In the wake of explosive allegations against The Wire journalist Omar Rashid, a disturbing and damning pattern is surfacing—one where women, particularly from the liberal-left ecosystem, claim they chose silence over justice, not out of fear of their abusers, but out of fear of “fanning Islamophobia.” The result? A chilling equation where optics trump outrage, and abusers walk free while survivors self-censor to appease political narratives.
Enter Ruchika Sharma—a YouTuber best known for her thirst traps of cosmetic tutorials to compensate for her lack of scholarship in history—who decided to toss ideological grenades into an already volatile conversation. Weighed down more by ideological considerations than intellectual integrity, Sharma took to X (formerly Twitter) with a take so perverse, it would be laughable if it weren’t so tragic.
Reading the allegations levelled against Omar Rashid was deeply triggering and very relatable as someone who has now (for the past 3.5 years) been successfully clean of a 10 year long mentally and physically abusive relationship.
— Dr. Ruchika Sharma (@tishasaroyan) May 22, 2025
The part where she says he would beat her up and… pic.twitter.com/8QFaigTqx0
“Equally sad but predictable to see this woman’s harrowing experience be used to fan Islamophobia,” she wrote. Then, without a trace of self-awareness, Sharma revealed she too had once chosen not to call out her own abuser. Why? Because, in her words, “dingbat Sanghis will just use it to further their own horrible communal agenda.”
Yes—she admitted it. She had been abused, and she decided the optics of calling out a Muslim man during polarised times were worse than staying silent about the abuse itself.
Predictably, the internet erupted.
Critics across the spectrum pointed out the grotesque moral inversion: both Sharma and the anonymous survivor seemed more horrified at the possibility of being misused by the right wing than by the acts of violence committed against them. In a stunning display of moral gymnastics, the crime itself was subordinated to who might gain political capital from its exposure.
This moral tightrope was especially visible in the survivor’s original account.
The anonymous Hindu woman accused Omar Rashid—a journalist celebrated in liberal circles—of repeated sexual coercion, physical abuse, and forcing her to consume beef against her will. What made her stay quiet, she claimed, was the looming threat of being seen as a pawn in a communal narrative. “He kept reminding me of my identity in a ‘Hindu Rashtra’,” she wrote, “and how this relationship had to remain secret for the greater good of Muslim men.” Her silence, weaponised through guilt, was not just fear—it was manipulated submission under the guise of solidarity.
In a follow-up, she clarified that her post was not an indictment of a religion, but a condemnation of patriarchy. “His faith didn’t define his crime—his predatory nature did,” she explained. “He could have belonged to any religion. What happened wasn’t about food or faith. It was about control.”
While her clarification might satisfy the moral relativists on the left, the backlash was fierce. Many argued that by refusing to speak up earlier—precisely because of the man’s religion—she may have enabled continued abuse. Ideology, once again, stood guard while justice stood abandoned.
It wasn’t just Sharma and the survivor. Another woman came forward recounting a similar moral paralysis: she had once let go of a molester because he was Muslim, believing that filing a complaint would make her complicit in a state already perceived as hostile to minorities. “It felt ethically wrong of me somehow,” she admitted, echoing the same dissonant logic.
The Wire has since issued a tepid response, announcing an “internal inquiry” into the allegations against Rashid. But many online are skeptical—seeing it as damage control, not accountability.
What this case has ripped open is not just the dark underbelly of a journalist’s alleged actions, but the deeper rot festering within liberal feminism. A feminism that breaks its silence only when it’s safe, that picks and chooses its villains based on identity rather than action, is no feminism at all. It’s complicity in designer activism, and the casualties are the very women it claims to protect.
Because when political expediency becomes more sacred than justice, it is not just victims who lose—it is the very idea of accountability that dies a slow, ideological death.
And predators? They thrive in that silence.
