Hana Shams Ahmed

Published in the One World South Asia on 8 October.

Anwara Begum’s new book takes a look at women in the Bangladesh media. She argues that TV ads don’t only sell products but also attitudes and in the process set standards of beauty and mannerism, as defined by men. This piece reflects on the stereotyping of women.

Dighi is the darling of the Bangladeshi media. She has long, beautiful hair and has just the right moves that will keep the viewers glued to the TV screen. There are life-size photos of her on big billboards in the city and big roles in films and drama serials already.

It was a commercial for a brand of henna that gave her the big break. In the ad, with a face full of pinkish makeup, she flaunts her translucent pearl-coloured hands exquisitely decorated with dark henna. Her on-screen friends gaze at her hands longingly, wishing they too could look like her.

Of course, this feeling is shared by thousand of girls who are on the other side of the television screen. Although Dighi’s hands look beautiful, one doubts whether that is what the viewers are focusing on.

The attention is clearly on what she represents. As Anwara Begum points out in her book, ‘Magical Shadows: Women in the Bangladesh Media’ (AH Development Publishing House, 2008), “TV ads don’t only sell products, they sell attitudes.” At an innocent age of 10 years, Dighi is the nation’s favourite child model.

The ‘attitude’ sold in the henna commercial is the standard of beauty and mannerism, as defined by men – the fair-skinned, long-haired, bubbly girl. The consequence of the ad is the indoctrination of this attitude in girls who have not even reached puberty!

The ‘modernisation’ of the media culture over the years, with the arrival of private television channels and advertisement firms has had commensurate effects on the culture of patriarchy.

Take for example, this set of ads. An earlier commercial shows a woman, who had come to be ‘viewed’ by a prospective groom, pleasing the family with her fine culinary skills, indicating that she remains within the four walls of the house.

The next version shows a woman who is not domesticated, she does not know how to cook and her husband rebukes her for this. Hurt and distraught at her ‘failure’, she wins him back by whipping up a delicious meal with her discovery of readymade cooking spices. The next phase shows a man cooking.

The readymade spices are so easy to use that EVEN a man can cook. Of course, he makes a mess in the kitchen, emphasising further that the kitchen is not really his place to be.

This shows that the camera almost always serves patriarchal interests. So the heavily made-up woman’s delight at getting the keys to a beautiful new apartment from her husband seems to be perfectly logical. It’s the wife, the mother or the children, who receive privileges, like living in a luxury apartment, from the ’shonar chele’ (golden son). A man’s success in life is rated by what he brings for those who depend on him – the various women in his life.

In her book, Anwara Begum explores these relationships – like the phone which brings the man and woman together.

The man leaves his wife to go to London for a work visit, the mother breaks down because her son has found a job in the city, the little girl asks her father to scold the mother for not believing her… Again, the father is in an office and the mother at home.

Of course, companies are aware that portraying the woman strictly in the home environment is no more acceptable. So out comes a phone package for women, the “Ladies First” for working women who have to talk a lot.

Currently, there is a cement ad that proudly states: “Today’s mechanic, tomorrow’s engineer”, and shows two boys with hard hats pretend playing to be construction engineers, while their female counterpart pretends to be a school teacher.

Not that it is any less respectable to be school teacher, but on screen some professions like teaching, nursing and fashion designing seem to be reserved for women, while engineering, politics and multinational business management are for men.

Advertising agencies are doing good business: A whopping US$215 million has been spent on advertisements by corporations this year so far. New money has been poured in to get fresh ideas from these advertising power houses.

However, the general theme of the ads – be it romance, where the shy young woman is waiting to be swept off her feet by a handsome man; or marriage, where the wife, even if she is employed, is still in charge the family, are still very popular. The single, independent, successful woman is hardly represented.

Take the ad for an antiseptic soap that shows a child impressing his mother by showing her an excellent result sheet and no absence record at school. On cue the father comes home from work to tell the wife that he has received a bonus for not missing a day of work. He hands over the envelope to her because, of course, it was her conscientious care-giving that keeps the family healthy. The audience does not know what she does but the underlying assumption is that she is a housewife.

