“I have taken your izzath (honour), so you can’t betray me”: Young people’s lived experiences of navigating sexual norms and violence in Bangladesh

Abstract

Limited sexual health communication between young people and adults combined with widespread gender discrimination restrict young people’s access to reliable information and services in Bangladesh. Although taboos around sexuality have been documented in health research, there is little in-depth research on how young people navigate socio-sexual norms in their everyday lives. The objective of this article is to identify and discuss perceived socio-sexual norms and how young people experience and navigate these. This article is based on ethnographic data generated in Dhaka, Bangladesh in 2019 as part of the first author’s doctoral research. Using thematic analysis, we draw on experiences of sexual norms and violence from in-depth biographical interviews with 46 individuals aged 18 to 24 from middle- or working-class backgrounds. Young people identified sexual abstinence before marriage as a key norm and highlighted several challenges when trying to negotiate this norm in practice. Widespread perception that penetrative sex “bonds” a person to one sexual partner for life contributes to coercive behaviour. Experiences of, and silence around, sexual abuse and harassment affects young people’s confidence in subsequent sexual interactions. Young people described lives punctuated by violence that helped ensure a lack of justice for survivors. Limited sexual health communication between young people and adults combined with widespread gender discrimination restrict young people’s access to reliable information and services in Bangladesh. Although taboos around sexuality have been documented in health research, there is little in-depth research on how young people navigate socio-sexual norms in their everyday lives. The objective of this article is to identify and discuss perceived socio-sexual norms and how young people experience and navigate these. This article is based on ethnographic data generated in Dhaka, Bangladesh in 2019 as part of the first author’s doctoral research. Using thematic analysis, we draw on experiences of sexual norms and violence from in-depth biographical interviews with 46 individuals aged 18 to 24 from middle- or working-class backgrounds. Young people identified sexual abstinence before marriage as a key norm and highlighted several challenges when trying to negotiate this norm in practice. Widespread perception that penetrative sex “bonds” a person to one sexual partner for life contributes to coercive behaviour. Experiences of, and silence around, sexual abuse and harassment affects young people’s confidence in subsequent sexual interactions. Young people described lives punctuated by violence that helped ensure a lack of justice for survivors.

Keywords:

• sexuality
• violence
• Bangladesh
• norms
• qualitative research

1. Introduction

Across South Asia, young people have to traverse restrictive sexuality norms governed by traditional monogamy and patriarchal procreative marriage (Bankar et al., 2018; Camellia et al., 2021; Hamid et al., 2010; Iyer, 2017, 2018; Karim, 2021; Khan & Raby, 2020; Regmi et al., 2010). Parental and societal disapproval of premarital sex further limits youth-adult sexual and reproductive health (SRH) communication as young people—aged 15 to 24 – avoid having SRH-related conversations with adults due to embarrassment or fear of judgement (Brahme et al., 2020; Camellia et al., 2021; Farid-Ul-Hasnain et al., 2013; Hamid et al., 2010; Khan & Raby, 2020; Regmi et al., 2010). This lack of youth-adult communication is an extension of a larger culture of silence around sexuality which is a widespread norm in South Asia (Brahme et al., 2020; Camellia et al., 2021; Farid-Ul-Hasnain et al., 2013; Gautam et al., 2018; Khan & Raby, 2020; Regmi et al., 2010).

Expectations around sexual behaviour are also heavily gendered. Restrictive gendered norms, such as dominant narratives around submissive femininity and hegemonic masculinity, particularly affects young women’s SRH decision making (Bankar et al., 2018; Brahme et al., 2020; Khan & Raby, 2020; Zietz & Das, 2018). Puberty has been found to be a time for expanded participation in public life for boys and intensifying restrictions for girls in the region (Barker et al., 2004; Population Council, 2009; UNICEF & UNFPA, 2019), and there are high levels of institutional and societal gender discrimination across South Asia (UNICEF, 2019).

Similarly, taboos about discussing sexuality and widespread gender discrimination in Bangladesh restrict young people’s access to reliable SRH information and services (Barkat & Majid, 2003; Bhuiya et al., 2004; Cash et al., 2001, 2010; Nahar et al., 2013, 1999; van Reeuwijk & Nahar, 2013). Many young people, therefore, approach adulthood with “misconceptions, fears and insecurities that arise through incomplete and incorrect information on sexuality” from less reliable sources which further perpetuates inequitable gender norms—such as gendered expectations of women’s chastity (van Reeuwijk & Nahar, 2013, p. 69).

According Nahar et al. (2013), most young people in Bangladesh are aware that their sexuality is negotiated within a complex and gendered reality. For example, the perceived penalties of sex outside of marriage centred on gendered expectations of women’s chastity and potential repercussions from an unwanted pregnancy (Nahar et al., 2013). There is also evidence that concern about “Eve teasing” – a colloquial term in South Asia to describe public sexual harassment of girls and women—is almost ubiquitous among adolescent girls and young women, leading to constant feelings of insecurity (Dhillon & Bakaya, 2014; Nahar et al., 2013; Natarajan, 2016; Rashid, 2000; Talboys et al., 2017; Tripathi et al., 2017). Such non-consensual sexual behaviour or expressions violating sexual autonomy representing major violation of rights may be normalised under dominant sociocultural norms (Nahar et al., 2013). Moreover, Bangladesh also has one of the highest prevalence of martial violence with 53% of married women reporting physical and/or sexual violence by their husbands (Kamal & Ulas, 2021; Rahman et al., 2013). Dimensions of gender inequities were significant predictors of intimate partner violence (IPV) among married women (Rahman et al., 2013). Additionally, many married women remained silent about their experiences of abuse due to “acceptance of violence within society, fear of repercussion, tarnishing family honour and own reputation, jeopardizing children’s future, and lack of an alternative place to stay” (Wahed & Bhuiya, 2007, p. 341).

