The paradox of rape is that it has a long history and occurs across all countries, yet its meaning can best be grasped through an analysis of specific social, cultural and political environments. Feminist writing on citizenship and the state has long noted the relevance of women’s bodies as reproducers of the nation; it is equally important to think about the uses of the sexed body in a political context. A consideration of gendered violence as part of a continuum of embodied assertions of power can not only tell us how masculine supremacy is perpetuated through tolerated repertoires of behaviour, but also help us to understand how forms of class, kinship and ethnic domination are secured—and what happens when they are disrupted. Rape, Joanna Bourke has observed, is a form of social performance, the ritualized violation of another sexed body.footnote1 This is no less true for such apparently depoliticized though grievous forms of violence as the now infamous gang rape of Jyoti Singh, a young woman returning from a night out in New Delhi in December 2012.
In a country where complacency about sexual assault has been the norm, the uproar that followed suggested that an unspoken limit had been crossed. Mass protests across India expressed a very political and public anger with the institutional apathy and impunity of the establishment. The mobilization of feminist groups and youth during this episode succeeded in generating a momentum for change, not least by challenging the stigma associated with reporting rape. After 2012, reported rape increased, although that appears to have reached a plateau. A raft of laws, drafted in consultation with feminist lawyers and women’s groups, has expanded the definition of rape to include other forms of violence and harassment, such as stalking and acid-throwing. Yet the best law in the world cannot solve the problem without adequate institutional and cultural reform. In a country where, it is said, many women experience a ‘continuum of violence . . . from the womb to the tomb’, evidence of the systemic character of assaults ‘widely tolerated by the state and community’ suggests we need an understanding of the institutional conditions that normalize this violence.footnote2 What locations do women’s bodies occupy within India’s systems of caste, kinship and state domination? How have neoliberalization and consumerism transformed older practices of sexual coercion and patriarchal norms? Given the highly ideological nature of Western representations of sexual violence in the Global South, what might we learn by placing India in a comparative frame?
Reflection on gendered violence in India reveals a constant pattern of impunity and silence, forged within the broader political economy of hierarchy and devaluation. Gang rape is but one of many forms of assault routinely committed against women in India, including domestic and dowry-related violence, sex-selective abortion, stalking and street harassment—euphemistically known as ‘Eve teasing’—and military or custodial rape. These public and private mechanisms of control largely operate with impunity, relying on notions of honour and shame to conceal the actual extent of the harm. In all too many cases, rape victims go on to commit suicide. The birth of the modern Republic of India, through Partition and Independence in 1947, was itself accompanied by widespread gang rape and the abduction of women, later cloaked in secrecy. It has taken painstaking work by feminist historians to excavate and expose the extent to which sexual violence was involved in the very formation of the two nations, India and Pakistan.footnote3 It is mainly through oral history and literature, notably the compelling stories of Saadat Hasan Manto, that we can see how national honour in the new-born states was tied to the desecration of women’s bodies and the ensuing narratives of rescue from the enemy. Rape myths in India still pitch the lascivious Muslim male against the hapless Hindus, who must defend their women by rooting out the aggressor.
Since 1947, sexual violence against minority and lower-caste women has increasingly been used to consolidate cross-caste Hindu alliances. In the pogrom led by the ruling Hindutva right in Gujarat in 2002, large numbers of Muslim women were gang-raped, as were many hundreds in the Mumbai pogroms fomented by the nativist Shiv Sena in 1992–93.footnote4 In neither case has a single perpetrator been charged with sexual crimes. Paul Brass has argued that violence in South Asian communal conflict is a type of performance, a routinized repertoire of politics in which all parties are complicit, and that this is prepared, rehearsed and perpetrated by well-organized agents constituting an ‘institutionalized riot machine’.footnote5 While his account fails to consider the increasing use of gendered assault in communal conflict, it is clear that rapes formed part of this repertoire of violence in Gujarat and Mumbai, designed to terrify and humiliate Muslims at a time when the bjp’s electoral victory hung in the balance. In this sense, Muslim women’s bodies were the material and symbolic terrain on which a hegemonic cross-caste Hindutva identity was affirmed.