The stereotype continues

It is with hair care products that women’s images are most objectified. Commercials do show clear signs of cultural change – the woman is no longer house bound, she is wearing trendy clothes and she is seen within the work space.

The constant feature, however, is that she is embarrassed if every physical attribute of hers is not in perfect order and she is also forever seeking the attention of the man. The confident woman is the woman with the perfect hair. She has the best job, is the perfect wife and mother.

Anwara Begum talks about the effect that this desire for unattainable perfection has on women. She says, “This story of lovely heterosexual romance functions to cover up the harsh realities in relationships between men and women is a restrictive patriarchy where most suicides are committed by women.”

The electronic media does its own bit of social responsibility when covering events – from press conferences to art show openings. In a nod to affirmative action, they give equal screen space to men and women.

But the TV camera operator seeks out the most attractive-looking woman in the press conference and focuses the camera on her for much more time than is necessary.

This woman might not have any relevance to the story being told but perhaps the underlying notion is that it brings more viewers for the TV channel. Given that most camera operators are men, this kind of treatment is hardly surprising.

Someone once observed that the sure-fire sign of a more liberal and progressive Bangladeshi society was its ever increasing number of beauty pageants and catwalks. It was his firm conviction that a coy-looking model with perfect physical features walking down a ramp was a statement of the woman’s newfound independence.

A bank’s billboard reflects this thought. It shows “achievement” as perceived by three groups. The child’s achievement is learning the skill of tying a shoelace, the man’s achievement is making his first step on the moon and, finally, the woman’s achievement is getting crowned in a beauty pageant.

Tazreena Sajjad

Published in the Daily Star Forum, May 2009.

This piece critiques male entitlement and looks to a more equal future.

When it comes to the issue of harassment or abuse, sadly most women have a story. Unfortunately, there is little that is unique in a narrative of humiliation and suffering; experiences with degradation, whether physical, verbal or emotional, invariably reflect a pattern of those in power taking advantage of those without, of those who are ingrained with the belief that they can, exploiting and manipulating those who are limited in their ability to

Photo: TAYEBA BEGUM LIPI

protect themselves.

This forum is not for idealising the perfect victim and portraying the perfect perpetrator; neither is it for seeking personal catharsis. If either were the case, beyond capturing the attention of a few with some riveting stories, and possibly being dismissed by others who are bound to think that it has all been said before, this article would do little else.

After all, the realities of women’s second-class citizenship in Bangladesh in the spheres of education, law, economy, politics, religious practices, and cultural norms, in the public and the private realms, are constant reminders of the power dynamics still at play in society.

Despite my hesitancy in writing a generic article about the biological and social constructions of the masculine and the feminine and the subsequent realities of power inequalities, my decision to write this piece is based on an attempt to reflect a little on the why it is that in the 21st century, more than fifty per cent of the country’s population is impatiently pacing the platform, waiting for the train to equality.

After all, one does not require a degree in women’s and feminist studies to recognise that men and women are treated differently in society and by society; and that institutionalised practices of bad behaviour are cloaked in the guise of culture, religious practices, and social norms.

It’s a Global Problem
Lest we delude ourselves into believing that the struggles of the Bangladeshi women are unique, whether it involves harassment on the streets, domestic violence at home, dismissal and ridicule at the workplace, consistent marginalisa-tion in most public spheres of power, it is critical to remind ourselves that we are all part of a larger context where gender inequality is the norm, not the deviation.

We continue to live in a world where: of the 1.2 billion people living in poverty, 70% are women; 46% of the girls in the poorest countries have no access to primary education; while women work two-thirds of the world’s working hours and produce half of the world’s food, they earn only 10% of the world’s income and own less than 1% of the world’s property.

