India’s freedom remains incomplete until women are safe

On August 15, we celebrate winning our freedom from colonial Britain. But for millions of Indian women and girls, ‘azaadi’ remains conditional — bounded by fear of sexual violence, systemic scepticism, and delays in access to justice. The headlines arrive in waves and then recede; the harm does not.

On August 4, a chilling case unfolded in Jaipur, Rajasthan — a seven-year-old girl with speech and hearing impairment was allegedly raped and subsequently found near her home. Her father filed a case, and the police are investigating.

On June 1, a 20-year-old college student was allegedly gang-raped by 10 men on Gopalpur beach, in Odisha. The police later said four of the accused were minors. Soon after, a United States travel advisory called rape one of the ‘fastest growing crimes in India’. Yet, the national spotlight on the case was transient, and the public conversation moved on within days.

Earlier this year, Kerala exposed a different face of impunity when a Dalit minor girl was allegedly sexually abused for years; more than 40 men were arrested across multiple districts. Even when the state responds forcefully, the larger question remains: how long before attention fades and patterns reassert themselves?

Courts, too, shape the air that survivors breathe. In April, the Supreme Court publicly flagged ‘insensitive’ remarks in an Allahabad High Court order relating to a rape case, a reminder that language in judgments can uphold dignity — or erode it. Judicial words travel; they signal whose pain is legible and whose isn’t.

These stories are not anomalies.

National data shows how normalised violence remains. The latest National Family Health Survey (NFHS-5) records that 29.3% of ever-married women aged 18–49 in India have experienced spousal violence. Help-seeking, meanwhile, is persistently low; studies using NFHS-5 data find that only a small share of women approaches formal institutions, deterred by stigma, fear of reprisals, and distrust of systems.

The police case data tell a similar story. The National Crime Records Bureau counted 445,256 cases of crimes against women in 2022 — an increase over 2021 — comprising roughly 8% of all cognisable crimes. These numbers understate reality, because most survivors never file complaints.

Independence must mean more than the absence of colonial rule; it must mean freedom from violence in the most intimate spaces — homes, schools, workplaces, and not just the streets. That requires a reset in how we prevent, detect, and respond to sexual violence.

First, health systems must be equipped as sensitive front-line responders. Survivors are more likely to encounter a nurse or doctor than a courtroom. Trauma-informed protocols — confidential screening in emergency rooms, trained and unbiased counsellors in district hospitals, clear referral pathways to legal aid and shelters — should be standard, not exceptional. The World Health Organization has long described violence against women as a major public-health problem; treating it as such would transform health outcomes for women and girls.

Second, policing needs steady, supervised basics: time-bound registration of FIRs; survivor-centred evidence collection; protection orders enforced without delay; and periodic audits that track attrition — where do cases fall through the cracks, and why? Specialised units in districts with dedicated women-and-child desks can raise both sensitivity and speed, but only if resourced and monitored.

Third, the courtroom must be a place of dignity. The Supreme Court’s recent intervention should become a norm: continuous judicial education on gender, trauma, and consent; explicit discouragement of stereotypes; and strong appellate responses to insensitive reasoning. The purpose is not performative ‘wokeness’, but constitutional fidelity to equality, justice, respect, and dignity.

Fourth, engaging men and boys is where real prevention begins. Long before violence occurs, we must move upstream, transforming mindsets early. Social and behaviour change (SBC) approaches that transform gender norms, sensitise boys and men on consent, power, and respect are not a ‘soft’ add-on; it is core infrastructure for safety.

Campaigns that speak directly to positive masculinities — at school, on the factory floor, in sports clubs, and in digital spaces — can shift what peers accept and what they interrupt. When men challenge men, norms change.

Fifth, rebuild trust for those who are most at risk and least believed: Dalit and Adivasi women, migrants, women with disabilities, LGBTQIA+ persons, and girls in institutional care. Justice must be accessible in the languages people speak, at hours they need, with protections they can count on. That means safe transport to courts and hospitals, survivor advocates to navigate processes, and zero tolerance for ‘compromise’ pressure.

Finally, data must be used as a lever for change. States should publish district-level dashboards that track response times, charge-sheeting, trial duration, conviction rates, and survivor services, disaggregated by age, caste, and disability. What gets measured gets managed; what is hidden festers.

This Independence Day, we owe women and girls of India an honest reckoning. Sexual violence keeps slipping in and out of headlines, but the incidents are unceasing. Odisha in June, Bihar in May, Kerala in January; next week it will be another child, another woman, another district.

The pattern will not break on its own. It will break when we refuse the comfort of forgetting; when institutions view dignity as non-negotiable; when men and boys choose courage over complicity; when budgets match rhetoric; when judgments uphold the humanity they pronounce.

Freedom is not a slogan — it is a daily guarantee. Until a woman can walk home without rehearsing escape routes, sit in a classroom without fear, report a crime without being disbelieved, and find care without being shamed, our tryst with destiny remains an unfinished agenda. Real independence will arrive when safety for women and girls is the norm, justice is swift, and respect is the default.

(Poonam Muttreja, Executive Director, Population Foundation of India. X: @Letstransform.)

Disclaimer: The views expressed above are the author's own. They do not necessarily reflect the views of DH.