Society’s struggle to see women as potential perpetrators and men as credible victims is undermining the legal system. True equity demands laws and a culture that protect the innocent and believe the harmed, no matter who they are.
Falak Aslam
In mid-2024, the High Court of Jammu & Kashmir and Ladakh quashed a rape FIR in the case of Rajinder Kumar v. State of J&K, after the court found that the accused and complainant had maintained a consensual relationship for seven years, and that the complaint arose only when he refused to marry. The court observed there was “no coercion, duress or deception”, and concluded that “no offence is made out”. This raises a critical question: how do we protect those who are genuinely harmed, without letting the law be weaponised against the innocent?
Since the 2012 Delhi gang rape, India’s rape laws have become stricter, and reporting has been encouraged. The intention was right: to break the culture of silence and structural impunity. However, the increasing number of false complaints, delayed FIRs, and cases lacking evidence suggests that the very protections intended to uphold justice are being misused. NCRB 2016 data shows 6745 cases were false, 2958 errors of fact, and 8308 true but lacking evidence.
This problem isn’t confined to sexual-offence laws. Section 498A, meant to shield married women from cruelty, has long carried a reputation for being used in moments of marital bitterness or leverage. The Supreme Court cautioned as early as Sushil Kumar Sharma v. Union of India (2005) that unchecked misuse could amount to “legal terrorism.” And despite 498A being recast under the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita as Sections 85 and 86, the gender biases persist. What emerges is a troubling pattern: When legal protections are gender-specific and irreversible, they can sometimes become tools not for justice, but for vengeance, leverage, or social coercion.
The legal safeguards for women, though crucial, are sometimes weaponised for personal or strategic gain. Some complaints arise not from genuine abuse but from motives like extracting money, forcing divorce, exerting control, or securing advantage in cases of alleged adultery. In fraudulent marriages, concealed facts such as education or mental health history can later be used to trap the man through these provisions. Misuse may also stem from revenge, attention-seeking, or plain miscommunication.
False or exaggerated complaints can devastate lives as it leads to job loss, social stigma, family breakdowns, and trauma. The case of Vishnu Tiwari, who spent 20 years in prison on a false rape charge before being acquitted, is a stark reminder of the human cost of wrongful allegations. Such cases also undermine the credibility of genuine victims. If courts and public opinion begin to suspect every complaint, the essential purpose of these laws, protecting the vulnerable, is undermined.
The stakes are high as families are also dragged into legal battles, as the Supreme Court noted in Kailash Chandra Agrawal vs. State of UP, warning against “roping in all relatives of the in-laws”. Even after an acquittal, the stigma often lingers. Once a complaint is filed, the accused and their family can be jailed without immediate bail, erasing the possibility of reconciliation and sometimes pushing individuals toward suicide. NCRB data shows male suicides rising sharply between 2010 and 2020, from 87,180 to 1,08,532, with every fifth suicide linked to family problems.
The media further complicates matters. In a culture of fleeting attention spans, people often judge instantly based on online narratives, prioritising views over truth. This “quick culture” enables sensationalism, selective reporting, and misuse by those driven by ego, revenge, or attention.
While the #MeToo movement brought attention to women’s experiences of abuse, society still struggles to acknowledge male suffering. While most victims are women, men’s suffering is often dismissed, and calls for reform are unfairly branded as anti-women. UNICEF (2023) reports that 1 in 5 girls and 1 in 7 boys experience sexual violence, and global data (1990–2023) shows 18.9% of females and 14.8% of males affected, with South Asia highest for girls (26.8%) and sub-Saharan Africa for boys (18.6%). Crime affects anyone; assuming only women are victims reflects a sexist bias. Yet, there is no broad movement for men that mirrors the advocacy achieved through feminism. Efforts like #MenToo and the Save Indian Family Foundation have tried to raise awareness about male victimisation but remain marginalised.
Patriarchy plays a role here. While it oppresses women through rigid gender roles, it also traps men in a culture of silence, teaching them that expressing pain or seeking help is unmanly. Men hesitate to speak out, fearing ridicule or disbelief. Male victims are often dismissed, mocked, or legally powerless, as the system provides them little space to seek justice. This silence is not because men do not suffer, but because society struggles to accept women as potential perpetrators.
Coming forward after an assault is an act of immense vulnerability for any woman. But the damage suffered by those falsely accused can be equally devastating. Honesty knows no gender; both women and men can manipulate situations to their advantage, and false accusations, compounded by slow trials and social stigma, can themselves be considered a form of sexual misconduct, as Dr Chloe Carmichael notes.
The case of Rekha Devi, sentenced to seven and a half years by a special SC/ST court in Lucknow for filing a false rape complaint, underscores the rare accountability for misuse of law. While frameworks like BNS, BSA, and BNSS exist, authorities often hesitate to act against false charges, fearing it may discourage genuine victims. Yet protecting women should not come at the cost of innocent men.
Despite POCSO’s gender neutrality, IPC still defines rape solely as a man’s crime against a woman, disregarding calls for gender-neutral reform. Laws exist to ensure fairness, not to satisfy grudges or agendas, yet gender-specific protections often overlook male suffering. What is needed are speedy, evidence-based trials, legislative reforms for gender neutral laws, confidentiality for all victims, and equal safeguards, so that justice does not depend on gender. What is needed is not a counter to feminism but a complementary movement that uplifts men without diminishing women, rooted in shared empathy and equality.
As John Rawls might ask: if you designed laws behind a “veil of ignorance,” unaware of your gender, status, or future as accuser or accused, what rules would you create to protect the innocent? My question is simple but unsettling: can laws that are gender-specific, where necessary, and gender-neutral where possible, bridge the distrust between men fearing false accusations and women fearing under-protection? Can they protect the innocent while holding the guilty accountable? After all, the law should serve justice, not sides.
The writer is a Master’s student in the Department of Political Science, University of Kashmir
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