Bangladesh must wake up to the quiet battle: Culture, women, and freedom

Not too long ago, Bangladesh stood at a crossroads. The uprising was supposed to mark a turning point—a break from the past, a promise of a more open, progressive, and forward-looking nation. But after six months of the uprising, as headlines focus on economic recovery, elections, and political maneuvering, another battle is quietly emerging. A battle over culture, over personal freedoms, and—more disturbingly—over women’s rights.

In recent weeks, a disturbing pattern has emerged across Bangladesh—one that exposes the deep contradictions of our post-uprising reality. Basanta Utsabh at places (A traditional festival to celebrate spring) was obstructed by a group, claimed itself to be Touhidi Janata.

A flower shop was vandalised on Valentine’s Day. At the Amar Akushey Book Fair, a stall was attacked for selling books by banned writer Taslima Nasrin, and on another day, people tried to block the sale of sanitary pads.

In Chattogram, female students protesting an incident were labelled and called names and sexist remarks were made. Misogynistic attacks on female politicians, actors and other professions on social media are so rampant that sometimes some people accept it as normal behaviour.   

These incidents may seem disconnected, but they are not. They point to a larger, more insidious problem: a creeping erosion of cultural freedom, an increasing hostility toward women’s autonomy, and a dangerous silence from those in power.

In today’s Bangladesh, the national conversation is dominated by economic recovery, fast elections, and political stability. We are constantly told that these are the “real” issues, while attacks on cultural expression, book fairs, or women’s rights are seen as minor disruptions—unfortunate, perhaps, but not urgent.

This mindset is deeply flawed. Society does not exist in compartments. Political decisions do not happen in isolation from social attitudes. The people who silence authors today will shape policies tomorrow.

The groups that attack women’s rights in the streets will demand restrictions in legislation next. And religious extremists who successfully shut down cultural events will not stop there—they will push further into governance, law enforcement, and public policy.

To pretend that cultural and social issues are secondary is to ignore how nations are shaped. A country’s progress is not measured only by its economic growth but by the freedoms its people can exercise without fear.

Post-uprising Bangladesh is obsessed with economic revival, with ensuring political stability, with holding fast elections. These are, of course, crucial issues. But what we’re failing to realise is that society is just as important as politics—if not more. The values we uphold, the freedoms we protect, and the space we allow for cultural expression shape the very people who go on to run our politics and economy.

It is not an accident that women are at the center of these attacks. From disrupting spring festivals to banning books, from blocking sanitary pad stalls to attacking females—there is a consistent effort to police and suppress women’s presence in public life. This is part of a global pattern of using religious extremism as a tool to reinforce patriarchal control.

Women in Bangladesh have long been at the forefront of cultural, intellectual, and political movements. The more visible and empowered they become, the more they are seen as a threat by those who wish to uphold rigid, regressive ideologies.

The attacks on them are not just about morality or religion—they are about power. They are an attempt to push women back into submission, to strip them of their agency, and to redefine public spaces as male-dominated once again.

Bangladesh is not Pakistan or Afghanistan—but that’s precisely why this is disturbing. Our society remains far more liberal, our history deeply rooted in cultural diversity, and our people have always resisted radicalisation. But that is exactly why even these seemingly small attacks on women’s freedoms and cultural expression feel so unsettling. They are unnatural to the fabric of our society. They go against the very essence of what Bangladesh has always stood for.

This country was not built on the idea of repression. It was built on resistance—against colonial rule, against military dictatorship, and against fundamentalist forces that tried to impose their will on the people. Whenever extremism has tried to take root in Bangladesh, the people have pushed back. And they will again.

The greatest irony in all this is that the very groups who claim to be “protecting” Bangladesh from cultural corruption are the ones creating the greatest instability. History has shown us, time and again, that when religious extremism is allowed to flourish unchecked, it does not just dictate social behaviors—it disrupts governments, paralyzes progress, and fuels long-term instability.

Today, these groups are attacking cultural spaces and women. If they are not confronted, tomorrow they will impose their will on governance, legal systems, and national policies. The longer we allow this to go on, the harder it will be to resist when they demand more.

We must ask ourselves—did we fight for a country where books are banned, where festivals are shut down, where women are attacked for speaking up? Is this the vision of Bangladesh that the uprising was meant to bring?

If we truly want progress, we must recognise that political and economic decisions alone do not define a nation’s future. The cultural and social battles happening today—over books, women’s rights, and free expression—are not distractions. They are the foundation upon which our politics, governance, and economy will rest.

Despite the troubling rise in intolerance, there is reason to believe that Bangladesh will not lose itself to radicalisation. Because at its core, this country has always been one that values resistance, not submission. We are a nation of poets, artists, thinkers, and revolutionaries. Our history tells a story of resilience.

Time and again, whenever fundamentalism has tried to dictate our way of life, the people of Bangladesh—its students, its writers, its cultural activists, and its ordinary citizens—have risen to reclaim their space. That spirit is not dead. It is not even asleep. And that is why, despite the darkness we see today, there is still hope.