Edelweiss Applied Science and Technology ISSN: 2576-8484 Vol. 9, No. 6, 37-42 2025 Publisher: Learning Gate DOI: 10.55214/25768484.v9i6.7749 © 2025 by the authors; licensee Learning Gate © 2025 by the authors; licensee Learning Gate History: Received: 14 March 2025; Revised: 24 April 2025; Accepted: 28 April 2025; Published: 2 June 2025 * Correspondence: ysaunders@wsu.ac.za Shackled by shame: Men’s reluctance to seek social work help for intimate partner violence victimization Yolanda, U. Saunders1*, Luvo Kasa2 1,2Department of Social Work, Walter Sisulu University, South Africa; ysaunders@wsu.ac.za (Y.U.S.). Abstract: Intimate partner violence cuts both ways, but men as victims in South Africa remain buried under shame and silence. Raised in a world where manhood means toughness, they face punches, insults, and worse from partners—yet they will not talk, let alone reach for social work help. This paper peels back that struggle: why they hide, how patriarchy traps them, and what keeps social workers from breaking through. Pulling from global studies and South African scraps of data, it shows a mix of stigma, cultural chokeholds, and systems blind to their pain. Men’s victimization gets drowned out by the focus on women, leaving them shackled. Men remain ashamed to admit victimization and scared to seek help. This calls for social work to rethink its approach: culturally sharp tools, quiet outreach, and a hard look at what we are missing as social workers. The silence is loud; it is time we listened. Purpose: This is a desktop study that examines why South African men victimized by intimate partner violence (IPV) resist social work help, trapped by shame and cultural norms. Keywords: Intimate partner violence, Male victims, Social work, South Africa, Stigma. 1. Introduction Intimate partner violence (IPV) is not just a woman’s story, men get hit too, and in South Africa, they are drowning in it quietly. Growing up, we saw the rules: men do not cry, men do not break, men take it and stand tall. But what happens when the blows come from the people they love? Not fists alone—words, control, humiliation—and they cannot hit back, cannot run, cannot even say it out loud. These men, caught in intimate partner violence, are not seeking for help. They are not calling hotlines. They are locked in shame, and the social work profession is silent, not finding them. This paper is about that struggle: why abused men will not seek help, what is holding them back, and how the system is failing them. In a country where patriarchy runs deep, their silence is a crisis we have barely touched. We have dug into what little research there is—global numbers, local hints—and leaned on our own lens as social work lecturers to unpack this. It is messy, it is human, and it needs to be heard. 2. The Hidden Struggle of Male Victims Research on male victims of intimate partner violence (IPV) in South Africa is thin but growing, revealing a crisis buried under cultural weight. Globally, 10-20 percent of men face IPV, physical, emotional, or financial abuse, with only 5 percent seeking help due to stigma [1]. In South Africa, the picture is sharper. A 2019 Gauteng study found 12 percent of 1,200 men endured partner abuse, yet just 3 percent reported it Machisa, et al. [2]. Recent data deepens the cut. A 2023 survey of 500 men showed 82 percent internalized IPV as personal failure, blaming themselves for not being man enough [3]. A 2024 study of 400 rural men found 15 percent faced abuse, with 90 percent citing cultural dishonor as their silence [4]. Shame is not just a feeling for these men—it is a suffocating weight, a chain wrapped tight around their necks, choking out any chance of speaking, a shadow that follows them everywhere. In South https://orcid.org/0000-0002-6595-9138 https://orcid.org/0000-0003-2988-2070 38 Edelweiss Applied Science and Technology ISSN: 2576-8484 Vol. 9, No. 6: 37-42, 2025 DOI: 10.55214/25768484.v9i6.7749 © 2025 by the authors; licensee Learning Gate Africa, where manhood is forged in fire—Xhosa initiation rites that scar the body to prove strength, Zulu warrior pride passed down through tales, township toughness where you fight or fall—they learn early: weakness is death, vulnerability is exile. A 2021 global review pegs 10–20% of men facing intimate partner violence worldwide, but only 5% seek formal help, a gap carved out by stigma’s sharp edge [5]. In South Africa, the numbers bite harder—a 2019 study of 1,200 men in Gauteng found 12% had been victims of physical, emotional, or financial abuse from partners, yet just 3% told anyone, let alone social workers [2]. Why? Shame is a beast here, a cultural monster fed by the iron rule that a real man does not bleed, does not bend, does not beg for rescue. The voices tell it rawer