While some countries do perform better than others in the gender empowerment index (GEM), gender inequity is more the norm than a deviation. From verbal abuse to sexual violence or homicide, sometimes it is more of a question of degrees in the continuum of ill-treatment rather than its complete absence that informs women’s experiences.

Bringing It Back Home
Whenever the question of women’s rights is raised, people react defensively and with a three-tiered response. First, what more do you expect from Bangladeshis? Second, we have come so far, look at our schools and the number of women working in the garments industry and look at the women we have in politics, in the economy, and we are doing so much better than (obvious culprits Pakistan, Afghanistan and some impoverished African nations) and you are asking for too much if you want this to be, say, the United States.). Third, you need to be patient, change takes time, you “young people” are too impatient.

Let’s Respond
In terms of expectations, it’s not just about the numbers. After all, I am not asking for all Bangladeshi women to be rocket scientists as proof of how well the country is doing in terms of gender parity.

And, unfortunately there are no indicators to measure domestic violence, verbal abuse and systematic corrosion of self-worth through consistent deprecation. Perhaps the question is far more basic — an expectation that women will not be grabbed, prodded, fondled and ogled in public; that their bodies will not be owned, possessed, and abused by their spouses and partners; that they will not be subject to verbal, not just physical, abuse in their homes and in public spaces; that their marital status not be the subject of a tea-party discussion and be the reason why they are denied access to living accommodations; they will not be burnt with acid and/or gang raped because they dared say no to advances, are guilty of flirtatious behaviour, or for the transgressions of a family member; that their character will not be called into question and they will not be asked for sexual favours by friends and colleagues; that to intimidate the minority population, goons will not rape and abuse young women and girls for a few ballots; that the military, police and local militias will not use sexual violence to invoke fear among the indigenous population; that irrespective of age and personal connection, a woman’s worth will be evaluated in a professional setting based on her credentials and personality, not on the size of her mammary glands.

Is That Too Much To Ask?
In response to the second question, pointing to the frailties and regression in women’s rights in countries that are attempting to recover from over three decades of conflict (Afghanistan), repressive political regimes and military dictatorships overshadowed by consistent border wars (Pakistan), inter-changeable images of poverty and violence of the amorphous “country,” Africa (never mind that the media still undermines strong women’s movements in places like South Africa and Zimbabwe and Liberia (which has the first woman political leader of the continent), the list goes on) are a cop out.

Admitting underlying gender biases society continues to hold and that is manifest in the law, economy and cultural practices does not take away the thunder of women’s achievements. It is indeed a credit to the women of Bangladesh that despite unequal treatment at home and in public, that despite religious and cultural practices that undermine women’s equal access to property, child custody and inheritance, women (and many men) have continued to push the boundaries of socialised intolerance.

Defensiveness does a disservice to the realities that women face in our country even today by turning a blind eye to the humiliation that comes with inequality; defeated admittance to the fact we cannot fare any better undermines both the potential and the possibilities of the simple truth that men and women can and should do better. It is the only way towards change.

This brings us to the third response. Admittedly, change takes time, and yes, youth and impatience are synonymous. Change is happening in Bangladesh and is challenging many previously socially held norms and cultural dictates.

But are all changes progressive? Lest we become complicit, for every step that is taken towards women’s emancipation, there is also a counter current of regression. Violence against women has not depreciated over the years despite the numbers of organisations that are working to promote women’s rights and the increasing numbers of women have a keen sense of awareness about their rights.

The hungry eyes that followed my mother in her youth still take every opportunity to leer at me decades later. The reality of women carrying a disproportionate share of responsibility in the event of sexual abuse and harassment still persists; the actors in the discussions and the settings might have changed, but the finger-pointing and the moral judgement placed on the character of the woman precedes the moral condemnation of the crime.

Anyone thinking that this is an argument about what women should wear, wherever they want, here is a sombre reminder: for the vast majority of Bangladeshi women who are molested, abused, raped, and denied equal rights in the courts of law, the fantasy of wearing short skirts and partying in the rich areas of town are a far cry from reality.

