Paromita Das
New Delhi, 14th October: West Bengal is reeling again—not merely from another horrifying crime, but from the shock that comes when those in power choose to blame the victim, rather than the perpetrators. The recent gang rape of a 23-year-old MBBS student in Durgapur—coupled with discrepancies in the Chief Minister’s statements, widespread fear expressed by the victim’s family, and echoes of the RG Kar Medical College rape-murder—paints a deeply troubling picture of leadership, gender, and politics in this state.
Echoes of RG Kar: Horrors That Should Have Taught Us Something
Last year’s RG Kar case made headlines for all the wrong reasons. A young duty doctor was raped and murdered inside Kolkata’s RG Kar Medical College & Hospital, a space that was supposed to protect life, health, dignity. The outrage was intense. The demand for justice fierce. And yet, despite widespread attention and protests, many Bengalis wonder whether the lessons were ever internalized. Because now, here we are, in Durgapur—another medical institution, another young student, another night filled with terror instead of security.
The RG Kar verdict found Sanjay Roy guilty of rape-murder, and he was sentenced to life imprisonment. But the pain, the fear, the questions about safety for women—especially women in institutions—remain as raw as ever. What was supposed to be a turning point now feels like a warning that has gone unheeded.
Durgapur Case: Contradictions, Fear, and a Fractured Narrative
In Durgapur, conflicting accounts already muddy the waters. According to the victim’s father, the crime occurred around 8:30 pm, yet Chief Minister Mamata Banerjee has publicly stated it happened at 12:30 am. Such discrepancies matter wildly—not just for the sake of timelines, but because they affect public perception and trust in the state’s ability to protect.
Meanwhile, the victim’s family has expressed deep anxiety about remaining in West Bengal. They fear for her safety in hospital; they do not want her in danger a second time. The father has urged for a transfer to Odisha so she can live more peacefully, closer to home. These fears are not abstract—they are a response to perceived threats, intimidation, silence, and the possibility of political interference. When the state seems less a refuge and more a source of danger, families are forced to take extraordinary measures just to feel safe.
A Leader’s Words: Empathy or Evasion?
Mamata Banerjee’s response has drawn heavy criticism. Phrases like “How did she come out at 12.30 at night?” or “Girls should not be allowed to go out at night” shift agency: from those who commit violence to those who are victimized. A Chief Minister—especially one who is a woman—has the potential to be a powerful voice of protection, of empathy, of justice. Yet here, that role feels inverted. Instead of standing firmly with the victim and acknowledging systemic failure, Banerjee’s words come across as defensive, dismissive, even excusing to some extent.
When laws exist, yet leaders question the victim’s choices or lifestyle instead of reinforcing that the state must protect, a dangerous narrative is reinforced. That women must change behaviour rather than abusers being held accountable. That victims are partially responsible. This flips morality on its head.
The DNA of Violence: Trinamool, Sandeshkhali, and the Recurrent Pattern
West Bengal has seen multiple cases where alleged perpetrators are linked—directly or indirectly—with workers or leaders of the Trinamool Congress. Examples like the Sandeshkhali unrest show not just a single incident, but long-standing allegations of sexual assault, harassment, even gang rape, pointing to a culture where abuse is tolerated or even enabled.
When a party becomes intertwined with allegations of gender-based violence in multiple districts, from Sandeshkhali to Durgapur, it is not sufficient to treat each case as a tragedy in isolation. Patterns emerge. The DNA of these crimes seems to include impunity, intimidation, silence, and political distances between promises and protection.
Sympathy Is Not Enough—We Need Accountability
Empathy is the minimum requirement. Leadership demands more. In Durgapur and RG Kar, what people need from their Chief Minister is not just sympathetic words, but decisive action: ensuring institutions are safe, ensuring discrepancies are investigated—not swept under the carpet, ensuring political culture does not shield perpetrators, ensuring victims are believed not blamed, ensuring that the state sees its daughters, not a responsibility to be policed.
Counting arrests matters. But so do timelines, transparency, sincerity in statements. Contradictory claims about when something happened, or where responsibility lies, erode trust. Telling girls they should stay indoors at night is neither a solution nor comfort—it’s a betrayal of freedom and dignity.
A State’s Moral Obligation
West Bengal stands at a moral reckoning. The crime in Durgapur is not just another headline—it’s a test. A test of whether its institutions, its leaders, its society, can recognize and correct its failures. The RG Kar case should have memorialized one woman’s life and demand systemic reform. Today, the Durgapur case demands the same.
A truly accountable government does not ask victims where they were at night. It asks: Why was there no safe lighting? Why no protective patrols? Why did security lapse? Why are institutions not enforcing safety? And it answers these questions with real change—not just excuses.
If crimes against women are in the DNA of politics in West Bengal, it’s time to rewrite that DNA—to code it with protection, responsibility, empathy, and justice. Anything less dishonours not just the victims, but the very soul of leadership.
