Misogyny unplugged EYE CULTURE
Misogyny is so embedded in our society that a fresh manifestation of it ought not to surprise anybody. But when a 20-year-old college student receives an avalanche of hate simply because she voiced an opinion or two, one has to marvel at the virulence of the reaction. And shudder at the gleeful alacrity with which everyone — from politicians to celebrities to anonymous online trolls — jumped into the fray to land a punch on the girl.
The girl in question is Gurmehar Kaur, a first-year student at Delhi’s Lady Shri Ram College, and the daughter of a soldier who died fighting for the country in the Kargil war. Last week she started a social media campaign against the violence unleashed at Ramjas College, allegedly by activists of the Akhil Bharatiya Vidyarthi Parishad (ABVP), the youth wing of RSS. “I am a student from Delhi University. I am not afraid of ABVP,” she said, and was immediately targeted by online trolls, who tumble out of their caves at the slightest hint of criticism against the government, or groups close to it.
They dug up a Facebook post by her from last year where she had said: “Pakistan did not kill my Dad. War killed him.” It was a message of peace, but it quickly became the excuse to go to war against a 20-year-old. She was slammed as an anti-national and pounded with vicious online abuse, rape threats, mockery and patronisation. “Who’s polluting this young girl’s mind,” tweeted Minister of State for Home Kiren Rijiju — no doubt because he believes that a young woman is incapable of any agency or opinion of her own.
A high-pitched debate over nationalism is of course the bread and butter of right wing groups, which project themselves as keepers of the nationalist flame. What fuelled it in the case of Ms Kaur, however, was the simple fact that she was a woman. A woman who had had the temerity to exercise her freedom of expression and take a stand not just on violence on campus, but also on war.
It was enough to get patriarchy’s knickers in a twist. Those who did not patronise her (as Mr Rijiju or actor Randeep Hooda did) mocked her cruelly (as cricketing icon Virender Sehwag did). Others demonised her. BJP MP Prathap Simha compared her to Dawood Ibrahim; wrestler Yogeshwar Dutt likened her to Hitler and Osama Bin Laden. Coupled with the rape and death threats — the stock-in-trade of online misogyny — it’s finally driven Ms Kaur off her campaign.
In recent weeks, the Central Board of Film Certification, led by the redoubtable sanskaari Pahlaj Nihalani, has also done its bit to show women their place. Lipstick Under My Burkha, a film that has won several international awards, was denied a release in India because the Censor Board found it “lady-oriented, their fantasy above life”.
The hilarious lingo delivers a deeply unfunny message — CBFC blocked the film because it is women-centric and depicts their sexual fantasies. Evidently, in the medieval, anti-women worldview of Mr Nihalani and his flock, few things are more outrageous than the idea of a woman as a sexual being, one who enacts sexual fantasies of her own instead of serving as the object of such fantasies for men.
Mr Nihalani got his share of social media ridicule for his nyet to Lipstick Under My Burkha. But why blame him alone? Or, for that matter, the muck that came Ms Kaur’s way? All our institutions — from family to academia, from religion to the police to the courts — are complicit in the effort to keep women cowed and afraid. We are constantly instructed in the dangers of stepping out of line, of not dressing, talking, behaving or loving in a certain way. If we are raped, someone (usually a neanderthal masquerading as a politician) will pipe up and say it was our fault. Slut-shaming is often the reward for exercising our freedom of choice, a torrent of abuse often the blowback for our stab at free speech.
Of course, misogyny is hardly the prerogative of Indian patriarchy. It’s a global scourge, and ironically, it is the internet, and the anonymity and freedom of expression it affords, that’s led the latest charge of anti-women vitriol. Worldwide, online hate is mostly directed at women. Mostly, it’s men who direct it.
Leslie Jones, a black actress who starred in last year’s all-women remake of the 80s comedy Ghostbusters, was forced to go off Twitter after suffering a horrendous onslaught of sexist and racist abuse. Ashley Judd, another Hollywood actress who routinely faces rape threats on social media, said in a TED talk recently, “Online misogyny is a global gender rights tragedy and it is imperative that it ends.”
This week a few of Ms Kaur’s online critics such as Mr Sehwag seemed to want to end it, saying that she had a right to her views. But the pivot came after she fell silent and left Delhi fearing for her safety. Clearly, the bullies have won the day for now.
But there’s hope yet. With each tussle women push ahead a little more. The fight to wrest women’s rightful space in society — a space of respect and inalienable freedoms — carries on apace.