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Honestly,
when I talk of "fighting sexual harassment",
I do not know whether I have used the right expression
to recount the events of the last full year. Yes,
a full year, because I had been appointed on June
10, 2002 to The Statesman as a Senior Reporter
after a long sabbatical from full-time work.
The
first couple of weeks were fine, with everyone,
repeat everyone, making me feel welcome and part
of the team (my boss' boss and eventual harasser,
Ishan Joshi, even more so).
Around
late June, I started noticing that as and when
I walked down the office corridors, Ishan Joshi
would keep dashing into me and paw me as he walked
past. He would also touch and paw me whenever
I was with him in his room. His moves got bolder
even as I started avoiding him as far as I could.
He would try putting his arms around me even as
he talked of work, and kissing me. Pushing him
away, as I always did, could not deter him.
There
was also the kind of stare that seemed to just
bore into me and
leave me numb. Very soon, he was not only pawing
me in the corridors, but even in the News Room,
in full view of every one. His hands would always
be
on mine, if I ever happened to be within range,
notwithstanding the presence of the Chief Reporter
(my immediate boss), the News Editors, and sundry
senior and junior colleagues.
In
spite of several people whispering and giving
quizzical looks, I could not confide in any one
since I was hardly well-acquainted with any one
at all. I had never worked in this media house,
and did not know any one, male or female. The
experience itself was too embarrassing to speak
up about.
There
was another very important factor. I needed the
job, professionally, if not financially. I was
returning to the profession after five full years,
and this was my stepping- stone to stabilizing
myself again.
Ishan
Joshi, I found, had powers far beyond those commanded
by any
News Coordinator in any news organization. He
had been granted a special hierarchy and reported
only to the Managing Editor and Editor-in-Chief,
and his word was law with respect to appraisals.
Complaining against such a man was sure to cost
me my job, especially since I was a probationer.
I
hated going through such harassment every single
day; but was helpless too. It was a situation
that started telling on my peace of mind, and
saw me beat my little four-year-old every time
she clung to me and craved my attention on my
return home. I always wanted to explode, and could
not. I had no close friends in the office; while
I found it impossible to narrate about my embarrassing
experience to my husband at home.
Ishan
Joshi had come to realize by July that I was certainly
not going to give in easily. And so, he gradually
started changing tack. From July-end, I found
some of my best efforts getting spiked. If August
increased these numbers, September saw anything
and everything killed.
Perhaps,
the absence of the Chief Reporter and the Officiating
Chief Reporter only served to give Ishan Joshi
a freer hand — in every way. I say this,
because sexually too, the harassment took hitherto
unprecedented forms. He would stalk me all over
the office and paw me any and every time he could.
Thankfully,
I had made friends by this time, and confided
in them about the professional harassment I was
undergoing. Not that they needed to be told.
But the empathizing emboldened me to complain
about it to the Managing Editor, Ravindra Kumar.
Meanwhile,
Ishan Joshi tried his last ploy: he asked me to
resign since I was not quite "fitting the
bill". And this, after he had all along been
praising my work in private and public!
It
was about two weeks later that I managed to get
an audience. Of course, I could not speak about
the sexual harassment I had been facing all along.
But then, I discovered, it was not at all necessary.
Ishan Joshi had confessed to his boss every explicit
detail of this sordid affair, and Ravindra Kumar
sympathized with me in a very apologetic tone.
He almost made me feel that my ordeal was over,
when, hold your breath, he advised me to settle
on a "compromise with Ishan Joshi."
That was when I realized I had reached the end
of the road.
I
had been given a MONTH to resign. When I was called
in to put in my
papers by Ishan Joshi, I refused point blank.
"I will resign when I want to. It will have
to be my decision. Since this what you have decided
on, you can do what you want to do."
Perhaps,
Ishan Joshi did not expect me to fight back in
this manner. But I certainly did not want to compromise.
I had spent 15 years in the profession, and worked
hard enough to build my byline. I knew my mettle,
and did not believe in climbing on my back. I
wanted to fight back, and was determined. But,
I also knew, there was nothing I could do at The
Statesman.
My
services were terminated on October 12, 2002,
with no reasons cited. There was not even the
one day's notice as stipulated in the agreement.
