Anna Kurian 
The sense of disquiet or fear that pervades the life of most Indian women is further intensified with every new rape that is reported, whether in rural or urban India, whether to children as young as four or to a woman out with her friend or a woman accompanying her husband in an ambulance. Every day rapes occur, we read of a new incident, those in power offer anodyne words and people speak about the need to impose the death penalty for rape.
In what follows I make an effort to unpack the rhetoric that surrounds rape in India, a place where it is easier to perform the action than speak about it with clarity.
1
The names and labels used in everyday conversation and journalism (I am writing of the use of these terms in the everyday register, not in the usage by the law or in terms of the laws) for various forms of sexual harassment of women include molestation, sexual harassment, sexual assault, rape, outraging the modesty of a woman, groping, and eve-teasing. A Google search reveals that these are all terms that are used, sometimes interchangeably, except maybe for ‘eve-teasing’ which even in India is seen as ‘frivolous’, but is still used, even by the police.
If we were to grade these terms in accordance with the severity of the act, many would agree that this would be the gradation we derive: eve-teasing – sexual harassment – molestation – outraging the modesty of a woman – groping – sexual assault and finally rape. And yet does this kind of gradation help in anything other than the obfuscation of the actual act? Does it not trivialise what happens? If a woman is groped, then to term it eve-teasing makes it an act that should be seen as some form of light entertainment (for whom?) rather than the violation of the woman’s body that it actually is. Similarly the use of the term “sexual harassment” for the incident at one of the prominent NITs wherein a student, alone in her hostel room, had a worker expose himself and make lewd gestures at her, makes the incident one which was harassment but not of an aggravated-enough degree.
By naming incidents with these variable terms, we make it possible to tone down the gravity of the incident itself, normalising the deviance, shifting the focus away from what the victim undergoes.
2
The protests of the wrestlers against Brij Bhushan Sharan Singh’s behaviour and the sexual harassment that he had allegedly subjected them to, makes the same point: were the wrestlers raped? No. ‘At most he groped them, touched them in order to check their breathing.’ Vinesh Phogat spoke about the ways in which these terms help to normalise what is done to girls. She spoke of how touching was seen as okay. The level of assault determined whether it was worth making a fuss about, uncaring of the effect that it may have had on the person who was ‘touched.’ She calls the line that defines where ‘normal’ ends and where harassment begins a ‘dangerous’ one.
Many who would like to call these ‘minor’ incidents, rationalise them by saying that ‘nothing happened’ to the girl(s), as in the case of the wrestlers and the hostel student. To this, Phogat says that in India “They will only take it seriously when the assault is gruesome”.
So the many incidents where men expose themselves before women, masturbate before them, show them pornography, touch them or grope them are all minor infringements, not to be reported or protested against. And among the best ways of rendering them minor is to call them eve-teasing, outraging the modesty of a woman, or some such euphemistic phrase which obscures the violation perpetrated upon the woman.
“Nothing much happened” is often used as a protective shield too, to excuse gender harassment in the workplace, or negligible transgressions of a woman’s personal space. In these cases, assault or rape may not happen but unwanted comments and gestures do and there may be other forms of sexual harassment. These are often covered up with claims that ‘nothing much happened’, ‘no one has been hurt’, etc., yet another instance of what Phogat speaks of when she says that, “Indian society normalises abuse and harassment.”
Also read: Being Vinesh Phogat — Wrestling with Power
3
Which are the rape cases or cases of sexual harassment that get the most media attention in India today?
In the immediate past it has been the Anna University case and the R.G. Kar case. Around the same time as the latter the rape of two little girls at Badlapur in Maharashtra by a contractual cleaner brought the town to a standstill. Back in 2019 there was the Hyderabad veterinary doctor rape case; in 2018 it was the Kathua case where an eight-year-old was held captive, raped and killed, and in 2012 it was the Delhi rape case. The stripping, groping, rape and naked parading of two Manipur women, the Hathras case and further back in time, the Bilkis Bano case, and the Bhanwari Devi rape case also received a lot of media coverage.
Illustration: Pariplab Chakraborty.
Why is it that some cases receive more attention than others? In the main, we prioritise cases where the brutality is extreme, bodies are broken and where the victim is middle class or upwardly mobile, is a child, or where the rape is part of a systemic problem. The extreme brutality and violence visited upon the body of the Delhi rape victim in 2012, and the R.G. Kar victim is one reason, but much of India takes cognizance only when we can identify the victim by her profession – veterinary doctor, doctor, physiotherapist, and social worker.
