NOT JUST A ‘FEW BAD MEN’: THE SYSTEMIC NATURE OF SEXUAL VIOLENCE
Deepika Naradas
ABSTRACT
Sexual violence in India is not merely the result of a few monsters lurking in the dark; it is the consequence of a system that silently approves. Behind every assault lies a society that overlooked the issue, a legal system that faltered, and a culture that normalized it. This article dismantles the dangerous myth of “A FEW BAD MEN” to reveal a web of patriarchy, institutional failure, and everyday misogyny. Women are not unsafe solely because of individual predators; they are dangerous because the system enables and protects them. It is not a crack in the structure. It is the structure. Change will not come through anger but through careful reflection and accountability.
INTRODUCTION
Sexual assault refers to any non-consensual sexual act that violates an individual’s bodily autonomy and dignity, ranging from unwanted touching to rape. In India, the laws under Section 345 of the Indian Penal Code(IPC) and the POCSO Act aim to define and penalize such acts; however, substantial gaps still exist despite these legal frameworks. Survivors often face social shame, underreporting, and a justice system that can be retraumatizing. While the law outlines the crime, true justice demands not only enforcement but a cultural shift that centres on consent, survivor dignity, and accountability.
From Homes to streets to the courts: unmasking the everyday reality of rape, POCSO violations, and the silent endurance of marital violence.
Rape is not just a heinous act of violence; it is an assertion of power, dominance, and impunity, often protected by silence, stigma, and even the laws. In India, sec 376 of the IPC prescribes the punishment of rape, with stringent penalties, including life imprisonment or a minimum of 10 years. However, these legal provisions are not always the shield they ought to be. Every 20 minutes, a young girl gets raped in India—a staggering statistic that should shake the very conscience of a nation. Despite laws like POCSO, there are chilling cases where the perpetrators are not strangers but fathers, trusted guardians within the walls of what should have been a safe home. In one such recent POCSO case, a father raped his minor daughter, a gut-wrenching reminder that sexual violence often does not just lurk in dark alleys but can also fester within families. Marital rape remains one of the most contested and ignored forms of sexual violence in India. Despite global consensus and human rights outcry, Indian law continues to hold that forced sex within marriage is not rape. This legal blind spot is justified by some under the pretence of “marital obligation,” yet it blatantly denies a woman’s right over her own body. Shockingly, men’s rights groups such as Save Family Foundation argue that if a woman or man feels sexually violated in a marriage, he/she can “simply walk out” of the marriage. But walking away from marriage is not simple, especially when social judgment, economic dependence, and legal loopholes keep women bound to their abuser. Custodial rape and the rape of pregnant women further reveal how the most vulnerable women are exploited by those in positions of authority who are supposed to ensure their safety. These crimes are particularly egregious because they involve a complete breakdown of the institutional integrity meant to protect citizens. The trauma doesn’t end with the act itself; it continues in the courtroom, in media narratives, and social scrutiny. As survivor Katie, supported by the RAINN (Rape, Abuse& Incest National Network), once said: “When I walked into a courtroom, it felt like I was the one on trial” This resonates deeply with many survivors in India who face character assassination and procedural apathy during the pursuit of justice.
In the heart of Delhi’s GB road, another form of systemic abuse continues under the guise of prostitution. Women and kids are trafficked, raped, and sold repeatedly—sometimes under the eye of law enforcement. NGOs like Kat-Katha work tirelessly to rehabilitate these women, and their stories are a grim testament to how deeply ingrained sexual exploitation is in our social fabric. If we are to address the full spectrum of sexual violence from rape to marital rape, gang rape, and child abuse under POCSO, we must confront the systemic rot that enables it. Legal reforms are essential, but they are only the beginning. True justice requires that we reframe our conversations around consent, challenge archaic norms, support survivors without judgment, and demand accountability from both society and the state.
When violence ends a life or silences it forever: The Brutality of Fatal Rape.