While the presence of taboos and gender disparities around sexuality have been well documented for the purpose of public health interventions, there is very little in-depth research on how young people in Bangladesh navigate socio-sexual norms in their everyday lives within this “culture of silence” (Camellia et al., 2021). The first author (PA) systematically searched five electronic databases—using terms relating to SRH, young people, and Bangladesh—and found only 16 qualitative articles. Moreover, very few of these studies were ethnographic or included in-depth analysis of lived experiences. Young people’s sexual health is grounded in their right to freely express their sexuality in consensual relationships, choose to participate in activities through various life stages such as marriage and having children, obtain accurate information about sexual issues, and access high quality sexual healthcare (WHO, 2006). In this article, we explore young people’s lived experiences and challenges of negotiating sexual intimacy before marriage. Drawing from data collected as part of the first author’s doctoral fieldwork, we discuss findings on young people’s lived experiences of sexual intimacy within the context of restrictive socio-sexual norms—as described by interview participants themselves—and how these experiences impact their sexual health and wellbeing. The overall objective of this article is to explore young people’s lived experiences and perceptions of sexuality in Bangladesh. In particular, we identify and discuss perceived socio-sexual norms and how young people experience and navigate these.

2. Methods

This qualitative ethnographic study involved interviews and observations by the first author (PA) in Dhaka, Bangladesh over nine months from February to October in 2019 as part of their doctoral research. We predominantly draw on themes of sexuality norms and sexual violence from in-depth biographical interviews with young people aged 18 to 24.

The first author used purposive sampling to recruit 46 young people (aged 18 to 24) of varying social orientations—gender and sexual identity, religion, educational background, occupation etc. – based in Dhaka. The authors anticipated that recruiting in an urban setting would provide access to a diverse and growing population with migration from other parts of the country (Akhter et al., 2021). The rise in the average age of marriage has created “greater space for social mixing” for young people “than in any prior generation” in Dhaka (Muna, 2005, pp. xvi-xvii). While this made it difficult to identify married individuals—as the average age of marriage in urban areas is higher than in rural settings—it meant having access to a wide range of young people with different social orientations and varying experiences of adherence to prevailing norms.

As the first author recruited participants from different professional and educational backgrounds, they happened to be based in different low- and middle-income residential neighbourhoods of the city. This included Dhaka North City Corporation—such as Badda, Mirpur, and Tejgaon—as well as Dhaka South City Corporation—such as Dhanmondi, Lalbagh, and Ramna.

The recruitment strategy was open and flexible in order to include a diverse range of experiences. Initially, PA approached potential participants through a range of academic and personal networks. Local research assistants working with the first author were also asked to utilise their networks to identify suitable individuals who may be interested in participating in the research. Participants included students at public universities, recent graduates, and young people in full- or part-time employment (both private and informal: such as teachers, garment factory employees, shop assistants etc.).

The first author conducted in-depth one-to-one biographic interviews with each participant in Bangla, consisting of open-ended questions about lived experiences of gender and sexuality—including social norms—and life history. Interviews were audio recorded and took between one and two and a half hours. Interview venues depended on where the respondents lived and were comfortable speaking, such as quiet cafes or private office space. All respondents provided written informed consent for participation in the research and were provided with details of local SRH services.

Four research assistants transcribed interviews in Bangla using a verbatim transcription protocol prepared by the first author. Professional translators then translated these transcripts to English. Both Bangla and English transcripts were reviewed for quality and accuracy by PA and research assistants. PA used a phenomenological lifeworld approach to explore sexuality as identified and discussed in in-depth biographic interviews with 46 respondents in Bangladesh. Using thematic analysis as outlined by Braun and Clarke (2006), the first author familiarised themself with the data before generating initial codes; searched for, reviewed, and defined themes; and produced the writeup as their doctoral thesis. The most prominent and recurring themes around sexuality (e.g. “dating”, “relationships”, “marriage”, “sex”) were identified across the life stages of interviewees and synthesised through line-by-line open coding of all interview transcripts. PA iteratively coded the interview transcripts using NVivo software and used the open coding nodes to formulate a codebook which was used for secondary coding through in vivo and process codes pertaining to sexuality and norms (Saldana, 2015). Additionally, the first author also coded around the five domains of the phenomenological lifeworld (intersubjectivity, temporality, embodiment, emotions, and space) for more details around experiences (van Manen, 2015, 2016). PA clustered and reviewed codes into common (sub)themes according to the research objective of identifying and discussing perceived socio-sexual norms and how young people experience and navigate these through different life stages (e.g. childhood, adolescence, intimate relationships, marriage, etc.).

Ethical approval was granted by the London School of Hygiene & Tropical Medicine, United Kingdom, and from North South University, Bangladesh. The first author obtained informed written consent from all respondents and used pseudonyms to maintain anonymity. Recordings and documentation related to the research did not contain any identifiable data.

3. Results

3.1. Participant characteristics and overview

All participants were aged 18 to 24 and self-identified as coming from middle-class or working-class backgrounds. Most identified as Muslim, while some participants also identified as Christian, Hindu, and Buddhist. The majority had, or were pursuing, university education. Most participants were unmarried, lived with parental families, on campus, or on their own at the time of the interviews. Fourteen participants identified as lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, or queer while the rest identified as cisgender and heterosexual. Table 1 provides a summary of sociodemographic characteristics of the 46 participants. Throughout the article, we use pseudonyms when referring to respondents. Potentially identifiable details have also been omitted or changed in order to maintain anonymity.

Table 1. Summary of participants’ sociodemographic characteristics

Characteristic	Category	Number of participants
Age	18–21	22
	22–24	24
Gender identity	Cisgender man^a	20
	Cisgender woman^b	21
	Transgender/non-binary	5
Sexual orientation	Heterosexual^c	34
	Gay/lesbian^d	8
	Bisexual/pansexual	4
Relationship status	Single	23
	In a relationship	15
	Married	8
Religious background	Muslim	30
	Hindu	9
	Christian/Buddhist	7
Occupation	University student	20
	Full-time employment	13
	Informal/part-time employment	13
Residence	Living with parents/family	22
	Living in rented accommodation^e	14
	Living in halls of residence/on campus	10
Socioeconomic background	Working class/low income	15
	Middle class/middle income	31

Notes: ^aincluding five gay-identifying cisgender men; ^b including five lesbian- or bisexual-identifying women; ^c including two heterosexual-identifying transgender women; ^d including one gay-identifying non-binary participant; ^e living alone, with spouse, or housemates.