We must not ignore the “real” realities of Bangladesh that have little to do with what one wears, and more to do with what the society gives some men license to do: the sexual and physical abuse and murder of under-aged domestic servants; sexual abuse of minors by members of their own family; the rape of the little flower girls so visible on the Dhaka streets; selling fourteen-year-olds into prostitution rings; the denial of a mother’s right to have custodial rights over her son; marital rape and domestic abuse not just by partners but also by in-laws; the list is brutal and endless.

Photo: AFP

Personal Reflections
I am not an angry feminist, as some might wish to label me, but merely a befuddled and sometimes bemused one.

I find it odd that in the 21st century, in a world facing so many challenges, we still find time to contemplate the politics of the hijab and bestow virtues on those who wear it and secretly condemn those who do not.

I find it schizophrenic that while the current trend in society is toward gaining an educated and accomplished daughter-in-law as a crowning glory, the standards by which the same family judges their son-in-law and daughter-in-law are vastly different.

I find it intolerable that as mothers, sisters, friends, and colleagues, we perpetuate our own biases and continue to entrench practices that place a higher premium on the brother, husband, son — whom we are more willing to forgive and make excuses for than the women we know.

I find it shameful that, even in educated circles, we reward bad behaviour by unequal distribution of responsibility when it comes to issues of abuse, cheating, or ill treatment.

I find it unacceptable that seemingly educated and progressive-minded women continue to find new ways to consolidate the status quo and impose barriers on their own potential

I find it offensive that a young professional woman will not be treated with the same level of respect as her male counterpart in a circle of educated peers; that while he is coveted for his acumen, she is expected to play the role of a decorative wallflower; that while he is respected for his judgement, she can be at the most indulged with a patronising smile.

I resent the fact that despite all the changes that have swept over Bangladesh, a father and husband’s name carries more worth than a woman’s own merit.

I find it sad that unless rich women of established families get abused or molested, and unless people like myself write in English to condemn our complicity in questionable social practices, we continue to accept the daily abuse and harassment of the poor and the unprotected in our own cities.

If respect could have only been achieved with education, the world would have long done away with gender inequality at the societal, cultural, and institutional levels. If security and reverence could be achieved either through the burqa and the hijab, women in Afghanistan would not be seeking out self-immolation as the means of escape from domestic and public abuse and the lines for female immigration to countries like Afghanistan and Saudi Arabia would put the queues outside of the US embassy to shame. If America is idealised by young women who question practices of female indignity in Bangladesh, let’s note that every six minutes, a woman is raped and every fifteen seconds a woman is battered and in the United States, where spousal/partner abuse is the leading cause of death amongst pregnant women.

In a vast majority of these cases, the image of “short skirts” and “skimpy” outfits that “invite” trouble, as some of us would like to believe, is truly an illusion.

Photo: Amirul Rajiv

In the real world, women are neither saints nor saviours. They are peacemakers and war-mongers, victims and perpetrators, witnesses and collaborators, rapists and healers, murderers and doctors; educators, criminals, mothers, thieves, somebodies, and nobodies.

Valorising women or demeaning them is an exercise in societal control, creating little opportunity for human fallibilities and strengths. The important thing we forget in the process of socialisation is that women are humans, and, as such, beyond their societal roles, they are fundamental living, breathing, feeling individuals locked in a battle of a pre-destined status quo that requires them to be less, so that in general, men feel they are more. And while the dance of the sexes is fascinating, complex, and ever-evolving, the grim manifestations of power and its access make the two sides unequal partners.

From Azerbaijan to Afghanistan, Gaza to Jerusalem, Morocco to Bangladesh, from the United States to Central America, from border controls to cultural gatherings, official meetings, to television settings, from mosques to temples, from the public to the private realms, as a woman, I am no stranger to harassment. It’s not even amusing anymore. Frankly speaking, I am bored. I am bored by perceived notions of male superiority, however they are explained. And I am floored by the absurdity of how we continue to buy into practices, norms, and beliefs that undermine our very potential and possibilities as human beings.

