Education has long been called a “temple” in Indian society—a sacred place where knowledge, values, and futures are shaped. However, in recent years, reports of sexual harassment, mental abuse, fear, and insecurity from educational institutions have deeply dented this notion. The question is not whether such incidents are occurring, but whether our schools, colleges, and universities are truly safe for female students.
Sexual harassment cases involving educational institutions in several states across the country, including Haryana, have made it clear that the problem is not limited to a single institution or individual. Accusations against professors, the role of management, the tendency to suppress complaints, and social pressure to silence victims—all these combine to create a structure where the concealment becomes more dangerous than the crime itself.
The most worrying aspect is that in most cases, victims are afraid to come forward. Fear—of career ruin, of disgrace, of expulsion from the organization, and of being condemned by society—empowers perpetrators and gives the system an excuse to remain silent. When reporting itself becomes a risk, even the existence of the law seems meaningless.
The law exists. Sexual harassment regulations, Internal Complaints Committees (ICCs), the Vishaka Guidelines, and the POSH Act—all exist on paper. But the reality is that in many institutions, these committees are either nominal or operate under the influence of management. Instead of providing justice to the complainant, attempts are made to suppress the case in the name of “image protection of the institution.” This is why the justice process becomes another mental torture for the victim.
The imbalance of power in educational institutions is also at the root of this problem. Teachers, management, and administration have the power to evaluate, hire, promote, and decide futures. When this power is misused for personal gain, students or junior staff feel helpless. This helplessness gives rise to crime and provides protection to the perpetrators.
Another serious issue is a lack of sensitivity. Education has become limited to curriculum and degrees. Talk of morality, gender respect, and human values has become limited to speeches. When teachers themselves are seen crossing the line, what message does society send to students? In such a situation, calling a school a “temple of education” becomes an irony.
The responsibility of state governments and education departments does not end with issuing orders or publishing helpline numbers. Effective monitoring, regular audits, and an independent complaints mechanism are needed. The active participation of external, impartial, and female representatives on the complaints committee should be mandatory. Confidentiality of complaints and the safety of victims should be top priorities—this should be reflected in practice, not just rules.
The role of society is no less important. As long as we continue to question the victim—“Why did you go there?”, “Why didn’t you tell us earlier?”—the perpetrator will remain unpunished. The law is responsible for determining who is guilty, but society must provide empathy and support. Silence is not neutrality, but standing in favor of crime.
What’s needed today is trust—the kind of trust that allows students to complain without fear; that teachers are accountable for their conduct; and that institutions prioritize the safety of their students over their own image. The purpose of education is not just employment, but also to create safe and sensitive citizens.
If we truly want to preserve education as a temple, we must first free it from the culture of fear, exploitation, and silence. The law is strong, but even stronger must be the moral courage of institutions. Because when education becomes unsafe, not just the present but the entire future is at risk.
