Violence against women in all its forms is a human rights

Hear, O children of justice and mercy, the words of Michelle Bachelet, who proclaimed: “Violence against women in all its forms is a human rights violation. It’s not something that any culture, religion or tradition propagates.” In this saying lies a truth both ancient and urgent: that no people, no faith, no heritage is exalted when it allows cruelty toward its daughters. Violence against women is not the fruit of true culture, but the betrayal of it; not the command of true religion, but the corruption of it; not the strength of tradition, but its collapse into injustice.

The origin of these words springs from Bachelet’s life as both physician and leader, as President of Chile and as High Commissioner for Human Rights at the United Nations. She saw with clear eyes the sufferings of women across the world—those beaten, silenced, denied education, or stripped of dignity. She also saw how oppressors often claimed that such acts were justified by custom, faith, or heritage. Against this deception she raised her voice: there is no true tradition, no true religion, that commands the violation of women. Such violence is not sacred—it is sin against humanity itself.

Consider the meaning. Violence against women is not only an injury to the body, but a wound to the soul of society. To harm a woman is to harm the mother of life, the nurturer of children, the bearer of culture itself. When a society allows such harm, it destroys its own future, for it poisons the well from which it must drink. Bachelet’s words remind us that violence is not heritage, but disease; not faith, but betrayal; not strength, but weakness disguised as power.

History bears witness to this truth. Recall the struggle of Malala Yousafzai, the young girl from Pakistan who was shot by extremists for daring to demand education. Her attackers claimed tradition and religion, but the world recognized their violence as blasphemy against both. Malala rose, stronger than the bullet, declaring that education is the right of every child, girl or boy. Her life is a living testimony to Bachelet’s words: true faith and culture never demand silence from women, but honor their voices.

And consider the story of the suffragettes, who in the early twentieth century fought for women’s right to vote. They were mocked, beaten, and imprisoned, told that tradition forbade their equality. Yet history proved their oppressors wrong, for no just tradition can deny half of humanity its voice. The suffragettes endured violence, but their triumph unveiled the hypocrisy of a society that cloaked injustice in the garments of custom.

The meaning, then, is not only condemnation but hope. For if violence against women is not truly cultural or religious, then it can be unlearned, uprooted, and cast away. Humanity can return to the deeper truth: that women are equal bearers of dignity, equal image-bearers of the divine, equal partners in the shaping of the world. Bachelet’s words are a call to strip away the false justifications and stand firmly for the eternal law of justice.

The lesson for us is clear. Reject every excuse that cloaks violence in the name of faith or tradition. Honor women as equal and sacred, not as possessions but as persons. Educate sons and daughters alike to see dignity in all. And where injustice remains, speak out with courage, for silence in the face of cruelty is itself a form of violence.

Thus let the words of Michelle Bachelet endure: “Violence against women in all its forms is a human rights violation.” Carry them as both shield and sword—shield for the vulnerable, sword against oppression. For when women are safe, honored, and free, humanity itself rises; but when they are harmed, all of humanity falls into shadow. The true strength of any people is found not in how it wields power over women, but in how it honors them as equal bearers of life and light.