Varying degrees of challenges were reported by all participants, including sexual and gender diverse (SGD) participants as well as cisgender and heterosexual participants. In particular, women and feminine-presenting SGD participants spoke about experiencing sexual abuse during childhood, widespread harassment in public, and sexual coercion and intimate partner violence within relationships. Young people identified sexual abstinence before marriage as a key norm primarily arising from religious moralistic rules. While some participants reported thinking that sexual abstinence was a means of avoiding sexual violence and safeguarding women’s reputation, others reported not adhering to this norm in practice. Religious beliefs—perceived moral expectations across all religious backgrounds (such sexual “purity”, traditional gender roles, and the sanctity of marriage)—and protection of women’s chastity or reputation were cited by respondents as the main reasons why some young people thought sexual abstinence before marriage could be beneficial. According to participants, expectations of sexual abstinence before marriage also meant that they could not always discuss sex—or sexual violence—with others. Furthermore, interviewees highlighted two main challenges in navigating sexual intimacy before marriage: widespread (gendered) perception that penetrative sex “bonds” a person to one sexual partner for life contributes to coercive behaviour; and experiences of sexual abuse affects young people’s confidence in subsequent relationships and adversely impacts their mental wellbeing.

During the biographical interviews, young people narrated numerous challenges while navigating sex and gender norms throughout their lives. In order to reflect this rich life history, our results section is organised chronologically throughout the life course to illustrate how these experiences have shaped young people’s lives. The six key themes include: 1) conceptualising sex and sexual abuse during childhood; 2) “dealing with” persistent street harassment from an early age; 3) experiencing childhood sexual abuse perpetrated by relatives; 4) understanding intimacy through expectations of monogamy; 5) experiences of coercive behaviour and intimate partner violence; and 6) living with trauma and current/future impact on wellbeing.

3.2. Conceptualising sex and sexual abuse during childhood

Young people in our study remembered learning about sex for the first time from cousins and peers as well as the internet. For many, their initial introduction to sex was not positive as it made them aware of the risks of sexual violence. For Jannat, a young professional in her early 20s, safety had been a palpable concern when she started thinking about sexual intimacy as a young girl growing up in Mohammadpur, Dhaka. She recalled first learning about sex through an older cousin who had equated sexual violence as something that happened to women who wore “short revealing clothes” by men in poor neighbourhoods. Jannat remembered being too terrified to talk about it with anyone:

My introduction to sex was through the idea of rape. So, it was very terrifying to me. The way [my cousin] said it made me think it was something bad. I was so terrified that I couldn’t sleep that night. I mean, she explained it in a horrible way. She started by saying, “If you ever go to a slum type area wearing short revealing clothes then you will be raped.” (Jannat, woman in her early 20s)

University student Tasnim was only eight years old when she witnessed the violent rape of a boy while she was wandering around at her local mosque. Tasnim vividly recalled what she had thought at the time, as she hid unnoticed outside the room and peered through a window:

I didn’t understand what rape was [at the time]. … The mullahs [Islamic clerics] at the mosque had a tendency to hand out quite frequent beatings. They used a cane for the beatings. So I thought he [mullah] was giving that boy some kind of a punishment. … The boy was really small. He was perhaps six or seven years old. … I only realised what had happened after I was older – what the real [meaning of the] incident was, that the child had been raped. (Tasnim, 19-year-old woman)

Although the perpetrator was reportedly later apprehended, Tasnim explained why she has never told her parents—whom she was still living with at the time of the interview—about the incident:

If I had told my mother this, she would have instead said, “What nonsense, talking about what you have seen or not seen!” She would just scold me. She would not understand. She will say, “These things should not be talked about.” (Tasnim, 19-year-old woman)

Tasnim recounted perceiving discussions around sexual abuse and rape—as well as consensual sex in general—“should not be brought up” in conversation with adults:

The thing is, my mother would treat this incident of rape like traditional Bengali mothers have done through the ages, saying that you don’t need to tell anyone about it, saying that you will lose your honour as a result of it, that incidents of rape should not be brought up. What I mean is, rape, sex and such things are matters that she does not want brought up. So my mother’s advice in these situations is to remain silent. “As long as something has not happened to me directly, I will not protest” – this is the standard Bengali attitude to things, so it’s like that, you see. (Tasnim, 19-year-old woman)

The respondent said she had not shared the incident with her peers either as they would think “worse” of her. As such, she reported feeling this was something she would have to keep to herself:

There is no question of discussing any of this with them [classmates]. If I tell them, then I will become worse in their eyes. Nobody knows about this trauma that I have experienced. Nobody knows, so I keep this to myself. (Tasnim, 19-year-old woman)

3.3. ‘Dealing with’ persistent street harassment from an early age

Many participants—particularly young women and feminine-presenting participants—remembered the fear of having to confront street harassment from as early as 10-years-old and described the experience of unwanted sexual attention as persistent. They described street harassment—such as unwanted touching perpetrated by men—as an inevitability for girls and young women as they navigated public spaces. Shilpa—a 19-year-old living in Old Dhaka—recounted several incidents of street harassment including a recent encounter in Chawk Bazaar, a marketplace in Old Dhaka. Despite her efforts to “protect” herself, she was inappropriately touched by a stranger and felt like there was nothing that could have been done about it:

I held my bag behind or in front of me, so that no-one could touch in my body. But at one point, a man who sells biryani was passing by. When I was crossing him, it was really crowded. The man was holding the handles [of the biriyani pot] and as I passed him, he touched me here [inner thigh] with his hand. (Shilpa, 19-year-old woman)

Shilpa recalled not wanting to talk about the incident, or the marketplace where it took place, as it made her “angry and upset”.

