There’s a disturbing, familiar pattern that binds political figures like Brij Bhushan Sharan Singh and Prajwal Revanna. It goes to the heart of a broader issue – of sidestepping serious allegations of sexual harassment and violence until they become just too scandalous to ignore.
What did it take to frame charges of sexual harassment and criminal intimidation against Singh, Bharatiya Janata Party MP and former Wrestling Federation of India chief?
It took six well-known, powerful women 10 years of suffering plus a year-and-a-half, which included four months of highly public and violent sit-in protests. It took one oversight committee, one Supreme Court intervention, multiple marches, and pleas and letters to Prime Minister Narendra Modi. It took one wrestler resigning from the sport, and another returning his Padma Shri. It took 22 witness statements, a 1,500-page chargesheet, and a court order that stated there was sufficient evidence to bring charges against Singh.
Eventually, though, it might have all been a matter of political inconvenience.
Inspiring or cautionary tale?
The uphill battle that India’s Olympians have faced to hold their powerful sexual harasser accountable is not isolated – it is simply the most public. One of Singh’s accusers, wrestler Vinesh Phogat, stated that the framing of charges “sends a strong message that women can take on powerful men and they don’t have to be afraid”. I have immense respect for the wrestlers’ satyagraha, but really, what message does it send to Indian women when the mightiest among us have to struggle the way they have? Is theirs an inspiring or cautionary tale for Indian women in similar situations?
Even this sliver of a positive development, which should have been cause for relief and happiness, feels blighted by what happened in the last week. Singh was not given a ticket by the BJP to contest from his home turf of Kaiserganj, Uttar Pradesh. Instead, the party that once couldn’t stop talking about dynastic politics, handed the ticket over to his son Karan Bhushan Singh. In a recent interview with India Today, the senior Singh seemed content with the party’s decision and spoke about how proud he felt watching his son succeed him – though last I checked, we were still a parliamentary democracy. “The BJP is still standing by my side,” he asserted. “If the party had not given the ticket to my son, then you could have said the party is not standing by me.”
Or, in other words, even after widespread, televised national outrage, Singh is confident that the Bharatiya Janata bros have his back. Why wouldn’t he be? As the last year-and-a-half have exhibited, so many networks of power have colluded to shield Singh, ensuring that his position remains unshaken despite the controversies surrounding him. Almost a year ago, he had loudly proclaimed that he would hang himself if even one charge was proven against him. Whether he makes good on that promise remains to be seen, but this hyperbolic grandstanding is an example of just how convinced powerful men like Singh are that the results will be in their favour.
More than 2,000 kilometres south of Kaiserganj lies Hassan in Karnataka; two constituencies divided by language but united in misogynous violence. The Janata Dal—Secular candidate from Hassan, Prajwal Revanna, is currently in the spotlight not for his political acuity, but for being accused in a ghastly series of crimes against women that reportedly include rape, coercion, abduction, and videotaping without consent.
Revanna’s assaults on a wide variety of women – party workers, constituents, farm and domestic workers – are documented in some 3,000 horrifying videos that have been circulating for months now. Meanwhile, the serial rapist and sexual harasser allegedly fled to Germany on a diplomatic passport, a day after Hassan polls.
Also read: It took a Rahul Gandhi to put price on women’s labour at home. Enough of ‘maa ke hath ka khana’
A matter of political inconvenience
Revanna is a BJP ally – in fact, no less than our Prime Minister campaigned for him – but his predatory behaviour did not emerge overnight. The BJP’s state unit might have been aware of the extent of Revanna’s crimes and the party still chose to field him from Hassan, but a Congress government has been in charge of the state for a year. Neither party can truly escape responsibility for enabling a context that allowed a predator like Revanna to unleash a reign of terror on the women on his turf.
Now that we’re witnessing – slack-jawed – the full horror of these crimes, it’s all very expedient for the PM to make comforting noises about punishing Revanna. Still, we cling to fragments of hope. An Interpol Blue Corner Notice underscores the international gravity of the case. Factions within the Gowda family have already washed their hands off him.
But here’s the thing. Powerful men like Singh and Revanna are held accountable not on the basis of the testimonies of the women they have harmed, but when it’s politically inconvenient. It is only when a Revanna or a Singh threaten to destabilise or dent the authority of other influential men, that they are put on the dock.
I shouldn’t have to explain why this is problematic, but here we are. The pursuit of justice, when it becomes a byproduct of cynical political advantageousness, is not really justice. It’s merely opportunism dressed in the robes of righteousness.
The implications for survivors are profound and painful. Women who are forced to take on their violators often find themselves doubly betrayed: first, by the institution’s initial disregard for their accusations, and then by its failure to support them when their stories are finally acknowledged. When survivors’ voices are amplified – or allowed to be amplified – only when politically useful, it starkly undermines their rights. Either these women are full and equal citizens of India, entitled to justice and respect like the rest of us, or they are not.
Yet, there’s a perverse clarity in witnessing this blatant, misogynistic disregard for the rights of women. It’s crucial to see, in all its grim reality, who our political parties and politicians support, and how they value (or fail to value) the testimonies, the trauma, and the pain of women. Beyond the loud, but eventually hollow promises of nari shakti (women empowerment) campaigns, it strips away any claim, any pretence of moral righteousness.
What’s left is an unvarnished picture of where women actually stand on the socio-political spectrum.
Grappling with the rot at the heart of our political systems that enables men like Revanna and Singh, is only one aspect of the issue. Bringing them to justice should be just the beginning, not the end. We must also consider what comes next for their accusers — how do they rebuild their lives and careers? How do we ensure their integration and safety? Surely, establishing robust, independent bodies free from political influence to handle such cases can be a start. Maybe then, we can begin to believe that justice, however delayed, will be served without prejudice or partiality.
It’s a novel idea, but one worth striving for.
Karanjeet Kaur is a journalist, former editor of Arré, and a partner at TWO Design. She tweets @Kaju_Katri. Views are personal.
(Edited by Zoya Bhatti)