that a global superpower is expecting diplomatic resolution. Instead, these actions would suggest that a global superpower is clearing the battlefield for a military engagement.

Iran has been actively preparing for these developments as opposed to being passive. The flow of arms being sent to Iran from both Russia and China indicates that they were expected, instead of a surprise. Iran has also been stockpiling weapons, in addition to upgrading their air defense capabilities by acquiring the Chinese HQ-9B system. When viewed in isolation, these capabilities appear to be impressive but in practice do not provide effective air defense against modern threats. Effective air defense in today's environment requires deep integration, a variety of different systems, and a high level of constant real-time coordination. Iran does not possess many of these resources. In addition, an air defense system is only as strong as its weakest sensor, and Iran's air defense sensors include many that are weak.

Still, none of this explains the purpose of war. The protests inside Iran, however real and deadly, are a sideshow in American calculations. Washington’s sudden interest in Iranian democracy rings hollow given Donald Trump’s record—from his indifference to Venezuela’s democratic collapse to his transactional view of Ukraine and even Greenland. This is not a crusade for liberal values. It is about unfinished business.

That business dates back to the last confrontation, when U.S. strikes failed to account for roughly 400 kilograms of 60% enriched uranium. Tehran had moved it in advance. If further enriched—a technically modest step—that stockpile could yield material for several nuclear weapons. As long as that uranium remains unaccounted for, the problem, in American eyes, remains unresolved.

Iran has tried to buy time by offering negotiations. But the terms have shifted. Washington now demands not only an end to enrichment and missile development, but the removal of existing nuclear material and the abandonment of regional proxies. No Iranian government, clerical or otherwise, could survive agreeing to such terms. Which brings us back to force.

Three Military Paths—and Their Costs

In general, the US has three military options—three ways to attack Iran—each with unique risks and ramifications.

The first is a targeted attack on nuclear facilities. This would be the most limited choice and the most straightforward to strategically defend. Destroy the websites. If at all possible, remove the missing enriched uranium. Declare the mission accomplished. Such an operation would rely heavily on B-2 bombers carrying GBU-57 bunker busters, the only weapons capable of penetrating Iran’s deeply buried facilities. It would be short, violent, and—most importantly—restricted.

This approach has historical precedent. Israel’s strikes on Iraq’s Osirak reactor in 1981 and Syria’s al-Kibar facility in 2007 delayed proliferation without triggering regional war. But Iran is not Iraq in 1981. Its program is dispersed, hardened, and politically symbolic. Even a successful strike would likely buy time, not closure.

The second option is decapitation: targeting senior Iranian leaders or key IRGC figures in the hope of destabilizing the regime. The appeal is obvious. Remove the head, and the body collapses. The reality is less tidy. Iran’s political system is deeply institutionalized. The Revolutionary Guards have contingency plans for succession and control. Kill a leader, and you may get a martyr. History offers a cautionary tale here. The 1980 Operation Eagle Claw failed not because of Iranian resistance, but because of logistical overreach. Iran’s geography punishes hubris.

More importantly, assassination strikes risk producing precisely the unity they aim to shatter. Shiite political culture is steeped in martyrdom. External attacks tend to consolidate hardliners, not empower moderates. Regime change by airstrike is an idea that has aged poorly since Baghdad in 2003.

The third option is the most ambitious—and the most dangerous: a sustained campaign aimed at degrading Iran’s military, security apparatus, and political leadership over weeks or months. This would go far beyond a one-off strike. It would target IRGC infrastructure, command centers, missile forces, and internal security units. The goal would be to create a power vacuum so severe that Iran’s leadership is forced into submission or collapse.

This is not impossible. But it is costly. Iran would respond, calibrating its retaliation to the level of threat. At the low end, it might strike U.S. assets in Iraq or harass shipping in the Strait of Hormuz. At the high end—if it believed regime survival was at stake—it could escalate dramatically, risking a regional war that would draw in Gulf states and Israel.

Geography shapes all three options. With most regional states unwilling to grant airspace access, Washington’s choices are narrow. A northern route via the Caucasus risks Russian detection. A central corridor through Israel, Jordan, and Iraq is tested but predictable. A southern approach via the Indian Ocean offers flexibility but demands heavy logistics. Most likely, any strike would combine the latter two.

Israel’s role adds another layer. Its interests are narrower but sharper. If Iran’s regime falters, Israeli jets would not wait for clarity. They would move to obliterate Iran’s military infrastructure, as they did in Syria after Assad’s fall. From Israel’s perspective, such moments are fleeting—and must be exploited.

Strategy After the Smoke Clears

All of which returns us to the central problem: strategy. What does Washington want when the smoke clears? A delayed nuclear program? A weakened regime? A new government? Without a clear answer, military action risks becoming an end in itself—a demonstration of power untethered from outcome.

Iran demands sobriety in abundance. The fuse may be burning. But history suggests that how wars begin matters less than how they are intended to end. And on that question, Washington remains conspicuously vague.

M A Hossain is a senior journalist and international affairs analyst based in Bangladesh.

This article published at :

1. Asia Times, HK : 30 January, 26

Democracy begins with a fearless vote

M A Hossain, 

As Bangladesh moves closer to its 13th parliamentary election and the accompanying referendum, the public mood is not festive. It is anxious. Instead of the familiar rituals of democratic competition—rallies, debates, leaflets, slogans—the country is bracing for something darker. Media reports suggest that at least 24 districts are now considered at high risk of political violence. Murders, armed clashes, intimidation, and organized fear are no longer treated as aberrations. They are anticipated. That alone should trouble any serious defender of democracy.

Bangladesh has, regrettably, been here before. Elections have too often been remembered less for ballots cast than for blood spilled. The assumption that voting seasons inevitably bring violence has become normalized, almost fatalistically accepted. This is not merely a law-and-order problem. It is a democratic failure. A society that cannot conduct elections without fear is a society that has yet to secure the most basic condition of self-rule: physical safety for its citizens.

Since campaigning began on January 22, reports of attacks and clashes have multiplied. The killing of a senior opposition figure in Keraniganj was not an isolated incident; it was a warning. Tensions over voter blocs—particularly minority voters and swing constituencies—have intensified competition at the local level. Add to this the post–August 5 security landscape, in which previously jailed extremist elements have been released on bail, and the picture becomes even more unsettling. These are not abstract risks. They are concrete vulnerabilities.

