SECULARISM is not the denial of faith. It is the protection of faith — every faith. It is the promise that the state will not favour one path to God over another, and that no citizen shall suffer or be silenced because of what they believe, or refuse to believe. It is the simple, sacred understanding that a government must serve all its people, not the followers of one religion.
In its essence, secularism is an act of love — love for fairness, for diversity, for peace. It is the only system that can hold together a land as plural and vibrant as Bangladesh, where mosques, temples, churches, and monasteries rise side by side, where rivers carry the songs of many tongues and traditions. It was not borrowed from the West; it was born from our own soil — from the idea that every Bangladeshi, regardless of belief, has equal claim to this land.
But over time, secularism in Bangladesh was not nurtured — it was manipulated. What began as a principle of justice became a weapon of power. Our leaders, especially under Sheikh Hasina and the Awami League, turned ‘secularism’ into a political brand, a slogan to decorate speeches and international appearances. It became less about harmony, and more about control. The state spoke of secularism while maintaining Islam as the state religion — a contradiction that reveals the hollowness beneath the rhetoric.
When a government uses secularism to silence dissent or to justify its corruption, it poisons the very word. And that is what has happened in our time. The people have come to see secularism as elitist, as dishonest — something practiced by those in power to manipulate the masses, rather than to liberate them. The tragedy is that secularism itself is not to blame. It is the misuse of it — the hypocrisy of politicians who preach tolerance but fail to protect temples, churches, and indigenous villages from violence.
True secularism does not shout from the rooftops; it acts quietly and consistently. It ensures that no child grows up feeling like a stranger in their own country because of their religion. It protects the Christian teacher, the Hindu farmer, the Buddhist monk, and the Muslim student with the same law, the same dignity. It allows every person to worship, to question, to love, to live without fear.
When religion is used as a political tool, it divides the nation. It turns faith into propaganda, and devotion into control. It fuels suspicion, hatred, and violence. But when the state stands apart — not against religion, but above it — then faith flourishes naturally, beautifully, in the hearts of people. That is the wisdom behind secularism: it is the fertile soil where every belief can bloom.
Bangladesh was not born as a religious state. It was born out of the cry for liberation — for equality, language, and dignity. The martyrs of 1971 did not die for one religion’s supremacy; they died for the freedom of all. To betray secularism is to betray that blood.
Today, we face a dangerous misunderstanding. The word ‘secular’ has been twisted into something negative, something associated with corruption and hypocrisy. But we must reclaim its true meaning — not as a slogan, but as a sacred principle of coexistence. A secular Bangladesh would not erase Islam; it would honor it, by ensuring that it never has to fear or dominate others to exist. It would honor every prayer, every path, every colour of faith under one sky.
This land does not belong only to Muslims. It belongs to all who call it home — the Santals, the Chakmas, the Hindus, the Buddhists, the Christians, the freethinkers, and the countless others who share its rivers, its pain, and its beauty.
To be secular is not to be godless. It is to be just. And justice is the highest form of worship.
Bangladesh will only truly be free when every citizen, regardless of religion, can say: this country is mine, and I am safe here.
That is the Bangladesh we still owe to our children — and to the dream of freedom itself.
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Anusheh Anadil is a singer and social activist.