Reports of sexual harassment by teachers in educational institutions have been steadily rising. Just a few days ago, a professor at Pondicherry University allegedly demanded explicit photos from students. In Bengaluru, an academic was arrested for exploiting a student at his residence. Near Delhi, a self-styled godman running an educational institution has been accused by 17 girls of harassment.
Two professors of Bharathidasan University in Tamil Nadu were recently given compulsory retirement on similar charges. The shock these incidents evoke stems not only from individual depravity but also from how easily systems meant to protect students often look the other way.
The official numbers tell their own story. According to data on the UGC website, the number of sexual harassment complaints in universities alone rose sharply, from 141 in 2018-19 to 378 in 2022-23. The number of institutions reporting such cases went up from 36 to 83. Of course, most cases were reportedly ‘disposed of ’ within the year. While the reporting framework is becoming more active, sadly, the steady rise in numbers shows that predatory behaviour remains embedded in campus culture. Besides, for every student daring to complain, may stay silent because of fear, shame, or quiet coercion of “do not ruin the institution’s name”.
From the power dynamics perspective, this is not about sexual misconduct but misuse of power and trust. Teachers and administrators wield considerable influence over students’ grades, research and career paths. Such power, if unchecked, can become a space for exploitation. Psychologists note such behaviour is rarely impulsive but often planned, disguised as mentorship, and rationalised as ‘harmless’ or ‘consensual’. However, consent is meaningless here when one person’s future depends on the other’s approval.
In fact, grooming often begins subtly: a compliment, special attention, promises of help—until boundaries blur. What worsens this in India is the cultural pedestal on which teachers are placed. “Mata, Pitha, Guru, Deivam” reflects this deep reverence. While morally beautiful, it can also breed silence. Students and parents may hesitate to question, and institutions prefer quiet ‘internal resolutions’. Too often, deference to teachers becomes their shield, making it harder to challenge authority even when it crosses the line.
Administratively, too, the situation isn’t much better. By law, all colleges and universities are required to have internal complaints committees (ICCs) under the Sexual Harassment of Women at Workplace (Protection, Prevention and Redressal) (POSH) Act, 2013, while schools are covered under the Protection of Children from Sexual Offences (POCSO) Act, 2012. On paper, most institutions comply.
However, in reality, many committees are poorly trained, under-informed or simply ornamental. Surveys at several universities show that more than half of the students are unaware of their ICC’s existence. Those who do often doubt its impartiality because the members may be colleagues of the accused. Add to that the fear of being blamed, the lack of confidentiality, and the obsession with protecting the institution’s ‘reputation’, and it’s easy to see why so many cases go unreported.
Even when victims look beyond the campus and turn to the police, the legal route feels punishing. Lengthy procedures, jurisdictional tangles, and public scrutiny discourage survivors from pursuing justice. The process itself often becomes another form of trauma. As a result, many simply give up, opting for closure over confrontation while the perpetrator may walk away unscathed.
Still, there are signs of progress. In some universities, especially those where students are vocal, ICCs have started to function more effectively. The near-total disposal rate of complaints in recent years suggests that, when supported, formal structures can work.
Awareness sessions, gender sensitisation programmes, and discussions around consent have begun to find a place in classrooms and faculty workshops. However, these changes are minimal and concentrated mostly on urban campuses, while smaller, semiurban institutions remain trapped in silence and denial.
Real change is possible only when institutions go beyond compliance and embrace accountability as a cultural value. ICCs have to be genuinely independent, with trained members, external experts, and protection from administrative pressure. They must work transparently. Every institution should publish anonymised annual reports detailing the number of complaints, the actions taken, and the lessons learned. That kind of openness builds trust.
Prevention, too, must move from token workshops to honest conversations. Teachers and students alike need to be educated on power dynamics, consent, and professional ethics. Faculty training programmes must take on these issues head-on. Students should be told, clearly and repeatedly, that their rights and dignity matter more than the reputation of teachers or institutions. Most of all, those who speak up must be protected. Anonymous reporting options, temporary suspension of accused teachers during inquiry, and proper counselling support can make an enormous difference. Survivors should not have to choose between safety and education.
Young women must stay alert and aware of boundaries—in words, gestures and online interactions. Avoiding private meetings, maintaining accurate records, and seeking support from peers or family can help ensure safety. Most importantly, report harassment first to trusted individuals, then to the ICC or the police if necessary. Reaching out for counselling or legal aid strengthens recovery. Awareness and timely action are the best shields against abuse.
John J Kennedy | Former Professor and Dean, R Christ (Deemed) University, Bengaluru
(Views are personal)
(johnjken@gmail.com)
