NEW DELHI – I didn’t even know I was holding my breath until my phone screen flashed “Priya Ramani is paid.” And then my Twitter timeline exploded with happiness, tears and hope – from women I know, women I don’t know. But we were bound by an exaltation that felt deeply personal in a country where women are accustomed to daily defeats and disappointments.
What happened on Wednesday afternoon was that an Indian court acquitted journalist Priya Ramani in a criminal defamation case filed against her by a former government minister. In 2018, during a #MeToo wave in the country, Ramani had claimed in a social media post that she was sexually harassed in 1993 by MJ Akbar, then a top newspaper editor, when he called her at a hotel in Mumbai for a job interview. Following his accusations, another 20 women appeared to make accusations of sexual conduct against Akbar – who was then a minister in the cabinet of Prime Minister Narendra Modi.
The accusations led Akbar to step down as minister, but not before filing a criminal defamation case – using an archaic, colonial-era law – against Ramani. For the past two years, we have all watched the case with nervous anticipation, as the future of the #MeToo movement in India, as well as the campaign for safer jobs for women in the country, have been based on the outcome of this case. If she was silent, we would all be silent. Following the defamation process, many voices have already been silenced and the #MeToo movement has died out.
In 2018, Ramani told a Delhi court that “it was important for women to talk about sexual harassment at work. 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 succeeded in silencing them.
I was 26 years old when I moved back to India, after working for three years in the British press and starting working as a correspondent in the Calcutta office of an Indian daily. A year and a half after work, I had to quit because of the sexual harassment of the office manager. I went to the highest authorities in that newspaper with my complaints. In general, people were distrustful of talking about sexual harassment. You had to smile and endure it, not file a complaint against a “reputable man.” Because, even if the statements were true, Somehow, “you must have taken him further.” There were no social networks then, no anti-sexual harassment laws.
The incident killed my career, while my harasser went more and more into the organization, including delusional praise after going through a terminal illness a few years ago. My complaint was never acknowledged. It’s a scar I’ve been suffering from for 16 years. I’m still bitter – I still don’t trust the system.
And I’m not alone. An annual analysis earlier this month by India’s Chamber of Commerce and Industry – India’s first national chamber of women for women – found that almost 69% of victims of sexual harassment keep it quiet due to a lack of trust in the system. , of fear of reprisals. , and concern for their careers and the belief that there would be no consequences for their harasser. A report by the Federation of Indian Chambers of Commerce and Industry found that only 31% of the companies it studied set up internal committees to investigate allegations of sexual misconduct.
Back in Calcutta, many women came to me later, telling me with confidence that they had been harassed by this man as well. But no one would have registered. If I knew what was going to happen to me, maybe I wouldn’t have entered the recording either. For the next few years, no other media organization in the city would hire me, regardless of the references I produced.
And while I was fighting for justice, they came to me from different places. A male editor in Chennai gave my harasser a character reference; he didn’t even know me. Female colleagues remained silent or offered the human resources manager unintentional comments about my character. My only ally was my fiancé and colleague – now my husband – who was sitting next to me, but we were already engaged and his testimony did not carry much weight. A good friend who witnessed the harassment also bowed, panicking about his career. He did well in life, reaching the top of the leadership in various news organizations, while my career was interrupted. The chairman of the group – a woman – didn’t even bother to acknowledge my emails.
But it was 2004. The Supreme Court had already formulated the Vishaka Guidelines on Sexual Harassment in 1997, but there was little awareness – I certainly didn’t know about them. The guidelines would become the basis of the Law on Sexual Harassment of Women in the Workplace (Prevention, Prohibition and Compensation) in 2013, which required the organization to have internal committees to investigate allegations of sexual harassment.
After months of attacks, I jerked to the brink of a nervous breakdown. My self-confidence was decimated; I began to doubt the truth I had lived for months before filing a formal complaint. I gave up the search for justice and instead tried to revive what was left of my career in the city, but without much success – and about five years later, when I was given the opportunity to move to another city and I start again, I grabbed it. I managed to revive my career, but the harassment and attack on my dignity remained a deep scar that never fully healed.
But when I read the court ruling – a ruling that acknowledged that “even a man of social status can be a sexual harasser” and that “sexual abuse takes away dignity and self-confidence” and stressed that “the right to a reputation cannot I am protected with the price of the right to dignity ”and the most important thing is that“ women have the right to cry their grievances even after decades ”- I felt a claim that belonged to me.
And I was not alone, from activists to the ordinary woman in the street, everyone was overwhelmed by the hope that this was a turning point in the history of women’s movements in India. Gender activist Kavita Krishnan says the victory is important because “it will act as a deterrent to the next man who believes that all he needs is a defamation process to silence a woman.”
Rituparna Chatterjee, a safe workplace activist, agrees. “In a country where, as a woman, the mere fact of being there feels like going to war every day, this is huge, even if we let it sink into the fact that we celebrate the fact that a woman was not punished for the truth. them, ”she said.
The trial in Akbar’s defamation lawsuit will be a “good precedent for existing cases,” said Ranjana Kumari, director of the Delhi Center for Social Research, a nonprofit that works to empower women. “It’s 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 ruling will revive the #MeToo movement in India and encourage more women to seek legal redress. In 2004, I did not appear in court because I was discouraged by almost everyone who said that this would only mean continuous harassment for me. While I waited for the judge to rule on the case, there was a pit in my stomach and my fingers were tightly crossed. Because, as I told my husband, “you never know.”
“There are a few days when trust needs to be reintroduced into the system,” said Pallavi Pareek, founder and CEO of Ungender, a Delhi-based consulting firm working to improve diversity and inclusion in the workplace, with a focus on sexual harassment and maternity discrimination. , in accordance with existing laws. “This judgment will give confidence to the millions of women there who contemplate every day, whether they speak or not. Women who doubt if anyone will believe them. “
Yes, it is a single trial and perhaps not enough to review a system designed to act against women – but if the ruling had been handed down against Ramani on Wednesday, the repercussions would have been serious. At the very least, it would have institutionalized harassment of women in the workplace.
So let’s take Ramani’s win – we’ll resume the fight tomorrow.