Salma Tahir
The recent tragic and horrifying incident involving the rape and murder of a young 31-year-old trainee medic on August 9 at one of the largest government-run hospitals and medical colleges, RG Kar Medical College in Kolkata, India, has shaken the entire nation. These incidents of gender-related violence are hardly unique to India.
Across the border, in Pakistan, the ground reality is the same. In May 2022, a woman doctor was assaulted by a patient’s attendant at Abbasi Shaheed Hospital, one of the government hospitals in Karachi. One month ago, a medical student at Avicenna Medical College was found dead under mysterious circumstances. The administration of the medical college said it was a case of suicide. However, protestors at the college alleged that a professor named Masood Nizam Tabassum had been harassing the girl in the weeks before her death, and she was under extreme mental duress. They also accused the chairman of the college, retired army officer, Abdul Waheed Sheikh, of abusive tactics, including making women medical students sit on the floor in “a very odd manner.”
Despite the protests, nothing has been done to investigate the death or bring the perpetrators to justice. Women patients as young as five years old are not safe in hospitals. This was underscored by a case that occurred a while back at Lahore’s Ganga Ram Hospital, where a young five-year-old girl was raped by a sanitation worker at the hospital. Doctors at the hospital have been protesting the lack of safe conditions at the hospital all along to little avail. Remember how we treated Mukhtara Mai, Dr Shazia, and countless other women who spoke out against the horrific crimes that were committed against them? A Pakistani police chief faced a growing backlash a few years back after he seemed to blame the victim in a gang rape case because she was driving at night without a male companion.
This brutal rape and murder in Kolkata targetting a professional whose very mission was to heal and protect others, has ignited a firestorm of protests and national outrage. It was not a deserted road or an isolated bus. She was not out partying or enjoying a late night with friends. She was not wearing what society calls a “provocative dress,” nor was she sending out any so-called signals. She was a doctor, fulfilling her duty in a place that, until August 9, was considered safe.
She wore a white coat, a symbol of healing, a sign of a deity on earth. Yet, despite all this, she was brutally raped and suffocated to death. Even now, there are those who ask why she went to the seminar hall, and why she was not more careful. The State Chief Minister, Mamta Banerjee, a woman herself seems to searching for reasons to blame her, rather than confronting the true horror of what was done to the victim.
This rape and murder of a trainee doctor at her own hospital has also brought up, once again, uncomfortable truths about a country that wants to be a global leader, not to say that Pakistan is any better on this front. In the sub-continent, scared women are demanding justice against rapes and the implementation of safety measures, pleading for their basic right of the need to feel safe. Even as millions of Indian and Pakistani women have joined the urban workforce in the past decade, securing their financial independence and helping to fuel their country’s rapid growth, they are still often left to bear the burden of their own safety.
Such incidents highlight the prevailing apathy, misgovernance, and lack of accountability. The authority’s apparent inclination to shield perpetrators rather than protect victims is a grave miscarriage of justice. Such incidents should be taken as a wake-up call for governments to prioritize the safety and security of women of all castes and religions. Having faced similar conditions and equally fed up with official and institutional apathy on the issue of women’s security, Pakistani women stand with Indian women as they take to the streets, stage sit-ins, and make social media content drawing attention to the dangerous conditions faced by women, doctors and otherwise in their workplaces.
Longstanding customs in both countries that both repress women and in many cases confine them to the home have made their safety in public spaces an afterthought. The fact that men are predators everywhere is not an excuse for the larger misogynistic mindset that fuels such crimes. All cultures and all societies can produce a world that is safe for both men and women. However, such an outcome can only occur if there is an open and public debate about why men in India and Pakistan think that women, particularly those who work in public spaces, are targets to women, intimidate and exploit. It can be dangerous for a woman to use public transportation, especially at night, and sexual harassment occurs frequently on the streets and in offices. Mothers tell their daughters to be watchful. Brothers and husbands drop their sisters and wives off at work.
The author is an ex-banker and a freelance columnist. She can be reached at tbjs.cancer.1954gmail.com.
