25: POSTSCRIPT

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Postscript

S. Shakthi

The posts in Prajnya’s final blog symposium all centre around gender equality, and specifically, progress towards gender equality over the last 25 years. Within this overarching framework, they exhibit a thematic breadth that is at least partly reflected in Prajnya’s own work. This breadth has been enabled by our flexibility as an organisation, arising both from necessity, and, we hope, an innate openness to new ideas. Simultaneously, this wide range in our activities and interests has allowed us to pursue new directions that have brought many partners into our fold over the years, who, along with long-term collaborators, have come together to contribute the 20 pieces in this symposium.

As a feminist non-profit organisation working largely (but not exclusively) on gender equality, our work necessarily brings in institutions. While critiques of these institutions, as many posts in this symposium have highlighted, are necessary for progress, we have also tried to engage with them on their own terms for more immediate gains. Soumita Basu endorses this approach in her piece, one of a trio of posts that recall landmark moments in global feminist policymaking such as the Beijing Declaration and Resolution 1325 on Women and Peace and Security. Dr. Basu highlights that while these frameworks must be scrutinised, they can simultaneously be deployed strategically by feminist activists to shed light on issues that may not receive enough attention in public discourse. 

Like Dr. Basu, Suneeta Dhar and Asha Hans also adopt a wide-angle lens; in her macro analysis, Dhar emphasises that these movements can only be built through collective action that is intergenerational and transnational. Dr. Hans reflects on her own journey as a peace educator, concluding similarly that ‘it is solidarity that counts’. In writing on their experience building and sustaining the Network of Women in Media, India, Ammu Joseph and Laxmi Murthy provides practical guidance on creating these communities and engaging in collective work. They underline the importance of ‘feminist mentoring’, as well as the need for information sharing in feminist engagements. The crucial role of information – and access to it – is made by Kalpana Viswanath in a different context, through her discussion of conducting safety audits in public spaces with her organisation, Safetipin. Dr. Viswanath underscores the role of technology in advancing gender equality; Kirthi Jayakumar reiterates this point, while also demonstrating that technology can impede progress, showing how the digital should be viewed as a ‘public’ that is linked to spaces offline while simultaneously being governed by its own gendered codes.

Information as a resource appears again in Fatima Burnad’s piece on the work of the Tamil Nadu Dalit Women’s Movement, which has worked extensively to raise awareness about legal rights – an approach that Prajnya has also adopted. In discussing the importance of access to resources and political participation for Dalit women (also emphasised by Jiji Sebastian in reviewing the work of the Swayam Shikshan Prayog), Dr. Fatima demonstrates how an intersectional lens is necessary in investigating gender (in)equality. Intersectionality appears in several posts, such as Prasanna Gettu’s, on The International Foundation for Crime Prevention and Victim Care (PCVC), which she co-founded. Dr. Prasanna reflects on PCVC’s 25-year journey offering support services to survivors of domestic violence, where the term ‘survivor’ gradually expanded to include LGBTQIA+ persons. This resonates deeply with Prajnya’s own trajectory, with sustained efforts to incorporate intersectionality that are reflected in the evolution of our programmes and research (see for example, our Gender Violence Report). 

Mihir Bhatt reflects on intersectional difference in his post on disasters, where Bhatt adopts an eco-feminist view that links climate change to gender inequality. The role of climate change is similarly addressed by Sebastian, who documents Swayam Shikshan Prayog’s work with rural women on sustainable agriculture. Bhatt also notes that women’s voices must be heard by those who have the power to listen – a phenomenon that has been referred to as epistemic justice. As Dr. Fatima emphasises this point, while highlighting the need for movements spearheaded by members of the communities they seek to serve.

The complex entanglements of institutions with gender equality are further revealed by multiple contributors, such as Vidya Reddy, who situates child sexual abuse within the structures that impact children’s lives, including schools and medical establishments. The state, unsurprisingly, also emerges in multiple ways. Arshie Qureshi poignantly places women’s experiences of domestic violence in Kashmir within the context of  the violence enacted by the Indian state. In discussing the material realities of access to toilets, Mamta D. reflects on urban infrastructures; while Tanya Rana, in her piece on One Stop Centres in Delhi, shows the intricate network of stakeholders involved in service provision. Rana makes the important point that gender-based violence should be viewed as a ‘public health concern’. Anupama Srinivasan, in her post on tuberculosis, more widely recognised as a ‘public health concern’, argues that gender (and patriarchy) must be factored into campaigns and policies around these issues.

The law, another institution, and one that has been central to much of Prajnya’s work on gender violence, is discussed in by Akila R. in her post on workplace sexual harassment. Akila highlights the need for context-specific approaches to gender justice, and, importantly, how the appearance of inclusion is sometimes privileged over actual inclusion by institutional actors. Anagha Sarpotdar also writes about workplace sexual harassment, recalling the Bhanwari Devi case – one of several moments that have defined the trajectory of feminist activism in India on legal rights and inclusion – and the need to consider the spirit of legal justice (a point highlighted by Swarna Rajagopalan in her introduction to this symposium).

The neoliberal economy presents yet another institutional site of analysis, seen in Radheshyam Jadhav’s and Maitreyee Boruah’s posts, which are both situated within the corporatisation of food and food systems. Jadhav writes about women sugarcane cutters in Maharashtra undergoing forced hysterectomies, which enables their continued availability for performing productive labour. Jadhav shows how their gendered exploitation is inextricable from the informality of their work. This point is underlined by Boruah in her analysis of women tea garden workers in Assam. whose long hours and low wages feed the multi-crore tea industry. 

The posts in this symposium come together to highlight the tentacular nature of patriarchy and its many insidious effects. Sudarshana Chakraborty’s piece demonstrates this by showing how acid attacks can be tied to the excessive burden placed on women to look a certain way, as well as other systems of gender inequality that aim to restrict women’s agency. Chakraborty also shows how some acid attack survivors have become activists to counter institutional failures. This is not to suggest that institutions can be replaced, but that resistance and change can emerge in different ways. Perhaps, more than anything, what this symposium has articulated is the need to centre a feminist ethics of care in our activism. Defined by Joan Tronto as valuing relationality and interdependence in human (and more-than-human) life, a feminist ethics of care translates to an active engagement with each other that privileges collaboration and solidarity. As Prajnya’s shutters descend, we hope this symposium serves as a foundation, or inspiration, for those who would like to take our work forward.

