Violence against women stems from a social framework that treats female autonomy as conditional. The man who assaults his wife commits the crime, but the thinking that enables it runs deeper. It is rooted in the idea that a woman’s identity is defined by her relationships: daughter, sister, wife, mother. The woman herself, as an individual, often remains invisible.

This conditional autonomy appears in language, culture, and law. A daughter is “given away” in marriage, “settled” into another family. A son who moves out may be seen as neglectful; a daughter who leaves is simply fulfilling her role. The concept of kanya daan, even where the term isn’t used, reflects a transactional view of women—as if they are transferred, not welcomed, into new families. A son’s financial support of his parents is celebrated; a daughter’s is treated as an overstep.

The gap between faith and custom

Many of these practices are mistaken for religious doctrine. Islam, for example, explicitly grants women inheritance rights and rejects the notion of women as property. Yet centuries of regional patriarchy have draped themselves in religious garb, making cultural norms harder to challenge. Questioning these traditions is often framed as an attack on faith itself.

The divide between public and private life reinforces this dynamic. Men occupy the public sphere as citizens and decision-makers, while women are confined to the home—a space treated as beyond scrutiny. What happens inside is called a “family matter,” and the woman inside is expected to preserve its peace. Within that family, she may belong to everyone except herself.

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Honor killings illustrate the tension between law and social norms. Murder is murder, yet these crimes have historically been treated differently. The law has had to evolve in response to an idea that should never have existed: that a family can possess a woman’s honor so completely that her death is framed as a moral act.

The burden of proof

A woman’s freedom should not depend on her family’s approval. She should be able to study, work, marry, or speak her mind without each choice becoming a referendum on her character. Yet society places an extraordinary burden on female behavior. A man who leaves a relationship is seen as moving on; a woman who does the same faces public judgment. Her clothing, her divorce, her refusal to comply—all are treated as evidence against her. The language itself betrays the inequality: she “ran away” with him; he rarely “ran away” with her.

Patriarchy survives because its rules become so ordinary they go unnoticed. Girls are taught to adjust; boys are taught to expect. A girl who speaks up is difficult; a girl who refuses is confrontational. When she complies, she is praised for keeping the peace. The question of what she might need for her own well-being is rarely considered.

Women themselves often uphold these systems. A mother who endured abuse may tell her daughter to tolerate it. A woman denied education may tell another girl it’s unnecessary. Power becomes so ingrained in what is “normal” that people reproduce the structures that limit them. The contradiction is clear: women are told they are equal, yet raised unequally. They are told violence is unacceptable, yet taught that endurance is virtuous.

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When a woman stays in an abusive relationship, society asks why she didn’t leave—ignoring the conditions that make leaving nearly impossible. Children tighten the trap. The same self-sacrifice praised in women becomes the mechanism that keeps them trapped. This entitlement has a body count: the murders of Noor Mukadam, Hina Javed, Sania Zehra, and countless others whose names never reach headlines. The home is treated as a private kingdom; the woman inside, its subject.

The problem extends beyond physical violence. It appears when a woman is denied inheritance, when a girl is pulled from school, when a divorced woman is defined solely by her marital status. In workplaces, power imbalances silence women who fear for their livelihoods. The phrase “empower women” is often used carelessly. Women don’t need power handed to them; they need the barriers to their existing agency removed. They need education, economic independence, safe public spaces, and families that see a daughter as a person, not a liability.

The language around women’s work reveals the same bias. A mother who remains at home handles complex responsibilities. She organizes households, coordinates care, and performs labor that often goes unnoticed. Calling her a “stay-at-home mother” reduces her role to a category built around men’s paid work. Women are constantly asked to prove they deserve freedoms men take for granted.

Men must be part of this transformation—not as rescuers, but as participants who recognize that equality is not emasculation. A woman’s refusal is not an insult; her independence is not disobedience. Even a poor man possesses freedoms a woman in the same circumstances does not: the ability to walk outside without his morality being scrutinized, the presumption of autonomy over his body and choices.

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Change cannot be achieved through legislation alone. It begins when a woman’s freedom is no longer treated as a concession. Protection that requires the surrender of autonomy is control. And control becomes violence when the woman resists. A woman called “difficult” is not the same as a woman being beaten, but both emerge from the same belief: that her choices are subject to someone else’s authority.

The work of dismantling this system starts at home. A person whose autonomy depends on the goodwill of others is never fully free. Women should not be taught that forgiveness is always noble, silence always graceful, or compromise always virtuous. Sometimes speaking is necessary. Sometimes leaving is necessary. Sometimes refusing is necessary.

The most radical act is insisting that her life belongs to her.

The measure of progress may not be the number of laws passed or convictions secured, but the day a girl grows up without learning that her freedom is negotiable, that her reputation matters more than her life, or that keeping others comfortable is the price of being a “good woman.” Until then, the work continues—from womb to tomb, and every place in between.