The Claim to ‘Truth’ and the Corporate Media

In his essay marking the 28th anniversary of Prothom Alo, titled “Sorry, We Couldn’t Please Everyone” (November 4, 2026), editor Matiur Rahman writes a line that immediately catches the eye: “attacks-lawsuits-arrests-criticism-advertising cuts.” Linked by hyphens, these five distinct realities are treated as if they belong to the very same category. Attacks, state repression, lawsuits, and a reader’s criticism are presented in the same breath. For a flagship newspaper that has claimed to stand for the truth against power for 28 years, this solitary sentence reveals more about how it views its critics than the rest of the piece combined. To be clear at the outset: the reality of the threats and attacks is indisputable. Lawsuits, advertising halted under state pressure, the arrests of journalists, and the unprecedented arson attack on the offices of Prothom Alo and The Daily Star in December 2025 all actually occurred. There is no room to downplay this violence and repression; it demands unequivocal condemnation. Yet, being victimized does not automatically validate a newspaper’s editorial choices. In Matiur Rahman’s essay, institutional pressure, market popularity, and positive social initiatives are all mobilized as a shield against criticism.

The question is how the essay uses language and institutional discourse to

construct that authority.

Following Norman Fairclough’s model of Critical Discourse Analysis (CDA), this piece can be read on three levels: text (language, metaphors, and what remains unsaid), discourse practice (how the anniversary essay draws on institutional history to address readers), and social practice (the wider political and economic realities in which the paper operates). Anniversary essays are, by design, an exercise in institutional self-appraisal and celebration; one does not expect detached neutrality. What merits scrutiny, however, is how an absolute claim to “truth” is deployed to dismiss legitimate critique.

From Personal Ethos to Corporate Legitimacy

Rahman opens by reflecting on his political past—the 1962 student movement against Ayub Khan, the Liberation War, and his 21-year tenure as editor of Ekota, the weekly mouthpiece of the Communist Party of Bangladesh. In classical rhetoric, this is ethos—establishing credibility through personal character, sacrifice, and a record of political engagement.

Rahman’s personal history is undeniably rich. The problem begins when an individual’s political credibility is transferred to a diversified corporate enterprise. Ekota was the organ of an explicit political ideology. Prothom Alo, by contrast, is published by Mediastar Limited, an arm of Transcom Group—one of the country’s largest business conglomerates, with commercial stakes spanning soft drinks, pharmaceuticals, electronics, and consumer goods. By borrowing from his past political struggles to present the newspaper’s editorial agenda as the public interest, the constraints imposed by corporate ownership are pushed out of view.

The use of Zainul Abedin’s painting Sangram (Struggle) as a symbol serves a similar purpose, casting journalists as fellow fighters in the people’s struggle. Yet, invoking “the people” as a monolithic entity carries real hazards. Once the newspaper positions itself as the sole representative of “the people", any citizen who questions the newspaper’s role can easily be portrayed as an adversary of the public or aligned with the “dark forces".

Fact-Checking versus the Politics of Neutrality

Throughout the piece, the word “truth” is invoked with unyielding certainty. Rahman asserts that “truth is like the morning sun; it never changes,” and that Prothom Alo “verifies, cross-checks, and publishes only the truth.” Fact verification is a newsroom’s primary responsibility. Ensuring factual accuracy is fundamental, but fact-checking is not synonymous with neutrality.

Out of thousands of unfolding events, determining which event qualifies as news, whose account is foregrounded, and which angle leads the headline are fundamentally institutional choices. Media scholars such as Robert Entman and Pamela Shoemaker have explored how news selection and presentation work through the concepts of “gatekeeping” and "framing". Newsroom culture, ownership interests, sourcing practices, and political considerations all influence these choices. Pledging an unyielding “pursuit of truth” completely masks this editorial decision-making.

Furthermore, claiming to be “non-partisan and objective” while openly embracing specific political and social commitments—such as the ideals of the Liberation War, secularism, or social reform—contains an inherent contradiction. Taking an explicit normative stance is not inherently problematic; it is entirely normal.

The problem arises when these subjective commitments are presented as objective, transcendent "truth". Sociologist Gaye Tuchman described objectivity as a “strategic ritual”—a professional routine journalists and institutions use to shield themselves from criticism.

