More than five decades after Bangladesh’s Liberation War, cinema continues to play a decisive role in shaping how the nation remembers 1971. Yet within this powerful screen history, the contribution of women has often remained overlooked, simplified or pushed to the margins.
In most mainstream Liberation War films, women appear primarily as symbols of suffering rather than as agents of resistance. They are portrayed as grieving mothers, violated sisters or anxious wives waiting for news from the battlefield. While such depictions reflect real pain endured during the war, they represent only a fragment of the truth. By repeatedly framing women as weak or male-dependent, cinema has limited public understanding of women’s actual role in the struggle for independence.
This tendency becomes particularly evident when male heroism dominates the narrative. Men fight, organise and sacrifice, while women exist largely to inspire them emotionally or to embody loss. Their suffering is acknowledged, but their choices, courage and political consciousness are rarely explored. As a result, bravery and resistance on screen have long been coded as masculine traits.
The story of martyred journalist Selina Parvin stands in stark contrast to this cinematic tradition. A committed writer and editor of the magazine ‘Shilalipi’, Selina was actively involved in the Liberation War not from the margins but from its ideological and informational frontlines. She used journalism as a weapon, writing and organising at a time when words themselves were acts of defiance.
Selina Parvin did not fit the familiar image of the ailing mother or helpless wife often seen in Liberation War films. Instead, she was a conscious political actor who chose resistance, fully aware of the risks. In December 1971, just days before victory, she was arrested by Pakistani forces. She was brutally tortured and later killed, becoming one of the many intellectuals targeted in the final phase of the war. Her martyrdom remains a powerful reminder that women did not merely endure the war. They confronted it head-on.
Yet figures like Selina Parvin have rarely been given space in mainstream cinema. Their absence reflects a broader discomfort with portraying women as independent fighters whose resistance does not revolve around male sacrifice. Such stories challenge long-established cinematic conventions and force audiences to rethink who history belongs to.
In reality, women in 1971 served as fighters, informants, organisers, couriers and caregivers. They sheltered freedom fighters, transported arms, gathered intelligence and treated the wounded, often under constant threat of violence and arrest. These acts required courage equal to that shown on the battlefield, yet they remain largely underrepresented on screen.
There have been occasional attempts to shift this narrative. A small number of films and television dramas have portrayed women as active participants in resistance and those portrayals have left lasting impressions precisely because they felt closer to historical truth. ‘Guerilla’ stands as a cinematic testament to their sacrifices beyond the realms of just grief. Still, such examples remain exceptions rather than the norm.
As the years pass, few new-gen film-makers have meaningfully returned to the Liberation War and the lack of sustained effort has made questions of female representation and remembrance increasingly urgent. Cinema, after all, is not only entertainment but a keeper of collective memory. If women continue to be shown only as victims, that memory remains incomplete.
The legacy of Selina Parvin reminds us that women were not passive witnesses to history. They shaped it, challenged it and, in many cases, paid with their lives. The future of Liberation War cinema depends on whether it is willing to acknowledge this truth and finally place women at its centre.
