CLASH BETWEEN SECULAR VS ISLAMIC ETHOS What constitutes independence for women?

A graffito painted on a wall in Dhaka during the July uprising. — New Age/Sony Ramani

by Sayema Khatun

FOLLOWING the July revolution, nothing remains the same in Bangladesh.

Let’s take a deep breath and celebrate the restoration of democracy after 14 months of ‘mobocracy’ during the interim period. Although the restoration might not be perfect, it at least allows us time to reflect and rethink. The bloodbath on the streets caused an irreversible rupture in our statecraft and historical narrative. We are now required to grapple with nuanced insights and interpret a new language and expression used to create this experience. After 55 years of independence, Bangladesh now stands transformed at this historical juncture. Our collective conscience is shaken by soul-searching questions.

Being soaked in the blood of our children, we are living in unfathomable trauma, bearing the burden of their dead bodies dragged to be dumped in unidentified graves, the sacred bodies of the martyrs lumped together, burnt alive, the flesh of our flesh. Words cannot express the magnitude of such a sacrifice made right before our eyes to break the shackles of a fascist regime that made human lives expendable, ironically, in the name of ‘muktijuddher cetona’ (the spirit of the liberation war) and posed to represent the ‘swadhinotar sopokkher shokti’ (pro-independence force) while othering any dissenting voices that challenged the limiting boundary of secular Bengali nationalism, which underpinned the entire scheme. The July uprising finally broke free from such occupation of historical consciousness and reinterpreted the meaning of independence — not only as freedom won from the Islamic state of Pakistan but also as something that must be protected from the hegemonic control of Indian Hindutva over Bangladesh — coining a new term: ‘Bangladeshponthi rajniti’ (pro-Bangladesh politics).They claimed to seek a middle ground. This rupture was mentioned as the second independence.

Women and girls were an integral part of the heroic resistance of the monsoon revolution. They stood side by side in the public battleground and in the retreat of their homes, flipping the power game inside out. Young girls and women played a key role in the 2024 July upheaval, pushing the anti-quota movement into a national uprising. Later, they bore outstanding burdens to restore peace and stability in post-conflict society. Power shifted, but patriarchy did not. The fearless girls were pushed to the back seat from the forefront. They were forced to remain invisible in political leadership during the formation of the interim government. This was followed by a dreadful rise in misogynist assaults in public spaces and on digital platforms. Revisiting this recent history, I wonder what constitutes first or second independence when it comes to women.

Let’s begin with the anti-quota movement, the beginning of the end of the Sheikh Hasina regime      under which quotas for women and representational empowerment       installed women in the power positions never seen before, such as ministers, parliament members, vice chancellors, and directors of government offices, for example. One of my feminist friends asserted that Sheikh Hasina introduced favourable laws for marriage, divorce, and custody that made women’s lives way better. Under such a widespread distorted perception, this regime enjoyed a reputation of being favoured by the feminists who feared       a potential Islamic takeover, pointing to the plight of Afghan or Iranian women’s predicament under an Islamic state. Such narratives, in the disguise of women’s empowerment within a neo-liberal worldview, effectively enabled fascism to exist and provided validation and legitimacy. Women’s emancipation theory and praxis had been exploited for rather opposite ends — enabling the withholding of democracy for a long 15 years.

Women’s rights movements and mainstream feminism in Bangladesh have been generally associated with secular politics and international human rights discourses, especially after the fourth World Conference on Women in Beijing resulted in the Beijing Declaration and Platform for Action in 1995, which was adopted by 189 countries, including Bangladesh, with some reservations. As a Gen X feminist activist who grew up in 1990s Dhaka, I find some inconsistencies with the new generation of women’s experience and expressions and feel myself caught between the old-school secular feminism and the new wave of Islamic lifestyle and ethos adopted by a large number of girls in school, college, and the professional world while bearing discontent with both the views. The old-school secular feminism, within which I myself have been schooled throughout my entire adult life, suddenly feels insufficient at this crossroads for its avoidance and unwillingness to deal with the religio-spiritual and moral-ethical considerations of the believing, practising Muslim women living under Islamic principles. Again, the existing Islamic narratives and approaches to women’s questions have not yet been explored sufficiently with credible authority, particularly in the context of post-2024 July within an integrated global system.

From the liberal perspective of women’s empowerment, it was utterly surprising to watch the anti-quota movement, with girls holding placards conveying a contrary message — demanding that the quota system to be abolished, including women’s quotas in government jobs. It sounded like a shocking backlash when female students maintained that they were already equal and did not require a quota in order to create equal opportunity and a level playing field for the job market. A fault line emerged, dissociating with women’s empowerment discourses. The Women’s Reform Commissions Report 2025 got rejected not only by the far-right Islamic groups but also by some groups of women that sprouted in response, such as Sommilito Nari Proyas (United Women’s Initiative), backed by the Jamat and its allies, as they found their recommendations conflicting with religious views. The Women’s Commission, led by Shireen Huq, rather made their best effort to not be confrontational with any religion, particularly with Islam. Nevertheless, they faced strong condemnation and a huge backlash by the Islamic groups spearheaded by the same Hefazat-e-Islam, which also demonstrated against the National Women’s Policy back in 2011. They organised a large crowd that called out the chief of the commission, Shireen Huq, along with its members, as ‘beshya’ (prostitute) and desecrated hundreds of her pictures. Earlier, while the Women’s Affairs Reform Commission was preparing the reform report and recommendations, a new wave of anti-rape activism erupted in response to recurrent attacks and assaults in public spaces, as well as ongoing violence against women, demanding that perpetrators to be held accountable rather than targeting the victims. Unsettling incidents of rape and sexual violence have continued regardless of the stabilisation of the new democratic government, persisting to this day.

