INTRODUCTION
A. Defining the “Second Assault”
For survivors of sexual violence, the harm rarely ends with the crime itself. What follows can be just as painful—sometimes even more so. When survivors approach the police, hospitals, courts, or other state institutions in search of justice, they often encounter disbelief, suspicion, and procedural indifference. This experience is commonly described as secondary victimisation or the “second assault.” Unlike the initial act of violence, which is committed by an offender, this second assault is inflicted by systems that are meant to protect survivors and restore their dignity. It arises not from a single act, but from repeated institutional failures that force survivors to relive their trauma within legal and social processes.
Secondary victimisation takes many forms. Survivors may be questioned in ways that feel accusatory rather than supportive. They may be asked to repeat their story multiple times, each retelling reopening psychological wounds. Medical examinations can feel invasive and rushed, offering little sensitivity to the survivor’s emotional state. Court proceedings are often prolonged, filled with delays and adjournments that stretch trauma over years. Together, these experiences communicate a deeply damaging message: that the survivor’s pain is inconvenient, their credibility is doubtful, and their suffering is secondary to procedural formalities. For many survivors, the justice system becomes a space of fear rather than relief.
In India, the idea of secondary victimisation gained widespread attention after the 2012 Delhi gang rape and murder, widely known as the Nirbhaya case. That incident profoundly shook the nation’s conscience. Public protests, media outrage, and national debate forced the country to confront uncomfortable truths about how sexual violence was addressed—or ignored—by the criminal justice system. Survivors were often blamed for the violence they endured, police responses were slow and dismissive, and trials dragged on for years. The Nirbhaya case exposed these systemic failures in a way that could no longer be ignored.
In response, the Indian state introduced significant legal reforms aimed at strengthening laws against sexual violence. Amendments to criminal law expanded definitions of sexual offences, increased punishments, and introduced procedural safeguards intended to protect survivor dignity. More recently, the replacement of the Indian Penal Code and the Code of Criminal Procedure with the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita, 2023 and the Bharatiya Nagarik Suraksha Sanhita, 2023 was presented as a historic step toward modernising criminal justice and placing victims at the centre of the legal process. These reforms created hope that the system would finally become more humane and responsive to survivor needs.
Yet, for many survivors, this hope remains unfulfilled. While laws have changed on paper, everyday experiences within police stations, hospitals, and courtrooms often tell a different story. Survivors still struggle to register complaints without resistance. They continue to face delays in investigations and a lack of access to proper forensic facilities. Courtrooms remain adversarial spaces where survivors are expected to defend their character and credibility under intense scrutiny. The gap between legal reform and lived reality reveals that secondary victimisation is not merely a legal problem—it is a cultural and institutional one.
This study approaches the issue of secondary victimisation through a criminological lens, drawing particularly from feminist victimology. Criminology allows us to look beyond legal texts and examine how power, social norms, and institutional practices shape the experience of justice. From this perspective, the criminal justice system reflects broader societal attitudes toward gender and sexuality. Deeply rooted patriarchal beliefs often influence how survivors are perceived, leading to suspicion, moral judgement, and unrealistic expectations about how a “genuine” victim should behave. When survivors do not fit these expectations, their credibility is questioned, and their suffering is minimised.
The paper examines survivor experiences across key stages of the criminal justice process, beginning with police investigations. For most survivors, the police are the first point of contact after the assault, making this stage especially significant. Although the law requires the immediate registration of First Information Reports in sexual offence cases, survivors frequently encounter reluctance, delay, or outright refusal. Such responses communicate doubt and judgment at a moment when survivors are most vulnerable. Many are asked questions about their clothing, their movements, or their past relationships—questions that subtly shift blame away from the accused and onto the survivor. These interactions can deepen feelings of shame and self-blame, making survivors question whether seeking justice was a mistake.
These practices reflect the persistence of rape myths—deep-seated beliefs that normalise sexual violence and cast doubt on women’s testimony. From a criminological standpoint, such myths influence how cases are investigated, whose voices are believed, and which complaints are treated as “genuine.” Investigative delays further intensify harm, forcing survivors to revisit police stations repeatedly and recount traumatic experiences multiple times. For survivors from marginalised communities, including Dalits, Adivasis, religious minorities, and economically disadvantaged backgrounds, these barriers are even more pronounced, shaped by discrimination, fear of authority, and limited access to legal support.
