Sexual assaults are not an aberration; they are an institution. Such assault has existed for as long as power has existed. It is not about lust; it is about control. Throughout history, societies have failed not only to prevent it but, more damningly, to acknowledge its true nature as well.
A society that merely punishes the predator while allowing the conditions that create him to fester is complicit. Until we confront the roots of this pathology, until we cease to treat rape as an isolated horror rather than the natural consequence of a diseased system, we will continue to breed monsters in our own image.
Thanks to the fact that she was a brave doctor, the entire society has awakened – at least for the time being. All doctors went on an islandwide strike to force the Government into swift action, ensuring that the ordinary citizen, who cannot afford the manipulated private healthcare system and relies on public hospitals, is not forgotten.
In Sri Lanka, where economic collapse has driven many professionals to flee, those who remain are the last bulwark against total decay. And yet, they are not protected.
Those who sacrifice their futures for the well-being of the people are abandoned in their darkest hour. But nothing can justify the crime committed against her, just as nothing can justify the crimes committed against countless others who remain unnamed and unheard.
An instrument of power
Sexual violence is not random. It is systemic. History tells us this, time and time again.
When Lucretia, the Roman noblewoman, was raped by Sextus Tarquinius, she did not merely suffer a personal violation; she became the catalyst for revolution. Her suicide was a declaration of the unliveable reality of Rome’s corrupt monarchy. Her blood marked the birth of the Republic.
If we truly understand this, we must ask: why does rape persist? Why does it remain a tool of subjugation, a fixture in warfare, religion, and politics? Why do societies build institutions that do not prevent it but enable it?
Ancient history is littered with examples of sexual violence used as an assertion of dominance. The Sabine women, stolen and raped by the founders of Rome, became the unwilling mothers of a new society. The women of Troy, their husbands and fathers slaughtered, were distributed like property to their Greek captors. The Rape of Nanjing in 1937, where Japanese forces brutalised tens of thousands of Chinese women, remains one of history’s darkest stains. The pattern repeats because rape is not an individual crime; it is an instrument of power.
Why do societies tolerate and perpetuate the predator’s existence? Sigmund Freud theorised that repression and sublimation of primal instincts lead to distorted expressions of power. In cultures where aggression is rewarded, where domination is mistaken for strength, and where men are conditioned to see women as objects rather than equals, sexual violence becomes inevitable.
Carl Jung’s concept of the ‘shadow self’ is equally relevant: every society has a dark undercurrent, a hidden reality it refuses to confront. The more we deny it, the more power it gains.
Judith Herman’s ‘Trauma and Recovery’ argues that sexual violence is an act of terror, designed to silence and control. It is not just about the victim; it is about everyone who watches, who learns the lesson that power can take what it wants.
Anthropologist Peggy Reeves Sanday’s research on rape-prone societies reveals that cultures that normalise gender inequality and fail to hold perpetrators accountable inevitably see higher rates of sexual violence. The issue is not biology; it is social conditioning. It is the law of impunity that shields the predator and teaches him that he will never be truly punished.
Religious institutions, which should theoretically be moral compasses, have instead been among the greatest enablers of sexual violence.
The Catholic Church, mired in paedophilic scandals for decades, chose to protect predators rather than children. Buddhist monks in Sri Lanka, Islamic clerics in conservative societies, and Hindu gurus – each has had their share of abuses covered up under the guise of religious sanctity. When faith is used as a shield for predators, it ceases to be faith. It becomes collusion.
A symptom of a wider disease
The predator at the Anuradhapura Teaching Hospital followed the same script that countless others have before him. He used fear, coercion, and threats.
This is not about individual morality. It is about societal rot. Condemnation of individual criminals is not enough.
If sexual violence is a symptom, then what is the disease? It is a world that teaches men they are entitled to women’s bodies. It is a system that trivialises consent. It is a structure that grooms young boys into believing that masculinity is synonymous with domination.
If history has taught us anything, it is that sexual violence is never just a crime. It is a political act. It enforces hierarchies. It upholds oppressive structures. It sends a message: stay silent, or suffer.
The enslaved African women raped on American plantations were not just victims of individual brutality; they were part of a calculated system of control. The comfort women of Imperial Japan were not just prisoners; they were dehumanised instruments of war. The Yazidi women enslaved by ISIS were not attacked randomly; they were targeted because breaking them meant asserting power over their entire community.
The case of Thangjam Manorama in Manipur, raped and murdered by security forces in 2004, exemplifies how rape is wielded as a weapon of state repression. Similarly, during the Sri Lankan uprising, countless youth were sexually assaulted under the guise of counterinsurgency, their suffering buried beneath political justifications.
The 2024 Manipur case, where two Kuki-Zo women were gang raped and paraded naked by a mob from the Meitei community, highlights the continued weaponisation of sexual violence in ethnic conflicts. These were not random acts of violence; they were messages of terror, reinforcing the power of the perpetrators over the powerless.
The modern age has not erased the predator; it has merely given him new tools. Technology has opened fresh frontiers of exploitation, from revenge porn to deepfake assaults.
The anonymity of the internet allows predators to blackmail victims, to trade images as though human suffering were mere currency. And yet, society continues to react rather than prevent. We continue to demand justice for individual cases while refusing to interrogate the structures that breed the predator.
Moreover, we must scrutinise how workplaces and academia have normalised sexual coercion. The use of sexuality as a bargaining chip for promotions and rewards is an insidious form of violence. Many institutions, under the guise of meritocracy, facilitate transactional relationships where power determines access.
The academic world is not exempt from this rot. Professors abuse their authority over students; executives exploit their positions over employees. The weaponisation of sex in these spaces reflects a fundamental collapse of ethical discipline among men in positions of influence.
Dismantling a social ill
Moral discipline and ethical responsibility must be restored, for respect is not a duty imposed from the outside but a natural reflection of one’s conscience.
A nation cannot rise above its moral stagnation without a collective conscience deeply rooted in individual integrity and the courage to act. The real challenge is not ignorance but silence; many are fully aware yet choose to look away. Societies that fail to instil this foundational principle will always struggle with moral decay.
Society must not merely react; it must prevent. It must instil an unshakeable fear in predators that their actions will bring absolute ruin upon them.
This is not just about law enforcement; it is about cultural transformation. It is about uprooting entrenched misogyny and dismantling the social conditions that breed silence and submission. A society that fails to protect its women and children is a society in terminal decline.
(The writer is a Senior Manager at the Sri Lanka Ports Authority [SLPA]. The views expressed are personal)