Another young woman, a first-year law student, was gangraped, this time by two of her classmates and her college alumni. She was locked up, assaulted, filmed, and then silenced. Her only fault? Trusting an educational space that should have been a sanctuary, not a site of horror.

It was just months ago that the RG Kar incident shook the conscience of Bengal. An intern doctor, assaulted during her night duty, sparked outrage. People took to the streets, demanding accountability. But here we are again, with another brutal rape case that constantly reminds the system that it failing vulnerably. 

This case isn’t an isolated incident. It is a symptom of a deeper rot, one that grew inside institutional spaces, from medical colleges to law schools. When politics protects the perpetrators and police function under pressure, justice becomes a far-fetched dream. It is this culture, not facing any consequence, that encourages criminals and terrifies survivors into silence.

In fact, the main accused in this case, Monojit Mishra, is no stranger to controversy or crime. According to police records, his history of misconduct goes back to at least 2019, when he was accused of tearing a woman’s clothes inside South Calcutta Law College. Since then, he has faced multiple charges, including assault, theft, and destruction of property. Former classmates and juniors allege he routinely harassed several women on campus, raising serious questions about how he continued to operate unchecked within the college environment.

West Bengal’s crime rate against women stood at 71.8 per lakh population in 2022, higher than the national average of 66.4. And yet, conviction rates remain very low. Even as Kolkata is statistically the “safest city” on paper, these numbers betray a darker, harsher truth.

Rape is not just a crime of opportunity or rage. It’s a weapon, used to show control and dominance, made easier by a society that often chooses silence over justice. It is enabled by systemic apathy, institutional collapse, and a toxic mix of patriarchal norms and political shielding.

For real change, cosmetic reforms are not enough. What Bengal needs is an overhaul of how safety and justice are ensured within its educational and institutional spaces. Regular student union elections must be reinstated and monitored by independent bodies. Internal complaints committees in colleges must be strengthened, with trained, gender-sensitive professionals whom survivors can trust. Most importantly, the police must be allowed to act without fear or favour, free from political interference.

There is no safety where political power operates informally, through student unions and local franchises loyal to the ruling party. Kolkata and West Bengal must break free from these shadow networks if they truly wish to protect their women.

This is not about one party, one government, or one city. It’s about a broken system. And unless we fix it now, the question will keep returning: how many more?