By Odeke Bazel
In this country, gender conversations have settled into a familiar rhythm. When women suffer, the nation listens. When men suffer, the nation hesitates—then jokes, shrugs, or looks the other way. This is not always done out of malice; often it is cultural reflex. But the effect is the same: male pain remains largely invisible.
Violence against women is real, widespread, and deserving of the attention it receives. That truth is not in dispute. What is rarely acknowledged, however, is that in building awareness around one form of suffering, society has quietly trained itself to ignore another. Today, a man can be abused in his own home and still feel that speaking up is more dangerous than staying silent.
A recent Daily Monitor publication from Pallisa briefly disrupted this silence. The paper reported accounts of men beaten by their wives—slapped, struck with household items, denied food, and forced out of their homes. The most revealing part of the story was not the violence itself, but the public reaction to it. The response was largely amusement, disbelief, and mockery. Masculinity, not violence, became the focus of judgment.
That reaction was telling. It showed that the issue was never Pallisa. The issue was us.
Across the country, men are raised with a narrow definition of strength. From childhood, they are taught to endure, not express; to absorb pain, not explain it. Vulnerability is treated as failure. When a man admits he is being hurt—especially by a woman—he is assumed to have lost control, dignity, or relevance. Sympathy is replaced with suspicion.
This mindset does not stop at social attitudes; it shapes institutions as well. Gender-based violence programs, shelters, and campaigns overwhelmingly speak to women, often leaving men unsure whether they qualify as victims at all. When men report abuse, they are frequently met with advice instead of action, humour instead of help. The system is not designed to respond to male vulnerability because society has not accepted that it exists.
There is an irony in all this. Men are constantly encouraged to “open up,” to communicate better, to be emotionally present. Yet when they do exactly that, they are ridiculed or dismissed. We ask men to speak, then punish them for being honest. Over time, silence becomes safer than truth.
This is not a call to reduce attention to women’s suffering, nor is it an attempt to turn pain into a competition. Violence is violence, regardless of who experiences it. Justice is not weakened by inclusion; it is strengthened by it. A society that listens only to certain victims does not achieve equality—it practices selective empathy.
The DailyMonitor story mattered because it cracked open a conversation many would rather avoid. It reminded us that men, too, can be victims, and that ignoring this reality does not make families safer or communities healthier. It only pushes suffering further underground.
If gender justice is to be meaningful, it must be honest. It must recognise that pain does not follow ideology, and victims do not always fit expectation. Raising women should never require silencing men. A society that can acknowledge all its wounded is not confused—it is finally mature.
Odeke Bazel is a policy advocate, researcher, and social worker with a focus on cultural decolonization. The views expressed are solely those of the author.
Disclaimer: The views expressed in this article are those of the writer and do not necessarily reflect the views of DailyExpress as an entity or its employees or partners.
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By Odeke Bazel
In this country, gender conversations have settled into a familiar rhythm. When women suffer, the nation listens. When men suffer, the nation hesitates—then jokes, shrugs, or looks the other way. This is not always done out of malice; often it is cultural reflex. But the effect is the same: male pain remains largely invisible.
Violence against women is real, widespread, and deserving of the attention it receives. That truth is not in dispute. What is rarely acknowledged, however, is that in building awareness around one form of suffering, society has quietly trained itself to ignore another. Today, a man can be abused in his own home and still feel that speaking up is more dangerous than staying silent.
A recent Daily Monitor publication from Pallisa briefly disrupted this silence. The paper reported accounts of men beaten by their wives—slapped, struck with household items, denied food, and forced out of their homes. The most revealing part of the story was not the violence itself, but the public reaction to it. The response was largely amusement, disbelief, and mockery. Masculinity, not violence, became the focus of judgment.
That reaction was telling. It showed that the issue was never Pallisa. The issue was us.
Across the country, men are raised with a narrow definition of strength. From childhood, they are taught to endure, not express; to absorb pain, not explain it. Vulnerability is treated as failure. When a man admits he is being hurt—especially by a woman—he is assumed to have lost control, dignity, or relevance. Sympathy is replaced with suspicion.
This mindset does not stop at social attitudes; it shapes institutions as well. Gender-based violence programs, shelters, and campaigns overwhelmingly speak to women, often leaving men unsure whether they qualify as victims at all. When men report abuse, they are frequently met with advice instead of action, humour instead of help. The system is not designed to respond to male vulnerability because society has not accepted that it exists.
There is an irony in all this. Men are constantly encouraged to “open up,” to communicate better, to be emotionally present. Yet when they do exactly that, they are ridiculed or dismissed. We ask men to speak, then punish them for being honest. Over time, silence becomes safer than truth.
This is not a call to reduce attention to women’s suffering, nor is it an attempt to turn pain into a competition. Violence is violence, regardless of who experiences it. Justice is not weakened by inclusion; it is strengthened by it. A society that listens only to certain victims does not achieve equality—it practices selective empathy.
The DailyMonitor story mattered because it cracked open a conversation many would rather avoid. It reminded us that men, too, can be victims, and that ignoring this reality does not make families safer or communities healthier. It only pushes suffering further underground.
If gender justice is to be meaningful, it must be honest. It must recognise that pain does not follow ideology, and victims do not always fit expectation. Raising women should never require silencing men. A society that can acknowledge all its wounded is not confused—it is finally mature.
Odeke Bazel is a policy advocate, researcher, and social worker with a focus on cultural decolonization. The views expressed are solely those of the author.
Related
If you would like your article/opinion to be published on Uganda’s most authoritative news platform, send your submission on: [email protected]. You can also follow DailyExpress on WhatsApp and on Twitter (X) for realtime updates.