Violence that runs through bodies
Gender-based violence must not be reduced only to women victims of abuse, although statistics show that they are the most affected. When we talk about gender-based violence, we must refer to a system of power that extends to all those bodies and identities perceived, according to the standards of the collective imagination, as non-conforming: those who do not fit stereotypical gender models, who show vulnerabilities that society has decided not to protect, who question the established order.
We are talking about a subtle, often invisible violence that runs through language, glances, public and private spaces, all the way to institutions. I, a gay man with visible disability, know well the feeling of being perceived as a non-conforming body. Throughout my life, in different contexts, I have felt labels, (pre)judgmental looks, comments, and sometimes micro-aggressions, even from people I considered allies or friends. Over time, I have learned what it means to have to justify your presence, your competence, your normality. I am not speaking of physical violence, but of a constant and ongoing pressure that can be just as painful: an invisible wound that runs through self-esteem and self-perception.
Thanks to my work as a Diversity & Inclusion Expert, I have learned to go beyond this feeling and, at the same time, I have been able to observe how common these experiences are to many more people than one might think. Some groups are more exposed: women with disabilities who suffer sexual violence “facilitated” by care dependence; men victims of domestic abuse who, trapped by stereotypes of strength and virility, cannot name their own experience; transgender people attacked because their bodies challenge the gender binary; migrant women who face violence amplified by sexism, racism, and classism.
All these experiences have a common denominator: an invisible code of power that decides who counts, who deserves protection, and who can be ignored. Let us abandon the stereotype that gender-based violence is only raised hands and bruised faces—a very serious reality that unfortunately does not end. A single label, a lack of listening, a limitation on the right to love, work, exist is enough. Marginalization, (pre)judgments, indiscreet glances, or ironic remarks are instruments of violence against non-conforming bodies, placed in invisible hierarchies.
Facing and recognizing this violence means dismantling the system that fuels it and returning to each individual a space of freedom, dignity, and rights. True inclusion is not a policy: it is a collective responsibility. It means looking at differences not as exceptions to manage, but as strengths, transforming fragility into voice and possibility. As I also said in my TEDx talk in Legnano, “the greatest silent revolution will have been accepting that each of us is simply, uniquely, and extraordinarily… normal.”
Over the years, both as a gay man with a disability and as a professional, I have seen how discriminations do not simply add up but intertwine: gender, sexual orientation, disability, ethnicity, religion, race, and social class create complex vulnerabilities. Building an inclusive society – and with it tools, narratives, and policies – means offering real listening, recognition, and solidarity without exclusions, stereotypes, or prejudices, valuing diversity as a collective asset.
Integrity is not measured by the number of wounds, but by the ability to face them, go through them, and transform them into concrete actions, into voice and possibility. True strength arises from the courage to accept oneself, to look each other in the eyes, and recognize equality in shared vulnerability. The fight against gender-based violence is, ultimately, the fight to recognize and accept the dignity of all bodies: a battle that requires commitment, attention, and, above all, responsibility from each of us.
It is the only way to build a fairer, more inclusive, and humane society, where every individual can exist without fear and be recognized in their entirety.