On January 29, Bangladesh’s interim government finally pushed through two headline-grabbing ordinances: one on preventing sexual harassment in workplaces and educational institutions, and another on preventing domestic violence. On paper, both are designed to do what our legal system has historically struggled to do with conviction: move women’s safety from the “please deal with quietly” folder to the “the state has intervened” folder. That is the good news. However, Bangladesh has historically lacked outcomes. So, a measured assessment must do two things at once. We need to read what has changed in the reported black-letter features and ask whether the architecture is strong enough to withstand implementation avoidance.
Let us begin with the sexual harassment ordinance. The most significant shift is symbolic and legal simultaneously as we deal with codification. For years, the closest thing Bangladesh had to a comprehensive anti-harassment framework was judicial guidelines issued by the High Court Division in Bangladesh National Women Lawyers Association (BNWLA) v. Government of Bangladesh (2009), treated as binding until replaced by legislation. The guidelines required complaint committees, confidentiality, timelines, and institutional responsibility, and they became the backbone for many workplace policies, at least on letterheads. The ordinance appears to take that idea and attempt to make it legally mandatory. It reportedly defines sexual harassment broadly, covering physical, verbal, mental, suggestive and digital space behaviour, explicitly recognising harassment through online and information technology channels. That matters because modern harassment often happens in the virtual world, and the old legal ecosystem forced survivors to either squeeze the conduct into outdated penal provisions or accept that digital humiliation is somehow not “real” harm.
Institutionally, the ordinance’s committee model mirrors the High Court guidelines’ vision, with sharper operational detail. Complaints can be made verbally, in writing, or online, and investigations must be completed within ninety days of receipt. There is also an emphasis on survivor-centric measures, including confidentiality, safety, mental support, and protection from retaliation. If these safeguards are embedded as enforceable obligations, they address a chronic weakness of earlier practice: committees existing in name only, while complainants are pressured to withdraw, transfer, or “settle”. Another improvement, if implemented, would extend coverage beyond neat, formal institutions. The ordinance reportedly recognises the reality of the informal sector, proposing local complaint committees through district and upazila administration, where internal committees are not feasible. In Bangladesh, where a significant number of women work outside corporate structures, a law that protects only office employees is not enough.
But there are two design issues worth watching. First is overlap. Bangladesh already moved, at least partially, towards workplace protection through labour reforms. The Bangladesh Labour Act (Amendment) Ordinance, 2025, reportedly introduced a framework for committees addressing discrimination, violence, and harassment, aligned with International Labour Organization (ILO) Convention No. 190 (C190). If two separate committee systems now exist (one under labour law and one under the new harassment ordinance), employers and institutions may respond with the classic bureaucratic defence: jurisdiction ping pong. The law will need crystal clear coordination rules so complaints do not get bounced between committees. Additionally, committee-based models can be transformative, but in Bangladesh, they can also become polite theatre: meetings happen, minutes are written, and everyone waits for the complainant to get tired. The ordinance reportedly includes provisions addressing false complaints. Safeguards against malicious use are legitimate, but if drafted broadly, they can discourage women in a culture that already punishes women for speaking.
Now, the domestic violence ordinance. This one is explicitly framed as replacing the Domestic Violence (Prevention and Protection) Act, 2010. That is a big claim because the 2010 act was itself a landmark, primarily because it acknowledged domestic violence as a distinct harm and built civil protection remedies into the legal system rather than relying solely on general criminal law. What seems improved in the new ordinance, based on official briefings reported in the press, is breadth and speed. The definition is reportedly broadened to cover physical and psychological abuse, sexual abuse, and economic abuse. Economic abuse is where domestic control in Bangladesh often lives—confiscated earnings, blocked access to money, coercive dowry pressure disguised as “family needs”, and deliberate financial dependence. Naming it is a legal gateway to remedies.
The ordinance also appears to tighten timelines. A preliminary investigation must begin within seven days of receiving a complaint in the prescribed form, with a report submitted within thirty days. Compared to the lived pace of domestic violence proceedings, where urgency is routinely downgraded into adjournments, these deadlines signal intent. Moreover, the ordinance reportedly strengthens protective orders, including temporary orders restricting contact or proximity with the perpetrator, followed by permanent orders after investigation. If courts use temporary protection orders early, that can be the difference between prevention and postmortem justice. There is also a more overt survivor support package being described: safe shelter, medical care, legal aid, rehabilitation, counselling, and even a dedicated fund with monitoring committees at the district and upazila level. This is the part that separates just a “law” from a safety system. Many survivors do not remain in violent homes because they love chaos; they remain because there is nowhere else to go, no money, no social support, and no faith that the state will protect them if they leave.
The biggest problem is the choice to pass these laws as ordinances. Ordinances can be necessary in transitional periods, but they also carry fragility: they are vulnerable to political turnover, legislative replacement, and selective enforcement. The durability question matters because violence and harassment prevention is not a six-month pilot; it is a generational recalibration of power. Furthermore, shelters, counselling, emergency protection, and local committees require trained officers, budgets, monitoring, and accountability. Bangladesh’s protection regime has repeatedly suffered from the gap between statutory promises and service delivery. Funds and committees help, but only if they are insulated from patronage and treated as core governance, not charity.
Likewise, survivors’ experience with police and courts is also crucial. Even a perfect ordinance will collide with familiar realities: pressure to “settle”, stigma, unsafe reporting environments, and the risk of retaliation. The new harassment ordinance’s emphasis on confidentiality and anti-retaliation is encouraging. The domestic violence ordinance’s fast-track investigation timelines are also promising. But unless the system builds consequences for non-compliance by institutions and officials, the deadlines may become aspirational. Lastly, harassment frameworks often lean heavily on disciplinary outcomes (warning, suspension, dismissal), while survivors may also want criminal accountability depending on severity. Domestic violence frameworks often centre protection orders, while survivors may also need parallel criminal processes for assault, marital rape-related conduct, dowry violence, or child abuse.
The ordinances will be judged not only by what they create but by how they interact with existing penal and family law pathways without forcing survivors into procedural mazes. The honest verdict, right now, is this: both ordinances look like an attempt to convert long-standing demands and judicial guidance into more structured, time-bound, survivor-oriented systems, with explicit recognition of digital harassment and economic abuse. That is real progress. At the same time, Bangladesh’s history suggests that the hardest part will not be passing the ordinances. It will be making sure that every committee is not a paper committee, every deadline is not a decorative deadline.
Barrister Noshin Nawal is a columnist for The Daily Star. She can be reached at [email protected].
Views expressed in this article are the author's own.
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