Dr. S. Shakthi teaches Human Geography at the University of Amsterdam. She is the Research Director and a Trustee at Prajnya.

25: DIGITAL FEMINIST ACTIVISM AND LESSONS FOR THE FUTURE

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DIGITAL FEMINIST ACTIVISM AND LESSONS FOR THE FUTURE

Kirthi Jayakumar

When Dr Swarna reached out and invited me to write a piece on feminist digital activism over the past decade and then some of my work in this space, I got caught in a rabbit hole. One of my early engagements in the field of digital activism went back to 2011, where I was part of a very small team of dedicated volunteers that pushed a ministry in a West African country to resource a deeply underserved school in a village. We did this entirely on Twitter, and pretty early on. 

Would I call the work since then feminist digital activism? Or… digital feminist activism? Or do the semantics simply not matter at all? 

With COVID-19 pushing the most privileged among us online and widening the digital divide into a deep, unending chasm, it’s hard for me to say that we’ve arrived at a point of “feminist digital” in all fairness. We are still in a reality where devices and internet connections are not accessible, where patriarchal and militaristic attitudes that shape human interaction offline are being imported online, and where language justice is still a dream. So, short story shorter – I will settle for “digital feminist activism.”   

Feminists in the present have been able to look ahead because we stand on the shoulders of giants. So any reflection on contemporary journeys cannot begin without acknowledging that we have and we continue to learn from those before, alongside, and now, even after us, in a manner of speaking, and the digital public space is but an extension of that journey. The digital world is as much a public place as our offline spaces are. Cyberspace is informed by the same ideas and ideologies that we have normalized and continue to perpetuate offline: which means that patriarchy, heteronormativity, sexism, casteism, racism, ableism, and classism, among a range of other factors, are imported into cyberspace by the very inherent nature of it being a human product.  

As we look into a world ahead of us that is now richly infused with artificial intelligence (with a heavy carbon footprint no less) and technology that is helping us uncover the finer details of our ever expanding universe, what might we draw from our early years of engagement in this space? 

First, it is important to acknowledge that Technology is not The Solution to all our problems – it is as much an enabler of the patriarchy as it is of feminism. Leveraging tech to enhance the proliferation of services, accessibility of education or awareness, and facilitation of help-seeking behaviors must be sufficiently preceded by community stake-holding. To give you an example, building an app and leaving it on an app store without making it accessible, comprehensible, and empathetic is like throwing the baby with the bathwater. Until we address poverty and classism, the proliferation of technology to the last mile is a Utopian dream: but we can find ways to build strong liaisons to make it accessible. One of the easiest ways to do this is to work with those who work with the communities on ground: for instance, equipping collectives and non-profits with tech-based solutions and educating their beneficiaries on accessing these solutions through the collectives and non-profits can transform access. A village-level school could be equipped with smart devices and a robust internet connection: which can then work with the last mile to enable access to education or entrepreneurial training.  

Second, intersectionality is vital in engaging with tech. Accessibility remains a major challenge for most of the world: where race, caste, language, religion, nationality and migration status, age, ability, and class play major roles in complicating gendered experiences. Over the past few years since the pandemic began, several young people have been entirely left out of school and university because their social positionality prevented them from comfortably accessing devices to attend classes online. A young Dalit woman in India died by suicide because she couldn’t access school. We must take care not to let tech become a new arena for us to apply old (tested and successful, even?) formulae of structural violence. Treating tech as an opportunity to start over would help us prioritize the human and their rights, rather than reiterating systemic and structural violence to re-entrench barriers that we have normalized for generations. The key is to enable access in every sense of the term: from the devices one needs to connect to the language in which their resources are made available. 

Third, building tech with empathy is fundamental to changemaking through technology. We inhabit the public spaces we create, the collective mindsets we bring to the public space become that of the spaces, too. The same is true for artificial intelligence, which now seems to run the world. The tech we order about to do our bidding is evidently female – think of Alexa, Cortana, and Siri, for example. We must pause to think about how we import a patriarchal mindset into the dynamics that define our approach. It doesn’t take very long to see the discrepancy at play here: the patriarchy has brought a power dynamic into play. Banks that use artificial intelligence to assign creditworthiness scores to loan applicants forget a significant element in the machine learning process. Historically, patriarchy has enabled more men to receive loans than women – a fact that a machine tends to translate to mean that men are more creditworthy than women – which then means that gender becomes a basis to determine creditworthiness, and a basis to reject women who apply for loans. Automation in hiring processes has discriminated based on gender. In cyberspace, we may share digital ages with people who may be a whole generation older or younger than us: which means that the mindsets that come along with our engagements reflect the conditioning we bring to these spaces. If we reflect on bringing empathy into technology, and understand ways to incorporate gender equality – rather than import inequality and scramble to undo it – we can go a long way in dismantling the patriarchy that is rife online. 

Finally, safety should underlie every approach to making tech and innovations for gender equality. While care must be taken not to perpetuate and reiterate gender stereotypes on the one hand, it is especially important to acknowledge that vulnerability is heightened in tech-driven spaces. The violence young women face online rests on a spectrum: from the apps that assert a particular ideal body image or type, to those that objectify and sexualize women and girls; from trolls who come at women and girls online, to the ease with which women are shut down and out of social media spaces. Building robust reporting mechanisms, resources for handling trauma from tech-based engagements, and creating active online bystanders is vital to enabling a seamless, safe, and empowering engagement with tech.  

Kirthi Jayakumar is an activist, peace educator, artist, entrepreneur and writer from Chennai, India.

