I recently heard a social-media interview with a man who had physically abused his wife.

When he was asked why he had put his hands around her throat, he said that he wanted to stop her words—to silence her voice.

The interviewer then asked an important question: if he could control his anger at work and around strangers, why could he not control it at home?

His answer was chillingly simple:

“Because I could.”

He knew she was physically less powerful. He knew she was emotionally or financially dependent on him. He believed she would remain. Perhaps he believed nobody would interfere, nobody would challenge him and no meaningful consequence would follow.

It was not only the violence that stayed with me. It was the thought beneath it:

I can, therefore I will.

Was It Really a Loss of Control?

We frequently explain domestic violence as a man “losing his temper,” becoming overwhelmed or dysregulating after a difficult day.

Stress and emotional dysregulation are real. Trauma, substance misuse and poor coping skills can increase the risk of violence. But they do not remove responsibility—and they cannot fully explain why the violence is so often directed at a particular person.

If a man can restrain himself when his employer frustrates him, when a stranger disagrees with him or when a police officer challenges him, then he possesses some capacity for control.

The question becomes: why does he decide that control is unnecessary in the presence of his partner?

Abuse is not always an isolated explosion of anger. It can form part of a larger pattern of intimidation, dependency and coercion. South Africa’s Department of Justice describes controlling behaviour as conduct that makes another person dependent or subservient, including isolating her from support and regulating her everyday behaviour or movement. Economic, emotional and verbal abuse can operate alongside physical violence. South African Department of Justice

In other words, the violence may not represent the absence of control. It may be one of the methods through which control is established.

Why Do We Keep Asking Why She Stayed?

Whenever a woman is abused, the questions quickly turn towards her:

Why did she stay?
Why did she go back?
Why did she not fight?
Why did she not report him sooner?
Why did she have children with him?
Why did she continue protecting him?

But these questions are often asked from a position of safety and privilege.

They presume she has independent money, somewhere safe to go, supportive relatives, reliable police protection, access to legal assistance and the freedom to leave without placing herself or her children in greater danger.

They overlook the effects of fear, threats, financial dependence, isolation, shame, religious or community pressure and years of being made to doubt her own judgement. They also overlook an uncomfortable reality: leaving does not always end the danger.

A woman does not “allow” herself to be abused. The responsibility belongs to the person who chooses to abuse her.

Instead of asking, “Why didn’t she leave?” perhaps we should ask:

Why did he believe he had the right to hurt her?

What made him believe nobody would stop him?

What would make it safer for her to speak, leave or seek help?

The Evidence Is Already in Front of Us

Violence against women is not a new mystery waiting for one more podcast, label or clever theory.

The research has value because it helps us understand risks, improve prevention and build better systems. But research must not become a comfortable substitute for action.

The World Health Organization estimates that approximately one in three women worldwide has experienced physical or sexual violence during her lifetime, most commonly from an intimate partner. The WHO identifies gender inequality as a root cause, while recognising that individual, family, community and societal factors interact. World Health Organization

South Africa’s first national gender-based violence study found that 35.5% of adult women surveyed reported experiencing physical or sexual violence during their lifetime, whether by a partner or a non-partner. Approximately 7% reported such violence during the preceding year—an estimated 1.5 million women. The researchers also warned that stigma, fear of retaliation and distrust of authorities contribute to underreporting. HSRC National Gender-Based Violence Study

We cannot claim that we do not know.

We know what violence does.

We know what silence permits.

“Because We Can” Is Not Confined to the Home

That same mentality can be recognised throughout human history.

Slavery, colonialism, apartheid, and successive wars did not happen because humanity lacked evidence that cruelty was wrong. They happened because powerful people and institutions believed they could violate others without sufficient resistance or consequence.

For years Palestinians have used phones, cameras and social media to document their own destruction in real time. In September 2025, the UN Independent International Commission of Inquiry concluded that Israel had committed genocide against Palestinians in Gaza. Israel has rejected the allegation, while South Africa’s case under the Genocide Convention continues through international legal processes. UN Commission of Inquiry

Intimate-partner violence and state violence are not identical. But they can share a moral corruption: the belief that another person’s vulnerability is permission.

Whether the weapon is a hand, a law, a prison, an army or a bomb, the underlying question remains:

What do human beings do when they possess power over someone who cannot easily resist them?

Our humanity is revealed not by how we treat those who can punish us, but by how we treat those who have trusted us with their vulnerability.

When Good People Remain Silent

Domestic violence is still frequently treated as a “private family matter.”

People hear shouting through a wall. They notice a woman withdrawing. They see a child becoming unusually fearful. They suspect something is wrong, but hesitate to become involved.

Intervention does not mean confronting a potentially violent person recklessly. It can mean contacting the woman privately, listening without judging, believing her, helping her reach professional support, documenting concerns appropriately or calling emergency services when someone is in immediate danger.

Silence protects the secrecy in which abuse grows.

We should not wait until a woman’s suffering becomes gruesome enough for a headline, viral post or public campaign. Her dignity mattered before the photograph, before the police report and before strangers found her story worthy of sharing.

Have Mothers Failed Their Sons?

It is tempting to ask whether mothers have failed other women by raising “child-men.”

Mothers certainly have influence. We must examine the lessons we teach sons and daughters about anger, entitlement, consent, service and accountability.

But mothers cannot carry this burden alone.

Where are the fathers teaching their sons that strength is not domination?

Where are the men correcting their friends when women are degraded in conversation?

Where are the schools teaching emotional regulation and respectful conflict?

Where are the faith leaders making it clear that marriage never grants ownership over another human being?

Where are the communities supporting survivors before their stories become tragedies?

And where is the personal responsibility of the adult man who knows the difference between right and wrong?

A difficult childhood may help explain behaviour. It does not excuse an adult’s decision to harm another person.

We must raise children who understand that another person’s “no” is complete. Children who can feel anger without turning it into punishment. Boys who do not confuse leadership with control, and girls who are not taught that love requires endless endurance.

Safety Is Not a Reward a Woman Must Earn

On average, adult men possess greater physical strength than adult women. But a woman’s vulnerability should awaken care, never entitlement.

Her nurturing nature must not be used to trap her in compulsory service. Her willingness to support a family must not become permission to exploit her. Her softness is not an invitation to dominate her.

When a woman feels safe, respected and valued, she can thrive. So can her children, her relationships and her wider community.

But safety is not a reward she earns by being quiet enough, agreeable enough, loyal enough or useful enough.

Safety is a fundamental human right.

At Aphrodite’s Garden, we speak often about women’s holistic wellbeing. On this subject, we must be honest: no bath, balm, oil or self-care ritual can heal an environment in which a woman remains unsafe.

Self-care may help someone reconnect with herself, but it cannot reform an abuser or replace protection, accountability and community support.

Our care for women must extend beyond what we place on their bodies. It must include how fiercely we protect their dignity, autonomy and voices.

“Self-care is not learning to endure harm more gracefully. It is remembering that your body, your voice and your life were never anyone else’s permission to use.”

If you or someone you know is in danger in South Africa: call SAPS on 10111. The government’s 24-hour Gender-Based Violence Command Centre offers free, confidential support through qualified social workers on 0800 428 428. Department of Social Development