NEW DELHI – I didn’t even know I was holding my breath until my phone screen flashed the message ‘Priya Ramani has been acquitted’. And then my Twitter timeline exploded with happiness, tears, and hope – of women I know, women I don’t know. But we were bound by an elation that felt very personal in a country where women are used to everyday defeats and disappointments.
What happened on Wednesday afternoon was that an Indian court acquitted journalist Priya Ramani in a criminal case brought against her by a former minister. In 2018, during a #MeToo wave in the country, Ramani had claimed in a social media post that she was sexually harassed by MJ Akbar, then a leading newspaper editor, in 1993 when he took her to a Mumbai hotel for a job. called. interview. Following her allegations, more than 20 other women had come forward to make allegations of sexual misconduct against Akbar – who was then a minister in Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s cabinet.
The allegations prompted Akbar to step down as a minister, but not before filing a criminal defamation case – using an archaic colonial-era law – against Ramani. Over the past two years, we have all watched the case unfold with nervous anticipation, as the future of the #MeToo movement in India and the campaign for safer workplaces for women in the country depended on the outcome of this case. If she were silenced, we would all silence. After the defamation charge, many voices had already been silenced and the #MeToo movement had disappeared.
In 2018, Ramani told a court in Delhi that “it was important for women to talk about sexual harassment at work. Many of us have been 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 three years in the British media and working as a correspondent for the Calcutta office of an Indian daily. After a year and a half in my job, I had to resign due to sexual harassment by the bureau chief. I took my complaints to the highest authorities in that newspaper. Most people were incredulous that I was talking about sexual harassment. You had to grin and bear it, not complain against a “man of name”. Because even if the charges were true, I must have led him somehow. There was no social media back then, no sexual harassment law.
The incident killed my career as my perpetrator grew stronger in the organization, including laudatory accolades after passing over from terminal illness several years ago. My complaint was never acknowledged. It’s a scar I’ve been wearing for over 16 years now. I’m still bitter – I still don’t trust the system.
And I’m not alone. An annual review earlier this month by the Women’s Indian Chamber of Commerce and Industry – India’s first national business chamber for women – found that nearly 69 percent of sexual harassment victims are keeping quiet due to a lack of faith in the system for fear of reprisals . , and care for their careers, and the belief that there would be no consequences for their harassment. A report by the Federation of Indian Chambers of Commerce and Industry found that only 31 percent of the companies surveyed had established internal committees to investigate allegations of sexual misconduct.
Later, back in Calcutta, many women came to me and told me in confidence that they were also being harassed by this man. But no one would go on record. If I knew what was going to happen to me, I might not have gone on record either. For years to come, no other media organization in town would hire me, no matter what references I produced.
And as I fought for justice, they came at me from different angles. A male editor living in Chennai gave my culprit a character reference; he didn’t even know me. Female colleagues either kept silent or offered unsolicited comments on my character to the hiring manager. My only ally was my fiancé and co-worker – now my husband – who stood by me, but we were already engaged and his testimony did not weigh much. A close friend who witnessed the harassment also leaned forward, panicking about his career. He did well in life, reaching the top management level in various news organizations while my career was cut short. The group chairman – a woman – didn’t even bother to answer my emails.
But this was 2004. The Supreme Court had established the Vishaka sexual harassment guidelines back in 1997, but there was little publicity – I knew absolutely nothing about them. The guidelines would become the basis for the Sexual Harassment of Women at Work (Prevention, Prohibition, and Recovery) Act in 2013, requiring the organization to have internal committees to investigate allegations of sexual harassment.
After months of these attacks, I was teetering on the brink of a nervous breakdown. My confidence was decimated; I began to question the truth I had been experiencing for months before filing a formal complaint. I gave up seeking justice and instead tried to bring back to life 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. moving and starting over, I grabbed that. I managed to revive my career, but the harassment and assault on my dignity remained a deep scar that was never completely healed.
But when I read the court ruling – a ruling that recognized that “even a man of social standing can be a sexual harassment” and that “sexual abuse takes away dignity and self-confidence” and stressed that “the right to reputation cannot be protected. at the expense of the right to dignity ”and especially that“ women have the right to voice their grievances even after decades ”- I felt a justification that was mine.
And I wasn’t alone, from activists to the average woman on the street, everyone was steeped in the hope that this was a turning point in the history of women’s movements in India. Gender activist Kavita Krishnan says this victory is important because “it will be a deterrent to the next man who thinks all he needs is a defamation suit to silence a woman.”
Rituparna Chatterjee, a campaigner for a safe workplace, agrees. “In a country where the simple act of being a woman feels like you are at war every day, this is enormous, even if we let it get through that we are celebrating that a woman was not punished for her truth,” she says.
The ruling in Akbar’s defamation case will set “good precedent for existing cases,” said Ranjana Kumari, director of the Delhi-based Center for Social Research, a nonprofit organization dedicated to the empowerment of women. “It is so important that the court recognized that a woman’s dignity is more important than a man’s reputation,” she said.
Kumari, who is on more than 30 sexual harassment committees, says the verdict will revive the #MeToo movement in India and encourage more women to take legal action. In 2004 I did not go to court because I was discouraged by almost everyone who said it would just mean constant harassment to me. While I waited for the judge to rule on the case, there was a hole in my stomach and my fingers were tightly crossed. Because as I said to my husband, “you never know.”
“There are days when trust in the system needs to be restored,” said Pallavi Pareek, founder and CEO of Ungender, a Delhi-based consulting firm dedicated to enhancing diversity and inclusion in the workplace, with a focus on sexual harassment. and maternity discrimination, in accordance with existing laws. “This judgment will trust millions of women who think about it every day, whether they want to say something or not. Women who are unsure whether anyone will believe them. “
Yes, it is one judgment and perhaps not enough to overhaul a system designed to deal with women – but if the ruling had been passed against Ramani on Wednesday, the consequences would have been dire. At the very least, it would have institutionalized the harassment of women in the workplace.
So let’s bask in Ramani’s victory – we’ll fight again tomorrow.