25: THE SILENT SUFFERING IN SUGARCANE FIELDS

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THE SILENT SUFFERING IN SUGARCANE FIELDS

Radheshyam Jadhav

The sun beats down relentlessly on the parched earth of Beed district, a cruel reminder of the drought that has plagued this region for years. Yet, amidst the drought, there’s another tragedy that seldom gets the attention it deserves—a tragedy that hides in plain sight. In the dusty lanes of Kathoda village, septuagenarian Indira Waghmare sits with a broad smile on her face, a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. She points to the scars etched on her frail body, recounting the times her husband struck her. This is not an unusual story here. In fact, it’s all too common.

Mangal (name changed), another woman from the village, shares an even more horrifying tale. She was once forced to eat faeces by her own husband and in-laws for the crime of “disobedience.” Such is the fate of countless women in these unforgiving drought-ravaged lands of Marathwada, especially Beed. The brutal realities of their lives are unimaginable, layered with a complexity of gender-based violence that we, as outsiders, can barely begin to comprehend.

The harsh existence of these women—sugarcane cutters, mothers, wives, and survivors—is a story that needs to be told. Over the course of six months, from October to March, nearly 10 lakh sugarcane cutters migrate from the dry, barren districts of Marathwada to the fertile sugar belt of Western Maharashtra. Half of them are women, and together, they are the backbone of Maharashtra’s booming sugar industry. But despite their indispensable contribution, their voices are muffled, their struggles unseen, their sacrifices unacknowledged. The invisible hands that sweeten the nation’s tea and desserts are themselves left broken and voiceless, trapped in a cycle of oppression and exploitation.

The Womb-less Women of Beed: A Tragedy of Survival

Imagine a world where having a womb—a natural, life-giving organ—becomes a burden, a liability. This is the world of the women cane cutters in Beed. Here, hysterectomies are not just a medical procedure—they are a norm, a chilling rite of passage. By the time these women are 22 or 23, many of them have already been subjected to a hysterectomy. These women have barely lived their lives, yet they are forced to give up the very organ that defines so much of their identity.

Why? Because for a cane-cutter woman, menstruation is not just a natural process—it’s a financial liability. Contractors, the middlemen who orchestrate the brutal work cycles of these women, insist on hiring only those who won’t need time off for periods. A day of missed work due to menstruation can mean a fine of ₹500—an unaffordable loss for families who rely on every rupee earned during the cutting season. To avoid this “problem,” hysterectomies have become the grotesque solution.

But don’t be fooled. This is not a choice these women make freely. It’s economic survival, coercion under the guise of medical advice, and exploitation that drives them to surrender their bodies. Medical practitioners in the region prey on their fears, convincing them that symptoms like white discharge will inevitably lead to cancer. “Better safe than sorry,” they say, and soon enough, the scalpel is at work. These surgeries, often unnecessary and unethical, rob these women of their reproductive health, and in many cases, their ovaries are removed as well. The result? A host of physical and psychological problems—hormonal imbalances, weight gain, mental health issues—all of which they are left to bear alone, with no medical follow-up or care.

Once the surgery is done, the woman becomes what is expected of her: a machine. A womb-less worker who can toil day and night without the “nuisance” of menstruation. But beneath this supposed efficiency lies a broken human being—one whose health, autonomy, and dignity have been sacrificed at the altar of economic survival.

The Psychological Toll: Reduced to “Living Working Machines”

These women are not just physically mutilated; their psychological trauma is profound. Imagine being told that your womb is useless once you’ve had children. Imagine being made to feel that your only worth lies in how much work you can do in the fields, not in who you are as a person. This is the message that women in Beed internalize from a young age.

For many, the hysterectomy happens before they’ve even had a chance to fully understand their bodies. Manipulated by both contractors and medical professionals, they are led to believe that life without a womb will be easier, freer. But the reality is far darker. These women, many of them still in their early twenties, are thrust into a life of continuous physical strain, emotional numbness, and endless work, their agency stripped away.

The psychological scars run deep. They lose not just their reproductive capacity but also their sense of self. They are reduced to mere laborers, valued only for the cane they can cut, day in and day out. The burden of being “womb-less” isn’t just physical—it’s an emotional weight that these women carry with them every day, silencing their voices and breaking their spirits.

Sexual Exploitation: The Unseen Horror

As if the economic and psychological violence weren’t enough, these women are also subjected to rampant sexual exploitation. Living in tents near the sugarcane fields, with no access to proper sanitation or safety, they are easy targets. The lack of privacy, the absence of basic amenities—these conditions only exacerbate their vulnerability to sexual harassment and assault. And yet, this dark reality remains largely unspoken. The women, often from marginalized communities, have no recourse, no support system, no legal avenues to seek justice.

The sexual violence they face is intertwined with the economic violence. The contractors see these women not as human beings but as tools for their financial gain. Any resistance, any attempt to assert their rights, is met with further exploitation or threats of being cut off from work—work that is their only means of survival.

A System Rigged Against Them

It’s easy to blame the contractors, the medical practitioners, or even the drought, but the reality is that these women are trapped in a system that has been rigged against them from the start. Patriarchal norms, deeply entrenched in the social fabric of rural Maharashtra, devalue women’s labor and bodies. Women cane cutters are seen as expendable, their well-being secondary to the economic goals of their families and communities.

Despite their crucial role in sustaining the sugar industry, these women are invisible to the system. They are not recognized as workers; they have no labor rights, no access to healthcare, no safety nets. Activists have tried to raise awareness, but the challenges are immense. The district administration, largely ignorant of the ground realities, has done little to address the systemic issues these women face.

Breaking the Silence

The lives of sugarcane cutter women in Beed district are a testament to the grim realities of gender-based violence in rural India. It’s a violence that is not just physical, but also economic, psychological, emotional, and sexual. These women are caught in a web of oppression that strips them of their health, dignity, and agency.

The plight of the womb-less women of Beed is a tragedy that cannot be ignored. It is time to break the silence, to recognize their struggles, and to demand change. These women deserve more than just acknowledgment—they deserve justice.

