Bangladesh’s Tangail saree fought a long way into global recognition through a story of migration, memory, craft, and cultural ownership. On December 9, UNESCO announced that Tangail’s traditional handloom weaving had been added to the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity listThrough the announcement, the UN’s cultural agency acknowledged an entire civilisation of weavers whose shuttles have survived famine, colonial disruption, Partition, war, and now the crushing speed of mechanised fashion.It was, in all good senses, a long-overdue validation of a craft that had been slipping through the cracks of history.To understand the magnitude of this recognition, one must trace Bengal’s textile ancestry, an inheritance stretching from the legendary muslin to the painstaking artistry of Jamdani. For centuries, Bengal’s looms shaped global tastes. The region’s muslin, woven so fine it could pass through a ring, dazzled foreign courts long before the industrial loom existed.When muslin production declined under colonial policies and economic sabotage, its spirit resurfaced in Jamdani, the heirloom weave that combined airy cotton with motifs so intricate they bordered on tapestry. Every Jamdani saree carried the fingerprints of weavers who placed motifs into the loom manually, thread by thread, one breath at a time.Within this lineage, the Tangail saree evolved as both continuation and reinvention. Emerging from the weaver communities of Bangladesh’s Tangail district, the craft blended Bengal’s signature softness with a sturdier, more versatile texture.Unlike the ethereal muslin or the ceremonial Jamdani, Tangail sarees became everyday staples – elegant but resilient, light but not fragile, and woven for real life rather than royal galleries.The motifs carried echoes of Jamdani traditions, but the fabric was crafted for women who worked and lived in the textures of ordinary days. Hundreds of families—most belonging to the Basak community – sustained the art through pit looms powered only by muscle memory and generational wisdom.In villages near the Louhajang and in weaving hubs spreading towards Dhaka, the sound of shuttles never fully disappeared, even when factories grew louder.Tangail saree weavers of Bangladesh. Photo: Bangladesh National Museum, Ministry of Cultural Affairs, 2024UNESCO’s recognition came at a time when the craft was endangered not by the sheer reality of economics. Machine-made sarees – cheaper and faster – had begun to edge out handloom weavers whose costs were rising and whose children often did not want to inherit a profession that offered prestige but little financial security.Now the UNESCO inscription has offered a crucial lifeline: visibility, legitimacy, and the possibility that a younger generation may see a future in the looms their ancestors once carried on their backs during migration.But the story behind Tangail’s UNESCO inscription is also one of geopolitical and cultural contestation. Over the past year, the very name “Tangail saree” ignited a sharp dispute between Bangladesh and parts of India after West Bengal authorities secured a Geographical Indication (GI) tag for a version of “Tangail” saree woven within Indian territory.The Indian claim rested on the history of weavers who migrated from the original Tangail region to West Bengal during Partition or 1971. These displaced weaver families built livelihoods in Purba Bardhaman and Nadia, continuing the traditions they carried with them.Bangladesh’s response was swift. In Tangail district, human chains formed, traders marched, mainstream media covered the news and social media erupted. For weavers of Tangail, the claim made by West Bengal felt like an attempt of an erasure.They argued that while people can migrate, heritage rooted in land cannot. A technique, they said, may travel, but a GI is bound to the soil, the humidity, the riverbed water, the specific ecology that shapes thread, dye, and loom. Tangail’s weaving was a living interaction between community and geography. To detach the name from its Bangladeshi birthplace felt, to many, like cultural theft disguised as administrative procedure.This is where UNESCO’s recognition carries quiet power. The inscription reinforces the Bangladesh-centred narrative of Tangail weaving as a heritage inseparable from its original land and communities.It obviously does not resolve the GI dispute directly, but it strengthens Bangladesh’s international cultural standing and implicitly asserts that Tangail’s heart lies in Tangail.For the weavers themselves, however, the inscription is more personal than political. It is the recognition of countless hours spent stooped over looms, of fingers learning tension and pattern before they learned how to write, of families who survived by turning thread into livelihood.Many Tangail sarees are crafted through a division of labour embedded in community tradition: men often dye the yarn, while women spin, join threads, and prepare the loom. Designs are memorised and motifs appear through a choreography of hands and shuttles that is impossible to replicate on a machine.The UNESCO listing has triggered hope across weaving clusters. Artisans expect renewed demand, global attention, and perhaps even state funding for preservation efforts. More importantly, it gives symbolic dignity to an occupation long overshadowed by the speed and scale of power looms.Bangladesh’s Permanent Delegate to UNESCO Ambassador Khondker M. Talha called it “global recognition of the exquisite craftsmanship of Tangail weavers who have preserved this art for over two centuries.”In the broader context of Bengal’s weaving history, the Tangail inscription is a powerful reminder that handloom traditions are not relics but living, evolving cultures. Muslin faded under colonial exploitation, Jamdani survived by clinging to memory, and Tangail persevered by serving the everyday woman. Each survived because artisans refused to let the loom fall silent.Faisal Mahmud is the Minister (Press) of Bangladesh High Commission in New Delhi.