Bengal’s Shocking Paradox: Most Women MLAs, Least Women Safety

Why should this state with the highest number of women in MLAs also witness ghastly atrocities against women? This deplorable issue has raised its ugly head once again after the gang rape of a woman at a law college in Kolkata, after one of the prime suspects, Monojit Mishra, was a top leader of the student wing of the ruling party.

The bitter irony is not easy to ignore. West Bengal, under the Trinamool Congress (TMC) regime headed by Mamata Banerjee, India’s deadliest female Chief Minister, has long been a party to promoting women’s political representation. The party has nominated the largest number of women candidates and boasts the largest number of women MLAs in the state legislature. Yet, the streets of Kolkata and towns of Bengal witness an alarming trend of violence against women that appears to mock such political achievements.

The Numbers Game: The Difference Between Bengal’s Political Progress vs. Real Life

In the 2021 West Bengal Assembly election, the TMC was also commended for having a very inclusive list of people on their candidate list, particularly women. The party fielded 50 women candidates, a massive commitment to gender equality that few political parties in India can match. This was not tokenism, some of them won and are now elected MLAs, playing active roles in shaping policies that affect millions of Bengali women.

But this political power is far removed from the daily lives of ordinary women in the state. The recent instance of gang rape by Monojit Mishra has revealed how deep-seated this contradiction is. Monojit Mishra, 31, was a former student and is now the general secretary of the South Kolkata district of the Trinamool Congress Chhatra Parishad (TMCP), the same organization which works for a party which has a belief in the rights of women.

Things get worse when we look at the way college officials are accused of overlooking Monojit Mishra’s past criminal record when hiring him on contract. It shows a huge problem where political favoritism may have trumped public safety; a trend which has unfortunately become the norm in Bengal politics.

No Lessons Learnt From The Past: The RG Kar Medical College Shadow

The case of Monojit Mishra is not a standalone case. It had taken place just ten months after a ghastly rape and murder that shocked the country to its core. On 9.8.2024, a 31-year-old female postgraduate trainee doctor in R. G. Kar Medical College and Hospital in Kolkata was raped and killed within a college campus building. That case exposes not only individual crime but also institutionalized problems, with charges of evidence tampering and a bid to hush up the crime relating to the highest rungs of state administration.

The RG Kar case was a turning point of particular significance, and it resulted in protests all over the country and posed difficult questions about the safety of women in West Bengal. That another violent crime was perpetrated so soon after, involving an individual affiliated with the student wing of the ruling party, suggests that the RG Kar case lessons were not learned or wilfully disregarded.

What is so alarming about the trend is how the institutions reacted. Questions are being raised as to why only “initials” of the three individuals accused of raping a law college student in Kolkata were mentioned in the FIR and not their complete names. Such inconsistencies in the procedure raise questions about whether political motives were involved in the manner in which the case was initially dealt with.

Historical Resonances: Bengal’s Turbulent History with Women’s Safety

This present crisis has origins that run long way back in history. Bengal has a long history of women’s empowerment going back to colonial history. The very same state that gave rise to great women’s right activists like Begum Rokeya and experienced progressive reforms at the hands of the Brahmo Samaj also permitted some of the most retrograde practices like Sati to persist longer than anywhere else.

During the 1970s and 1980s, Bengal was progressive on women’s rights under the Left Front administration. The state government initiated numerous schemes for women’s education and empowerment. But crimes against women continued to occur even then, and in many cases, they went unreported or were not dealt with by the police in a professional manner, as the police were more concerned with maintaining political stability than delivering justice.

The transfer of power to TMC in 2011 held the promise of renewal. Mamata Banerjee, the new chief minister, was regarded as proof of women’s empowerment in Bengal politics. Her government initiated numerous schemes for women, added more women into the police force, and constantly talked of ensuring women’s safety as a priority. But the gap between rhetoric and reality remained extremely wide.

The Painful Political Protection Paradox

Instances such as those of Monojit Mishra indicate an alarming trend of political links being enough to acquit would-be criminals. Images of Monojit Mishra with prominent Trinamool Congress leaders are going viral on social media, depicting how individuals with grave criminal backgrounds are able to remain close to political leaders.

This is not an isolated incident in Bengal, but it is even more so in a state where the ruling party advocates for empowering women. When the members of the party that advocates for women’s rights are accused of having offended against women, it raises a question of trust that transcends individual cases.

