There is something about statistics that has always fascinated me.
They tell us how many.
They rarely tell us how it felt.
A survey may conclude that one-third of women have experienced domestic violence. Behind that single number are millions of untold stories, stories of fear, humiliation, broken confidence, sleepless nights, and children growing up in homes where love slowly surrendered to fear.
Those numbers deserve our complete attention.
Women’s suffering has remained invisible for centuries. Giving it a voice is not merely good policy, it is a moral responsibility.
Yet, while reading these statistics, another question quietly entered my mind.
Who is counting the man who never speaks?
Not because his suffering is greater. Not because women’s suffering is smaller. Simply because he, too, is a human being.
Psychology has taught me one lesson that continues to shape the way I see people:
Behaviour is the visible tip of an invisible story.
The same is true of silence.
Sometimes silence is not the absence of pain. It is the inability to express it.
Many men grow up hearing the same lessons: ‘Be strong.’ ‘Real men don’t cry.’ ‘Handle your own problems.’
These statements may appear harmless until the day a man himself becomes a victim.
If he is constantly insulted, emotionally manipulated, threatened, isolated, financially controlled, or even physically assaulted, what does he do? Whom does he tell? Will society believe him? Will people laugh? Will he be considered weak? Or worse, will he himself begin believing that he deserves the suffering because ‘a man should be able to handle it’?
These are not merely social questions. They are psychological questions.
Shame has extraordinary power. It convinces people that asking for help is more painful than continuing to suffer.
Perhaps this is why some victims remain invisible not because they do not exist, but because silence often becomes their only socially acceptable language.
I have no desire to turn domestic violence into a competition between men and women.
Pain refuses to participate in such competitions.
The tears of a woman do not become less meaningful because a man also suffers. Nor does the pain of a man reduce the urgency of protecting women. Compassion is not a piece of bread that becomes smaller when shared. It grows.
Current research clearly shows that women bear the larger documented burden of intimate partner violence in India and across much of the world. Their protection must remain a public health, legal, and social priority.
At the same time, our knowledge about male victims remains surprisingly limited. India has extensive national surveys documenting women’s experiences, yet there is no equivalent nationwide effort asking men about their own experiences of victimization.
This absence of evidence should not become evidence of absence. When we choose not to look carefully, we should not be surprised by what remains unseen.
As educators, psychologists, policymakers, and ordinary citizens, perhaps our responsibility is not to prove which gender suffers more.
Perhaps our responsibility is much simpler: to become the kind of society where every victim feels safe enough to speak. Where no woman fears disbelief. Where no man fears ridicule. Where no child learns that violence is a normal language of love.
The measure of a civilized society is not only how well it protects those whose suffering is already visible. It is also whether it has the courage to search for those whose suffering has learned to hide.
History has repeatedly taught us that silence should never be mistaken for the absence of pain. Sometimes silence is simply pain that has lost hope of being heard.
And perhaps the greatest act of humanity is not deciding whose pain deserves our compassion. It is refusing to leave any pain unseen.
Because every victim deserves justice. Every victim deserves dignity. And above all, every victim deserves to be seen.
About the Author
Arshid Qalmi is an educator, mental health advocate, and writer from Jammu & Kashmir. His work focuses on the intersection of psychology, education, and human dignity. He writes on topics such as mental health, child and adolescent development, substance abuse prevention, and compassionate approaches to teaching and parenting. aqalmi303@gmail.com
