Prajval Revanna’s defeat must give solace to both the people of Hassan and those who marched on the morning of May 30 in solidarity. The people of Hassan thronged their balconies and rooftops, many with cameras in hand, capturing what was indeed a historic occasion in that small town of less than two lakh. Thousands had gathered from all parts of Karnataka at the Maharaja Park to stand in solidarity with the women of Hassan who had been ravaged by the excesses and brutality of one man, and then punished all over again in the videos that were circulated of the horrors inflicted on them.
The rally, though coming nearly a month after the news emerged of the horrors inflicted on Hassan’s women, expressed both solidarity and rage. The announcement that Prajwal would return from Germany and present himself to the SIT was no satisfaction to the marchers. We knew he had no choice but to return before his diplomatic passport expired on May 31. The powerful symbolics of having an all-woman police team take the man into custody as soon as he landed was also cold comfort to the women’s organisations. The crucial question of the next few months (or years) will be: How will the man and all those who alleged to have participated in this sordid process be held accountable and made to pay the price? More important, will they be held accountable? And will the women of Hassan get justice?
The women and men gathered, as the statement issued by the women’s organisation Naavu Niladidare (“If we don’t stand up….!”) has it, to demonstrate that the people of Karnataka would forcefully enter this feudal enclave, dominated by one family, and rewrite its destiny. NN gave heart to the scared, intimidated, and fearful women and men, of whom a mere three have actually entered the public domain with their testimonies. The rally and public meeting, attended by at least 5,000 people, was a show of strength at the height of a national election in which the principal accused was a candidate supported by the ruling party.
Will she or won’t she? Will the many women who have been silenced come forward to testify against their tormentor? Or will the legions who have viewed the videos by now — not the courts — judge the women on the crucial question of why they held their peace for so long, whether they had “consented” to being abused, molested, tortured, or raped, and whether those tapes indeed pertain to the man who has thus far been identified as the principal perpetrator?
The women surely need more than just justice in the courtroom. First, they need forms of psychic healing that will embolden them to believe that they are the wronged, not the accomplices who need to feel ashamed. The steps taken in this direction by the state are unclear. Second, they need to feel empowered to act against the structures of power, both within and outside their families, perhaps even against those many men in their families who may have been complicit in the cruelty that they were made to bear in silence. While the physic harm has no doubt been monstrous, the women of Hassan cannot be content with the efforts to “psychologise” their experience. They must return to the old feminist slogan that the “personal is political”, and unite to save their sisters, mothers, daughters, from such a fate.
Third, this should be a signal to the police to take seriously the complaints of women who seek protection from stalking, menacing threats, or violence. The grotesque abuse of power, the unrestrained manner in which the perpetrators evaded police scrutiny, (mother Bhavani Revanna has remained “missing” from her home despite calls to appear before the SIT, while father Revanna has been given bail), casts a shadow on police independence even in a state which is recovering from blatant misuse of police powers under the BJP regime.
To be fair, the Congress’ Shakti scheme has allowed large numbers of women to claim a measure of independence and freedom from domestic tyrannies, and helped them wrest some economic and legal liberties. But this may generate its own contradictions: More women have undertaken pilgrimages. At least one report has it that the Gruha Lakshmi scheme, which gave Rs 2,000 per month to women-headed households, has been mobilised by local powers (including mathadishas) to fund temple refurbishment and rathotsavas in rural areas.
Large numbers of women in the public sphere helps greater security. Whether it will translate into more women entering the workforce is yet to be seen. But they still need protection from the predators who eye their incomes and independence.
So finally, what role can the state play in ensuring this urgent transformation? We must remember that as a predator, Prajwal is no aberration. But no political party is an exception to the misogyny on which their politics is founded. The belligerence of the Bajrang Dal members who broke up a Women’s Day party at a hotel in Shivamogga, the attacks on hijab-wearing students, the constant surveillance of couples, whether interfaith or otherwise, the public chastisement by men in power of married Hindu women who choose not to wear kumkum on their foreheads, and grotesque “son preference” leading to sex selection on a shocking scale are all examples.
An individual sexual predator has ironically received a boost by the rampant circulation of pen drives. In the cacophony that has followed, no political party has emerged unscathed. The state government’s responsibility, above all, is to break the resounding silence of women themselves, and encourage them to rise in rage against one of the most egregious crimes in recent history.
The writer is a Bengaluru-based historian.