In a country where upwards of 30,000 rapes are reported yearly, where a rape occurs every 15 minutes and where there must be far more taking place that go unreported, the news media highlights those that strike a chord or where the rape is embedded within a larger issue that also haunts the nation – whether that is Manipur, the Gujarat riots, the caste system or the situation of the nomadic Bakerwal tribe in then-Jammu and Kashmir state.
4
From as far back as I can remember, the usage of maa-behen-beti to refer to the women of this country has been a commonplace, especially when election season is ongoing, or when a ‘grievous’ rape has taken over the media. At that point the speaker embeds the women of the nation in this familial structure, wherein they are all either mothers or daughters or sisters. But the family structure is also exclusionary, and those who may not be accounted a mother/sister/daughter, can then become prey to those who think of them as the outsider. The family, whether by blood or in terms of the nation or race or caste or community, supposedly keeps its women safe while making it possible to prey upon those who do not belong to the said family. This becomes particularly apparent at times of communal riots and unrest, or in times leading up to such violence when there are explicit calls to rape women who belong to the ‘other’ community or people group.
This ‘familial’ rhetoric is particularly troubling when one takes into account the fact that rape is often committed by a family member. While marital rape is not something that Indian law recognises, it does take into cognisance the fact that family members often perpetrate rape upon their women and young girls from their own families. The widespread nature of this is apparent in statistics from the National Crime Records Bureau for 2022, in which out of 31516 cases, 2324 were by family members. And these are only those that have been reported. Even as the familial rhetoric dominates the discourse when a particularly violent rape dominates the headlines, that does not mean that within the family women or girls are safe. Books such as Hush and short films such as Devi make this particularly clear.
5
Devi ends with a frame with the words: “It is ironic that crime rates against women are higher in a nation where nearly 80% of the population worships goddesses.” Interestingly, there is also some myth-making around this fact: that as a nation we are devoted to the goddesses we worship and because we perceive women as goddesses, they are safe. Given the horrific numbers of rape and violence-against-women cases in India, this is manifestly untrue. And yet this is a popular myth as the film Devi makes clear, but one that was also busted in the aftermath of the R.G. Kar rape case, when various people exhorted the protesters to put aside the protests and focus on the Durga Puja festivities that were about to begin.
By equating women with goddesses we do a disservice to women in their everyday lives. Goddesses are powerful to a greater or lesser degree, capable of dealing with evil in the human and divine realms, and they dispense justice for mortals. Which part of this is seen as akin to what mortal Indian women go through on a daily basis? And yet, Indian girls and women are equated to goddesses and some are even worshipped on specific days.
Also read: ‘Restrooms Without a Latch and Bolt’: The View From R.G. Kar Hospital
6
Naming the victim of rape or in any way making it possible to identify the said victim is forbidden by Indian law and this is seen as, variously, a way of protecting the woman from further victimization or ridicule or ostracisation, of protecting the family which might otherwise feel the dishonour in worse ways, in their family, neighbourhood, etc. The law is meant to protect the woman who is otherwise shamed in our society but it also leads to an erasure of the victim.
The way in which the stigma associated with rape is vested largely in the woman is indicative of the honour code of our patriarchal society and also adds layers to the woman’s responsibility for what was done to her. She is responsible because she may have “asked for it”; been friendly with strangers; been out late; been at a bar or club, getting drunk; dressed inappropriately; been in a profession that was not quite respectable; etc. That none of these may be applicable and that the man is at fault is overlooked time and again, as the meme below indicates. Yet the shame is still the woman’s and hence she and her family should not be shamed further by having their identity revealed.
7
While the woman is often stigmatised as seen above, in cases which are seen as heinous, the rapist is sometimes referred to as an animal, someone other than human. In the aftermath of the R.G. Kar case, the psychoanalysts spoke of the rapist as a sexual pervert, with “animal-like instincts”. By calling the rapist “animal-like” we dehumanise them and make it possible, indeed necessary, for them to be despised and hated, for the death penalty to be demanded for them and even for them to be killed in an encounter. We also overlook the fact that it was a human, not an animal who committed this grievous act.
