Three thousand years ago, power in Egypt was centered on Pharaoh Ramses. He was the king of kings, the earthly representative of the god Amun in Thebes. Yet the real power at that time lay in the hands of the high priest Herihor. For all his actions, the Pharaoh sought approval from the god Amun—whether he was going to war, imposing new taxes, or laying the foundation of a new pyramid. Ramses would ask, “Does the revered Amun agree with my decision?” Amun, of course, did not speak; it was Herihor who would nod his head yes or no on the god’s behalf.
The abuse of power by sheltering behind religion—or, more plainly, using religion as a tool for politics—is nothing new. At many points in history, power and religion have been closely intertwined. Let us move to Pakistan in the mid-20th century. It was 1948. Under the leadership of Maulana Maududi, the country was torn apart by anti-Ahmadi riots. Although the riots were carried out in the name of religion, the real aim was to challenge the political legitimacy of Pakistan’s Prime Minister, Liaquat Ali Khan.
Pressured by circumstances and in an effort to counter the growing influence of Maududi and his party, Jamaat-e-Islami, Liaquat Ali Khan introduced a proposal in March 1949 known as the “Objectives Resolution.”
Through this resolution, the final authority over various constitutional questions was effectively handed over to the ulema, or religious leadership. Many Pakistani intellectuals believe that this decision erased the institutional separation between state and religion. Pakistani-American historian Ayesha Jalal has also noted that it was this Objectives Resolution that created an institutional legitimacy for using religion as a tool for political ends in Pakistan.
Let us take another example from the United States today. The new right-wing political ideology that has now taken root there draws its legitimacy from Judeo-Christian religious consciousness. Politicians and religious leaders, hand in hand, have launched a kind of “holy war” to establish that outlook. They are combing through schools, colleges, and libraries to pull out and burn books they consider contrary to Christian values. In the name of religious purity, teachers, librarians, and musicians are being attacked. Even assaults on religious institutions deemed “impure” are no longer unexpected.
What does all this mean? From ancient Egypt to mid-20th-century Pakistan, and even in today’s United States, religion has repeatedly been used as a tool by certain groups to legitimise their political power or present it as divinely sanctioned. The outcome has been almost the same everywhere. Whenever religion is transformed into an instrument for political gain, people’s political and cultural freedoms shrink, fear and conflict spread in society, and democratic pluralism suffers serious damage.
In reality, religion itself never robs people of their rights or imposes discrimination. These are the actions of those who exploit religion for their political and worldly ambitions.
The two founding fathers of the United States—James Madison and Thomas Jefferson—repeatedly warned of the danger of erasing the boundary between religion and the state. Their concern was not about religion itself, but about religion being captured by politics. They understood that when the state uses religion as a tool, democracy weakens and faith is corrupted. Even after two centuries, this warning remains relevant.
Many Islamic scholars have expressed the same idea. Among them is Sudanese scholar Abdullah Ahmed an-Na’im, who has highlighted the dangers of using religion for political purposes—a truth that applies to any faith. The problem is not religion itself; the problem arises when someone acts claiming to be the sole representative of that religion.
In today’s Bangladesh, the use of religion for political gain is intensifying. Several parties even have religious terms in their names, leaving no doubt about who they are. When politicians use religion as a shield, minority communities are the first to suffer if they gain state power. Think of the situation of the Ahmadis in Pakistan, or the recurrent threats of attacks on Shia mosques. In Bangladesh, incidents of targeting minorities over what someone posted or commented on Facebook—regardless of truth—are increasingly common.
Another major concern is women. Groups that exploit religion for politics often do not favour the public presence of women. This fear leads not only to fatwas but also to legal measures that confine women to their homes. The situation in Taliban-ruled Afghanistan makes this clear: girls are barred from school after age twelve, and access to workplaces is severely restricted. Recently, a political party in Bangladesh even proposed reducing women’s work hours to five hours a day—a long-term strategy to remove women from economic competition and confine them to the home.
No religion instructs that women must be confined to their homes or promised benefits for staying there. Across the majority of Muslim-majority countries—from Indonesia to Tunisia, and Turkey to Jordan—women’s participation in education and the workforce is encouraged. Women and men study and work together in schools, offices, and courts.
Notice that in Bangladesh today, during election campaigns, some groups openly claim that voting against them is equivalent to voting against God. We have seen before that when political legitimacy is questioned, opponents are branded as “anti-religion.” Music education is being stopped in the name of religion, attacks on shrines occur, theatre faces threats, and textbooks are arbitrarily altered. This trend has persisted for thousands of years. Whenever there is disagreement of opinion or approach, the veil of religion is used to justify repressive actions. Even the 1971 genocide was carried out under a religious guise.
The question is: how can the misuse of religion in politics be countered? The answer is simple. If we refuse, those who try to exploit religion for political gain or to mislead the public cannot succeed. This requires continuous, united protest and resistance by both women and men.
Examples show that protest can work. Last year, a girls’ football match in Joypurhat was canceled due to religious arguments, and vandalism occurred. Yet, due to strong public opposition, the match was eventually held, and those who objected were forced to apologise. Similarly, the Lalmonirhat Lalon festival proceeded with thousands of spectators. These events demonstrate that collective and resolute protest not only creates resistance but also reminds society of its pluralistic cultural strength.
One thing to remember: whenever discussions about religion begin, we tend to leave space for professional religious authorities to decide what is right or wrong. This authority is given by us, and we can reclaim it if we choose.
US President Bill Clinton made an important observation in the 1990s. During that time, some religious leaders, backed by conservative Republicans, formed the “Moral Majority” to prove their political opponents immoral. Clinton warned that leaving the unilateral right to issue religious decrees in the hands of one group was foolish. Likewise, in Bangladesh, we need voices qualified to speak on religion and willing to protest injustice.
Bangladesh today is at a complex crossroads. To resist the politicisation of religion, protests must be loud and unified. Politicians of all stripes—right, left, and centre—have relied on religion to justify their power grabs. There is only one way to counter this: vocally oppose these groups so that their misuse of religion in politics is drowned out.
#Hasan Ferdous is an essayist and columnist
*The views are the author’s own
#This article, originally published in Prothom Alo print and online editions, has been rewritten in English by Rabiul Islam