Sometimes, there are people who snap when the law doesn’t speak for them.

When someone you love – a child, a sibling, a partner – is brutally harmed, and the system meant to protect the innocent ends up protecting the guilty instead, something snaps. Law enforcement, legal process and courtrooms begin to feel meaningless, making it seem like ‘justice’ is more about what the current law allows than what is right.

And sometimes, that’s the space where the idea of ‘taking the law into one’s own hands’ walks in.

It’s usually uncomfortable and controversial to talk about. Because in theory, the law must be followed. Because vigilantism is, in theory, wrong. And yet, in stories where survivors are failed by courts, or when perpetrators get away with their crimes due to technicalities, corruption or protected status – it’s hard not to ask: Should the person seeking justice beyond the law really be blamed?

In The Hovering Blade (Japanese), a father finds out the men who brutally raped and murdered his daughter are juveniles, shielded by the law because of their age. The system sees their age and the idea of reform, but the father sees the remains of his daughter’s innocence and future. So he picks up a weapon and is hunted down by the police. But is he really the villain, or the only voice speaking for a child for whom the law won’t provide real justice?

In Chittha (Tamil), a few minor girls are raped by paedophiles. What follows is not just a revenge plot but an exploration of grief, helplessness, and what justice even means when the victim is a child. The man whose niece was one of the victims, feels like punishment within the law isn’t justice enough for what she suffered.

In Provoked, a woman burns her abusive husband alive after years of relentless domestic violence. The court initially sees only the murder of the husband, and not the screams that were never heard. Only when battered woman syndrome is introduced does the conversation even shift. Criminal Justice drama had a similar case where the woman is on trial for killing her husband who sexually abused her and made her feel crazy.

There are many stories like this, fictional and real, where the law either protects the wrong person, delays justice until it’s meaningless, or retraumatises the victim in the name of process.

In such moments, picking up a weapon becomes a language for the silenced. Sometimes, it’s action taken because of the inaction of the system supposed to be protecting them.

I often think about the premise of Death Note – the idea that someone could directly eliminate people who commit crimes, bypassing legal systems. Laws are bound by technicalities, procedures, and loopholes like insufficient evidence that often let culprits slip through the cracks. In that context, the Death Note feels like a way to restore balance when systems fail. Of course one could label such a figure a serial killer, since Light Yagami who begins trying to cleanse the world eventually starts killing anyone in his way. Maybe my idealist mind can’t help but wonder what that story would look like if the notebook had ended up in the hands of someone balanced, humble, and fair.

But since there’s no notebook in the real world, it’s the victims or their families who sometimes find themselves caught between the system and what feels right. There are indeed risks with vigilantism, and the line between justice and chaos can blur. But in cases where the law has clearly failed – where minors walk free after horrific crimes, or victims are punished for defending themselves – is it really wrong for people to feel like taking the law in their own hands?

Sometimes it’s the only way someone can say: What was done to us mattered, even if the law said it didn’t.