The streets of Dhaka have recently witnessed a remarkable and emotionally charged outpouring of solidarity for the people of Gaza, as Israel's brutal military operations in the enclave continue to draw widespread international condemnation. Nowhere in the world have protests against the ongoing carnage in Gaza reached the magnitude, consistency, and sheer fervour as they have in Bangladesh. From urban capitals to provincial towns, from elite circles to madrassa courtyards, a nation has roared in unison: stop the genocide in Palestine.
Yet, beneath this sea of slogans, banners, and chants lies a story much intricate, and much layered: and arguably, much unsettling. These protests, lauded by many as spontaneous expressions of humanitarian solidarity, have in reality been orchestrated largely through a network of religious institutions-mosques, madrassas, and orphanages-whose influence, funding mechanisms, and political entanglements deserve closer scrutiny. For Bangladesh, a country that has long prided itself on pluralism, tolerance, and moderate nationalism, this moment presents a critical question: is the collective outrage over Gaza an expression of moral clarity, or is it a signal of a deeper, potentially divisive socio-political transformation in the making?
What began as prayer rallies and mourning vigils quickly morphed into a mass mobilisation unparalleled in recent South Asian memory. The "March for Gaza," centred around Suhrawardy Udyan in Dhaka, drew tens of thousands of participants. But this was not a protest driven by student unions or secular political parties, as was the case in many Western capitals. Nor was it solely the realm of civil society organisations or academic intellectuals. Instead, the driving force behind these rallies has been an extensive and deeply rooted religious infrastructure, comprising local mosques, Qur'anic schools, Islamic charities, and theological seminaries, many of which are deeply enmeshed in foreign patronage, particularly from the Gulf.
In recent decades, Bangladesh has witnessed a steady proliferation of mosque constructions and madrassa expansions, financed in large part by foreign charities, such as Qatar Charity and other philanthropies tied either directly or ideologically to Middle Eastern regimes. While ostensibly dedicated to humanitarian and religious ends, these institutions have increasingly become avenues for influence, vehicles for the exportation of foreign religious ideologies, and platforms for strategic mobilisation when global Islamic sentiments are inflamed.
The mosques, in particular, serve not merely as spiritual sanctuaries but also as robust financial and social institutions. It is no exaggeration to state that mosques in Bangladesh represent one of the most stable informal economies in the country. Collections on Fridays, Eid al-Fitr, and Eid al-Adha, along with daily donations, zakat, and fitra, form a regular, often unaccounted, stream of income. These funds are administered by mosque committees: groups that, despite their pious exterior, are frequently managed by individuals whose primary motivations are not religious devotion but economic opportunity and social status. In many cases, these mosques function as business ventures masked in religious garb.
This confluence of faith and finance becomes particularly potent during moments of global Muslim grievance, such as the current atrocities in Gaza. The recent protests illustrate how swiftly these mosque networks can be activated-not just for prayer, but for political spectacle. Sermons delivered during Jummah (Friday prayers) turned from theological reflection to political call-to-arms. Madrassas, many of them funded and staffed with limited oversight, became recruiting grounds for protestors. Orphanages and religious boarding schools transported students en masse to rallies, where they became the emotive face of Bangladesh's outrage.
While the suffering of Palestinians is indisputably grave and worthy of international protest, the instrumentalisation of their plight by these religious networks raises troubling questions. These protests, while appearing organic, were in many instances orchestrated through deliberate planning, networked messaging, and coordinated logistics. Moreover, many of those who attended did so not from a place of political consciousness or informed critique of geopolitics, but from religious fervour cultivated within insular educational ecosystems.
The government's role in this mobilisation has been tepid at best. Official condemnation of Israeli aggression has been issued, and Bangladesh continues to voice support for a sovereign Palestinian state. Yet, the ruling establishment has tread carefully, unwilling to challenge the rising influence of mosque-based activism or to scrutinise the source of foreign donations flowing into religious institutions. Part of this hesitancy lies in realpolitik: these religious networks hold sway over large segments of the rural population and possess an unmatched ability to summon crowds. Any overt opposition could spark backlash or even unrest.
But the stakes are far too high for silence to remain an option. Bangladesh's founding identity was built on the promise of secularism, linguistic nationalism, and social cohesion. The Liberation War of 1971 was not fought to establish a theocracy but to resist one. In that context, the recent mobilisation-wrapped in religious symbolism, absent political diversity, and fuelled by foreign capital-poses an ideological challenge to the very foundation of the republic. The call to boycott Zionist-linked businesses, condemn India's Hindutva government, and reinstate exclusionary passport clauses may strike a chord with some, but they also signal a broader drift towards politicised religiosity.
In fact, the protest declaration issued at the March for Gaza rally made several pointed demands, not just of Israel and its allies, but of the Bangladeshi state itself: sever all ties with Israeli-linked organisations, prohibit procurement of Zionist products, reform educational curricula to prioritise Islamic narratives, and elevate mosque and madrassa voices in national policymaking. These demands go far beyond the Palestinian issue, indicating an aspiration to reorient the country's ideological compass: away from its pluralistic roots and towards a more assertive, pan-Islamic identity.
Equally troubling is the class dynamic at play. The young men and boys brought to these rallies from madrassas and orphanages come largely from underprivileged backgrounds. They are often raised in environments with limited access to critical education, exposed to a narrow interpretation of religion, and heavily dependent on institutional authority. Their sincerity is unquestionable. But their vulnerability is equally clear. They are the easiest to mobilise, the hardest to protect, and the most likely to become collateral in ideological battles far beyond their understanding.
Bangladesh must confront a difficult truth: while it is morally right to condemn genocide and demand justice for the Palestinians, it is politically dangerous to do so through a framework that risks eroding the country's pluralistic, democratic identity. Genuine solidarity must not be confused with religious populism. The impulse to act must not override the responsibility to think. When mosques become stages for political mobilisation, and when spiritual leaders serve as de facto political organisers, the boundary between sacred and secular begins to erode-a process that history has shown can spiral into sectarianism, intolerance, and, ultimately, conflict.
The Gaza protests in Bangladesh have laid bare more than just foreign policy sympathies. They have exposed the fragility of a society where religious infrastructure doubles as political infrastructure; where emotional mobilisation eclipses rational debate; and where foreign-funded institutions wield influence disproportionate to their constitutional legitimacy. Gaza may be thousands of miles away, but the real battle for Bangladesh is unfolding within its own borders. It is a battle for the soul of the nation: between inherited harmony and emerging hegemony, and between democratic pluralism and orchestrated populism.
In supporting justice abroad, Bangladesh must not lose sight of justice at home