The government insists it is prepared. On paper, the security arrangement is staggering in scale. Nearly 900,000 personnel from various agencies will be deployed for the February 12 election. The police, Ansar and Village Defence Party, Border Guard Bangladesh, armed forces, RAB, navy, coast guard, and fire service will all be involved. Drones, dog squads, body cameras, and advanced surveillance technologies will supplement boots on the ground. Few developing democracies can claim to have mounted such an extensive security operation.

And yet, anxiety persists. That should tell us something important: security is not only about numbers. It is about credibility. When attacks on law enforcement personnel themselves are not swiftly or decisively contained, public confidence erodes. When violence occurs despite visible deployments, people begin to suspect that the problem is not capacity but will. Or worse, selectivity.

History offers an uncomfortable lesson. States that rely excessively on spectacle—large deployments, impressive statistics, stern press briefings—often neglect the harder work of preventive governance. Violence around elections rarely erupts spontaneously. It is usually preceded by weeks of intimidation, signaling, rumor-mongering, and the quiet mobilization of local muscle under political patronage. Intelligence warnings, when ignored or underplayed, later reappear as postmortems.

The political temperature today is undeniably high. Power struggles, efforts to marginalize rivals, and contests for local dominance have created a combustible mix. Past elections show a familiar pattern: pre-election clashes, election-day violence, and post-election reprisals. Candidates and supporters are attacked not only to influence outcomes but to settle scores. Ordinary citizens—shopkeepers, farmers, students—often become collateral damage. This is the most corrosive aspect of all. When voters fear for their lives, participation becomes an act of courage rather than a civic norm.

At that point, one must ask a blunt question: what is the meaning of an election that cannot guarantee the safety of those it claims to empower? Democracy is not validated by turnout figures alone. It is validated by the freedom with which citizens can exercise choice. Fear distorts choice. Sometimes it suppresses it entirely.

Responsibility here does not rest with the security forces alone. The Election Commission occupies a pivotal role. Its constitutional mandate extends beyond announcing schedules and supervising ballot boxes. Ensuring a peaceful electoral environment is not ancillary to its mission; it is central. Risk-mapped areas require special measures—early intervention, targeted monitoring, and clear red lines. Reactive policing is not enough when the warning signs are already visible.

Political parties, too, must confront their own culpability. Violence is rarely leaderless. It is often tolerated, excused, or quietly rewarded. When central leadership fails to restrain local actors, claims of innocence ring hollow. Power gained or preserved through bloodshed corrodes legitimacy from within. Democracies are not destroyed only by coups; they are also hollowed out by elections that normalize coercion.

Comparative experience is instructive. Countries that successfully reduced election-related violence—Indonesia after 1998, Ghana since the early 2000s—did so not merely through force but through political compacts, accountability mechanisms, and credible enforcement against perpetrators regardless of affiliation. The message was simple and consistently applied: violence will cost you power, not secure it.

Bangladesh’s own history underscores what is at stake. The struggle to establish voting rights has been long and costly. Sacrifices made in moments of national upheaval were meant to secure dignity, participation, and safety—not to replace one form of fear with another. When elections become synonymous with insecurity, that legacy is betrayed.

There is still time to change course. Visible security must be matched by impartial enforcement. Intelligence must lead to prevention, not retrospective explanation. Political leaders must speak clearly to their followers, not in coded ambiguity. And the Election Commission must assert its authority without hesitation.

A peaceful election will not solve all of Bangladesh’s political problems. But a violent one will deepen them all. If this vote is remembered as another bloody chapter, responsibility will not be diffused. It will be shared—by institutions that failed to act, by leaders who refused to restrain themselves, and by a political culture that treated fear as an acceptable tool.

Democracy begins with a simple promise: that citizens can choose without terror. Bangladesh deserves an election worthy of that promise. What the country needs now is not just security in uniform, but the courage to enforce the rules equally and early. A fear-free environment is not a luxury. It is the first, non-negotiable test of democratic seriousness.

M A Hossain, political and defense analyst based in Bangladesh. He can be reached at: writetomahossain@gmail.com

  This article published at : 

1. New Age, BD : 30 January, 26

সমতার শেষে ক্ষমতার শুরু

এম এ হোসাইন, 

রাষ্ট্র কীভাবে তার মৃতদের জন্য জায়গা নির্ধারণ করে এবং কীভাবে তার মন্ত্রীদের জন্য বাসস্থান বরাদ্দ দেয়—এতে রাষ্ট্রের প্রকৃত চরিত্র অনেক সময় নগ্নভাবে প্রকাশ পায়। কবরস্থান আদতে সমতার চূড়ান্ত প্রতীক হওয়ার কথা। মৃত্যুতে সবাই সমান—ধনী-গরিব, ক্ষমতাবান-ক্ষমতাহীন। আর মন্ত্রীদের সরকারি বাসভবন হওয়ার কথা জনসেবার কার্যকর প্রতীক, বিলাসিতার স্মারকস্তম্ভ নয়। কিন্তু যখন এই দুটোই ক্ষমতার তোষামোদে বিকৃত হয়, তখন সেটি আর শাসন থাকে না; তা হয়ে ওঠে নীরব নৈতিক ক্ষয়।

