by Muntasir Rahman
I received a message from the head of a transmen organization on April 19, 2022, asking for help for a transwoman named Utso Islam Mondal. It was the first time I spoke to her. Her voice was childlike yet spirited, full of strength and vulnerability as she shared her story.
Utso’s father had forced her to live in a male hostel, where she faced sexual harassment and abuse from her roommate. When the hostel staff asked her to leave, she refused to return to any male hostel, fearing the same situation would repeat. As she progressed in her medical transition and became more visibly feminine, she sought refuge in a women’s hostel. At first they did not realize she was trans, but once someone found out, she was outed and expelled at midnight. With nowhere to go and no money, she cried herself to sleep outside until a friend helped her get into another hostel, only for the same thing to happen again.
I still hear her voice filled with frustration and sadness as she told me, “Transwomen aren’t allowed in women’s hostels. Transwomen aren’t allowed in society.” Her father, a conservative madrasa teacher, refused to accept her, withdrew financial support, and made her home environment hostile. She had nowhere to go and asked me for help.
I searched everywhere, even posting on Facebook, hoping someone would offer her a place to stay. An intersex transwoman eventually reached out, and the two of them became like sisters. But the torment didn’t end. Utso was harassed by hijras, and a video of the incident was posted on TikTok, causing her immense distress.
Despite everything, Utso was determined. She stayed with her new sister for nearly three months while pursuing her dreams of becoming a trans model and continuing her studies. She shared her ramp-walk videos and TikTok IDs with me, seeking guidance and encouragement. Eventually she left that house and returned home, but things became so unbearable that she attempted suicide. Her father, crying and desperate, called me, begging me to “bring his boy back.” I tried to console him and urged him to accept and support his child.
Utso later moved to Dhaka and enrolled in a government college for her honors degree in 2023. We stayed in touch, and I watched proudly as she competed in Miss Evergreen in November 2023, reaching the semifinals. Her speech was powerful, a plea for acceptance and support for transgender children. When I congratulated her, she humbly credited me, saying, “Bhai, you have done so much for me. Not even my own brother would support me like you have.”
But transphobia continued to haunt her life. In March, she faced harassment in her village, where people blocked her path and insulted her. She shared her fear and struggles on Facebook. Then, on April 24th, she posted a suicide note. I tried desperately to reach her, but she didn’t pick up. That night, I learned she had jumped from the ninth floor of a building. Seeing the CCTV footage of her fall was devastating.
In the aftermath of her death, transphobic individuals celebrated, blaming her for her own death. But it wasn’t her fault. It was the relentless transphobia that killed her, piece by piece, day by day. Despite everything I tried, I couldn’t save her.
Utso was untamed, full of spirit, and unbowed by a world that refused to accept her. She is a martyr—a symbol of love, courage, and resilience. Her story will be told forever.
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