Medical and forensic procedures, while crucial for evidence collection, often become another source of distress. Survivors may be subjected to invasive examinations without adequate consent, privacy, or emotional support. Although harmful practices such as the two-finger test have been officially banned, their continued use in some areas reflects gaps between legal directives and ground-level practice. The absence of trauma-informed medical care not only harms survivors psychologically but can also compromise the quality of evidence collected.
These problems are closely linked to the chronic lack of forensic infrastructure in many parts of the country. Overburdened hospitals, untrained personnel, and delayed forensic reports weaken prosecutions and contribute to low conviction rates. For survivors, acquittals resulting from procedural failures are often experienced as a profound form of institutional betrayal—a confirmation that the system does not value their pain or truth.
Procedural practices play a central role in reproducing this harm. Police investigations may focus more on inconsistencies in survivor statements than on gathering evidence against the accused. Medical processes, intended to support prosecution, can become sites of further violation when conducted without consent or sensitivity. In courts, aggressive cross-examination often prioritises the defence strategy over survivor wellbeing, forcing survivors to relive intimate and painful details of the assault. These practices do not merely test evidence; they test endurance, often pushing survivors to withdraw from the legal process altogether.
The consequences of secondary victimisation are far-reaching. Many survivors choose not to report sexual violence at all, fearing social stigma and institutional mistreatment. Others abandon cases midway, exhausted by the emotional and financial costs of prolonged trials. This silence weakens the justice system itself. When survivors lose faith in legal institutions, offenders are more likely to escape accountability, and cycles of violence continue unchecked. In this way, secondary victimisation undermines not only individual dignity but also public confidence in the rule of law.
By focusing on the “second assault,” this study seeks to re-centre the conversation on survivor experience rather than symbolic legal change. True justice cannot be achieved through harsher punishments alone. It requires a system that listens, believes, and responds with care. The introduction of the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita and the Bharatiya Nagarik Suraksha Sanhita offers an opportunity to rethink how justice is delivered in practice. Unless institutional attitudes and procedures change alongside legal texts, survivors will continue to face harm at the hands of the very system meant to protect them. Addressing secondary victimisation, therefore, is not just a matter of reform—it is a moral imperative to ensure that the pursuit of justice does not become another form of violence.
CONCEPTUAL FRAMEWORK: UNDERSTANDING SECONDARY VICTIMISATION
Secondary victimisation occurs when the very systems meant to protect survivors of sexual violence—police, hospitals, courts, and social welfare institutions—end up causing them further harm. Unlike the trauma inflicted by the crime itself, this “second assault” emerges from insensitive procedures, disbelief, moral judgment, and procedural rigidity. For many survivors, the path to justice becomes a continuation of their suffering rather than a space for healing. Being forced to recount traumatic events multiple times, undergoing invasive medical examinations without adequate support, or facing sceptical officials can reopen emotional wounds and deepen feelings of shame, fear, and helplessness.
This form of victimisation is particularly intense in cases of sexual violence because of how society views women’s bodies, sexuality, and behaviour. Survivors are often judged against narrow societal expectations—how a “real” victim should act, dress, or respond. Any deviation from these expectations can lead to blame, doubt, or diminished credibility. The emotional toll is immense: survivors may feel that coming forward exposes them to scrutiny rather than protection, and that justice comes at the cost of personal dignity.
Feminist criminology helps explain why this happens, showing that law is not a neutral instrument but a reflection of social power structures, including patriarchy. Institutions are shaped by cultural beliefs about gender and morality, and these beliefs influence how survivors are treated. For example, police questioning, courtroom cross-examination, and medical investigations often reflect suspicion and mistrust rather than empathy and support. Critical legal studies further emphasise that secondary victimisation is not merely about individual insensitivity; it is produced by structural features of the system. Institutions that prioritise efficiency, formal procedures, or adversarial advantage over human experience inadvertently perpetuate harm.
