July 11, 2026
Every time a woman is sexually assaulted, the same tired question resurfaces: "What was she wearing?"
It is a question so deeply rooted in victim-blaming that it has become almost instinctive. It shifts the spotlight away from the perpetrator and onto the victim, as though a piece of clothing has the power to override morality, conscience, and the law.
But today, I want those who ask that question to pause.
Imagine a 13-year-old schoolgirl.
She is wearing her school uniform. It is probably creased from sitting through classes and stained with sweat and dust from playing during recess. A heavy school bag hangs from her shoulders, filled with notebooks—some carefully covered, others with dog-eared pages and torn corners. A pencil case rattles inside with half-used pencils and pens that have long run out of ink. Her biggest worries should have been homework, exams, friendships, and what she would eat when she got home.

She is a child. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Now ask yourself: Which part of that child invited violence? Which part of her innocence seduced thirty-two grown men? Which page in her notebook gave them permission? Which crease in her uniform justified days of unimaginable brutality?
More importantly, as she cried, pleaded, and endured pain that no human being should ever experience, what silenced their conscience? What extinguished every trace of empathy? How does a human being witness the terror of a child and continue?
The uncomfortable truth is this: rape has never been about clothing.
If clothing caused rape, children would be safe. If clothing caused rape, women covered from head to toe would never be assaulted. If clothing caused rape, grandmothers would never become victims. If clothing caused rape, infants would never suffer such horrors. And yet, they do.
Because rape is not born out of attraction. It is born out of entitlement, power, violence, and the belief that another person's body exists to be dominated rather than respected.
Every time we ask what a victim was wearing, we ask the wrong question. We unknowingly place a burden on the innocent instead of demanding accountability from the guilty.
The question we should be asking is: What kind of upbringing, mindset, and moral failure allows a person to believe they have the right to violate another human being?
Until society stops policing women's wardrobes and starts confronting the attitudes that enable sexual violence, we will continue to fail victims long after the crime has been committed.
The responsibility for rape has never rested on the victim—not in her clothes, not in her choices, not in her smile, and not in the hour she stepped outside. It rests entirely with the person who chose to commit the crime.
The day we stop asking, "What was she wearing?" and start asking, "Why did he think he had the right?" is the day we begin moving towards real justice.