Domestic violence in Bangladesh is routinely framed as a private tragedy, an unfortunate but inevitable aspect of family life. Yet the latest report, 'Violence Against Women Survey 2024' by the Bangladesh Bureau of Statistics (BBS), confronts us with a far more disturbing reality. According to the survey, nearly seven in ten ever-married women in Bangladesh have experienced some form of intimate partner violence in their lifetime, and almost half have faced such violence in just the past twelve months. These figures do not merely describe individual suffering; they reveal a profound moral crisis embedded in the social fabric of the country. The persistence of violence is inseparable from the silence that surrounds it, a silence that is socially produced, morally justified, and collectively maintained.
From a Durkheimian perspective, this silence is not accidental. Émile Durkheim argued that societies are held together by a collective conscience, a shared system of moral beliefs that defines what is normal, acceptable, and condemnable. When violence persists on such a massive scale without provoking collective outrage, it signals not simply weak law enforcement or lack of awareness, but a moral order that tolerates, rationalises, and even normalises abuse within the household. Domestic violence in Bangladesh must therefore be understood not only as a legal or gender issue, but as a failure of moral regulation.
Durkheim emphasised that certain institutions become "sacred" when they are infused with collective moral meaning. In Bangladesh, the family occupies precisely this position. The patriarchal household is treated as the cornerstone of social stability, moral upbringing, and cultural continuity. Any challenge to its authority is often perceived as a threat to social order itself. The BBS survey shows that 47 per cent of ever-married women have experienced physical violence in their lifetime, 29 per cent have endured sexual violence, and 37 per cent have suffered emotional violence. Controlling behaviour is the most pervasive form of abuse, affecting 68 per cent of women over their lifetime and 44 per cent in the last year alone. Yet these acts are rarely named as violence within everyday moral discourse. They are reframed as discipline, marital discord, or personal fate.
This moral reframing explains why silence is so deeply entrenched. Speaking out against abuse is often treated as deviant behaviour, while enduring it is moralised as patience, sacrifice, or family loyalty. In Durkheimian terms, the collective conscience protects the sanctity of the family even when that protection comes at the cost of individual suffering. Violence is rendered invisible not because it is rare, but because acknowledging it would require questioning one of society's most sacred institutions.
The moral regulation of domestic life in Bangladesh is profoundly gendered. Patriarchal norms assign authority, decision-making power, and disciplinary rights to men, while placing the burden of family honour and emotional labour on women. Male aggression is frequently excused as a response to economic stress, frustration, or provocation. Female resistance, by contrast, is framed as disobedience or moral failure. The survey data reflect this imbalance clearly. Economic violence, including denial of money or control over resources, affects 20 per cent of women in their lifetime and 11 per cent in the past year, with urban women reporting slightly higher exposure than rural women.
Durkheim warned that moral regulation often operates unevenly, imposing stricter constraints on certain groups while granting others greater latitude. In Bangladesh, women are morally regulated through expectations of endurance and silence, while men are granted moral leniency for acts of control and aggression. Silence becomes not just a cultural norm but a survival strategy, a way for women to navigate a moral system that punishes disclosure more harshly than abuse itself.
Community and religious structures play a critical role in sustaining this silence. Durkheim viewed religion as a powerful source of collective conscience, shaping moral boundaries and social obligations. In Bangladesh, community elders, neighbours, and religious figures often act as informal moral regulators in cases of domestic conflict. Reporting violence is frequently discouraged in the name of family unity and social harmony. Survivors are urged to be patient, to reconcile, or to pray for change. The fear of anomie, the breakdown of moral order, looms large. Exposing violence is seen as disruptive, while concealing it is framed as socially responsible.
The survey provides stark evidence of how effective this moral regulation has been. Two-thirds of women who experienced intimate partner violence had never told anyone about it before being interviewed. Fewer than eight per cent sought legal action. Only 15 per cent sought medical treatment for their injuries. Awareness of formal support mechanisms remains strikingly low: less than half of women know where to report violence, and only 11 per cent are aware of the national helpline 109. These figures are not merely indicators of service gaps; they reflect a moral environment in which seeking help is discouraged and silence is rewarded.
Religion, when interpreted through a narrow moral lens, can further entrench this silence. Teachings that emphasise forgiveness, patience, and family preservation are often invoked without equal emphasis on justice, dignity, and the sanctity of life. When religious morality prioritises marital endurance over personal safety, it legitimises suffering and discourages intervention. Durkheim did not argue that religion inevitably produces oppression, but he did caution that moral systems, when rigid and unexamined, can perpetuate harm under the guise of social cohesion.