Understanding secondary victimisation in this way shifts the focus from isolated mistakes to systemic injustice. It highlights that survivors’ negative experiences are not anomalies but predictable outcomes of gendered institutions. Recognising this allows policymakers, legal practitioners, and social workers to design responses that centre survivor dignity and care, rather than merely following procedural formalities. By addressing these structural and cultural dimensions, the criminal justice system can move from being a source of renewed trauma to a space of genuine support, justice, and healing.
HISTORICAL CONTEXT: SEXUAL VIOLENCE LAW REFORM IN INDIA
Before 2012, India’s legal framework addressing sexual offences was widely regarded as outdated, narrow, and insufficiently sensitive to the experiences of survivors. The definition of rape under Section 375 of the Indian Penal Code (IPC) was limited, covering only a very narrow conception of sexual violence, and excluded several forms of abuse that survivors commonly faced. Marital rape, for instance, was explicitly excluded from the law, leaving countless survivors without any legal recourse within the country. Procedural safeguards intended to protect survivors were minimal or inconsistently applied, and the system often seemed more focused on protecting the accused than on supporting those who had suffered trauma. Police practices were frequently insensitive, medical examinations invasive, and court proceedings long and intimidating. In such a context, survivors were often retraumatised merely by seeking justice, highlighting the systemic nature of what would later be identified as secondary victimisation.
The brutal gang rape and murder in Delhi in December 2012, known as the Nirbhaya case, shook the entire nation and drew international attention. The incident not only ignited widespread protests and public outrage, but it also laid bare the inadequacies of India’s legal and institutional response to sexual violence. Survivors’ voices had long been marginalised or silenced, and the Nirbhaya case highlighted the consequences of this structural neglect. It exposed how deeply entrenched patriarchal attitudes, outdated laws, and institutional apathy combined to create a system where victims often felt unsafe reporting crimes. The national discourse shifted dramatically, demanding legal reforms, procedural efficiency, and a justice system that treated survivors with dignity, empathy, and fairness.
In response, the Indian government enacted the Criminal Law (Amendment) Act, 2013, which brought significant reforms. This amendment expanded the legal definition of rape to include acts beyond penile-vaginal penetration, introduced new offences such as stalking, voyeurism, and acid attacks, and enhanced punishments for offenders. Equally important were procedural safeguards designed to protect survivors’ dignity: provisions for in-camera trials, the creation of fast-track courts, and rules aimed at limiting insensitive or intrusive questioning in court. These measures marked an important step toward a more survivor-centric criminal justice system, signalling an institutional acknowledgment of the harms caused by both sexual violence and the prior legal system’s failures.
Further reforms in 2018 strengthened these provisions, including harsher penalties for sexual offences, capital punishment in cases of particularly brutal rape, and an emphasis on speeding up trials to reduce delays that retraumatise survivors. However, legal reforms alone could not fully address the underlying issues. The effectiveness of these laws depends on how they are implemented on the ground, and survivors’ experiences continue to reveal gaps between statutory protections and reality.
The recent enactment of the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita (BNS), 2023, and the Bharatiya Nagarik Suraksha Sanhita (BNSS), 2023, was intended to modernise India’s criminal justice framework, moving away from the colonial-era Indian Penal Code and procedural rules. These new codes aim to strengthen protections for survivors, improve procedural efficiency, and create a more victim-centric system. They codify many substantive safeguards that were previously inconsistently applied, reflecting a clear intent to reduce institutional harm.
Yet, despite these changes, the persistence of secondary victimisation underscores a critical point: laws alone cannot eliminate trauma or transform institutional culture. Deeply ingrained patriarchal attitudes, procedural inertia, and lack of gender-sensitive training mean that survivors often continue to face disbelief, moral judgment, and retraumatisation when navigating police stations, hospitals, and courtrooms. True justice, therefore, requires not only modernised legal codes but also a shift in institutional culture and practice—one that centres survivor dignity, empathy, and care at every stage of the justice process.
