My Father has been the most important feminist in my life

I am one of three daughters my mother gave birth to. I am the second daughter and I was my mother’s second chance to give birth to a son. Before my birth my mother said to my father “If it’s a boy I want you to buy me a diamond ring.”

When my mother was pregnant with a third child it was her third chance to give birth to a son. She was desperate. A lot was riding on this.

My parents are from Bangladesh. They are the owners of several properties over there. When it comes to property law Bangladesh follows the Islamic Shariah law. Under Shariah law if my mother fails to give birth to a son then in my father’s absence their estate would be subject to claim by my male cousins, if my mother gives birth to a son their estate is safe and stays within the immediate family. A son who would secure the assets my mother and father worked so hard to earn and not leave it exposed to extended members of the family. The birth of a son would elevate my mother’s status in the family. She would have fulfilled her most prominent duty. She would have shown the world that she had what it took to create a son; especially my aunt, who was the proud mother of not one but two sons. My aunt would goad my mother.

“You have failed to give birth to a son, how shameful.” She would smirk.

My dad moved us back to England in time for the birth of our third sibling. The night when my mother went into labour I woke up to find my older sister crying.

“What’s the matter?” I asked rubbing the sleep of my eyes.

“Dad has gone to the hospital to be by mum’s side.” She was crying because she was scared. My sister was eleven at the time and I was seven. Not only were we home alone in the middle of the night we also faced the prospect of having a brother – a brother who would supersede us in the ‘pecking order’. My older sister and I vehemently didn’t want a brother. A brother would mean we would constantly be overlooked. We were already the failed attempts for a son so the actual presence of a son would mean our value as individuals and standing in the family would diminish even more.

“Let’s pray for a sister. It has to be a girl.” I was determined. My sister and I prayed, our conviction was infallible, if we wanted it bad enough we could will our mother’s womb to create a daughter. We prayed until we fell asleep.

It is rumoured that when my younger sister was born my mother refused to initially see her, she turned her face the other way. I imagine she felt haunted by further goading by my aunt, sitting there on the hospital bed as the English nurse felt puzzled by my mother’s reaction. I believe that rumour.

My mother in turn had suffered sexism all her life. She was the fifth daughter, the fifth attempt by my grandmother to give birth to a son. When they broke the news to my grandfather, who was waiting outside the birthing chamber in Faridpur, Bangladesh, in 1957 he was told “It’s not good news. It’s a girl.”

My grandfather was a kind man. He responded with relief and he said “That’s good news, not bad.”

My grandmother didn’t give up, she went onto give birth for a sixth time and this time she gave birth to a son. Not only was my mother a failed fifth attempt for a son, she also grew up under the shadow of a brother who was constantly spoilt by my grandmother and someone who grew up to be unkind, cruel and a bully.

My father rejected the Bengali societal prejudice against women and believed in equality for women. He wanted all the women in our family to be educated. He wasn’t a rich man, as an academic, he didn’t earn a lot of money but he always provided for his family. He didn’t just provide for his own children he also insisted that all the women in his extended family had enough provisions to study and access to education.

When my uncle couldn’t afford to send his daughters to school and my father financed their education and gave them a monthly allowance. They were never made to feel like a burden instead they were continuously praised for their academic achievements.

Whilst teaching at Dhaka University when a female student was being physically harassed by fellow male students my father intervened. The girl was being pinched from behind as she sat on her chair to listen to the lecture. The male students were in fits of giggles as they saw how much discomfort they were causing her. My dad peppered them with academic questions so as to embarrass them when they were unable to answer the intentionally harder-than-usual questions without exposing the female student which would encourage further harassment outside of the classroom.

When a tenant was subjecting his wife to daily beatings my father stepped in. He knew the wife didn’t have the option to leave, she was financially depended on him for her and their children’s survival. In Bangladesh social services are virtually non-existant and the police force are unreliable so she had no option available to her other than to stay with her abusive husband. Her family members didn’t care and turned a blind eye but my father didn’t. In all fairness on that occasion my mother stepped in as well. Together they gave him a strong message about how harmful domestic violence is and as landlords they would never accept domestic violence being committed under their roof.

Unlike my mother he never expressed disappointment at not having a son. He never said “Boys are boys, men are men. Men are better than women.”

Throughout my lifetime I witnessed my mother’s prejudices against women soften and change. She worked, she earnt, she accepted herself be equal to men. In my adult life I actually have intense conversation with my mother on women rights where we both agree discrimination in all forms should stop against women. She is very different from the woman I remember as a child, she doesn’t desperately ache for a son anymore. In fact it is my youngest sister who she dotes after the most. 

When I was born my mother was presented with a beautiful ring with diamond and sapphire stones. It is the single most beautiful piece of jewellery I have ever seen.

So from the day I was born to the day I die my father will always be the most important feminist in my life.