Et Tu, Brute? — A Cry from the Forgotten Base.

There is a dangerous silence creeping through the ranks of the grassroots—a silence born not out of ignorance, but out of disappointment.

“Et tu, Brute?”—the haunting words linked to Julius Caesar in his final moments—were not just about death. They were about betrayal. Betrayal by someone trusted. Someone close. Someone who shared the struggle.

Today, that same cry echoes from the base of our political structures.

The grassroots are not spectators. They are the engine. They are the hands that carry the message from house to house, the voices that defend the party in hostile spaces, the bodies that stand in the sun from dawn to dusk to protect every single vote. When the party is weak, they are its shield. When it rises, they are its strength.

But when power is finally secured, the story changes.

Recognition becomes selective. Access and phone calls become restricted. Loyalty becomes forgotten.

Those who fought from the trenches are suddenly told—without words—to step aside. Opportunities that should reflect sacrifice are quietly handed to a privileged circle. The very people who kept hope alive in the darkest moments now stand at the margins, watching others enjoy the fruits of their labour.

And so the question returns, sharper than ever:

Et tu, Brute?
Is this what the struggle was for?
This is not just disappointment—it is disillusionment. And disillusionment, if ignored, becomes disengagement. A base that feels betrayed will not fight with the same spirit. A branch that feels neglected will not mobilize with the same energy. You cannot sideline the foundation and expect the structure to stand.

Even in Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare, the lesson is clear: betrayal from within destroys more than opposition ever can. It breaks trust. And once trust is broken, rebuilding it is far harder than winning power.

Let it be said plainly: the grassroots are not asking for favours. They are demanding fairness. They are calling for inclusion. They are insisting that sacrifice must mean something.

Because when those who carried the struggle begin to feel forgotten, the consequences will not be loud at first.

They will be quiet.
A missed meeting here.
A weak turnout there.
A fading voice where there was once fire.

Until one day, that silence becomes the loudest message of all.

And when that moment comes, the cry will no longer be a question.

Et tu, Brute?
It will be a verdict.