ঢাকার বনানী কবরস্থানের নীতিমালার কথাই ধরা যাক। সরকারি ব্যাখ্যায় বলা হয়েছিল, এটি নাকি জমির সংকট মোকাবিলার বাস্তবসম্মত উদ্যোগ। সত্যিই, ঢাকায় জমি সীমিত, জনসংখ্যা অস্বাভাবিক ঘন, আর কবর ব্যবস্থাপনায় কিছু নিয়ম থাকা দরকার। কিন্তু রাজনীতি প্রায়ই বাস্তব প্রয়োজনকে আনুগত্যে পরিণত করে। ঢাকা উত্তর সিটি করপোরেশনের তৎকালীন মেয়র আতিকুল ইসলাম যখন বনানী কবরস্থানের দাফন নীতিতে কড়াকড়ি আরোপ করেন, সেটি নগর পরিকল্পনার চেয়ে বেশি ছিল রাজনৈতিক পটভূমি। কারণ সেখানেই সমাহিত রয়েছেন তৎকালীন প্রধানমন্ত্রী শেখ হাসিনার পরিবারের সদস্যরা। নতুন নীতির ফলে সাধারণ নাগরিকদের জন্য স্থায়ী কবর কার্যত অসম্ভব হয়ে ওঠে। একটি জনসাধারণের কবরস্থান ধীরে ধীরে পরিণত হয় ক্ষমতাবানদের জন্য আধা-পবিত্র সংরক্ষিত এলাকায়। এটি স্বদিচ্ছার কোন ব্যবস্থাপনা নয়, বরং তোষামোদের শাসন যা অতি উৎসাহী, অপ্রয়োজনীয় এবং নিষ্ঠুর।

বাংলাদেশের সামাজিক রীতি ও ইসলামী বিধান অনুযায়ী, কেউ যখন কবরের জন্য জমি ক্রয় করে, সেটিকে চিরস্থায়ী বিশ্রামের স্থান হিসেবেই ধরা হয়। কিন্তু বনানী কবরস্থানের নীতিতে যুক্ত করা হলো এক অদ্ভুত শর্ত—সময়সীমাবদ্ধ মালিকানা। এটি সরাসরি ইসলামী নীতির বিরুদ্ধে, সামাজিক রীতির পরিপন্থী এবং বাংলাদেশের বৈষম্য বিরোধী চেতনার সঙ্গে সাংঘর্ষিক। আরও বিস্ময়কর একটি বিধান হলো—একজন নাতি তার দাদার কবরে দাফন হতে পারবেন না। এমন নিয়ম শুধু ধর্মীয়ভাবে অগ্রহণযোগ্য নয়, সামাজিকভাবেও গভীরভাবে অস্বস্তিকর।

এ বিষয়ে সকল তথ্য উপাত্তই সব বলে দেয়। লিজের মূল্য আকাশচুম্বী হয়ে উঠে—১৫ বছরের জন্য ১ কোটি টাকা, ২৫ বছরের জন্য ১ কোটি ৫০ লাখ টাকা। মেয়াদ শেষে পুনরায় কবর খুঁড়ে দাফন বাধ্যতামূলক। ডিজিটাল ব্যবস্থা চালু করা হলো, নীতিমালা পরিশীলিত করা হলো—সবই দক্ষতার নামে। কিন্তু প্রশ্ন থেকে যায়, এই দক্ষতা কার জন্য? যে নীতি সাধারণ মানুষের শোককে তাদের নাগালের বাইরে মূল্য নির্ধারণ করে, তা প্রশাসনিকভাবে স্বচ্ছ হতে পারে, কিন্তু নৈতিকভাবে তা দুর্গন্ধ ছড়ায়। বার্তাটি পরিষ্কার—ক্ষমতার শুরুতেই সমতা শেষ।

সময় এগিয়ে চলে, ক্ষমতার চেহারা বদলায় কিন্তু অভ্যাস বদলায় না।

আজ অন্তর্বর্তী সরকারের অধীনে মুহাম্মদ ইউনূস আদালতে নয়, কিন্তু জনমনে এক গুরুতর অভিযোগের মুখে দাঁড়িয়েছেন। তিনি একই ধরনের ক্ষমতামুখী ভঙ্গি গ্রহণ করেছেন। ক্ষেত্র ভিন্ন তবে যুক্তি একই। ঢাকার মানুষ যখন পানির জন্য লাইনে দাঁড়ায়, নিয়মিত বিদ্যুৎ বিভ্রাট সহ্য করে, গ্যাসের দাম বাড়তে দেখে, তখন রাষ্ট্র অনুমোদন দেয় মন্ত্রীদের জন্য ৮,৫০০ থেকে ৯,০০০ বর্গফুটের ফ্ল্যাট। ফ্ল্যাট নয়—আকাশে ঝুলন্ত প্রাসাদ। সুইমিং পুল, জিম, বিলাসবহুল আসবাব, অফিস কক্ষ, পাঁচতারা হোটেলের সব সুবিধাসহ উঁচু ভবনের আবাসন।

একটু তুলনা করা যাক। ঢাকায় একজন স্বচ্ছল মধ্যবিত্তের ফ্ল্যাট গড়ে সাধারণত ১২০০ বর্গফুট। নিম্নপদস্থ সরকারি কর্মচারীরা গড়ে ৬৫০ বর্গফুটেই জীবন কাটান। সেখানে নতুন মন্ত্রীদের ফ্ল্যাট সাধারণ নাগরিকের স্বপ্নের চেয়ে ছয় গুণ বড়, আর বহু সরকারি কর্মচারীর স্বাভাবিক জীবনের চেয়ে প্রায় চৌদ্দ গুণ বড়। ব্যয় প্রায় ৭৮৬ কোটি টাকা—যখন রাষ্ট্র কর বাড়ানো ও ভর্তুকি কমানোর পক্ষে কৃচ্ছ্রতার দোহাই দিচ্ছে।

অনেকে হয়তবা বলবেন, মন্ত্রীদের কাজ, নিরাপত্তা ও প্রটোকলের জন্য বড় জায়গা দরকার। যুক্তি একেবারে অমূলক নয়, কিন্তু তার এক সীমা আছে। শাসন শুধু বাস্তবতা নয়, দৃষ্টিভঙ্গির বিষয়ও। আর আকাশচুম্বী প্রাসাদের এই দৃষ্টিভঙ্গি অশালীন। যখন মন্ত্রীরা ছাদে সাঁতার কাটেন, আর নাগরিকরা গ্যাস ও পানির অভাবে ভাত রান্না করতে পারেন না, তখন সামাজিক চুক্তি ভেঙে পড়ে।

