Another rape, another remark — and once again, West Bengal Chief Minister Mamata Banerjee’s response has struck where it hurts most. After the recent alleged gangrape of a medical student in the state, Banerjee said, “How did they come out in the night at 12:30? Especially girl child at night. They should not be allowed to go outside. They have to protect themselves also.” She went on to advise the private college to take “responsibility” for students’ security, obliquely by not allowing girls to step out at night. The FIR filed by the survivor’s father, however, claims that the incident occurred in the evening.
This seems to be a familiar pattern. A crime against a woman is often followed by suspicion and moral policing. From the 2012 Park Street rape case, which she once dismissed as “fabricated,” to her questioning whether the 2022 Hanskhali rape — in which a 14-year-old girl was allegedly assaulted and died — was “really rape” or a “love affair”, Banerjee’s remarks have repeatedly betrayed a worrying instinct: To doubt the survivor, to redirect the blame, and to moralise the circumstances.
In 2012, Banerjee labelled a university student “Maoist” on a national television channel, simply for asking a question about free speech and a cartoon. The habit of deflection and accusation is old; only the targets change. When power feels cornered, it lashes out, often at those with the least power to respond.
In the latest case, instead of outrage from the CM, we got admonition; instead of solidarity, surveillance.
If the Chief Minister is so concerned about institutional responsibility, what about the RG Kar Medical College case? It is a government-run hospital in the heart of Kolkata, where a young doctor was raped and murdered within the premises. Who was responsible for the failed security protocol there?
The problem with such remarks is not only their tone, but their consequence. When leaders speak as Banerjee did, they reinforce what women have been told for generations, that safety is their own burden. That the price of freedom is vigilance. That if something happens, they must have erred: By walking alone, by trusting a man, by stepping out after dark. To survive, we’ve been told, is to obey.
Women in this country know this script by heart. It begins with “Be careful,” continues with “Don’t stay out late,” and ends, if misfortune strikes, with “Why wasn’t she more careful?” It is the constant disciplining of women’s choices until fear and self-censorship are second nature. We internalise it so deeply that even the simple act of being out at night feels like defiance.
That such societal beliefs are upheld by a woman in power who herself broke the glass ceiling made it more concerning. To be fair, Banerjee, over the years, has learnt from the outrage her past remarks have caused; moments where she has attempted empathy or caution in her public statements. Yet, for a leader shaped by a different generation and a political culture steeped in everyday misogyny, old reflexes die hard. Whatever Banerjee believes, when the words come from a position of power, they cannot be read as maternal; they become institutional. They reduce the state’s duty of protection to a lecture on morality.
The measure of leadership is not in how power is defended, but how it is used to protect the powerless. The question is not what she was doing out but what the state was doing while she was attacked.
stela.dey@indianexpress.com