POLICE INVESTIGATION AND SECONDARY VICTIMISATION
For many survivors of sexual violence, the police are the first point of contact with the criminal justice system. Ideally, this encounter should offer protection, validation, and the first step toward justice. In reality, however, it is often the stage where secondary victimisation begins. Despite legal mandates requiring the prompt registration of First Information Reports (FIRs) in cases of sexual assault, survivors frequently face hesitation, delay, or outright refusal when they seek to lodge complaints. This initial response can be devastating. At a moment when the survivor is most vulnerable—physically, emotionally, and psychologically—being met with disbelief or apathy communicates that their suffering is not taken seriously. It is a subtle but profound form of trauma, reinforcing feelings of shame, isolation, and powerlessness.
Patriarchal attitudes within policing institutions deeply shape these interactions. Survivors are often questioned in ways that suggest blame: why they were dressed in a certain way, why they were in a particular place, or whether they had previous relationships with the accused. Such questioning shifts responsibility from the perpetrator to the survivor, implying that the assault was somehow provoked or avoidable. These practices persist despite repeated judicial affirmations that a survivor’s past conduct, character, or sexual history is irrelevant to determining consent. From a criminological perspective, these interactions reflect the persistence of rape myths—cultural beliefs that normalise sexual violence, excuse perpetrators, and cast doubt on the credibility of survivors. The impact on the survivor is profound: what should be a protective system instead mirrors the judgment and stigma survivors often face in society.
Delays in investigation exacerbate this harm. Survivors may be required to revisit police stations multiple times, recounting the same traumatic events to different officers. They must navigate complex procedures with minimal guidance, often without access to legal counsel or support services. Each repeated retelling reopens emotional wounds, making the process as painful as the crime itself. These procedural delays not only prolong trauma but also undermine confidence in the justice system.
For survivors from marginalised backgrounds, including Dalits, Adivasis, and economically disadvantaged women, these challenges are amplified. Discrimination, fear of authority, language barriers, and lack of access to legal resources often make it even harder to engage with police effectively. In many cases, survivors weigh the emotional, social, and financial costs of pursuing justice against the likelihood of meaningful institutional support—and are forced to make the heartbreaking decision to remain silent.
In essence, the police, intended to be protectors, can inadvertently become agents of harm. Secondary victimisation at this stage sets the tone for the rest of the justice process, influencing whether survivors feel safe, believed, and empowered to pursue their case. It highlights the urgent need for systemic change: gender-sensitisation training for officers, protocols that prioritise survivor dignity, clear and accessible procedures, and support mechanisms that reduce retraumatisation. Until these changes are implemented, the first encounter with the justice system remains a critical point where survivors’ trust can either be affirmed or shattered.
FORENSIC INFRASTRUCTURE AND MEDICAL EXAMINATION
Medical and forensic examinations play a critical role in sexual violence cases, providing the evidence needed for prosecution and the pursuit of justice. In principle, these procedures are meant to support survivors and strengthen their cases. In practice, however, they often become sites of additional trauma, compounding the emotional and psychological burden survivors already carry. Despite the formal banning of degrading practices such as the two-finger test, reports indicate that insensitive, outdated, and invasive methods persist in some regions. Survivors may undergo examinations without informed consent, with minimal attention to privacy or emotional wellbeing. In such circumstances, the process of gathering evidence can feel less like a path toward justice and more like a violation in itself.
The experience of undergoing a medical or forensic examination immediately after a sexual assault is inherently stressful. Survivors are in a vulnerable state, coping with shock, fear, and physical pain. When medical staff approach examinations with indifference or insensitivity, it reinforces feelings of helplessness and violation. The trauma of the assault is magnified when survivors feel that their bodies are treated as evidence rather than as part of a person who has suffered a profound injustice. Emotional support, clear explanations, and empathetic communication are often absent, leaving survivors to navigate a complex and intimidating process alone.
These harms are closely tied to chronic systemic shortcomings in forensic infrastructure. Many public hospitals and medical institutions in India face severe shortages of trained personnel, modern equipment, and standardised procedures. Inadequate staffing means that survivors often wait hours—or even days—for examinations, while laboratories may take weeks or months to analyse samples. Delays in processing evidence can weaken cases, leading to lower conviction rates or acquittals. For survivors, this is experienced not merely as a procedural failure but as a form of institutional betrayal: the system that is meant to protect them has fallen short at a moment of profound need.
