The Political Pathology of Victim Blaming, Why India’s Leaders Need a Crash Course in Empathy and Etiquette

The Political Pathology of Victim Blaming, Why India’s Leaders Need a Crash Course in Empathy and Etiquette

In the annals of Indian political discourse, certain statements have etched themselves into public memory not for their wisdom, but for their breathtaking insensitivity. Kerala’s longest-serving Chief Minister, EK Nayanar, once casually equated the frequency of rape in the US to the mundane act of drinking a cup of tea, attributing it to an “inculture” where women wear short clothes and step out at night. Decades later, the script remains tragically unchanged. Following the horrific gang-rape of a 23-year-old MBBS student in Durgapur, West Bengal Chief Minister Mamata Banerjee—a woman who built her political legacy on a ferocious, defiant persona—defaulted to a familiar refrain: the survivor should not have been out at night.

This pattern, repeated by political heavyweights across the spectrum, from Mulayam Singh Yadav’s infamous “boys will be boys” dismissal to Om Prakash Chautala’s regressive suggestion of child marriage as a solution, reveals a deep-seated political pathology. It is a pathology where a distorted and weaponized notion of “culture” is wielded not to protect citizens, but to police women, absolve perpetrators, and perpetuate a patriarchal status quo. As India stands at a demographic crossroads, with 223.9 million young voters demanding a new social contract, this entrenched language of victim-blaming is not just a moral failure; it is a profound political miscalculation that highlights the urgent need for lessons in basic empathy, ethics, and political etiquette.

Deconstructing the “Culture” Canard: A Tool for Policing, Not Protecting

At the heart of this political rhetoric lies a persistent and toxic misuse of the word “culture.” When politicians like Nayanar speak of “our culture,” they invoke a monolithic, static, and narrowly defined set of norms designed exclusively for control. This constructed culture is not about the richness of art, music, or philosophy; it is a rigid code of conduct that places the entire burden of societal morality on women’s bodies and movements.

The underlying logic is perversely simple: a woman’s safety is her own responsibility, contingent on her adherence to an arbitrary curfew and a prescribed dress code. Any deviation from this—being out at night, wearing certain clothes—is framed as a transgression not just of social rules, but of “Indian culture” itself. By this logic, the crime of rape is subtly reframed as a predictable, almost justified, consequence of this cultural betrayal. The perpetrator’s agency vanishes, and the focus shifts entirely to the victim’s “mistake.” This narrative, as the article points out, is a convenient tool that allows society and the state to evade accountability. It is far easier to tell women to stay home than to overhaul a creaking judicial system, reform policing, challenge deep-seated misogyny, and hold men accountable for their actions.

The irony is crushing. This very “culture” that politicians are so eager to defend is the same one that tells men and women that “equality is a myth.” It is a culture that, as the author notes, “wants girls to be obedient, young women to be back home early, and mothers to raise their sons to value wives who are homemakers.” It is a culture of patriarchy, and it sees no gender, indoctrinating everyone into its hierarchical logic.

The Mamata Banerjee Paradox: When a Woman Leader Echoes the Patriarchy

Mamata Banerjee’s comment is particularly significant and disheartening. Here is a leader who rose to power on a wave of popular support, often celebrated for her tenacity and as a symbol of female political empowerment. For her to voice a sentiment that is the cornerstone of patriarchal victim-blaming reveals how deeply these norms are internalized, even by those who shatter one glass ceiling only to reinforce another.

One could, as the article suggests, charitably interpret her stance as a “moment of concern” that defaulted to a well-worn trope. Women in India are indeed no strangers to this brand of concerned control, often packaged as love and protection. But when it comes from the highest executive office in a state, this “concern” transforms into official policy. It signals to the police, the judiciary, and the public that the state’s priority is restricting women’s freedom rather than guaranteeing their safety. It tells millions of women that their right to public space is conditional and that their leader, despite being a woman, does not fundamentally trust the state she runs to protect them.

This paradox highlights a critical distinction between descriptive and substantive representation. Having a woman in power does not automatically translate into feminist policies or a shift in patriarchal mindset. Power can be wielded to uphold the status quo just as easily as it can be used to challenge it.

The Political Cost: Alienating the Young Indian Electorate

The most compelling reason for politicians to abandon this archaic rhetoric is not just moral, but electoral. India is a young nation. According to the Election Commission of India’s Atlas based on 2024 data, 223.9 million electors—22.78% of the electorate—are between the ages of 18 and 29. This is a demographic that is increasingly urban, educated, connected, and aware.

While it would be naive to assume that all young voters are uniformly progressive, there is a growing impatience with the old politics of caste, creed, and gender-based patronage. For a generation that navigates global workplaces, consumes international media, and champions individual liberty, the argument that a woman’s freedom should be curtailed for her own good is not just unconvincing; it is politically alienating.

Young women voters, in particular, are looking for leaders who see them as full citizens, not as subjects to be managed. They aspire for “strolls at ungodly hours with the same passion for pay parity.” They demand conversations about their safety that focus on better street lighting, more efficient policing, and swift justice, not on what time they should be home. A political class that fails to recognize this shift does so at its own peril. The “wheel needs to break,” and politicians must learn a new language to speak to this powerful demographic—a language of empowerment, not restriction; of accountability, not excuse-making.

