Wars Waged by Men, Wounds Endured by Women: A Wars Waged by Men, Wounds Endured by Women
Peerzada Masarat Shah
On International Women’s Day, I bow my head to those who have always tried to keep the ties of the universe bound with love, and who have mostly received blows from men. In places torn by conflict, women hold no command, serving only as victims—first caught in the crossfire of powers that claim to fight for them, then left to bear the deepest scars when the fighting slows. As mothers they lose sons, as sisters they lose brothers, yet they survive carrying the heaviest wounds. They never start wars. They feel no greed for oil or wealth built on it.
This pattern repeats across the world. In Palestine, Balochistan, Kashmir, Pakistan’s tribal regions, Afghanistan, and many other lands scarred by violence, women stand apart from the decisions that ignite fighting. Men declare the battles over land, resources, pride, or control. Women pay the price in shattered homes, vanished loved ones, and bodies marked by trauma. They rebuild from ruins not out of choice but necessity, their love the only force stronger than destruction.
In Gaza, two years of bombardment have left over one million women and girls in ruins. Homes turned to dust, families scattered, livelihoods gone. One in seven families now depends on a woman as head, often after losing husbands to airstrikes or while seeking aid. Widows like young mothers in their twenties care for children alone amid hunger and cold. They watch children starve, perform surgeries without medicine, lose all privacy in crowded tents. Thousands widowed, thousands orphaned—mothers erase their own needs to feed the young, holding families together through grief that never ends. Displaced time after time, they face famine risks, burying children who die from lack of food while carrying the emotional weight of endless loss.
In Balochistan, the struggle over resources and rights drags on. Enforced disappearances tear families apart. In recent times, dozens of women and girls vanished—some released after months, others still missing. Mothers plead for sons taken in the night, daughters abducted as punishment for families speaking out. Young women, once focused on peaceful calls for justice, now face grief so deep it pushes some toward desperate acts. Widows and families left behind herd animals through dangerous lands, weave survival from daily fear. The conflict claims lives in bombings and raids, but the silent toll falls on women who search deserts for the disappeared, care for children without fathers, and endure threats that silence voices.
In Kashmir, the long shadow of dispute turns valleys into zones of constant tension. Half-widows—women whose husbands vanished into custody or encounters—live in limbo, denied inheritance, land rights, and security. They face poverty deepened by loss, social isolation, and the trauma of not knowing if loved ones live or died. Women navigate checkpoints, curfews, and violence that targets bodies and spirits. Mothers raise children under the sound of gunfire, preserve memories of peace in homes threatened by shelling. Their suffering stays hidden—harassment from all sides, erasure from records, yet they persist in small acts of care and resistance, holding fragile threads of family amid uncertainty.
In Pakistan’s merged tribal districts, once known as FATA, past militancy and ongoing tensions displace communities and restrict lives. Women issue quiet warnings to prevent clashes, drawing on knowledge of tribal ways, but conflict still brings raids, bombings, and flight. Families flee violence, women leading children through uncertain paths to camps or new places. Cultural limits tighten under strain—mobility curbed, voices muted. Widows and mothers bear displacement’s weight, caring for elders and young while facing barriers to aid and safety. In these borderlands, women endure marginalization amplified by unrest, stitching daily existence from loss.
In Afghanistan, restrictions tighten year by year. Bans on girls’ education beyond primary, on women’s work, on movement without male guardians crush futures. Healthcare suffers—women denied treatment without escorts, female doctors phased out by bans on medical training for women. Mothers risk lives giving birth without proper care, girls grow up without learning, families face illness without help. Widows and single women struggle most, isolated by rules that treat independence as threat. Yet in hidden corners, women teach secretly, care for the sick, nurture hope against edicts designed to erase them. The health system falters, hunger lingers, but women’s quiet defiance keeps life flickering.
Elsewhere the story echoes. In Syria, Yemen, Sudan, Ukraine—women flee as refugees, face sexual violence as weapon, head households in famine. Globally, hundreds of millions live near active fighting, the highest numbers in decades. Civilian women and children die in rising numbers, displaced by millions, starved or assaulted. Conflicts multiply, yet women’s groups receive almost no support while military budgets soar.
Across these places, women share no lust for conquest. They seek no dominion over oil fields or borders. When wars rage, they shield children with their bodies. When wars fade, they search rubble for remains, comfort the grieving, rebuild shelters from scraps. Their wounds run deepest—emotional, physical, generational—yet their love endures. They survive with intensity born of necessity, turning grief into quiet strength.
On this day, bow heads not just in respect but in recognition. See the pattern: men wage wars, women bear the aftermath. Honor those who mend what breaks, who love despite everything. Their resilience calls for peace—not gestures, but real end to cycles that sacrifice them. In their survival lies the truest map to a world without such sorrow.
