When warmongers and ‘patriots’ silence India’s feminist voices, everyone suffers

When India and Pakistan drifted worryingly close to out-and-out confrontation in February, there was a moment when the threat of war seemed very real. Calls for revenge overwhelmed social media and television news channels, countered by voices using the hashtag #SayNoToWar.

Lost in all the flag-waving and fears, however, was the voice of a group that is almost always overlooked when war, national security and militarism are debated: women.

The feminist perspective on war tends to be conspicuous by its absence in mainstream discussion, but this was a crucial moment to reflect on how women are disproportionately affected by armed conflict. A moment to consider how military action would exacerbates the grim conditions of women living in poverty in conflict areas; how they become more susceptible to sexual violence; and how they lose access to education and health services, homes and livelihoods.

Communities do not magically heal once the bullets and bombs fall quiet: they are damaged for generations.

When calling out sexual harassment, India’s feminist voice has just about been broadcast by mainstream media outlets. But when it comes to Pakistan, Indian nationalism takes on a life of its own, and critical voices are shushed.

Any critique of the military’s strike was labelled as unpatriotic – this situation, it seemed, was the exception. Ahead of elections this spring, strongman Narendra Modi’s government seized the moment, creating a hyper-nationalist climate that has gagged otherwise mainstream feminist voices. In one disturbing incident, the widow of a man killed in the suicide bombing which sparked the tensions was bullied for her anti-war stance – even though she clarified she supported “surgical strikes”, just not full scale war. Another woman received rape and death threats for a Facebook post criticising the Modi government and the devaluing of Kashmiri lives.

In the scramble to applaud the Indian military for bringing Pakistani terrorists to “justice”, Kashmiri women – on whose land, and on whose bodies these wars will be fought – are utterly forgotten. There are estimated to be half a million soldiers in Kashmir, the most densely militarised zone in the world. Kashmiri women’s lives have been defined by war – it brings insecurity, terror and loss.

Numerous rights organisations have accused the military, and other security forces of using sexual violence and rape as a tactic of war in Kashmir. There are reports of the torture and sexual abuse of young girls. These violations can only escalate during all-out war, a thought too horrific to imagine.

Even today, mass rapes of Kashmiri women by the Indian military are ignored. Twenty-eight years ago, members of the Indian army are alleged to have raped about 30 women in the towns of Kunan and Poshpora, during a large-scale military operation. The army denies the allegations, and a suit for compensation to the victims idles in the Indian Supreme Court.

Feminist ideas about how to address the effects of war on women are unlikely to come from Indian centres of power, which remain fiercely patriarchal. Women are dramatically underrepresented in the Indian military. It was only early this year that the Jammu and Kashmir government approved raising two women’s battalions in the state’s police.

Sidelining feminist ideas also means we lose key advocates against the use of sexual violence as a weapon of war against men. Reports from Kashmir claim that men – and young boys – have been tortured and raped to punish protestors, crush dissent and create an environment of crippling fear. This has received almost no attention in the Indian press, let alone in the corridors of power.

Lack of data on sexual violence against men during conflict is a major problem: the hyper-masculine culture enveloping militarism, along with toxic masculinity more generally, shames male victims into silence. Further shrouding the full extent of the armed forces’ actions is the impunity with which they operate in Kashmir.

The Armed Forces (Special Powers) Act – a colonial vestige ironically used by the British to restrain the Indian freedom struggle – provides extraordinary powers to the armed forces, including immunity from prosecution. This does not extend to sexual violence, but prosecution isn’t possible without a prior sanction from the central government, adding another hurdle on the long road to justice.

Before Indians vote in the upcoming elections, we need to think of whose lives are being protected – and at whose expense. We can be proud of the sacrifice and bravery of our troops while questioning the legality and morality of its actions, and condemning their complicity in violence against women.

A “with us or against us” attitude silences critical voices, benefiting only the abusers. No one wants to be accused of hating their country, but the real fear of a mob/vigilante reaction relegates feminist discourse to echo chambers and private WhatsApp groups. As the long overdue acceptance of mainstream feminist ideas about sexual harassment, and LGBT+ rights have positively impacted Indians (though considerable work remains), a mainstream feminist perspective is vital to a more nuanced understanding of armed conflict and its real, human costs.