Reframing Gender Justice through Constitution, Law and Rational Silence

When the Constitution of India came into effect in 1950, it did more than codify laws. It envisioned a society built on dignity and equal citizenship. For the first time, Indian women were not treated as dependents or wards of their community, but as individuals with equal rights. That promise was radical in its time and deeply aspirational. Yet, seventy-seven years later, a woman in India is still more likely to face violence in her home than protection under the law. She may top her class in school examinations, but still be pulled out before completing Class 10. Equality has been promised, but it has not been delivered.

Our chapter in the forthcoming book Shashakt Naari (By Chintan research foundation), titled Reframing Gender Justice, examines this contradiction. We have currently used two visual references to support our argument. The first is a timeline tracing key constitutional and legal milestones in the journey of women's rights in India. From the Hindu Code Bills in the 1950s to the Domestic Violence Act of 2005 and the Maternity Benefit Amendment of 2017, India has passed several progressive laws to secure justice and equality for women. Articles 14, 15 and 16 of the Constitution form what is known as the Equality Code. These provisions prohibit discrimination on the basis of sex and promote positive action. Landmark court decisions such as Vishaka v. State of Rajasthan and K.S. Puttaswamy v. Union of India have expanded constitutional protections to cover the workplace, the home and even reproductive autonomy.

Despite this legal progress, the promise of the law often ends at the doorstep of enforcement. The second visual presents 2022 data (NCRB 2023 and NFHS-5) that exposes this reality. That year, over 1.43 lakh cases of domestic violence were reported. More than 6,000 women lost their lives due to dowry. The conviction rate in rape cases remained below 30 per cent. Over half of all Indian women aged 15 to 49 were anaemic. Only one in four women participated in the workforce, and four in ten girls dropped out before finishing high school. These figures are not isolated. They point to a systemic failure.

This leads us to ask two critical questions. First, why do women continue to suffer despite these legal safeguards? And second, why do so many remain silent in the face of injustice? Our answer lies in what we call the Rational Silence Model. Unlike the popular belief that silence equals ignorance or weakness, we argue that silence is often a rational choice. When the cost of speaking up is shame, stigma, retaliation, and it outweighs the chance of justice, staying quiet becomes the safer option. Silence, then, is not consent. It is survival.

To understand this, we identified five structural “choke points” that suppress women's voices, even in a democracy. The first is in lawmaking. With fewer than 10 per cent of parliamentarians being women, most laws are written with women in mind, but not with them at the table. The result is a disconnect between legal intent and practical design. Laws criminalise dowry but do not address the economic dependence that makes dowry “rational” in some communities. Laws promise equal pay but are rarely enforced in informal labour markets where most women work.

The second lies in enforcement. Only 12 per cent of police officers in India are women, and fewer than 7 per cent of police stations have functioning help desks for women. Many survivors report being discouraged from filing First Information Reports (FIRs). Some are told to “adjust,” to prioritise family peace over justice. The third point is in the delivery of justice. Gender-based cases often take years to resolve. Courtrooms can be retraumatising. Survivors are often asked about their “character” rather than the crime. Delays and humiliation diminish the perceived value of legal recourse.

The fourth is social sanction. Women are taught from an early age that protecting family honour is more important than asserting personal autonomy. Reporting violence can mean losing marriage prospects, facing blame, or being ostracised. The final is enabling infrastructure. Without safe transport, functioning toilets, childcare, or well-lit public spaces, many women cannot even reach the systems that promise to protect them. Justice is not only legal. It is logistical.

These choke points make silence more logical than speaking. Women are not powerless, but they are calculating. And the system is teaching them that voice is riskier than quiet. On top of that, silence is not distributed equally. Here, intersectionality matters. A Dalit woman in rural Bihar faces different risks than an upper-caste woman in Delhi. Their caste, class, disability, and location multiply both vulnerability and silence. That’s why one-size-fits-all policies fail. We need targeted support based on lived disadvantage.

The way forward is,

First, we need credible institutions. Laws must be backed by trust. That means survivor-centric policing, fast-track courts that actually function, and grievance systems that do not retraumatise the complainant. Second, we must make it more expensive for institutions to exclude women than to include them. Right now, non-compliance is often free. That must end through penalties, incentives, and systemic review.

Third, we must treat enabling infrastructure as an economic investment. Safe streets, reliable transport, public toilets, and childcare services directly increase women’s participation in the workforce and public life. Fourth, we must intervene early. Socialisation at home and school must teach equality as a norm. Boys must learn to see dignity in others, not dominance over them. Finally, we must tailor policy to intersectional realities. Not all women need the same support. A uniform scheme will always fall short. We must ask who is left behind, and why, and build from there.

In sum, India does not lack laws. It lacks belief. Until a woman trusts that she can file a case without being blamed, that she can work without harassment, or marry when she chooses, equality remains a myth. Shashakt Naari does not merely critique policy; it maps the distance between a woman’s rights on paper and her freedom in life. When the Constitution begins to sound like her story, not just her slogan, then we will know justice has finally found its voice.