All men. Every woman.

Not all men. But why all men?

Every time gender-based violence, harassment, or femicide is discussed, a defensive reaction emerges almost automatically: "Not all men." And yet, if the problem were limited to a few, if it were just about a few "bad apples," we wouldn’t be facing a structural, widespread, everyday issue. A thumb is a finger, but not all fingers are thumbs. Not all men are violent, but violence is always a male issue.

Women today do not hate men. This is not about misandry, nor about simplistic generalizations. It is about a growing awareness: all men, in some way, have benefited from a patriarchal system that has oppressed women for centuries. Even the best men—the ones who never raise a hand, who call themselves feminists, who respect their partners—have lived in a world that has granted them privileges, security, and greater freedom of movement and expression compared to women.

Gender-based violence is a social epidemic, not an isolated phenomenon. It is a system that teaches women to defend themselves, but never teaches men not to attack. It is the fear of walking home alone, of saying "no" to a date, of dressing as one pleases. It is terror inscribed in bodies, in downcast gazes, in messages sent for safety. It is a culture that minimizes, that excuses, that blames victims and protects perpetrators.

And while women organize to survive, men defend themselves by saying, "I’m not like that." But that is not enough. It is not enough because the problem is not just violent men, but also the silence of those who are not. It is the complicit laughter at sexist jokes, the turning away, the taking for granted freedoms that others do not have.

Gender-based violence is not just a patriarchal issue; it is also about power, ownership, and control. History teaches us that women’s bodies have been treated as commodities, as property to be protected, as resources to be exploited. Marriage, dowry laws, control over female sexuality—all of these are expressions of a capitalist logic applied to emotions and bodies. Possession, the right to decide over another’s body, is the deep root of violence: when a man kills a woman because "she was mine," he is not only exerting his dominance—he is reaffirming a centuries-old ideology that sees women not as autonomous individuals, but as objects to be managed.

Intersecting gender discourse with capitalism and private property means understanding that the fight against violence against women is not just a cultural issue but also an economic and political one. As long as the system continues to monetize female bodies—through advertising, the fashion industry, mainstream pornography, and market-regulated surrogacy—it will continue reinforcing the idea that women are "available." Violence is not a flaw in the system; it is a function of it.

Education on consent, comprehensive sexual and emotional education, and the deconstruction of gender roles are no longer optional—they are urgent. This is not about "saving" women but about disarming male violence and reconstructing the very concept of masculinity.

Not all men are violent. But all men must choose which side they are on.