But in addition to stigmatizing the individual rapist, the use of the term “animal” to refer to him renders all other men human. While offering a convenient and necessary scapegoat, we also lull ourselves into the complacent belief that other men are not so, they are human and not animal like in their sexual desires, their perversions stop well short of the animal-like. Is this usage one that offers men a convenient cover for the so-called “minor” atrocities visited upon women folk that may never be called out or see the light of day? Is this a strategy that helps women to live without worrying about every man one encounters? The animal and the human is a convenient categorisation that differentiates the vile and vicious from the everyday tormenter.
8
In cases such as Delhi 2012 or R.G. Kar, where the victim is not blamed for the rape, and where the terrible nature of the crime is acknowledged by all, the usual move is to demand the death penalty for the rapists. This is a demand that comes from the ordinary people as well as politicians. The usual reasons cited by those who ask for capital punishment is that the existing laws are not strict enough and that the death penalty will be an adequate deterrent for those who might contemplate rape. This usually leads to some back-and-forth among those belonging to the party in power and those attacking them as to whether the law is strong enough. In the aftermath of the Delhi 2012 case the Union government set up the Justice Verma committee to recommend changes in rape laws, which in turn led to the Criminal Law Amendment Act of 2013.
While the demand for the death penalty is commonly held to be the most just response to the gravity of the crime, it also gestures towards some kind of notional closure for the survivor or the victim’s family, a demonstration of justice seen to be done, and in cases such as the encounter killing in Hyderabad, jubilation that justice has been served, swiftly. This also recognises the slow pace of justice via courts where thousands of rape cases proceed slowly and interminably.
Underlying the demand for capital punishment is also the assumption that the law and police actions are all that are required to keep women safe.
9
One of the missing components in attempts to reduce incidents of rape is the shaping and educating of the young: an education that should extend from within the family to the community and nation. An education that within the family would show boys and girls that they are equal, that demeaning the latter is in no way acceptable and that would also show boys that there are unpleasant consequences for the ill-treatment of women. This is too big an ask for a land where small acts of violence against women are condoned, where in law there is no such concept of marital rape and where restrictive, patriarchal mores are still the norm.
And while it might be possible to educate the young at least somewhat, there can hardly be “adult education classes” for men and women “for gender empowerment”, even though this was one of the recommendations of the Justice Verma Committee.
Also read: Mere Outrage Cannot Rid This Nation of the Language of Rape
10
Even if we were to educate all of both genders, one of the prime areas would need to be the concept of consent.
In discussions of rape in India, the question of consent is usually in two contexts: one, in cases of what might be called “breach of promise”, such as cohabitation and eventual break up, where the woman feels cheated and the man is accused of rape; and two, in cases where the age of consent (which is 18 under Indian law) is used to claim that even if a younger teenager willingly entered into sexual relations with a person, her family members can claim rape as she is seen as a child and not of the age which can accord consent legally. In both cases there is a criminalisation of consensual relationships and punitive action for the male.
In other cases, consent is rarely brought into the picture.
In cases which receive widespread media coverage, it is either apparent from the woman’s body, battered and broken, that she resisted with all her might or involves a small child – how can a four- or eight-year-old consent to something that is outside their sphere of knowledge?
But the legal codes in India do speak of consent at some length and the contexts in which consent cannot be seen as such: if it is obtained via fear, threat, or by the use of substances or when the person is of unsound mind. And yet, do we ever speak of consent as an integral and necessary part of a relationship? Do most Indian men understand the concept of consent and how it should impact their sexual desires and needs? Of course, this discussion becomes even more fraught every couple of years or so when the issue of marital rape is raised by society or the law or by some case which brings it into the public gaze once again. The fact that India does not “recognise” marital rape reduces the wife to someone who, having consented to the marriage, has consented to sexual relations in perpetuity with her legally wedded husband. What price consent?
§
We all know the words that are used every time a rape dominates our headlines. But the ways in which we speak of it, the words we use and the customary rhetoric employed by the media, the politicians and us, the ordinary people, also structure our thoughts and our understanding of what rape is, who should be kept safe, how the rapist should be punished, etc. While the rhetoric of rape in India is often affective and impassioned it is also, by virtue of its coded nature, anodyne and evasive.
Anna Kurian is faculty fellow, UNESCO Chair in Vulnerability Studies, Department of English, University of Hyderabad.