Rethinking women's political representation in Bangladesh

In the aftermath of Bangladesh's liberation in 1971, there was widespread hope that the newly independent nation would embody the ideals of equality, inclusion, and participatory democracy. The 1972 Constitution promised as much—enshrining socialism, secularism, nationalism, and equality as fundamental principles. 

Yet over five decades later, women's role in Bangladesh's political life remains largely symbolic, constrained not by lack of interest or ability, but by a structural framework that tokenizes their presence rather than empowering their participation.

The introduction of a quota or reservation system for women in Parliament was intended as an affirmative measure, an effort to redress structural inequalities and ensure women's inclusion in governance. But instead of serving as a stepping-stone to gender equality, the quota system has functioned more like a ceiling—defining the limits of women's political agency rather than expanding their influence.

From its inception, the quota system bore the marks of a top-down approach. It was not a product of widespread consultation or grassroots mobilization. Nor was it driven by a transformative gender agenda. Rather, it appeared as a bureaucratic solution to a political problem, rooted more in symbolic representation than in democratic ideals. It reflected what some might call a "protective logic": that women, by virtue of their social vulnerability, needed assistance to enter political spaces otherwise dominated by men.

And yet, women in Bangladesh have never been absent from politics. They have historically played vital roles in both formal and informal political processes. During the anti-Ershad democracy movement in 1990, women from all backgrounds—students, teachers, housewives, artists, and professionals—filled the streets of Dhaka demanding change. Their visible political engagement helped catalyze the fall of the military regime, revealing the power of collective, gendered political action.

But these moments of visibility have not translated into long-term empowerment. While women's movements succeeded in placing gender concerns on the national agenda—within development discourse, political party platforms, and civil society initiatives—the formal structures of political power have remained largely closed off.

The reserved seat system, which currently allocates 50 seats for women in Parliament, is based on proportional representation by party nomination, not direct election. Women in these seats are not accountable to a specific constituency, nor are they selected through competitive grassroots processes. Rather, they are nominated by party leadership—usually male-dominated—which ties their political survival to loyalty and conformity, not performance or advocacy.

This system strips women of agency and undermines their legitimacy. It reinforces the idea that women need political charity rather than a level playing field. It limits their ability to independently influence legislation or challenge party orthodoxy. Reserved seats, in this form, do not expand democracy—they protect elite interests while maintaining a veneer of inclusion.

Ironically, Bangladesh has had two women alternate as prime ministers since 1991. At first glance, this may appear as evidence of gender progress. But this development is rooted less in feminist gains and more in dynastic politics. Khaleda Zia and Sheikh Hasina entered political leadership through the deaths of their husbands and fathers, respectively—both iconic male leaders. Their rise to power aligns with a broader South Asian pattern in which women inherit political roles through familial legacy.

Political scientist Diane Kincaid described this as the "widow's mandate"—a theory that women enter politics "over the dead bodies" of their male relatives. In Bangladesh, dynastic legitimacy provides female leaders with public acceptability, but it does not alter the patriarchal nature of the political system. It reinforces rather than challenges the structures that marginalize ordinary women.

Meanwhile, structural and cultural barriers continue to stifle women's broader political participation. Women remain vastly underrepresented in general constituencies and elected local bodies. Political parties are reluctant to nominate women for winnable seats. Electoral violence, religious edicts (fatwas), and voter intimidation have in some cases prevented women from casting votes, let alone standing for election. In 1991 and 1996, for instance, women in certain regions were barred from voting by religious decrees—a stark contradiction in a country led by a female prime minister.

Poverty, limited access to education, household responsibilities, and deeply entrenched gender norms further restrict women's ability to enter or sustain a career in politics. Politics in Bangladesh is expensive, confrontational, and often exclusionary. Women who enter the fray face harassment, character assassination, and threats—online and offline.

Yet despite these challenges, women continue to engage politically, often at the grassroots and community level. Their activism is evident in labor movements, environmental protests, health campaigns, and informal negotiations over local governance. These forms of "everyday politics" remain undervalued and underrecognized in mainstream political discourse.

What, then, must change?

First, the quota system must be reformed. Reserved seats should not be filled through party nominations but through direct elections, so that women can build a support base, demonstrate accountability, and develop leadership credibility. Without this, the system will continue to replicate elite male control, limiting the potential of women's representation.

Second, political parties must be legally mandated to nominate women in general seats—at least 33%, as recommended by various international conventions and national policies. Voluntary pledges have proven ineffective. Real change requires enforceable laws and electoral reforms.

Third, investments must be made in leadership development for women at the local level. Civic education, mentorship programs, campaign training, and political financing mechanisms tailored to women are essential. Women need not only the legal right to participate but the resources and networks to do so meaningfully.

Finally, a cultural shift is necessary—one that dismantles the patriarchal belief that women's place in politics is conditional, exceptional, or symbolic. True democracy requires the full and equal participation of all citizens, regardless of gender. Until women are seen not just as placeholders but as powerholders, democracy in Bangladesh will remain incomplete.

The story of women in Bangladeshi politics is not one of failure, but of persistent struggle against structural odds. Women have marched, spoken, organized, voted, and led. The state must now rise to meet their courage—not with gestures of inclusion, but with genuine power-sharing and political transformation.

Farah Kabir is the Country Director of ActionAid Bangladesh.

Farah Kabir. Photo: Courtesy

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions and views of The Business Standard.