When Justice Is Silenced by Ideology

When Ideology Becomes a Gag Order

There is a brutal irony unfolding before our eyes. We are not just watching survivors—we are watching scripted characters trapped in a self-authored tragedy.

Educated, articulate, and self-aware women openly confess: “I was molested. But I didn’t report him—because he was Muslim.”

Or “I couldn’t speak up—he was a non-Brahmin.”

Or “If I did, I’d be called a Sanghi, or an Islamophobe, or worse—a Brahmin stooge.”

Let that sink in. This isn’t confusion. This is calculated paralysis.

It’s not just cowardice. It’s narrative addiction. A craving to remain the "right kind" of victim. One who suffers, but never offends the group consensus. One who bleeds, but only if it fits the screenplay.This is not trauma. This is performance.

When the abuser happens to be from a "marginalized" group—Muslim, non-Brahmin, progressive(?)—they gag themselves. They admit it openly: "I didn’t report him. I didn’t want to be seen as bigoted. I didn’t want to be called a Sanghi. I didn’t want to be accused of being a Brahmin sympathizer."

This isn’t the silence of oppression. This is the silence of ideological loyalty.

In When I Hit You, Meena Kandasamy writes with devastating detail about domestic abuse—but in her real-life confession, she admits to not pursuing justice against her molester because he was from the "right" community and she feared being perceived as aligned with the "wrong" one. She says she could’ve spoken up if he were a Brahmin, a Dalit, a Muslim—just not a non-Brahmin, because the optics wouldn’t serve her. 

This isn't just sad. It's frightening.

Because it means that victimhood, for some, is not about truth anymore. It's about narrative positioning. About staying in the good graces of woke circles. About choosing the “right” kind of suffering, the “right” kind of oppressor. Pain is not invalidated—but it is filtered, marketed, curated.

S.L. Bhyrappa’s Avarana warned us about this erosion of truth—how historical, cultural, and personal realities get deliberately suppressed to protect an ideological facade. In the novel, a woman begins with liberal romanticism, only to discover that her worldview was built on silencing inconvenient truths.

That fiction now reads like biography.

 Abuse has no caste. Pain does not check for ideology and justice is no longer blind, It now checks your caste, your religion, your hashtags before it listens. And if the perpetrator belongs to a protected class, you’re told to suffer in silence—for the greater good. For the "cause".

But what cause asks you to swallow your trauma in exchange for social validation?

What movement tells you that silence is strength when it's handed to your abuser?

This isn’t bravery. This is betrayal—of truth, of justice, and of all women who truly fight to be heard.

If you choose to stay silent because your abuser is from the “right” identity, and speaking up would make you “look bad” among your peers—then don’t seek sympathy. Because when someone chooses silence not out of fear, but out of ideological loyalty, we stop offering unearned sympathy.

When you prioritize your politics over your pain, when you protect the predator to preserve your persona, you’re not just complicit—you’re corrupting the very meaning of justice.

Truth isn’t your pet. It doesn’t bend to your narrative. And justice doesn’t need your hashtags. It needs your spine.

So no—it’s not #MeToo. It’s not even #WeToo.

It’s #FOMO disguised as feminism. Fear of being left out of the progressive club. Fear of offending the wrong god in the pantheon of identity politics.

No movement built on selective outrage and curated pain can ever claim moral ground.

Real justice demands courage & courage doesn’t come with conditions.



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