When power speaks small

When two stories land on the same page of a newspaper (DH, 4 September), the juxtaposition can feel like an editorial in itself. That was the case in Karnataka recently, when reports about Congress MLA R V Deshpande and BJP MLA B P Harish appeared side by side. On paper, the two belong to rival camps, supposedly at opposite ends of the political spectrum. What connected them that day had nothing to do with ideology. It was their language directed at women—language dripping with casual disrespect and patriarchal entitlement.

Deshpande’s comment to a woman journalist -- telling her not to worry about hospital services for her delivery
and suggesting she could always get it done elsewhere -- was not a harmless aside. It collapsed her professional identity into the role of a childbearing body. Unsurprisingly, journalists’ associations and women’s groups condemned him, demanding an apology. His defence—that the remark was meant in a lighter vein—was itself revealing.
It showed how lightly men in power think they can treat women’s dignity.

Harish’s words were even more stark. Comparing Superintendent of Police Uma Prashanth to a “pomeranian dog” at a press conference was meant to strip her of authority, reducing a senior woman officer to a caricature. The backlash was swift: an FIR, protests, and calls for accountability. Again, the outrage was not only about the insult itself but also about the mindset that emboldened him to make it in the first place.

These two incidents expose a pattern. From Odisha BJP MLA Santosh Khatua’s sexist slurs against a colleague to Congress leader Randeep Surjewala reducing Hema Malini to her marital roles to Kannada actor-politician Ramya facing online rape threats for speaking her mind, the thread is familiar. Women in public life are targeted, diminished, or trivialised not by accident, but as part of a cultural script that keeps reasserting itself. The easy explanation is patriarchy. For centuries, Indian society has trained men to see women as lesser beings, valued primarily for domestic or reproductive roles. But stopping there misses the nuance. Gender theory and psychology help us read these moments more deeply.

When a politician mocks or belittles a woman, he isn’t simply venting. He is performing power, rehearsing a script that tells women they don’t belong in positions of authority. Pierre Bourdieu called this “symbolic violence”—the use of words to normalise inequality so that humiliation appears natural, even humorous. In both Deshpande’s and Harish’s cases, the laughter, the casual dismissal, and the defensive backtracking were part of this performance.

Psychology adds another layer. Studies show that when men encounter women in roles traditionally occupied by men -- journalists grilling leaders, police officers commanding respect -- they often experience a “threat to masculinity”. Verbal aggression becomes a way of deflecting that discomfort, reducing women to stereotypes, or hurling insults that symbolically erase their authority. This is not always conscious jealousy but insecurity, masked as humour, bravado, or anger. There is also the “backlash effect”: competent and assertive women are judged more harshly than men, often punished socially with labels like “unfeminine” or “arrogant”. In this light, Deshpande and Harish’s words were not slips of the tongue. They were punishments -- strategies to remind women of their “place” when they dared to step into male-dominated spaces.

At a deeper level, the psychology is all too familiar: entitlement, insecurity, and the reflex of patriarchy fused. For many men in power, humiliation serves as both shield and weapon, protecting fragile egos while reasserting a threatened hierarchy. The fallout, however, is wider. When authority figures belittle women publicly, it signals to all women the risks of speaking up or stepping forward, eroding the dignity of entire professions and deterring younger women from aspiring to such spaces.

The good news is that such incidents no longer pass unnoticed. Journalists’ unions, women’s associations, civil society groups, and ordinary citizens are quick to protest. FIRs are filed, women’s commissions intervene, and public apologies are demanded. The outrage itself marks a shift in norms. Where once such remarks might have been brushed aside as jokes, today they spark debate and censure. That is progress.

But outrage alone cannot break the cycle. Institutional responses must be stronger. Political parties need clear codes of conduct prohibiting sexist speech, backed by real penalties. Gender sensitivity training, effective complaint mechanisms, and transparent reporting of action against offenders are necessities, not luxuries. Immunities that shield elected representatives from accountability should be re-examined, and digital platforms must be part of the solution, given how much abuse circulates online.

(The writer is a former
professor and dean, Christ University, Bengaluru)