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Is our faith relevant to the times we live in? For many of our detractors, of course, the answer is a hard no: it is irrelevant at best, if not outright harmful. But is that really so?

One of the central principles I have learnt is that in moments of uncertainty, our faith teaches us to choose the path of safety. This principle isn’t just a legal guideline; it’s a moral compass. When things are unclear, especially where people’s dignity and wellbeing are concerned, we lean towards caution. That caution isn’t fear, but mercy. It’s responsibility, and a form of care.

When there is genuine confusion about a person’s gender, for example — when it’s not immediately clear whether someone is male or female, or how others should interact with them — we prioritise safety. For women, this means safeguarding their right to private, female-only spaces. For those navigating gender identity, it may also mean not placing them at risk of harm in male spaces.

Safety cuts both ways. But the vulnerability of women — especially in intimate or enclosed spaces — is not hypothetical. It is a daily reality. Across societies, many women live with the ongoing threat of domestic violence, sexual assault, coercion, and invasive behaviour.

Many women carry stories of being followed, touched without consent, or spoken to with aggression — sometimes in settings as mundane as a changing room, a park, or a bus stop. These are not rare exceptions. They are part of a broader pattern of harm, often hidden or dismissed, yet painfully real.

It is this reality that makes the protection of female-only spaces not an act of exclusion, but one of recognition and care. Yet, in today’s world, that clarity is under pressure. We’re now seeing debates around access to women’s changing rooms, toilets, and other private facilities — the very spaces designed for dignity and safety.

Sometimes, these debates centre around individuals with sincere and difficult experiences of gender dysphoria who deserve kindness and compassion. But they can also centre around individuals who exploit the language of gender identity to enter spaces not meant for them — driven not by confusion or need, but by harmful intent.

These are difficult conversations. They require wisdom, compassion, and a commitment to justice for everyone. Islam’s classical jurists confronted similar complexities centuries ago in their rulings on intersex individuals, advocating for a third space when binary classification proved unclear. This shows us that tradition has long valued careful, principled solutions which protect without demeaning, and include without compromising safety.

We can take heart from that today. We don’t need to erase boundaries to show compassion, nor endanger one group to accommodate another. There is another way, if we’re brave enough to seek it. That is, choosing the path of safety, which minimises harm.

This isn’t a political statement, but a quiet, moral reflection. A longing for clarity and a plea for balance. A hope that in our desire to be kind, we don’t forget to be wise. If we are to learn anything about our faith, it is that it is a path to removing harm, individually and collectively.