Of ‘Hate Hags’, Witch-hunts, and the Orwellian Woman

The term ‘hate hag’, used to describe “women supporters of Narendra Modi” in an Outlook Magazine article recently gained currency, especially on social media. Vrinda Gopinath, who authored the article, clearly referred to three women—Madhu Kishwar, Tavleen Singh, and Sandhya Jain—as ‘Modi’s mausis’ (Modi’s aunts). Describing these women as what “Libs call Hate Hags or Hacks”, she states that they:

“have swung into the national debate ever since the media’s imbalance in promoting Modi tilted favourably towards him, feverishly affirming their faith on television, Twitter, Facebook and in their columns. They dismiss contrarian, inquiring views as archaic and wimpy; and club those who question them as com­m­unists, feminists, and socialists. They’d love to be hailed as right-wing reactionaries but are now famously known as Modi’s Mausis.”

She further explains how Kishwar—dubbed as ‘Madhu Mausi’—“has taken her Modimania to newer heights of emotional fervour”; how Singh “constructs ‘secularism’ as a dirty word”; and finally, Jain, who “apart from covering [Modi’s] rallies and quoting every pearl that rolls off his tongue…endorses Modi’s views on population control and religious demography, and chants with Modi on ‘Third Front, Third Rate’ and other mantras”. Perhaps, I am too quick to judge her piece (given that ‘a longer version’ of the article appears in print). However, even by the standards of criticisms levelled against Kishwar, or other apologists for the Sangh Parivaar, Gopinath’s pieces resonates with the crass tone one would normally find in an amateur, anonymous handle-led blog, and certainly not in a publication like Outlook (However, given Manu Joseph’s equally crass piece on the Tarun Tejpal sexual assault case, it is perhaps not so unsurprising).

While there’s no problem in writing a sarcastic article on these women, what I found more disconcerting was the over-judicious appropriation and usage of the term ‘hate hag’ by the anti-Modi and anti-BJP voices on social media to target women, especially on Twitter, who are either sympathetic to the BJP and Modi, or themselves are BJP workers. This attack on women—irrespective, or in this case, because of their political ideologies—I argue, is unprecedented, crass and unbecoming. In using the term ‘hate hag’ the risk is in reaffirming a notion of ‘ideal’ woman, whose political views have to be in full agreement with so-called liberal, secular (or religious, fundamentalist) ideal. This is not to say that there are no contradictions whatsoever in women’s support for the BJP, RSS, and the Sangh Parivaar—indeed, these contradictions, I think, are irreconcilable. However, there is a difference in expressing ones disagreement with these, and using a term that is inherently sexist, misogynistic and demeaning to women.

In this essay I critique the term ‘hate hag’ through three broad arguments: first, I argue the term ‘hate hag’ is inherently sexist and misogynistic, and in using the term to ‘shame’ women because of their political ideology, we reinstate another form of a the medieval witch-hunt. Second, I look at the irreconcilable contradictions in the ‘women’s question’ and the Political Right, especially in light of the Janus-faced patriarchy that the BJP and the Sangh Parivaar represent. Here I underscore the role played by real, symbolic and semiotic violence that is directed against women’s bodies and ‘honour’. Finally, I present the idea that the term ‘hate hag’ conforms to the same form of semiotic violence that the Political Right and conservatives use to ‘shame’ women to reaffirm a patriarchal politics. This, I argue, is creates the Orwellian Woman as the ‘other’—that is, the notion that “some women are more equal than other women”, when it comes to being objects of such attacks.

“‘Hate hags’? So what’s the problem? Don’t these women deserve to be shamed anyway?”

As expected, since its introduction, the term ‘hate hag’—not so much ‘Modi’s Mausis’—was widely discussed, shared, and was met with both opposition and appropriation over social media. The way this unfolded, at least on Twitter, was interesting. On the one hand, we had the ardent anti-BJP, anti-Modi (or pro-Congress crowd), who, quite unproblematically, appropriated the term, and used it to deride well-known women BJP-Modi supporters on Twitter (besides the three mentioned in Gopinath’s article). Said this Congress spokesperson:

“Hate Hags perfect term coined by Outlook magazine for NaMo’s women supporters on social media. Sue me now for saying this.”

Several other anti-BJP/Modi counter-propagandists have celebrated the usage of the term because of its “shock value”. Here’s another example:

Some have argued that “such behaviour must be shamed” (a line of thought which could give the Khaps a run for their money).

“Attach Shame”

These counter-propagandists, it would seem, see a war coming. “Political correctness”, they say, is of little use when “the dogs of war are here”.

‘The Dogs of War/Political Correctness'

For these counter-propagandists, it is a case of fighting fire with fire; of fighting hatred with hatred; countering one act of shaming with another. They speak of “shaming” women supporters of the BJP, but fail to see their own language as unbecoming, uncivil, and, ultimately, regressively patriarchal. I lack the space here to undertake an archaeology of the term ‘hate hag’. But let’s rely on the dictionary meaning of the term ‘hag’. The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines ‘hag’ as:

1. An ugly, slatternly, or evil-looking old woman;

2. Archaic

a: a female demon,

b: an evil or frightening spirit;

3. Witch

‘Cucking Stool, used in the “trial” of witches’ (Source: Wikimedia Commons)

Thus, by its very constitution the term ‘hate hag’ is demeaning to women, and is inherently sexist (Although, many supporters of Modi are quite proudly, and sardonically, wearing the title of ‘hate hag’—as was with the term ‘slut’, which led to numerous Slut Walks). By underscoring the ‘internal/external’ ugliness (of women), people who support the term are supporting a perverted logic that assigns ‘value’ on womanhood based on a notion of beauty/ugliness and purity/pollution. This underscores an import point about the insidious function of discipline/punish that’s embedded in the notion of shame and honour (I will discuss this point in detail in the concluding segment).

