Opinion Faridabad rape underscores a contradiction: We speak of consent, inequality – our institutions don’t listen
The state should continue to reflect on why it took massive protests to bring Ankita Bhandari’s murder to notice and send the accused to jail. Or the chilling effect of seeing Bilkis Bano's rapists be welcomed back, and those like Kuldeep Sengar getting interim bail
From delayed FIRs, compromised investigations, hostile environments for survivors, to painfully slow trials and low conviction outcomes, the message that travels far and wide is not deterrence but reassurance to perpetrators. Another year ends with horror on the streets of India. A reminder, once again, of how little has changed when it comes to women’s safety in this country. In Faridabad, a young woman was raped in a moving car for over two hours before being mercilessly thrown out of it. It is a struggle to find new ways to express the same shock, which is heightened with each such incident – and the accompanying impunity, month after month, year after year.
Rape is an exercise of power and an act of dehumanisation. The other ceases to be a human being and is completely reduced to an object of one’s own desire, violence, or utility. What enables this complete dehumanisation of the other and, in the process, of one’s own self? Surely, there is enough public conversation on sensitisation and gender equality. It is not uncommon while scrolling through reels and videos to come across several people trying in different ways to explain the concepts of equality, empowerment, and respect for all.
Yet, the unfailing regularity of violence against women and those perceived as weaker or disadvantaged refuses to provide hope. Amidst the several attempts to foreground the questions of agency, choice, dignity, and equality, I wonder what message goes across when one finds that institutions and those in power often side with the powerful. The horrific rape in Delhi in December 2012 that brought people out on the streets certainly brought a spotlight on the issue, and the perpetrators were punished. But it did not do enough to ensure accountability and end impunity. The state should continue to reflect on why it took massive protests to bring Ankita Bhandari’s murder to notice and send the accused to jail. Or the chilling effect of seeing Bilkis Bano‘s rapists be welcomed back, and those like Kuldeep Sengar getting interim bail.
What remains striking across these cases is not merely the brutality of individual perpetrators but the structural predictability of institutional failure. From delayed FIRs, compromised investigations, hostile environments for survivors, to painfully slow trials and low conviction outcomes, the message that travels far and wide is not deterrence but reassurance to perpetrators. The law exists, amendments have been made, fast-track courts announced, helplines launched, and campaigns rolled out, yet the lived reality for women remains one of fear, distrust, and exhaustion. Safety becomes an individual responsibility where the onus is on women to be careful, to return early, and to dress wisely.
It is here that the contradiction sharpens. While society is increasingly fluent in the language of equality and consent, institutions appear stubbornly resistant to internalising it. When power shields power, when violence requires public outrage to be taken seriously, and when justice arrives only after relentless pressure, the violence does not end with the act itself. It is prolonged through neglect. The Faridabad case is not an aberration; it is a reminder that until institutions consistently side with survivors rather than circumstance, horror may continue to return, year after year, to our streets.
The writer teaches at Ambedkar University
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