By Snehashish & Samriti
Despite decades of legislative progress, sexual harassment in India remains a deeply entrenched issue, reflecting not just societal attitudes but also glaring institutional failures. From workplaces to universities, political offices and public spaces, systemic flaws have created an environment where justice is elusive, and accountability is minimal. Even as the country introduces new laws and policies, the gap between enactment and execution continues to widen.
Recent events—allegations against the top political leadership like Brij Bhushan Sharan Singh and Prajwal Revanna, denial of education to hijab-wearing women in Karnataka, and everyday violence against Dalit women—show how India’s democratic institutions have failed to protect its women from safety and dignity. The problem lies in the inability of the judiciary, political framework and administrative mechanisms to act decisively and impartially.
India’s legal system is not poor for lack of law; it’s poor because the law remains under-implemented. “And the gulf between constitutional assurances and real situations is pretty glaring,” Opines legal expert Gayatri Chaudhary.
R G Kar Verdict
On 9 August 2024, a 31-year-old female postgraduate trainee physician at R. G. Kar Medical College and Hospital in Kolkata, West Bengal, India, was raped and killed in a college premises. Her body was discovered in a seminar room at the university. On 10 August 2024, a 33-year-old male civic volunteer employed by Kolkata Police was detained on suspicion of having committed the offense. Three days later, the Calcutta High Court assigned the probe to the Central Bureau of Investigation (CBI), citing a lack of confidence in the Kolkata Police’s investigation. The junior doctors in West Bengal engaged in a strike for 42 days, seeking a comprehensive investigation into the incident and improved security in hospitals. The event has intensified discussions regarding the safety of women and medical practitioners in India, leading to considerable anger and protests both nationally and internationally.
On 18th January 2025, the civic volunteer known as Sanjay Roy was found guilty and received a life sentence. While the prosecution demanded Death Penalty but the court had a different opinion. The court mentioned the Bachan Singh VS State of Punjab case, 1980 which introduced the doctrine of Rarest of Rare cases. The court said that this case did not meet the thresholds of this doctrine. The Presiding judge Anirban Das explained his noting that the crime was heinous but not rarest of rare. The Indian Law states that “Life Imprisonment is a rule, but Death Penalty is an exception”.
Judiciary: Keeper of Rights or Accomplice to Delay?
As the primary entity responsible for India’s equality assurance (Article 14) and freedom from discrimination (Article 15) mandates, its core role involves preserving these fundamental constitutional guarantees. Yet, its handling of sexual harassment cases often reflects procedural inefficiencies and patriarchal attitudes.
The Supreme Court, in December 2024, declined to entertain a PIL seeking the extension of the POSH Act to political parties, directing the petitioner to approach the Election Commission of India (ECI). This decision exposed a critical legislative gap, as political parties—one of the largest workplaces in India—remain outside the purview of the Act. The court argued the case technically; for example, there could never be any employer-employee relationship between parties political. Critically, such technical reasoning was against the intention of the POSH Act for which it has been enacted-that is, every place of work is to remain free from harassment.
Chaudhary comments, “This was an opportunity for the judiciary to bridge a legislative gap and set a precedent. By avoiding the issue, the court has effectively left women in politics vulnerable to harassment without any formal redressal mechanisms.”
Lower courts have also been criticised for their patriarchal bias. In the 2021 Tarun Tejpal acquittal, the judge questioned the survivor’s behaviour, noting she appeared “in a good mood” after the alleged incident. Similarly, in 2020, a Karnataka High Court judge granted bail to a rape accused, remarking “the explanation offered by her (victim) that after the perpetration of the act, she was tired and fell asleep is unbecoming of an Indian woman,” adding that it was “not the way our women react when they are ravished”. These examples bring into sharp focus the need for judicial reforms: gender-sensitivity training for judges, re-evaluation of procedural norms, and dignity and safety for survivors.
The Political Nexus: Institutionalised Impunity
The intersection of politics and sexual harassment reveals systemic failures rooted in power dynamics and institutional apathy. According to data from the Association for Democratic Reforms (ADR), at least 151 sitting MPs and MLAs (as of August 21, 2024) have declared cases related to crimes against women, including rape and sexual harassment, in their affidavits. This glaring statistic reflects a deeper issue: the normalisation of impunity among lawmakers.
The case of Prajwal Revanna, a Member of Parliament from Karnataka, illustrates the failure of the political class to take complaints of sexual harassment seriously and fairly. Revanna’s party rejected the charges, calling them politically motivated. Only when the public outcry persisted did the case advance, but it was again hampered by procedural inefficiencies and delays.
