BANGLADESH: Where GBV Breaks Mental Peace

About this Story

This story was first published on the World Pulse platform and is shared here through a collaboration between World Pulse and Imaara Survivor Support Foundation. As part of Imaara’s Project Tell-Tale initiative, selected stories from World Pulse are being cross-posted to amplify survivor voices and strengthen conversations around gender-based violence.

The story was submitted in response to a call for stories connected to the 16 Days of Activism against Gender-Based Violence (2025), inviting survivors, advocates, and allies to share lived experiences, reflections, and pathways toward justice and healing.

Read the original story on World Pulse!

By: Jannatul Ferdaus Babli

(The author has chosen to be identified in this publication)

In today's story, I want to show how I faced gender-based violence at my workplace, how I protested against it, and how my students were inspired by my decisions and brought about some changes, even if they were small.

There are 32 staff members working in my institution. Among them, only six are women. Very often, we are neglected and criticised by some male teachers. Though the number of such people is very low — only four or five — they hamper our workflow and eventually break our mental peace.

I came from a general education background and did not know much about madrasa education. I was actually very shocked when I found out that I was selected for a madrasa. I started searching about the system, rules, and regulations of madrasa education and their teachers. I found that there was no official difference between madrasa teachers and general school teachers. So, I joined my first full-time workplace confidently.

Normally, I don't wear a hijab. But I started wearing one with salwar suits to maintain a decent and professional work environment. However, some teachers told me to wear a burkha. I tried not to pay heed to them and did not respond. I knew that there was no official dress code for this job, so I decided to dress as I wished.

One day, my principal summoned me to his office and told me that some teachers had objections to my dressing and that I should wear a burkha. This was one of the reasons I had feared joining here — I thought I might have to do things I did not believe in. But I replied, "Sir, do you have any objection to my dressing? I don't wear a burkha, but I try to dress decently. Besides, there is no rule that female teachers must wear a burkha."

He replied, "Yes, you are right. I can't force you to wear a burkha. But if you wish, you can wear one, because some teachers have objected."

Then I replied, "Sir, please don't take me wrong, but I need some time. I need to adapt to this environment and adjust to it."

The principal agreed with me and said nothing further. I left his office satisfied that at least he had supported my point of view.

One day, two female teachers along with a male teacher called me and said, "Madam, it is a religious institution. Every female teacher here wears a burkha. We think you should follow this too. Some people from this locality have complained about it."

I felt a bit embarrassed, but I was ready to answer them. I replied, "Please don't mind, but I don't like changing my lifestyle for others. Other female teachers wear a burkha because they are comfortable with it, but I am not. And sir, you male teachers can wear whatever you want, so why can't I do the same?"

One of them replied, "We don't have any problem with you, but people have complained."

I replied, "Then you can reply to them with what I said, or you can support me in your own words, but please don't mention this issue again."

After that, I felt relieved, and they stopped talking behind my back.

Then, day by day, I started realising that female teachers are treated differently. The madrasa is a four-storey building. The administration room, teachers' room, and students' common room are on the first floor. There is a separate washroom and prayer room for female teachers on the second floor.

Though the teachers' room is meant for everyone, some male teachers do not like female teachers spending time there.

When I was very new, some of them told me, "Madam, you have a separate room on the second floor. You can go there."

I have always loved exploring what is happening around the country and the world and talking about it. But the other female teachers were not interested in these discussions. So I found myself more comfortable in the teachers' common room, where I could talk with like-minded people.

One day, I was reading a book while a senior male teacher was listening to something loudly on his mobile phone. I asked him to lower the volume, but he did not hear me. I requested him again, but it did not work. Suddenly, another senior teacher burst out at me and said that when I talk, it disturbs them — and that my presence there disturbs them. Why don't I go to the "selected room"?

I replied, "There is no restriction about where I should sit. So, I will always sit here." One of my colleagues supported me and said, "Why are you talking to her like this? She didn't say anything wrong, and you can't decide where she should sit."

He replied angrily, "You might have no problem, but I have a problem. You can dance with her if you want, but I don't agree with bringing them here."

I felt extremely shocked and insulted. I live in a society full of violence, but no one had ever dared to talk to me like that. I sat there for a few minutes, thinking about what he had said and why. Then I left the room and went to the vice-principal's office to file a complaint.

Many teachers told me not to complain officially, but I knew that if I stayed silent, he would grow more aggressive — and start believing he was right. The next day, the principal summoned him and warned him not to do such things again.

One female teacher later told me, "We are disappointed with him too, but we never dared to complain against him. Thank you for standing up for yourself, and for us."

And so the days pass. We face accusations, humiliation, underestimation, unnecessary complaints, and many more challenges. But we do not lose hope. We answer and protest through our hard work, our confidence, and our strong motivation.

I felt so lucky when some girls from Class Nine came to me one day and said that I am their favourite teacher. I asked with a smile, "Why?"

They replied, "Because after you came, we can talk about our demands in the madrasa and at home. We can complain when any teacher beats us. We can ask for your help whenever we need it. You are like one of us — you teach us, guide us, and smile with us. You teach us not to bow to injustice and not to do anything our mind does not accept."

This is my work environment, where gender-based violence breaks mental peace. But it can distract us for a while — it cannot defeat us. We, women, are strong enough to answer, and it is our right to live life in our own way.

I believe that raising awareness about gender-based discrimination in workplaces and encouraging respect and equality are important steps. Teachers and community members can play a strong role by promoting fairness and supporting women's voices. But first, we have to be brave enough to answer those discriminations.

*This story received a Story Award, and the author has been recognized as a Featured Storyteller on World Pulse.