এই মুহূর্তটিকে আরও অস্বস্তিকর করে তোলে একটি ব্যাপকভাবে প্রচলিত ধারণা—যা খুব কমই খণ্ডিত হয়েছে—এই বিলাসিতা কেবল দেশীয় আত্মতুষ্টি নয়, বরং আন্তর্জাতিক বার্তা দেওয়ার চেষ্টা। সমালোচকদের মতে, প্রফেসর ইউনূস দেশের মানুষের কষ্টের চেয়ে বিদেশি পৃষ্ঠপোষকদের রুচির প্রতিই বেশি মনোযোগী। ‘ফরাসি ওয়াইন’-এর গল্প হয়তো গুজব, কিংবা অতিরঞ্জন, কিন্তু এটি একটি গভীর উদ্বেগকে সামনে নিয়ে এসেছে - নীতিনির্ধারণ কি নাগরিকদের সেবা করতে, নাকি বিদেশি মহলকে মুগ্ধ করতে এসকল করছেন? তাঁর উপদেষ্টা মহলে বিদেশি প্রভাবের আধিক্য সেই সন্দেহকে আরও জোরালো করে।

২০২৪ সালে রাষ্ট্রের বৈষম্যের বিরুদ্ধে এক গণআন্দোলনের মধ্য দিয়ে ড. ইউনূস ক্ষমতায় আসেন। আপামর জনগণ তখন আশাই করেছিলেন—এই বৈষম্যের চক্র ভাঙবেন, প্রাতিষ্ঠানিক দুর্নীতি উচ্ছেদ করবেন। কিন্তু ক্ষমতায় এসে তিনি নিজেই সেই একই বৈষম্য ও দুর্নীতির বৃত্তে জড়িয়ে পড়েছেন। আর এমন অভিযোগ এখন ক্রমেই জোরালো হচ্ছে। বিভিন্ন শ্রেণি-পেশার মানুষের আত্মত্যাগের পর এমন আচরণ গভীর হতাশার জন্ম দেয়। এটি জুলাইয়ের গণঅভ্যুত্থানের শহীদদের প্রতি এক ধরনের বিশ্বাসঘাতকতা।

ইতিহাস এখানে অস্বস্তিকর তুলনা হাজির করে। ঔপনিবেশিক শাসকরা শাসিত জনগণের দারিদ্র্য থেকে নিজেদের আলাদা করে বিলাসবহুল এলাকায় বাস করত। স্বাধীনতার পর অনেক দেশের এলিট সেই একই দূরত্বের স্থাপত্য পুনর্গঠন করেছে—বড় বাড়ি, প্রশস্ত সড়ক, সীমাবদ্ধ এলাকা। ১৯৭১ সালে বাংলাদেশ এই চক্র ভাঙার কথা ছিল। অথচ আজও আমরা তর্ক করছি—মন্ত্রীদের ভালোভাবে থাকা উচিত কি না তা নয়, বরং তারা কি জনগণের কষ্টের মাঝেও রাজকীয়ভাবে বাস করবেন?

বনানী কবরস্থানের নীতি ও মন্ত্রীদের আবাসন প্রকল্প আলাদা কোনো ঘটনা নয়। এগুলো একটি গভীর শাসনপ্রবণতার লক্ষণ—যেখানে আনুগত্য মানে বিলাসিতা, আর কর্তৃত্ব মানে বিচ্ছিন্নতা। জীবিত বা মৃত্যুর পর—দু’ক্ষেত্রেই ক্ষমতা নিজেকে রক্ষা করতে চায়, বহু মানুষের প্রবেশাধিকার সীমিত করে।

এর রাজনৈতিক মূল্যও আছে। মানুষ যখন দেখে, শাসকেরা তাদের কষ্ট শুনছে না, তখন বৈধতা ক্ষয়ে যায়। কষ্ট মানুষ মেনে নেয়, যদি মনে হয় সেটি সবার জন্য সমান। কিন্তু যখন দেখে শাসকেরা নিজেদের আলাদা করে নিচ্ছে, তখন নীরব বা প্রকাশ্য বিদ্রোহ জন্ম নেয়। ফরাসি বিপ্লব শুধু রুটির অভাবে শুরু হয়নি; ভার্সাইয়ের দৃশ্যও তার কারণ ছিল। ইতিহাস কখনোই ক্ষমাশীল নয় তাদের প্রতি, যারা এটি ভুলে যায়।

আজ বাংলাদেশের সামনে প্রকৃত সংকটের অভাব নেই—মুদ্রাস্ফীতি, জ্বালানি নিরাপত্তাহীনতা, নগরে যানজট, প্রাতিষ্ঠানিক দুর্বলতা। ৯০০০ বর্গফুটের ফ্ল্যাট বা বিশেষাধিকারপ্রাপ্ত কবরস্থান এসব সমস্যার সমাধান করবে না। বরং এগুলো সংস্কার থেকে মনোযোগ সরিয়ে নেয় এবং নাগরিকদের মধ্যে সংশয় বাড়ায়। যে বার্তাটি এতে স্পষ্ট তাহলো রাষ্ট্রের প্রথম প্রবৃত্তি সেবা নয়, কতিপয়ের আত্মতুষ্টি। জনগণের কাছে কৃচ্ছ্রতা চাইলে, সেটি আগে শীর্ষে দেখাতে হয়। ক্ষমতায় সংযম জনতুষ্টি নয় বরং এটি দূরদর্শিতা। দুর্দশার সময় বিলাসিতায় জেদ ধরা শক্তির লক্ষণ নয়—এটি ভয়ের চিহ্ন। মর্যাদা, প্রাসঙ্গিকতা বা অনুগ্রহ হারানোর ভয়।

সবচেয়ে বড় ট্র্যাজেডি হলো—বাংলাদেশ এই দৃশ্যপট আগেও দেখেছে। প্রতিবার শেষটা একই—জনরোষ, প্রাতিষ্ঠানিক ক্ষয়, আর ‘মৌসুমি পাখি’দের আগমন, যারা যা পাওয়া যায় তুলে নিয়ে দেশকে আরও দরিদ্র করে রেখে যায়—বস্তুগত ও নৈতিকভাবে। এই চক্র ভাঙতে হলে শুধু নতুন মুখ নয়, নতুন নীতি দরকার—ক্ষমতা দূরত্ব বাড়ানোর জন্য নয়, কমানোর জন্য।

