Bengali Muslim male identity has evolved over the years but has been fragmented, fluid, and politicized, reflecting tensions between secular modernity and religious tradition.
Last year, I was speaking with a fellow PhD student from Bangladesh who shared his experience of being discriminated against for his dari-tupi — his beard and white prayer cap. I was surprised. How could someone face discrimination for such a common religious appearance in a country where over 91% of the population is Muslim? And if someone does a quick Google search of “Bengali/Bangladeshi Muslim men,” it brings up hundreds of similar images: medium/short-bearded men in white tupis, with mostly brown or dark skin- not surprisingly, the images are mostly poor men or farmers/villagers! This probably gives a hint of the country’s economic status through men’s image as well.
The portrayal of Bangladeshi Bengali Muslim men in online image repositories like Google frequently contributes to a homogenized image of Muslim masculinities that aligns closely with religious orthodoxy. In fact, the image of the Bengali Muslim man appears to be shaped more by cultural representations than by religious extremism. Literature and film, for instance, have long contributed to a recognizable stereotype: a man with a white tupi and short beard, dark or brown skin, medium height, wearing white panjabi, lungi, and a gamchha draped over one shoulder.
The broader stereotypes often tied to Muslim men globally — being violent, angry, or having multiple wives — don’t quite map onto the everyday reality of Bengali Muslim men in Bangladesh. So, what sets Bangladeshi or Bengali Muslim men apart? Or are they simply part of the broader spectrum of Muslim male identities globally? If they’re not so different, why then did my PhD colleague face discrimination for his appearance in Bangladesh, of all places? Why does a visibly religious appearance trigger such responses in a Muslim-majority country?
This essay is an attempt to find out the reasons which construct Muslim masculinities in Bangladesh. In this essay, I use ‘Bengali Muslim men’ for Bangladeshi Muslim men, referring to their ethnolinguistic identity shaped by historical Bengal and addressing post-1971 political constructs.
The divide between liberal and secular Muslims vs conservative and extremist Muslims faded for a while in Bangladesh when a mass uprising led to the fall of Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina. In the political vacuum that followed, a new form of Muslim masculinity emerged, marked by anti-Awami League sentiment, anti-secularism, religious orthodoxy, misogyny, and Bangladeshi ultra-nationalism. This figure, often referred to as the “Tauhidi Muslim man,” has positioned himself as a moral enforcer, policing women’s clothing, restricting their mobility, and promoting rigid religious norms in both public and private spheres.
Chatterji states, “The Bengali Muslim has long been regarded as a living oxymoron, his Muslimness vitiated to the extent that he is a Bengali” (1996, p. 16). While being labeled as insufficiently Muslim at home, these tensions are further complicated as Muslim men of Bangladeshi origin navigate Islamophobia in the diaspora (Husain, 2024).
However, this tension stems from an ethnic identity historically tied to Hinduism clashing with Islam, compounded by Bangladesh’s secular constitution and its post-1971 struggle between secular nationalism and political Islam. The Liberation War rejected Pakistan’s religious nationalism, yet military regimes since the 1980s have increasingly invoked Islam in public life. In urban elite spaces, visible piety — like a tupi or beard — can signal political allegiance rather than mere devotion, sparking suspicion even in a Muslim-majority society.
From Ashraf to Atrap: The Roots of Masculine Hierarchy
Bengali Muslims in Bangladesh, the third-largest Muslim ethnic group globally, have a unique identity shaped by centuries of Islamic conversion, colonial influence, and cultural syncretism. Imtiaz (2022) divides the evolution of Bengali Muslim masculinities in Bangladesh into three historical eras: the British colonial, Pakistan, and Bangladesh. Despite Muslim rule in Bengal since the 13th century, mass conversion began only under Mughal rule in the 16th century, though the Mughals discouraged it “the conversion of Bengalis to Islam” (Eaton, 2001, p. 32).
Richard M. Eaton (2001) explains that Islam expanded in Bengal through “a fluid context in which Islamic superhuman agencies gradually seeped into local cosmologies that were themselves dynamic” (p. 44). This gradual diffusion, led largely by Sufi mystics and local pirs, meant that Islam in Bengal was less a rupture and more a fusion. Bengali Muslim men maintained deep ties to Bengali language and customs, even as they adopted Islamic rituals and values.