A significant shift in the gender discourse is symbolised by an incident that occurred shortly after Hasina’s resignation on August 5, 2024. During the period of chaos and anarchy throughout this transition, the graffiti of Mohyosi Begum Rokeya — the great Begum Rokeya, pioneer of Bengali Muslim women’s education and an icon of the early modern feminist voice — was vandalised and desecrated. Being the founder of the first schools for Muslim girls and a fierce feminist writer of the 19th century, Rokeya is nationally revered and celebrated, having a national award introduced after her name. Abu Sayeed, the first martyr of the July uprising, was a student of Begum Rokeya University, which commemorates the birthplace of Rokeya. On her graffiti, they wrote a dishonourable word, ‘magi’ (a slur for women void of dignity), which is being performed as a symbolic assault on the progress of modern, educated, independent women who stand on their own sovereign will and agency.

After July 2024, as the Awami-branded secularism collapsed, far-right Islamic groups immediately occupied the vacuum, pivoting around control over women’s bodies and minds and personal and political life. I find a sharp and starkly divisive discourse developing around gender roles and responsibilities in a society where groups confront each other fiercely: secular versus Islamic as polar opposites. The Islamic political parties, which include, but are not limited to, Jamaat-e-Islam, Hefaza     t-e-Islam, and Islami Shashontrontro Andolon, pushed for the unmaking of the secular basis of the constitution into an Islamic state based on sharia. They were arguing, ‘Muslim hote hole apnake shariya chaite hobe’ (You need to demand sharia in order to be a Muslim) or ‘shariat chara musomlan hoy na’ (You cannot be a Muslim without following sharia).’ Such arguments were made not merely for private or personal or social life but rather intended a restructuring of the state apparatus on the basis of sharia, which has been dreaded by the minority communities as well as women. Evidently, the July crowd consists of an element of right-wing Islamists from both madrassah and general education backgrounds.

The popular Islamic sermons known as ‘waj-mahfils’ massively spread misogynist, demeaning entertainment, violating women’s honour as sovereign agents and refusing their equal entitlement in family and state. In public perception, proponents of feminism are seen as secular and not adhering to religious values, often expressed in the phrases ‘Qur’aner sathe, dhormiyo mullyobohder sathe sanghorshik’ (feminist views are conflicting with the Holy Quran and religious values).The deshi (vernacular) interpreters of the Holy Qur'an and Sunnah are predominantly men, and unlike the global Islamic scholarship practice, no strong challenge has been made effectively to contest such a male-dominated and patriarchal interpretation of the Holy Qur’an so far. Ironically, within the deshi Islamic groups, some women’s voices emerged to challenge the feminist approach of the Women’s Commission. Later, ‘Narir Dake Maitree Jatra’ (a solidarity march called by women) emerged, taking a confrontational approach to women’s education, work, marriage, ownership agency, life, and freedom. This clash occurred within a dichotomous worldview and ethos upheld by oppositional groups identified as secular versus Islamic. A confrontation between secular and Islamic ethos (as Saba Mahmood noted in 2009) unfolded over women’s bodies, becoming a major battleground shaping the emerging political discourses.

Let’s pay attention to the way the ‘somota bonam parthokyo’ (gender equality vs. difference) debate has been misunderstood and misrepresented in the so-called ‘naya bandobosto’ (new settlement) conversation, and to the implications of such ill-informed public debate. Samantha Sharmin, a National Citizens’ Party spokesperson, for example, was pathetically mumbling and beating around the bush when asked on a talk show whether men and women are equal. They introduced the concept of insaf (justice) as a replacement for samata (equality), as if insaf does not include samata, as if gender differences inherently nullify equality — invoking yet another binary, ‘samata bonam insaf’ (equality vs. justice), as though the two are mutually exclusive. This demonstrates that the youth-led emerging political forces fear and avoid messing with the far-right forces and deliberately ignore the plurality within sharia and the diversity of Islamic cultural practices. At the same time, it also indicates the urgency of exploring the Islamic frameworks further by the feminists, rather than avoiding the elephant in the room.

With this understanding, here is my argument: relying solely on Western feminist thought and liberal philosophical tradition limits our mission of total emancipation, as the old-school liberal secular feminism lost its appeal and legitimacy in the age of genocidal campaigns. The vast majority of Muslim women will never give up Islam as the governing principle of their lives. If we leave the authority of interpretation of sharia and Islam as the overarching governing code of life to the male ‘mullahs’ and Islamic alpha males, that might hinder our quest for independence from the ground up and prevent us from building communication between the apparently mutually exclusive worlds. Acknowledging this complex lived reality, we might ponder what constitutes independence for women no matter how the path is being forged. Nonetheless, on a personal note, I cannot grasp the need for a state to be Islamic, as a state cannot practice a religion; people can. Haven’t we followed sharia and Qur'an guidance for generations in our personal and family lives? The intention of engaging state power to police people’s religious life goes beyond the scope of piety; rather, it is a power play. No matter how many times needed, first, second, or third independence, women’s independence is non-negotiable in nation-building. No compromise with patriarchy and subjugation of women. Religion is welcome; patriarchy is not, whether secular or religious.

Sayema Khatun is an independent anthropologist based in Wisconsin, USA.