By Noor Ul Sabah, Sahiyo Volunteer
In every culture, stories about what it means to ‘be a man’ are told long before boys even learn how to talk. Young boys are told through gestures, silences, and rituals. They are shown in the ways fathers, brothers, and elders model strength. But when those stories teach that control equals honor, or that women’s bodies must bear the burden of cultural identity, they become a form of violence.
Today, we see courageous movements led by women and survivors to end the harmful practice of female genital cutting (FGC) around the world. Yet one truth often goes unspoken. This transformation cannot be complete without men. Ending FGC and all forms of gender-based violence requires men to relearn what strength truly means.
For generations, masculinity has been shaped by expectations of dominance, silence, and emotional distance. In many societies, boys are taught to lead, protect, and decide. They are rarely taught to question, feel, or listen. This traditional version of masculinity is not innate. It is a cultural value that has been passed down like an heirloom for generations, an heirloom that too often harms both the giver and the receiver. However, culture is learned, and so it can also be unlearned. Therefore, relearning masculinity is not a rejection but a renewal.
It means asking hard questions like:
What kind of culture are we preserving when it demands women’s pain to prove men’s honor? What kind of manhood requires silence when others suffer?
When men begin to unlearn the association between control and masculinity, they also unlearn the silent permission that sustains gender-based violence. They learn to see that protecting women does not mean controlling them. They understand that love without equality is not love but fear disguised as care.
This self-reflection becomes even more urgent when we look at the scale of harm FGC causes. According to the World Health Organization, more than 230 million girls and women alive today have undergone FGC. Each year, about 3 million girls remain at risk. These numbers are not only statistics, but also stories of control written onto the bodies of women and girls, which have been justified in the name of culture, purity, or protection. For many, the FGC is described as a tradition of care, a rite of passage, or a moral safeguard. Yet beneath these words lies a history of pain, silence, and gendered expectations passed down through generations.
The tension between culture and violence is not new. It remains uncomfortable. Culture carries identity and belonging, but it can also conceal harm. When acts of violence are cloaked as culture, they often escape scrutiny because the act feels sacred or necessary. Therefore, relearning masculinity requires men to face this contradiction with courage and to recognize that culture is not static. It can evolve. Traditions can transform without losing their meaning.
That change begins with speech. In many FGC-impacted communities, men have been taught that this harmful practice is a ‘women’s issue.’ But silence is not neutrality; it is complicity. In family meetings and ceremonies, fathers and elders often hold the power to question or stop a girl from being cut. When they remain silent, they legitimize this harm. When they speak, even gently, they can change history.
In The Gambia, where national surveys show that over 72 percent of women and girls have undergone FGC, male religious and community leaders have begun reinterpreting religious texts to emphasize compassion and bodily integrity. These conversations are not about blame; they are about courage. They show that masculinity rooted in care can protect communities rather than control them.
Moreover, across Africa and South Asia, initiatives like Tostan, Bhaiyo, and MenEngage are creating spaces where men can reflect on their roles in perpetuating or preventing gender-based harm. When men listen to survivors describe the emotional and physical consequences of FGC, many express grief and disbelief. Grief that such pain was ever considered necessary. Disbelief that they stayed silent for so long. These moments of reckoning are transformative and powerful. They reveal that true manhood is not about dominance, but about accountability.
From these moments of listening, new possibilities emerge. Relearning masculinity also means redefining pride. It means celebrating empathy instead of dominance. It means choosing collaboration instead of control. In some communities, fathers have begun to publicly pledge that their daughters will never undergo FGC. Others have joined advocacy campaigns that amplify survivor voices and educate their peers on the dangers of FGC. Such acts, though quiet, are revolutionary. They reclaim culture as a space of love, not fear.
The movement to end FGC cannot thrive on condemnation alone. It must grow through understanding, dialogue, and shared transformation. Men who engage in this process are not betraying their heritage; they are protecting it from the violence that distorts it.
Every time a man questions why pain must define purity, every time he listens instead of dismissing, every time he stands beside a survivor without judgment, he reshapes what it means to be strong.
To help end female genital cutting, communities must expand the definition of manhood itself. A man’s role is not to defend the past, but to nurture a more just future. Relearning masculinity is an act of healing for men, for women, and for the generations yet to come. It reminds us that culture is not a cage – it is a living promise that we can change, that we can care, and that together we can end harm in the name of tradition.
