Why is India ignoring rape?

Initially intended for a weekend screening to coincide with International Women’s Day, a documentary concerning the brutal rape and murder of a 23 year old Indian woman was shown by BBC Four this month. “India’s Daughter” revisits the 2012 attack on physiotherapy student Jyoti Singh by six men, and gives voice not only to her grieving family, but the rapists. Yes, Leslee Udwin, a British filmmaker, secured an interview with one of the men responsible for Jyoti’s death.

In the film, Mukesh Singh, who was among the men convicted and sentenced to death for the crime, said, “A girl is far more responsible for rape than a boy.” His expression is blank, his tone both serious and casual.

Part of this flimsy and terrifying excuse for his actions is the fact that “everyone does it.” He is upset that out of all the heinous crimes committed against women, his is the one punished. It’s true that all such crimes should be met with justice, but this isn’t Singh’s concern. His act doesn’t fill him with guilt, but rather an annoyance at his own fate; a premature mourning for his own life. Singh knows nothing of the woman he and five others killed, and he doesn’t care. There is no sign of repentance, no hidden humanity rising to the surface upon hearing a list of her injuries. He casually remarks that the route his bus took that night is simply “where people do wrong things,” as if this is a habitual occurrence as banal as any other.

The rapists’ lawyers, ML Sharma and AP Singh, also face the camera armed with misogyny. “A woman is like a diamond. If you leave her on the street, the dogs will come and take her,” says Sharma. “I stand by what I had said,” declared Singh, referring to a previous statement that he would burn his daughter if she ventured out in the evening and “disgraced” herself.

We watch powerlessly and distantly as these men make such horrid statements, as rapes occur again and again. The Indian government’s response? Ban the film. Don’t let a white woman ruin our international image. Udwin’s exposing of these truths is not a means of glorification or a gateway to discrediting India (though it is a likely result). It’s a way to give women like Jyoti a voice while highlighting the troublesome mindset of many Indian men.

“We have to confront the issue that many men in India do not respect women,” said Anu Aga, one of India’s few female MPs. “Let’s be aware of the view and not pretend all is well.”

Every 20 minutes a woman is raped in India.

By banning this documentary, India is ignoring this fact. The government is shamed by Jyoti’s suffering. They see it as a failing that tarnishes the name of a modernizing country. They adopt the same disgusting sentiment of victim-blaming that causes Mukesh Singh to be so unremorseful. Instead of embracing the radicalism and compassion of their protesting citizens, India’s government have shunned them. The protesters’ boldness is embarrassing. Jyoti’s plight is unwatchable. Once on the cusp of change, this childish refusal to acknowledge the rampant issue of rape and overall negative view of women has set India back. Had they accepted this mirroring of the country’s flaws and committed to implementing changes, the world would have applauded. Instead, we are left unconvinced of India’s capability of change.

Jyoti’s rape and murder was horrifying. Udwin’s documentary is horrifying but unfortunately necessary. It is the ugly truth that India needs to face up to. The documentary makes us flinch, gasp and grieve, but in shining a light on the forgotten women, a space for redemption was created. Given the chance to embrace their women, however, the government refused. India’s daughters are more than daughters. They are people. They are hidden. They are oppressed. They are afraid.

Jyoti’s short life symbolized the path towards a new India; one that has aspirations past the poverty, past the sex-selective abortions, past the multitude of rapes, past the heinous attitude towards women. As explained by some of the interviewees, India is overall unequipped to deal with such progressive, accepting, ambitious youth. A generation of free, outspoken women is there, but the societal attitudes towards them are restrictive and the systems in place are unforgiving. The handling of Singh’s rape by the authorities was somewhat promising. The protests and outpouring support from around the world was inspiring. But much needs to change. While the documentary successfully shows the story in a bold frame, the subsequent discussion is only the beginning.

If you ban this film then why not continue the banning? Ban the mind-set of Markesh Singh and the conditions that foster it. Gender-based attacks of all kinds need to end, not only in India, but across the world. It’s a mighty feat, one that will hopefully be achieved by victories both big and small. In the case of India, showing this documentary could be a gateway to changing the country’s overpowering societal attitudes. Most importantly, the passion of India’s people in advocating against rape should be reflected in the system they live in and not stamped out by the words of a convicted criminal. If their demands are not met, they have shown what they are willing to do. They go to the extremes in circumstances where they feel justice is failing.

“Happiness was a few steps ahead,” Jyoti’s mother, Asha, told Udwin. Now, with this ban and with the countless stories of women like Jyoti being attacked so brutally, change for the better seems distant once again.

Header image credit: BBC/Assassin Films