Delhi 2012 vs Unnao 2019

Originally published in Mumbai Mirror on August 3, 2019

In his column on the Unnao rape case (Mumbai Mirror, August 2, 2019), Dushyant asks, "Why was there so much anger on the streets once upon a time and why is there so little now?" He was referring to the small turnout at India Gate in Delhi on July 29, at a demonstration to express solidarity with the 19-year-old rape survivor, now fighting for her life after a headlong collision in a suspicious road accident.

The public anger over the gang rape of a 23-year-old woman in Delhi on December 16, 2012 (I have consciously chosen not to refer to her by the fictitious name given by the media), has become something of a golden standard for spontaneous civil society response to an unspeakable crime.

Yet, not all rapes or crimes against women bring forth such a response. Why? This question has been asked before, repeatedly. Women who are poor, Dalit and Adivasi, from Kashmir and the Northeast have often asked why when they are raped, there are no candlelight vigils and protests? Why is one rape more important than another?

There are many different reasons behind the politics of rape. But if we look at the difference between the response in 2012 and today, the reasons include the nature of the crime, the site of the crime, and the dominant politics of the day.

First, in 2012 there was space for protest -- both spatially and psychologically. People were not afraid to occupy the streets and register their anger. The government then was a loose coalition, with many gaping holes that made it approachable, as also vulnerable.

Today, after two general election victories, the Bharatiya Janata Party under Narendra Modi has a brute majority in Parliament, holds power in the majority of states, and has already shown why it need not pay heed to any opposition, political or otherwise. The government and the ruling party project themselves as coterminous with "the nation".  Hence, any questioning or opposition to the former is automatically "anti-national".

Secondly, the 2012 incident took place in the national capital -- the location of political and media power.  Protests there drew the attention of both.

In 2019, the crime occurred in a small town in UP, away from the media spotlight and the centre of political power. While media paid sporadic attention, the BJP-led state government ignored it.

Thirdly, the men charged with the crime and eventually convicted in 2012, were powerless, part of the urban poor, the 'other', people who could be pilloried, blamed, named without any fear of repercussions.

In 2019, the man charged with the crime, Kuldeep Singh Sengar, belongs to the ruling BJP, is an MLA with enormous economic clout. When the predators are powerless, all of us, including the media, can be angry and raise our voices.  When they are the powerful, our response is feeble, if at all.

The voice of the Unnao survivor has only been heard because she took a tremendous risk and threatened to immolate herself before UP Chief Minister Yogi Adityanath's office.  But even that didn't work. Today, despite innumerable petitions and pleas by her to everyone, including to the Chief Justice of India, it is only when she is near death that we have woken up.

What can we learn from these differing responses to crimes against women?

When a crime is performed in public, so to speak -- in a moving bus in Delhi, for instance -- we are shocked and horrified.  When it occurs in the quiet interstices of a home, an office, by men who are supposed to be "protectors", or friends, or relatives, or neighbours, or representatives of the law, we do not hear or heed the cries for help. As also of those women who are invisibled, by virtue of their caste, class or geographical location.

Yet, what happened to the 19-year-old from Unnao represents more than 90 per cent of the crimes against Indian women, perpetrated by men known to them or who wield power over them.  This is what we should be raging about, because this woman from Unnao represents nine out of every ten women in India.