কবরস্থান নেতাদের সমতার কথা মনে করিয়ে দেবে। সরকারি বাসভবন মনে করিয়ে দেবে দায়িত্বের কথা। যখন দুটোই তোষামোদের হাতিয়ার হয়ে ওঠে, তখন রাষ্ট্র আর শাসন করে না। সে নিজেকেই নিজে অভিনন্দন জানায় আর খড়গের নিচে বলি হয় জনগণ।

লেখক : প্রাবন্ধিক। 

এই লেখাটি প্রকাশিত হয়েছে :

১. সাপ্তাহিক বাংলাদেশ, নিউইয়র্ক : ২৯ জানুয়ারী,২৬

২. দৈনিক সংবাদ, ঢাকা : ৩০ জানুয়ারী,২৬

Ukraine’s Blackout Is a Failure of Leadership, Not Fate

M A Hossain,

At Davos, President Volodymyr Zelensky accused Russia of “trying to freeze Ukrainians to death.” It was a line crafted for the hall—moral thunder, easy applause, instant headlines. The images that followed were familiar: dark apartments, breath fogging in kitchens, elderly citizens wrapped in coats indoors. The suffering is real. It deserves empathy. But empathy is not analysis, and slogans are not explanations.

Strip away the rhetoric and the blackout afflicting Ukraine looks less like an act of metaphysical cruelty and more like the predictable outcome of political choices—by Kyiv first and foremost. Wars are not only lost on battlefields. They are lost in ministries, procurement offices, press briefings, and the small decisions that accumulate into strategic failure. Ukraine’s energy collapse belongs in that category.

Start with a historical fact that is rarely mentioned because it is inconvenient. In modern warfare, energy infrastructure has long been treated as a legitimate military target—especially by NATO, whose doctrines Kyiv loudly endorses. During the 1999 bombing of Yugoslavia, NATO deliberately struck power stations and grids. The rationale was explicit: civilian discomfort would translate into political pressure. A NATO spokesperson said as much at the time, suggesting that if civilians suffered, they should turn on their own leadership. It was not a gaffe; it was doctrine.

If this is now to be condemned as uniquely barbaric, intellectual honesty requires retroactive outrage. There has been none. Instead, the same governments that defended the tactic then now decry it as a war crime when practiced by Moscow. Principles that change with the flag are not principles at all. They are instruments.

The timeline matters, too. For nearly two years after the war escalated, Russia refrained from a systematic campaign against Ukraine’s energy infrastructure. That restraint is rarely acknowledged, though it is striking. Moscow had the capability. Western doctrine supplied the precedent. Yet it held back. The shift came after Kyiv expanded the war’s scope by striking civilian infrastructure inside Russia, including energy facilities—actions celebrated publicly by Ukrainian officials. Zelensky himself spoke openly about creating blackouts across the border.

In war, cause and effect are not moral endorsements; they are facts. Escalation invites symmetry. To frame the resulting response as unprovoked sadism is to pretend that actions occur in a vacuum. They do not. The oldest rule of statecraft applies here with depressing clarity: what you normalize, you invite.

Even if one brackets retaliation and doctrine, Kyiv cannot escape responsibility for preparedness. A government at war has one non-negotiable duty: protect civilians. Ukraine has received unprecedented Western aid—tens of billions of dollars earmarked for defense, resilience, and reconstruction. Yet its energy system remained fragile, centralized, poorly shielded, and thin on redundancy. Backup generation lagged. Civil defense planning was ad hoc. Repairs were reactive rather than anticipatory.

Why? Governance. Ukraine’s political class has spent decades promising reform while tolerating the same patronage networks and procurement rot. Wartime urgency did not cleanse these habits; it magnified them. Funds intended for resilience were siphoned, misallocated, or delayed. High-profile corruption cases are treated as aberrations. They are not. They are structural. When leadership confuses messaging with management, the lights go out—literally.

Consider the contrast in strategy. Russia, facing sanctions and sabotage, invested early in redundancy, decentralization, and rapid-repair capacity. Kyiv, buoyed by Western applause, invested in speeches, summits, and a maximalist war narrative that treated infrastructure vulnerability as a public-relations problem rather than a technical one. One approach assumes adversity and plans for it. The other assumes immunity and performs surprise when immunity proves fictional.

Then there is the language. “Genocide” is now deployed to describe infrastructure damage. This is reckless. The word has a legal and moral meaning: the intent to destroy a people as such. To dilute it into a synonym for suffering is to cheapen history and empty law of content. Infrastructure can be repaired. Words, once debased, cannot be restored so easily.

If identity and rights are the measure, uncomfortable questions arise closer to home. Kyiv’s treatment of the Ukrainian Orthodox Church—raids, prosecutions, seizures—has fractured communities and eroded religious freedom. Dissent has been narrowed. Media space has been consolidated. One may defend these steps as wartime necessities. But necessities have a habit of becoming habits. And habits, once entrenched, survive the war that birthed them.

None of this absolves Russia of responsibility for its actions. War is brutal. Civilians suffer. That is a tragedy wherever it occurs. But responsibility is not a zero-sum game. Kyiv’s leadership has made choices—strategic, rhetorical, and administrative—that increased civilian exposure to harm. It escalated into civilian infrastructure. It underprepared its own systems. It substituted moral performance for managerial competence. And when the predictable consequences arrived, it outsourced blame entirely.

There is another, quieter failure at work: the refusal to ask whether the war aims being pursued justify the costs imposed. Statesmanship is the art of aligning ends with means. Kyiv’s maximalism—encouraged by Western capitals eager for moral clarity without strategic risk—has delivered neither victory nor security. It has delivered a frozen population and a fragile grid. Moscow, by contrast, has pursued limited objectives with grim consistency, adjusting tactics while preserving escalation control. That is not a moral judgment; it is an empirical one.

The suffering of Ukrainians should move us. It should also sober us. Sympathy must not be weaponized into credulity. The blackout is not fate. It is the shadow cast by decisions—some made in Kyiv, others applauded abroad. Until those decisions are examined with the same intensity as Russian missiles, the lights will flicker on and off, and the speeches will grow louder as the rooms grow colder.

Wars end when leaders choose responsibility over theater. Ukraine’s darkness is a warning, not a mystery.

