Farjana Liakat :

On 1 March, two young women in their early twenties were physically harassed and berated by a group of men in Lalmatia for smoking in public. What started as verbal abuse, escalated into outright violence when a 60-year-old local man, reportedly with political influence, called them “prostitutes” and attempted to assault them. As their clothes were tugged and the situation turned chaotic, one of the women began a Facebook Live stream while the other called 999, the national emergency helpline.

Yet, once the incident reached social media, a different kind of mob emerged—the self-appointed moral police. Instead of condemning the assault, online commentators fixated on the fact that the women had been smoking, implying that they had “invited” the attack. What should have been a moment of collective outrage against gendered violence instead became another excuse to shame women for exercising personal choice.

From victims to culprits: How society rewrites the narrative
Rather than unequivocally condemning the attack, Home Affairs Adviser Lt Gen (retd) Md Jahangir Alam Chowdhury indirectly justified it. “As you are aware, smoking in public places is prohibited for both men and women. It is a crime, and everyone should adhere to it. I urge everyone not to smoke in public,” he stated on 2 March.

He further added, “From what I understand, the two girls were smoking when some locals on their way to prayer stopped them. Then the girls threw their tea at them. During Ramadan, everyone needs to practice restraint. Our religious adviser has urged all not to eat in public. It is a matter of showing respect to those who are fasting.”

This response is both dangerous and revealing, clearly gaslighting. It subtly shifts the blame from the perpetrators to the victims, framing the attack as a consequence of their behaviour rather than a criminal act. This is a classic example of victim-blaming, a phenomenon deeply rooted in patriarchal cultures where women’s actions—rather than men’s violence—are put on trial.

But even if we entertain the argument about smoking, the legal facts remain unchanged. The Smoking and Using of Tobacco Products (Control) Act, 2005 does not classify open streets as designated “public places” where smoking is prohibited. And even if it were illegal, the prescribed penalty is a fine—not mob violence. Meanwhile, the Penal Code criminalises assault, verbal abuse, and attempts to insult a woman in public. Yet, instead of enforcing these laws, a senior government official chose to focus on an unrelated moral debate about public smoking and religious sensitivity.

A pattern of policing women
This case is not an isolated incident—it is part of a larger pattern in which women are policed, both in public and digital spaces, for simply existing outside traditional gender norms.

Feminist scholar Judith Butler’s concept of gender performativity helps explain this phenomenon. In patriarchal societies, women are expected to conform to a set of predefined behaviours—modesty, submission, and deference to male authority. When they deviate from these roles—by smoking, dressing freely, or asserting their independence—they are seen as threats to social order. Violence, then, becomes a tool for “correcting” them, reinforcing the idea that their autonomy must always be restricted.

Public spaces, in particular, become contested territories. Women are tolerated as long as they adhere to unwritten rules: walk quickly, avoid eye contact, dress appropriately. But the moment they assert equal agency—by sitting comfortably at a tea stall, by laughing loudly, or by smoking—society retaliates.

From streets to screens
While physical harassment remains a persistent issue, the digital space offers no refuge. Once the Lalmatia incident gained traction online, the women were subjected to a second wave of abuse. They were called names, accused of being “bad influences,” and harassed through different means.

A 2023 study by ActionAid Bangladesh found that 63.51 per cent of women in the country have faced some form of online violence. The Cyber Crime Division of Dhaka reports that 80 per cent of victims are teenage girls, mostly aged 16 or 17. Cyberstalking, revenge porn, unauthorized sharing of personal images, and hacking attempts to blackmail women are increasingly common.

One of the most infamous cases involved a well-known actress whose former fiancé leaked intimate videos after she married another man. Her career was derailed, her personal life devastated. This is the stark reality for women in Bangladesh—punishment for personal agency does not end in the streets; it follows them into their homes, their workplaces, their online lives.

Feminist philosopher Luce Irigaray describes this as “symbolic erasure”—a process where women’s voices, stories, and experiences are constantly dismissed or distorted to uphold patriarchal dominance. When women resist, they are silenced through shame, humiliation, violence and exclusion.

Why do so many men engage in both physical and cyber-harassment?
Experts argue that economic hardship, societal power imbalances, and patriarchal conditioning all play significant roles.

Many young men in Bangladesh, particularly from lower-income backgrounds, struggle with feelings of powerlessness due to financial insecurity and a rigid social hierarchy. When they feel emasculated in other aspects of life, they seek to reclaim dominance in the only space where they are allowed to—over women.

Sociologist Raewyn Connell’s theory of “hegemonic masculinity” explains how men in patriarchal societies are conditioned to assert dominance—especially over women—to reaffirm their power when they feel socially or economically emasculated.

Additionally, religious conservatism plays a role. Extremist preachers and online sermons frequently frame women’s independence as a threat to social order. Young men are taught early on that controlling women is a moral duty. This manifests both offline, where harassment is physical, and online, where social media provides a convenient and largely consequence-free platform for abuse.

What can be done?
To combat both physical and online harassment, Bangladesh must take a multi-pronged approach.

The existing Digital Security Act and ICT laws must be reformed to explicitly criminalise gender-based cyber harassment, with clear and enforceable penalties for perpetrators. Dedicated cybercrime units within law enforcement must be trained to handle cases sensitively and efficiently. Victim-blaming attitudes within police ranks must be eradicated.

Public officials must be held accountable for statements that justify gender violence under the guise of “morality.” Such rhetoric emboldens perpetrators. Also, schools and universities should integrate digital literacy programmes that address online ethics, consent, and gender equality.

Tech companies operating in Bangladesh must adapt their content moderation policies to recognise local languages and cultural nuances, ensuring that abusive content is properly identified and removed.

A defining moment for Bangladesh
Bangladesh has long resisted extremism, but that resistance must now extend to the digital world and public spaces. The normalisation of both physical and online attacks on women signals a dangerous cultural shift—one that must be challenged before it becomes irreversible.

The women in Lalmatia were not just smoking in public; they were asserting their right to exist freely. Their assault and the subsequent cyber harassment are stark reminders that gender-based violence in Bangladesh is not confined to dark alleys—it thrives in broad daylight and in the glowing screens of social media. The question remains: Will society stand with the victims, or with their attackers?