A certain kind of horror sits in the pit of your stomach when you find out that nearly one in ten women killed by men in the UK over the past 15 years were murdered by their own son. A new study from the Femicide Census has just been released, and the numbers are bleak. Of the 2,000 women killed by men since 2009, 173 were murdered by their sons – that’s nearly one in 10 of all women who died at the hands of men. 173 mothers. 173 women who carried, raised, fed, and loved a child, only to be repaid in violence.
We already know that men’s violence against women is endemic. On average, one woman is killed by an abusive partner or ex every five days in England and Wales. Women are being killed by the very people who are supposed to love them. But when that violence comes from a son, from the person you birthed, raised, and watched grow, it is an unspeakable kind of betrayal. One that this country still refuses to reckon with.
“You took the life of someone who had given you life.” That was what a judge told a man who strangled his 80-year-old mother to death. And he wasn’t the only one. These cases rarely make front-page news, but they are alarmingly common. The Guardian recently reported on the women killed by their sons, one of the cases included Mayawati Bracken. Bracken, 67, had already called the police before her son stabbed her to death. What is most heartbreaking is that her murder was not unforeseeable. It was a pattern—one where the warnings were there, but intervention was not. It’s a grim reflection of how the system consistently leaves women to manage their own safety, even when the threat comes from within their own home.
Then there was Kelly Pitt, 44, who had already fled to a refuge after her son assaulted her, yet was still unable to escape him. She did what women are so often told to do: leave, seek help, report the danger. And yet, despite the legal measures meant to protect her—bail conditions, restrictions, warnings—he killed her anyway. Domestic violence services have long pointed out that protection orders mean nothing without enforcement, that women are not safe simply because a piece of paper says they should be. Her murder is what happens when the justice system is built around the idea that men should be given second chances, even when women are telling us they will not survive them.
Bhajan Kaur, 73, was killed by her son over a property dispute. The idea that a man could feel entitled to not just his mother’s care but also her home, her resources, even her life, speaks to a culture where women’s autonomy—over their bodies, their choices, their homes—is always conditional. A mother is expected to give endlessly, and when she stops, even through necessity or self-preservation, that can be seen as a betrayal. Patriarchy teaches men that women owe them, that their needs come first, and when that belief is threatened, violence follows. These murders are not separate from the wider structures of male violence against women. They are not an anomaly. They are just another example of where the pattern plays out. So why do we treat them as separate incidents?
Men killing their mothers isn’t new. But it’s not something we talk about. When we think of domestic violence, we think of husbands beating their wives. We think of ex-boyfriends who won’t take no for an answer. But matricide—when a son kills his mother—is just as much a part of the same system of male violence against women.
The Femicide Census found that in 58% of cases where a son killed his mother, mental illness was a factor. Let’s be clear; the UK has a deeply broken mental health system, particularly for men. This country does not care for its mentally ill. But mental illness is not a free pass for murder. Men with mental health conditions are still making the choice to hurt and kill women. Women with mental illnesses are not slaughtering their family members. At least not anywhere near on the same scale. Court proceedings will often focus on individual pathology—mental health crises, sudden losses of control—rather than the societal issue of violence against women. The notion that some sons see their mothers as disposable, or that a lifetime of care can end in brutality, is an indictment of a culture that fails to confront the roots of male violence
It’s not just that these murders happen. It’s what happens after. The data covers cases from 2009 till now, and of the 2,000 femicides documented in the report, 211 men convicted of manslaughter have already been released. That includes men who have killed their mothers, their wives and their sisters. Men who have shown they are dangerous to women are walking free. Meanwhile, many of the women who survive male violence are the ones treated like criminals. Victims of domestic abuse are disbelieved by the police. Women fleeing violent homes are forced onto the streets because the UK’s refuges have been gutted by funding cuts. If you’re a woman in this country, your life is worth less than the reputation of the man who hurts you.
Women are being killed every three days by men in the UK. Two of those three murders are by a partner or ex. And yet, nothing changes. We hold vigils. The police arrest us. We demand better policies. The government shrugs. We beg for protection. Nothing happens.
This isn’t just happening here. Look around the world. In India, women are taking to the streets after yet another brutal gang rape. In South Korea, women are refusing to marry men at all, because they know the danger it brings. In the US, women’s reproductive rights are hanging by a thread. Violence against women is global. And so is the backlash against us.
Women have been sounding the alarm for decades. We saw it in the streets after Sarah Everard was murdered by a police officer. We saw it in the MeToo movement. We saw it with the bravery of Gisele Pelicot. We see it every day when women speak out, demand better, and refuse to accept this as just the way things are. But how many more times do we have to say the same thing? How many more reports, vigils, court cases, and names added to the list before something actually shifts?
The reality is, women have done enough. We have marched, protested, reported, and warned. It has always been within the power of governments, courts, and the police to end this crisis, and frankly, it’s just not our responsibility. The real question is, when will the people with power finally act?