From a criminological perspective, these gaps reflect a deeper, systemic issue: crimes against women are often not treated with the urgency, seriousness, or empathy they demand. While legal reforms have focused on defining offences and specifying punishments, little attention has been given to ensuring that the mechanisms for evidence collection respect survivor dignity and minimize trauma. The lack of investment in infrastructure, training, and survivor-centered protocols underscores a continuing undervaluation of sexual violence within the broader criminal justice system.
Addressing this issue requires both procedural and cultural change. Hospitals and forensic units must adopt standardised, trauma-informed protocols that prioritise survivor consent, privacy, and emotional support. Medical professionals need comprehensive training to understand the psychological impact of sexual assault and to conduct examinations with sensitivity. Investment in modern equipment, adequately staffed laboratories, and clear procedural guidelines can reduce delays, strengthen cases, and restore confidence in the justice process. By reimagining forensic and medical examination as a site of care rather than coercion, the criminal justice system can begin to reverse the cycle of secondary victimisation and ensure that survivors are supported rather than retraumatised.
JUDICIAL TRIALS AND COURTROOM TRAUMA
Courtrooms are often imagined as spaces of justice, fairness, and protection, yet for survivors of sexual violence, they can be profoundly intimidating and alienating. Ideally, legal proceedings should provide a path to redress and closure, but in practice, they often become sites of retraumatisation. Even though in-camera trials are mandated in sexual offence cases to protect survivors’ privacy, the adversarial nature of criminal trials frequently exacerbates the emotional and psychological toll. Survivors, already grappling with the trauma of the assault, are compelled to relive the events repeatedly, recounting painful memories to strangers in formal, high-pressure settings. For many, the courtroom becomes a second battlefield—a place where their credibility is scrutinised, their personal lives dissected, and their dignity repeatedly tested.
One of the most significant sources of this secondary trauma is the cross-examination process. Aggressive questioning by defence lawyers often focuses on minor inconsistencies in the survivor’s narrative, past relationships, or behaviours that are perceived as deviations from the socially constructed idea of a “perfect victim.” Survivors may be asked intrusive questions about their clothing, lifestyle, or prior interactions with the accused, implicitly suggesting that they share responsibility for the crime. Such questioning does more than challenge testimony—it reinforces patriarchal norms, implying that a “real” victim should behave in a certain way, show visible distress, and adhere to socially acceptable standards of conduct. Feminist legal scholars argue that these practices reflect a deep institutional mistrust of women’s testimony, particularly in cases where physical evidence is limited or the crime occurred in private. The law, in these moments, appears less as a tool for justice and more as a mechanism that replicates societal biases and suspicions.
Judicial delays further compound these harms. Trials in India often stretch over years, forcing survivors to relive their trauma multiple times without adequate support. Each adjournment, each summons to court, is a reminder of the assault and the ongoing struggle to be heard and believed. While the introduction of fast-track, courts was intended to expedite sexual offence trials and reduce the burden on survivors, their impact has been uneven. Staffing shortages, heavy case loads, procedural bottlenecks, and administrative inefficiencies have limited their effectiveness. As a result, survivors often find themselves caught in protracted legal battles, navigating complex procedures and enduring repeated emotional distress.
The psychological impact of courtroom trauma cannot be overstated. Survivors often leave court feeling exhausted, humiliated, and sometimes defeated, even before the final verdict is delivered. Without access to counselling or emotional support, these experiences can compound the original trauma of the assault, discouraging survivors from pursuing justice or reporting future crimes. The courtroom, intended as a place of protection and accountability, can instead become a symbol of vulnerability and betrayal.
Addressing this challenge requires structural and cultural reforms within the judicial system. Judges, prosecutors, and lawyers must be trained in trauma-informed practices, recognising the emotional realities of survivors and avoiding unnecessary or intrusive questioning. Court procedures should prioritise survivor dignity and minimise repeated retelling of the assault. Ensuring timely trials, proper psychological support, and consistent implementation of fast-track courts can help reduce the retraumatisation that survivors experience. By transforming the courtroom from a space of fear into one of safety and support, the justice system can begin to fulfil its promise of justice, not just in theory, but in the lived experience of survivors.
