He sits in the softly lit living room, shoulders slightly hunched, the afternoon light stretching across the tatami like a quiet accusation. In popular imagination, the “domestic violence victim” is a woman, but increasing numbers of men in Japan are now stepping forward to say: watashi mo 被害者だ — “I am a victim too.” For years, many suffered in silence, trapped between social expectations of stoicism and the deep taboo of admitting vulnerability. But recent data suggests this silence is cracking. According to Japan’s Gender Equality Bureau, reports of domestic violence against men have risen by more than 50% over the past five years, prompting a difficult conversation about masculinity, shame, and support systems in a country slow to recognize male suffering in private life.
In Japanese culture, the phrase gaman (我慢) means enduring hardship without complaint, a core value linked to honor and responsibility, especially for men. It is not just cultural, but psychological armor — and a cage. Many male victims of abuse resist seeking help because of the overwhelming fear of social ridicule or of being considered “unmanly.” As one psychologist noted in NHK’s coverage, “For many Japanese men, acknowledging victimhood feels like losing the right to be seen as a man.”
Yet the abuse itself is painfully real. Recent reports include cases of wives physically attacking husbands during arguments, partners destroying personal property or controlling finances, and emotional coercion disguised as marital tension. One Tokyo salaryman in his late 30s described how his wife regularly slapped him and withheld access to their shared bank account. When he finally approached the local shichōsha (municipal office) for help, he was met with confusion — the shelter had only intake procedures designed for women. He later found a private support center instead. There are also cases of female-to-male psychological abuse, especially in marriages strained by economic pressures. Japan’s long-term stagnation, the precariousness of freeter (freelance/part-time) employment, and the cultural expectation that men should be primary breadwinners combine to create fertile ground for resentment. When a husband’s income falls short, some wives lash out in frustration, and some men internalize the blame until it becomes emotional imprisonment.
The legal and institutional frameworks are improving — slowly. Until recently, most domestic violence shelters were built primarily to serve women, reflecting both cultural perception and statistical reality. But with the rise in reported male victims, a small but growing number of centers are now offering gender-neutral services. The Tokyo Metropolitan Government has also begun training staff to handle male cases, and the national domestic violence hotline now explicitly welcomes calls from men. However, underreporting remains massive. Experts estimate that the true number of male victims may be several times higher than current statistics suggest. Many men contact services anonymously, asking whether it is “even possible” for husbands to receive protection orders. One Osaka-based social worker said that when she tells callers, “hai, dekimasu” (yes, you can), some fall silent — as if astonished to hear their suffering recognized.
Complicating this issue further is Japan’s deeply ingrained reluctance to intrude upon private family affairs. The idea of katei no naka no koto — “what happens inside the home” — still carries cultural weight as something outsiders should not interfere with. For male victims who already fear humiliation, this boundary can feel impenetrable. Yet there is a quiet shift happening among younger generations. Support circles are forming online, especially on anonymous platforms where men can speak without fear of face-to-face judgement. Some are beginning to share their stories publicly, challenging the stereotype of who can be a victim and who can be strong.
Domestic violence, regardless of the gender of the victim, is a brutal erasure of dignity. The rising awareness in Japan is not a sign of worsening marriages — but of hidden pain finally coming into view. The challenge now is ensuring that breaking silence leads not to shame, but to support. For men learning to say I need help, society must be ready to answer, We hear you.
Ah, sisters — and brothers — let’s take a breath, sip our tea, and talk about something that makes everyone uncomfortable: women can also be violent. Yes, yes, I know. In the vast, overwhelming majority of cases, gender-based violence (GBV) and domestic violence (DV) are inflicted on women by men — and we must never, ever lose sight of that. The numbers are clear. The bruises, the shelter beds, the hospital reports, the funerals — overwhelmingly, they belong to women. Patriarchy has been hitting us, silencing us, killing us for centuries. And our fight against that continues with full force.
But if we want to be serious about ending violence in relationships, we cannot simply close our eyes when the roles reverse.
Because sometimes they do.
I have seen women — strong, brilliant, stressed, exhausted, furious women — who learned from patriarchy’s script and decided they could play the same game. Violence can become a habit, a learned reflex, a twisted coping mechanism. And if we excuse it, if we laugh it away — “He should man up!” “It’s just a slap!” — then we are not fighting patriarchy. We are imitating it. That’s not liberation, my loves. That’s just recycling abuse.
In Japan, as in many places across Asia-Pacific, men are taught to gaman — endure without complaint. To be loud in public but quiet in pain. To never admit fear, powerlessness, or shame. So when a man is hit, threatened, manipulated, controlled… he often hides it until he cannot breathe anymore. And we — feminists, activists, sisters of justice — must not become the ones who tell him to shut up and take it. Because violence is not a women’s issue or a men’s issue. It is a power issue.
If a woman uses violence — physical or psychological — she is not “empowered.” She is reproducing the very system that harmed us.
So yes: we continue to fight male violence with all our strength. We demand laws, shelters, education, and justice for women survivors. We shout, we organize, we refuse silence.
But we also make space — real, dignified space — for men who say: “I was hurt. I need help.” Not because men deserve more attention. But because everyone deserves to live without fear in their own home.
We don’t pick sides in abuse. We pick humanity.