Published: 06:50 AM, 27 September 2026
Sufism: The Ingenuous Soul of Pluralistic Bangladesh
Farabi Bin Zahir
Every time we debate secularism in South Asia, the argument falls into the exact same trap. One side hears the word "secular" and assumes it means driving God out of public life. The other defends religion as if the only alternative were an atheist state. Both sides are fighting the wrong war.
So let me be clear about what secularism actually means here. It doesn't mean empty mosques, locked temples, or a society stripped of faith. It simply means four basic things: the state doesn't take sides in matters of faith; every citizen is equal regardless of what they believe; everyone is free to worship or change their mind; and religion remains a personal conscience rather than a political loyalty test.
When you look at it this way, the entire debate shifts. A secular society doesn't need people to pray less. It just needs a state and a culture that treats everyone fairly. Praying was never the problem. The problem starts when religious identity is weaponized to divide people.
Laws can guarantee equality on paper, but they cannot force people to respect one another in daily life. For that, you need values that people already know and trust. In our part of the world, Sufism is one of the deepest sources of those values.
Sufism isn't a political party or a separate sect. It is a tradition of Islamic spirituality that puts character above labels, humility above power, and compassion above empty rituals. It teaches a direct connection to God that no institution can control. This doesn't make Sufism secular—it is deeply religious. But because it focuses on a person’s heart rather than their political allegiance. It naturally resists being used to exclude others.
We can see this across South Asia. For centuries, Sufi shrines have been places where religious boundaries simply melt away. At Ajmer, at Nizamuddin in Delhi, at Shah Jalal’s shrine in Sylhet, or Khan Jahan Ali’s dargah in Bagerhat, you will find Muslims and Hindus standing in the very same line. They pray for the same things: a sick child, a job, a peaceful life. Their doctrines may differ, but their human needs are identical. The shrine welcomes both without forcing anyone to choose.
We see the same spirit in our culture. Bulleh Shah openly mocked the arrogance of religious elites. Shah Abdul Latif Bhitai built his poetry around local folk stories. In Bengal, Sufi ideas and Baul traditions have mixed for so long that you cannot separate them. This wasn't tolerance forced from the top by a government; it grew naturally from the ground up.
Communal politics works through a simple trick: it makes religion the only answer to "who are you?" Once you accept that, your neighbor becomes a target, small grievances turn into group hatred, and violence begins to look justified.
Sufi ethics breaks this chain at the very first link. When spirituality is about becoming a better human being, the question changes from "what is his religion?" to "how does he treat others?" That shift sounds small, but its impact is massive. The first question can be used to justify violence. The second question stops an angry mob in its tracks.
Mere tolerance just says: "I won't harm you." That is a good start, but it isn't enough. It still leaves us living in separate, walled-off worlds. The Sufi tradition offers something stronger which is genuine shared space. We can share the same music, the same festivals, and the same neighborhoods without anyone having to give up their faith. Coexistence isn't about agreeing on everything; it's about realizing we can live together anyway.
Of course, we shouldn't romanticize history. Sufi orders have sometimes aligned with corrupt rulers, and shrine culture has its own flaws. Today, Sufism is also under attack—both from extremists who call it impure, and from governments trying to co-opt it for political control. State-sponsored spirituality is never genuine; it is just another tool for power.
So let’s be realistic. Sufism isn't a substitute for government policy. It won't write laws, protect minority rights by itself, or stop a majoritarian state. That requires constitutions, courts, and real political will. But Sufism does something the law can never do: it gives us a language for togetherness rooted in our own faith and history.
A country does not have to abandon its faith to become secular. It just has to become more inclusive. The goal isn't to push people away from God, but to reconnect faith with compassion, humility, and the age-old truth that God cares far more about how you treat your neighbor than which building they pray in.
We have lived by this idea for eight hundred years. It is time we claim it as our own.
Farabi Bin Zahir is a social
welfare activist and journalist
and can be contacted
