‘Fasting from dawn to dusk is about restraint, gratitude and empathy’

This is an opinion piece by Green Councillor for Ashley Abdul Malik and was first published on Bristol 24/7 in February 2026. 

Ramadan has returned, and with it that familiar shift in the rhythm of our city.

Before dawn, in homes across Easton, St Paul’s, Bedminster and beyond, lights come on earlier than usual. Families gather for a quick meal before the fast begins. Then through the day there is no food, no water, no distractions from the discipline of it all, until the sun finally sets and the fast is broken.

For those who have never experienced it, fasting from dawn to dusk can seem like a hardship. In truth, it is about restraint, gratitude and empathy. Muslims fast not simply to feel hunger, but to understand it, to soften the heart, to build character and to reconnect with what really matters.

Abdul Malik is the chair of Jamia Mosque in Easton, which hosts a grand iftar celebration at the end of Ramadan every year – photo: Rob Browne

By sunset, the city feels different again. Mosques open their doors. Tables are laid. Dates and water are passed around. And across Bristol, people gather for iftar, the meal that breaks the fast.

At Easton Jamia Masjid, where I serve as chair, hundreds will sit side by side throughout this month. Young and old. Long-standing Bristolians and new arrivals. Professionals, tradesmen, students, families. People of other faiths and people of none. Someone always insists you take more food than you need. Conversations stretch long after plates are cleared.

In a world that often feels loud and divided, there is something quietly powerful about a shared table at sunset.

In 2026, Ramadan feels especially significant for me personally. The past year has not been straightforward. Public scrutiny, challenging national media narratives and regulatory processes tested not just leadership but patience. Anyone who serves in public life knows that criticism comes with the territory. What matters is how you respond to it. Ramadan strips everything back to basics.

Established in 1983, Easton Jamia Masjid lies in the heart of Bristol as one of the largest mosques in the south west of England – photo: Martin Booth

It reminds you that leadership is service and not status. That resilience is built in private before it is seen in public. That integrity is measured over time, not in the headlines. And so each evening I will be at the mosque, not for symbolism, but because that is where I belong, welcoming worshippers, overseeing arrangements, ensuring that the doors remain open and that the atmosphere remains one of dignity and warmth.

Ramadan in Bristol is not an abstract religious concept; it is a lived reality. It is business owners adjusting their schedules. It is parents balancing work, school runs and late-night prayers. It is volunteers cooking in large pots to feed whoever walks through the door.

It is charity collections for those struggling with the cost-of-living crisis, here in our own city and beyond. It is young people serving elders and learning that community is something you participate in, not just talk about. In a time when identity can be politicised, and faith can be misunderstood, the most effective response is often simple openness. Come and eat. Sit down. Talk. Ask me questions.

Muslims fast from dawn to dusk for thirty days. We increase our prayers. We give more in charity. We try to improve our conduct, to be more patient in speech, more generous in action, more reflective in thought.

The month ends with Eid, a day of celebration and gratitude. But the real achievement of Ramadan is quieter than that. It is built night after night, when neighbours share food regardless of background and choose connection over suspicion.

Bristol has always been a city of strong opinions and strong communities. It is not perfect. It has tensions, as all cities do. But during Ramadan you see another side of it, a willingness to sit together, to learn from one another and to recognise that our differences need not prevent our unity.

In 2026, that feels not just comforting, but necessary.