| October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month, a time to recognize survivors, remember lives lost, and bring attention to an issue that continues to affect individuals, families, and communities across our country. Yet I find myself reflecting on a difficult question: Why does it often take a designated month, or another heartbreaking tragedy, for us to have conversations about something that is happening every day?
Domestic violence is not a distant issue. It exists in our neighborhoods, homes, schools, workplaces, and yes, even within our faith communities. It crosses racial, cultural, economic, and educational boundaries. It does not discriminate based on income, professional standing, or religious affiliation, and it does not always leave visible scars.
Domestic violence can be physical, emotional, psychological, sexual, or financial. It can manifest through intimidation, manipulation, isolation, threats, and control. Sometimes it is loud and unmistakable. Other times, it is quiet, hidden behind closed doors and carefully concealed beneath the appearance of a perfectly functioning household.
Too often, we associate domestic violence primarily with women. While women experience disproportionately high rates of severe intimate partner violence, men are also survivors. For many men, the stigma associated with victimization, along with societal expectations about masculinity and strength, can make speaking up especially difficult. We must create spaces where survivors are heard, believed, and supported, regardless of gender.
The statistics are troubling, but what concerns me just as deeply is what our young people are witnessing and learning about relationships. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, more than one in three women and more than one in six men in the United States have experienced certain forms of intimate partner violence during their lifetime. National youth surveys also show that dating violence and exposure to violence between partners are realities for far too many adolescents. These are not simply numbers. They represent individuals whose sense of safety, dignity, and self-worth has been challenged, sometimes at a very young age.
Recently, we learned of another devastating tragedy involving a young mother who lost her life after allegedly being pushed from a balcony with her eight-month-old child. Stories like this are painful reminders of the devastating consequences of relationship violence. Behind the headlines are families, children, and communities left to carry the weight of unimaginable loss. We must also remember the mothers, daughters, sisters, aunts, fathers, brothers, friends, and loved ones whose lives have been taken by domestic violence, including those here in Boston and across Massachusetts. Their lives mattered, and their stories should never be reduced to another headline or statistic.
We cannot wait until violence reaches its most tragic conclusion before we begin asking difficult questions about what we are teaching our children about love, what we are modeling about respect, and what we are passing down about power.
Growing up in a Caribbean household, I remember the messages, both spoken and unspoken, about the roles of men and women. Who was expected to cook, clean, care for the children, and maintain the household? Who was considered the provider, and who was expected to make the final decisions? Even the language we use matters. How often do we hear a father described as “babysitting” his own children, while a mother’s responsibility for those same children is simply assumed?
These expectations may seem ordinary because they have been repeated across generations. Many were rooted in traditions that shaped our families and communities. While there is much about our cultural heritage worth celebrating and preserving, we must also be willing to examine the beliefs that may have contributed to unequal expectations and imbalances of power within relationships. This is not about dismissing tradition or suggesting that every household follows the same pattern. It is about recognizing that culture shapes behavior, and behavior shapes what the next generation comes to understand as normal.
When young girls repeatedly receive the message that their role is to serve, remain silent, or accept less, what are we teaching them about their value? When young boys grow up believing that leadership means control, that providing financially grants authority over another person, or that vulnerability is a sign of weakness, what are we teaching them about manhood? And when children witness disrespect, intimidation, or violence in relationships, how do those experiences influence what they may later accept, tolerate, or reproduce in their own lives?
These are uncomfortable questions, but they are necessary ones. They also require us to reflect on our own behaviors and the examples we set as parents, caregivers, educators, mentors, and community leaders. We cannot expect young people to understand healthy relationships if the adults around them are unwilling to examine what they themselves have learned, accepted, or normalized. As the leader of an organization that serves high school and college-age young people, I believe our responsibility extends beyond helping students earn diplomas, enroll in college, or secure meaningful employment. We are also helping shape individuals who will become partners, parents, colleagues, community members, and leaders. That responsibility includes creating opportunities for honest conversations about healthy relationships, boundaries, mutual respect, emotional well-being, and recognizing controlling or abusive behavior.
We must help young people understand that love should never require the surrender of their dignity, identity, or safety. Young men need to know that strength is not measured by dominance, and young women need to understand that their voices, ambitions, and independence are not threats to a relationship. These lessons should not be limited by gender. Every young person deserves to understand that a healthy relationship is grounded in respect, trust, communication, and shared responsibility.
We must also recognize that young people who have experienced or witnessed violence may need more than a conversation. They may need trusted adults, safe environments, counseling, and access to appropriate resources. Education is not limited to what happens at a desk or inside a classroom. Some of the most consequential lessons our children learn come from what they see modeled in the world around them.
Domestic Violence Awareness Month is important. The purple ribbons, campaigns, community gatherings, and public conversations all have their place. They bring visibility to an issue that has remained hidden for far too long. But awareness without continued education, meaningful intervention, and accountability is not enough. Our commitment cannot begin on October 1 and end on October 31. It must continue in our schools, homes, churches, community organizations, and every space where young people are learning what it means to love and be loved, to respect and be respected.
As we move through this month, my hope is that we will do more than acknowledge domestic violence. I hope we will examine the messages we have inherited, challenge those that cause harm, and become more intentional about the examples we set. The next generation is watching, listening, and learning, even when we are not intentionally teaching. Perhaps one of the greatest responsibilities we have is to ensure that what we pass down is not simply what we were taught, but what we have had the courage to change. |