SOCIAL STIGMA AND EXTRA-LEGAL VICTIMISATION
The trauma faced by survivors of sexual violence often extends far beyond the courtroom or police station. Even after reporting the crime, many find themselves confronting social ostracism, victim-blaming, and at times, direct threats from family members, neighbours, or community members. The fear of such stigma is a powerful deterrent to reporting sexual offences, particularly when the perpetrator is an acquaintance, a family member, or an intimate partner. In these situations, survivors often face a painful dilemma: seek justice and risk social exclusion, or remain silent and endure the trauma privately. This extra-legal victimisation compounds the harm they have already suffered, making recovery and engagement with the justice system even more challenging.
Social attitudes towards survivors of sexual violence are often rooted in deeply ingrained patriarchal norms. Survivors may be questioned about their behaviour, attire, or the circumstances leading up to the assault, implying that they somehow invited the violence. Such victim-blaming narratives are pervasive and can come not only from strangers or community members but also from family, friends, and even authorities who are meant to provide support. The emotional cost of these interactions is immense: survivors experience shame, guilt, isolation, and a sense of being judged rather than supported. Many are made to feel that the assault has not only violated their body but also tainted their social identity, further entrenching trauma and discouraging future reporting.
Criminology reminds us that the legal system does not operate in isolation; it is embedded within the broader social fabric. When legal actors—police officers, judges, and lawyers—share the same patriarchal assumptions that permeate society, their responses to survivors inevitably reflect those biases. Questioning, disbelief, and insensitivity within legal processes often mirror the victim-blaming attitudes prevalent in communities. In effect, the law and society interact in ways that can perpetuate harm rather than prevent it, creating a cycle where survivors are silenced and offenders continue to evade accountability.
The consequences of social stigma are far-reaching. Survivors who fear judgment or retaliation may delay or entirely avoid reporting crimes. This underreporting weakens the legal system’s capacity to hold perpetrators accountable and undermines broader social efforts to address sexual violence. Additionally, the anticipation of stigma and extra-legal victimisation can deter survivors from seeking essential medical, psychological, or legal support, leaving trauma unaddressed and cases unresolved. For those from marginalized communities—such as Dalits, Adivasis, or economically disadvantaged women—the intersection of social prejudice and systemic bias can make these challenges even more severe, creating barriers that are both structural and social.
Addressing social stigma and extra-legal victimisation requires interventions beyond legal reform. Education, awareness campaigns, and community engagement are crucial to challenge victim-blaming norms and patriarchal beliefs. Survivors must be provided with accessible, safe spaces where they can report crimes without fear of judgment or reprisal, alongside counseling and social support that acknowledges and validates their experiences. Only by addressing the social dimensions of secondary victimisation alongside institutional reforms can the cycle of silence, shame, and impunity be broken.
IMPACT ON REPORTING AND THE RULE OF LAW
The consequences of secondary victimisation extend far beyond the immediate trauma experienced by survivors—they strike at the very heart of the justice system and the rule of law. When survivors encounter hostility, disbelief, or insensitive procedures at the hands of the police, medical staff, or courts, the impact is often discouraging enough to silence them entirely. Many survivors come to view reporting their assault as an ordeal that may inflict as much harm as the crime itself. Faced with repeated humiliation, invasive questioning, and prolonged delays, silence can feel like the safer and more bearable option. Unfortunately, this silence comes at a high cost: the underreporting of sexual violence.
Underreporting has profound implications for individual survivors as well as for society at large. On a personal level, choosing not to report leaves trauma unaddressed and justice unpursued. Survivors may internalise shame, guilt, or fear, exacerbating psychological and social harm. On a societal level, the failure to report incidents of sexual violence erodes the ability of the criminal justice system to function effectively. Laws, no matter how comprehensive on paper, cannot fulfil their purpose if survivors are too intimidated or distrustful to come forward. A legal system that exists only in statutes but fails in practice loses credibility, appearing distant, inaccessible, and unsympathetic. In such a scenario, survivors’ faith in the institutions meant to protect them is eroded, and the social contract between the state and its citizens is weakened.