During British colonial rule, Bengali Muslim society was formally divided into the upper-class ashraf and lower-class atrap (Khan, 2017). Ashraf men, claiming North Indian, Arab, or Afghan ancestry, typically lived in urban areas and occupied elite cultural and administrative positions. In contrast, most atrap men came from agrarian East Bengal (now Bangladesh), worked as rural peasants, and carried both caste and class-based stigma.
The 1871 Census reinforced this divide by portraying Bengali Muslims as largely converted from low-caste Hindus (Khan, 2017), solidifying social hierarchies. As Khan (2017) notes, there was “an absence of a genuine link between the upper and lower-class Muslims.” Interesting right? Who are the locals considered low-class atrap who had no or little original connection with the Bengals and were regarded as upper class?
Secularism, Islamization, and Masculine Anxiety
In 1947, India was partitioned along religious positions, India for Hindus and Pakistan for Muslims. As part of this division, Bengal was split into two: the Muslim-majority region of East Bengal became part of Pakistan. In contrast, the Hindu-majority region of West Bengal remained with India. Although Bengali Muslims were expected to align with Pakistan due to the religion-based foundation of its creation, their political consciousness was ultimately shaped by linguistic and cultural nationalism rooted in the Bangla language and Bengali identity, factors that led to the emergence of Bangladesh as an independent nation in 1971 (Uddin, 2006).
This suggests that, at least initially, Bengalis prioritized their ethnocultural identity over religious affiliation, a stance that also influenced the adoption of secularism in the country’s original constitution in 1972 (Riaz, 2010). This also reflects a longer historical perception, both within and outside the region, that Bengali Muslims were not ‘proper’ Muslims due to their deep cultural attachments, syncretic practices, and prioritization of language and ethnicity over pan-Islamic identity.
However, Bhattacharya (2017) observes that the rise of Islamism and Islamization in Bangladesh accelerated following successive military regimes, particularly under Ziaur Rahman and H. M. Ershad. According to Milam (2010), these governments strategically engaged with Islamic groups to bolster their political legitimacy. Hasan (2020) further explains that the concept of the ummah, or the global Muslim community, emerged as a dominant ideological force during this period.
The gradual yet concurrent influence of national Islamization and the global ummah discourse became particularly evident in the shaping of Muslim masculinities in Bangladesh during the 1990s. This framework encouraged men to see themselves as part of a wider Islamic community, aligning masculinity with religious devotion rather than Bengali cultural pride. Broader global events from the 1980s to the early 2000s, such as the Gulf War, the rise of the Taliban, the Babri Masjid demolition, the Indo-Pak wars, and 9/11, only deepened this ideological shift.
Shahbagh, Shapla, and the State: A Crisis of Masculinities under Surveillance
The ideological divide between secular and religious groups in Bangladesh intensified during the 2013 Shahbagh Movement, where secular youth demanded the death penalty for Islamist war criminals. Almost at the same time, Hefazat-e-Islam organized the Shapla Chattar protest with their 13-point demand, accusing the Awami League of being anti-Islam. Led by male students and teachers from Qawmi madrasas, this protest was not merely political — it was a gendered and religious assertion of visibility.
As Helal Khan (2018) notes, these madrasa scholars had long awaited state recognition and felt marginalized by dominant “modern” forces (p. 88). However, it also revealed deeper tensions about what forms of Muslim masculinity are acceptable in a secular-leaning state. Visibly religious men — those with beards, traditional clothing, and public piety — were quickly portrayed as regressive and threatening. Ironically, in a Muslim-majority country, these men were made to appear ideologically dangerous simply because of their religiosity.
The consequences of this divide were serious. Secular bloggers associated with the Shahbagh Movement became targets of violence and were labeled nastik (atheists), effectively pushed out of legitimate political spaces. As Bhatt (2020) explains, both religious and secular institutions blamed these bloggers for their own fate: “The bloggers were isolated… because of the words they wrote” (p. 1) and were seen as having “brought their fate upon themselves” (p. 2).
This situation reflects a broader pattern: liberal secular Muslim men are often portrayed as vulnerable, disposable, and disconnected from both the religious and national communities. Their public identity—marked by intellectualism, modernity, and liberal values—has come to represent a new form of elite Muslim masculinity.
