Reflections by S.M.A: When home hurts…

There is a particular kind of pain that hides behind closed doors. It does not shout. It does not wave a placard or block a road in protest.

It whispers—sometimes in the form of a neighbour’s uneasy silence, sometimes in a child’s timid eyes, sometimes in the bruises hurriedly concealed under long sleeves in the scorching heat.

Domestic violence in Ghana is not new. Yet the recent surge in reports—each more heart-breaking than the last—has forced us to confront an uncomfortable truth: home, the one place meant to be our refugeis is,  for many, a battlefield.

This is not a story about statistics, though the numbers are staggering. It is a story about people—women, men, children—whose lives are being quietly torn apart. It is about us as a society, our responsibilities, and the deeply rooted cultural norms that make many victims suffer in silence.

A cry behind the curtain

Ask Ama (not her real name), a 32-year-old mother of two from Kasoa. Her story is not unique, but it is painfully familiar. For three years she endured slaps, insults and intimidation from a husband who outwardly appeared charming and respectable.

She stayed, she says, “because my mother told me every marriage has its problems.” It took a violent episode—one that left her hospitalised and her children traumatised—to convince her that staying was not strength. Surviving was.

There are thousands of Amas across Ghana. Some suffer physical attacks. Others endure emotional torture, economic control or sexual violence. Many will never step into a police station to report, not because they don’t want help, but because they fear being blamed, judged, or worse—sent back home with the advice “endure for the sake of peace”.

The culture of silence

We cannot pretend that domestic violence exists only in the pages of newspapers. It lives among us. In our family homes. In our churches. In our neighbourhoods. Sometimes even in the homes of people we admire.

Part of the problem is our culture—a beautiful, vibrant culture that also carries harmful norms. The belief that discussing “home issues” outside the home is taboo.

The idea that a woman must endure everything for the sake of the children. The notion that a man asserting control—even violently—is an unfortunate but “normal” part of marriage.

But normal can become dangerous.

This culture of silence does not just hide the problem; it fuels it. It emboldens perpetrators and isolates victims. It teaches children—especially boys—that violence is power and girls that suffering is virtue. And it creates generations that repeat the same patterns, because they know nothing else.

The men who suffer in silence

Domestic violence is often framed as a women’s issue, and rightly so, because women are disproportionately affected. But Ghanaian men, too, suffer quietly.

Take the case of Kwame, a 40-year-old teacher from Takoradi whose wife frequently abused him physically and financially. “I couldn’t tell anyone,” he recalls.

“Which man goes to the police to say his wife beat him?” The shame, he says, was heavier than the harm.

Kwame’s story reminds us that domestic violence has many faces. And every face deserves protection.

When children become casualties

Perhaps the most devastating victims are the ones who rarely speak—the children. Studies show that children who witness domestic violence are more likely to struggle with anxiety, depression and behavioural issues. They are at higher risk of becoming abusers or victims in adulthood.

Children learn not from our words but from our example. When they see fists instead of dialogue, insults instead of understanding, and dominance instead of partnership, they learn that violence is a language. And they will carry that language into their adult relationships.

The role of faith leaders and community elders

Ghana is a deeply religious nation, and faith leaders hold extraordinary influence. Many do incredible work supporting victims. But some—knowingly or unknowingly—reinforce harmful teachings.

“Go back and pray for your husband.”
“Submit more and he will change.”
“Don’t break your home.”

Such advice, however well-meaning, can send victims back into danger.

Faith communities must recognise that domestic violence is not a marital disagreement—it is an abuse of power. It is a violation of human dignity. And saving a life is always more important than preserving the image of family unity.

Justice and the System: Progress and Gaps

Ghana’s Domestic Violence Act (Act 732) is a strong piece of legislation. The establishment of DOVVSU (Domestic Violence and Victim Support Unit) was a significant step. More shelters exist today than ever before. Public education campaigns are growing.

But challenges remain.

Many victims face long delays in court. Shelters are few and often poorly funded. Police officers sometimes lack training, leading to insensitive handling of cases. And many victims simply cannot afford the legal, medical or psychological support they urgently need.

We must ask ourselves: are we truly serious about ending domestic violence, or are we comfortable with merely appearing to try?

The changing landscape: Social media as a double-edged sword

Social media has played an interesting role. On one hand, it has exposed shocking cases that might have otherwise been hidden. Victims share their stories. Communities rally support. Authorities are pressured to act.

On the other hand, social media has also amplified public shaming, misinformation and insensitive commentary. Victims are blamed, mocked or doubted. Abusers sometimes weaponise it to track, threaten or humiliate their partners.

We must learn to use digital platforms responsibly—not as tools of judgement but as instruments for education, empathy and justice.

Why this matters to all of us

Domestic violence is not a “women’s issue”, “family issue” or “private issue”. It is a national issue.

It affects productivity, public health, social cohesion and the mental well-being of our children. It drains our economy through medical costs, legal proceedings and lost labour hours. It undermines our collective sense of security.

And above all, it diminishes us as a people.

Breaking the cycle: What we must do

1. Speak up, not out of curiosity but out of compassion

If you suspect someone is being abused, reach out gently. Show concern. Assure them they are not alone. Sometimes a single conversation can save a life.

2. Educate our boys and girls differently

Teach boys that strength is not dominance. Teach girls that love is not endurance. Build homes where respect is non-negotiable.

3. Strengthen institutions

More shelters, better funding, faster court processes, and enhanced police training are essential. Government must lead, but citizens must demand accountability.

4. Encourage healthy relationships

We must normalise therapy, counselling and emotional literacy. Ghana’s traditional support systems—extended families, faith groups, community elders—can be powerful allies when guided by wisdom and compassion.

5. Hold perpetrators accountable

Forgiveness does not replace justice. Abusers must face the consequences of their actions, regardless of their social standing.

A final reflection: Let us become safe havens

In the end, domestic violence is not just about broken bones or bruised faces. It is about broken trust, broken dignity, broken souls.

We cannot undo the harm already done. But we can prevent more harm from happening. We can create a Ghana where silence is not the shield of abusers, and where every home becomes what it is meant to be—a sanctuary.

Let us refuse to look away.
Let us refuse to excuse violence.
Let us refuse to normalise suffering.

Because when home hurts, the whole nation bleeds.

And when home heals, the nation rises

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