New Delhi, July 9, 2026
The decline of democracy rarely begins with tanks on the streets or constitutions being suspended. More often, it begins quietly—with the intimidation of writers, the silencing of journalists and the gradual normalisation of fear. When those who investigate extremism become the targets of extremists, and the state looks away, the battle is no longer about press freedom alone. It becomes a battle over the very character of the nation.
Bangladesh today appears to be approaching one such crossroads.
Over the past two decades, an unmistakable pattern has emerged. Journalists, bloggers, publishers and intellectuals who expose Islamist extremism or challenge radical narratives increasingly find themselves subjected to online vilification, legal harassment, physical intimidation and, in far too many cases, brutal assassination. Governments have changed, political alliances have shifted and power has alternated between competing parties. Yet the insecurity faced by independent voices has remained disturbingly constant.
The latest example is veteran Bangladeshi journalist Salah Uddin Shoaib Choudhury, whose life has become synonymous with the price of speaking uncomfortable truths.
His latest ordeal began after he wrote about the possibility of Hamas-linked networks expanding their influence into Bangladesh. Following public remarks by Israel's Ambassador to India, Reuven Azar, warning of Hamas' growing footprint in South Asia, Choudhury published a series of reports urging Bangladeshi authorities to take the threat seriously. He also interviewed Ambassador Azar for Blitz, continuing a career-long commitment to documenting the rise of Islamist extremism.
What followed, according to Choudhury, was painfully familiar.
An orchestrated social media campaign branded him a "Mossad agent". Among those amplifying the accusations was Syed Ziaul Haque, the former Bangladesh Army officer who is wanted by the United States for alleged links to Al-Qaeda in the Indian Subcontinent (AQIS) and for his alleged role in the 2015 murder of Bangladeshi-American writer Avijit Roy.
The digital intimidation soon acquired a physical dimension.
According to Choudhury, two masked men arrived outside his residence, displayed his photograph to security personnel, sought details about him and his children and departed after leaving behind an unmistakable warning. He says the incident was immediately reported to Bangladesh's military leadership, intelligence agencies and counter-terrorism authorities. Their response, he claims, has been silence.
Whether every allegation is ultimately established through investigation is a matter for the authorities. What cannot be ignored, however, is that the sequence of online incitement followed by physical intimidation mirrors a pattern Bangladesh has witnessed repeatedly over the past decade.
Nor is this the first time Choudhury has found himself confronting such dangers.
In 2003, he was arrested on charges of sedition and treason after reporting on Islamist militancy and attempting to attend a conference in Israel. His detention triggered international condemnation. The U.S. Congress passed a bipartisan resolution calling upon Bangladesh to end the harassment against him and ensure his safety. Similar concerns were expressed by the European Parliament and Australia's Parliament. International pressure eventually secured his release, but not before demonstrating how vulnerable independent journalism had become.
Sadly, Choudhury's story is not exceptional.
The names of Avijit Roy, Washiqur Rahman, Ananta Bijoy Das, Faisal Arefin Dipan, Xulhaz Mannan and Mahbub Rabbi Tonoy have become symbols of a darker reality. Their professions differed—writer, blogger, publisher, activist—but their perceived offence was remarkably similar. They questioned extremism, defended pluralism or refused to surrender intellectual freedom to religious intimidation.
Many paid with their lives.
Others escaped only by leaving Bangladesh altogether.
What is particularly disturbing is the evolution of the methods employed against such voices. Physical violence is now preceded by organised digital campaigns. Journalists are branded "anti-Islam", "foreign agents" or "enemies of the nation". Their personal information circulates online. Their families become targets. Anonymous threats proliferate. The objective is clear: isolate the individual, delegitimise the journalist and make violence appear socially acceptable before it occurs.
This is no longer simply a law-and-order challenge. It is cognitive warfare directed against independent journalism itself.
The consequences extend well beyond the media.
Every society depends upon independent journalists to identify emerging dangers before governments fully recognise them. They investigate radicalisation, document extremist recruitment, expose terror financing and reveal ideological networks that often operate beneath the state's radar. When these journalists are silenced, democracies lose one of their most effective early-warning systems.
Ironically, those who benefit most are the very extremist organisations the state seeks to defeat.
Bangladesh has undoubtedly achieved significant successes against terrorist organisations through determined security operations. Those achievements deserve recognition. But military and policing successes alone cannot guarantee long-term resilience if the ecosystem of independent scrutiny steadily weakens. Counter-terrorism cannot succeed when journalists fear investigating the very networks that security agencies are expected to dismantle.
The international community also bears responsibility.
Global attention often arrives only after another journalist is murdered or another publisher is hacked to death. Condemnations follow, investigations are promised and reports are written. Yet the cycle continues. Preventive diplomacy has remained far weaker than reactive outrage.
The allegations made by Salah Uddin Shoaib Choudhury therefore deserve immediate, transparent and independent investigation. If credible threats against journalists can be issued with apparent impunity, and if institutions entrusted with public security fail to respond decisively, the implications reach far beyond one individual. They raise fundamental questions about the state's capacity—and willingness—to protect those who challenge violent extremism.
Bangladesh was born from a struggle against cultural domination and political repression. Its liberation was fought in the name of identity, language and freedom. Those ideals cannot survive in an atmosphere where independent journalists require international attention simply to remain alive.
History teaches a consistent lesson. Extremists do not merely seek to eliminate individuals; they seek to eliminate witnesses. They understand that a free journalist armed with facts poses a greater threat to their ideology than any weapon.
The true measure of a democracy, therefore, is not how it treats those who praise the government. It is how effectively it protects those who expose the enemies of freedom. Bangladesh now faces precisely that test.

(Arun Anand is a writing fellow with the Middle East Forum, Washington. He has written more than a dozen books)

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