‘External ugliness/internal ugliness’

Coming back, it would seem that Gopinath’s piece, and the so-called ‘shaming’ the counter-propagandists engage in, occupy a curious space in this on-going tirade against women expressing their political opinion on media. We are well aware of how journalists and activists have been viciously abused on social media by Right-wing fanatics. A BBC Hindi report revealed how women journalists and activists, like Sagarika Ghose, Kavita Krishnan, and Meena Kandaswamy, who have been critical of “caste and Hindu nationalism” have been singled out as victims of misogynistic attacks online. Ghose was abused on Twitter by right-wing chauvinists who called her a “high-class prostitute”; Krishnan, speaking at a Rediff.com discussion when someone with the handle @RAPIST posted abusive comments, and asked where he could “rape her using a condom”; Kandaswamy was threatened with “live telecasted gang-rape and being torched alive and acid attacks”.  These are among the many instances where women are abused and humiliated online, usually by anonymous handles. While Gopinath’s piece, and the usage of the term ‘hate hag’, does not use the abusive language of the anonymous Right-wing troll, it still perpetuates a language of misogyny, sexism and hatred. For her and the anti-Modi/anti-BJP crowd, these ‘Modi’s mausis’ are nothing but apologists for the Sangh, who find fault with the “secular, liberal media” on the one hand, and “have all been steadfastly loyal to the idea of their Hriday Samrat, emperor of India, Narendra Modi”. Gopinath’s argument is one which infantilizes these women for their “blind devotion” to Modi, and yet occupies the moral high ground. But it is unclear as to what she’s based her assumptions on. Going by her arguments, there is nothing to indicate that what people like Kishwar, Singh and Jain write about Modi is qualitatively exceptional in its content. Sure, Madhu Kishwar occupies a piñata-esque position, when it comes to “Modi-worship”. Many of Singh’s columns in The Sunday Express, and on NitiCentral are terrible excuses. And, to be honest, I don’t know enough about Sandhya Jain to comment on her. That said, I do know several people, of both genders, who appraise Modi—from enumerating merits in his so-called ‘Gujarat Model’, and admire the vast and burgeoning propaganda surrounding the man. But why single out these three women? I mean, if one is thinking of women insofar as talking about their role in the Sangh’s moral-political economy, there are women in the Sangh Parivaar who occupy a more dangerous role.

The Janus-faced patriarchy and the Women’s Question

On the face of it, it’s not entirely inaccurate to assume that there can be grounds for one to have sympathy with Gopinath’s piece. It is well-known that the Political Right in India produces, harbours, and espouses misogynistic and sexist ideologies, and, by any standard, is a text-book case of what I have previously described as a patriarchal moral-political economy. Women, however, occupy a more tenuous role in this matter: Should they conform to an ideal notion of universal feminism where they condemn all forms of misogyny and sexism?[1] Or, does their support of individuals or ideologies put them at odds with these so-called universal feminist ideals? Can the so-called “women’s question” be reconciled by constructing an inner, spiritual domain, free from the trappings of western modernity—and yet, is ‘modern’ in a more functional way?^[2] If indeed so, are Kishwar, Singh and Jain exemplary in this regard? I don’t think so. For one, none of the three women are being castigated explicitly for ignoring/endorsing a feminist question. In fact, Gopinath’s sole criticism seems to be their hero-worshiping of Modi. She, it seems, couldn’t care less about actual irreconcilable problems and contradictions between equal rights for women, and the inherently patriarchal ideology of the Sangh Parivaar.

Before I proceed, however, let me clarify some things. I am very definitely critical of the BJP-Sangh and Narendra Modi. I have argued elsewhere that the BJP, RSS, and Sangh Parivaar, with Modi as its face, represent a Janus-faced patriarchal moral-political economy, and have underlying fascist tendencies. I have also categorically stated that apologists for the patriarchal Sangh—and these includes women “supporters”, as well as members of the Sangh’s women’s wing, Durga Vahini—espouse an idea that is fundamentally inimical to the goal of achieving equal rights for women. There are glaring contradictions in the support women give to Modi. For one, I find it irreconcilable that one can support Modi—no matter how awesome his visions of ‘development’ are—and not be bothered by the violence perpetrated by the Sangh on women: be it the brutal gang-rapes of Muslim women in the 2002 post-Godhra riots, or rapes of nuns in Kandhamal in Orissa during the anti-Christian riots; or the Bajrang Dal’s and the Vishwa Hindu Parishad’s (VHP) moral policing and beating up of women and young couples; or even the Rashtriaya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS) chief Mohan Bhagwat’s claims that “rapes happen in India, and not in Bharat”.

Thus, when Modi speaks of the Nirbhaya case, and promises “security” for women, does he also promise them safety from the vile, misogynistic elements within the fold of the Sangh? In her article Gopinath doesn’t ask if we expected Modi, or his “mausis”, to speak up after Pramod Muthalik, the Shri Ram Sene chief was inducted, and subsequently expelled from the BJP (Muthalik and the SRS is infamous for the 2009 attack on women in a Mangalore pub) Apparently, Muthalik joined the BJP with the objective of “making Narendra Modi the prime minister”. More pertinently, she does not raise any questions about other women within the Sangh’s fold—women who do not enjoy the celebrity-like status of Kishwar, but women who nevertheless believe in, and espouse, the ideologies of the Sangh Parivaar, violently so, if required.

