The fault, I'm afraid, lies with us

Much has been written and said about the R.K. Pachauri case, about the complaint of sexual harassment against him, the internal committee finding him guilty, his appeal to court where committee recommendations were set aside for the moment and he was allowed to travel abroad extensively, the resignation of many within The Energy and Resources Institute (Teri), the pressure on the complainant to take back her complaint, her frustration in not seeing any action and finally quitting, and, to the horror of many, his reinstatement 10 days ago.

It took the allegation of a second complainant a few days ago to ensure the governing council sent Mr Pachauri, Teri’s executive vice-chairman, on “indefinite leave”, a decision that was apparently taken with him being in the same room.

This case has been such a fiasco in so many ways and is symptomatic of our many silences. It is, in fact, “the great Indian cover up”.

In my book, Own It: Leadership Lessons From Women Who Do, one of the chapters is called “Pin Stripe Predators” and deals with harassment of women at work. In the course of my research for the book, during interviews I heard repeatedly about the cover-ups, the “circles of constructive termination”, which makes an environment hostile for a victim or complainant and force them to quit, and the shame assigned to the victim.

In one instance, a girl was grabbed and kissed on the staircase by the CEO of a company “in a moment of weakness” because he was supposedly “in a bad place in his head” (not very dissimilar to the “I was drunk” excuse). A colleague was passing and witnessed this act. The CEO was known for having been involved in previous such “incidents” too. This witness made sure his colleague was fine and then, later, reported it to a senior colleague. The senior colleague called the woman in to counsel her and encouraged her to report it to HR, but she nervously refused. Coming from a conservative family, she neither had the courage to stand up against this powerful man, nor did she want her family to know what had happened. Why? Because she would be blamed — a risk run by all victims of sexual violence and intimidation in India.

“We told you not to work.”
“You think you are very independent? See what happens.”
“Why do you wear make-up?”  

I can think of a hundred reactions to this type of case, none of which would involve the family saying: “How dare he? Let’s take this up so it never happens to you or anyone else again.”

The fault, I am afraid, lies with us.

What of the senior colleague in whom she had confided? He did the right thing by asking her to report it (given the absence of a sexual harassment committee in the office), but when she refused I was furious that he had not taken it upon himself to report it. Why?

Because by not doing so, he became complicit in the silence around the harassment, and jeopardised the safety of the rest of the women in the office. If someone doesn’t have the strength to report it, why don’t we? Isn’t it appropriate for us to bring it before people in the company — people who are entrusted with our welfare in the workplace?

It is the easy way out to say the victim doesn’t want to. When a complaint is made, the law says it needs to be 100 per cent confidential. No one in the office must know of the complaint or the complainant.

Any witnesses and corroborators who need to be questioned are also subject to this duty of confidentiality. The senior colleague in this case, however, remained quiet, thinking he was respecting the wishes of the victim. He could just as easily have gone to HR and reported the incident under the cloak of anonymity. He could have demanded a committee be set up. He had a voice.

The woman didn’t. Maybe HR would have acted and instituted a committee. Maybe other women would have felt safe enough to tell their stories.

The fault, I am afraid, lies with us.

What of the other women who were harassed verbally by this CEO? He asked one woman, after she had returned from her honeymoon, whether she had lost her virginity. She giggled nervously in response. Another woman was subjected to everyday verbal harassment and was scared of coming to the office. But both were rewarded with guilt-laden favours and promotions in return for their silence. They took the benefits — one was a single mother and had a family to support, the other was in fear of the powerful CEO. Both women needed their jobs. Both had no recourse.

What of HR? Why was there no committee as mandated by law? Why, despite being a large office with as many women as men, was there no committee?

The fault, I am afraid, lies with us.

What of the colleagues who later came to know of this story? Not once did anyone confront the CEO and say: “I know what you did and I will do nothing to support you.”

He was due for retirement so he was let go with a festive party, farewell gifts and fond speeches.

For all these reasons, the fault does indeed lie with all of us.

We are conditioned, prepped and primed to protect the powerful, to stay quiet about the perpetrators, to hold on to the pain because the shame is ours. The repercussions are large and the possible legal issues are huge.

We need to change our workplace habits and culture and begin unequivocally to attach the shame, blame and horror of these acts to their perpetrators. Because everytime we fail to do so, the injustices of the Pachauri case, and every other case of sexual violence and harassment will lie at our own feet.