Tuesday, 9 September 2025

When a President Excuses Violence, the World Pays the Price

 On September 8, 2025, the President of the United States stood at the Museum of the Bible in Washington, D.C., and dismissed domestic violence as “things that take place in the home… a little fight with the wife.” He described such incidents as “lesser crimes,” a statistical irritation that prevented him from declaring Washington, D.C., free of crime under his deployment of the National Guard. It was a casual line, but one that cannot be shrugged off. When the most powerful office in the world calls domestic abuse a minor matter, it is not simply careless rhetoric; it is a signal that reverberates across borders and into homes, a signal that tells abusers they are vindicated and survivors that their pain is not worth public recognition.

It matters not only in America, but everywhere. The U.S. presidency carries global influence. Trump’s words will travel through news cycles, social media feeds, and political imitation. We have seen this before. During his first presidency, far-right parties across Europe borrowed his language on migration and nationalism, reshaping political discourse. Today, in his second presidency, the same pattern is already emerging. His dismissal of domestic violence as a “lesser crime” risks becoming not only American rhetoric, but global framing. If violence in the home can be redefined as trivial in Washington, it can just as easily be downplayed in Westminster, Abuja, Delhi, or Johannesburg.

In Britain, this danger is particularly close. The Reform Party has been gaining ground, fuelled by disillusionment with both Labour and the Conservatives. Its leader, Nigel Farage, has long aligned himself with Trump, echoing his populist style and adopting the same “common sense” framing against political elites. The risk is not that Farage has repeated Trump’s exact words, but that his politics are patterned on mimicry. If Trump reframes domestic abuse as a private spat rather than a public crime, it is not far-fetched to imagine similar framings appearing in British debate. And once violence in the home is reclassified as “private life” or “not serious enough,” the consequences are predictable: crime statistics undercounted, services defunded, survivors pushed back into silence. Britain’s support network for survivors is already fragile; Women’s Aid has long warned of shelters closing after years of budget cuts. A political climate that trivializes abuse will only accelerate that erosion.

This minimization is catastrophic when viewed against the scale of violence worldwide. The United Nations estimates that nearly one in three women globally 736 million have experienced physical and/or sexual violence, most often from an intimate partner. In Britain, the Office for National Statistics recorded 1.6 million female victims of domestic abuse in the year ending March 2024. These are not minor quarrels, not “little fights.” They are systemic harms, measured in broken bones, stolen childhoods, fractured communities, and lives cut short. To call them anything less is to erase their severity and, worse, to encourage their continuation.

That Trump made these remarks inside a Bible museum is equally telling. By cloaking his words in a religious setting, he implied spiritual sanction. Yet scripture offers no justification for abuse. Even within traditions that place men as “heads” of households, the mandate is to love and protect, not to harm. In Colossians 3:19, the charge is explicit: “Husbands, love your wives and do not be harsh with them.” But around the world, religion is already invoked to silence survivors, urging them to stay in abusive marriages for the sake of family or faith. When the American president trivializes abuse under the roof of a Bible museum, he risks reinforcing those silences globally.

His words also land in a cultural climate already saturated with hyper-masculine messaging. Across platforms like YouTube and TikTok, influencers such as Andrew Tate are celebrated by millions of boys and men for teaching that masculinity is domination, women are subordinate, and control is the essence of strength. This rhetoric is not fringe it is algorithmically amplified into mainstream culture. When a president shrugs at abuse, he validates this economy of toxic masculinity, shifting it from internet videos into the presidential podium. What was once influencer talk becomes political truth. The effect is not abstract: it teaches boys that harm is normal and girls that pain is expected.

The consequences of such rhetoric are visible when we turn to global case studies. In Nigeria, the 2018 Demographic and Health Survey found that more than 30% of women aged 15–49 had experienced physical violence since the age of 15, and nearly 20% had experienced it in the previous year. In some communities, wife-beating is still seen as socially acceptable under certain circumstances. Silence is the norm, reporting is low, and shelters are scarce. When international leaders call domestic violence “a little fight,” they reinforce these harmful norms, strengthening the idea that violence in the home is not a matter for public concern.

In India, the 2019–21 National Family Health Survey found that 29% of married women aged 18–49 reported experiencing spousal violence. Yet many women do not report it, due to stigma, fear of reprisal, or the perception that police and courts will not take their complaints seriously. Too often, women are told by authorities to reconcile, to endure for the sake of family unity. When the American president frames violence as “lesser,” it adds weight to this normalization, making it easier for local systems to dismiss abuse as private rather than criminal.

South Africa illustrates the crisis in even sharper relief. With some of the highest rates of gender-based violence in the world, activists have described it as a “second pandemic.” Police recorded more than 40,000 rapes in 2020, though experts say the true figure is much higher. Domestic abuse is pervasive, and women’s groups have long fought for it to be recognized as a national emergency. In such a context, a U.S. president’s dismissal of violence undermines advocacy efforts, emboldens abusers, and signals to governments that this is not a priority worth urgent action.

The risk is not just cultural but political. Calling domestic violence a “lesser crime” is a precursor to policy erosion. Once reclassified, incidents can be under-recorded, making crime rates appear lower than they are. Services for survivors can be defunded, as budgets are reallocated to what is framed as “serious crime.” Survivors themselves can be delegitimized, facing longer waits for justice, greater disbelief in courtrooms, and weaker police intervention. In countries where systems of protection are already under strain, this erosion is devastating.

For these reasons, women everywhere from Lagos to London, Delhi to Johannesburg must see Trump’s remark for what it is: not a passing line but a global threat. Violence in the home is not private; it is political. It corrodes democracies, weakens economies, and destroys lives. If leaders trivialize it, they imperil half the human population.

What should leadership sound like instead? It should affirm that domestic abuse is a crime that demands public recognition and response. It should insist that women’s safety is a public good, foundational to democratic life. It should commit to fully funded services, accurate data collection, and respectful systems of justice. And it should model a vision of masculinity rooted not in domination but in care, responsibility, and accountability. Anything less is betrayal.

Domestic violence is not “a little fight.” It is crime. It is violence. It is a global epidemic that undermines the safety and dignity of women in every society. For the U.S. president to minimize it is to embolden abusers, silence survivors, and unravel decades of fragile progress. The world should care because these words are not confined to Washington; they echo across borders, shaping the way men treat women, the way states classify crime, and the way societies decide whose pain matters. Women have fought too long and too hard to accept regression. If leaders trivialize violence, the rest of us must answer with refusal: refusal to let harm be downgraded, refusal to let pain be erased, and refusal to accept “lesser crime” as our destiny.

And refusal must go hand in hand with action.

Supporting the organisations already on the frontlines is one way to resist the minimization of harm.

In the UK, Women’s Aid and Refuge provide life-saving shelters and services.

In South Africa, Sonke Gender Justice campaigns to end gender-based violence. Globally, UN Women continues to fight for recognition and resources to tackle violence against women everywhere.

These groups, and others like them, are holding the line where political rhetoric threatens to push us backwards. By supporting them, amplifying their work, and refusing to let leaders dismiss abuse as “a little fight,” we insist on a different future: one where women’s safety is not an afterthought, but a foundation.

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