Kamal Ghorui
William Shakespeare’s famous line from Romeo and Juliet, “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose would smell as sweet,” has often been cited by people brushing off the importance of words. Many times, society uses this line to suggest that words only mean so much and shouldn’t be taken too seriously. But what people often forget is what comes right after. Juliet also says that it is Romeo’s name that is her enemy. If we paid a little more attention instead of picking only the part that suits us, we might also acknowledge the contradiction.
So how important are words, really?
A lot, I would say. Especially when we are talking about crimes and criminals, it is words that begin to frame the narrative long before courts do.
When a crime is committed and society says a woman was killed by her lover while her husband was away, an entire narrative of a “characterless” and “shameless” woman is woven in people’s minds. The killer takes a backseat because the words we choose quietly shift suspicion and judgment onto the victim.
Similarly, when a man rapes a child, headlines often read, “15-year-old raped by a 50-year-old.” Despite journalism’s emphasis on using active voice, the focus remains on the victim, but for all the wrong reasons. The child becomes the subject of the sentence, while the perpetrator is pushed to the margins. In choosing how to frame the sentence, we also choose how to frame the crime.
Words don’t just describe crime; they quietly decide who stands trial in the court of public opinion.
For instance, when the Supreme Court of India addressed terminology around child abuse crimes in Just Rights for Children Alliance v. S Harish, it said that we should use Child Sexual Abusive and Exploitative Material (CSEAM) instead of “child pornography.” This was not mere semantics. The Court was emphasizing the urgency and the reality of the crime. A child who is abused and filmed so that the clip can be sold for profit or personal gratification cannot consent to the act. Calling it pornography shifts blame and creates a false sense of acceptance, erasing the child’s vulnerability and the gravity of the crime. By contrast, CSEAM makes it clear that the material documents exploitation and abuse, and that this is a crime that cannot be softened. An important decision was taken that day. An important narrative shifted to put the focus on the crime and the criminal, while ensuring that the victim is not made to revisit the trauma.
But there are many instances where we continue to shift the blame onto the child, the girl, the victim.
“Honour killing” almost justifies the killing of a woman by her family to protect their “honour.” “Izzat lootna” makes the act of rape something more morally disgraceful than a criminal act.
But we are not alone in misplacing words when describing such crimes.
In Spanish, crimen pasional (crime of passion) is the term used to describe domestic violence or even murder. Delitto d’onore in Italian also refers to honour-based violence. French crime passionnel describes crimes “of passion” as emotional acts and, in doing so, often softens them.
Clearly and quite unfortunately, even as the world continues to remain fragmented about everything else, the way blame is shifted onto women and children, even when they are the victims, remains alarmingly similar across the globe.
But this needs to change.
Like the Supreme Court of India’s judgment in CSEAM cases, the highest seats of power and justice across the globe need to address the words that describe crimes. When a girl is sexually abused, it is not her modesty that is outraged, as the law states. A crime is committed against her, and it is a violation of her rights. She may feel outrage, but her dignity remains intact. If anything, it is the abuser who should be called out as someone whose modesty, honour and civility are outraged.
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