he past two weeks have engendered immense discomfort in anyone who cares about patriarchal violence. Patriarchal violence, including domestic violence, rape, ‘honour’ killing and harassment, happens every day to the point that for some people it is a non-event. The pages of this newspaper are witness to the endemic nature of this violence. But once in a while, a case shocks the public imagination. Many factors are responsible for why a case gains particular prominence. These include the extraordinary nature of the crime or who the victim or the alleged perpetrator is. The recent case of an alleged sexual assault on a campus in Lahore and the subsequent response by the state reveal another aspect of the public life: how our reactions to patriarchal violence have very little to do with the victim.

While many prefer the term ‘survivor’ to ‘victim’ as a more empowering alternative, in this case, given the lack of information on what happened, I use the term ‘victim.’ ‘Victim’ also acknowledges how the discourse regarding the event has rendered those suffering sexual assault invisible. Advocacy and mobilisation around patriarchal violence are complicated. Often the victims do not want to come forward. The ideas of justice they seek can differ vastly. Victim and survivor-centric approaches foreground the voice of those who have suffered the violence, taking into account their consent and empowering them to define the terms of how we advocate. Take for example French survivor Gisèle Pelicot, whose husband and 51 other men are being tried for repeatedly raping and filming her. She has chosen to have a public trial, waiving her right to anonymity. The operative idea here is choice. How we talk about patriarchal violence should be centred on the wishes of the people whose consent was violated. We must be careful to ensure that our advocacy does not inflict the very violence we are purportedly fighting.

In the case at hand, many people have chosen to speak on behalf of victims. Misinformation and half-truths around the case tell the story of a generation that has grown up watching famous artistes accused of sexual harassment on their screens and overall impunity for perpetrators of sexual violence. They have witnessed institutions such as the police and educational institutions silence and infantilise them. It is no wonder that students across Lahore, and subsequently the Punjab, don’t believe the institutions. The institutions have done very little to win their trust. Their anger is grounded in the very real issue of systemic violence, harassment and discrimination on campuses.

While we can empathise with the students’ reaction and condemn the subsequent violent institutional response, it is worth pointing out that misinformation and unverified claims by third parties claiming to speak on behalf of victims are hijacking their narratives. In a society where victims are repeatedly silenced and not believed, well-wishers and advocates speaking over them can be immensely harmful. Misinformation is always damaging. In cases of patriarchal violence, the damage is particularly gendered.

The reaction of the state to purported misinformation can also be seen as perpetuating patriarchal violence. The government has filed several cases against social media accounts that allegedly shared misinformation regarding the case under the Prevention of Electronic Crimes Act. There is apprehension that the newly enacted Punjab Defamation Act could also spring into action. The use of criminal legal instruments to fight ‘disinformation’ in cases such as this could be harmful for at least two reasons.

First, the use of criminal law to punish misinformation is a contradiction in terms. ‘Misinformation’ by definition is sharing of information without malicious intent—believing that it is true. Intentionality is the bedrock of criminal responsibility under the law. For the state to prosecute people it will have to argue that false information was shared deliberately with the knowledge that it was wrong. This would be disinformation, not misinformation.

Second, carceral approaches to fighting disinformation are short-sighted and can end up being a censorship tool. Human rights approaches point out that the use of criminal sanctions against misinformation not only leads to overregulation resulting in censorship of dissent, but is also ineffective in tackling misinformation. The government is urged therefore to consider why so many young people are ready to accept that a case of patriarchal violence has been mishandled? It is sad that instead of taking measures to strengthen sexual harassment policies and committees in schools across the Punjab, the government threatened those speaking up.

How we talk about and react to patriarchal violence matters. While misinformation is an important part of this story, it is a mere symptom. Misinformation thrives in societies where institutions historically deal in misinformation, obfuscation and half-truths. It thrives among younger demographics who have never seen justice and true accountability in their lifetimes. It is easier to tackle misinformation through the blunt instrument of criminal laws than to address their deeper structural concerns.

The writer is a researcher and campaigner on human and digital rights issues