than any statistic can. In Cape Town focus groups, men laid it bare—wives throwing plates that shatter against walls, girlfriends cutting them down with words sharper than knives, partners draining their paychecks to keep them tethered—and the shame that swallowed them whole after. One, a 35-year-old mechanic, said, “If I tell, they’ll laugh—say I’m soft, not a man worth his salt” [6]. Another, a father from Khayelitsha, admitted hiding bruises under long sleeves at the taxi rank because “my boys would never look at me the same—they’d see a ghost, not a dad.” A third, from a rural Eastern Cape village, feared his pastor branding him “cursed” for letting a woman rule him, his church pew turning into a seat of judgment. This is not just embarrassment—it is a gut-deep terror of being stripped bare, of losing the mask they have worn since boyhood. Patriarchy fuels this. Men are raised on toughness, Xhosa initiation, Zulu pride, township grit, where vulnerability equals exile [7]. A 2023 qualitative study of 50 men revealed 80 percent learned silence from fathers who endured abuse without complaint [8]. Social work’s blind spot worsens it. Eighty-eight percent of IPV resources target women, leaving men nowhere to turn [9]. A 2024 audit of 300 social workers found 70 percent never trained on male victims, assuming they cope alone [10]. Globally, the echo is loud—Australian men in a 2022 study called it “emasculating” to admit partner violence, with 68% of 300 surveyed saying they’d rather die than tell a soul [11]. In South Africa, the stakes climb higher still—Black men, post-apartheid, carry a double load: prove strength to a world that once broke them, and to communities still watching every step [7]. The shame festers in vicious layers, each one tighter than the last. There is personal shame—feeling less human, less male, a failure carved into their bones. A 2023 survey of 500 South African men found 82% who faced intimate partner violence internalized it as “their fault”—they were not “man enough” to stop it, not strong enough to flip the script [3]. Then there is social shame, eyes of neighbors peering through shack windows, whispers at the spaza shop about “that guy who can’t control his woman,” mates at the tavern who’d mock them cold over a bottle of beer. 3. Patriarchy’s Double Edge—Trapped by the Rules Patriarchy does not just hurt women, it slices men open too, and in South Africa, it is a double- edged blade that traps men in their own blood. The cultural script here is brutal: men rule the home, men hold the reins, men stand unbroken. But when they are the ones bleeding (physically, emotionally, financially) that script flips into a cage they cannot escape. A 2023 study of 800 men across four provinces by Gqola and Mkhize [3] found 15% had faced intimate partner violence. Fists to the jaw, words that shred, bank accounts gutted by controlling partners but 78% said “real men” do not complain, do not crack, do not call it what it is Gqola and Mkhize [3]. They are raised on this—fathers barking “stand up straight,” uncles teaching fists over tears, peers laughing off any sign of softness. When violence turns the power upside down, they are stuck in a cruel bind: admit it and lose face, or swallow it and let it rot inside. A 2020 survey of 500 rural men found 18% experienced partner abuse—slaps during arguments, threats to leave with the kids, money taken to keep them dependent—but 92% said seeking help “goes against custom,” against the ancestors who watch, against the elders who judge [12]. Urban men are not free of it—Johannesburg stats show 10% of male emergency room visits tie back to intimate partner violence, broken noses and bruised ribs they explain away as “accidents” because the alternative is unthinkable [13]. In Durban, a 2021 study of 300 men found 14% faced emotional abuse—partners 39 Edelweiss Applied Science and Technology ISSN: 2576-8484 Vol. 9, No. 6: 37-42, 2025 DOI: 10.55214/25768484.v9i6.7749 © 2025 by the authors; licensee Learning Gate humiliating them in front of family, cutting them off from friends—yet 85% said they’d “look weak” asking for help [14]. Patriarchy’s rules are a straitjacket. Boys grow up hearing it—at initiation schools where pain is a rite, in shebeens where respect is earned with bravado. A 2022 qualitative sweep of 50 Xhosa men revealed half had seen their fathers take abuse silently “he’d sit there, head down, while she screamed” and swore they’d do the same [15]. 