Md. Galib Mia
Bangladesh stands at a crossroads in 2025, navigating political upheaval, economic strain, and a justice system struggling to keep pace with the demands of its people. Against this backdrop, recent amendments to Section 167 of the Code of Criminal Procedure (CrPC) 1898 concerning the detention of suspects when investigations stretch beyond 24 hours signal an intent to reform a long-criticized legal provision. With updates to Section 167(2) introducing video-linked hearings and the new Section 167(2A) mandating medical checks, the government aims to curb custodial abuse. Yet, in a nation reeling from protests, allegations of state overreach, and crumbling infrastructure, can these changes deliver justice, or are they mere bandages on a deeper wound?
Section 167 governs the process when police need more than a day to investigate a crime, allowing magistrates to extend custody up to 15 days. It’s a critical law, meant to balance investigative needs with individual rights. But in Bangladesh, where reports of police brutality and custodial deaths persist, over 600 such deaths were recorded between 2009 and 2023 per human rights groups like Ain o Salish Kendra. This provision has often enabled abuse rather than prevented it. The amendments come at a time when public distrust in law enforcement is at an all-time high, fueled by 2024’s anti-discrimination protests and the subsequent crackdown that left hundreds dead or detained.
Before the amendments, Section 167(2) gave magistrates wide scope to authorize detention without stringent oversight. This flexibility, paired with an underfunded and politicized police force, turned custody into a pressure cooker for abuse. Rural detainees, far from judicial scrutiny, were especially at risk, with little recourse against torture or coerced confessions. The law’s colonial roots designed for control, not fairness clashed with Bangladesh’s constitutional promise of dignity under Article 32, exposing a gap between intent and reality.
The revised Section 167(2) now allows magistrates to conduct detention hearings via video, a nod to efficiency and transparency. In theory, this could reduce delays and physical handling of detainees. But Bangladesh’s reality tells a different story. With power outages plaguing even urban centers exacerbated by 2025’s flooding and economic woes and rural internet coverage lagging at under 40%, this “modern” fix feels out of touch. For many, video hearings are a pipe dream, leaving the amendment’s promise unfulfilled where it’s needed most. Worse, it sidesteps the root issue: police impunity remains unchecked, whether hearings are virtual or in-person.
The standout change is Section 167(2A), requiring medical exams before and after custody to detect and deter torture. This aligns with Bangladesh’s obligations under the UN Convention Against Torture, ratified in 1998, and responds to years of advocacy. On paper, it’s a win magistrates must act if abuse is evident. But implementation is shaky. The healthcare system, strained by budget cuts and a doctor shortage (just 0.6 physicians per 1,000 people, per WHO), struggles to provide impartial, timely exams. In politically charged cases like those tied to the 2024 unrest doctors face pressure to downplay findings, undermining the provision’s teeth. It’s a step forward, but one that teeters on the edge of dysfunction.
The amendments land in a Bangladesh grappling with chaos. The 2024 protests, sparked by economic hardship and government overreach, have left scars: a polarized society, a judiciary clogged with over 3 million pending cases, and a police force accused of extrajudicial killings. Floods in 2025 displaced millions, straining resources further and exposing rural courts’ inability to function, let alone adopt video tech. Corruption festers Transparency International ranks Bangladesh 147th globally and political interference in legal matters is routine. In this climate, the amendments feel like a well-meaning gesture dwarfed by systemic rot.
The public’s faith in justice is eroding. High-profile cases, like the detention of activists without transparent process, highlight how laws like Section 167 can be weapon zed. The medical check requirement is a bright spot, but without independent oversight or rural healthcare upgrades, it risks becoming another unenforced rule. Video hearings, meanwhile, are a luxury few can access, widening the urban-rural justice gap.
The updates to Section 167 are a flicker of hope in a dark landscape, but they’re not enough. To make them work, Bangladesh needs more than legal tweaks it needs a reckoning. Rural courts must be equipped with reliable power and internet. Medical exams must be backed by independent doctors, free from state pressure. Above all, police accountability through training, oversight, and prosecution of abusers must anchor any reform. Without these, the amendments are a whisper against the roar of injustice.
In 2025, Bangladesh’s people demand more than promises. The government must bridge the gap between law and reality, ensuring Section 167 protects, not punishes. Until then, these changes, though laudable, risk being lost in the storm of a nation in crisis.
The author is a student of law at Presidency University
