NEW DELHI – I didn’t even know I was holding my breath until my phone screen showed the message “Priya Ramani was acquitted”. And then my Twitter timeline exploded with happiness, tears and hope – from women I know, women I don’t know. But we were stuck in an exaltation that seemed deeply personal in a country where women are used to daily defeats and disappointments.
What happened on Wednesday afternoon was that an Indian court absolved journalist Priya Ramani from a criminal defamation case filed against her by a former government minister. In 2018, during a #MeToo wave in the country, Ramani claimed in a social media post that she was sexually harassed in 1993 by MJ Akbar, then a leading newspaper editor, when he called her to a hotel in Mumbai for an interview. After his allegations, more than 20 other women came forward to make allegations of sexual misconduct against Akbar – who was then Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s cabinet minister.
The charges prompted Akbar to step down as minister, but not before opening criminal defamation proceedings – using archaic colonial-era law – against Ramani. In the past two years, we have all seen the case unfold with anxiety, because the future of the #MeToo movement in India, as well as the campaign for safer workplaces for women in the country, depended on the outcome of this case. If it were silenced, we would all be silenced. Following the defamation process, many voices had already stopped and the #MeToo movement had died down.
In 2018, Ramani told a Delhi court that “it was important for women to talk about sexual harassment in the workplace. Many of us are raised to believe that silence is a virtue. ”But even for those who did not believe that silence was a virtue, our patriarchal system has always managed to silence them.
I was 26 when I moved back to India after working for three years in the British media and started working as a correspondent in the Calcutta office of an Indian daily. After a year and a half of work, I had to resign because of sexual harassment by the head of the office. I addressed the highest authorities in that newspaper with my complaints. Most people did not believe that I was talking about sexual harassment. You should smile and endure, not file a complaint against a “man of reputation”. Because even if the allegations were true, I somehow, “I must have deceived you”. There was no social media, no anti-sexual harassment law then.
The incident killed my career, while my harasser was gaining strength in the organization, including delusional praise after he passed away from a terminal illness a few years ago. My complaint was never acknowledged. It is a scar that I have carried for over 16 years. I’m still bitter – I still don’t trust the system.
And I am not alone. An annual review earlier this month by the Indian Women’s Chamber of Commerce and Industry – India’s first national chamber of business for women – found that nearly 69 percent of victims of sexual harassment remain silent because of a lack of confidence in the system, fear of reprisals and concern about their careers and the belief that there would be no consequences for the harasser. A report by the Federation of Chambers of Commerce and Industry of India revealed that only 31% of companies surveyed have set up internal committees to investigate allegations of sexual misconduct.
Back in Calcutta, many women came to me later, telling me confidentially that they too had been harassed by this man. But no one would register. If I had known what was going to happen to me, I might not have been on the scene either. In the following years, no other means of communication in the city would hire me, regardless of the references it produced.
And while I was fighting for justice, they attacked me from various parts. An editor sitting in Chennai gave my harasser a character reference; he didn’t even know me. Female colleagues remained silent or offered unsolicited comments about my character to the human resources manager. My only ally was my fiance and colleague – now my husband – who was at my side, but we were already engaged and his testimony did not carry much weight. A good friend who witnessed the harassment also left, panicking about his career. He did well in life, reaching the level of senior management in several news organizations, while my career was interrupted. The group’s president – a woman – didn’t even bother to acknowledge my e-mails.
But that was in 2004. The Supreme Court had already formulated the Vishaka Guidelines on sexual harassment in 1997, but there was little awareness – I definitely didn’t know about them. The guidelines would become the basis for the 2013 Sexual Harassment of Women at Work (Prevention, Prohibition and Redress) Act, whereby the organization should have internal committees to investigate allegations of sexual harassment.
After months of these attacks, I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. My self-confidence was wiped out; I began to doubt the truth that I lived for months before I filed a formal complaint. I gave up seeking justice and tried to revive what was left of my career in the city, but without much success – and about five years later, when I had the opportunity to move to another city and start from scratch, I grabbed it. I managed to relive my career, but the harassment and attack on my dignity remained as a deep scar that never fully healed.
But when I read the court’s decision – a decision that recognized that “even a man of social status can be a sexual harasser” and that “sexual abuse takes away dignity and self-confidence” and emphasized that “the right to reputation cannot be protected at the expense of the right to dignity ”and, more importantly, that“ women have the right to present their complaints even after decades ”- I felt a claim that was mine.
And I was not alone, from activists to the ordinary woman on the streets, everyone was hopeful that this would be a turning point in the history of women’s movements in India. Gender activist Kavita Krishnan says this victory is important because “it will act as an impediment to the next man who thinks that all he needs is a defamation suit to silence a woman”.
Rituparna Chatterjee, a safe workplace activist, agrees. “In a country where, as a woman, the mere act of existing gives you the feeling of going to war every day, this is huge, although let us realize that we are celebrating the fact that a woman has not been punished for her truth”, she says.
Akbar’s defamation case trial will be a “good precedent for existing cases,” said Ranjana Kumari, director of the Delhi-based Social Research Center, a non-profit organization that works to empower women. “It is very important for the court to recognize that a woman’s dignity is more important than a man’s reputation,” she said.
Kumari, who serves on more than 30 sexual harassment committees, says the trial will revive India’s #MeToo movement and encourage more women to seek legal redress. In 2004, I did not go to court because I was discouraged by almost everyone who said it would only mean continuous harassment for me. While waiting for the judge to decide the case, I felt a hole in my stomach and my fingers were strongly crossed. Because, as I said to my husband, “you never know”.
“There are a few days when trust needs to be restored in the system,” says Pallavi Pareek, founder and CEO of Ungender, a Delhi-based consulting firm that works to improve diversity and inclusion in the workplace, with a focus on harassment and discrimination in maternity, according to the legislation in force. “This trial will bring confidence to millions of women who reflect every day, whether they should speak or not. Women who doubt whether anyone will believe them. “
Yes, it is a trial and perhaps not enough to revise a system designed to act against women – but if the decision were against Ramani on Wednesday, the repercussions would have been severe. At the very least, it would have institutionalized harassment in the workplace for women.
So, let’s take advantage of Ramani’s victory – tomorrow we will resume the fight.