Like Shilpa, other young women said they felt there was nothing they could do about street harassment. Eighteen-year-old participant, Kaniz, mentioned practical ramifications of telling her family about the frequent street harassment she faced on her way to night school. Kaniz explained that although she was often frightened by boys stalking and catcalling her, she did not want to tell her family as they would stop Kaniz from attending night school on the outskirts of Uttara, Dhaka. Instead, she gave herself “courage” and continued:

As a girl walking on my own with a boy following me, I would often feel quite frightened. Despite that, I would give myself courage. Because I know that if I get scared, then I would be finished. If anyone in my household found out, then my education would be at an end. … I try to handle this by myself. (Kaniz, 18-year-old woman)

Similar to experiences described by gender-conforming participants, three queer-identifying participants mentioned feeling insecure and traumatised when encountering persistent street harassment by men. Non-binary 22-year-old master’s student Auvi who lives with their family near Dhanmondi reported “just dealing” with the constant stares and harassment they confronted as a femme-presenting person, even though they still had “no idea how to deal with it”:

If I want to go for a run, I could, it would be very traumatic for me as a person. It’s like, “OK, you’re going to go out now. You’re going to be seen by people and these people are going to be like dicks to you, how do you deal with that?” I don’t. I still have no idea how to deal with it. (Auvi, 22-year-old non-binary person)

Auvi reported trying to manage these exchanges by themselves, either by conforming to gender norms around clothing or by “dressing more like myself” as a way to navigate public spaces:

I tried covering up, made me feel worse. I tried dressing more like myself. I got more attention. Started being like I don’t give a fuck about this shit because it’s too hot to wear an orna [scarf] and to have long hair and to wear full-pants and I’ll just deal with the fact that people are looking at me. (Auvi, 22-year-old non-binary person)

Shayan—a 24-year-old dance instructor who identifies as a gay crossdresser—also narrated several instances of street harassment by men. As Shayan was estranged from his family and living on his own, he did not tell anyone about the harassment. He generally ignored the verbal taunting although he worried for his safety:

The thing is, the way I look at it, let them say whatever they are going to say. As long as they don’t come near me, as long as they don’t create problems, I will not say another word. Because it is when you try to talk to them, that you will have problems.

… Sometimes, you know, I feel a little irritated. I check to see if anyone is nearby. I do feel that sense of insecurity – about who is nearby, and who among them might create a scene. At times like that, I feel very [insecure]. (Shayan, 24-year-old gay man)

3.4. Experiencing childhood sexual abuse perpetrated by relatives

In addition to hearing about or witnessing sexual violence and experiencing street harassment, some participants recalled experiences of childhood sexual abuse. James and Raqib both did not tell anyone about past sexual abuse by much-older male relatives as they reportedly felt afraid, confused, and guilty. Raqib—a 22-year-old heterosexual-identifying school teacher living with his family in Mirpur—was sexually abused multiple times during his childhood. Raqib said that he was “too young to understand anything” and that—unlike James, who identified as gay—the incident did not lead Raqib to subsequently question his own sexuality as he had only been attracted to women. He did, however, question why his abusers had targeted him. Raqib reported being further conflicted by the experiences as his abusers would often give gifts in exchange for sexual interactions:

They would lure me to the rooftop to play sports. They got me kites. I played kites and used to perform the sex acts out of greed. They used to take me to the rooftop. They would give me gifts when we were alone. Used to buy me chips [crisps], and this and that. (Raqib, 22-year-old man)

Although he felt “bad” about the abuse, Raqib remembered being too afraid and ashamed to tell anyone. Raqib’s abusers, men in their 20s, would also scare him:

I was very young when it started. I was five or six years old at the time. I wasn’t able to tell anyone. I felt bad about it. That they were using me. I used to question myself … I felt ashamed. They would scare me as I was younger than them. So that’s why I didn’t tell anyone. (Raqib, 22-year-old man)

James felt alienated because of his sexuality as well as the abuse and would question whether there was something wrong with him that encouraged the abuse:

I would sometimes feel really, really bad, thinking about whether this was a problem with me? I wondered if there was something in me that was the reason why these things were being experimented with me. (James, 23-year-old gay man)

As Shayan pointed out, the idea that sexuality was a “secret issue” was not restricted to the queer community but contributed towards silence around sexual abuse and harassment for most young people in general:

[It is] a secret issue. Because this entire sex thing is actually a secret issue in Bangladesh – whether you are talking about straight people or gay people, lesbians, or whoever. Even if a straight person is harassed, they will think a hundred times before deciding, “Should I tell my parents about this or not?” It is the same thing for gays and lesbians. (Shayan, 24-year-old gay man)

3.5. Understanding intimacy through expectations of monogamy

Many participants recalled conceptualising romantic relationships within the context of monogamy. Half of all 38 unmarried respondents reported being sexually active and three of 8 married respondents reported having been sexually active before marriage. Some participants had sex while with long-term partners, while seven participants also reported having sex outside of established relationships. Respondents reported ways to navigate sexual abstinence before marriage such as committing to one sexual partner for life. At the same time, for some participants this concept also made it challenging to negotiate sexual intimacy with potential partners.

