"She's A Witch" -- Words That Still Have The Power To Kill

Labeling a woman as a witch is a common ploy to grab land, settle scores[,] or even to punish her for turning down sexual advances. Cases have also come up where a strong-willed woman is targeted because she is assertive and is seen as a threat. In a majority of the cases, it is difficult for the accused woman to reach out for help and she is forced to either abandon her home and family, commit suicide[,] or is brutally murdered.

No, this isn't a story about the middle ages. It's a report about what is happening today in India. The story of Khemi Balia is typical:

At midnight, inside her home in a remote village in India, 16-year-old Chaandi Balia started rolling on the floor, thrashing about violently while making strange sounds. As the entire village gathered to watch her "playing," as it's called in the local parlance, Chaandi Balia announced that a spirit had taken over her body and told her that Khemi Balia, her old aunt, was a witch and must be burned.

Led by Chaandi Balia and her family, the villagers worked themselves into a frenzy and started gathering sticks to prepare a funeral pyre. That night, knowing that her only chance of survival was escape, Khemi Balia silently slipped out of the village. The frail 60-year-old woman traveled barefoot through the cold fields; she did not know where she was going, and was not even sure if she would live to see the morning.

Balia safely reached a village strange to her where she did not know anyone. Reluctant to place her faith in the police, she befriended a local village woman who advised her to approach Tara Ahluwalia, a social worker in the nearby town of Bhilwara who helps victims of witch-hunting. From experience, Ahluwalia knew that Balia was being persecuted because of the one-acre farmland she owned, her only source of livelihood. By labeling her as a witch, Balia's accusers effectively removed her from the village and could now possess her land.

. . .

Most cases are not documented because it's difficult for women to travel from isolated regions to file reports, Ahluwalia says, and because the violence is largely directed toward women, the police often fail to take it seriously when they do.

"At best, they dismiss it as a social evil to be resolved within the community," she says. "In cases where the women do manage to reach the police station, the apathetic attitude of the police makes the process of lodging a complaint even more tedious."

Ahluwalia helped Balia not by going to the police station, but by leveraging the platform of a "jaati panchayat," a respected group of people from the community who hear disputes in front of the entire village and issue a decision. Social pressure ensures that the decisions are obeyed. Ahluwalia has used the system for the past 25 years to resolve disputes.

Ahluwalia gathered people from the entire village and threatened to expose the family and have them arrested. The accusers had not bargained for the intervention of a powerful outsider. Cowed down, they admitted the witch-hunt was a charade and publicly apologized to Balia. It was an exceptional case and she was able to return to her village.

Of course, most of the women accused of being witches have nothing to do with witchcraft. But witchhunts serve an additional purpose: The "ojha"--or witch doctor--in many rural communities serves as a powerful local figure in the absence of medical doctors and access to basic health care services. In news media reports of witch-hunt cases, police investigations have revealed that witch doctors often accept bribes to name a woman as a witch.

"Branding a woman as a witch not only exploits her economically, but also erodes her sense of confidence and self-esteem," Vyas says. "Even if she escapes with her life, she is always burdened with the distrust and hatred of her community, and sometimes, even of her own family.

Welcome to the twenty-first century.