Institutional response aggravates the issue. That Kolkata Police has set up a five-member Special Investigation Team (SIT), headed by an Assistant Commissioner rank officer, to investigate the case, after growing public outrage at the incident implies action is only taken after public outrage becomes too much to bear, not as a matter of course commitment to justice.

The Failure of Symbolic Representation

The Bengal example indicates a root issue in the way we conceptualize women’s empowerment. The fact that there are women as political leaders such as Chief Minister, MLAs, or police personnel is not necessarily an indication that there are safe women in society. Symbolic representation is crucial but cannot substitute for the necessity of actual attitudes, institutions, and accountability mechanisms to change.

This lacuna is extremely evident in Bengal since the state’s political discourse has been mostly about women as leaders. Mamata Banerjee’s persona as a champion of justice, and the track record of her party in fielding women candidates, created expectations that women’s safety would be the natural consequence. Reality was far more complicated.

The problem is in part about the way political representation works. Women MLAs, irrespective of party, work in a system where party loyalty takes precedence over women’s support. When crimes against women involve members of the ruling party, such women representatives are caught between women’s support and party loyalty.

Institutional Capture and Its Consequences

The Monojit Mishra case illustrates how powerful groups make women feel unsafe, even when women are in official positions. Schools, police, and even women’s organizations behave more like political parties than as autonomous organizations that act to defend individuals’ rights.

This issue occurs in various forms. Schools employ individuals with criminal backgrounds on the basis of political recommendations rather than ability and morals. Police investigations are less about maintaining their image than about finding facts. Even women’s organizations, who ought to be advocating for the victims, have their voices drown in politics.

The result is a system where crimes against women are seen as more political than human rights issues. The victims are used in bigger political games, and their pain is secondary to winning elections and how the party looks.

The Media’s Role in Keeping the Paradox Going

Bengal’s media culture also contributed to this paradox. Media channels and dailies tend to weigh in at length on the state’s achievement in women’s political empowerment, but they hardly connect this tale to the consistent problem of crimes against women.

Selective reporting produces an unbalanced public discourse in which political success is celebrated, with major issues as isolated incidents. This keeps the public in the dark about the difference between what the politicians are saying and what is occurring.

When such incidents such as RG Kar or the recent rape in a law college gain attention, they are seen as unusual incidents and not as pointers to broader problems in institutions. That is how the ruling establishment sees it but not necessarily how they handle the real problems that lead to such crimes being perpetrated.

Economic dimensions of the crisis

Bengal’s women safety issue also has serious economic consequences that go unnoticed. Even with a higher number of women politicians, the state has not been able to provide economic opportunities to women, especially in cities like Kolkata.

Young women college students, such as the victim of the recent law school violence, are a critical segment for the growth of Bengal. They are being victimized by violence in an environment that is supposed to be safe for learning and individual development.

This economic vulnerability cuts across political power in complex ways. Women who are from rich backgrounds with political connections have buffers that the rest lack. On the other hand, regular women, students, workers, and the daily wage earners, lose out because a system does not protect them, even when it is headed by women leaders.

The International Embarrassment

Bengal also has a women’s safety and political representation problem that affects people on a global scale. The state, which was once proud to have one of India’s most famous female politicians in power, now needs to explain its ongoing failure to ensure women’s safety.

International news of events like RG Kar has tarnished Bengal’s image as a progressive state. It hits tourism, investment, and the state’s capacity to attract talent, especially women professionals who may hesitate to migrate to Kolkata.

It is ironic that Bengal’s success in putting women into politics should be a cause of celebration all over the world. Instead, these successes are dwarfed by news of rape and murder that portray the state as an unsafe destination for women.

The Questions That Need Answers

While Bengal is dealing with another ghastly crime against women, some tough questions present themselves. How is it possible for a state with the largest contingent of women MLAs to continue to let down its women so badly? What is it about women being represented politically if that does not equate to their safety? Can solidarity with women ever replace real change within the system?

Most importantly, how are the leaders of Bengal going to realize that their legacy will not be measured by how many women they placed in power positions, but by whether or not common women feel secure on the streets of their state?

The Monojit Mishra case, on the heels of RG Kar, indicates that Bengal is at a crossroads. The state may continue to attempt to control headlines and contain stories, or it may embark on the harder path of institutional and cultural change.

For the women of Bengal, both in government sessions and in college seminars, the choices of women leaders will decide whether political representation yields to actual power or continues to be a promise broken with somber contradictions.

How will Bengal bridge the yawning gap between its political achievements and ethical errors? The response to this query will have implications for the security of women in Bengal but also for the integrity of women’s empowerment movements throughout India.