Most men, women, and gender diverse participants identified traditional monogamy—being with one sexual partner for life—as an important norm. Several participants commented that certain social rules were “safety measures” to protect women—and their reputations—from “being cheated” and possibly abused by men. As first-year university student Ritu pointed out:

There is a fear of being cheated so it’s better not to go there. … If I’m in a physical [sexual] relationship with a person, if I have sex with him, there is no guarantee that he will marry me five years later. … I think it’s better not to do it. Then my trust will never be broken. I will not be deceived. (Ritu, 19-year-old woman)

Married respondents also reflected on the dangers of having sex as an unmarried woman. Brishti, a married young professional living with her in-laws, mentioned that she could have been in “a lot of trouble” if she had become sexually involved with someone before marriage due to societal expectations of sexual abstinence:

If I was in a relationship with someone else and if we had a sexual relationship then I could have gotten into a lot of trouble. This is seen as an accident in a girl’s life. Even though I don’t think like that. Still these things create a lot of problems for women. (Brishti, married woman in her early 20s)

Many participants highlighted the gendered inequality around “reputation” when women were perceived to have had sexual experiences before marriage as opposed to when men did the same. Twenty-two-year-old blind student Topu explained that, irrespective of disabilities, women’s reputation was far more scrutinised than men’s when it came to sexual activity outside of marriage. He suggested that one reason for this imbalance was because men did not experience any “physical changes after sex” and could, therefore, lie to their future-wife about their sexual history:

Men do not have any physical changes after sex, so their reputation is safe. Even if he committed a sin [had sex before marriage], he would be able to present himself as an angel to his wife. But if a girl does this kind of thing, she will have physical changes and her mentality will also change. I have even heard that her voice will also change. (Topu, 22-year-old man)

James, a 23-year-old gay man, added that there were similar expectations around “virginity” within the gay community where “tops” – usually the person who penetrates—are dominant and expect bottoms to be submissive and less sexually experienced:

When you go into a relationship, everybody wants a virgin. … I don’t mean literally a virgin. People want partners with less experience. They want a bottom who has less experience. In the straight community, males are dominant, and for us, tops are dominant. The bottoms are actually really submissive. If one of us is a little outspoken, then there are problems. (James, 23-year-old gay man)

Farukh, a young man employed at a university campus in Dhaka, had decided to marry his girlfriend “so that she does not leave me”. The 19-year-old also mentioned love and the prospect of marriage as important factors in deciding to be sexually intimate with his girlfriend: “I actually thought that I love her, I will marry her. So, can’t we have sex?”

3.6. Experiencing coercive behaviour and intimate partner violence

Many participants described penetrative sex between a man and a woman as an act which “bonds” couples together; not only as something you do with someone you intend to marry but also to coerce a partner to stay with you. Respondents of all gender identities mentioned that this type of coercive behaviour was mostly perpetrated by men as women’s chastity was more rigorously policed in society. For example, 24-year-old security guard Khaled described how he had unprotected sex with a long-term girlfriend—whom he ended up leaving later—to ensure that she could not refuse to marry him. By “taking” his girlfriend’s “honour” Khaled reportedly believed that she could not betray him due to an implicit importance of virginity for unmarried women:

I told her, “I will marry you and I want to do something with you so that you can’t refuse me.” [I said] “You won’t forget me. You keep this [ejaculation] inside you. I have taken your izzath [honour], so you can’t betray me.” (Khaled, 24-year-old man)

When 19-year-old Rabia started university, her boyfriend of two years felt insecure about her becoming too busy to “give him any attention”. Rabia’s boyfriend then started pressuring her for sex so that she would be “bound” to him and could not leave him:

He started putting pressure on me to have a physical relationship with him, saying, “You should come here, and we should do this. Because, if we do this, you will be bound to me.” The thing is, he was feeling that way, thinking, “You will forget all about me. You will try to leave me.” (Rabia, 19-year-old woman)

Anu had a similar experience when an ex-boyfriend at college began to pressure her for sex:

He wanted to have a physical [sexual] relationship. I think he had physical demands. … He touched me and tried to kiss me. I did not have the same physical need then, and I still don’t accept this. (Anu, 18-year-old woman)

While Rabia and Anu both broke off their relationships because they did not want to have sex before marriage, Shonali—a 21-year-old bisexual student—expressed that one of the reasons she stayed with an abusive boyfriend was because they had already been sexually intimate:

If I didn’t have sex with him, I would have [had] the courage to actually leave him. But since we had sex … [I thought] “I had sex with him so now I can’t go back”. So, do I let him go then? No. Let him torture me. Things will get better at one point. (Shonali, 21-year-old woman)

She identified that the importance she placed on staying with one sexual partner for life stemmed from perceived parental expectation of monogamy:

I used to have this perception - you know, the one parents have, that if you have something [sexual] with someone, you have to stay with them. You can’t think about anything else. So, that is the thought that I had in my mind. … It was because I had sex with him and I thought that “oh my god, I cannot go back to anyone else.” (Shonali, 21-year-old woman)

Although queer-identifying participants did not directly speak about the prospect of marriage, they expressed similar concerns about expectations around long-term monogamy. In James’ case, he described the act of anal penetration as “totally surrendering” his body to someone and worried that a future partner could judge him for his sexual promiscuity. He struggled with the concept that maybe he should have “saved” himself for the “right” person:

I totally surrendered my body to someone else, and so easily. … I had quite a few one-time hook ups. I still feel guilty about those. That I so easily gave up [my body] to people. … I should have protected it [my body] better. Maybe saved it for the right person.

In future, I will have a relationship with somebody or live together with someone. I hope those things will not have any impact on that. These are the things that I worry about. Like, what if he judges me because I have hooked up with so many people before? I can get judged so easily. (James, 23-year-old gay man)

Trishna, a transgender woman in her 20s who had previously wanted to be in a committed monogamous relationship, reported feeling weary of men’s “dishonesty” within relationships. Unlike Rabia and others, however, Trisha reported navigating this distrust by actively choosing sex over relationships and love:

Guys are deceitful. This learning will stay with me forever that every man is dishonest. To look for honesty, I mean, to want him to be honest is like, to cast pearls before swine or wasting time on unimportant things. So, it’s better to read a good novel than to look for honesty. And right now, … if someone is proposing love [a relationship]. And another person is offering me sex. I will choose sex without any hesitation. But not love. (Trishna, transgender woman in her early 20s)

