As an aspiring journalist, when I moved to Pune to pursue post graduate
studies, I learnt that you are weakest as a student and that teachers
will not hesitate to use their position to exploit you, failing which
reduce your grades and morale to dust, if you happen to refuse.
Tarun Tejpal is all over the news today. Last night, when an email addressed to Tehelka managing editor Shoma Chaudhry surfaced on the internet, just about everyone was left shocked and furious. Not just because of Tejpal's email masquerading as an apology but because the victim of his sexual assault had been silenced by those from whom she sought help.
As horrific as the details of the assault on this young journalist from Tehelka are, for me the most glaring issue is that of complicity of other women in hushing up and "settling" these things when it happens in their work place. The minute there's a crisis close to home, these otherwise vocal advocates of action and legal recourse suddenly believe in negotiation and privacy. My contention has always been that while journalists scream themselves the bluest when it comes to cases of sexual assault and harassment, screeching high pitched judgement and empty outrage, the most cases of assault and harassment happen within our own ranks. I wouldn't be exaggerating if I said don't know a single woman journalist who hasn't been at the receiving end of unwanted attention from a male colleague, although the attention itself might vary in intensity. From receiving a lewd text that male colleagues then claim was a drunken mistake to explicitly being told, "no one can know about this. Please let's just keep this between you and me," the harassment is everyday and eroding, to a point that women journalists need to choose which battle to pick, which violates their integrity the most.
This erosion starts early. As an aspiring journalist, when I moved to Pune to pursue post graduate studies, I learnt that you are weakest as a student and that teachers will not hesitate to use their position to exploit you, failing which reduce your grades and morale to dust, if you happen to refuse. And taking complaints to female teachers means putting yourself at the risk of a seemingly fair negotiation, to be talked to like a halfwit and be told that you misunderstood what was being asked of you. When it starts that early, you begin to think you need to equip yourself with skills that do not put you In that position again. You take the blame and you start to believe you actually had a hand in getting what you got. You don't realise you've just been grossly screwed over by someone who should have stood up for you.
Shoma Chaudhry's reaction to the Tejpal assault is not shocking to me. I focus on that reaction more than Tejpal's appalling self-important mockery of an apology. It might be that I am jaded but I've come to expect women who are associated with the perpetrator to suddenly not know what to do, in situations like this. Personal principles are put aside and the desire to have this out as "peacefully" and damage-free as possible takes over. Perspective is strongest when the case you are judging or condemning is strange to you; close to home you know both the perpetrator and the victim. And unless you stand unwaveringly by everything you've ever said in public about perpetrators getting their due, and women fighting for justice, you've complied to silence the victim, meting out to her an injustice as great as the one you're silencing.
The larger media houses have a cell dedicated to deal with complaints like this. But do they work well? Personal experience tells me otherwise. The procedure to deal with something like this, apart from filing a simple FIR straight off, is to approach the redressal cell with your grievance. Some workplaces require you to write to the HR department where you are assured of anonymity. If most of these cells are under utilised it isn't because there isn't harassment at the work place; it is because these cells are a farce. Five years ago I took a complaint to the redressal cell of the media house I worked for then. On the first instance, where I had a phone conversation with the coordinator, I was told the person I was complaining against "isn't that kind of a guy" and that she knew him really well. This was not a friend talking to me,it was a professional who was in charge of dealing with serious grievances. I should have known then that things were going to get worse. I made an official complaint to the HR the next day and within three hours the email and the phone conversation were reported to the very person I complained about. Both of these actions were from women who were there to deal with your problem. For some inexplicable reason, the first course of action when faced with a complaint is to talk the victim out of it, to make her believe she misunderstood what happened, much like Tejpal's "drunken banter" comment. The crushing part is, however, that most these cells have women working as coordinators, they are your first point of contact and it is these very women who try and talk you out of making a "big deal out of a misunderstanding."
Complicity is not making excuses for the perpetrator alone. Complicity is also all the times when as a woman you've been groped by a male colleague, and have refused to react in a way that would deter him further. Complicity is all those times when an inappropriate comment from someone you have a congenial relationship was allowed to pass without you making a fuss about it. For every single time that you as a woman and a journalist have been quiet when you've clearly been violated, even in the smallest way, you have contributed to this complicity. And this young journalist at Tehelka is just another culmination of an avalanche of complicity that women journalists choose for themselves.
From having fought some battles, and from having chosen not to fight a few, there just one thing I know that can ensure there's justice being done. To never ever doubt your own discomfort or interpretation of what has happened. To have confidence in the face of people saying you're being stubborn and childish for taking "a small thing" so seriously. Speak up. I know I sleep better when I do.
