#MeToo in Academia: A Panel Discussion Report
October 19, 2018 Leave a comment

The Official Blog of the Gender Violence Research and Information Taskforce at Prajnya Initiatives
October 19, 2018 Leave a comment
October 16, 2018 Leave a comment
We, the Prajnya community, express our solidarity with the women who have spoken out across professions to share their experience of sexual harassment in the workplace, acknowledging the courage it takes and the pain that this involves.
We acknowledge too that this is the beginning and that countless others are still silent or unheard; that many workplaces remain unexamined; and moreover, that violence pervades our lives well beyond the workplace. The sexual harassment and sexual violence revelations of the last week have once more illustrated what we have always known—that violence and misogyny are deeply embedded in our society.
There is a role for each of us, wherever we are located, to play in the road ahead.
As human beings, we must bring empathy and compassion to our listening and as citizens, prioritise justice and fairness in our response. One in three women are said to experience violent abuse in their lifetime and only one in four of these women speak about it. To raise questions about the delay in reporting and the timing of these testimonials is to lie to ourselves that the world has always been a sympathetic and supportive place and that our institutions are committed to equality. Let us accept our complicity in silencing survivors, now, as then.
Both the Vishaka Guidelines and the Sexual Harassment of Women at Workplace (Prevention, Prohibition and Redressal) Act, 2013, identify workplace sexual harassment as a violation of the fundamental right to equality. Non-compliance is thus tantamount to a violation of an employee’s fundamental right. We therefore urge organisations that have yet to comply with the 2013 law to put in place zero-tolerance policies, set up Internal Complaints Committees (ICCs) and conduct sensitisation programmes for their entire team, including ICC members.
For its part, the government too has been a laggard in setting up the mechanisms required to support compliance with the law. In most districts, the administration has not set up Local Complaints Committees (LCCs) and in their absence, women working in the informal and unorganised sector, women working in shops and small organisations and self-employed women, including professionals, have nowhere to turn for justice. State governments must ensure that district administrations immediately set up LCCs; ensure their competence through training; and make known to the public how they can be reached.
Further, the enforcement infrastructure required by the law must also be a priority for the government. The Sexual Harassment of Women at Workplace Act, 2013, requires annual reporting but the government has neither set up nor announced to which office these reports must be sent and who will monitor and penalise non-compliance. We hope this tidal wave of revelations will move all levels of a lackadaisical Indian state to seriously create and provide resources for this infrastructure.
Political parties and their leaders must make a simple commitment that will have a lasting impact on gender inequality in India. They must promise never to nominate or endorse those who make misogynistic statements and those who have been charge-sheeted for sexual and gender-based violence, including street sexual harassment.
The government and political class have so far ignored our collective anguish and anger in the hope that they will pass. They will not. We will stand our ground.
At Prajnya, we reiterate our commitment to facilitate conversations around gender-based violence including workplace sexual harassment and to encourage and support organisations in their journey, beginning with legal compliance but going beyond it towards equal, inclusive and safe workplaces.
The Prajnya Community
October 16, 2018
November 19, 2017 Leave a comment
In December last year, I took a walk in the park.
Many hundreds of people traverse that path every day, a short stretch running through a quiet corner of the sleepy British city I live in. Yet, at the age of 28, this marked my very first attempt at moving through a public park at night, on foot, and completely alone. It was pitch-black and deserted, and I kept looking over my shoulder, my heart pounding in my ears as I scurried along, hoping to reach the bright lights of the main road at the other end without incident.
In my endless (and not always successful) quest for self-reflexivity, I must confront the unvarnished truth: that I have, no doubt, almost always had the luxury of a more comfortable alternative over the unlit and lonely path, and that the story I have recounted might, perhaps, say more about my own privilege, and far less about the frightening nature of deserted parks. Indeed, I have no intention of making any claim of the universality of my experience.
Yet, as my social media feeds were flooded with stories of gender violence a few weeks ago as part of the #metoo campaign, I was reminded of my brief, solitary expedition through the park last year; it became apparent that the magnitude of those revelations pointed to a deeper, more pervasive culture of violence. Our myriad experiences, in spite of being qualitatively different, collectively highlight the ubiquity of this culture of violence, which appears to transcend regional and socio-cultural boundaries.
In my university town, forceful reports and soft murmurs of sexual harassment and violent assault in college rooms, on the street, in the elevator of a university building, at the local grocery store, through Facebook messages, abound. Each of these instances of violence forces us to reassess what our potential ‘safe’ spaces are, until we are eventually painted into a very lonely corner. The culture of violence thus goes beyond single acts of physical assault, verbal harassment or emotional abuse, and imbues real and imagined threats of danger with a material force that inhabits our daily lived experience.
Every day, on my walk home from my office, I arrive at a tiny lane, sheltered by trees and covered with fallen leaves, sometimes wet and muddy underfoot, and dimly lit even on the brightest of days. During these autumnal evenings, when nightfall creeps up quickly and stealthily, this little track is shrouded in darkness well before my arrival.
The number of calculations that subconsciously filter through my brain as I near this path include: should I take the longer route along the main road instead? Would my handbag and umbrella be sufficient as defensive weapons if I have to protect myself? The lights are on in the houses near the front of the lane, so perhaps someone will hear me if I need to scream? The soles of my boots seem to be wearing down – will I be able to run without falling?
While grappling with this thick, suffocating fog of confusion, I sometimes have a single moment of clarity, when I think to myself, what would it feel like to walk down this path, without thinking about this path? Will I ever experience the freedom of thinking about something, anything, besides the potential for bodily violation? When, if ever, will I cease to be haunted by this spectre of violence, and simply enjoy the singular pleasure of meandering through the city at any and all hours of the day?
That night last December, when I finally arrived at the other end of the park, the sense of relief that followed did not wash over me all at once, but seeped out slowly and deliberately, until I eventually realised I was smiling to myself.
Because, of course, #metoo.