Summary
Joytee (b. 1988) was born and raised in a major city in Bangladesh. Her early life was marked by the familiar rhythms of urban childhood: crowded schools, congested streets, and the endless negotiation between tradition and modernity. Yet as she reached adolescence and adulthood, she encountered the darker realities of her society—exploitation, harassment, and betrayal that rendered the city itself a site of danger.

Rather than retreat, Joytee resisted. She entered regional politics, learning quickly that survival in the city demanded not only resilience but also the ability to wield power in spaces long dominated by men. By her mid-thirties, she had become both a survivor and a strategist—her politics less about ideology than about protection, dignity, and visibility.

Biographical Information:

• Name: Joytee (pseudonym),
• Age: 35
• Place of Birth: Born and raised in Barishal, Dhaka
• Current Residence: Mirpur
• Languages Spoken: Bengali

YASMIN: Could you begin by telling me about your childhood? Where you were born, and what it was like to grow up in the city?

JOYTEE: I was born in 1988, in this city that never sleeps, but also never forgives. Growing up here felt like walking in a marketplace where everyone wanted something from you. As a child, you don’t understand it—you think the crowd is just noise, the pushing is just play. But later, you see it clearly: this city has teeth.

YASMIN: When did you first feel that weight, that hostility?

JOYTEE: In my teens. That’s when the street stopped being just a road to school. Men’s eyes followed me; words I did not ask for were thrown at me. I learned quickly that to survive here, you either shrink or fight. I refused to shrink.

YASMIN: What led you to politics?

JOYTEE: Survival. Pure survival. I didn’t dream of banners or microphones. But I realized if I stayed invisible, I would be prey. And in this city, power is the only real shield. I saw men who were feared not because they were good, but because they had backing—political muscle. I thought, why not me? Why must a woman always be unprotected?

YASMIN: Did it come easily, entering that space?

JOYTEE: (laughs) Nothing comes easily for women here. The first meetings I attended, men looked at me like I was furniture—something placed in the wrong room. But I stayed. I spoke. And when they tried to silence me, I learned their tactics and turned them back on them. Slowly, I was no longer invisible.

YASMIN: Was there a moment when you felt—finally—secure?

JOYTEE: Secure? No. Not secure. But powerful, yes. There is a difference. Security in this city is an illusion. But with power, at least, you can walk the streets with your head high, knowing that people think twice before crossing you.

YASMIN: How do you carry this dual identity—being both a survivor and a political actor?

JOYTEE: I don’t separate them. My politics is survival, and my survival is political. Every time I walk into a meeting room filled with men and demand to be heard, that is politics. Every time I refuse silence after harassment, that is politics. For me, power is not about speeches or elections—it is about carving space for my body, my voice, in a city that wanted to erase me.

YASMIN: Looking back, do you think the city shaped you, or did you shape the city?

JOYTEE: Both. The city tried to break me, but in resisting, I bent its rules a little. I carved out a corner where women like me can breathe. I won’t claim I changed everything—but I survived, and that survival is itself a victory in this cruel place.