I recognise when a society tries to define the boundaries of the “masculine” and the “feminine” what it actually does is define limits and potentials and control the politics of reproduction. When a woman is fondled or ogled, the message is simple: first, you do not belong; second, “I am doing this, because I can.” Both stem from a sense of entitlement, an entitlement we have institutionalised, enforced, and reinforced in every single of our private and public interactions. And each day, millions across the globe pay the price.

If I have a daughter, I wonder if I can ever look her in the face and tell her she needs to stand at the back of the line to pray so that men are not distracted by her posterior as they worship their God; that she might have to break her fast during iftar after the men have been served; that she should focus on preening herself instead of getting dirty in the mud playing football so that Prince Charming doesn’t miss the opportunity of rescuing her; that she needs to accept the reality that some male friends and colleagues will ask her for “special” favours because they think they can get away with it; that if her partner verbally abuses her, but does not hit her, she should accept it, because it’s not a big deal that her self-worth is eroded over time; that she believes she cannot do or be something that her potential dictates because women around her tell her she cannot; that she needs to be a little less of herself so that her partner can feel he is just a little bit more, that a man will always try to take advantage of her, simply because he can; that she may lose her children in a divorce if the court wills because that’s the law; that although she may be ready to take on the world, the world may not be ready for her.

Somehow, I don’t think I will.

Fariha Sarawat

Published in the Daily Star Forum, May 2009.

This piece refuses to quietly ‘deal with it’.

In June 2008, a survey conducted by the Social Science Research Council of the Planning Commission revealed that 90 percent of working women face gender-based violence of some form or the other at their workplace. The news report by BSS stated that: “92.3 percent working women of urban areas and 88.3 percent of rural areas have been badly treated by various types of violence by their male counterparts.”

If you are a woman working anywhere in Bangladesh, this news would hardly come as a surprise, though the statistics are distressing.

The report stated that a large number of adolescent girls and women were being sexually abused in their workplace, but it was hardly ever reported because of the propensity to deny such incidents.

Almost all the women I know, including those I have worked with, have complained about facing gender violence of some form or other at their workplace. It’s a malice we are all equally aware of, but powerless against.

Even this report — for all its gravity and accuracy, and apparent positive reception — after being discussed, debated and dissected, was forgotten, and our fates have remained the same as always.

Perhaps, women who are violated every day have already lost faith in our institutions, laws and elders, and their ability to protect us. Perhaps, it’s because most people still don’t even understand what constitutes gender violence/sexual harassment, not even the victims themselves. Perhaps, it’s because we’ve all somehow contributed in making things worse for us by encouraging violence through our silence. Perhaps, because we’ve become so complacent about this that we just choose to take it in our stride — after all, independent, successful women who are trying to make it in a man’s world should learn not to complain and just deal with it.

The Planning Commission study revealed that: “More than 22 per cent of the working women identified existence of few legal provisions as one of the main reasons for violence at the workplace in the urban area.”

I don’t know if the sample included women working both white-collar and blue-collar jobs, but I do know that the problems in both cases, even in the public sectors/local government are, fundamentally, of the same nature.

Thanks to the hue and cry about “compliance,” “ISO” and “ILO standards,” garments factory owners, among others who promote themselves as emancipators of women, begrudgingly introduce “codes of conduct” to try and protect the women whose hard work go into sustaining this 10 billion dollar industry. Sure they all have codes and ethics and rules and laws. But these efforts, as exposed in the latest survey? by Directorate of Inspection for Factories and Establishments, are cosmetic at best.

Nonetheless, at least the garment workers have some activists and trade unions fighting for their cause. What of the white-collar female workers?

A female colleague of mine was once slapped, had her hair pulled, and arm pinched, albeit playfully, but unsolicited, by a male superior at the office. Outraged, I had asked her if she had liked being “handsy” with her male colleagues and why she hadn’t reported him. She had given me a sad smile and said: “Ki korbo? Where would I go and complain? At the thana?”

