The Hindu, Sunday Magazine, January 19, 2014
 
Now that there is a handgun especially designed for Indian women, are we going to be ‘safer’?
 
Now that there is a handgun especially designed for Indian women, are we going to be ‘safer’?
On
 January 6, the Indian Ordnance Factory in Kanpur announced the launch 
of ‘Nirbheek’, India’s first gun for women. We are told it weighs just 
500 gm and is a 0.32 bore light revolver. It will cost a mere 
Rs.1,22,360, thereby ensuring that it is out of reach to the majority of
 Indian women who fear for their safety.
How amazing 
that someone should actually think that a light handgun named ‘Nirbheek’
 or fearless will actually make a material difference to the lives of 
Indian women. 
Just to give some perspective, in 
Uttar Pradesh, where this gun has been manufactured, the police (tasked 
to ‘protect’ women, one presumes) has 2.5 lakh firearms, while the ‘aam 
janta’, mostly men, has over 11 lakh firearms. And these are the 
licensed ones. Can any woman, even if she is equipped with a pricey 
light gun, feel ‘safe’ under such circumstances?
Let’s
 discuss the question of women’s safety that keeps popping up over and 
over again, particularly after the terrible gang rape and subsequent 
death of a young woman in Delhi on December 16, 2012. There have been 
countless debates and all kinds of demands. Hang the rapists; change the
 Juvenile Act; have more police; have more CCTV cameras in all public 
places; train women in martial arts etc.
Writing this
 literally from the other side of the world, the perspective that greets
 me is that suddenly all of India has become ‘unsafe’ for women, that 
our streets are full of sexual predators just waiting to pounce on 
unwary women and that our criminal justice system is simply not able to 
deter these predators.
Between these clearly 
exaggerated images and the drummed-up fears, lies a different reality, 
one about which we need to be constantly reminded. 
The
 questions we must address are what do we mean by ‘safe’? Are women 
‘unsafe’ only in the public space if by safety we mean sexual assault? 
What if such assaults take place at home, at the workplace, in schools 
and colleges — spaces that would generally not be viewed as ‘unsafe’ 
because you are surrounded not by strangers but by people you know?
Every
 year when data on crimes against women is published, this is the other 
perspective that emerges, if only people were to read beyond the 
screaming headlines. So, for instance, a Right to Information petition 
by social worker Anil Galgali revealed that in Mumbai last year there 
had been 237 rapes and eight gang rapes, including the one in the 
deserted Shakti Mills compound in central Mumbai that drew a great deal 
of media attention. But once you read past the statistics, you realise 
that in most cases, the perpetrators of the crimes were ‘friends and 
lovers’ or neighbours of the raped woman. Men known to her. Not unknown 
men hanging out in public spaces.
In Delhi last year,
 although the number of reported cases till August are far greater 
(1,121) there too, according to the police, surveys have established 
that the attackers are known to the women. This is, in fact, the main 
factor preventing women from reporting the crime.
Thus,
 while there is no denying the horror of the gang rapes that have 
captured media attention, we must not lose the perspective that if 
safety consists of women not fearing that they will be sexually 
assaulted, then the main site of danger lies in homes and familiar 
surroundings and not outside.
Stricter laws, guns, 
and martial arts will not solve this lack of safety. Here, as has been 
repeated in these columns and elsewhere, we have to tackle the system of
 patriarchy, where men believe they are entitled to control the lives 
and actions of women, where men believe they ‘own’ the women related to 
them, and where men see nothing wrong in punishing the women who dare 
question or try and upset the established systems that guarantee their 
superior status in our society.
To illustrate this 
further, let me narrate the horrific story I read even as the year 
began. An 11-year-old Class 5 student from a village in Betul district, 
175 km southwest of the capital of Madhya Pradesh, Bhopal, was singed on
 her cheeks and beaten with a rock for refusing to quit studies. The 
perpetrator of the crime? Her father. The girl, Roshani, is recovering 
in the district hospital but no member of her family has come to visit 
her.
How do we ensure that the Roshanis of India feel
 ‘safe’ enough to get an education? This is the perspective we need when
 we discuss women’s safety.
(To read the original, click here.) 
 
 
