At a roundtable discussion on women’s leadership that I attended recently, a young woman shared her experience of a training programme where she was required to be present all day. She mentioned how the programme not only brought a change in her mindset, but also did the same for her husband, who stayed at home looking after their baby and changing diapers. The moderator exclaimed excitedly and asked the attendees to applaud this wonderful news. It was a lovely gesture- with one caveat. The husband was merely being a parent and performing an act that a mother does as a matter of course.
The applause, initiated by the male moderator presiding over a female-majority group, was taken up by most of the women at the table. The father’s act was worthy of mention, was considered heroic, and deserved validation. It was interesting to see that a discussion on women’s leadership, at that moment, became inevitably centred around men, and the women not only accepted that, but applauded. These behaviours follow a pattern of ingrained misogyny in Bangladeshi culture that is rarely noticed, much less discussed.
Men are celebrated for doing what is essentially their responsibility, while women, far from receiving any form of acknowledgement, much less gratitude, are set up by the system to be a cog in the wheel, particularly at home. The roundtable discussion also brought up how the end of a shift in the office for a woman means the beginning of another shift at home.
In a 2025 report, The Daily Star cited data from a BBS report showing that women spent 7.3 times more time on unpaid domestic work than men, valued at 16.84% of GDP. The ‘superwoman syndrome’, a term coined by Marjorie Hansen Shaevitz, a psychotherapist, is real. Women are expected to do it all – and with women applauding when a man changes a diaper, this expectation is unlikely to change.
On the surface, calling a woman a superwoman may sound appreciative, but the underlying misogyny places unrealistic expectations on her, preventing her from asking for help when needed – because she can do it all. It also subtly absolves the male partner of domestic responsibilities.
Nigerian author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, whose culture shares similar traits of misogyny with ours, gives a useful formula to understand whether any action is an act of misogyny. In “Dear Ijeawele”, she advises asking, “Can you reverse X and get the same results?” That is, if a woman does X and can expect certain reactions, would a man doing X also receive the same?
Workplace misogyny, despite the similar educational backgrounds of coworkers, is so common that it does not even register. It is well known that there are fewer women in leadership positions in organisations. While some workplaces may attempt to promote more women to higher positions (most times to be inclusive or to maintain a ‘gender balance’), it is not the norm across the board.
The lack of women in decision-making positions also means that institutional policies are formed without consultation with one half of the affected population. The roundtable was reporting the outcomes of a training programme for women, teaching them to be more confident and assertive so that they can take on more leadership roles, but this places the burden of responsibility to change on women alone.
The training should include men as they, too, need to learn how to accept women as leaders. One woman at the roundtable pointed out that women are also excluded from conversations in Bangladesh because they do not always occupy the same social spaces as men, such as the smoking zone, where many decisions are already taken, ratified at meetings with tacit agreement among male members, and to which women were never privy.
In a recent meeting at work, I was interrupted – twice. So, what’s the big deal? There must have been any number of reasons for it, and no one bats an eye. What is, unfortunately, nearly always ignored is the inherent misogyny and gender discrimination within these interruptions because, inevitably, the interruptions came from two men who thought their words were more important.
One interrupted before I could speak, though I had the floor. The other did so after I had barely got one sentence out because my comment made him remember an additional point. The sad part is that the point made during the first interruption had nothing to do with the meeting’s agenda, yet no one objected.
Several studies over decades have consistently shown that men interrupt women at least three times more often than they interrupt other men. In my observations and experience, I know this to be true – and it has nothing to do with a man’s position in the office hierarchy.
In Bangladesh, with fewer women at the top management level, most meeting rooms are dominated by men. Family concerns, social pressure, motherhood, lack of support, elderly care, and a host of other reasons work against women’s career progression, leaving the field open for a men-only room where decisions are often made without consultation with the other half.
If there are any women present, their ratio is much smaller, oftentimes an act of tokenism. In such situations, it is not surprising that women’s voices are interrupted or even ignored. A woman is expected to be the primary caregiver at home and, therefore, she may be called away from work, making her sometimes unavailable in a position of responsibility.
So, when a hiring committee makes a decision, the choice often favours even incompetent men over qualified, responsible, committed, hardworking, or dedicated women, simply because of the likelihood of the former’s availability.
A deep-rooted problem in our society, women experience misogyny regardless of their environment, and I am only scratching the surface when I mention a few incidents in specific professional settings.
We may strive for gender equality to meet some SDG goal. We may even consciously try to provide equal opportunities to women. But until we recognise the subtle misogyny behind addressing a male colleague as ‘sir’ and a female colleague as ‘apa’ or ‘miss’, until we stop normalising a man changing a diaper or cooking as heroism, until we – ‘we’ because women’s silence or applause here makes them complicit – can acknowledge our shortcomings and see our misogynistic behaviour for what it is, showing ‘solidarity’ by wearing purple or making pledges on Women’s Day will always be farcical.
A male student last week asked me if men can call themselves feminists. I advised him to listen to Adichie’s TED Talk, “We Should All Be Feminists”, because it sounded like clarity was dawning and someone was finally asking the right question.
Writer is the Head of Department of English and Humanities at ULAB.
Views expressed are solely those of the author.