Take, for instance this clip from Nisha Pahuja’s documentary, The World Before Her, which examines two contrasting scapes: first, the camp of the RSS’ women’s wing, Durga Vahini, and the assaults on women and couples in public places, and pubs (the latter by the notorious Shri Ram Sene); and second, the selection round of the Miss India pageant. The instructor at the Durga Vahini camp goes on record to say that women are “biologically weaker than men”, and must, therefore, shun any hopes for gender equality. The more shocking aspect about this “brainwashing at the VHP’s Durga Vahini camp”, according to Pahuja, is what Prachi, a 20 year-old trainee at the camp, has to say about her father, (and, thus, the moral-political economy he and the RSS represent). Says Prachi about her father:

 “In a traditional family they don’t let girl child live. They kill the child. So this is the thing. I get angry; I have quarrels with my dad. But this thing, when it comes in my mind, I feel like crying… he let me live. That is the best part.” 

Clearly, if we highlight the issue of women’s rights—and, thus the contradiction of women supporting Modi and the Janus-faced Sangh Parivaar-BJP—what Pahuja’s clip shows is more inimical to the question of gender equality. This, evidently, is what deserves our attention, and perhaps is worth filling column inches. Instead, what we get from Gopinath is a pointless tirade and caricaturing of three women, who aren’t even big names in the BJP. On Twitter itself, several counter-propagandists have highlighted several female members/supporters of the BJP who have espoused a variety of illiberal balderdash—from casteism, to (ironically) misogyny. Incidentally, it would appear that the preoccupation of these counter-propagandists is to find women who fit into the bill of the ‘hate hags’.

‘A random, unverified handle vilifying Dalits deserves to be labelled “hate hag”?’

Before I conclude, let me offer a clarification: While I am critical of the contradictions between the question of violence against women perpetrated by the Right-wing, patriarchal Hindutva organisations and the women who support these ideologies, I am equally cautious about the risk of reducing violence against women and misogyny to the crucible of ‘culture’. This risk is of patronising women, and given the colonial discourse of paternalistic intervention, there is a risk of reinstating what Gayatri Spivak has described as “saving the brown woman from the brown man”. Anthropologist Kamala Vishwesaran in her book Un/Common Cultures: Racism and the Rearticulation of Cultural Difference, too, highlights this point in the case of refugee women seeking asylum to the United States, where the lands these women come from—usually the Middle East—is seen as inherently misogynistic, sexist and inimical to women’s freedoms. She points that this perception draws from precisely the colonial tension Spivak highlights, and obfuscates (if not entirely erases) the question of violence faced by women in the west, and in United States.

Thus, to reiterate the question I asked earlier: can there be a version of feminist thinking that emanates from the political Right-wing Hindutva discourse that is in line with the feminist goal of equal rights for women? By relying of the praxis of Hindutva politics in the last two decades—and not merely on scriptures—I am inclined to say I don’t think so. I would, very self-reflexively, say that the ideas women like Prachi and the instructor at the Durga Vahini training camp espouse in fundamentally inimical to the language of equal rights. They are based on an insidious logic of demarcating, and targeting, women based on certain notions they have of the ‘other’. This is based on the double-bind disciplining function of women’s ‘emancipation’ and their ‘punishment’, which can be achieved only by conforming to the hegemonic idea of what is deemed as appropriate in the patriarchal moral-political economy. This is the same notion the French, and so-called liberal western discourse has of the Muslim women. And this is at the heart of using the term ‘hate hag’ against women supporters of Modi, and the BJP.

Conclusion: A twenty-first century witch-hunt and the Orwellian woman

In this essay, I have attempted to present two broad critiques of the term ‘hate hag’, which was used target “women supporters of the BJP”. First, I argued that the term ‘hate hag’, etymologically and discursively, is inherently sexist, misogynistic, and demeaning to women—in this case, since it is used to target, and ‘shame’, women because of their ideological standings. Secondly, I stated that there are indeed several contradictions in the sexist, misogynistic, and regressive patriarchal politics of the Sangh Parivaar, and the RSS, and the question of equal rights for women, and their security—and, the patina of Modi’s “development” does little to hide that fact. This also underlines an insidious Orwellian ploy that “some women are more women than others” and thus, the latter are more deserving of abuse, castigation, and so on. Given these two contexts, the effect of ‘hate hags’ is exacerbated as it functions on an insidious patriarchal logic of discipline/punishment, wherein the woman is assigned space in the dichotomy of virtue/wickedness. In other words, it’s perfectly alright that a particular type of woman is the object of misogyny and sexism and violence (semiotic and/or real) since she—her very being reduced to her appearance, or other marker (like her political belief)—represents the other. She may be a woman, but her ‘marker’ (and that she’s casteist/sexist/bigoted etc.), makes her a less equal one.

‘The language of shaming has universal resonance in patriarchal discourse’

Admittedly, perhaps, I am overstating things, and drawing too many conclusions. In all likelihood, like most things on Twitter, this will probably blow over (if it hasn’t already). Unfortunately, Vrinda Gopinath’s piece will still exist. And I will still live with the memories of the crass, misogynistic and sexist language used by people I follow on Twitter. Probably a good thing, too: a closet misogynist, for me, is more dangerous than an obvious bigot. 