As well as the taboo around talking about sex, participants who had experienced abuse reported feeling guilty for somehow inviting abusive behaviour from intimate partners through their own perceived “nonconformity”:

When I was growing up everyone used to say I’m too fast [reckless] and like I don’t know what I’m doing but I’ll do it anyways. So, then I began to think- “oh no, I brought this upon myself”. (Shonali, 21-year-old woman)

Like Tasnim, Shonali perceived that she had strayed from maternal advice about staying safe and blamed herself for being “stupid”:

Mothers always warn you about these things. To be careful about visiting someone’s house. Not to do everything. I was just stupid. I didn’t think of myself. (Shonali, 21-year-old woman)

Shonali elaborated further about how she continued to feel responsible for past physical and sexual abuse perpetrated by consecutive ex-boyfriends:

I actually understood that, no, whatever my ex-boyfriend did it was not them. And whatever happened to me … It happened because of myself and I cannot blame anyone else. I cannot blame the guys or anyone. ‘Coz what I experienced was because of myself, right?

‘Coz I was too naive, and I mean, after the first incident, I could just have left him – I shouldn’t have taken it. If I had stopped him earlier, he couldn’t have done what he did. Right?

The guy who raped [me, that] thing was on me too. To go and meet him that day. If I didn’t do that then he wouldn’t have gotten that chance. (Shonali, 21-year-old woman)

Although Shonali’s parents were aware of her relationship, her father had a “weird feeling” about her ex-boyfriend and did not want to speak about it:

Ammu [Mum] was OK but my dad always had like this weird feeling about the guy. I mean, he just said that he [boyfriend] is not the one. … When I tried to talk to my dad about it, he used to [be] like, “I don’t want to talk about it.” (Shonali, 21-year-old woman)

Shonali recalled times when her father scolded and slapped her for coming home late from her ex-boyfriend’s house:

So, there were even times when like, I came home late from his [boyfriend’s] place and Abbu [Dad] would be screaming at me and scolding me. … There was this one time because of him [boyfriend] Abbu slapped me so hard that my vein started popping out of my forehead and I had a fever immediately. (Shonali, 21-year-old woman)

These negative interactions discouraged her from sharing information about her situation when she faced abuse from her ex-boyfriend as she knew that her father already disapproved:

So, I totally started avoiding that subject at home. I didn’t used to say anything to them. After all that, I started avoiding this subject because if I were to share with him [dad] – [he would say] “you chose the wrong person yourself” [and] I would get into a lot of trouble. (Shonali, 21-year-old woman)

As with other participants, Shonali decided to “deal with” the abuse on her own, as “these things cannot be shared with others”. However, she said that she would have left the relationship if her then-boyfriend cheated on her: “I started to believe that I can deal with anything that he does with me but the endgame would be like, if he cheats.”

Unlike in Shonali’s previous relationships, she reported that her current boyfriend was “very understanding” with her during sex: “Like, he knows I don’t like [giving] blowjobs, right? So, he never forces me.” Conversely, Shonali also recalled an incident when her boyfriend “just actually went in” for anal sex without her consent:

He’s like very much into anal, OK? Once, I actually told him not to. I mean, I didn’t want to. So, he - just to try out - he just actually went in, OK? And I screamed! I ran to the washroom. Because I was dying of pain. (Shonali, 21-year-old woman)

She did not suggest this was assault, however, and said that her boyfriend regretted his actions soon after: “He was like, ‘you can open up your ass for me but I won’t get in because I saw you dealing with that pain. I’m not gonna make you go through it again’.”

Auvi also confronted an abusive sexual experience where they were forced to engage in a sexual act by someone they were casually dating. They mentioned taking “time off” through celibacy to deal with the incident on their own:

This person was emotionally and sexually abusive because I didn’t share the kink they had and even though I said I didn’t want to engage in that, they forced it on me during play [sex] and that was something that also took me back by a while because after that I think I sort of strengthened the idea that I just want to be celibate and then just took some time off. … I spent my whole second year [at university] almost celibate intentionally being like, “I don’t think I want to do anything” … and then I’m glad that I eased into this relationship with the person that I am [with] now. (Auvi, 22-year-old non-binary person)

3.7. Living with past trauma and its impact on wellbeing

Participants reported that the taboo of talking about sexuality extended to silence around sexual abuse and harassment. Only two of the ten participants who reported experiencing or witnessing sexual abuse remembered telling anyone about the incidents. The three most common reasons for this as discussed by the participants were that: 1. they blamed themselves for the abuse and felt guilty or ashamed; 2. they felt they would be judged or blamed by others; 3. there was nothing anyone could do to make the situation better. In this way, experiences of sexual abuse affected young people’s confidence in subsequent relationships and adversely impacted their mental wellbeing.

Participants who experienced abuse all spoke about tackling ongoing trauma and depression. Auvi—who was also abused by an “older brother figure” when they were 17 – remembered feeling “very traumatised” by the incident: “It wasn’t on the scale of assault. It wasn’t that bad, but it was still something that was boundary crossing and that’s what abuse is to me.”

After the incident, beginning to study at university offered Auvi a “fresh start” in terms of how they wanted to be:

I retreated and I was very upset. I didn’t understand how I was feeling because I had no sexual relations with my own body. I didn’t masturbate. I didn’t think about myself as a sexual person yet. That was one of my first interactions. It was very confusing. I tried to not let it affect my view of how I wanted to be, so I went into uni and because all these people didn’t know me, it was a chance to get a fresh start on things. (Auvi, 22-year-old non-binary person)

Shonali reflected on how the trauma of surviving rape negatively affected her sexual and social life:

I used to be like very fucked up. That is the time when my panic attacks and depression and anxiety attacks all started. I couldn’t sleep at night. Whenever I used to sleep- I mean, every single time I used to have the same nightmare. Same one. That someone is forcing himself on me. And I used to wake myself up from that nightmare. It became long term thing and it came to a point where I was like, I was scared to go out. I stopped going to all my coaching classes. I stayed home an entire year. Legit. I didn’t make any friends. I was totally freaked out by then. So, after that, I didn’t talk about it with anyone. (Shonali, 21-year-old woman)

Despite past abusive relationships, Shonali’s views on long-term monogamy remained unchanged. She said she was determined to continue her current relationship as she trusted that her boyfriend would not be abusive: “Now that I know him so well, I don’t think he’s capable of doing anything [abusive]. So, I will only love him. If I’m gonna take it, I’m gonna take it from him. I’m not gonna invest myself in another relationship or another guy.”

