The Critical Issue. Missing in action

In a discussion on child sexual abuse a friend told me about an interesting experiment they’d conducted. They were working in a slum, where the children were mostly school going. The NGO working with the children asked them to write up stories of abuse they’d faced in the home and drop them anonymously into a box.

“I’m not sure why,” she said, “even though we more or less knew what to expect, we were so startled by the result. Story upon story, implicating everyone, fathers, brothers, uncles, cousins, visitors… it was shocking how rampant it was.”

She was right. The spread and scale of child sexual abuse, despite the silence and often the familial and social complicity in which it thrives, is well known. Despite this, perhaps because we all collude in the silence that surrounds it, we are shocked when confronted by its reality.

But there was another thing that struck me about this story and that was how the children had written about it. So many of them came forward to describe incidents, my friend told me. They could tell, she said, because the notes were from different people. It was important for the children to even have the chance to articulate the hurt, the bewilderment, the shock, the violation at the hands of those they trusted.

Something similar was very likely at work in the now infamous ‘list’ that made its appearance on social media a few weeks ago. Or more accurately, the lists, for there are more than one.

The first list detailed the names of well-known academics and activists at whose hands students (mostly, but also others) had faced sexual harassment, both verbal and physical. It was soon followed by another, and there is no doubt that the need to speak out will result in surfacing more extensive lists.

Shock, horror, discussion, arguments followed the ‘publication’ of these lists — the shock and horror were not at the fact that such lists exist (more often in the form of shared knowledge mostly among women) but that many of the men on the lists were well-known academics.

This gave rise to a heated debate in feminist circles on the rights and wrongs of making such allegations public, on the need to substantiate allegations, on the need for due process and placing faith in the law and the structures that feminists had fought for (such as sexual harassment committees) and so much more.

But it’s not this debate I want to talk about here. Except perhaps to say that while many people have found it distressing, and have seen the differences among feminists as divisive, I’m convinced that this debate will lead to serious thinking and dialogue within the movement.

What then is my concern?

It’s this: the lists on Indian social media, those on international media, others that are emerging every day point to one key truth: how widespread the problem of sexual harassment, sexual abuse is.

They point to the fact that everywhere, whether inside homes or offices, in universities, or in any other environment you care to name, men are systematically and regularly insulting and demeaning women, and are doing this physically, verbally and mentally.

They also point to yet another truth that follows hard on the heels of this one.

And that is that not all men everywhere are doing this. That for every man who does this, there are probably 10, maybe 20 others who don’t, and who, sometimes, stand by and say or do nothing. And equally that there are women who behave similarly.

But if this is the case, then there’s a question we need to ask: why are so few men speaking out? Why are they watching, letting sexual harassment happen and not standing in solidarity with the survivors?

Remember the debate on Section 377? Hundreds spoke out about the need for its removal. As they did when the rationalists were murdered, when poor dalits were killed for legally transporting cattle and on so many other issues.

But when it comes to sexual harassment and abuse, the men are silent. What would it take for one concerned man to start a list, one that says that I care, that this is a serious problem, that it harms both men and women, it vitiates the atmosphere in which we work, it costs us economically and socially and we need to address it?

What would it take to make this kind of list and have it out there? “We’re not good at networking,” a male friend told me, “unlike you women.”

A lame excuse if ever I heard one. All it takes to start a list is one person.

Urvashi Butalia is an editor, publisher and director of Zubaan

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