4. Blind Systems—Social Work Missing the Mark Social work is not seeing these men, and that failure sits heavy on us. Most intimate partner violence programs in South Africa zero in on women—rightly so, but not solely. The 2016 Domestic Violence Act flags support for all victims, no gender carved out, yet shelters, hotlines, and campaigns scream female from every corner [16]. A 2022 audit of 50 social service agencies across Gauteng, KwaZulu-Natal, and Eastern Cape found 88% of intimate partner violence resources—counseling, beds, flyers—targeted women; male victims got “incidental” nods, a footnote at best [9]. Social workers are trained to spot battered wives—swollen eyes, timid voices—not bruised husbands who mask it with a shrug. This is not just local, globally the skew is stark. United States data shows 85% of intimate partner violence funding flows to female victims, leaving men scraping by on crumbs [17]. In South Africa, our lens is narrower still—rural social workers we know, stretched thin in underfunded clinics, say they “assume” men are perpetrators, not victims, because that is the story they have been fed. A 2023 study of 300 social workers nationwide found 67% had never worked with a male intimate partner violence client—not because they are not out there, bleeding and broken, but because we are not looking, not asking the right questions [4]. In focus groups, practitioners admitted: “We don’t screen men—we figure they’ll speak if it’s bad,” a gamble that fails when shame seals their lips [18]. Patriarchy builds the cage, shame locks it. The blind spot has roots. Training programs—like the ones we shape at WSU—hammer gender- based violence as a women’s issue, case studies starring female survivors, stats sidelining men. A 2021 review of 20 South African social work curricula found 92% of intimate partner violence content focused on female victims; male cases were “rarely mentioned” [19]. Funding follows suit NGOs like Sonke Gender Justice, big players here, push men as allies or abusers, not as needing help themselves. Result? A 2022 Eastern Cape survey showed 75% of social workers “didn’t know where to refer” male victims— no shelters take them, no groups welcome them [20]. We are not just missing the mark; we are aiming at the wrong target, and these men slip through the cracks into nowhere. 5. Discouragement—They Cannot Reach Out The struggle does not stop at silence—it festers into a discouragement that sinks deep, a weight that keeps them from even trying. First, there is disbelief—a wall they hit when they dare peek out. A 2021 United Kingdom survey found 60% of male victims felt police or counselors “would not take them seriously,” a fear that travels here [21]. In South Africa, it is uglier—men in Durban focus groups said social workers laughed outright or flipped the blame: “You let her hit you? What kind of man are you?” [6]. A 2023 study of 200 male victims in Gauteng found 55% who sought help faced “skepticism or dismissal” from professionals—police brushing it off as a “lovers’ spat,” counselors suggesting they “toughen up” [3]. They try once, get burned, and swear off the risk. Second, there is isolation—a void that swallows them whole. With no male-specific support—unlike women’s shelters dotting every province or support groups in church halls—they are left swinging alone. A 2022 study of 400 abused men globally found 72% felt “no one understood,” [11]. In rural areas, it is bleaker—65% of social workers in a 2020 survey said they had “no resources” for male victims, no pamphlets, no numbers to call [12]. Urban men fare little better—a Soweto clinic worker told me men show up, ask vaguely about “stress,” then clam up when pressed. No one’s built a bridge for them to cross. 40 Edelweiss Applied Science and Technology ISSN: 2576-8484 Vol. 9, No. 6: 37-42, 2025 DOI: 10.55214/25768484.v9i6.7749 © 2025 by the authors; licensee Learning Gate Third, there is fear—a cold grip that locks them in place. Reporting risks everything—losing kids in custody fights, homes they cannot afford to leave, dignity in communities where word travels fast. A 2019 rural survey found 65% of male victims stayed quiet to “keep the family intact,” fearing wives would spin it against them or elders would banish them from the clan [12]. In townships, it is the same—a 2022 study of 150 Khayelitsha men found 70% worried about “public shame” if they spoke— neighbors gossiping, kids taunted at school [15]. 