Acknowledgements

I am indebted to some of the wonderful feminists I follow on Twitter for their interventions during this debate; to Ketaki for a conversation we’d had long back on women and the Hindutva Right; and, to Nolina, for her constant encouragement, love, and support. This post originally appeared in the secular humanist website, Nirmukta.org. I would also like to thank the editors, especially Satish, for their feedback and for publishing it. You can access it here.

Notes

---

[1] This also holds true in the case of Islam and feminism. In western liberal circles most debates on Islam and feminism have centered round the ‘veil’, or the hijab or burqa (these terms are used interchangeably). However, many other scholars and academics, like Lila Abu-Lugodh, have argued that this debate reinstates the colonial tension of “saving the brown woman from the brown man” (to use Gayatri Spivak’s phrase), and ignores the systemic oppression of women in Islamic regions due to colonialism, and more recently, the ‘war on terror’. See, Lila Abu-Lugodh, ‘Do Muslim Women Really Need Saving? Anthropological reflections on cultural relativism and its others’, American Anthropologist 104/3, 2002. Accessed from: http://webbox.lafayette.edu/~alexya/courses/readings/Abu-Lughod_Do%20Muslim%20Women.pdf; see also, Val Moghadam, ‘Islamic Feminism and its Discontents’, Steal This Hijab, 8 June, 2011. Accessed from: http://stealthishijab.com/2011/06/08/islamic-feminism-and-its-discontents/

[2] Historian and Subaltern Studies scholar Partha Chatterjee has explored this in his essay, ‘The Nationalist Resolution of the Women’s Question’. Chatterjee argues that in the 19^th century Bengali bourgeois nationalism, nurtured the idea of the bhadramahila—that is, the ideal Bengali woman, who is formally educated, but also well-versed in the traditional etiquettes of the household. The distinction Chatterjee traces between the home and the outside, ghar and bahir. See, Partha Chatterjee, Empire & Nation: Essential Writings 1985-2005, pp. 116-135, New Delhi: Permanent Black, 2010.

Thoughts on Section 377: Against the absurdity that is “against the order of nature”

I

There’s a line from the movie Philadelphia that I recollect every time I’ve discussed homosexuality, the AIDS epidemic, legality and so on. In the movie, as those who’ve seen it are aware, there’s a scene in the courtroom where Denzel Washington, in his cocksure, charismatic charm, says:

“Everybody’s thinking about sexual orientation, sexual preference...whatever you want to call it. Who does what to whom and how they do it. So let's get it out in the open. Let's get it out of the closet. Because this case is not just about AIDS, is it? So let's talk about what this case is really all about: The general public's hatred, our loathing...our fear of homosexuals.”

On the 11^th of December, 2013, the Supreme Court of India “set aside” a landmark judgement of the Delhi High Court pertaining to Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code. The Delhi HC verdict, which had effectively decriminalized consensual same-sex relations among adults covered under Section 377 of the IPC (effectively: homosexuality; read the full verdict here), was thus rendered unconstitutional by the Supreme Court. The assumption, therefore, is that those who engage in sex as stipulated in Section 377 can be tried under it (the description is given below). Section 377 was enacted by Lord Macaulay in 1860, and it states:

377. Unnatural Offences: Whoever voluntarily has carnal intercourse against the order of nature with any man, woman or animal, shall be punished with imprisonment for life, or with imprisonment of either description for term which may extend to ten years, and shall also be liable to fine.

Explanation:  Penetration is sufficient to constitute the carnal intercourse necessary to the offense described in this section.

The Delhi High Court’s judgement, in decriminalizing consensual same-sex relations, thus, was truly bold and revolutionary; and it is pertinent to quote its verdict at length:

 “130. If there is one constitutional tenet that can be said to be underlying theme of the Indian Constitution, it is that of ‘inclusiveness’. This Court believes that Indian Constitution reflects this value deeply ingrained in Indian society nurtured over several generations. The inclusiveness…is manifest in recognising a role in society for everyone. Those perceived by the majority as ‘deviants’ or ‘different’ are not on that score excluded or ostracised.”

“131. Where society can display inclusiveness and understanding, such persons can be assured of a life of dignity and non-discrimination…It cannot be forgotten that discrimination is antithesis of equality and that it is the recognition of equality which will foster the dignity of every individual.”

“132. We declare that Section 377 IPC, insofar it criminalises consensual sexual acts of adults in private, is violative of Articles 21, 14 and 15 of the Constitution…[and] by ‘adult’ we mean everyone who is over 18 years of age and above.”

It added that the provisions of Section 377 continue to govern non-consensual penile non-vaginal sex and penile non-vaginal sex involving minors (those below 18 years of age) as they “would be presumed to not be able to consent to a sexual act.” This clarification, the High Court held, will hold until Parliament chooses to amend the law, and enact the recommendation of the 172nd Law Commission Report which sought to decriminalize homosexuality [see Section 1.2.1.Part I, (3)].

The two-member bench of the Supreme Court, however, ruled that: “Section 377 IPC does not suffer from the vice of unconstitutionality [and]…that the said section [377] does not suffer from constitutional infirmity.” It thus concludes that declaration made by the Division Bench of the High court is “legally unsustainable”, and puts the ball firmly in the legislature’s [Parliament’s] court, stating: “Notwithstanding this verdict, the competent legislature shall be free to consider the desirability and propriety of deleting Section 377 IPC from the statute book or amend the same.”

