Trigger Warning: Sexual assault, false accusations, gender-based violence, and emotional distress.
There’s an old legal maxim I’ve always cherished for its humanity:
It is better that ten guilty persons escape than that one innocent suffer.
It is the heartbeat of a just society, cautious, compassionate, and designed to protect the vulnerable. Yet, what happens when the system meant to uphold it ends up betraying both truth and the very people it seeks to serve?
In the past few years, I’ve encountered three women who admitted to filing false charges of rape or assault against men with whom they’d once had consensual relationships. One did it for monetary gain. The others, heartbreakingly, did it for revenge. They were startlingly candid with me in private, as though their confessions required no remorse.
Meanwhile, one of those men, someone I didn’t even know until she introduced me to him, lost his entire livelihood. His law practice, his wealth, his relationships, and ultimately, his place in society. He is now destitute, broken by a legal process that should have protected him.
The enormity of this story has weighed on me. It’s not that it invalidates genuine survivors. It is that it underscores how systems designed to safeguard can be manipulated when wielded by those with the resources and will to misuse them.
But in that same breath, I must also say that I know at least ten women who never reported the abuse they suffered. These women had every right to seek legal recourse but couldn’t, or wouldn’t. Some still cared for the very men who hurt them. Some feared for their children. Some were dependent emotionally or financially. Some were too shattered to endure the re-traumatisation of legal proceedings. And some feared they wouldn’t be believed.
And here lies a painful paradox. Every time someone fakes an accusation, every time the law is twisted into a personal vendetta, it chips away at the credibility of those who truly suffer. It feeds the very scepticism that silences real victims. It becomes ammunition for those who say women lie, when in truth, most do not. But the few who do—consciously, maliciously—do unimaginable damage to the cause they pretend to champion. They don’t just harm the men they accuse. They harm every woman who will now be disbelieved, every survivor whose courage to come forward will be second-guessed, every whisper of truth that will now be muffled by suspicion.
So let there be no doubt. I am a feminist. I believe our laws should protect women, and I fight for them to do so. This piece is not an anthem for “men’s rights.” I am not, as anyone who knows me will testify, a “meninist” (a rather silly, juvenile, and meaningless word, like “Bollywood” and “Lollywood”). It is not a demand that we dismantle protections. It is a plea for nuance. A plea to uphold justice with integrity, for everyone.
And here is where it becomes even more complicated. Our justice system itself can sometimes push people, women included, towards falsehoods. A close friend once approached a lawyer about filing a case of domestic violence. She had genuine grounds, years of abuse, and tangible evidence. Yet the lawyer, a man, dismissed her truth as irrelevant. He told her that he would decide how to tell her story so it would “win.” Facts, he said, were secondary to a more dramatic narrative that could be spun for maximum effect.
Refusing to lie, she walked away. But she remains deeply shaken by the realisation that this is how many cases might be handled. Lawyers constructing sensational claims rather than seeking justice grounded in truth.
In one of my own divorces, my then (soon-to-be-ex) wife was constantly provoked by her lawyer to “make a list” of her complaints, when in fact, she had none (it was mutual consent), even when, and this is where it really gets interesting, we were sharing the same lawyer (because, remember mutual consent?). Yes. We. Had. The. Same. Lawyer. And yet, he told her he could find ways to hurt me! I would never have known this had she, incredulous at the situation, herself not told me, and we engaged another counsel.
The irony is bitter. Here is a system largely designed and still often dominated by men, encouraging or enabling deceit. This does not absolve the women who knowingly lie. It simply shows how structural flaws and unethical practices can lure vulnerable people, and sometimes not-so-vulnerable people, into misusing the law. It is yet another testament to how complex these issues can be.
I know this article may draw criticism. “Why aren’t you writing about women who suffer?” But I do. I have. I will. “Don’t you believe survivors?” I do. Deeply. Always, until someone proves beyond a doubt that they are lying.
What I won’t accept is the argument that I must write about everything in order to have the right to write about anything.
This article was prompted by a particular news story. It reminded me of a particular pain. A real man, now ruined. A woman, whom I once trusted, who did something terrible. A lawyer, who broke our trust. That does not negate all the suffering women face. It does not mean I think men have it worse. It simply means I am responding to a wound I have seen up close.
And to those who feel other issues are being ignored, please write about them. I will stand with you. I will read your words. I will amplify your voice. But do not ask me to be silent just because my words do not speak to your chosen moment.
Justice matters. Truth matters. And so does the integrity of the causes we hold close. When even a handful of people misuse the law, whether they are lawyers constructing lies for gain or plaintiffs bending the truth out of spite, it undermines the moral authority of those who genuinely need protection. It erodes the faith we so desperately need when we stand beside real survivors.
And in the process, it breaks something in all of us. Our trust, our unity, our hope.
I still believe in women. I still believe in justice. And I still believe there is a way to protect both without allowing either to be betrayed. But that will require us to face the painful, human reality that some will weaponise what was meant to heal. It will require us to confront those within the legal system who value a “win” over the truth. And it will demand that we speak up, even when it is uncomfortable, so we can build a justice system that genuinely serves the innocent, no matter who they are.
Because if we don’t, we risk losing more than a court case or an argument. We risk losing our humanity, and the very belief that any of this is worth fighting for.
P.S.: What are the odds that even with the mildest tone, heartfelt empathy, and pussyfooting about every little phrase I used so as to avoid being misunderstood, some of my feminist friends (whose ally I am, unequivocally, and having proven this multiple times with words, action, and intent in every which way) will still find something horrible to say about me, about what I wrote, about the image I chose (after careful research whether Cruella has any feminist credentials at all), about the words I used, about what I ‘actually mean’, about my inherent patriarchy and privilege, and about men in general? Wait, don’t tell me.
