When love turns to fear…

1 novembre 2025 08:53

Cette jeune femme, étudiant actuellement le marketing et travaillant comme Business Development Executive, a été très sensible aux récents cas de violences envers les femmes. Elle nous propose ici son analyse…

When Love Turns Into Fear: Confronting Domestic Violence in Mauritius

Two women. Two lives stolen. Two more names added to the growing list of Mauritian women killed by the men who once vowed to love them. In just a few weeks, our nation has been forced to face a grim and painful truth: the place that should be a sanctuary of love and peace — home — has become a battlefield for far too many women.

As a young woman, I cannot remain silent. Each headline, each photograph, each shattered family leaves me disgusted, heartbroken, and furious. Furious that something as sacred as love can twist into something as cruel as possession. Furious that society still asks, “Why didn’t she leave?” instead of “Why did he hurt her?” Furious that, in 2025, women still die simply because they loved someone who mistook control for affection.

Yes, I know — not all men are the same. Many are kind, respectful, and just as horrified as we are. But the fact remains: in the vast majority of cases, the victims are women. And every time another woman dies, it’s not just her life that ends. It’s her children’s safety, her parents’ joy, her friends’ laughter — her entire world, gone.

What Does Domestic Violence Really Mean?

When we talk about domestic violence, too many still imagine only physical harm — bruises, cuts, broken bones. But violence takes many shapes. It can be physical, emotional, verbal, psychological, sexual, or economic.

It’s the husband who forbids his wife to work and calls it “love.”, isolates her from family, and controls what she wears or who she speaks to. It’s the man who uses words as weapons and his anger as a form of control.

And it often starts quietly. A cruel word. A push. Then comes the slap — followed by tears and promises that it will never happen again. “Don’t tell anyone.” “Think of our children.” “What will people say?” But it does happen again. And each time, the violence grows stronger, until one day, the apology never comes — because it’s too late.

Is this love? Or is it ownership disguised as affection?

The Heartbreaking Reality in Mauritius

Behind the postcard image of our island paradise lies a reality too painful to ignore. According to the Mauritius Police Force, over 5,700 cases of domestic violence were reported in 2024 alone. Between 2020 and 2023, at least 24 women were killed by their intimate partners. In 2023, over 10,000 assault cases were recorded and more than half involved women. And these are just the cases we know. What about those who suffer in silence? The women too afraid to report? The ones financially trapped, emotionally manipulated, or socially pressured into believing that silence is safer than freedom? Every statistic is not just a number. It’s a woman who had dreams, laughter, and a life that ended at the hands of someone she trusted most.

Why Don’t They Leave?

“Why doesn’t she just leave?” we often hear. But have we ever asked, “What happens when she tries to?” Leaving an abusive relationship is not a simple act of walking away. It is one of the most dangerous moments a victim can face. Many women stay because they have been threatened “If you leave me, I’ll kill you.” Others stay because they have no financial means, no job, no home, no one to turn to. And sadly, even some family members — who should be their first line of support — discourage them. They say, “Pense to zanfan,” “Pense to fami,” “Ki dimunn pour dire?”

But these words, though often spoken out of fear or tradition, can chain a woman to her suffering. My mother once told me something that has stayed with me forever : “It’s better to come from a failed marriage than to come home in a casket.” Those words should echo in every household. No woman should ever have to choose between her life and her reputation.

We must stop glorifying endurance and start promoting survival. And that begins by empowering women to be independent. Girls — study, work, earn your own money, build your own strength. Take care of yourself, inside and out. Be confident, be beautiful, and never let anyone make you believe that your value depends on staying in pain.

Because independence is not arrogance — it is protection.

The Invisible Wounds

The bruises may fade, but the wounds of domestic violence linger. Survivors carry anxiety, depression, trauma, and deep fear. They lose trust, confidence, and sometimes even the will to live. The children who witness such violence suffer too. They grow up with confusion, aggression, or guilt. Many turn to drugs or alcohol to numb the pain. Some enter relationships that mirror the same violence they once saw at home because that is what love looked like to them. So, when we fail to protect a mother, we fail her children. We fail the next generation.

Are the Authorities Doing Enough?

Mauritius has taken steps — protection orders, hotlines, shelters, and the “Lespwar” app. But a law means nothing if it isn’t enforced. A protection order cannot save a woman if no one follows up. Too often, abusers pay a small bail, serve a few months, and return — angrier than before. Sometimes, they come back to seek revenge. Should we really accept this as justice?

Maybe it’s time we ask the difficult question: Should Mauritius consider capital punishment for cases of feminicide? I know it’s controversial. But when repeat offenders walk free, when women die despite having sought help, when children grow up without mothers — can we still say justice is being done? Perhaps the fear of harsher penalties — even capital punishment — would make abusers think twice before turning their rage into murder.

Justice must not only punish, it must protect and prevent.

A Call for Real Change

Protection orders must go beyond paperwork. They should come with real support, police check-ins, family follow-ups, safe housing, financial help, and fast-tracked divorce and custody processes. Survivors need therapy, job assistance, and safe spaces where they are believed and supported. Abusers need counseling and accountability to break their violent patterns.

And most importantly, we must educate. Teach boys that love is respect, not control. Teach girls that their worth is not tied to sacrifice. Start these conversations early — in schools, at home, in shivala, in mosques, in churches. Imagine a Mauritius where love means safety, not scars. Isn’t that what we all deserve?

What Can We Do as a Society?

Change begins with each of us. When someone confides in you, listen. Believe them. Don’t judge. Don’t tell them to stay “for the kids.” Help them find the courage — and the means — to leave safely. If you suspect abuse, speak up. Silence protects the abuser, never the victim. Use your voice. Use social media not for gossip, but for good — to raise awareness, to share resources, to show compassion. Domestic violence does not discriminate. It affects rich and poor, educated and uneducated, young and old, across every religion and culture.

Today, it may be her. Tomorrow, it could be me. The next day, you.

So let’s stand together — not only to mourn after tragedy, but to act before it happens again. Let’s build a Mauritius where every woman feels safe in her own home, where every child grows up knowing that love should never hurt.

Because when we protect one woman, we protect an entire generation.

par Khushi Thacoor