In an era when authoritarianism, religious extremism, and patriarchal norms are increasingly weaponised against the most vulnerable, Moitree Jatra – the Women’s March – emerged as a collective, defiant cry for justice in Bangladesh. Organised independently by a decentralised network of women from all walks of life, the march was not just a symbolic event; it was a vital assertion of rights, visibility, and solidarity. It brought together activists, students, garment and domestic workers, indigenous and Dalit women, non-Bengalis, people with disabilities, sex workers, and gender-diverse individuals – uniting under one powerful banner of equality.
The march followed the controversial release of the Women’s Reform Commission report, which many believe failed to address the structural inequalities faced by women in Bangladesh. Instead of being embraced as a step toward reform, the report sparked backlash from conservative forces intent on discrediting both the findings and the broader movement for women’s rights. Against this backdrop, Moitree Jatra became a crucial counterforce – a grassroots mobilisation that refused silence and invisibility.
The demands voiced during the rally were far-reaching and intersectional: equal pay for equal work, recognition of women’s right to land and property, justice for survivors of violence, protection for sex workers and gender-diverse individuals, access to education and healthcare for the disadvantaged, and an end to systemic discrimination. In short, it was a call for the very essence of democracy and human rights to be extended to all, not just a privileged few.
Placards carried by participants bore bold messages that captured the anger and clarity of purpose: ‘No means no,’ ‘Stop marital rape,’ and ‘It’s never about clothes or belief – just weak men quaking, seeking relief.’ In a country where public dissent is often punished and women’s voices are routinely dismissed, these slogans reverberated through the streets like thunderclaps.
Dibarah, an artist and activist, described the experience as a cathartic act of collective power, “The heart of the city morphed into a collective, performative act of solidarity. Thousands of women and beyond – of all classes, vocation, gender, race, and religion – united as one to assert that human rights indeed apply to the 53% of the population that are being sidelined.” She noted the power of simply showing up, “I would say anybody can join with the desire for change. The point is to show up. There is strength in numbers.”
This emphasis on collective presence is central to the spirit of Moitree Jatra. The initiative was not led by any political party or institution – it was a decentralised act of feminist resistance, nurtured by empathy, community, and an intolerance for injustice. As Dibarah aptly put it, patriarchy is a poison that thrives in silence and individualism; the antidote lies in community, care, and shared memory.
Naziba, a journalist & actor, echoed this sentiment, “I have rarely felt this safe in such a large crowd in Bangladesh. What I learned that day is that none of us are truly alone. When we stand together, we can be stronger than any force that tries to divide or silence us.” For her, the march was not just an event, but a reaffirmation of lifelong advocacy. “Thanks to this march, I feel empowered to write louder. It reminded me that our collective voice is not just loud – it is essential.”
Sobia, an architect & content creator, was deeply moved by the diversity and inclusiveness of the crowd. From women in burka holding placards in support of Dalit rights to communities from tea gardens marching side by side with urban feminists, Moitree Jatra showed that solidarity does not require uniformity – it requires courage. “There was no animosity, no division – just a shared hope for justice and equality for all women,” she said. “That kind of solidarity is what true progress looks like.”
The significance of this march lies not only in who showed up but also in how the gathering itself was conceived and executed. In a patriarchal society where women are often kept out of political and public decision-making, Moitree Jatra reclaimed the street as a legitimate, even sacred, space for protest and performance. It challenged the notion that protests must be sanctioned or hierarchical to be effective. Instead, it demonstrated that decentralised, organic movements can be just as – if not more – powerful.
Yet, despite the sheer scale and spirit of the march, the state’s response has remained largely indifferent. The organisers are under no illusions about the long road ahead. But they are also unwavering in their commitment. They emphasise that now is the time for unity, vigilance, and collective resistance – not just for women’s rights, but for the soul of Bangladesh.