M A Hossain, political and defense analyst based in Bangladesh. He can be reached at: writetomahossain@gmail.com

  This article published at :

1. Rusvesna, Russia : 27 January, 26

Trump’s Economic War on Canada Screams End of US Authority

M A Hossain,

For decades, the relationship between the United States and Canada belonged to the category of geopolitical facts so stable they barely required analysis. A shared border without fortifications. Deeply integrated supply chains. Energy interdependence so extensive it blurred the distinction between domestic and foreign trade. If alliances were marriages, this one looked less like a romance than a long, practical partnership—occasionally dull, rarely dramatic, and almost never existential. That assumption has now been punctured. Loudly.

Donald Trump’s threat to impose a 100% tariff on Canadian goods is not merely another episode in his familiar trade brinkmanship. It marks a deeper shift: the weaponization of economic power against a close ally for exercising sovereign choice. Not over war. Not over security. But over trade policy—specifically, Canada’s decision to strike a limited, pragmatic arrangement with China.

The question raised is not whether tariffs “work” in some abstract economic sense. History has already delivered its verdict on that front. The more unsettling question is political: Can the United States, under Trump’s vision, tolerate even mild strategic autonomy among its allies? Or does loyalty now require submission?

From Strategic Partnership to Conditional Sovereignty

Trump’s argument, stripped of its rhetoric, is straightforward. If Canada becomes a conduit for Chinese goods entering the U.S. market, punishment will follow. The premise rests on the idea that Canada’s trade decisions are legitimate only insofar as they align with Washington’s preferences. Sovereignty, in this view, is conditional.

That logic would have been foreign to earlier American statecraft. During the Cold War, the United States tolerated—sometimes grudgingly—independent economic relations among allies, from West Germany’s trade with the Soviet bloc to Japan’s mercantilist policies that hollowed out American manufacturing towns. Washington complained. It pressured. But it rarely threatened economic annihilation of its closest partners. Trump has crossed that line repeatedly. Canada is not an outlier; it is a test case.

Ottawa’s recent deal with Beijing was narrow by design. Reduced tariffs on Chinese electric vehicles in exchange for lower Chinese import taxes on Canadian agricultural products. No sweeping free trade agreement. No alliance shift. No ideological embrace of China’s political system. Canada’s own trade minister emphasized the limits of the arrangement.

Initially, Trump himself seemed to agree. He publicly praised the deal, saying Canada should pursue such opportunities if available. The praise lasted days. Then came the reversal.

Tariffs, Flip-Flops, and the Politics of Coercion

Canada was recast not as a rational actor pursuing national interest, but as a naïve territory about to be “eaten alive” by China—language more befitting an imperial protectorate than a sovereign state.

This rhetorical shift matters. It reflects a broader pattern in Trump’s worldview, where power defines legitimacy and dependency masquerades as partnership. Canada is not treated as an equal but as a subordinate whose independence must be managed.

The symbolism has been hard to miss. Trump’s repeated jokes—sometimes not jokes—about absorbing Canada into the United States. His habit of referring to Canadian leaders as “governors.” His posting of altered maps folding Canada into U.S. territory. These gestures once seemed juvenile, even unserious. Backed by economic threats, they now carry weight.

Davos and the Quiet Revolt of Middle Powers

The public rupture at Davos made the divide unmistakable. While Trump promoted a global order built on coercion and transactional loyalty, Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney delivered a speech that landed as a direct rebuttal. Without naming Trump, he declared the rules-based international order effectively dead and warned that in a world where “the strong do what they can and the weak suffer what they must,” middle powers must act together—or risk being consumed. It was not radical. It was realist. And it was met with applause.

Carney’s line—“If you’re not at the table, you’re on the menu”—captured the anxiety of many countries caught between great powers. His argument was not anti-American. It was post-illusion. The idea that alignment with Washington guarantees protection has begun to erode, not because of Chinese expansionism alone, but because American reliability itself is now uncertain.

Trump’s response was telling. He declared that Canada “lives because of the United States.” Carney replied, calmly, that Canada thrives because it is Canadian. Shortly afterward, Trump revoked Carney’s invitation to join his newly announced “Board of Peace,” a move that was less diplomatic than theatrical—an assertion that access, even to symbolism, is conditional on deference.

Economic Nationalism and the Limits of American Power

There is historical precedent for this kind of behavior, though not one Americans typically celebrate. Great powers in decline often confuse coercion with strength. Britain did it in the interwar years, clinging to imperial preferences while its economic base eroded. The Soviet Union did it in Eastern Europe, enforcing loyalty through economic pressure that ultimately hastened collapse. Empires rarely fall because rivals defeat them outright. They fall because allies stop believing in them.

Trump’s economic nationalism is often defended as a necessary corrective to globalization’s excesses. There is truth in the critique. Free trade was oversold, adjustment costs were ignored, and entire communities were sacrificed to efficiency metrics. But tariffs imposed indiscriminately—especially on allies—do not rebuild industrial capacity. They redistribute pain, invite retaliation, and fracture trust.

More importantly, they signal unpredictability. Investors, supply chains, and governments can adapt to competition. They cannot easily adapt to whims.

Canada’s drift toward diversification is not ideological rebellion; it is risk management. When alignment becomes a liability, diversification becomes rational. The same logic now animates Europe’s cautious hedging, Asia’s quiet nonalignment, and the Global South’s growing skepticism toward Western economic discipline lectures.

This is where the issue transcends Canada. What happens when middle powers refuse to comply? What happens when economic weapons are turned inward, not outward? A system built on coercion eventually consumes itself, because every actor begins preparing for betrayal.

The irony is that Canada has been among the most faithful participants in the U.S.-led order—on trade, security, and diplomacy. If even Canada is treated as expendable, no alliance is truly safe.

Trump’s supporters might argue that this is precisely the point: to force allies to choose. But choice under threat is not an alliance; it is a hierarchy. And hierarchies endure only as long as the dominant power can enforce them without exhausting itself.

The deeper story here is not about tariffs or China. It is about American confidence. A hegemon secure in its position does not need to bully its neighbors into compliance. It sets rules others want to follow. When it starts issuing ultimatums to friends, something has already gone wrong.