Beyond Gas Cylinders: The Empty Promises of Tokenistic Welfarism

The article astutely points out that the political vision for women in India has been tragically limited. “Our leaders seem to believe that women can be handed some money and a gas connection, and they can be expected to stay contented.” This model of transactional welfarism—while providing essential, tangible benefits—is ultimately a poor substitute for genuine autonomy and safety.

Schemes like the Ujjwala Yojana (for free LPG connections) or direct cash transfers are important for easing domestic burdens, but they operate within the confines of the existing patriarchal structure. They make women better-off within their homes but do little to challenge the norms that confine them to those homes. A gas cylinder does not guarantee a woman’s right to walk home safely after a late shift at work. A cash transfer does not protect her from violence within her own family.

The silence on substantive issues during political campaigns is deafening. Where are the detailed manifestos promising to fast-track sexual assault cases, to install CCTV cameras and improve street lighting in urban and rural areas, to mandate gender sensitivity training for police forces, and to fund public awareness campaigns that target male behavior? The conversation remains stuck on what women should stop doing, rather than on what the state must start doing.

The Way Forward: A Syllabus for Political Etiquette and Ethical Leadership

The needed “lessons in etiquette” for Indian politicians are, in fact, lessons in fundamental governance and human rights.

1. Lesson 1: Shift the Locus of Responsibility. The first lesson is to unequivocally place the responsibility for preventing rape on the perpetrator and the state. Every public statement after a crime must reinforce this. The script must change from “Why was she out?” to “How will we catch them and ensure justice?”

2. Lesson 2: Redefine “Culture.” Politicians must be challenged to define Indian culture in its expansive, pluralistic, and liberal sense—a culture that has always evolved and absorbed new ideas, a culture that values Nari Shakti (woman power) not as a symbolic concept but as a lived reality of freedom and safety.

3. Lesson 3: Policy Over Platitudes. Move beyond tokenistic welfare. Electoral promises and governmental action must be focused on systemic reforms: creating more women-only police stations, ensuring the full implementation of laws like the Justice Verma Committee recommendations, and investing in infrastructure that makes public spaces safer for everyone.

4. Lesson 4: Listen to the Young. Establish formal and informal channels to engage with young constituents, particularly young women, to understand their aspirations and anxieties. Their lived experiences should inform policy, not outdated patriarchal notions.

Conclusion: The Right to the Night

The desire to walk alone at night, as the article so poignantly describes, is not a trivial one. It is a “luxury” that symbolizes the most basic form of freedom: the right to occupy public space without fear. It is the feeling of peace when “the traffic eases, the breeze cools, and one can calmly feel the ground beneath the feet.”

For India to truly claim its place as a modern democracy, this luxury must be transformed into a guaranteed right for every citizen. This transformation cannot begin as long as the nation’s leaders, the “representatives of the people,” continue to echo the very prejudices that justify the denial of this freedom. The need of the hour is not for women to learn more rules of caution, but for politicians to unlearn the deep-seated biases that have long passed for political wisdom. The future of Indian politics depends on it.

Q&A: The Politics of Victim-Blaming in India

1. What is the core issue with how Indian politicians often discuss crimes against women?

The core issue is a pervasive pattern of victim-blaming and the weaponization of “culture.” Instead of focusing on perpetrator accountability and state failure, prominent leaders across party lines frequently make statements that imply a woman’s behavior—being out at night, her choice of clothing—is a contributing factor to sexual violence. This rhetoric shifts the responsibility for safety from the state and society onto women themselves, reinforcing patriarchal norms and hindering genuine progress on gender justice.

2. Why was Mamata Banerjee’s comment following the Durgapur gang-rape particularly significant?

Mamata Banerjee’s comment was significant because of the paradox it presented. As a woman who built her political identity on being a strong, ferocious leader, her default to a victim-blaming narrative demonstrated how deeply internalized patriarchal norms can be, even among female leaders. It highlighted the difference between descriptive representation (having a woman in power) and substantive representation (using that power to advance feminist policies and challenge sexist attitudes). Her statement lent official credibility to a regressive and harmful trope.

3. How does the concept of “culture” get misused in this context?

In this context, “culture” is misused as a static and monolithic tool for social control. It is narrowly defined to enforce a strict code of conduct for women, centering on restrictions like curfews and dress codes. This constructed “culture” is used to justify the policing of women’s bodies and freedoms by framing any deviation as a betrayal of tradition, thereby subtly justifying violence as a consequence. This ignores the diverse, evolving, and liberal strands within Indian culture that have always existed.

4. What is the demographic reason why this political rhetoric is a miscalculation?

The major miscalculation is the alienation of India’s youthful electorate. With 223.9 million voters aged 18-29 (22.78% of the electorate), there is a growing demographic that is increasingly urban, educated, and values individual liberty. For these voters, especially young women, arguments for restricting freedom for their “safety” are unacceptable. They demand a political discourse focused on state accountability, judicial reform, and their right to public space, making the old rhetoric of victim-blaming politically costly.

5. What would a more responsible and effective political response to sexual violence entail?

A responsible political response would involve a fundamental shift in focus:

• Accountability: Immediately and unequivocally condemning the perpetrators and vowing swift justice.

• Systemic Solutions: Promising and implementing policy reforms such as fast-track courts, better police training, improved public infrastructure (lighting, CCTV), and public awareness campaigns that target male behavior.

• Empowerment, Not Restriction: Framing political promises around enabling women’s freedom and safety in public spaces, rather than telling them to curtail their lives. It means moving beyond tokenistic welfare (like gas connections) to policies that guarantee genuine autonomy and security.