The
termination made me feel relieved. It was Dassera
day, and my husband was home. He found it strange
that I was feeling so happy after being sacked,
especially since he felt sorry. The first two
weeks after my termination felt great. But the
unhappiness and brooding soon got the better of
me. And then, there were the pent-up feelings
of frustration and helplessness which had
prevented a person with an exemplary professional
record to do anything about being treated shabbily.
I
wanted to fight the injustice; and had not. Besides,
the filthy feeling of being defiled and molested
several times over started playing on me. This
was when I contemplated suicide to end my wretched
life.
Sure,
I did not succeed in my desperate intentions.
But it got my husband to discover the truth, and
set in motion a chain of events that got me to
recover from my depression. My suicidal tendencies
saw me contact Lifeline-the online counseling
service, which, on its part, saw me contact Sanhita
– an NGO specializing in sexual harassment
at the workplace.
My
association with Sanhita did not yield much, excepting
for helping me get in touch with NWM Bengal and
its coordinators— Rajashri Dasgupta and Ananya
Chatterjee. By this time, I had also recovered
sufficiently to confide in my former bosses and
colleagues. Not that every one was receptive.
My
immediate boss, the Chief Reporter, excused himself
with "I understand the problem. But I cannot
do anything since I report to him." He also
warned me against taking on someone like Ishan
Joshi who had a formidable genealogy, and a family
with considerable political influence. However,
for one negative response, there were hundreds
of positive responses that egged me on with "
Go legal. You are not alone. We are all on your
side." While Sanhita dilly-dallied and expressed
apprehension on taking on a media house like The
Statesman by its horns (given the stature of C
R Irani), my written complaint was immediately
followed up by the NWM Bengal.
Ananya
and Rajashri's initiative was rewarded with a
stinging reply from Ravindra Kumar, questioning
their authority to speak up on my behalf. Of course,
flashing the news on the Internet saw widespread
public outrage and support pledged by several
media personnel, male and female, for my cause.
The resultant negative publicity perhaps (?),
compelled the setting up of a Sexual Harassment
Committee by The Statesman in both its
Kolkata and Delhi offices— the first time
that a media house has done so in both cities.
It
also saw some close friends advice me to go on
and complain to the West Bengal State Commission
for Women, with Partha Pratim Nag, a male feminist
friend of mine actually contacting the chairperson
on my behalf and briefing her on the problem.
Rajashri Dasgupta too pitched in with her support
and contacted the chairperson on my behalf, prior
to me actually meeting the lady, Dr. Jashodhara
Bagchi for a discussion.
Another
NWM Bengal member briefed the lady in charge of
the Maitree network, Maitreyee Chatterjee, about
my case (something which helped me when I was
to contact Ms Chatterjee later). The
fact that Aakash Bangla discussed my case on its
special International Women's Day programme also
worked in my favour.
The
last few months have seen the Women's Commission
work hard to give me justice, directing the Statesman
management to conduct an inquiry on the matter.
But three letters have yielded no result (the
Sexual Harassment Committee at The Statesman
has proved to be more ornamental in more ways
than one!).
On
the Commission's advice, I petitioned the Office
of the Labour Commissioner contesting my "illegal
termination". The matter is currently being
examined by the Deputy Labour Commissioner. The
police are also investigating into the matter;
along with the Human Rights Law Network, under
the guidance of the head of the Calcutta High
Court's Sexual Harassment Cell, Ms Sutapa Chakraborty.
My
case stands at a crucial juncture as of now. But
then, it has made me realize that there are more
good men than evil, who dare to stand up for justice
defying wrongdoers. It has also made me realize
that being high-born or educated is no guarantee
of decency.
The
Class IV staff at The Statesman have supported
me as much as some
of the senior-most editors, and finance, accounts,
technical and other professionals in my fight.
It has also made me realize that sexual violence
and harassment against women cannot be curbed
unless we have enough men on our side— and
these could be our husbands, friends, colleagues
or even the general public.
Rina
Mukherji
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An
update on my case...
It
is currently in the Labour Court. There
have been two joint conferences with the
management's representatives. At the last
meeting we had, they did concede that I
was not terminated because of professional
efficiency. It was
"just the editor's discretion".
When quizzed on this by the deputy labour
commissioner, the personnel manager and
the law officer concerned claimed that there
was no policy at all followed on the matter
by the management—"This could
happen to anyone". But, of course,
they refused to have any more joint conferences/conciliation
meetings for the present.
I
meet the labour commissioner next week again.
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