The political landscape in Bangladesh is once again teetering on the edge of regression—this time, with the fate of the country’s women hanging precariously in the balance.
The recent calls by Islamist parties to abolish the Women’s Affairs Reform Commission mark a chilling new chapter in the ongoing power struggle between progressive aspirations and reactionary forces.
That these calls are gaining ground under the rule of Nobel laureate Muhammad Yunus—a man long associated with social upliftment—has triggered both alarm and confusion among rights activists and international observers.
At the centre of this storm is a commission established to safeguard and enhance the rights of Bangladeshi women in the social, economic, and political spheres.
The Women’s Affairs Reform Commission, set up in the wake of public demand for a more inclusive and gender-just society, was tasked with reviewing discriminatory laws, advising on gender-sensitive policy-making, and ensuring the constitutional promise of equality was more than just symbolic.
Now, it stands accused of being “anti-Islamic” and “Western-inspired” by a coalition of Islamist political parties who have launched a vociferous campaign to dismantle it.
What’s even more troubling is the timing. This attack comes at a moment when the country’s civil liberties are already under significant strain.
Since Yunus assumed power, following a widely debated political transition, Bangladesh has seen increasing centralisation of authority.
While Yunus has spoken broadly about national unity and economic stability, his administration has so far remained muted on the issue of rising religious conservatism and its incursion into state policy.
The Islamist bloc, which has historically wielded influence during times of political flux, appears emboldened.
They have organised rallies, issued fatwas, and amplified their message through mosques and madrassas.
Their primary allegation is that the Women’s Affairs Reform Commission promotes a “Western feminist agenda” that clashes with the “values of Islam and Bangladeshi culture.”
This is not the first time such rhetoric has been used to delegitimise women’s rights. But what makes the current moment particularly concerning is the tacit complicity—or, at best, indifference—of the state apparatus.
Reports suggest that top bureaucrats within the Ministry of Religious Affairs have begun “reviewing” the commission’s mandates, ostensibly to check for “cultural inconsistencies.”
Meanwhile, women’s rights activists who have come out in defence of the commission are reportedly facing increased surveillance, online harassment, and even threats of legal action under digital security laws.
To be clear, the commission’s proposals are far from radical.
Many of its suggestions—such as ensuring equal inheritance rights, stricter implementation of anti-domestic violence laws, and improved maternal healthcare access—mirror global best practices.
They are designed not to import alien values but to correct systemic inequities that have long plagued Bangladeshi society.
The depiction of such proposals as an affront to religion is not only misleading but a deliberate strategy to rally conservative bases.
The irony is sharp. Bangladesh, once lauded for making remarkable strides in female education and labour force participation, now finds itself mired in debates that seek to reframe basic gender equality as cultural subversion.
This reversal is not just ideological; it has real-world consequences.
Already, there are reports of local government offices stalling the implementation of women-centric development schemes.
Schools in rural areas have begun cancelling gender awareness workshops, fearing backlash. In some districts, the local police have reportedly been instructed to “monitor” NGOs working in women’s empowerment.
Yunus’s silence in the face of all this is perhaps the most jarring element of the unfolding drama.
Known globally for pioneering microfinance and championing grassroots entrepreneurship—especially for women—Yunus has, until now, been a symbol of inclusive development.
His political ascent was greeted with cautious optimism, particularly by those who believed his track record would make him an ally of women’s rights.
But power politics, as always, proves a ruthless tutor. Yunus now finds himself walking a tightrope between upholding his legacy and accommodating an increasingly vocal conservative faction that sees modernity as a threat to tradition.
This is not merely a battle over a single commission. It is a referendum on the values that will shape Bangladesh’s future.
The targeting of women’s rights is often the canary in the coal mine for broader authoritarian impulses.
When regimes or powerful political actors seek to roll back gender equality, it is rarely an isolated move.
It signals a broader willingness to police thought, expression, and behaviour—especially of those who challenge the established order.
There is also a geopolitical dimension to consider. Bangladesh has long straddled a delicate balance between its domestic Islamist factions and its image as a moderate Muslim-majority democracy.
The rise of anti-women rhetoric and the state’s reluctance to intervene decisively risks tilting that balance.
At a time when South Asia is grappling with polarising nationalism, Bangladesh’s current trajectory threatens to deepen regional instability and undermine hard-won developmental gains.
More importantly, this regression strikes at the heart of human dignity. It reduces women—who make up half the nation—not to citizens with agency, but as subjects whose rights can be negotiated away in backroom political deals.
It is a stark betrayal of the women in villages and cities who believed that the state would stand up for them, and of the international community that once looked to Bangladesh as a model of progressive Muslim democracy.
The calls to abolish the Women’s Affairs Reform Commission are a test—a test of political courage, institutional integrity, and societal resolve.
The stakes could not be higher.
If the commission falls, it will not just be a bureaucratic entity that disappears; it will be the collective voice of countless Bangladeshi women who are once again being told that their dreams, rights, and futures are negotiable.