Survivors: Listen, Don’t Silence Us
It’s strange how your mind can lull you into believing that you have moved past those dark moments. You are no longer haunted by the voices that since then have been dogging every step you took to get away.
A headline. An image. They are enough to throw you back into that dark moment which had never ended. It’s a swamp — the more you try to escape, the deeper you sink.
Indian wrestlers have been protesting against the president of the Wrestling Federation of India since January 2023. Their complaints of sexual harassment and intimidation have been falsified. Their demands for an impartial investigation have been dismissed. The incidents they have mentioned in their complaints range from 2012 to 2022, but the ruling government continues to protect the rapist politician. Instead, FIRs have been launched against the wrestlers.
All this makes one wonder why the questions are never raised towards the man who thought he could get away with something so heinous. Rather, society always asks women: Why did you wait so long to speak up?
All our lives, we were taught to endure and stay quiet. Behind closed doors, we were even warned about the predatorial men within the family. Is it any wonder that when the time came, we struggled to accept something had happened — to share that we had been abused?
Fighting the inward shame and norms of silence, when one finally does speak up, are we believed? Heck no, because our word is just not enough. We have seen the same denial repeatedly play out during the #MeToo movement and now with the Indian wrestlers’ protest.
Instead of comforting and standing by the survivors, our society wants to ignore and question their intentions. Silence them into submission. However, their truth has to be acknowledged. We shower them with love when they win medals, but now is the time when they need our support the most.
Most survivors remain silent because they think that they don’t have the power. Their words will be used against them. It will be their character that will be scrutinized, not the man’s. Do you know how it affects the other survivors when they see these wrestlers dragged across the streets for speaking out? These same wrestlers who not long ago were labelled as India’s pride for winning medals and glory in their sport?
A few months back, these politicians considered the wrestlers as role models for youngsters. Today, their inaction is forcing the wrestlers to mask their faces because people morphed their pictures to manipulate the world against them and carry forward the lies of those in power. And now, religious sects are voicing their support for the predator and protesting against the Protection of Children from Sexual Offense Act (POCSO, 2011) for ruining his reputation.
Reputation. Honour. People may say that they can die to protect their reputation, but most often kill others to save their honour. So who cares what a child suffers? What a woman went through at the hands of these men? These men deserve to keep their honour and reputation. Isn’t this the crux of the infamous art vs. artist debate? The more privileged the man, the stronger the defence of his reputation.
The accused is your friend, brother, husband, father, son, favourite poet, director, actor, sportsperson, or artist. And you are defending him or his memories after his death — shouting about his brilliance and demanding for it to be seen over everything else.
And at the back of your mind, just one thought, “If only she would cease to exist, then none of this would have happened. Everything would return to normal.”
Amidst all this, our stories are lost. My story seems lost.
So, to the math teacher, university acquaintance, and ex-fiance who decided to sexually assault and rape a fifteen-, twenty-one-, and twenty-five-year-old: I will not erase my story. I didn’t forget. I didn’t forgive. I just spared. But I need my story heard. Not to exact revenge or point fingers, but just for you to understand what it feels like being a survivor in this society that wants to shut us, not hear us out. To experience the violence that I survived; what all of us, including these wrestlers, have survived.
Tell me, how was it okay to assault a fifteen-year-old student in a classroom when all she wanted was for you to help her with a few statistics problems? How was it okay to grope and molest a twenty-one-year-old who was tired from the day’s activities and dozed off sitting beside you? How was it okay to deliberately ignore your fiancee’s protests, rape her in her own house, and continue as if nothing happened? You assaulted a girl who believed that she was safe and that the people whom she put her trust in were genuinely nice — not people who believed that she owed them anything.
Nothing could be more truthful than when Fredrik Backman wrote, “For the perpetrator, rape lasts just a matter of minutes. For the victim, it never stops.” I am almost thirty years old now. I have been in and out of therapy and on medication for years.
Yet, any loud sounds, eyes lingering on me for more than a moment, or sudden physical contact can trigger me— the list is endless. When woken up suddenly, my body goes into survival mode, trying to protect itself from the unknown. Everyday actions of being in a public place push me to the edge of anxiety. After standing in a large queue at the grocery store, I end up taking my SOS medicine. I can never even think of being in a concert because I would be surrounded by a crowd that has the potential to turn into a hostile space. My eyes search for exits when I’m surrounded by men. I can never again venture out into the night by myself. I think a hundred times before going out with male colleagues — the question of my safety is constantly in my head.
So no, don’t tell me to not be suspicious of every man I come across; don’t be in a fight or flight mode — just relax. You are the problem until you prove me wrong, and I’ll be very happy when that happens. I don’t hate you, but I am not going to make myself uncomfortable to accommodate you or ease your discomfort.
In Nanette, while Hannah Gadsby spoke her truth, she made us all feel less lonely in our circumstances. She emphasised the need to listen to the perspectives and stories so that people feel understood. In my life, I have had the privilege of some connections that tethered and helped me get out every time the swamp dragged me inside again.
A colleague who welcomed me in her house when I was no longer safe in my own; the friends who remained on calls when I was too broken to talk; the colleagues who had not even met me outside of Google Meet understood my fears without needing an explanation; a family that reconciled their beliefs with my needs, and a partner who continues to stay by my side even on those nights when in the grip of a nightmare, I can no longer see him for who he is, but just a man who can hurt me. These connections ground and remind me every day that I am loved and supported; the darkness may continue to chase me for the rest of my life, but I will never have to walk alone through it all.
But the truth is that those in power will continue to try and bury our stories into a past that they could burn to ashes, acting like these stories never existed. And in such times, no amount of love and support would be enough.
No one should have to suffer this violence and then fight for the world to believe in them. No politician should be allowed to be this arrogant to get away with such violence. No country should be this hostile and indifferent to its people when they are hurting the most. We don’t need to preserve honour and false reputation; we need to preserve love and humanity.
When a survivor speaks up, how the world around them responds makes all the difference.
