For Rohingya women in Cox’s Bazar, Bangladesh, the refugee camp is not simply a humanitarian space. It is a site where gender-based violence (GBV) is woven into the structures of displacement and exclusion. To understand their struggle, we must move beyond viewing GBV as isolated abuse and instead situate it within the broader spectrums of intersectionality, feminist legal theory, and women’s agency. Only then can we grasp why access to justice remains elusive, and why the experience of migration and statelessness intensifies vulnerability.

GBV in refugee camps is not random. It is produced by the conditions of displacement: overcrowded shelters, economic precarity, and patriarchal community norms. Domestic violence, child marriage, and sexual exploitation thrive where accountability is weak. Informal justice mechanisms, often the only recourse, tend to reinforce patriarchal expectations, urging survivors to remain silent or accept reconciliation rather than pursue justice. UNHCR’s GBV factsheet shows how restrictions on movement and limited education opportunities heighten risks of exploitation and abuse.

Intersectionality and the Weight of Displacement

Kimberlé Crenshaw’s theory of intersectionality reminds us that Rohingya women’s experiences of GBV cannot be understood through gender alone. Displacement itself shapes the contours of GBV. Migration uproots women from familiar social networks, leaving them dependent on humanitarian structures that often fail to protect them. Statelessness compounds this, stripping away legal identity and access to rights. The camp becomes both a place of refuge and a site of harm.

Testimonies collected by UNFPA Bangladesh show women walking for days with children, losing homes and relatives, and arriving in Bangladesh with nothing. Research on lived experiences of displacement highlights how migration transforms gender roles, forcing women into new responsibilities while exposing them to heightened risks (Global History Dialogues).

Statelessness, displacement, poverty, and cultural norms intersect to produce unique forms of harm. A Rohingya woman is not only a survivor of violence; she is also a refugee denied legal status, a mother navigating food insecurity, and a member of a community excluded from formal employment. Each axis of marginalisation compounds the others, creating barriers invisible if viewed in isolation.

Women’s Agency as a Pathway to Justice

Rohingya women face layers of disadvantage, such as displacement, poverty, and patriarchal norms; that too often leave them invisible or unheard. Breaking that cycle means putting empowerment at the heart of the response, so their voices and leadership can’t be ignored. Rohingya women are not just victims of displacement; they are leaders reshaping their own futures. In the camps, they organise networks, run informal schools, and speak out for health and education. Programmes like UN Women’s LEAP initiative show how women’s groups in Cox’s Bazar provide peer support, challenge patriarchal norms, and create safe spaces where survivors can be heard. These efforts are about more than survival: they are acts of resistance against the structures that allow gender‑based violence to persist.

When women are able to organise collectively, they protect themselves, document abuse, demand accountability, and connect survivors to humanitarian and legal actors. Experiences from Uganda, where refugee women’s cooperatives have built economic independence, and Jordan, where Syrian women have created informal schools and legal awareness campaigns, show how collective action can turn vulnerability into resilience.

These initiatives are only possible through women’s agency. Strengthening agency through education, legal empowerment, and recognition of women’s leadership is essential if justice is to move from aspiration to reality. In this way, women’s agency is not only about survival, it is the foundation for dismantling GBV and building justice in contexts of displacement.

Yet agency alone is not enough. Without recognition or access to courts, these initiatives remain fragile. Women’s voices are powerful, but they need systems willing and designed to listen.

Access to justice remains the most pressing gap. Humanitarian programmes provide psychosocial support and safe spaces, but they cannot substitute for legal accountability. Restrictions on movement, education, and communication prevent women from pursuing formal remedies. Donor politics further depoliticise GBV programming, as agencies avoid challenging host state policies. The UN’s Her Rights, Her Justice initiative documents Rohingya women reclaiming protection through grassroots action, but also shows how survivors struggle to access meaningful justice. International justice processes, such as those examined in Progress in Development Studies, often fail to consult women directly, raising questions about legitimacy.

Conclusion

The struggle of Rohingya women in Cox’s Bazar illustrates how GBV, intersectionality, women’s agency, and displacement converge. Violence is not incidental but structural, produced by bordering practices and sustained by humanitarian governance. They are suffering from overlapping vulnerabilities of gender, statelessness, poverty, and without legal recognition. As the International Court of Justice considers Myanmar’s responsibility for crimes against the Rohingya, the global community must also confront the architecture of containment in Bangladesh. Justice for Rohingya women requires more than services, it demands recognition of their rights, amplification of their voices, and dismantling of the structures that sustain violence. Only then can protection become real, and displacement cease to be a site of perpetual harm.