In contrast, visibly religious Muslim men — often from rural or working-class backgrounds —are seen as less educated, less modern, and more threatening. These men form the new atrafs: devout, ordinary Muslims who feel looked down upon by both the state and society. They are not necessarily extremists, but their way of life is treated with suspicion. Their everyday expressions of faith — wearing a tupi, growing a beard, or attending madrasa — are often associated with extremism. This creates a blurry line between devotion and radicalism, making them feel excluded within their own country. In many ways, they experience a type of marginalization similar to Islamophobia despite being in a Muslim-majority society.
Rather than bridging this divide, the Awami League (AL) — seen as a secular party — used it to maintain power. The AL formed alliances with conservative Islamic groups, supported the recognition of Qawmi madrasa degrees, and changed school textbooks to reflect Islamic values (Lorch, 2019). As Lorch (2019) points out, this Islamization was largely driven by seculars from the top down. The AL’s approach allowed it to benefit from the growing tension between the two groups of Muslim men.
In this dynamic, the new ashrafs and new atrafs are pitted against each other—one associated with liberal modernity, the other with religious tradition. Each is framed as a threat to national stability in different ways. This fragmentation of Muslim masculinities serves the ruling party’s interests, allowing it to maintain control by fostering internal divisions and suppressing solidarity within the Muslim community.
The Rise of Tauhidi Masculinity
In the later years of Hasina’s rule, the Awami League’s instrumental use of religion — despite its secular position — has contributed to rising Islamist sentiments among urban youth. Disillusioned with state-led secularism, many young Muslim men are turning toward more visible and assertive expressions of faith, seeking dignity, moral clarity, and belonging in the face of political contradictions.
The divide between liberal and secular Muslims vs conservative and extremist Muslims faded for a while in Bangladesh when a mass uprising led to the fall of Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina. In the political vacuum that followed, a new form of Muslim masculinity emerged, marked by anti-Awami League sentiment, anti-secularism, religious orthodoxy, misogyny, and Bangladeshi ultra-nationalism. This figure, often referred to as the “Tauhidi Muslim man,” has positioned himself as a moral enforcer, policing women’s clothing, restricting their mobility, and promoting rigid religious norms in both public and private spheres.
This masculinity is not only ideological but also performative and confrontational — reflected in acts of public intimidation, vandalism, and rhetorical violence. It channels the frustration of a post-authoritarian generation, disillusioned with both secular elites and democratic promises yet hostile to pluralism, gender equality, and liberal expressions of Islam. The Tauhidi masculine identity represents a new phase in the ongoing crisis of Muslim masculinities in Bangladesh.
Conclusion: Muslim Masculinities as a Site of Struggle
Bengali Muslim masculinities are not just a cultural identity but a contested political site shaped by surveillance from the state, society, and global narratives. They remain unstable, caught between nationalism, religion, modernity, and shifting cultural expectations. Muslim men in Bangladesh are at the heart of these tensions. Both the madrasah-educated conservative and the secular liberal activist face political precarity — each deemed too extreme to fit comfortably within dominant national narratives.
From atrap inferiority and ummah-based pride to secular reformers and Tauhidi enforcers, Muslim men continuously navigate conflicting models of masculinity, resisting fixed definitions and revealing deeper anxieties over gender, authority, and belonging.
Yet, these shifts are far from homogenous. Muslim men’s experiences and expressions of masculinities are profoundly shaped by intersectional factors such as class, education, geography, and generation. Media representations further complicate these struggles by reinforcing reductive binaries: militant versus moderate, devout versus secular. Such framings erase the nuanced and diverse realities of Muslim men.
As a result, Muslim masculinities in Bangladesh have splintered into distinct forms: the extremist aligned with jihadist ideals and visions of a global khelafat; the observant, apolitical believer committed to peaceful religious life; and the liberal or cultural Muslim, who maintains a faith-based identity alongside secular or pluralist values. Many Muslim men who follow Islam peacefully feel caught between these poles, confused by the competing pressures of religious performance and public expectation.
The rise of rigid and visible forms of masculinities often leads them to question whether they are ‘good Muslims’ in the eyes of others — or even in their own. Across these contexts, Bengali Muslim masculinities remain fragmented, fluid, and continually negotiated, shaped by shifting political agendas and often positioned as their victims.
Image Credit: “Moments of Devotion, Muslims in Ruku during Namaz” by Ehsanul Siddiq Aranya, licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons.
References
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