That child could be mine!

Remorse for past mistakes is not merely about the sorrow or sympathy that arises for the victim later—it is also about the weight of shame that gnaws at one's own conscience. But some individuals continue to repeat their heinous acts without even a trace of reflection, repentance or shame, dragging Kerala's dignity so low that it seems to have fallen into the abyss. Before the horror of a mother throwing her four-and-a-half-year-old daughter into the Aluva river had even faded, the postmortem report revealed another chilling truth—that the innocent child had been subjected to repeated sexual abuse by a close relative of her father. Every time incidents like these happen, the media shouts, “Kerala, hang your head in shame.” By now, even that headline seems worn out—perhaps it, too, carries the weight of its own overuse and feels a sense of shame.

What is most painful and alarming is that those who physically and mentally destroy these young children are often people from within their own families. Parents, stepping out briefly for urgent tasks, usually entrust their children to nearby relatives or neighbours—people they trust. These unfortunate incidents stain that trust in love and care. When families are forced to view even their close relatives with suspicion and to distance their children from them, we must reflect on the scars that such distrust leaves on the fabric of our familial relationships. The news that emerges daily is so vile that it becomes impossible to blame the helpless parents.

We often discuss the loneliness and lack of confidence experienced by children in nuclear families. But in the brutal incident in Aluva, it was the environment of a joint family that gave the abuser the opportunity. Whether it's a nuclear family or a joint one, the responsibility of safeguarding a child's sexual safety lies squarely with the parents. When such abuse comes from within the family itself, it only reinforces this reality. There are even cases where parents, fearing social shame, choose to cover up the abuse. They forget that the price of that silence is justice—the justice owed to their own child.

When children step out of their homes, they spend most of their time in schools. Therefore, it is in the vigilance of all good-hearted individuals who interact with them—teachers, school counselors, school bus attendants, tuition teachers, kind shopkeepers along their routes, domestic workers, drivers employed at home, friends of the parents, and many others who may share any form of closeness with the child—that their safety must now rest. In an era where the innocent lives of smiling, flower-like children can be torn apart in a moment by shameful, depraved lust, their safety cannot be guaranteed by the government or school authorities alone. Let the legal system and justice mechanisms be strict and truthful. But above all, it is our own eyes that must remain open first. Let every heart say: That child could be mine!