Lumping Violence and Critique into a Single Box

This brings us back to the hyphenated catalog: “attacks-lawsuits-arrests-criticism-advertising cuts.” By placing standard intellectual critique alongside state repression and physical violence, the essay collapses distinct categories into one rhetorical frame. Analyzing public discontent, the editor notes that people grow angry whenever "Our writing goes against someone’s interests.” In other words, grievance against Prothom Alo is reduced solely to wounded self-interest. This leaves no room for the possibility that criticism might arise from genuine ethical or professional disagreement. Teun van Dijk’s concept of the ideological square helps explain the contrast: the newspaper presents itself as an embodiment of truth and courage while portraying its critics as self-interested or aligned with dark forces.

While halting advertising under state pressure and arresting journalists represent institutional repression by those in power, the December 2025 arson attack on the newsrooms following the death of Osman Hadi was an instance of mob violence. Both are reprehensible, yet fundamentally different in nature. Similarly, intellectual criticism from readers is not the same as propaganda by political opponents. Conflating legitimate criticism with what Edward Herman and Noam Chomsky termed “flak”—organized efforts to intimidate and silence the media—ultimately closes the door on institutional accountability.

The Hollow Rhetoric of Apology

The word “sorry” appears four times across the headline and conclusion: sorry for not being able to please everyone, sorry for not compromising, and sorry for refusing to stop despite hundreds of blows. In each instance, parenthetical remarks transform the ostensible apology into a celebration of institutional defiance. Communication scholar William Benoit calls this “bolstering”: reinforcing one’s positive image under the cover of an apology.

A subsequent reference to “unintentional errors” attempts to close the ledger. Yet, as Aaron Lazare’s work on apologies shows, genuine apologies require specific admissions of wrongdoing, real remorse, an explanation, and an offer of repair. The lingering public debates surrounding Prothom Alo’s role during the 2007 military-backed 1/11 caretaker government—particularly regarding efforts to fracture political parties and its editorial line on the controversial “Minus-Two” formula—cannot be settled with a vague concession to

“unintentional mistakes.” Where an honest reassessment of historical editorial decisions was needed, an ambiguous apology was used instead to bury that political legacy.

Ownership, Advertising, and Invisible Chains

“Our pen is never shackled,” Rahman proclaims. In Bangladesh’s media landscape, this is at best a half-truth. The state pressure faced by Prothom Alo is a matter of record. In December 2025, executive editor Sajjad Sharif recounted how intelligence agencies in 2015 verbally instructed more than fifty corporate houses to stop advertising with the paper, effectively cutting off its financial lifeline.

Yet Herman and Chomsky’s propaganda model reminds us that constraints on press

freedom do not come from the state alone; corporate ownership and dependence on

advertising constitute an equally formidable filter. The informal, unspoken understandings pervasive across Dhaka’s newsrooms—softening headlines, spiking investigative scoops, or staying completely silent when major advertisers are implicated—routinely compromise independence. A newspaper willing to challenge state authoritarianism must also ask how free it remains from its own corporate benefactors and commercial advertisers. Without confronting this, claims of an "Unshackled pen” remain incomplete.

Symbolic Capital versus Editorial Accountability

A substantial portion of the essay chronicles the activities of the Prothom Alo Trust: anti-acid attack campaigns, anti-drug initiatives, the Math Olympiad, and scholarships for students. These are undoubtedly commendable social initiatives. In Pierre Bourdieu’s terms, these initiatives generate “symbolic capital”: social recognition and prestige that can strengthen an institution’s public legitimacy and shield it from scrutiny. The implied argument is simple: how could an institution that fights acid attacks and funds scholarships be dishonest in its journalism? In much the same way, referencing its status as the “number-one newspaper" and the “number-one website" and reaching “tens of millions of readers” is marshalled as proof of moral legitimacy. But market dominance is no substitute for editorial rigour. In On Television, Bourdieu warned that market ratings and commercial

Metrics erode the professional autonomy of journalism. Readership is a market asset that secures advertising revenue; it does not constitute proof of editorial infallibility.

Acknowledging Risks, Embracing Self-Critique

Journalism in Bangladesh faces acute perils. Standing firm against the harassment of reporters, draconian “black laws,” and barbaric acts of arson against newspaper offices amid public outrage is an ethical imperative for anyone committed to a free press.

However, defending media houses from attack cannot mean placing their corporate interests and editorial records beyond critique. For an institution that has set the country’s journalistic benchmark for 28 years, an ironic “sorry” or a narrative of victimhood will no longer suffice.

Whether regarding its role during 1/11 or the relationship between its reporting and the commercial interests of Transcom Group and major advertisers, a media outlet’s integrity depends on its willingness to answer difficult questions openly. The question now is whether Prothom Alo can move beyond this cycle of self-praise and victimhood and subject its own editorial record to honest scrutiny.

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​Writer: Editor, Dhaka Papers
[email protected]