By Anjum J Parveen, Novelist & NLP Practitioner

Every time a case of rape emerges, the country erupts. We demand justice, condemn the accused, argue on television, flood social media, and promise that things must change. Then the headlines fade. Life returns to normal for everyone except the person whose life may never feel normal again.

Until the next case.

We keep asking why rape happens. Perhaps it is time to ask a harder question: after everything we know, why are we still failing to prevent it?

This conversation cannot be limited to women and girls. Men can be victims. Boys can be abused. Young children can be harmed by people they know and trust. Sexual violence and abuse also affect animals, whose suffering is often overlooked because they cannot speak for themselves.

Different experiences, different forms of harm, but one uncomfortable truth: vulnerability does not guarantee protection.

How have we become so accustomed to hearing about such suffering that outrage feels routine? When did condemning abuse become easier than confronting the people, behaviours, and institutions that allow it to continue?

Let us establish one thing clearly. The person who commits sexual violence is responsible for that act. A victim’s clothing, behaviour, relationship, gender, or presence in a particular place does not transfer that responsibility. Understanding how perpetrators develop is necessary for prevention, but explanation must never become an excuse.

So where does prevention begin?

It begins long before a police complaint, a hospital visit, or a courtroom. It begins in the messages children hear at home, the behaviour adults tolerate, the boundaries schools enforce, and the complaints institutions choose to take seriously.

What happens when a child says someone makes them uncomfortable? Is the child heard, or told not to create trouble? What happens when a relative suspects abuse? Does protecting the family name become more important than protecting the vulnerable person? What happens when a respected person is accused? Are concerns examined fairly, or dismissed because their reputation seems more valuable than the possibility that someone has been harmed?

These are the questions we avoid because the answers may implicate people we love, respect, or depend on.

Parents cannot control every situation their children encounter. They can, however, teach them that their bodies deserve respect, that consent matters, and that no adult is entitled to unquestioning obedience. Children must know they can report discomfort without being blamed, threatened, or accused of bringing shame upon the family.

Schools need more than posters about safety. They need trained staff, clear safeguarding procedures, age-appropriate education about consent and boundaries, and reliable ways for children to report concerns. A policy that exists only on paper protects nobody.

Neighbours and relatives also have a responsibility to respond appropriately to credible concerns. Suspicion is not proof, and allegations require fair investigation. But dismissing a disclosure because the accused is familiar, influential, or related to the family can leave a vulnerable person without protection. Silence is not always neutrality. Sometimes, it preserves the conditions in which harm can continue.

Officials and institutions cannot substitute speeches for action. Reports must be handled seriously. Investigations must be timely and impartial. Survivors need privacy, support, and protection from intimidation. Allegations must be assessed through evidence and due process. Institutions must answer for failures, not simply issue statements after public outrage begins.

And what are we teaching boys?

Are we teaching them that rejection must be respected, that consent cannot be assumed, and that anger never grants ownership over another person? Boys must not be treated as potential offenders simply because they are boys. They must be taught empathy, boundaries, and accountability, just as children of every gender deserve protection and guidance.

Men who experience abuse must be able to speak without ridicule. Children must not be dismissed because adults find their disclosures uncomfortable. The credibility and dignity of a victim should not depend on gender, caste, religion, age, wealth, or social standing.

Our responsibility to prevent cruelty must also extend to animals. Their inability to explain their suffering does not make it insignificant. Appropriate reporting, enforcement, and public awareness matter here too, even though animal abuse requires distinct legal and practical responses.

No single law, lesson, or campaign will eliminate sexual violence. Prevention requires education, accessible reporting, trained professionals, reliable investigations, survivor support, and consequences for those responsible. It also requires communities willing to challenge harmful behaviour before it becomes a headline.

Here is the reality check: a society cannot claim to protect children while teaching them never to question an adult. Families cannot demand respectability while silencing someone who reports harm. Schools cannot claim safety without acting on complaints. Officials cannot demand public trust while avoiding accountability.

The person who commits the offence must answer for it. Those responsible for safeguarding others must answer for their failures, too. These responsibilities are different, but neither can be ignored.

We have heard enough outrage to fill years of headlines. What matters now is whether we can turn that outrage into protection that exists before the next victim needs it.

If our anger lasts only until the headlines disappear, what have we actually changed for the person who will need our protection tomorrow?

It demands accountability.

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