Tarun Tejpal is all over the news today. Last night, when an email addressed to Tehelka managing editor Shoma Chaudhry surfaced on the internet, just about everyone was left shocked and furious. Not just because of Tejpal's email masquerading as an apology but because the victim of his sexual assault had been silenced by those from whom she sought help.
As horrific as the details of the assault on this young journalist from Tehelka are, for me the most glaring issue is that of complicity of other women in hushing up and "settling" these things when it happens in their work place. The minute there's a crisis close to home, these otherwise vocal advocates of action and legal recourse suddenly believe in negotiation and privacy. My contention has always been that while journalists scream themselves the bluest when it comes to cases of sexual assault and harassment, screeching high pitched judgement and empty outrage, the most cases of assault and harassment happen within our own ranks. I wouldn't be exaggerating if I said don't know a single woman journalist who hasn't been at the receiving end of unwanted attention from a male colleague, although the attention itself might vary in intensity. From receiving a lewd text that male colleagues then claim was a drunken mistake to explicitly being told, "no one can know about this. Please let's just keep this between you and me," the harassment is everyday and eroding, to a point that women journalists need to choose which battle to pick, which violates their integrity the most.
This erosion starts early. As an aspiring journalist, when I moved to Pune to pursue post graduate studies, I learnt that you are weakest as a student and that teachers will not hesitate to use their position to exploit you, failing which reduce your grades and morale to dust, if you happen to refuse. And taking complaints to female teachers means putting yourself at the risk of a seemingly fair negotiation, to be talked to like a halfwit and be told that you misunderstood what was being asked of you. When it starts that early, you begin to think you need to equip yourself with skills that do not put you In that position again. You take the blame and you start to believe you actually had a hand in getting what you got. You don't realise you've just been grossly screwed over by someone who should have stood up for you.
Shoma Chaudhry's reaction to the Tejpal assault is not shocking to me. I focus on that reaction more than Tejpal's appalling self-important mockery of an apology. It might be that I am jaded but I've come to expect women who are associated with the perpetrator to suddenly not know what to do, in situations like this. Personal principles are put aside and the desire to have this out as "peacefully" and damage-free as possible takes over. Perspective is strongest when the case you are judging or condemning is strange to you; close to home you know both the perpetrator and the victim. And unless you stand unwaveringly by everything you've ever said in public about perpetrators getting their due, and women fighting for justice, you've complied to silence the victim, meting out to her an injustice as great as the one you're silencing.
The larger media houses have a cell dedicated to deal with complaints like this. But do they work well? Personal experience tells me otherwise. The procedure to deal with something like this, apart from filing a simple FIR straight off, is to approach the redressal cell with your grievance. Some workplaces require you to write to the HR department where you are assured of anonymity. If most of these cells are under utilised it isn't because there isn't harassment at the work place; it is because these cells are a farce. Five years ago I took a complaint to the redressal cell of the media house I worked for then. On the first instance, where I had a phone conversation with the coordinator, I was told the person I was complaining against "isn't that kind of a guy" and that she knew him really well. This was not a friend talking to me,it was a professional who was in charge of dealing with serious grievances. I should have known then that things were going to get worse. I made an official complaint to the HR the next day and within three hours the email and the phone conversation were reported to the very person I complained about. Both of these actions were from women who were there to deal with your problem. For some inexplicable reason, the first course of action when faced with a complaint is to talk the victim out of it, to make her believe she misunderstood what happened, much like Tejpal's "drunken banter" comment. The crushing part is, however, that most these cells have women working as coordinators, they are your first point of contact and it is these very women who try and talk you out of making a "big deal out of a misunderstanding."
Complicity is not making excuses for the perpetrator alone. Complicity is also all the times when as a woman you've been groped by a male colleague, and have refused to react in a way that would deter him further. Complicity is all those times when an inappropriate comment from someone you have a congenial relationship was allowed to pass without you making a fuss about it. For every single time that you as a woman and a journalist have been quiet when you've clearly been violated, even in the smallest way, you have contributed to this complicity. And this young journalist at Tehelka is just another culmination of an avalanche of complicity that women journalists choose for themselves.
From having fought some battles, and from having chosen not to fight a few, there just one thing I know that can ensure there's justice being done. To never ever doubt your own discomfort or interpretation of what has happened. To have confidence in the face of people saying you're being stubborn and childish for taking "a small thing" so seriously. Speak up. I know I sleep better when I do.
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