Radheshyam Jadhav is a journalist based in Pune. He was a recipient of the 2022 Prajnya R. Rajaram GRIT Research Fellowship. 

25: ACTIVATING THE WORKPLACE SEXUAL HARASSMENT LAW

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ACTIVATING THE WORKPLACE SEXUAL HARASSMENT LAW

Akila RS

The Sexual Harassment at Workplace (Prevention, Prohibition & Redressal ) Act of 2013, with the unfortunate acronym of PoSH, is nearly 11 years old. It is time to introspect into whether it has been effective or if it is to be added to the long list of progressive legislations that failed to live up to their potential. 

The Act places positive duties on the employer/organisation to notify a policy, constitute an Internal Complaints Committee, and take steps to sensitise its staff and members of the ICC. The Act applies to informal and formal sectors alike. The law has given rise to a ‘compliance service’ industry which looks at employer’s duties under the law as a series of check-boxes to be ticked off. It is not uncommon to find sensitisation/ awareness programmes being delivered through standardised online modules (often created in and for a foreign jurisdiction, with little reference to Indian law or our social context) in the interest of efficiency and cost-effectiveness.  

Employers often wear their history of zero complaints of sexual harassment at their workplace as a badge of honour. Whilst it is theoretically possible for workplaces to be entirely safe and free from sexual harassment, more often than not, this track record is due to a trust deficit at the workplace and that employees do not feel confident to speak up or report violations. 

The key feature of the Act, which is both its strength and weakness, is that the redressal mechanism is internal. The aggrieved woman can avail remedies at the workplace without approaching the police or courts, which are institutions that can be inaccessible, intimidating and expensive to most laypersons. However, where the process is entirely internal, chances are that the organisational biases and priorities could come into play. There could be a justifiable apprehension that complaints would not be taken seriously in the interest of shielding certain respondents, especially those in managerial or senior positions. The main safeguard against bias and interference is the presence of an external member in the ICC, but such a person is chosen by the employer/ organisation.  

An institution is only as good as its people – and ICCs are no exception. There have been instances where ICCs have refused to entertain complaints because the allegations were too serious and they believed it should be left to the police. More common are instances where the Committee applies its personal judgment as to what is ‘tolerable’ and what is not, and decline to take up complaints of non-physical harassment as not serious-enough. This stems from an ignorance of the law relating to sexual harassment at the workplace. The organisation should therefore constitute ICCs wisely, and appoint members who have demonstrable experience and expertise in conducting inquiries. 

The importance of conducting effective sensitisation programmes cannot be underscored enough. Sexual harassment is still a taboo-topic and therefore regular sensitisation programmes, conducted in batches of manageable size, allowing an opportunity to interact with the resource persons and clear one’s doubts, are crucial. Further, the ICC should be visible, earn its credibility and proactively work towards implementing the law and policy.  

Akila RS is an advocate of the Madras High Court.

25: EVOLUTION OF THE WORKPLACE SEXUAL HARASSMENT LAW

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EVOLUTION OF THE LAW ON WORKPLACE SEXUAL HARASSMENT AND IMPLEMENTATION

Anagha Sarpotdar

The Bhateri gang rape case in Rajasthan brought to light the utter disregard of and failure by the state government, as an employer, to recognise and prevent sexual harassment experienced by women while performing duties in benefit and behalf of them. The Vishakha ruling (1997) by the Supreme Court of India was result of a public interest litigation filed by women’s groups and organisations that arose from the Bhateri gang rape case which was the personal experience of a village level worker employed with the Rajasthan state government on contract. The ruling aimed at enforcing fundamental rights of working women, assisting in finding suitable methods for realisation of gender equality, preventing sexual harassment and filling the vacuum in existing legislation. The problem of sexual harassment at the workplace was effectively expressed and situated in the language and framework of the Constitution of India (1950) and international law.

Prior to the Vishakha judgment (1997) (henceforth, Vishakha), the language of sexual harassment remained invisible; and the sexual dimension of harassment was disabling and unspoken. The ruling filled a gap in domestic laws related to violence against women in India and upheld constitutional rights of women. It directly applied the provisions of CEDAW to enact guidelines against sexual harassment in the workplace. In Vishakha, the Supreme Court of India recognised that sexual harassment violates the constitutional value of gender equality in all spheres of human activity and fundamental rights of women to live with dignity, to personal liberty, and to carry on any occupation. The Court defined gender equality as including protection from sexual harassment and right to work with dignity, a universally recognised basic human right.

Vishakha was the first step towards recognising the concept of sexual harassment as a blatant violation of gender equality. It relied on the assumption that problems of inequality, injustice, and discrimination were not only individual and attitudinal but fundamentally structural, systemic, and institutional inequities. Accordingly, the judgement set out guidelines for employers with prevention of sexual harassment as the primary focus. The sole responsibility of prevention and redress of sexual harassment was placed on the employer. This was done by directing the employers to create an internal mechanism as a strategy to empower, mobilise, and organise women. The participation of women in the committee enabled them to lead the committees and become an authority that curbed sexual harassment.

Vishakha had an enabling and compassionate approach, as it focused on prevention which was missing in the criminal law.  Focus was shifted from convicting the perpetrator to protecting rights of women in relation to work. Converse to the crime and punishment understanding, Vishakha envisaged sexual harassment as an issue about equality and loss of dignity. Vishakha saw engagement with workplaces to assume a shared responsibility to foster change through prevention. It promoted awareness by demystifying discomfort through encouraging meetings and discussions on sexual harassment with workers. It saw a workplace with increased awareness on the issue of sexual harassment with collaboration between employers and trade unions, with the assistance of government and non-profit organisations.

This understanding characterised by Vishakha saw a law preventive in its character as well as punitive. The objective was to influence mindsets, promote changes in attitudes towards women and sex discrimination in the workplace with the help of experts in committees set up to deal with sexual harassment at workplaces. It was thought that behaviour changes prompted by awareness voluntarily introduced and advocated by the employer would be constructive, compared to criminal litigation against those accused of sexual harassment. This would help the complainant to build positive relationships with both men and women at the workplace.