Secondary victimisation also undermines the preventive function of criminal law. The deterrent effect of punishment relies on the visibility of accountability: offenders should believe that criminal acts will lead to consequences. However, when survivors perceive that reporting is futile or that cases are likely to collapse due to procedural failures, systemic delays, or insensitivity, the perception of impunity grows. Offenders may feel emboldened, knowing that survivors are unlikely to engage with the system or that their testimony will be challenged aggressively in court. This perpetuates a cycle where crimes continue to occur, survivors remain vulnerable, and societal trust in the rule of law is weakened.
Addressing secondary victimisation is therefore not simply a matter of compassion—it is a structural necessity for justice and crime control. Minimising retraumatisation, ensuring prompt and sensitive handling of cases, and creating supportive, survivor-centric environments are essential not only for the wellbeing of survivors but also for maintaining the legitimacy of the justice system. When survivors are believed, respected, and supported, reporting rates increase, prosecutions are strengthened, and offenders are more likely to be held accountable. A justice system that protects survivors in practice reinforces both public trust and the deterrent function of the law.
Ultimately, secondary victimisation demonstrates that law and justice are inseparable from the human experience of those they are meant to serve. Legal reforms alone cannot guarantee accountability or protection; they must be accompanied by institutional culture change, procedural sensitivity, and social support. Only then can survivors come forward without fear, crimes be addressed effectively, and the rule of law function as the foundation of a society committed to fairness, safety, and justice for all.
TOWARDS A VICTIM-CENTRIC APPROACH
Addressing secondary victimisation requires far more than simply changing laws on paper—it demands a fundamental shift in the way institutions respond to survivors of sexual violence. Legal reform is necessary, but without corresponding changes in institutional culture, procedural practices, and professional attitudes, survivors will continue to face retraumatisation at every stage of the justice process. A truly victim-centric approach places the survivor’s dignity, safety, and well-being at the center of every decision, from police reporting to courtroom proceedings.
The first and most critical step is comprehensive gender-sensitisation and trauma-informed training for all personnel who interact with survivors. Police officers, judges, prosecutors, and medical professionals must be educated not only about the legal provisions related to sexual violence but also about the psychological and emotional impact of trauma. Such training can challenge deeply ingrained rape myths, reduce unconscious bias, and foster a culture of empathy. When officers and legal professionals understand how repeated questioning, invasive procedures, or delays can retraumatise survivors, they are more likely to respond in ways that affirm dignity and provide reassurance rather than exacerbate harm.
Investment in forensic infrastructure is another key component of a victim-centric system. Modern equipment, well-trained forensic experts, and standardised protocols are essential to ensure that evidence is collected efficiently, accurately, and respectfully. Survivor-friendly protocols—such as informed consent before examinations, privacy safeguards, and access to support personnel—can transform what is often a frightening and invasive process into one that is minimally distressing and even empowering. Prompt and efficient forensic analysis also strengthens prosecutions, reducing delays that might otherwise contribute to retraumatisation and case attrition.
The courtroom itself must be reimagined as a space where survivors feel supported rather than scrutinised. Courts should actively curb irrelevant or invasive questioning that focuses on personal behaviour, appearance, or past relationships. Judicial processes should be streamlined to avoid unnecessary delays, ensuring that survivors are not forced to relive their trauma over months or years. Providing access to counseling and support services during the trial can help survivors navigate the emotional challenges of litigation and maintain their engagement with the justice system.
Ultimately, a victim-centric criminal justice system must recognise survivors as rights-bearing individuals, not merely sources of evidence. Every interaction—whether in a police station, hospital, or courtroom—should reflect respect, dignity, and care. This means creating environments where survivors feel safe to report crimes, confident that they will be heard and believed, and assured that the system exists to support, rather than punish, them. It requires a cultural and procedural transformation: laws alone cannot create justice if the people implementing them continue to operate within patriarchal frameworks that prioritise efficiency or suspicion over survivor welfare.