When the same happened to me, among other things at the same office, I did take it up to our female HR director, who said: “Yes, I know this happens, but what can we do? It’s very difficult to get candidates for this job [referring to the perpetrator]. I can’t fire him for this now, can I? I guess I’ll just have to warn him again.”

Indeed, that wasn’t the first time the perpetrator had violated a woman and gotten away with just a warning. I quit that company ages ago, but that man still works there and is currently a director of the company.

A few days ago, I met another (male) colleague from the same office. While discussing another ex-employer’s nefariousness, he remarked: “See, I had told you. These guys are everywhere. You should just learn to deal with it.”

Deal with it — so easily said and so arduously done!

My banker cousin was routinely bugged by a persistent client who wanted to take her out for lunch/dinner. She was married, so was he — and he was aware of the facts. After failing to get him to curb his untoward behaviour, she reported him to her boss, who completely ignored her complaint. The same boss would also routinely engage in extra-marital exploits of his own, in full hearing distance and view of his female colleagues.

Outrageous? But that’s just how it is. In the absence of a working mechanism, legislation, or at least a platform where our work-place woes are actually dealt with, we have no choice but to “deal with it.”

“How is watching pornography at the office sexual harassments,” a male colleague once asked us, a group of his female colleagues. I can’t say I blame him for not realising this simple fact when most women don’t. Watching porn, making derogatory comments about the opposite sex, using foul or offensive language, or engaging in any kind of conduct that is found “sexist” is actually sexual harassment. The company I worked for then finally disallowed downloading and viewing porn; not because it was sexual harassment, but because it ate up bandwidth and reduced productivity.

I have been dubbed a “militant feminist” and have been accused of seeing everything as “sexual” — starting from those friendly pats on the back, the seemingly harmless propositions, sentences like “I want to massage that idea out of your head,” discussions on people’s conjugal lives, or just plain old dirty language. It’s the same, resounding, echo: “It’s the same everywhere. Deal with it!”

Audre Lorde, the American feminist, wrote: “Your silence will not protect you.” And it doesn’t. The study also states: “Most women do not talk about it in order to protect herself/himself from shame and stigma as well as to protect the perpetrator who is usually a colleague or supervisor.”

Photo: Amirul Rajiv

Sure we talk about sexual harassment at round tables, seminars, conferences, in newspaper op-eds, blogs, and on TV. But we don’t raise our voices in protest at the workplace, because that will stunt our professional growth, get us shunned by society, make us the gossip-of-the-week, or make us the “girl who claims she was sexually abused.” The man, of course, will be rehired in no time or worse still, will be “warned.”

Our male colleagues will forever bask in their oblivion: “We never hit women or hurt them now, do we?” At the end of the day, until we actually tell them what they’re doing wrong, and these guys realise exactly what they’re doing wrong, they’ll keep violating us; with their eyes, their words, and their actions.

For how much longer can we just “deal with it”? How much longer will we hide in the shame of our silences?

Naeem Mohaiemen

Published in the Daily Star on 11 April, 2009.

…there was a particular way that Taslima ignited passions. She was unique and necessary, in that Bangladesh of that time. That earlier role has evolved today not into any central feminist icon, but rather many activists, many movements. Working quietly and loudly, with negotiation and confrontation. For the rights of women on the factory floor, corporate office, university classrooms, home sweet home, and of course, the streets.

LOOKING at a new wave of feminist organising around the right to space and respect on the streets (Drishtipat organised Ey Poth Amadero), I was reminded of earlier street movements, earlier organisers. A younger Taslima Nasreen in her not-so-lost days.

Isolation from the creative ferment of Bangladesh, a life as shut-in floater in European capitals, resulted in a shrinking of Taslima’s intellectual space and thinking. When she talks and writes now, her analysis is at times blunt and tone deaf. She seems disconnected from broader political movements even in her immediate surroundings (e.g., Nandigram in Kolkata).

