No country for women 

Trigger warning: This article includes descriptions of gruesome violence, including rape and murder. Reader discretion is advised

Students join other protesters in a midnight rally protesting against the murder of a 31 year old post-graduate trainee demanding proper investigation in Kolkata, India, Wednesday, Aug. 14, 2024. (AP)

In the quiet early hours of 9 August in Kolkata, a city that prides itself on culture and intellectualism, the body of Dr Moumita Debnath, a 31-year-old trainee doctor was found inside the RG Kar Medical College and Hospital.  

Moumita, a young doctor with a promising future, was brutally raped and murdered in an act of senseless violence.

The horrendous crime is a stark reminder that for women, there is no safe haven, not even in Kolkata, known as the ‘City of Joy’.

Moumita’s life was one of dedication and service. She had chosen a path that demanded empathy, patience, and resilience. Her profession as a doctor meant that she had seen the best and worst of humanity, but nothing could have prepared her for the cruelty that she faced in the last hours of her life.

As the news broke speculations began to swirl. Was it a premeditated attack? A crime of passion? Or just another instance of random violence that women across the world have become all too familiar with? The details, while horrifying, are almost secondary to the chilling reality that this could have been any woman.

What truly painted the horror of that night was the grim details that emerged from her autopsy report.

The four-page report reveals the unimaginable brutality inflicted upon her, describing how she was not only raped but also subjected to gruesome physical torture before being suffocated to death.

The report detailed that she was strangled, her thyroid cartilage shattered, and her body bore multiple injuries, including severe bruises on her lips, fingers, and abdomen. Her head had been violently slammed against a wall or floor, and her mouth and nose were forcefully covered to silence her cries for help.

The young doctor fought desperately for her life, evident from the cuts on her hands and face, but she was overpowered and subjected to unspeakable violence.

Shards of glass from her broken spectacles were found lodged in her eyes. The report confirmed that she sustained these injuries while still alive, with clear evidence of sexual assault. The bleeding from her mouth, eyes, and private areas painted a chilling picture of the ordeal she faced before her life ended.

This level of brutality was not just about overpowering a woman, it was about sending a message. A message of domination, of control, of utter disregard for the sanctity of life.

It was as if her attackers wanted to erase her existence, to make sure that her voice, her potential, would never be heard again. In those final moments, Dr Moumita was stripped of everything – her dreams, her dignity, her life.

In a country that worships goddesses and celebrates the power of women in mythology, and religion, the reality on the ground is starkly different. The scenario is much or less the same for most South Asian countries, including Bangladesh, where women empowerment remains one of the governments’ key priorities.

From the moment a girl is born, she is taught to be cautious, to be aware, to be afraid. She is told not to stay out late, not to wear certain clothes, not to trust easily. But the truth is, no amount of precaution can protect women from the pervasive violence that lurks in every corner of society.

Moumita’s rape and murder is not an isolated incident. It is part of a grim tapestry of violence against women that stretches across cities, villages, and countries.

Each act of brutality, whether it be rape, assault, or murder, sends shockwaves through the community, but then, inevitably, the world moves on. The names change, the locations differ, but the pattern remains the same. The violence is relentless, and the fear is omnipresent.

What makes this even more tragic is the normalisation of violence against women. It is often dismissed as a part of life, something to be endured rather than eradicated.

Theories about the incident may surface, blaming everything from mental illness to socio-economic pressures, but these do little to address the root cause – a deep-seated misogyny that devalues women’s lives.

In the wake of this tragedy, women took to the streets in Kolkata last night, participating in the “Reclaim the Night” movement.

This demonstration was not just a protest but a bold declaration that women should be able to walk the streets without fear, without any fear of being attacked. They gathered in large numbers, marching through the city that had failed one of their own, demanding safety and justice.

The “Reclaim the Night” movement has its roots in Leeds, England, in 1977, where women marched to protest against the violence and sexual assaults they were facing, particularly at night.

The movement was a response to the suggestion that women should stay indoors after dark to avoid being attacked. But the women of Leeds rejected this notion, declaring that the night belonged to them as much as it did to anyone else.

The movement quickly spread across the UK and beyond, becoming a symbol of resistance against the violence and oppression that women face in their everyday lives.

The significance of the Reclaim the Night movement lies in its defiance. It challenges the deeply ingrained societal belief that women are responsible for preventing their own assault by limiting their freedoms. Instead, it asserts that the burden should be on society to ensure that women can live without fear.

By marching through the streets at night, women reclaim not just the physical space, but also the narrative that their safety is negotiable.

In almost all parts of the world, a woman’s body is often seen as a battleground. Whether it’s through the lens of honour, control, or power, violence against women is a way to assert dominance, to silence, to punish. The violence is not just physical; it is psychological, emotional, and systemic. It permeates every aspect of a woman’s life, from the public sphere to the private.

As we mourn the loss of Dr Moumita Debnath, we must also confront the uncomfortable truth that our societies are complicit in this violence. Every time we stay silent, we allow these stories to fade into the background, we contribute to a culture that deems women as expendable.

The pain of losing Debnath is not just her family’s burden to bear; it is a collective grief. It is a reminder that our fight for a world where women can live without fear is far from over.

The streets of Kolkata, once alive with the sounds of life and laughter, now echo with the silence of a lost future. A future that was stolen, not just from Dr Moumita, but from all of us who believe in a world where women are safe, respected, and valued.

In the end, we must ask ourselves, what kind of society do we want to live in? A society where women are forced to navigate a landscape of fear? Or one where they can walk freely, without the constant threat of violence?

Dr Moumita Debnath’s story should not end with her death. It should ignite a fire in all of us to demand change, to speak out against the violence that claims the lives of too many women.

For in her story, and the stories of countless others lies a truth we cannot afford to ignore – there is no country for women. But there can be if we dare to make it so.