Sexual violence does not always end with physical violation; it can eschew into irreversible tragedy. In India, sec 376A of IPC recognizes the severity of rape that causes death or leaves the survivor in a PVS (persistent vegetative state), prescribing rigorous punishment, including life imprisonment or the death penalty. Such brutality is not rare. One of the most heart-wrenching examples is the case of Aruna Ramachandra Shanbaug, a young nurse working at Mumbai’s King Edward Memorial Hospital. In 1973, she was brutally assaulted, enduring not only sodomization but also being strangled with a dog chain, which cut off oxygen to her brain and left her in a vegetative state for the next 42 years. Her attacker walked free after serving a mere sentence for robbery and attempted murder, while Aruna lived in a hospital bed, conscious yet unresponsive, until she died in 2015. Her case was pivotal not just for India’s medical ethics and euthanasia debates but for exposing the horrifying long-term consequences of sexual assault on a body alive but a life lost.
Both rapes resulting in death or PVS stem from the conviction that a woman’s body is not her own and that her choices are subject to the authority of others. The phrase “are forcefully stripped away” can indeed have clarity issues. A clearer way to express this could be:
“In both cases, her dignity, agency, and life are forcibly taken from her.”
This change maintains the meaning while enhancing clarity. Legal provisions exist, but laws alone cannot reform a culture that views women as property or symbols of honour. Real justice requires an ethical transformation, where bodily autonomy and consent are non-negotiable, and where no tradition or shame justifies murder or sexual brutality.
Justice that Deters: why rape Deserves Punishment beyond Mercy.
Modern laws may control crime, but they rarely prevent it and in the case of rape, prevention is everything. While courts deliberate bail pleas and lengthy trials, survivors carry lifelong trauma. It’s time we stop treating rapists with leniency and start holding them accountable with the weight they deserve. Rather than allowing accused rapists to walk out on bail, why not consider transferring them into a system that reflects the gravity of their crime? Send them to the armed forces not to serve, but to be disciplined, a behavioral correction that strips them of the entitlement that led them to violate someone else’s body in the first place. Better still, label them what they are domestic terrorists. Because rape is not just an attack on one individual; it is an act of violence against the dignity and safety of society. And while some men may casually brush off being called “rapist” being named a “terrorist” hits a nerve they can’t ignore. That shift in language can reshape public shame and reframe accountability.
Our current penal approach is grounded in reformist ideals from the classical school of penology, which emphasizes rehabilitation over retribution. But certain crimes demand a return to deterrent-based justice. In the ancient and medieval periods, from Draco’s law in Athens to punishments under the feudal system, sexual crimes were met with irreversible, visible punishments castration, exile, or death. Harsh? Yes. But they sent a message that some boundaries are sacred and non-negotiable. Today’s law walks the tightrope between human rights and public safety, but they’ve titled far too much toward leniency in the name of civility.
Punishment alone isn’t enough. Prevention starts with education. Every child especially every girl must be taught the difference between good touch & bad touch, and be empowered to report and resist. Cultural taboos around sex education are costing lives and enabling abuse to go unchecked.
The law may react to crime, but it does not prevent it. And in crimes like rape, prevention is not just better than cure it’s the only cure. Justice must evolve to meet not just the legal test but the moral and societal one too. A society that fails to protect its women does not need more laws it needs more courage.
CONCLUSION
She didn’t ask for it. She didn’t dress for it. She didn’t deserve it. But she was raped, silenced, or killed while the world kept scrolling, debating, and forgetting. Every time justice is delayed or denied, another girl learns to fear her freedom. And every time we excuse the rapist, another woman dies quietly in body, in spirit, or shame. We write laws in ink, but blood is what so many women pay in. It is not enough to demand justice we must demand transformation. A culture that mourns daughters only after they’re buried is a culture already diseased. How many Nirbhaya’s must die before we say: enough? If rape continues to be treated as just another crime, the screams will keep echoing and we will all be complicit in the silence. Let this not be another story that ends in a graveyard or a courtroom but in change.
The question is not how many more must suffer – but how many broken bodies, burnt dairies, and silenced screams will it take before we stop choosing silence over justice?