Political analyst Neerja Chawla remarks, “When lawmakers themselves are implicated in crimes against women, it not only undermines public trust but also exposes a structural rot in India’s democracy. Political parties prioritise damage control over justice, perpetuating a culture of silence and complicity.”
The politicisation of such high-profile cases worsens the issue. The allegations against WFI chief Brij Bhushan Sharan Singh became a tool for political mudslinging with opposition parties targeting the ruling BJP on the issue. Political accountability is essential, but such cases devolve into partisan spectacles that overshadow the quest for justice of the victims.
33% Reservation: A Facade of Empowerment?
The Women’s Reservation Bill that proposes to reserve 33% of the seats in the legislatures for women has been hailed as a progressive measure, but it was indefinitely put under the pretext of pending census and delimitation exercises. Notably, the 103rd Constitutional Amendment brought in a 10% reservation for Economically Weaker Sections and the 93rd Amendment ensured a 27% reservation for OBCs in education and public employment without any fuss or delay.
It has thrown up many serious questions on the political establishment’s commitment to gender equality. “The procrastination around the Women’s Reservation Bill is not a technical hurdle but a deliberate tactic to maintain patriarchal control. It reflects a patronising approach that views women’s empowerment as secondary to caste and class-based reservations,” argues Chawla.
Even at the local level, where the 73rd and 74th Constitutional Amendments have mandated 33% reservation for women in Panchayati Raj Institutions (PRIs) and Urban Local Bodies (ULBs), the impact has been mixed. On the one hand, the amendments have increased women’s political participation, but critics argue that many female representatives function as proxies for male relatives, a phenomenon referred to as “sarpanch pati” (husband of the sarpanch). This underscores the need for systemic reforms to ensure that reservations translate into genuine empowerment rather than symbolic representation.
Dalit Women: Intersectional Oppression
The intersection of caste and gender makes the challenges for Dalit women more complex. A recent case from Tamil Nadu, where a Dalit minor was allegedly raped over five years by 62 individuals, highlights the systemic violence against marginalised communities. NCRB data show that crimes against Dalit women, including rape and assault, have increased significantly in recent years.
Activist Manvi Bhardwaj notes, “Dalit women are at the bottom of every hierarchy. They face violence from upper-caste men, neglect from law enforcement and indifference from the judiciary. This triple oppression makes it nearly impossible for them to access justice.”
Laws such as the SC/ST (Prevention of Atrocities) Act have been unevenly implemented, with poor conviction rates and gross misuse by influential perpetrators. Dalit women’s specific vulnerabilities call for a multifaceted approach: strengthen legal protection, bring accountability to the law enforcement machinery and encourage social awareness that can challenge discrimination based on caste.
Uniform Civil Code: Hiding in Plain Sight, Powering Patriarchy
The Uniform Civil Code, introduced in the state of Uttarakhand, has been touted as a step toward gender equality. However, critics argue that the UCC disproportionately affects women by curbing their autonomy under the guise of uniformity. For example, moral policing against cohabiting partners and single women has become more intense as local authorities use the UCC to enforce patriarchal norms.
Chawla has commented, “The UCC, as it stands, does not promote equality. Instead, it imposes a homogenised morality that curtails individual freedoms, particularly for women. It’s less about uniformity and more about control.”
Another example of policies targeting women disproportionately is the 2022 hijab ban in Karnataka’s pre-university colleges. While the ban was justified as a move to maintain uniformity, it effectively denied Muslim women their right to education and personal freedom. Chaudhary critiques the ban, stating, “The hijab ban was not about discipline; it was about asserting a majoritarian ethos at the expense of individual rights.”
Beyond Symbolic Gestures
It is not just a social issue for India, but a litmus test for its democratic institutions, with the judiciary’s procedural delays and patriarchal biases at one end and the lack of accountability from the political establishment at the other. Systemic failures are glaring, and issues such as these require a multi-pronged approach: judicial reforms that make dignity for survivors a priority, political will to hold perpetrators accountable and societal efforts to challenge entrenched norms.
Bhardwaj aptly states, “Women’s safety is not just a women’s issue—it’s a measure of the health of our democracy. Right now, we’re failing miserably.” India’s institutions must rise to the occasion, delivering justice and equality not as privileges but as rights guaranteed by the Constitution. Anything less would be a betrayal of the ideals the nation was built upon.