It further argues that “even after 60 years of independence, Parliament has not thought it proper to delete or amend Section”, the section, therefore, remains valid. The Additional Solicitor General, P.P. Malhotra, in an affidavit by the Ministry of Home Affairs, which:

“…had opposed decriminalisation of homosexuality and…recommended retention of Section 377 IPC because the societal disapproval thereof was very strong. [And] that the legislature, which represents the will of the people, has decided not to delete and it is not for the [Delhi High] Court to import the extra-ordinary moral values and thrust the same upon the society”

It must, here, be remembered that the Delhi High Court decriminalized homosexuality specifically within the Section 377, upholding it in cases of sexual assault – against women, children and men. However, this ‘severability’ is something which the Supreme Court didn’t agree with (read the full judgement here).

II

Of course, in light of the Supreme Court’s judgement, Denzel Washington’s quote from Philadelphia is exceedingly significant; especially since many have dubbed the Supreme Court’s ruling as “procedural homophobia”. Others, too, have criticised it for being “regressive” and taking us back to the 19^th century.

My criticisms of the Supreme Court judgement, however, are different: they are concerned with the judgement being situated in the larger discourse of what I’ve argued is the patriarchal moral-political economy. Although the Supreme Court’s concern is, largely, constitutional and legal, constitutionality is not a textual problem; it’s also a socio-political one. The Delhi High Court verdict was revolutionary precisely because it helped a social group articulate its political and social rights – and, that this social group is not necessarily a “sexual minority”. My other concern is that there are several logical fallacies riddled in the judgement, through which, the Supreme Court effectively sanitizes and, thus, absolves itself of this responsibility from the larger political movement of gender rights.

I shall elaborate on these arguments throughout the course of this essay – and its follow up.

The Supreme Court ruling which reinstates Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code, and thereby criminalizes “voluntary” same-sex relations between consenting adults is, to say the very least, regressive. Now, I use the term ‘regressive’ in a very specific way: not in terms of the judico-moral discourse of human rights, or anything, but especially as huge setback to:

(a) The consistent work being done by organisations in HIV/AIDS outreach activities, especially among what is called ‘MSM’ (men who have sex with men), such as the petitioners, Naz Foundation; and, (b) The vocal LGBT community, and other allied organisations and social groups, like transgender communities, hijras, and so forth, who suffer from police brutality, irrespective of the question of law, who are equal stakeholders in this struggle.

The Supreme Court verdict also, apart from these specific concerns, seriously undermines the women’s movement, and the question of gender rights and equality, when it states that:

“In its anxiety to protect the so-called rights of LGBT persons…the [Delhi] High Court has extensively relied upon the judgments of other jurisdictions….we feel that they cannot be applied blindfolded for deciding the constitutionality of the law enacted by the Indian legislature.”

This is, perhaps, one of the most regressive points in the entirety of the 98-page document – “so-called rights”? Would the Supreme Court say that rights of women, Dalits, religious and linguistic minorities are “so-called” rights? This violates the entire legacy of Feminist, Dalit and other politics – and of groups, much like the LGBT community, who have invested their faith in the judiciary; and it is this hope which has been betrayed. My argument, thus, is that the Supreme Court bench fails to situate the Delhi HC’s verdict in the broader context of the gender rights; subsequently, it betrays the spirit of the makers of the Constitution – chiefly, that of B.R. Ambedkar – who sought to include marginalised sections of the population under the protection proffered by the Constitution, and were given respective rights. This becomes more baffling, seeing that the bench observed: “…in last more than 150 years less than 200 persons have been prosecuted…for committing offence under Section 377 IPC…”, there is nothing inherently unconstitutional in the law itself (42; p. 83); and the precedent is on the Legislature to repeal/amend the section (56.; pp.97-98).

I will, however, keep the above problems on the legislature, and the state, in the follow up post. In this essay, I attempt to put the Supreme Court’s logic to the test, especially on the concept which of “against the order of nature”, which is a predominant theme in the court's judgement. The conceptual clarity that I seek to proffer on this condition is embedded in the whole discourse surrounding Section 377, which is, as Washington puts it, “our fear of homosexuals”. 

III

Firstly, the cases the judgement cites, wherein Section 377 IPC has been used to prosecute offences, were indeed brutal cases (pp. 69-70). There’s no doubt about that: women, children, and even other men can be, and are, victims of sexual assaults. But, a closer reading of these verdicts reveals that the offence is not so much against the bodily integrity of the victim, as it is against the “order of nature”. 

[Note: the text below contains some amount of graphic details. Reader’s discretion is advised].

For instance, in the Khanu v. Emperor AIR 1925 Sind 286 (p. 69), wherein the accused is said to “be guilty of having committed the sin of Gomorrah coitus per os with a certain little child”, the case reads:

“…Is the act here committed one of carnal intercourse? If so, it is clearly against the order of nature, because the natural object of carnal intercourse is that there should be the possibility of conception of human beings which in the case of coitus per os is impossible.”

Further to it, in the Lohana Vasantlal Devchand v. The State AIR 1968 Guj 252 (p. 70), the accused had sexually assaulted the victim boy, by subjecting him to anal and oral sex:

“The question that arose for consideration therein was as to whether the insertion of the male organ by the second accused into the orifice of the mouth of the boy amounted to an offense under Section 377 IPC.”