Auvi found that “taking control” of their own sexuality—through celibacy or being “slutty” – was a “coping mechanism” in dealing with past sexual abuse:

I was the person that would be slutty as a way to be like, “I’m taking control.” I’m going to go party and do drugs and have sex as much as I want without anybody getting to have control over me in any way. That was my coping mechanism for a while in university. Still is to a certain extent. I feel I’ve just gotten better about it but there was a time when I intentionally stayed away from possibilities because I was giving myself space. (Auvi, 22-year-old non-binary person)

Nineteen-year-old Tasnim, who witnessed a rape, described experiencing a lot of problems due to the fear triggered by trauma:

Sometimes the trauma from this rape returns to haunt me. I become frightened. When I get scared, I start thinking, “Could something like this happen to me?” What this incident has done is that I always have a lurking fear about what would happen if someone ever did something bad like this to me. (Tasnim, 19-year-old woman)

Consequently, the experience had not only negatively affected how she viewed sexual intimacy but also in other social situations such as with male classmates at university:

When my class friends are giving me a hard time or when anyone has shown enmity to me - I know that they would never do that [rape]. But despite that, that fear enters my mind. Wherever I go, whatever happens, that fear comes back, and I remember that incident. When I am hurt, when I feel bad, that scene appears before my eyes, and I feel even weaker. (Tasnim, 19-year-old woman)

Tasnim also reported feeling hesitant about being too vocal against other sexual harassment issues at university as she feared male classmates could “do something bad” to her “just to make a point”.

James remembered questioning whether the sexual abuse somehow shaped his sexuality and how people knew that he was “different”. As he could not speak with anyone about the abuse, he felt very alone and said that he “suffered from guilt for a very long time”:

I don’t know how people can somehow understand … that I might be like this [gay]. If that was not the case, then I would not have been abused so many times. I was very confused at that time, wondering whether this was a problem with me. Wondering, “Is it OK? Is it natural?” … Because of that, afterwards I suffered from guilt for a very long time - like, I was really confused. … [I thought] I am different, that’s why I got molested. (James, 23-year-old gay man)

Of all 10 respondents who had experienced sexual abuse or harassment, only Tasnim mentioned seeking help from a counsellor after starting university. While Shonali and James both also wanted to see a therapist, they had not had a chance to talk to anyone. Shonali still struggled with feelings of negativity and worthlessness triggered by past incidents of abuse:

If those things didn’t happen, I would have been a different person. I would have been a better person, right? I mean, someone without any trauma. More positive. Right now, I have so much negativity inside me.

Even in this [current] relationship there are times – I feel very worthless. Do you understand? Like since those things happened to me before, so even if something similar were to happen to me in the future, I deserve it. (Shonali, 21-year-old woman)

4. Discussion and conclusion

Our findings suggest that expectations of sexual abstinence inform how both heterosexual- and SGD-identifying young people conceptualise intimacy within relationships as well as presenting specific challenges within the context of prevailing norms such as premarital abstinence and traditional monogamy. For some heterosexual-identifying respondents, negotiating sexual intimacy before marriage was dependent on love or trust shared with a partner as well as the promise of marriage. Young people in a Nepal-based study similarly challenged expectations of sexual abstinence and considered trust and opportunity when deciding to engage in sexual relations before marriage (Regmi et al., 2011). On the other hand, sexual abstinence before marriage provided security against perceived stigma and abuse or betrayal for many young women in our study. All participants mentioned sexual abstinence as more of an expectation for young women rather than men. These findings are in line with past studies showing that many young people assessed premarital relationships predominantly on its associated social risks, such as confronting gendered social stigma for girls and young women (Cash et al., 2001; Nahar et al., 1999). Young women who had witnessed abuse or left coercive relationships reassessed risks of sexual intimacy based on their previous experiences. For example, they further reinforced sexual boundaries based on a fear that men could enact sexual violence on women at any time: “I won’t be intimate with anyone before marriage because something bad could happen to me.” Notably, perceptions or experiences of spousal abuse were not discussed by any of our participants although research suggests marital violence is prevalent in Bangladesh (Kamal & Ulas, 2021; Rahman et al., 2013).

Interviewees’ accounts suggest that the dominant model of traditional monogamy—staying with one sexual partner over a lifetime—as well as a focus on women’s chastity was also a strong driving factor in decision-making around premarital sex. This contributed to the practice and acceptance of, as well as silence around, abusive behaviour. In this way, men may use sex—both implicitly and explicitly—as a coercion tactic: taking her “honour” to ensure she cannot leave or betray him. Prevailing hegemonic masculinity in South Asia reinforces such coercive behaviour as well as contributing to both the internalisation and reproduction of patriarchal violence-supportive norms (Fattah & Camellia, 2020; Karim, 2021; Khan & Raby, 2020; Shannon et al., 2013; Siddiqi, 2011). While there is a breadth of evidence around widespread gender disparities within the context of South Asia the effects of this are not often spelled out in depth in terms of lived experiences of individuals (Hapke, 2013; Karim, 2021; Khan & Raby, 2020; Ong et al., 2021; Regmi & van Teijlingen, 2015; Siddiqi, 2011; Zietz & Das, 2018). By exploring diverse lived experiences of young people, our research also expands on the existing body of work with a predominant focus on the high prevalence of intimate partner violence among married women in (rural) Bangladesh (Akhter et al., 2020; Islam, 2020; Johnston & Naved, 2008; Sanawar et al., 2019).

