A century ago, women in Britain were still fighting for the right to vote. Today, progress is visible, yet incomplete. For Naz Shah, that unfinished journey towards equality is not abstract history; it is personal.
As a South Asian Muslim woman in British politics, she carries not only the responsibility of policymaking, but also the weight of representation and the lived experiences that shaped her long before she entered public life.
Shah’s early years were marked by instability, experiences she details candidly in her memoir. Yet she reflects on them with striking clarity rather than bitterness. “When you’re living in poverty, you don’t realise it at the time,” she says. “It’s only later, when you’re out of it, that you understand what you actually experienced.”
Witnessing violence and insecurity in childhood, she explains, does not immediately mould you, it settles quietly, shaping you later in life. “It doesn’t give you security. It leaves you with insecurities and questions. It doesn’t raise you with confidence.” And yet, from those fractures came resilience, what she calls “the gift survival gives you.”
That resilience has become central to her worldview. Rather than holding grudges, Shah speaks of lessons. “Even a bad experience will teach you something,” she says. “It will teach you what not to be and who not to be.” Rather than resentment, she channels adversity into reform, a principle that underpins both her politics and her cultural critique.
One such area is the concept of izzat, or honour, deeply embedded in many South Asian communities. Shah has spoken openly about how izzat was used to justify silence and endurance in her own life and how she seeks to redefine it. “My izzat comes from doing the right thing,” she says firmly. “It should be defined by your character, who you are and what you do, not by keeping up appearances.”
Her memoir, releasing more than a decade after she first entered Parliament, was deliberately timed. She was initially approached to write it when she became an MP in 2015, but chose not to. “I needed to concentrate on doing my job,” she explains. “I was new. I needed to understand the role.” Now, older and more seasoned, she felt ready, not to change legislation through her book, but to influence culture and attitudes.
And that distinction is important. Shah is clear that while law matters, and she expresses pride in initiatives such as the UK’s Violence Against Women strategy and expanded childcare support, cultural transformation requires something deeper. It requires stories.
“I think it’s hugely important to tell stories,” she says. “Stories shape narratives, culture, influence.” In South Asian communities particularly, she believes conversations around sexual abuse, mental health and domestic violence must move from whispers to open dialogue. She has already seen change begin in community spaces where once-taboo topics are finally being discussed.
Representation, she argues, is not symbolic, it is structural. “You can’t make decisions about us without us,” she says plainly. Women comprise half the population, yet leadership positions still lag behind. For women of colour the barriers multiply. “You have to work twice as hard,” she acknowledges. “When you’re a woman, you work harder. When you’re a woman of colour, even more. When you’re a Muslim woman, it’s more challenging still.”
And yet, she describes her role not as a burden but as a privilege. “It doesn’t feel like a job, it feels like a calling. I’m very lucky to have the job of my dreams.”
Her optimism is pragmatic, not naive. She speaks candidly about the urgent challenges facing women in Britain today: mental health pressures, the cost of living crisis, violence against women, and persistent inequality. Progress, she believes, must be pursued without resentment. “You don’t resent the country,” she says. “You work to make things better.”
That philosophy extends to confronting patriarchy within communities too. Anger, she says, is understandable, but it must be purposeful. “Blind anger just burns you. If your anger isn’t used to create change, it becomes an internal injury.”
Ultimately, Shah hopes her story carries a simple but powerful message, particularly for South Asian women who may see themselves reflected in her journey. “If she can do it, we can do it,” she says. By occupying space unapologetically, by speaking about the unspeakable, by transforming survival into leadership, she is not merely building a political career, she is expanding the boundaries of who belongs in power.
On this Women’s Day, Shah’s story is a reminder that resilience can be revolutionary, and that sometimes, the most radical act is to turn pain into purpose.