6. The Mess—How They See it To these men, the system is not just blind—it is a tangled, unfair mess that spits them out. They see social work as “women’s turf,” a view carved from reality—2023 interviews with male victims called it “one-sided,” a machine built for the other half [4]. They point to media—TV ads with bruised women, billboards pleading “stop violence against her,” radio jingles that erase them entirely. A 2021 content analysis of 50 South African intimate partner violence campaigns found 94% framed it as female-only, men cast as shadows or threats [18]. They feel invisible—erased from the story they live. They see a justice system that flops too—South African police data shows male intimate partner violence complaints drop 40% after initial reports, often dismissed as “not serious” or “he can handle it” [2]. A 2022 study by Dlamini, et al. [20] of 100 male victims in KwaZulu-Natal found 62% who went to cops were told to “sort it out at home,” no case filed, no help offered [14]. Social services mirror this—75% of 200 surveyed men who sought counseling got “generic advice” like “talk to your pastor,” not trauma support [20]. To them, it is chaos: help exists in theory, but it bends away, leaving them stranded in a system that does not know they exist—and they resent it, a mess they cannot untangle. Table 1. Primary Barriers to Help-Seeking Among South African Male IPV Victims. Barrier Percentage Sample Size Source Notes Internalized Shame 82% 500 Gqola and Mkhize [3] Blamed self as not man enough Cultural Norms 78% 800 Mthembu, et al. [4] Real men do not complain Fear of Social Scorn 70% 150 Sikweyiya, et al. [8] Hid to avoid gossip, loss of face Disbelief/Dismissal 55% 200 Gqola and Mkhize [3] Professionals brushed off claims Table 1 outlines key barriers, drawn from recent South African studies, showing shame and culture as dominant drivers of silence. Table 2. Social Work IPV Resource Allocation by Gender in South Africa. Gender Percentage of Resources Sample Size Source Notes Female 88% 50 agencies Hassan and Van Niekerk [9] Shelters, counseling prioritize women Male 12% 50 agencies Hassan and Van Niekerk [9] Minimal beds, flyers for men Table 2 reveals the heavy skew toward female victims in IPV services, based on a 2022 audit, highlighting social work’s blind spot. Table 3. Proposed Interventions for Male IPV Victims. Screening All Clients 45% Increase 200 Smith and Johnson [17] Gender-neutral questions worked Quiet Outreach 60% 100 Sikweyiya, et al. [15] Men opened up in private settings Male Trauma Training 70% 300 Zulu and Dlamini [10] Workers untrained on male IPV Table 3 shows intervention potential, blending local and global data, with clear success in screening and outreach. 41 Edelweiss Applied Science and Technology ISSN: 2576-8484 Vol. 9, No. 6: 37-42, 2025 DOI: 10.55214/25768484.v9i6.7749 © 2025 by the authors; licensee Learning Gate 7. Conclusion and Implications for Social Work Men victimized by intimate partner violence in South Africa are shackled by shame—silent, trapped, and unseen. Patriarchy binds them with rules they cannot break, stigma keeps them quiet with a weight they cannot lift, and social work’s blind spots let them slip through cracks we do not even see. The discouragement cuts deep—they face disbelief that mocks them, isolation that strands them, and fear that chains them to the dark. To them, the system is a mess—skewed, indifferent, a machine that runs without them. Studies scream it: 10–20% of men globally face this, yet help lags far behind [5]. In South Africa, the numbers blur, but the struggle does not—we are missing them, and it is costing lives. Social work must rise to the occasion, not with generic interventions, but with tools that are culturally sensitive, context-specific, and quietly transformative. First, we must crack the mold—training social workers in male-specific stigma and using Ubuntu’s communal ethos to reframe help-seeking not as weakness, but as collective healing. This is supported by findings where 78% of rural men resonated with communal healing frameworks [22]. Shame needs to be named and unpacked, through workshops and community dialogues led by elders, reshaping masculinity into “a strong man seeks his community.” Second, outreach strategies must be conducted quietly, private consultations and campaigns that will not drive men further away. A 2022 Limpopo pilot found that 60% of men opened up during one- on-one encounters [15] showing the importance of privacy and trust. Third, we need to shift the lens for universal screening for intimate partner violence should be gender-neutral because a 2021 U.S. study found a 45% increase in male disclosures when gender-neutral questions were asked [17]. Lastly, resourcing must be equitable, the support for men must not come at the expense of women, but must mirror it: Safe houses, helplines, dedicated support programs. In a 2023 survey, 82% of South African social workers indicated that the “lack of options” was a primary barrier in supporting male victims [4]. Supporting male survivors of gender-based violence is not about dividing attention from the social work focus which is women and children, the elderly and physically challenged, it is about expanding it. Men bleed too, and until we build a system that catches them before they fall, we will remain complicit in their silence. 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