This verdict, based on a definition of “reciprocity” – “the enveloping of a visiting member by the visited organism” – which intercourse connotes, therefore was that “the act in question amounted to an offense punishable under Section 377.” The verdict cites other cases – one in which a boy was sexually assaulted and murdered, and the other where oral sex was forced upon a six year old girl – and in all of them, the prerogative was to establish is the offence “was against the order of nature”.

In all cases cited, it is sufficient to say that very grave and violent crimes were committed against children. And, by all means, it is the prerogative of the courts to ensure that the accused are given maximum punishment under the valid laws. But, does that validate the archaic definitions embedded in Section 377 – such as ‘reciprocity’, ‘orifice’, and ‘order of nature’? Clearly, from these cases, it would appear that the courts were more interesting in defining what exactly constitutes offence “against the order of nature” – there is no explicit mention of the crime violating the bodily integrity of the victim in question. Even in its own conclusion, the Supreme Court bench observes that, despite the idea of sexual intercourse meant for procreation being outdated, at the same time (p. 71):

“…it could be said without any hesitation of contradiction that the orifice of mouth is not, according to nature, meant for sexual or carnal intercourse. Viewing from that aspect, it could be said that this act of putting a male-organ in the mouth of a victim for the purposes of satisfying sexual appetite would be an act of carnal intercourse against the order of nature.”

Thus, even sexual stimulation gained by “intercourse between the thighs” is against the order of nature (p. 73). In other words, forced oral or anal sex (viz. sexual assault) is not a grave crime insofar as we would seek to define it in terms of physically harming the bodily and mental integrity or personhood of the victim; it is a crime because even if it is consensual, it is against the order of nature.

The judgement, however, does concede that the cases refer “to non-consensual, coercive situations…and the keenness of the court in bringing about justice cannot be discounted while analysing the manner in which the section has been interpreted.” However, this justification is difficult to fathom when the court holds that (p. 77):

“Section 377 IPC does not criminalize a particular people or identity or orientation. It merely identifies certain acts which, if committed could constitute an offence. Such a prohibition regulates sexual conduct regardless of gender identity and orientation.”

In an absence of cases where consent can be established, the Court functions merely on the presumption that there is a form of sexual intercourse that is normal, and not against the “order of nature”, and sexual activity that contravenes this normalcy is, by law, illegal and punishable. In other words, as long as people who identify as homosexuals do not engage in sex, they cannot be criminalized – the absence of proof (of consensual same-sex), constitutes, for the judgement, the proof of its absence. The absurdity of “the order of nature” is foundation stone of the patriarchal moral-political economy. One of the processes through which the moral-political economy sustains unequal relations between and within genders, is by its definition of the dominant (hegemonic) form of masculinity. Furthermore, as Michel Foucault argues in The History of Sexuality, this “new persecution of peripheral sexualities entailed an incorporation of perversions and a new specification of individuals…sodomy was a category of forbidden acts; their perpetrator was nothing more than the juridical subject of them” (1978: pp. 42-43, tr. Robert Hurley, New York: Pantheon Books).

IV

There is, however, some truth to the arguments made by the counsel – who represented the Hindu, Christian and Muslim organisations, and the Delhi Child Rights Commission  – opposing the Delhi High Court verdict, saying that Section 377 is gender neutral, and “covers voluntary acts of carnal intercourse against the order of nature irrespective of the gender of the persons committing the act”  (p. 22). Further:

“…[and that in] carnal intercourse between man and man, man and woman, and woman and woman…[there is] no constitutional right that vests in a person to indulge in an activity which has the propensity to cause harm and any act which has the capacity to cause harm to others cannot be validated.”

Thus, going by the above logic, Section 377 does not criminalize only homosexuals – it criminalizes any individual who has it in them to indulge in desire, and pleasure outside of heteronormative norms – thus, rendering people as a “new specification of individuals”, as Foucault put it. It rests on a fallacious concern for human dignity, safety and morality; but is silent on the fact that a great deal of violence is perpetrated on women when they are raped, in many cases, by their own husbands, in accordance “to the order of nature” – which, ironically, still isn’t a crime in the law books (more on that later). Perhaps, then, it is important for those in the gender rights movement to articulate our unregulated right to fuck – not just the “miniscule population” of gays, lesbians, and transgender people, but even straight, heterosexuals, and – who knows, maybe even “thigh-fetishists”?

The arguments concerning “against the order of nature”, thus, firmly seek to entrench patriarchal structures. Referring back to the notion of the moral-political economy, it is not sufficient for it to merely define the dominant category, or signifier, of the masculine; there is a concerted need to define the intimacy of subjects so as constitute the masculine in a sexualised process. The “order of nature” – and this conclusion, I concede, comes rather late – is this the order of the patriarchal moral-political economy.

V

In the next post, I shall continue my criticisms of the Supreme Court judgement on Section 377 of the IPC, by situating them in the broad context of gender identities, the gender rights movement, and present a critique of the Parliament . Therein, I will attempt to unravel the contradictions of the Supreme Court’s judgement, by arguing that reinstating Section 377 points out the fallacies of the Indian State’s commitment to preserving the rights of marginal groups – both, women, and the LGBT community, have been at the receiving end of the Indian State’s apathy; and by suggesting that the very same state legislate on Section 377, the Supreme Court’s verdict is a historical blunder, and fails its own legacy. Moreover, the clarity I argued for in the case against “against the order of nature”, is pertinent in the follow up post, where I shall situate my argument, alongside the critiques of the state, and structures of legality, in what could be called a “politics of desire”.