But I remember a very different Taslima. The edgy writer who exploded onto the Dhaka scene in the late 1980s. Long before Lajja, before Amar Meyebela or Dikhwandito (books the world discovered after exile), there were the weekly columns for a purely Bangladeshi audience. Even the wikipedia entry on her starts a list of achievements with her 1992 Ananda Puroshkar, i.e., with her discovery by an overseas intelligentsia (the seduction of the Indian literary circuit, which used and then disposed of her). But there is a different Taslima, from a period before fame, with a lot of earnest and effective feminist action activism.

The topics she wrote about in the late 80s may seem like Feminism 1.0 or established home truths now, but at that time she was a molotov cocktail into the complacency of Bangla bhodrolok circles. Within the hallowed space of Bangla kolchor, Taslima was the first to write in 1989 about how the narrow confines and massive crowds of even Ekushey Boi Mela were cover to groups of hungry hands.

In angry, clean, precise Bangla, she described which line, which area, which body part, which finger, where-when-how — the mathematics of invasive groping. Through that campaign of writing she managed to inspire activists who formed human chains at boi mela. Angry, confrontational and necessary gender politics, all of which retreated in the face of internecine warfare of the 00s.

In 1990/91, I could feel my head crumble as I read her angry columns, week after week. That in-your-face, “disobedient girl”, smash-the-patriarchy feminism was raw and direct. Eve teasing goon squads, lit cigarettes flitting into rickshaws, why women rode motorcycles side-saddle, the old uncle molesting his young ward, the sexist nonsense being taught in schools, the hypocrisy of the prostitute-frequenting middle class, Biman Airlines’ discrimination against older stewardesses any and everything were targets of her early attacks. Wanting a room of one’s own, many of us learnt about Virginia Woolf via the Bangla translations in her column (as well as Humayun Azad’s Naari). Essential work in a xerox world before wiki and google.

Of course there is much to criticise of Taslima. The way she allowed herself to be appropriated post-1992, and especially the BJPs’ embrace of Lajja, which she failed to distance herself from. The arrogant perch from which she surveyed the larger feminist movements on the ground. Compared to an early pioneering role, her writing and public posture now seems frozen in time. A radical whose newer writing seems stilted, cut off from meaningful challenge, isolated from debates going on inside Bangladesh (which have advanced eons since her exile).

At the time of the Taslima conflagration, wall graffiti went up with Niemoller’s line “First they came for…” The last line there was “Today they come for Taslima…” Soon, those grafs were painted over with much bigger slogans in cherry red “Taslima-r chamra/tule nibo amra.” Perhaps they meant clothes, not skin, back to that ultra-violent energy she wrote about. In the face of that organised fury, the genteel secularists beat a hasty retreat.

Remembering the earlier, angry Taslima, Shabnam Nadiya wrote: “I wept when I read Taslima describing a young man burning her arm with a cigarette in public. Or when I read, “Women who emerge from the home to set foot in the street; those women — not only me — are all prepared to bear silently any obscene remark in the streets. This was the first time I realised that what had happened to me on that bus and later as well, happened to others, and was not my fault.” (“Woman Alone”, Star Literature Eid Issue, 2008)

There were then, as now, thousands of NGO activists working quietly in every corner of Bangladesh — bringing incremental, meaningful and slow change to the lives of urban and rural women. That work was away from the spotlight, the media glare. Some would argue that this quiet work can have more of a long-lasting impact.

But inside the alternate space of polemic and headlines, within the role of a public provocateur, there was a particular way that Taslima ignited passions. She was unique and necessary, in that Bangladesh of that time. That earlier role has evolved today not into any central feminist icon, but rather many activists, many movements. Working quietly and loudly, with negotiation and confrontation. For the rights of women on the factory floor, corporate office, university classrooms, home sweet home, and of course, the streets.