However, in the post Vishakha era, there was little effort both by the employers and the complaints committees to create awareness regarding the issue and the complaint mechanism. This resulted in underreporting of sexual harassment complaints. Studies across India done in the nineties and next decade confirmed this scenario. These studies brought forth that sexual harassment went largely unreported due to fear of stigma, loss of reputation, victim blaming, and disbelief in the complaints. Amongst all the other reasons the studies identified, poor levels of awareness amongst women as one of the key reasons. One of the studies showed direct connection between lack of knowledge about the complaint mechanism within the organisation amongst women and low reporting of sexual harassment. It concluded that poor levels of awareness about redress mechanisms amongst women were a critical challenge in reporting of sexual harassment

More than a decade of prolonged struggle by the women’s movement along with dialogue with the government resulted in the enactment of Sexual Harassment of Women at Workplace (Prevention, Prohibition and Redressal) Act, 2013 (hereinafter referred to as 2013 Act). The Act came into force on 9 December 2013. As the title suggests, it is a legislation for women, that recognises unequal power relations at workplaces. It is an explicit form of affirmative action under Article 15(3) of the Indian Constitution, which allows the State to enact special legislations for women. The aim is to empower women as a disadvantaged group due to certain factors in the patriarchal society.

Five years after the Act was enacted, the MeToo movement in India brought to light numerous complaints of workplace sexual harassment, triggered discussions about gender inequities at workplace, increased awareness at workplaces pertaining to sexual harassment, patriarchal perceptions towards complainants, attitude of employers, lack of evidence in incidents of sexual harassment, under reporting of misconduct, power disparities at work between men and women as an accelerating factor in sexual harassment at workplace social isolation faced by complainants at workplace after reporting complaint. But the Me Too revelations excluded women from the informal sector, where the majority of women are employed.

Almost ten years later, court rulings reveal that implementation of the Act is poor and fraught with problems. The Kolkata case wherein the trainee doctor was raped and murdered at her workplace is a glaring example of the same since the employer was unable to safeguard the victim from a person coming in contact with her workplace. Supreme Court took suo motu cognizance of the incident, reprimanded the hospital administration for its response after the doctor was found dead and remarked that if women cannot go to a place of work and be safe, then we are denying them the basic conditions of equality. Similarly, the Hema Committee Report revealed widespread prevalence of sexual harassment in the Malayalam film industry and prompted the Kerala High Court to orally express its displeasure over inaction by the Kerala Government on the same for four years.

It appears that employers are falling short of achieving these objectives, thereby failing to uphold the constitutional values. The above-mentioned examples seem an obvious defeat of the objectives of Vishakha and the constitutional values it upheld, aiming at furthering dignity and equality at workplaces because Vishakha came into existence with an aim of protecting dignity at workplace. However, taking into consideration the discussion above, the task of restoring rights of women seems to be upon the Courts as women are compelled to move the Courts for protection of their rights at workplace.

Violence prevents employment and blocks access of women to financial resources. Fear of sexual harassment may force women to make relatively poorer economic choices. Women are less likely to work away from home in regions where the perceived threat of sexual harassment against girls is higher. Consequently, India has ranked 129th in the total of 146 countries as per the World Economic Forum Global Gender Gap Report 2024 which means that the goal of gender equality for women in India remains far. Unless organisations across sectors take institutional responsibility for an attitudinal shift, workplaces will continue to be sexualised and toxic, survivors will continue to be silenced and perpetrators will go about their lives without consequence.  The 2013 Act definitely has the potential to carry forward the process of shifting power relations using the work initiated by the Vishakha guidelines (1997). This can happen provided the employers implement the Act from the standpoint of upholding constitutional values.

Dr. Anagha Sarpotdar  is a practitioner and researcher working on social and legal aspects of sexual harassment at the workplace.

25: IT’S THE SKIN WHICH GETS BURNT, NOT THE SPIRIT

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IT’S THE SKIN WHICH GETS BURNT, NOT THE SPIRIT

Sudarshana Chakraborty

“Mirror, mirror on the wall/ Who is the fairest of them all?”

The patriarchal society has etched this idea of a woman’s beauty in one’s mind in such a way, starting from fairy-tales to movies, that it is really hard to look beyond that. And the face of a woman, especially that of a fair (and therefore, beautiful) one, becomes synonymous with her existence. This is how the majority of women see themselves, thanks to capitalist, patriarchal socio-economic culture.

To go back to my opening question–what if one day the mirror stops recognizing the most familiar face, one’s own face? How does one cope with that trauma? How does one cope with that existential crisis? The unbearable trauma that comes with unbearable pain? 

This is what happens with women who survive acid attacks. Acid attack is one of the cruelest forms of sexual and gender-based violence (SGBV). For years, acid has become one of the most used forms of violence against women. And according to the NCRB report, West Bengal is at the top of the list for consecutive three years. Unfortunately, neither the awareness level nor the actions taken by the state government are enough to create resistance against this form of SGBV.

There is a pattern of these attacks. If we follow the case studies, we will see not exactly urban but suburban areas are where most acid attacks take place. Young women who match conventional beauty standards; getting an education; have decision-making powers;, are independent- minded; and can say ‘no’ to unwanted male romantic overtures, are those who face the attacks. Acid attacks are becoming a common part of property feuds and rape and murder cases. 

The availability of acid in the open market, despite legal directions on prohibiting such sale, is the main reason for the increase of such acid attacks. Another reason is delayed justice or no punishment for the perpetrator – it sends the message that even after committing such a heinous crime, one can escape punishment. The fact that more and more young women are going out for education and finding independence by choosing their own career is enraging men with a typical patriarchal mindset who still consider women only in terms of their body image. They believe that harming or destroying a woman’s body (in this case, specifically, her face) is the only way to stop her from achieving her dreams of a better life while also avenging their own rejection. 