Afterthoughts on the Patriarchal Moral-political Economy

There are two disparate, yet connected (made so quite forcefully), events that have captured the public imagination over the last couple of days. The first, of course, has been referred to as the “Saheb stalking” case in Gujarat, wherein the Modi government put a woman, a landscape architect, under illegal surveillance for months. This, allegedly, was at the behest of the girl’s father, who personally approached Modi for her “protection”.

Second, and the more shocking, is the case of Tarun Tejpal sexually assaulting a female junior colleague and fellow journalist at the Tehelka Think2013. Tejpal is the co-founder of Tehelka magazine, which is critically acclaimed for its incisive, critical investigative journalism, something it has pioneered in India – and a bulk of Tehelka’s journalism has been a hard-hitting coverage of the pervasive violence against women in India. This incident, thus, is a trial-by-fire of sorts for Tehelka: one where their ethics, their values are put on the dock. And one, going by the recent turn of events, that looks on extremely shaky grounds.

I, like the majority of sane voices, some of them echoed on Times Now’s News Hour debate last night, think the blame squarely lies on Tejpal, and Tejpal alone (something to which he admits). However, there are certain points that compound the picture. But, in Tejpal’s case, this becomes extremely problematic.

The first is Tejpal’s email to his Tehelka colleagues, primarily the managing editor, Shoma Chaudhury. In the letter, Tejpal writes that: “A bad lapse of judgement, an awful misreading of the situation have led to an unfortunate incident that rails against all we believe in and fight for.”  He further writes for a need for “atonement” but “not just in words”, a “penance that lacerates” him, and with that, he offers recuse from the editorship of Tehelka for six months. The public, naturally and rightly so, is livid. The fact that Tejpal “chooses his own punishment” is in violation of the rule of law, said the Times Now debate. Atonement, lacerations, recuses and moral guilt cannot, in way whatsoever, dilute the reprehensible nature of his actions. They are, as someone rightly put it on Twitter, sanctimonious. And needless to say, the rest of Tejpal’s letter is a glorification of his organisation. 

Now, there are many issues at stake here: the primary one being the (lack of) implementation of the Vishaka Guidelines to put a check on sexual harassment of women in workplaces. There are other pertinent points about the pervasive nature of patriarchal power and control over women in workplaces. Nivedita Menon, for instance, chronicles this pervasive “sexualisation of workplaces”:

“The workplace – from the classroom to the court to the newsroom, every single workplace in short – is utterly sexualized. It is sexualized in a masculinist and misogynistic power-laden way. The continuous invocation of the possibility of sex and of women as sexual objects is the very air of the workplace.”

This culture of violence is an inherent aspect of what I have argued is the patriarchal moral-political economy. Very briefly, the patriarchal moral-political economy denotes an insidious structure, or a network of structures, that function on patriarchal and misogynistic logic of governance. There is no one model of moral-political economy; it is a Janus-faced, hegemonic enterprise, that manufactures legitimacy for violence; and lastly, it invests its power in the repository of the masculine. By this argument, therefore, what has ensued in Tehelka conforms to the operation of a patriarchal moral-political economy.

At the same time, alongside the question of real violence perpetrated on real bodies and by real people, there is a discourse of sexual violence, and our response to it, that is equally real: if not its form, but certainly in its effects and consequences. And this discourse is something that needs to be critically examined as well. People, usually critics of Tehelka, have not spared the opportunity to drag the magazine’s (and Tejpal’s) name through the mud (“critics” is a polite term; I’d prefer the term ‘trolls’, or just idiots). Allegations about “prostitutes” in the offices of Tehelka or the insults hurled at Tejpal’s daughter, to name a few, nauseate the environment. Because let’s face it: we still are a terrible public. We want a spectacle; we want blood; we want hangings and castrations. In the aftermath of the Delhi gang rape-murder, I argued that only because the perpetrators were from a particular demographic group they were caught in record time. In this case, Tejpal represents a different monstrosity: arrogant, sanctimonious, and elite. And we want his blood. This demonization of Tejpal, thus, is a result of a petty, middle class, fettered conscience; wherein, we forget to (or choose not to) see that he, like other predatory men, is human, and must be held accountable for his crimes. For, as Nivedita Menon writes: “Men in the workplace need to know this now, and with certainty, – their sexualized behaviour is not charming or harmless, but a criminal offence.”

Having said that, I do not think that Tejpal – despite his efforts, his “blood, toil, tears and sweat” – is reducible to Tehelka and nor the magazine to him; Tehelka’s journalism is the credit of dozens of hard-working journalists – men and women – who certainly, to a degree, embody the glorification Tejpal makes of the magazine. And it’s precisely their faith, and the faith of its readers, that is at stake here – if not entirely betrayed. Perhaps, Tejpal’s glorification of Tehelka is actually a desperate plea for the law of function impartially and without biases; of the magazine upholding the principles upon which it was founded, by seeing that Tejpal faces the full force of the law – something, which the people crititcised by Tehelka, have escaped. Or perhaps, it is sheer arrogance, an indefensible and utterly shameful justification of patriarchal power in the sexualised workplace. We cannot know for sure; and must, unlike blood-thirsty trolls on social media, wait for our courts and legal machinery decide the same (of course, the legal machinery is something that itself is deeply embedded in the patriarchal moral-political economy).