Young people described lives punctuated by sexual violence supported by social norms about gender and sex that helped ensure silence and lack of accountability or justice for survivors. Our study suggests that such episodes of harassment and violence had a major negative impact on young people’s mental and physical wellbeing as well as bodily autonomy. Moreover, negative past experiences influenced young people’s perception of self as well as their ability to conceptualise having pleasurable and consensual sexual experiences, free of coercion and violence (WHO, 2006). This closely corresponds with Goffman’s work around self-stigma and “spoiled identity” (Goffman, 2009). According to Goffman, individuals who belong to socially discredited groups (e.g. queer people) internalise feelings of shame and worthlessness due to their “spoiled” identity (Goffman, 2009; Livingston & Boyd, 2010). As sexual violence is often a means of asserting male dominance and control over women, lived experiences of violence have significant implications for the agency and wellbeing of victims (Rahman et al., 2021).There is also extensive evidence suggesting that such (internalised) stigma and victim blaming commonly prevents victims from voicing injustices (Gravelin et al., 2018; Iftakhar, 2020; Meyer, 2016; Vishnu & Sharmin, 2020). Interviewees in our study suggested that they had been abused because their abusers “discovered” that they were not “normal” – too “reckless”, too “queer/non-conforming”, or too “powerless/emotional”. As such, young people in our study expressed holding themselves responsible for being abused in the past and, therefore, felt they would likely be subjected to abuse in future relationships. It is plausible that past bad experiences with partners lowered expectations of future partners, potentially opening young people up to further abuse. A number of young people in our study who had experienced recurring incidences of abuse considered past experiences to determine their current intimate relationships. For example, even though Shonali’s boyfriend attempted to initiate anal sex without her consent, she described him as “very understanding” because he does not force her to give him oral sex. It is also clear from our interviews that respondents reflected on trauma and questioned what they did to deserve abusive behaviour in the past. At the same time, they looked at peers who had avoided abusive situations and consider why they were inept at “protecting” themselves.

This study examined young people’s lived experiences and challenges of navigating sexuality in Dhaka, Bangladesh. The sample for this study consisted of young people living in Dhaka and, although some of the participants grew up in different areas of the country, most of the narratives referred to urban settings. Further research is needed to understand the experiences of rural young people. Similarly, while recruited young people with varying characteristics—such as different religions, disabilities, sexual and gender identities—it was not feasible to explore all these intersections in depth. For example, we were not able to report on distinctions between young people from matrilineal ethnic groups and their peers. From a phenomenological standpoint, it would be useful to explore lived experiences of sexual violence in more depth to better understand the essence of lived experiences. As our research focus was lived experiences of young people, we did not address the perspective of others such as parents, teachers, and healthcare practitioners. Similarly, we were not able to fully explore the structural and legal aspects of sexual norms and violence beyond lived experiences as narrated by young people. Further research on interpersonal relations and institutional interactions may provide more context-specific information on how to effectively advocate for the rights of young people. While interviewees themselves brought up perceptions and experiences of sexual violence, these narratives were co-constructed with the interviewer. PA reflects on the interview process in their doctoral thesis. It would be useful to incorporate the perspective of perpetrators of sexual violence to further our understanding of mechanisms that maintain such behaviour. Due to the lack of research on unmarried young people’s experiences of sexual intimacy and violence in Bangladesh, our findings were exploratory. There is a need for more in-depth research around the nuances of consent as well as wider implications of, and healing from, sexual violence on young people at various stages of their lives (Draucker et al., 2009; O’Callaghan et al., 2019).

Our findings on navigating sexual intimacy and violence reiterate a need for open policy discussions and advocacy work around consent, sexual autonomy, and rights. The evidence presented in this article suggests that young people were often alone in healing from sexual abuse and could benefit from mental health support—both through public health institutions and at community-level—to serve their diverse needs (Bhuiya et al., 2004; Cash et al., 2010; Khan & Raby, 2020; Nahar et al., 1999; Rashid, 2000; van Reeuwijk & Nahar, 2013). Despite increasing public awareness and national efforts towards achieving gender equality, the prevalence of gender-based violence remains a major barrier to sexual and reproductive health (Banarjee, 2020; Heidari & Moreno, 2016; Rati & Ferdush, 2021). Sexual health advocates must continue to inform and empower young people’s socio-sexual agency and interaction skills from a rights perspective to ensure that young people have the possibility of pleasurable and safe sexual experiences, free of coercion, discrimination and violence (Fattah & Camellia, 2020, p. 16; Iyer, 2017; Nahar et al., 2013). As researchers and practitioners, we need to better understand the nuances and impact of the socio-sexual norms as experienced by young people throughout their lives and challenge violence-supportive norms (Fattah & Camellia, 2020; Iyer, 2017; Nahar et al., 2013). The lack of attention on this has meant that these harmful dynamics go unexplored and are more easily ignored.

Abbreviations

SRH	=	Sexual and reproductive health
SGD	=	sexual and gender diverse
IPV	=	Intimate partner violence

Ethics approval and consent to participate

The study was approved by the Institutional Review Board at North South University, Bangladesh (Reference 2019/OR-NSU/IRB-No.0410) and the Research Ethics Committee at the London School of Hygiene & Tropical Medicine (Reference 14,703). All participants provided written informed consent for their own participation.

Acknowledgments

The authors would like to thank research assistants Malisha Farzana, Nayeem Hasan, Tanzila Tabassum, and Ripon Islam for their support during the data generation period.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).

Data availability statement

The data that support the findings of this study are available from the corresponding author, PA, upon reasonable request.

Additional information

Funding

This work was supported by the Economic and Social Research Council, UK under Grant number [ES/J500021/1], and AIR@InnoHK administered by Innovation and Technology Commission. The funding bodies had no role in the design of the study and collection, analysis, and interpretation of data and in writing the manuscript.