Gang rape has also been used as an intermittent but powerful tactic of social control in a changing political landscape where lower castes have mobilized against historic caste discrimination. The subordination of mainly Dalit (former Untouchable) cultivators and landless labourers has historically been achieved through everyday forms of intimidation and control. The 1980s were characterized by intense armed struggle between upper castes and Dalits, then organized in the radical Naxalite movement; gang rape was often a punishment for Dalit resistance. Since then, the agrarian structure in northern and western India has changed, partly as a result of the Green Revolution, which saw the system of landlordism that had long underpinned wheat cultivation partially replaced by a new agrarian elite that emerged from the historically subordinate (but not Untouchable) ‘Other Backward Classes’. In recent reports of sexual violence, it is obc men who have been charged with raping Dalit women. In March 2014, for example, four Dalit girls were abducted and gang-raped by Jat men in the state of Haryana (Jats are considered upper-caste but have been agitating for inclusion in the list of obcs to gain access to quotas in government jobs and education).footnote6 This was one of several cases of gang rape reported from Haryana in 2014, each revealing a degree of collusion between caste groups, village headmen and the police. In an earlier case in the state of Maharashtra, a Dalit family in the village of Khairlanji was subjected to a long campaign of intimidation and harassment by obc families intent on seizing control of their land. In September 2001, a large obc group that included both men and women, armed with sticks, axes, chains and iron rods, attacked the household. The men were beaten to death, while the women were gang-raped and then killed. This is one of many examples of the almost ritualistic gendered violence that characterizes land grabs and reactions to the perceived hubris of Dalit families when they resist.
This continuum of violence is indeed reproduced, even as women potentially win new freedoms in the context of India’s ongoing development. The Delhi gang rape in 2012 and other similar assaults since then testify to the levels of sexual violence in India’s cities, where the contradictions of unbridled masculinity and class polarization come under explosive pressure. Yet such evidence can quickly become the stuff of political myth-making. ‘Rapes occur in India, not Bharat’, proclaimed Mohan Bhagwat, leader of the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh, the bjp’s militant wing.footnote7 Bharat, the Hindi name for the country, evokes an idealized village India. Yet the data, however unreliable, shows one unambiguous pattern: violence against women is still primarily rural. This in part reflects the fact that India’s rate of urbanization has been slower than, for example, China’s or Brazil’s: 68 per cent of India’s population still live in rural areas, compared with 49 per cent in China and only 15 per cent in Brazil. Myths about dangerous cities, which may to some extent represent anxieties about Westernization, also enable the surveillance of women and curtailment of their freedoms—and help to place the burden of responsibility on women themselves. The material accoutrements of the modern self in neoliberalizing India—jeans and mobile phones—have been cited as the cause of crimes against women.footnote8 These views are most frequently proclaimed by the Hindu Right and patriarchal caste elders in village panchayats, who pit the authenticity of rural India against a corrupt, urban India in moral decline.footnote9 The evidence in fact suggests that much violence against Indian women is rooted in rural caste dynamics, especially the age-old struggle for land and control of lower-caste labour. Once normalized, however, the cultural representations arising from such stark and coercive inequality can reproduce themselves freely, with the circulation of images and people—the last two decades have seen unprecedented, largely male migration within India—making it increasingly difficult to think of sexual violence in territorially bounded ways.
All four attackers in the Delhi gang rape came from the northern states of Bihar and Uttar Pradesh, or Rajasthan in the west, which have the worst record for rape and sexual assault among Indian states. Historically, gendered violence has been most prevalent in these regions, with their starkly unequal caste and landholding structures, low rates of female labour-force participation and correspondingly low valuation of girls and women. Forming part of the ‘Bermuda Triangle’ of low female-to-male sex ratios and high levels of gender disparity, these states have exemplified the adverse gender norms in the wheat-producing north, compared with the rice-growing south. Research through the decades has shown a sharp distinction between the northern ‘patriarchal zones’—characterized by rigid caste hierarchies, unequal landholding and a history of state–landlord collusion—and the southern states, where women play an important role in rice cultivation, meaning that a higher value is set on their labour and gender norms are less misogynistic.