There is, as I mentioned in the beginning, an uncanny similarity in the overarching narrative of the Tehelka case, and the Saheb stalking case. Both cases are models of patriarchal moral-political economies: they rest on a gross abuse of power (a patriarchal power-space, it must be remembered), and both cases are (apparently) shying away from legal intervention. Furthermore, there is the regressive assumption that for women to be “protected” (ironically, by and against patriarchal forms of violence), they must submit to patriarchal controls, and forfeit any agency they have. In the Saheb case, the woman’s agency is completely overtaken and appropriated by her father and the masculine state: the father wrote to the National Commission of Women makes no mention of the alleged “threats” his daughter needs protection from; and Arun Jaitley, in a spectacularly silly move, said that “security and protection are not snooping”.

Similarly, by trying to cover up Tejpal’s alleged sexual harassment, Shoma Chaudhury is doing more harm than good; to Tehelka, and to the larger question about women’s movement, and its critiques of patriarchy. Regrettably, Chaudhury, who once appeared on a debate in The Outsider, where she spoke for the motion that ‘India is no country for women’, and has herself written critical pieces on women’s rights, and violence against women (her coverage of the Arushi Case is most prominent), comes awfully close to what I have argued is the Janus-faced nature of moral-political economies (something we can describe as Jaitley’s comments as). The burden, unfortunately, has befallen on her. As a woman, and especially under these circumstances, I can imagine that things indeed must be very, very hard for her. But this is a chance for her to subvert and challenge the patriarchal moral-political economy – one so pervasive in her own organisation.

Yes, Tehelka and other organisations (media and otherwise) need to implement Vishakha Guidelines; and, more importantly, the criminal proceedings against Tejpal (and the Modi government) must and should proceed, but not in a logic of protectionism to the women in question. That further robs them of agency, and reasserts the perverted nature of patriarchies. They – and the Tehelka journalist more so – need to act on their own free will, free of compulsions, compromises, and coercion [Read Amba Salekar's argument on the same; however, it should also be noted that insofar are we are talking about agency and implementation of law, there are many constraints on the former by the latter: see Postscript]. 

At the same time, it is extremely imperative that the responsible parties do not go away unpunished. The legal complications in both cases, thanks to my own limitations, are lost on me [See Postscript]. But as sociologist Dipankar Gupta puts it, there is a need to differentiate between the moral and the ethical; the former, he argues, is dangerous because it is personal, ambiguous and thus, dangerous – which is how both Tejpal’s and the Modi government’s actions can be defined as. Hence, he argues for: public ethics replacing private morality; transparency and accountability in public behaviour; and trust in institutions replacing trust in people. However complex and contradictory this may seem, and in spite of my own criticisms of it, the need for such intervention is imperative.

Patriarchy doesn’t make monsters out of men and women; it exists because we see it as normal, because we fail to see the ways in which it harms human beings. This failure – to stand up to, and against, patriarchy; to rubbish atonement, and demand impartial justice; to see violence for what it is – is the fatal flaw. We cannot fall back on our “inordinate capacity to forgive sinners”, “who turn a new leaf”. It is that flaw that we must perpetually struggle against. And I, for one, do hope that Shoma Chaudhury senses this as well. For, it’s not just Tehelka’s credibility, the faith of its readers, or even the question of justice for the journalist, that is at stake here; it is a larger danger of a feminist question failing itself, and its politics. 

Postscript: There’s two additional points I would like to add on. First concerns the question of agency. According to the Vishakha Guidelines, if sexual harassment does occur and:

“Where such conduct amounts to a specific offence under the Indian Penal Code or under any other law, the employer shall initiate appropriate action in accordance with law by making a complaint with the appropriate authority.”

The prerogative, therefore, was on Chaudhury to register an FIR against Tejpal, and not address the grievances of her colleague. The notion of agency – of the woman filing the complaint on her own, as many, including I, have argued – is compounded. Thus, when we do talk about the law functioning impartially, there are already, by that virtue, constraints on the operation of that agency.

Secondly, since the publication of this post, many ugly details have come out about the nature of the crime, and more shockingly so about Tehelka’s consistent failures of addressing the crime in question; more so, several journalists and editors have also resigned from their respective posts in the magazine. As of now, 25^th of November, 2013, the Tehelka journalist in question has given her resignation letter. She has also alleged that Tejpal’s family members have intimidated her. She writes that despite Tehelka “defending the rights of women… [and speaking] harshly against the culture of victim blaming, tactical emotional intimidation and character assassination of those who dare to speak out against sexual violence”, and now that she is the victim to such a crime, she is:

“…shattered to find the Editor-in-Chief of Tehelka [Tejpal], and you – in your capacity as Managing Editor – resorting to precisely these tactics of intimidation, character assassination and slander.”

It would, therefore, appear that whatever cautious arguments I have made above concerning Tehelka, thanks to this gross lack of concern and victimisation of the journalist, now stand discredited. For, as the journalist writes, it is not just Tejpal who has failed her as an employer, “but Tehelka that has failed women, employees, journalists and feminists collectively.” I am left with a bitter, nauseating aftertaste. This is the end of Tehelka as we’ve know it. I might still have great respect for their coverage of certain issues in the past, but clearly, I do not anticipate a bright future for it. And for that that, shame on you, Shoma Chaudhury; and shame on you, Tarun Tejpal. 

Acknowledgements: To Shubhra, for the discussions that never (and, hopefully, should never) end. And to Uday Chandra, for bringing about the complexities of agency in this context, and even otherwise.