Trump’s economic war with Canada reveals less about Canadian disloyalty than about American anxiety. The world is adjusting accordingly. Whether Washington notices in time is another matter.

 

M A Hossain is a senior journalist and international affairs analyst based in Bangladesh. 

This article published at :

1. Asia Times, HK : 26 January, 26

2. Pakistan Today, Pak : 29 Jan, 26

3. The Nation, Pak : 04 Feb, 26

From Watergate to Dhaka

M A Hossain,

There is something faintly theatrical about the Washington Post’s recent report claiming that a U.S. diplomat in Dhaka openly told Bangladeshi journalists that Washington wants to cultivate relations with Jamaat-e-Islami and views Hefazat-e-Islam through a pragmatic lens. The report is built around alleged audio recordings from a closed-door meeting. It is presented with the authority of quotation marks and the confidence of a paper that has made its reputation by puncturing power. Yet the story collapses the moment one asks a basic question: if an American diplomat had truly said these things, why would the audio ever see the light of day?

Diplomacy, especially American diplomacy, is not conducted with the recklessness of an open microphone. It is governed by layers of discipline, training, and institutional paranoia. U.S. diplomats are acutely aware that every word they utter in politically sensitive environments can be weaponized. This is particularly true in countries like Bangladesh, where Islamist politics, secular-nationalist anxieties, and great-power rivalries intersect in combustible ways. To imagine a U.S. diplomat casually musing about befriending Jamaat-e-Islami—an organization with a deeply controversial past—while knowing journalists were present, and then allowing that conversation to be recorded, stretches credulity beyond its limits.

The Washington Post claims to have obtained audio recordings from a December 1, 2025, meeting. The quoted remarks are striking. Bangladesh, the diplomat allegedly said, has “shifted Islamic.” Jamaat-e-Islami would “do better than it’s ever done before” in the February 2026 election. “We want them to be our friends.” Jamaat cannot impose sharia, and if it crosses red lines, the United States could slap “100% tariffs” on it the next day. These are not throwaway comments. They are policy-laden statements with enormous diplomatic consequences.

Here is the problem: statements of that magnitude do not leak accidentally. When damaging audio emerges, it is usually because someone wants it to emerge. History is instructive here. From the Pentagon Papers to WikiLeaks cables, from the Snowden revelations to the Ukraine phone call that triggered Donald Trump’s first impeachment, leaks have always had authors with motives. They are political acts disguised as journalistic scoops. The question is not whether the Washington Post obtained audio. The question is why this audio surfaced, and why now.

To its credit, the Washington Post is not a tabloid. It is a conservative institution in the old sense of the word: cautious, reputation-conscious, and deeply embedded in Washington’s foreign-policy ecosystem. This is the same paper that exposed Watergate, yes—but Watergate succeeded not because of a single leak, but because documents, testimonies, and institutional fractures aligned against Richard Nixon. It was not journalism alone that brought Nixon down; it was a system turning on one of its own.

Is something similar unfolding again, this time aimed at Donald Trump?

That may sound conspiratorial, but history suggests it is at least worth asking. Trump has never been a comfortable fit for the American foreign-policy establishment. His transactional worldview, skepticism of alliances, and disdain for ideological evangelism have repeatedly clashed with the preferences of career officials, think tanks, and legacy media. During his first term, anonymous leaks were not anomalies; they were a feature of governance. Internal conversations, phone calls, draft memos—nothing seemed sacred. The bureaucracy leaked not to inform the public, but to constrain a president it did not trust.

Seen in this light, the Dhaka audio story looks less like a revelation and more like a message. It suggests that under a Trump-aligned administration, Washington is willing to engage Islamist actors pragmatically, even controversially. It implies cynicism, power politics, and moral flexibility. In short, it paints Trumpian foreign policy as dangerous improvisation. Whether or not Trump personally had anything to do with Bangladesh is beside the point. The narrative does the work.

There is another layer of implausibility. If a U.S. diplomat truly believed Jamaat-e-Islami posed no threat of imposing sharia, and that economic coercion could discipline it if necessary, why articulate that view so crudely? American diplomacy prefers ambiguity. It thrives on phrases like “all options remain on the table” and “we engage with all stakeholders.” The alleged quotes lack that bureaucratic texture. They sound more like arguments than assessments, more like political signaling than diplomatic analysis.

Moreover, the idea that the United States would openly discuss “100% tariffs” as a disciplinary tool against a Bangladeshi political party betrays a misunderstanding of how sanctions actually work. Tariffs are imposed on states, not movements. Even sanctions regimes require legal frameworks, interagency consensus, and often congressional involvement. Diplomats do not threaten them casually in off-the-record chats. To suggest otherwise is to confuse cable news rhetoric with policy reality.

None of this is to deny that Washington engages with unsavory actors. Of course it does. The United States negotiated with the Taliban in Doha after two decades of war. It maintained channels with Islamists during the Arab Spring. Realism often demands uncomfortable conversations. But there is a difference between discreet engagement and declarative endorsement. The Washington Post story blurs that distinction in ways that feel deliberate.

What, then, is the secret behind the audio and the report? The most plausible answer is not that a reckless diplomat spoke too freely, but that fragments of a conversation—real, altered, selectively edited, or strategically framed—were elevated into a narrative that serves broader political purposes. In an era of information warfare, audio is not proof; it is raw material.

The tragedy is that Bangladesh becomes collateral damage in this process. A complex political landscape is flattened into caricature. Jamaat-e-Islami is reduced to an electoral variable. Hefazat-e-Islam becomes a footnote. Bangladeshi agency disappears, replaced by an American-centric drama about leaks, presidents, and newspapers.

The Washington Post has earned its historical stature. But history also teaches humility. Even great institutions can be instruments in struggles they do not fully control. Watergate was a triumph of journalism over power. This story, by contrast, feels like journalism entangled in power—nudging, framing, insinuating.

In the end, skepticism is not cynicism; it is civic responsibility. When a story asks us to believe that a U.S. diplomat said the unsayable, on tape, without consequence, the proper response is not outrage but scrutiny. Leaks that make no sense usually make perfect sense to someone. The real task is to figure out to whom.

