By Shivani Parikh
In this wave of the high school and collegiate Me Too movement, Desi rapists, assaulters, and their protectors are being exposed by survivors or anonymous Instagram accounts. University alumni who did not feel safe coming forward while they were still in school are naming their abusers. This era is unique because people can petition for change, find information, and act quickly. Survivors’ supporters are quickly finding where these men are working, demanding that they are no longer employed, publicizing photographs of them, and mobilizing others to spread this information.
As for South Asian-Americans, our circles are small, cross-ethnic, and religious demographics. In New York City, some youth cross boroughs to go to school and find themselves at different SUNYs and CUNYs. College students from across the country meet one another at group dance competitions for bhangra, raas, Bollywood fusion, and traditional styles. The prevalence and growth of South Asian Greek organizations mean that chapters are connecting and providing networks for “brothers” and “sisters”. Understanding complicity and coverups has been just as important as identifying the men who have caused harm because the bigger question is who let them get away with it and move on into the workplace without them facing any consequences?
Several things have disturbed me throughout the past few weeks. Many of the anonymous accounts that have been publishing testimonies have been deactivated for various reasons: they have been hacked, they are receiving threats of doxxing, or the mental health of the person running the account has been so taxed by the sheer amount of graphic content they have had to sift through and publish that they are unable to continue to run the account. Their fear is palpable. We, as the readers and followers of the account, know that if they transfer the account to someone else, then the account creator might lose their own anonymity. These comment sections, while largely filled with young women who affirm and support the post and its submitter, are attracting defensive and angry young men who demand proof and question the character of the survivor. Even more horrifying, has been the response of some of the named rapists; rather than take responsibility for their actions and make attempts to apologize, they have dug their heels in through a narcissistic rationale along the lines of, “I am a supporter of the Me Too movement and I have a mother and sister(s). Accusations like this against me are undermining the credibility of people who have actually been sexually assaulted.” This rhetoric fails to recognize that caring about one's immediate female relatives does not preclude someone from being a rapist.
The first account that I saw (which was taken down within the same week it was created) is “Telling My Story.” The account named two popular Secondary School Admission Test (SSAT) exam prep centers in Queens as companies that are run by or have hired tutors that are pedophiles and misogynists. These organizations, which predominantly serve low-income South Asian families, position themselves as companies that can provide children a chance at competitive specialized high schools and ultimately a stable route of upward mobility. The stories in this account and in many of the account’s offshoots covered a wider range of experiences that included girls’ experiences with being molested by family members, groped by religious figures, or sexualized and demeaned in public spaces by members of their own communities.
Recently, a pair of South Asian twins from my high school were identified by an anonymous account (without the permission of the survivor, who subsequently publicly came forward to explain how elements of the published testimony were not wholly accurate and actually re-traumatized her) as rapists while they were college students. The two were de-lettered by their former fraternity and have now deleted most of their social media accounts.
It was this last revelation that forced me to finally pause and think deeply about how overwhelmed I feel by not having an answer to the question, “Where do we go from here?” Some Brown men have seen this movement as something that demonstrates a need for more empathy and self-education on what rape culture is and how they actively or passively perpetuate it. Yet the bulk of the response has been their swift backlash to considering their complicity and a desire to more fiercely cling to a propensity to replicate the same norms that for so long have insulated these rapists and sexual assaulters in friend groups, mutual connections, houses of worship, and one’s own family. They are in fraternities, on dance teams, and in positions of power and influence. As long they can troll behind their screens and continue to undermine critical conversations and the educational content that women are laboring to create and democratize, they stand against and resent feminists who are demanding that our mothers, our girls, and our sisters are believed, respected, and understood.
Yes. We need more South Asian counselors, mental health providers, and social workers. These are the people who will provide our survivors with culturally competent healing. What are we willing to do in the meantime? Online sexual harassment training is being rapidly clicked through by people who share the answers to the “quizzes” at the end so they do not have to pay attention. Title IX protections for survivors are being eroded by Secretary of Education Betsy Devos. South Asian fraternities haze appropriate Black Greek traditions, and model themselves on mainstream cultures, predominantly white fraternities that were founded over the last few centuries. They provide hunting grounds for college men who are theoretically of high character, seeking to uphold our cultures, and creating spaces for brotherhood for the future leaders of our communities.
What are we willing to fearlessly demand, beyond these fruitless calls for men to, simply out of their good consciences, start evolving? Can we commit to seek that these Greek organizations are dismantled? If that is beyond our imaginations, can we ensure that our brothers, cousins and sons avoid these organizations and their members, until the stigma alone has them naturally disappear? Can we require that consent trainings and sexual harassment education are not a single hour or single-day event, but are ongoing conversations?
In our communities, a culture that demands respect for elders makes it rarely safe (let alone culturally viable or sanctioned) to address the immigrant “uncles” in the community who are dangerous and threaten women’s bodily autonomy. The mobilization against Dr. Ferdous Khandeker MD was a unique example of how girls have told not only their own stories, but those of their mothers’ as well. These testimonies against Dr. Khandeker have been so delayed because we have not yet normalized a reaction to these revelations in which men are the recipient of our anger and righteousness for raping, assaulting, and molesting women. Often, it is our women being ashamed of being the recipients of this violence. India is well-known for blaming women in situations like these. There is more stigma and labeling for the survivors and what others will think about their family’s values and honor than the repercussions for the perpetrator, which has so many of the victims staying justifiably scared and silent.
I don’t foresee a near future where men will start to hold one another accountable - not until they see that we do not accept the organizations and physical & digital atmospheres they create, which make us feel unsafe and unheard.
It is not lost on me that I recently wrote a piece about radical love and an ethics of care when it comes to empathizing with South Asian men: it relates to mental health and our need for collective liberation. Until we are mutually committed to seeing our oppression under the cis-heteropatriarchy dissolve and we are moving forward together with brown men’s uncompromising reciprocal investment in our freedom, we must continue to hold that accountability. De-platforming assaulters is not punishment, but actually a form of community care.
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About the writer: Shivani is a budding South Asian American, racial and immigrant rights advocate. She is a member of the New York City Chapter of National Asian Pacific American Women's Forum, the Emerging Leaders Council of Planned Parenthood Hudson Peconic, and serves as the Vice President of University Chapters of MannMukti.
Instagram: @little_miss_shivani / Tweets: @browngirlrising
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