A woman with burn scars still faces a social taboo. So it becomes extremely difficult to complete education, get a job or start a relationship of her choice, start a family or even stay with the natal family. This is in addition to the extreme physical pain and the trauma of losing one’s face which forms the primary identity. Acid attack creates a disability which is now listed under the 21 types of disability in Rights of Persons with Disabilities (RPwD) Act, 2016. However, It is not easy for acid attack survivors to accept the identity of a person with disability given the stigma related to disability. Notably, the women’s rights movement is not vocal enough about acid attacks and acid attack survivors are still trying to find their space within the disability rights movement. 

The role of the state government often comes under scrutiny. Proactive steps by a state government to stop the sale of acid in the open market, spread awareness about this crime and its punishment could change the scenario. Advocates, judiciary and the medico-legal system still lack sensitivity and it is hard for survivors to get compensation. The role of the media is also quite stereotypical in this case. Either it is news for one or two days or hero worship of acid attack survivors. The coverage is never in-depth and intended to create awareness, sensitize people and the system.

In the circumstances, acid attack survivors are themselves trying to change the game. Many of them have become change-makers and activists. They have counseled themselves and while fighting with the trauma, have decided not to cover their burnt faces. They have accepted their new identity and are sending a message to society that they can live their life with scars and fight for justice. They carry on everyday balancing medical treatment, psychological  counseling, legal battles, livelihood challenges and awareness activities. These are all issues that should get attention beyond just a news report of an acid attack.

It’s the skin which gets burnt, not the spirit.

Sudarshana Chakraborty is a journalist based in West Bengal. She is a Laadli Media award (Regional) winner for the years 2021 & 2024 in the Bengali Web Feature category. She is a 2024-25 Prajnya R. Rajaram GRIT Media Fellow.

25: ONE STOP CENTRES ARE STRADDLING PROMISE AND PRESSURE

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ONE STOP CENTRES ARE STRADDLING PROMISE AND PRESSURE SINCE IMPLEMENTATION

Tanya Rana

Crime against Women (CAW) in Delhi increased significantly by 42% between 2020 and 2021. In 2022, CAW remained almost unchanged from the previous year. What does this statistic suggest? On one hand, the increase may suggest that women are more vulnerable to crimes in the city. On the other hand, an increase in CAW might signal better response services for survivors of violence, given most such cases go unreported

In the aftermath of Jyoti Singh’s gang rape and murder in Delhi in 2012, the Usha Mehra Committee was constituted to recommend measures for improving safety in Delhi and the National Capital Region. One of its recommendations was to implement a comprehensive hub providing services such as shelter, psycho-social counselling, medical, police and legal assistance for survivors of violence in every district of the country. In 2015, the Government of India (GoI), under the aegis of the Ministry of Women and Child Development, launched the One Stop Centres (OSCs). After initially implementing 36 OSCs on a pilot basis, GoI has been setting up OSCs in all districts across the country.

As of 30 September 2024, there were 790 operational OSCs. Since its inception, over 9.93 lakh women have sought assistance at OSCs. The number of women seeking help has been steadily increasing year-on-year too. However, in a study conducted by my colleagues and I, we found that the number of OSCs operational in the country is grossly inadequate. We found that this has led to a vicious cycle in which under-investing in such facilities manifests into low redressal and perpetuates under-reporting of violence. 

An important question, however, persists: If the objective of an OSC is to ease a survivor’s access to redressal by pooling in different authorities and services, why are they still under-resourced? To answer this question, I am undertaking a preliminary study on the functioning of OSCs. There have been several media reports about the ineffective functioning of OSCs in the country. But if we were to reimagine women’s safety, their access to safety, and why there are gaps in its functioning, it is important to unpack the layers of its service provisioning.

Here’s an example. Describing domestic violence cases coming to her centre in Delhi, the caseworker told me, “It is easy to leave [a marriage] and women come with that intention.” She added, “We work on the problem because otherwise my job is meaningless”. This has a few implications. One, the caseworker, who is, in most cases, the first point of contact for a survivor, is looking to find meaning in her job by ensuring that families are not broken up. Second, dealing with over 40-50 cases coming to her centre every month suggests the high workload and, perhaps, an inability to correctly assess what a survivor may truly need as redressal mechanisms are geared towards reconciliation.

As I previously mentioned, there are several layers to such a set-up of institutionalised redressal. No one actor can be held accountable for its gaps. It is, thus, important to understand the capabilities of different actors to perform their roles well, their training, referral systems, and OSC finances, among others. In my study, therefore, I locate front-line bureaucrats’ and survivors’ attitudes and perceptions towards Gender-based Violence (GBV) and place it in the framework of health systems strengthening of OSCs. Through this, I hope to argue for centering GBV as a public health concern which needs coordinated efforts through actors, and authorities in an institutionalised set-up. 

Tanya Rana is a gender and governance researcher based in Delhi. She is a 2024 Prajnya R. Rajaram GRIT Research Fellow. 

25: RETHINKING DOMESTIC VIOLENCE REDRESSAL IN KASHMIR

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RETHINKING DOMESTIC VIOLENCE REDRESSAL IN KASHMIR

Arshie Qureshi

As per NCRB data, Kashmir has reported 3086 cases of cruelty by husbands between 2013 and 2022. This number is way lower than the national average of 118,043 domestic violence cases reported per year in this period across Indian states. Clearly, underreporting is a major issue. It’s not surprising, because whenever we, as academics or advocates against domestic violence, refer to statistics, we always include the disclaimer that these represent only the reported cases, with a vast number of unreported instances in the gray area. But why should this disclaimer remain a permanent part of the conversation? Why is that even after decades of anti-domestic violence advocacy and decades after adopting legislations, we acknowledge that it is happening on a large scale but not being spoken about enough.

Numerous studies, both national and international, have mapped the reasons for not reporting incidents. However, each context presents its own unique nuances. Given these context-specific differences, can the intervention and redressal process truly be one-size-fits-all?

