We will only remember here that when the struggle for a restoration of civility and transparency gained momentum under the aegis of the fourteen-party alliance, in the period leading up to the imposition of a state of emergency, the response of the ruling circles was crisp, sharp and quixotic.

The constitution, said they, could not be tampered with, and because it could not, there was an imperative to hold general elections by the twenty second day of January. That was then.

Today, there are the many, and growing, voices in the BNP beginning to see light in their lives. After Osman Farruk, it is now Sadeq Hossain Khoka who feels frank enough to let us know (as if we did not know already) that his party made a good number of mistakes in its days in power. And within hours of Khoka's arrival at enlightenment, it became Saifur Rahman's turn to offer the nation the wisdom that political dynasties, in the end, are a burden for the country.

That was a wonderful gesture on his part, except for the irritating truth that it came rather late in the day, and it came from someone who once had felt little need to hold himself back from putting his own dynastic plans, through pushing prematurely the cause of his son, into practice.

In a way, of course, you might feel relieved that, at last, the once upon a time loyalists of Begum Zia have decided to be individuals in their own right again, that they have finally seen the frightful writing on the wall. But then you ask yourself, without expecting any answer, why these good men did not gather the courage earlier, even as they held office, to challenge their leader on the dynastic question.

But that was what a good lot of people in the old Soviet Union said about Nikita Khrushchev fifty-one years ago. At the 1956 congress of the Soviet Union Communist Party, Khrushchev created waves when he publicly condemned the deceased Joseph Stalin's excesses in the 1930s. Maybe he could have made his feelings known in the times when Stalin was alive and kicking? He could not, of course, a reason being the threat of a fate akin to that which had led men like Bukharin and Trotsky to their sorry deaths.

Even so, Khrushchev's posthumous criticism of Stalin was for many a good instance of opportunism.

It was quite an insight into how the new man in the Kremlin planned to run the show. And he did run it pretty well, until another band of communists led by Leonid Brezhnev ran him out of power in October 1964. Note, though, that Khrushchev's ouster was brought about through plain and simple intrigue.

He was away on holiday when his enemies gathered in Moscow and decided to get rid of him. They then summoned him from his dacha on the outskirts of the capital and told him bluntly that he was no more in office.

Courage in the political world, as you have observed, is often kept in a state of silent animation. It is the circumstances that prevent some men (and women) from speaking out against those they happen to serve. There are not many instances of righteous defiance you will find around you, unless of course you think of Ukraine's Yulia Timoshenko. She did not agree with President Yushchenko, who simply threw her out. It did not bother her.

But when you remember, from the old Pakistan days, men like Khan Abdus Sabur, you have yet one more instance of individuals practicing boldness at a time when it is no more in demand.

In 1970, as the campaign for Pakistan's first general election got underway, Sabur Khan, who had served the fallen Ayub Khan as a loyal minister in the central cabinet, told the country that he had advised the former president against instituting the Agartala case against Sheikh Mujibur Rahman. Well, if he actually did that brave thing, no one heard about it. Besides, for Sabur Khan to paint his former leader in such dark colours really did not amount to anything much for him in terms of enhancing popular respect.

You could turn to India. Throughout the nearly two years of Indira Gandhi's emergency rule, Jagjivan Ram served happily as an influential member of the government. His loyalty was beyond question, his silence taken as a mark of acquiescence to everything the prime minister was doing. And yet Ram shocked a whole country when, immediately after Mrs. Gandhi lifted the emergency in 1977 to prepare for general elections, he bolted from the prime minister's camp and linked up with Morarji Desai and his team.

His conduct during the election campaign was brave. It was bravery that ought to have come earlier. As it was, Ram ended up enjoying the best of two worlds, as Indira Gandhi's minister and then in his new avatar in the Janata government. These days he is not much remembered, despite a whole life spent in politics.

In Bangladesh, there was a tremendous degree of courage in Mohammad Ataul Gani Osmany when he renounced his membership of the Jatiyo Sangsad once Bangabandhu introduced one-party Baksal politics in 1975. In an era when Sheikh Mujibur Rahman was clearly superman, Osmany's protest turned him into a bigger hero than he already was.

He should have held on to that charmed position. But when, in August 1975, he turned up at Khondokar Moshtaque's side, as the usurper's defence adviser, our bewilderment was indescribable. He proved ineffectual in holding Bangabandhu's assassins to account. Besides, being with Moshtaque was in itself a huge blemish for anyone worried about his reputation in those turbulent times.

When courage goes lacking in politicians, they cease to matter in the public consciousness. When you add to that the many tales of men who have simply turned around, and turned away from their leaders in belated fashion, you will be appalled at the way in which civilised behaviour thus takes a good beating.

Sartaj Aziz and Chaudhry Shujaat, in Pakistan, lost little time in repudiating Nawaz Sharif after October 1999. Sharif's close friend, the journalist-turned-politician Mushahid Hussain, does not recall the fallen prime minister these days.

You could add a little more spice to such stories, through going back to the careers of certain men you have known. In Pakistan, Syed Sharifuddin Pirzada has cheerfully served every military government in every conceivable capacity. Bangladesh's Moudud Ahmed was with the Awami League, before joining General Zia and then, after a spate of politics with Begum Zia, linking up with General Ershad. And then, rather incongruously, he found his way back to the BNP.

Some of the biggest oddities in life well up, froth-like, in the world of politics. Observe Hannan Shah. Having been silent these past five years, he has lately been displaying a considerable degree of courage.

You might be snide and suggest that he is sailing against the wind, or even waging war against the windmills a la Don Quixote. But when, one by one, everyone in the BNP seems to be washing his hands of the Zia clan, Hannan's stout defence of it is remarkable. It is, of course, another question whether he is doing the right thing.

Syed Badrul Ahsan is Editor, Current Affairs, The Daily Star.