-By Rudrangshi Saha
"In times of emergency, retreat to a safe space," they say. But can we, as women, afford such a luxury? Is there really a "safe space" for women, or is that just a comforting lie we tell ourselves while navigating a minefield of danger? The reality is bleak. A woman walks into an office and on the first day, she is warned, "Watch out for that colleague, he's creepy." Why should she have to worry about a predator in a space meant for professionalism? Why is her boss the one she fears, the very person she is supposed to report the harassment to? India has seen over 400 cases of sexual harassment at work every year since 2018, with an average of 445 cases being reported yearly, according to NCRB data. Further, there have been 258 cases of such heinous offences in just Kerala where police officials have sexually harassed women. So, to whom does a woman turn to when her shield is the sword that cuts her?
Can we even mention the RG Kar rape case without feeling a wave of helplessness? A woman isn't safe at her workplace, and she certainly isn't safe under the roof of her own home. 90% of victims know their abuser, whether they're a family member or family friend. In fact, 30% of abusers are family members. Only days ago, in Bijnor, Uttar Pradesh, a man was detained after his wife accused him of repeatedly raping their 17-year-old daughter. The very hands that should nurture turn into weapons of brutality.
And what about the politicians, who so eagerly position themselves as the champions of women's rights? BJP's candidate Revanna mass-raped over 400 women. Yes, 400- one of them being an elderly cook who cried for help, saying “Maine tumharey liye khaana banaya hai, mujhe toh chhod do”. These are the so-called leaders of society, torchbearers of empowerment. Further, politicians like K R Ramesh Kumar make light of rape, suggesting women should "lie down and enjoy it", while Mulayam Singh Yadav dismisses it as “Ladke ladke hain, galti ho jati hai. Ladkiyan pehle dosti karti hain. Ladke-ladki mein matbhed ho jata hai. Matbhed hone key baad use rape ka naam dey deti hain. Ladko sey galti ho jati hai. Kya rape case mein phasi di jayegi?” “Galti”, he calls them. Really? A mistake? Hundreds of women are raped daily in this country—eight women per minute, if you care for specifics. Yet, everyone stays mum. But when one fake dowry case surfaces, men are quick to cry injustice. Not all men, they say. Yes, not all men—but all women have been harassed at least once in their lives. Can we, for once, focus on that?
A woman steps outside and must be acutely aware of her clothing, the way she walks, the way she talks, and the look in her eyes. She is catcalled, objectified, and reduced to nothing more than a walking provocation. And if she dares report it, the floodgates of judgement and harassment open wide. Is it any wonder that so many cases go unreported? Tell me, how will they be, when the society doesn’t seem to care? According to NCRB, 99.1% of rapes go unreported, and the average Indian woman is 17 times more likely to face sexual violence from her husband than from others. Really, how much deeper does the rot go when the very person meant to be a partner becomes the perpetrator, and society forces her into silence?
So, where is a woman really safe? Nowhere—not outside, not even within her own home. Offices, public spaces, even the so-called "progressive" film industry are tainted with abuse. Take the Malayalam film industry, often lauded for its "women-centric" films—yet beneath this lies a dark underbelly of male dominance and sexual exploitation. The recent Hema Committee report, commissioned by the Kerala government in 2017 and finally made public in 2024, exposes this brutal reality.
The 235-page report highlights rampant sexual harassment, wage disparity, drug and alcohol abuse, and inhumane working conditions. Women shared harrowing accounts of exploitation at the hands of powerful male figures—producers, directors, and actors—operating like a mafia, blacklisting anyone who dares to resist or speak out. In such conditions, where does a woman turn when even her livelihood is held hostage by her perpetrators?
And then, the few women who dare to speak out are not met with support but with blame, slander, and further harassment. If she reports the crime later, she’s immediately questioned—"Why did you stay silent for so long?" as if trauma operates on a schedule. It takes time, sometimes years, to muster the courage to come forward. But when she finally does, the interrogation doesn't stop. She’s asked, "What were you wearing? What were you doing?"—as if the blame belongs to her, not the abuser. Is a woman, even in this “modern era” merely a commodity, an object to be consumed? Why does society keep asking the wrong questions, focusing on what she did rather than the crime itself?
If the victims were really "asking for it," then what about the 3-year-old girl who got raped in Bhubaneshwar on 2nd July 2024 or the 64-year-old lady in Mumbai on 19th December 2023? The "What Was She Wearing?" exhibition dismantles the absurd myth that clothing incites assault. It shows what the victims were wearing when they were sexually harassed. The number of toddler onesies and simple, baggy pyjamas exhibited in the installation is just heartbreaking. This just shows that it’s not about how short a woman’s dress is, but rather how crass the abuser’s thoughts are.
The Constitution of India guarantees us the right to equality, the right to live with dignity, and the right to security under Articles 14, 19, and 21. These are not privileges; they are rights—yet why does it feel like women are forced to fight for them every day? Instead of questioning what we do, what we wear, or how we live, why aren’t we asking why the system repeatedly fails to uphold these rights?
We don’t want bodyguards—we want a society where we don’t need them. Women don’t want protection—we want safety. Society often assumes that women are asking for protection, as if we are fragile possessions in need of a male figure to stand guard. Women are not objects to be cocooned but human beings who deserve the fundamental right to walk, work, and exist without the constant dread of being violated.
In conclusion, don’t ask a woman to retreat to a safe space- for there isn’t one. Unless we confront and change the toxic thoughts and attitudes that fuel violence, no place will ever be truly safe. If the mindset that blames victims persists, can any space ever offer genuine security? How can we expect safety when the root of the problem remains unaddressed? Until we shift this deep-seated mentality, all our so-called safe spaces will remain illusions.
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