Sometime around late 2021, I found myself sitting in the canteen of the District Court in Srinagar. On either side of me sat two women, petitioners in cases of domestic violence. Until that moment, they were strangers to each other. Yet, as they waited for their lawyer, they began to share their stories of abuse. Their experiences, though unique, echoed each other in striking ways. Both struggled with financial insecurity, faced pressure from their natal families to reconcile, and grappled with the trauma of sexual violence. 

Neither had disclosed it to anyone prior to this day because they believed that no one would understand and dismiss them. They knew that marital rape was real, a painful secret they’d kept hidden. One of them said that her husband would only touch, let alone look at her when he wanted an intercourse, irrespective of her consent. 

For both of them, their legal battle had stretched over more than 25 months—more than two years of physically meeting with their lawyer, just to navigate a system that had only fatigued them thus far. Both of them had lost contact with the lawyer in 2019 when the state imposed a communication blackout following the unilateral abrogation of Article 370 in J&K on August 05, 2019. With all ways of communication being cut off and physical movement restricted, the only way to make a call was from the nearest Deputy Commissioner’s office. 

One of these two women recounted an experience when she went to the Deputy Commissioner’s office to make a call to her sister, who was in Bangalore. Upon arriving, she found a long queue. She stood in the scorching August sun all afternoon, but by the time her turn came, she had to leave without making the call. “Others were waiting to call their children. They were desperate, so I left,” she said. 

This moment occurred at a time when she felt an urgent need to speak to her sister, as she was feeling “suffocated.” She had been staying with her natal family, who were unsupportive of her decision to take legal action against her abusive husband. The lockdown had further complicated her situation—she could no longer go to her workplace, where she was employed as a school teacher and being confined indoors with her unsupportive family only deepened her discomfort and sense of isolation.

By August 2019, her case had already been adjourned multiple times before the lockdown, and after restrictions eased in and phones were restored in Feb 2020, just as the next hearing was scheduled, a new lockdown was imposed—this time, due to the surge of COVID-19. 

During this period, courts shifted to online hearings, but the challenges of adapting to virtual proceedings created significant obstacles. Both she and the other woman sitting there faced difficulties in keeping up with the digital format and following up with their lawyer. Both of them were in court not for discussing their next hearing but to press for out-of-court settlement. 

Are these women exceptions? The answer is no. 

Emotional burnout is not just a consequence of prolonged legal battles or the isolated nature of domestic violence; it becomes an even more profound challenge in conflict-ridden states like Kashmir. In these environments, women must fight not only for their basic safety and dignity at home but also navigate the extra layers of societal and institutional strain caused by political instability, violence, and disrupted infrastructures.

In regions such as Kashmir, emotional exhaustion takes on a more complex form. The external stressors of living in a conflict zone—whether it’s due to political unrest, armed conflict, or social upheaval—create an additional layer of trauma for women. The pervasive atmosphere of fear and instability limits their ability to seek justice and emotional support. The long-standing conflicts often result in broken legal and healthcare systems, which are already under-resourced or incapacitated, making it even harder for survivors of domestic violence to get timely interventions. In such environments, trauma is often normalized, creating an invisible burden that is passed from one generation to the next. 

This brings me back to the question- can formal redressal systems, particularly those embedded within legal and institutional frameworks, truly be one-size-fits-all when it comes to addressing the unique needs of women, especially in conflict-ridden environments where the challenges of domestic violence are compounded by broader societal and political instability? This question underscores a critical gap in current intervention models—particularly how they fail to account for the lived realities of women in Kashmir who face not just domestic violence, but also the trauma and challenges of living in areas affected by conflict, political unrest, or institutional inefficiencies.

States often impose blanket bans or general policies in the name of security or protection, such as lockdowns or communication blackouts in conflict zones. Where is the safety for women in these decisions? These policies tend to focus on macro-level concerns (security, law and order) but often ignore micro-level needs—the immediate, personal safety of women in domestic violence situations. By involving women directly in policymaking, highlighting their positionality, and ensuring that their experiences shape the redressal mechanisms, states can move towards responsive and inclusive solutions. These solutions are likely to address immediate safety concerns and more importantly, bring women’s perspective to the table which seems to be absolutely missing at this stage. 

Arshie Qureshi is an independent researcher. She is a 2022 Prajnya R. Rajaram GRIT Research Fellow. 

25: GENDER EQUALITY & DOMESTIC VIOLENCE: PCVC’S JOURNEY

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A 25-YEAR REFLECTION ON GENDER EQUALITY AND DOMESTIC VIOLENCE:
PCVC’S JOURNEY AND LESSONS LEARNED

Prasanna Gettu

As the Prajnya Blog Symposium reflects on 25 years of progress toward gender equality, PCVC (The International Foundation for Crime Prevention and Victim Care) also steps into its 25th year of working to support survivors of domestic violence in Tamil Nadu. This milestone provides an opportunity to assess progress and identify the gaps that persist in addressing domestic violence and systemic gender inequities in India.

Understanding Domestic Violence: Insights from Survivor Narratives

Over the last 25 years, PCVC has provided support to more than 25,000 survivors of domestic violence, gaining a deeper understanding of its impact on survivors, their families, support system, and communities at large. These experiences highlight the pervasive nature of domestic violence as a societal issue rather than merely an individual or family problem. The forms of abuse have evolved over time, with technology now playing a significant role in enabling control and surveillance. Abusers often misuse digital tools to track survivors, destroy their professional or personal reputations, or issue threats, demonstrating the adaptive nature of coercive control mechanisms.

The COVID-19 pandemic further underscored the structural challenges in addressing domestic violence. During lockdowns, the increase in calls to PCVC’s hotline reflected the heightened vulnerability of individuals confined with their abusers. This period further emphasized the need for robust, accessible support systems that can respond to crises while addressing longer-term structural issues.