A system that is genuinely victim-centered benefits not only survivors but society at large. By reducing retraumatisation, increasing reporting rates, and improving the quality of prosecutions, it strengthens the rule of law and reinforces public trust in institutions. Survivors are more likely to pursue justice when they feel supported, and offenders are held accountable when cases are handled competently and sensitively. In this way, a shift toward a victim-centric approach is not only a moral imperative but also a practical necessity for an effective and just criminal justice system.
CONCLUSION
Secondary victimisation is one of the most painful betrayals a survivor of sexual violence can experience. When someone steps forward to seek justice, they are placing immense trust in the very institutions that are supposed to protect them. They share their vulnerability, their trauma, and their hope that the system will respond with care, fairness, and dignity. When the police, doctors, or courts respond with doubt, invasive procedures, delays, or insensitive questioning, the state itself becomes complicit in the suffering of the survivor. What was meant to be a path toward justice becomes a journey through fear, humiliation, and repeated trauma. This is the essence of the “second assault”- a systemic failure where the weight of proving one’s truth is unfairly placed on those already harmed, while perpetrators navigate a system that often fails to fully hold them accountable.
The legal reforms represented by the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita (BNS), 2023, and the Bharatiya Nagarik Suraksha Sanhita (BNSS), 2023, offer a framework for meaningful change. These codes aim to modernize criminal law, speed up investigations and trials, and embed victim-centric practices into the justice system. They reflect an understanding that survivors should not be further burdened by bureaucratic inefficiency or insensitive procedures. In principle, these reforms promise a system where survivors are treated with dignity and their experiences taken seriously. Yet, as this study demonstrates, the promise of reform often falls short in practice. The problem is not just the laws themselves, but the attitudes and cultures within the institutions that implement them. Deeply ingrained patriarchal mindsets—the “Ghost of the IPC”—continue to shape how survivors are treated. Survivors are questioned about their clothing, behaviour, or sexual history; medical procedures are conducted without proper consent; and courtroom cross-examinations often focus on moral judgment rather than facts. These are not isolated mistakes; they are part of a systemic pattern where survivor credibility is doubted and trauma is compounded. The persistence of these practices reminds us that legal reforms alone cannot remove centuries of structural and cultural bias.
The consequences of secondary victimisation extend far beyond individual cases. When survivors experience the justice system as hostile or humiliating, many choose not to report crimes at all. Others abandon cases midway, worn down by repeated trauma, delays, or lack of support. This underreporting allows perpetrators to remain unaccountable and weakens public confidence in the rule of law. The justice system cannot function effectively if those it is meant to protect feel unsafe in engaging with it. In this way, secondary victimisation is not only a failure of empathy; it is a failure of governance. Addressing this challenge requires a multi-dimensional approach. Legal provisions must be paired with comprehensive gender-sensitisation and trauma-informed training for police officers, medical professionals, lawyers, and judges. Institutions must develop practices that respect survivor dignity, protect privacy, and minimise retraumatization. Forensic infrastructure and procedural efficiency must be strengthened so that survivors are not burdened by repeated delays or repeated reliving of trauma. Courts must actively prevent unnecessary, invasive, or morally judgmental questioning. At the same time, social support systems—including counseling, legal aid, and advocacy—must be accessible so that survivors feel supported throughout the process.
Ultimately, the fight against secondary victimisation is a fight for human dignity. Justice is not only about convictions or punishments; it is about creating a space where survivors are heard, believed, and respected. The BNS and BNSS provide the framework for this transformation, but the institutions themselves—along with the people who operate them—must embrace this vision. To truly serve survivors, the system must shed patriarchal assumptions, challenge biases, and place empathy and care at the center of every interaction.
In conclusion, secondary victimisation reminds us that justice is not merely a procedural or legal concept; it is a deeply human one. Survivors deserve more than symbolic reforms—they deserve a system that restores dignity, affirms their courage, and supports their healing. Only when the legal system is experienced as protective rather than punitive can the cycle of secondary victimisation be broken. By confronting the “Ghost of the IPC” and transforming institutional culture, India can create a justice system that is not a source of renewed trauma, but a place where survivors of sexual violence find recognition, support, and the justice they deserve.