Not a Gender War, But a Systemic Failure

The murder of Raja Raghuvanshi, a man reportedly killed by his wife Sonam and her lover during their honeymoon in Meghalaya, has shocked the nation. Media headlines have called it “cold-blooded,” “chilling,” and “planned.” The story, with its tragic mix of love, betrayal, and death, has instantly gone viral. But far more concerning than the crime itself is how this one incident has been hijacked as a weapon to vilify feminism, spread misogyny, and push a patriarchal agenda that conveniently forgets the thousands of crimes committed against women every day.

Suddenly, in the wake of this crime, feminists are being blamed. Social media is ablaze with men declaring “not every woman, but every time a woman,” painting this as proof that men are the real victims in society. These same voices that are so loud now in outrage are eerily silent when yet another rape case is reported, when yet another acid attack survivor begs for justice, when marital rape remains legally unrecognized. Why is one woman’s crime enough to fuel a wave of generalized hatred, while countless women’s suffering is brushed aside as “isolated cases”?

Why is one woman’s crime enough to fuel a wave of generalized hatred, while countless women’s suffering is brushed aside as “isolated cases”?

Let’s be clear: the murder of Raja Raghuvanshi is horrific. It deserves condemnation. It deserves justice. But to weaponize this tragedy against an entire gender or against a movement that advocates for gender equality is not only dishonest—it is dangerous. What this case truly reveals is not the “evil of women,” but the rot of patriarchy, the pressure-cooker society that gives women neither autonomy nor safe choices.

In a society that still insists on controlling a woman’s body, love life, career, clothing, and speech, is it really surprising that some women eventually snap? When a woman dares to fall in love with someone else while being forced into marriage, she is not given any dignified recourse. Divorce is stigmatized. Affairs are demonized. Autonomy is denied. Her voice is buried under tradition and obligation. None of this justifies murder, but it gives context to why such horrors can emerge from desperation, repression, and a lack of real freedom.

Nothing justifies murder, but it gives context to why such horrors can emerge from desperation, repression, and a lack of real freedom.

Ironically, many people who now claim to be “scared of women” because of Sonam’s actions are the same people who laugh off crimes against women. They chant “not all men” whenever rape culture is discussed. They gaslight survivors, dismiss red flags, and trivialize women’s pain as “attention-seeking.” But when one woman, among the thousands silenced and oppressed, commits a heinous act, they are quick to paint all women as monsters.

It begs the question: if girls are supposedly manipulative and dangerous, why aren’t people talking about Sonam’s male lover, who was just as complicit in the murder? Why has the man who allegedly helped plan and execute the crime vanished from the larger narrative? Why is he not the poster boy for male toxicity, the way Sonam is being projected as the face of female evil?

It begs the question: if girls are supposedly manipulative and dangerous, why aren’t people talking about Sonam’s male lover, who was just as complicit in the murder?

This is the hypocrisy of patriarchy. When a man commits a crime, he’s “disturbed” or “misled.” When a woman does it, she becomes the symbol of betrayal, lust, and danger. Society refuses to accept that crime is not inherently male or female—it is human. What we’re seeing here is not a gendered flaw. It is a flaw in a system that represses, shames, isolates, and ultimately breaks people.

And let’s talk about the absurd double standards in male-female friendships. Men are the first to say “not all men,” but also the first to grow suspicious if their girlfriend has a male best friend. Suddenly, they “know how men think.” They know the “intentions” of other guys. So which is it? Are men inherently trustworthy, or are they all predators waiting for an opportunity? The contradiction is telling: patriarchy never blames men, yet never trusts them either. It only seeks to control women.

The truth is that this entire incident—awful and inexcusable as it is—should not be hijacked to discredit the feminist movement. Feminism is not about defending murderers. It is about questioning the structures that make women powerless, voiceless, and invisible until they do something so extreme that they finally get noticed.

Because let’s face it—a woman who creates life is ignored, but a woman who takes life becomes the headline.

Every day, countless women in India face violence—much of it unreported and normalized. Reported rape cases in the country remain staggeringly high, yet they rarely cause this level of national introspection. Where is the outrage when a minor is assaulted? When a woman is burned alive for dowry? When victims wait decades for justice?

Rape is not an act born out of heartbreak, betrayal, or lack of opportunity. It is an act of domination, entitlement, and violence. It exists not in the shadows of personal tragedy but in the full light of systemic power. It is protected by silence, patriarchy, and institutional failure. Yet somehow, this case—one where a woman killed her husband, allegedly to be with her lover—is being used to call feminism “dangerous.” How twisted is that?

We need to be clear: the crime Sonam’s crime is indefensible. But to pretend that this is somehow emblematic of feminism—or womanhood—is intellectually lazy and morally dishonest. Society is more comfortable seeing women as villains than victims. We refuse to treat crimes as crimes. We filter everything through the lens of gender because we have been taught to view the world that way. But this is not a game of men vs women. This is a human tragedy—born not just of individual choices, but of collective failure of the system of society.

 This is a human tragedy—born not just of individual choices, but of collective failure.

If a woman kills her husband because she feels trapped, unheard, or hopeless, the answer is not to generalize or retaliate. The answer is to ask: why didn’t she have another way out?

Why don’t women in our country feel safe enough to leave relationships without judgment, shame, or violence? Why is being in love with someone else still seen as a moral sin if you’re a woman? Why don’t we question the systems that drove her to this extreme? Why do we make crime about gender when it is so clearly about power?

We can condemn this murder without demonizing all women. We can seek justice without abandoning nuance. We can advocate accountability without enabling patriarchy to use this one case to justify decades of abuse, gaslighting, and erasure of women's suffering.

And if we’re truly worried about what this case means for society, maybe it’s time to reflect on how little society gives women to work with before branding them criminals when they break.

We are so eager to mourn the man she killed. But do we ever mourn the girl she might have been before the world forced her hand?

About the Author

I am Sanchari Mukherjee, a student doing Masters in English from the reputed Presidency University, Calcutta. I love writing and appreciate art in all forms. Being a literature major, I have learnt to critically comment on things of various kinds. I take a deep interest in deconstructing the various essential structures and revealing the mechanisms of their working. Really glad that you came across my blog, hope you found it covering some critical insights essential for progress!