Evolving Support Systems: Progress and Persistent Barriers

When PCVC began its work in 2000, the available support systems were limited, and survivors relied primarily on helplines such as 100 or 1091. Over the years, there has been significant expansion in services, including the establishment of One Stop Centres, the 181 helpline, and other specialized government resources in Tamil Nadu. Alongside organizations like us, more civil society actors have increasingly stepped into this space, advocating for inclusivity and raising awareness of the diverse experiences of abuse. Over the last two decades, this expansion of civil society organizations has been instrumental in addressing gaps in service delivery, amplifying marginalized voices, and fostering collaboration to ensure survivors receive the support they need. Today, PCVC provides comprehensive services including counseling, legal aid, and emergency shelter, while working closely with other stakeholders to create a broader support network.

However, systemic challenges are pervasive. Survivors often face significant barriers in navigating these support systems, which can operate in siloes with limited coordination. For instance, the lack of integration between law enforcement, healthcare, and legal services creates delays and inefficiencies, often leaving survivors without timely assistance. In most cases, survivors experience secondary victimization due to the stigma and judgment they encounter when seeking help, further discouraging them from engaging with the system.

Additionally, many services are underfunded and overstretched, limiting their capacity to provide sustained support. These challenges highlight the need for a more coordinated, survivor-centric approach to service delivery, supported by adequate resources and training for all stakeholders involved.

Broadening the Focus: From Cisgender Women to LGBTQIA+ Survivors

One of the most significant shifts in PCVC’s journey has been its move toward inclusivity. Initially, PCVC primarily provided services for cisgender women experiencing domestic violence. However, recognizing the intersectional nature of gender-based violence, PCVC began offering specialized support to LGBTQIA+ survivors in 2017. 

For LGBTQIA+ survivors, domestic violence often occurs in the context of compounded vulnerabilities. Social stigma, lack of family acceptance, and the absence of robust legal protections create unique challenges. In many cases, LGBTQIA+ survivors face difficulties accessing shelters or reporting abuse due to discriminatory attitudes within institutions. For instance, the framing of domestic violence in laws like the Protection of Women from Domestic Violence Act (PWDVA) often excludes queer relationships, leaving these survivors without the same level of legal recourse as their heterosexual, cis-gender counterparts.

Support systems that fail to consider the unique needs of LGBTQIA+ individuals end up excluding them. For example, many shelters and services operate under heteronormative assumptions, making it difficult for queer survivors to feel safe or understood. Moreover, service providers and law enforcement agencies often lack adequate training on the realities of abuse faced by LGBTQIA+ individuals, further alienating survivors.

Addressing these issues requires systemic changes at multiple levels. First, the legal framework must evolve to explicitly include all survivors, regardless of gender or sexual orientation. Second, institutional stakeholders such as police, medical professionals, and service providers need comprehensive sensitivity training to understand the unique life experiences and specific dynamics of abuse experienced by LGBTQIA+ individuals. Third, funding and policies must prioritize creating safe, inclusive spaces for survivors, including shelters and helplines designed to cater to diverse needs. Finally, public awareness campaigns must actively challenge the societal stigma that LGBTQIA+ individuals face, fostering an environment where survivors feel supported and validated.

PCVC’s efforts to address these gaps within its own services have included the provision of inclusive training for its staff, the expansion of all services to cater to queer survivors, and partnerships with LGBTQIA+ organizations. While these initiatives mark progress for us as an organization, they also underscore the broader need for systemic transformation to ensure that support systems are truly inclusive and equitable.

Insights from Data: Trends and Reflections

An analysis of the National Family Health Survey (NFHS) data over the past 25 years provides valuable insights into the trends surrounding domestic violence in Tamil Nadu. From NFHS-2 (1998-99) to NFHS 5 (2019-21) suggest some increase in reported prevalence rates – the ever-married women facing spousal violence went from 20% to 32% in this period. However, help-seeking among women who have experienced violence dropped from 24% during 2005-06 (NFHS 3) to 14% during 2019-21 (NFHS 5). The data indicates that significant underreporting persists, driven by societal stigma, fear of retaliation, and limited trust in institutional responses.

While there have been improvements in awareness and the availability of resources, the persistence of violence points to the incremental nature of societal change. Transforming deeply rooted norms and attitudes around gender and power requires sustained effort over generations. These incremental shifts—though slower than we would hope—lay the foundation for broader cultural transformation.

The Role of Collaboration in Addressing Systemic Gaps

One of the key lessons from PCVC’s work has been the importance of collaboration in addressing domestic violence. Effective responses require coordination across multiple sectors, including law enforcement, healthcare, education, social services, and civil society. Recent initiatives in Tamil Nadu, including partnerships between PCVC and state bodies, have demonstrated the potential for collective action to improve survivor outcomes. However, these efforts need to be institutionalized and scaled to ensure sustainability.

For example, a more integrated approach to service delivery could include a shared understanding and common minimum standards for service provision, standardized referral systems, joint training programs for stakeholders, and regular monitoring to assess the effectiveness of interventions. Building these structures requires not only commitment from government bodies but also active participation from community organizations, educational institutions, and employers.

Looking Ahead: The Path to a Violence-Free Future

As PCVC reflects on its own 25-year journey and our larger journey as a community in addressing gender-based violence, it is clear that some progress has been made in raising awareness and expanding services, but significant challenges remain in addressing the systemic nature of domestic violence. Ending violence requires moving beyond crisis response to addressing the root causes of gender inequality through sustained, multi-sectoral efforts.

The pace of change, while incremental, is meaningful. Every new law, resource, and collaborative effort represents a small step toward a society free from violence and inequality. These steps, while individually modest, accumulate over time to create broader shifts in attitudes and systems. PCVC remains committed to building on these advancements to ensure that no one is left without support or forced to navigate the challenges of abuse alone.

As Tamil Nadu and India as a whole look to the future, the focus must be on creating comprehensive systems that not only respond to violence but also work proactively to prevent it. Transforming attitudes, building awareness, and strengthening systems are long-term efforts, but they are essential for achieving a society where safety and dignity are fundamental rights for all.

Dr. Prasanna Gettu is the Co-Founder and Managing Trustee of the International Foundation for Crime Prevention and Victim Care (PCVC), Chennai.