Patriarchy has always found ways to disguise its violence. Sometimes it hides behind the language of love and family, sometimes behind faith, sometimes behind culture. But its most insidious disguise has always been minimisation: “it was only a quarrel,” “she provoked him,” “they’ll sort it out.” Donald Trump’s recent dismissal of domestic violence as “a little fight with the wife” may have shocked many, but in reality it echoed a much older refrain. Patriarchy survives not just through open brutality but through the steady erasure of women’s pain.
Domestic violence is not a quarrel. It is not an accident. It is not a private matter to be resolved behind closed doors. It is a system one that reproduces itself across continents, across generations, and across institutions. And like every system, it is maintained by silence, sustained by complicity, and reinforced by repetition.
Across the world, women are most at risk of harm not from strangers but from the men closest to them. The numbers are staggering. The United Nations reports that nearly one in three women globally 736 million people have experienced physical and/or sexual violence, most often by an intimate partner. In Britain, 1.6 million women experienced domestic abuse in the last year alone. In India, almost a third of married women report spousal violence. In South Africa, activists describe gender-based violence as a “second pandemic.” In Nigeria, the Demographic and Health Survey found that more than 30% of women aged 15–49 had experienced physical violence since age 15, and in some communities, wife-beating is still considered acceptable under certain conditions.
These are not scattered tragedies. They are symptoms of a global order that normalises men’s control over women’s lives. Patriarchy may take different cultural forms in Lagos, London, Delhi, or Johannesburg, but its logic is the same: women’s safety is negotiable, men’s authority is assumed, and violence is tolerated as long as it is confined to the home.
The cost is not limited to women. Children who grow up in violent households are deeply affected. Research shows they are more likely to suffer depression, anxiety, and post-traumatic stress. They may struggle at school, withdraw socially, or lash out aggressively. Many carry physical health problems into adulthood, including chronic illness linked to long-term stress.
But the deepest wound is often generational. A boy who grows up watching his father hit his mother learns a false lesson about manhood: that power is proved through domination. A girl who grows up watching her mother endure learns a false lesson about womanhood: that silence is survival. These children do not start with a blank slate; they inherit scripts written by violence. Some replicate those scripts, becoming abusers or victims themselves. Others resist, but only after years of struggle to unlearn what they once thought was normal.
This is why domestic violence is not just a “women’s issue.” It is everyone’s issue, because it shapes the kind of societies we build. Today’s children are tomorrow’s leaders, police officers, teachers, and judges. If they grow up in environments where violence is minimized, they will carry those lessons into the very institutions meant to protect us. The system reproduces itself: private violence becomes public neglect, and public neglect breeds more private violence.
When presidents dismiss abuse, they do not only insult survivors they license institutions to follow suit. Police forces around the world often respond slowly or dismissively to domestic abuse cases, treating them as low priority. Courts delay proceedings, retraumatizing survivors while emboldening perpetrators. Workplaces rarely offer protections for employees experiencing abuse at home, assuming it has nothing to do with “professional life.” Schools and universities underplay dating violence, dismissing it as youthful drama.
This institutional minimisation mirrors the cultural minimisation that happens in families and communities. The system is seamless: when survivors are told at home that it is “not serious,” then ignored by police, then doubted in court, then unsupported at work, the message is consistent your pain does not count. Patriarchy functions not only through individual men’s actions but through institutional complicity.
What Then?
If domestic violence is a system, how do we dismantle it? The answer lies not in piecemeal gestures but in structural transformation.
First, refuse minimisation. Every time leaders call violence a “fight,” every time neighbours excuse it as “family matters,” every time communities shame women for speaking out, the system is reinforced. Breaking it begins with naming it not as a private quarrel, but as crime, as violence, as structural harm.
Second, invest in survivors. Shelters, counselling services, legal aid, and hotlines are not luxuries; they are lifelines. In the UK, years of austerity have forced refuges to close. In Nigeria, most shelters exist only in major cities, leaving rural women stranded. In India, protection officers mandated under the Domestic Violence Act are often underfunded or absent. In South Africa, survivors frequently face untrained or dismissive police officers. Without sustained investment, survivors are left with nowhere to turn, and the cycle continues.
Third, transform education. Patriarchy is learned, which means it can be unlearned. Boys must be raised with models of masculinity that link strength to care, not control. Girls must be taught that safety is their right, not a privilege to be earned. Schools should not only address bullying but teach about respect in relationships. Universities should treat dating violence with seriousness, not as a private dispute. Workplaces should adopt policies that support employees experiencing abuse. Education is not just about knowledge; it is about reshaping cultural norms.
Fourth, enforce accountability. Laws mean nothing if they are not applied. Police must treat survivors with dignity. Courts must recognize that delay is itself a form of harm. Religious and cultural leaders must reject the easy rhetoric that cloaks violence in tradition. Accountability is not only about punishing abusers; it is about transforming the institutions that have historically looked the other way.
Finally, engage men. This cannot remain a women-only struggle. Silence from men is not neutral; it is consent. Men must challenge toxic masculinities in their own circles, intervene when they see abuse, support survivors in their families, and reject influencers who glorify domination. Patriarchy relies on men’s complicity. Breaking it requires men’s refusal.
A Collective Responsibility
Domestic violence is not private. It is not trivial. It is not a matter for women to resolve among themselves. It is a global structure of harm that corrodes families, communities, and democracies. Every time it is dismissed, we take twenty steps backwards. But every time it is called out, resisted, and met with accountability, we move a step closer to breaking its hold.
The stakes are generational. If we ignore domestic violence, we are not just failing women today; we are shaping a future where violence remains ordinary. But if we confront it in homes, in schools, in courts, in workplaces, and in politics we can build a different inheritance: one where children grow up learning that care is strength, where women’s safety is not negotiable, and where the home is no longer the most dangerous place for half the world’s population.
The choice is stark: repeat the cycle, or break it. The responsibility belongs to us all.
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