M A Hossain, political and defense analyst based in Bangladesh. He can be reached at: writetomahossain@gmail.com

This article published at : 

1. The Nation, Pak : 26 January, 26

2. Blitz, BD : 24 January, 26

3. The Jakarta Post, Indonesia: 27 Jan, 26

4. Hindu Post, India : 29 Jan, 26

5. The North Lines, India : 30 Jan, 26

Why Iran's Regime Just Won't Fall?

M A Hossain, 

Iran has once again appeared on the front pages, framed as a state on the brink. Protests in Iran have unfolded inside a dense fog of information warfare. Tehran’s self-imposed internet blackout has created a vacuum, and vacuums invite manipulation. Into that space rush foreign media, exile groups, intelligence-linked amplifiers, and governments with agendas of their own. The result is a distorted picture that treats every demonstration as existential, every chant as revolutionary, every rumor as fact.

There is no reason to doubt the courage of those on the streets. Thousands have been killed by most estimates. That alone demands moral seriousness. But empathy should not require credulity. Claims that Iran is days away from collapse are less analysis than aspiration. They echo the same wishful thinking that accompanied the 2009 Green Movement, the Arab Spring, and later the Syrian uprising—episodes where hope outran structure, and narrative outran reality. What is happening in Iran today is serious, tragic, and consequential. It is not, however, a simple morality play with a foregone conclusion.

Washington’s role in this distortion is not subtle. For years, US policy toward Iran has leaned on the logic of pressure leading to rupture. Protests become evidence that regime change is not only desirable but imminent. This framing flatters policymakers who prefer inevitability to complexity. Yet Iranian politics, like Iranian society, resists such simplifications.

Three Crises, One Boiling Point

Iran’s unrest is not the product of a single spark. It is the convergence of three long-simmering crises that have periodically erupted over the past decade.

The first is water. Iran is running dry. Lakes are vanishing, rivers reduced to sludge, aquifers depleted beyond recovery. This is not a cyclical drought but a structural collapse driven by mismanagement, climate stress, and overextraction. Water scarcity has already forced internal migration, hollowed out rural economies, and fueled protests that are as much ecological as political. States can repress dissent. They cannot negotiate with hydrology.

The second crisis is energy. Years of sanctions and decaying infrastructure left Iran vulnerable even before the June 2025 conflict, when Israeli strikes damaged oil and gas facilities. Repairs have lagged. Gas shortages have become routine, especially in winter, triggering demonstrations year after year. Energy, once Iran’s strategic asset, has turned into a domestic liability.

The third and most corrosive crisis is economic. The collapse of the 2015 nuclear deal marked a turning point. The re-imposition of US sanctions strangled Iran’s economy, accelerated inflation, and hollowed out the middle class. Since then, Iran has experienced major protests roughly every two years—over fuel prices, water shortages, women’s rights, and now the broader cost of living. The pattern is unmistakable. Pressure accumulates, erupts, is suppressed, and returns stronger.

This time, the trigger was currency collapse. Since the Israel-Iran war, the Rial has lost roughly 40% of its value. When shopkeepers in Tehran’s Grand Bazaar took to the streets, it signaled something deeper than ideological dissent. Merchants are not natural revolutionaries. They protest when the system no longer allows them to survive.

Why the State Endures

If Iran is so troubled, why does the system persist? The answer lies in institutions, not illusions.

The Islamic Republic is not a monolith, but it is resilient. It retains a stable support base rooted in ideology, patronage, and fear of chaos. More than 13 million Iranians voted for an ultra-conservative candidate in the last presidential election. That constituency underpins the clergy, the security services, and the paramilitary networks that keep the state functioning.

Crucially, Iran’s coercive apparatus is layered. The Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps is not merely a military force; it is an economic empire with deep political entrenchment. Defections from its ranks are improbable. The regular army, less ideological and less privileged, is the softer underbelly—but even there, mass defections would require a collapse of legitimacy far beyond what currently exists.

History offers sobering parallels. In 1979, the Shah’s regime collapsed not simply because of protests, but because the military fractured and the elite defected. In Syria, Assad survived precisely because his security apparatus was held. Iran today looks far closer to the latter than the former.

There is also the fear factor—less discussed, but decisive. Many Iranians who oppose the government also fear what comes after. A sudden collapse could unleash ethnic fragmentation, regional secession, or civil war. The Islamic Republic, for all its coercion, provides a form of national unity. That unity may be imposed, but in a region scarred by state failure, imposed unity still counts.

Change From Within—or Something Worse

None of this means Iran is static. Protests matter, even when they fail to overthrow governments. They reshape internal balances, empower some factions, and weaken others. Iran’s leadership knows this. The recent reshuffling of economic ministers and the central bank governor is less reform than theater, but theater has its uses. It buys time. It signals responsiveness without surrendering control.

The real question is not whether change will come, but in what direction. One possibility is gradual adjustment driven by pragmatic figures who see sanctions relief as existential. President Masoud Pezeshkian was elected precisely by that promise. So far, diplomacy has failed—both Tehran and Washington are clinging to maximalist positions. Future talks may revive. Or they may not.

The darker possibility is consolidation in the opposite direction. If unrest is perceived as an existential threat, power may shift further toward the IRGC, with security logic overtaking political calculation. History suggests that states under siege often choose coercion over compromise. Iran would not be the first.

What is certain is that there is no organized opposition capable of seizing the moment. Inside Iran, dissent has been systematically co-opted or crushed. Outside, the opposition is fragmented—monarchists, republicans, leftists sharing little beyond hostility to the current system. Online influence does not translate easily into on-the-ground power.

So, what is really happening in Iran right now? A society under immense strain. A state facing serious, but not terminal, challenges. A protest movement brave but structurally constrained. And an international environment eager to project its own desires onto a far more complicated reality.

Those hoping for collapse should recall a lesson history teaches repeatedly: regimes rarely fall because outsiders want them to. They fall when internal structures give way. Iran's have not—at least not yet.

M A Hossain, senior journalist and international affairs analyst based in Bangladesh.

    This article published at :

1. Asia Times, HK : 23 January, 26

2. Eurasia Review, USA : 23 January, 26