The limits of legal reform become clear within this moral context. Bangladesh enacted the Domestic Violence (Prevention and Protection) Act in 2010, signaling formal recognition of domestic violence as a public crime. Yet Durkheim reminded us that law is a reflection of society's moral state; it cannot operate effectively when it runs too far ahead of collective values. The BBS survey highlights this disconnect. On average, survivors spend BDT 2,512 on medical treatment and BDT 4,104 on legal costs, expenses that are prohibitive for many households. Rural women incur slightly higher medical costs, while urban women face greater legal expenses. These economic barriers, combined with stigma and institutional reluctance, explain why formal remedies remain largely unused.
The regional patterns revealed by the survey further underscore the structural nature of the problem. Barisal records the highest lifetime prevalence of intimate partner violence at 82 per cent, with 57 per cent reporting violence in the past year. Emotional violence is particularly high in this division, affecting nearly half of women over their lifetime. Khulna follows closely, with 81 per cent lifetime prevalence and the highest rate of physical violence at 57 per cent. Chattogram reports 78 per cent lifetime prevalence, with sexual violence affecting 34 per cent of women. Dhaka, often assumed to be more progressive, still shows a lifetime prevalence of 73 per cent, with urban women reporting slightly higher sexual violence than their rural counterparts.
Other divisions present similarly troubling figures. Rajshahi records 74 per cent lifetime prevalence, Sylhet 73 per cent, Rangpur 74 per cent, and Mymensingh 75 per cent. Disaster-prone areas exhibit even higher vulnerability, with 81 per cent lifetime prevalence compared to 74 per cent in non-disaster-prone regions. These patterns suggest that economic stress, environmental vulnerability, and social instability intensify moral pressures within households, increasing the likelihood of violence while reinforcing silence.
Education and wealth provide only partial protection. Women with no formal education report an 80 per cent lifetime prevalence of intimate partner violence, compared to 61 per cent among women with bachelor's degrees or higher. Yet even among the most educated, recent violence remains high at 42 per cent. Wealth follows a similar pattern. The poorest quintile reports 79 per cent lifetime prevalence, but even the richest quintile reports 71 per cent. These figures challenge the assumption that domestic violence is confined to poverty or ignorance. Instead, they point to a moral system that cuts across class and education, shaping behaviour through deeply internalised norms.
The psychological toll of sustained violence and enforced silence is immense. Adolescents aged 15 to 19 emerge as the most vulnerable group, with 62 per cent reporting violence in the past year. For young women, violence coincides with identity formation, eroding self-worth and social integration. Durkheim warned that weak integration and oppressive regulation can lead to despair and hopelessness. Domestic violence in Bangladesh exemplifies this danger, isolating victims from social support while binding them to abusive relationships in the name of moral duty.
Yet Bangladesh is not static. Urbanisation, women's increased participation in the workforce, education, and digital activism are gradually challenging traditional moral frameworks. Survivor testimonies, media investigations, and NGO advocacy signal moments of moral transition, instances where the collective conscience is contested and renegotiated. These shifts, however, provoke backlash. Victims who speak out often face harassment, disbelief, and character assassination. This reflects a struggle between competing moral orders: one that prioritises patriarchal cohesion and another that asserts individual dignity and rights.
Durkheim believed that moral change is possible through collective reflection and moral education. Breaking the silence around domestic violence requires redefining it as a violation of society itself, not merely a private misfortune. Public condemnation must be consistent and unequivocal. Schools, media, religious institutions, and political leaders all play a role in reshaping the collective conscience. The low levels of awareness revealed by the survey are not just failures of information dissemination; they reflect a deeper reluctance to name domestic violence as a public moral crime.
Domestic violence in Bangladesh persists not because society is unaware of it, but because silence has been woven into the moral order. A Durkheimian lens reveals that the challenge is fundamentally moral. Until violence within the home is recognised as a threat to collective well-being, silence will continue to shield perpetrators and punish victims. Bangladesh's future social solidarity cannot be built on endurance and concealment. It must be grounded in the courage to protect the vulnerable and the moral resolve to confront violence as a violation of society itself.
Dr Matiur Rahman is a researcher and development professional.
matiurrahman588@gmail.com