Stop FGM: female genital massacre

The title is blunt on purpose. Because when a practice permanently injures healthy body tissue, targets kids, and comes wrapped in “tradition,”
polite language can feel like a whisper in a hurricane. Still, in health care and law, the recognized term is
female genital mutilation/cutting (FGM/C)and that’s the language you’ll see in clinics, courtrooms, and prevention programs.
This article uses FGM and FGM/C to stay accurate, while keeping the urgency: it must stop.

If you’re here because you want to protect a child, support a survivor, or write about the issue without stereotyping entire communities:
you’re in the right place. We’ll cover what FGM is, why it happens, the health risks, U.S. laws, what prevention actually works,
and how to talk about it in a way that helps instead of harms.

What FGM is (and what it isn’t)

FGM/C refers to procedures that injure or alter external female genitalia for non-medical reasons.
It is not a “health choice,” not a cosmetic trend, and not comparable to medically indicated procedures.
It is widely recognized as a form of gender-based violence and a human rights violation.

The four major types (in plain English)

Health authorities often describe four categories. You don’t need graphic detail to understand the point: each type involves injury,
and each can cause lasting harm.

• Type 1: Removal of part or all of the clitoris.
• Type 2: Removal of the clitoris and parts of the labia.
• Type 3: Narrowing the vaginal opening by repositioning/sealing labia (often called infibulation).
• Type 4: Other injuries (such as pricking, piercing, scraping, or cauterizing) for non-medical purposes.

FGM is sometimes mislabeled “female circumcision.” That phrase can be misleading because it suggests a minor or medically parallel practice.
In reality, FGM has no health benefit and can create lifelong medical and psychological consequences.

Why does FGM happen?

Here’s the tough truth: FGM persists not because families wake up wanting to harm children, but because social norms can be
stronger than individual beliefs. Many families describe intense pressurefear their daughter won’t be accepted, won’t be considered “marriageable,”
or will be judged as “unclean.” In some places it’s framed as a rite of passage. In others it’s tied to myths about sexuality, virginity, or purity.

Importantly: FGM is practiced across different communities and belief systems. It is not required by any major religion’s holy text,
and many faith leaders and community advocates actively oppose it. The “why” is often a web of history, gender inequality, misinformation,
and local enforcement by elders or peer groupssometimes even when parents privately disagree.

The social-norm trap (a quick example)

Imagine a neighborhood where everyone insists a lock on your front door “proves” you’re a good person. You personally think it’s nonsense.
But the landlord requires it, your neighbors gossip, and your kid gets excluded from parties if your house doesn’t have one.
Over time, even people who hate the rule feel they must comply. That’s how harmful norms surviveand why ending FGM is not just about
“educating individuals,” but changing what the whole community believes is expected.

Health consequences: immediate, long-term, and often misunderstood

FGM can cause severe pain and bleeding, infections, problems urinating, and psychological trauma immediately afterward.
Long-term effects can include recurrent infections, painful menstruation, sexual pain, scarring complications, fertility issues,
and increased risks during childbirth. Mental health impactssuch as anxiety, depression, and post-traumatic stressare also commonly reported.

Why childbirth can be especially risky

Some survivors experience complications in labor and delivery due to scar tissue and anatomical changes. That can mean longer labor,
higher likelihood of interventions, and increased risk for both parent and baby. One hidden problem in the U.S. is that
clinicians may not have training in survivor-centered care or may not recognize the specific needs of patients with FGM.
When health care feels confusing or judgmental, people delay careexactly the opposite of what anyone wants.

How common is FGMand why it matters in the United States

Globally, the number of survivors is staggering: hundreds of millions of girls and women are estimated to be living with the consequences.
And while FGM is often associated with certain regions, it is also relevant in diaspora communities worldwideincluding in the U.S.

U.S. public health estimates suggest that more than 500,000 girls and women in the United States have experienced FGM
or may be at risk. That doesn’t mean “half a million procedures happened here.” It means the U.S. includes many families with roots in countries
where FGM has been practiced, and some girls may face risk domestically or through travel.

Another crucial point: many people from FGM-practicing countries living in the U.S. oppose FGM and want it to end.
Treating entire immigrant groups as “suspects” is not only unfairit’s counterproductive. Prevention works best when it is
community-led and built on trust.

U.S. laws: FGM is a crime, and survivors are not at fault

In the United States, FGM performed on minors is illegal under federal law, and it is also illegal to take (or attempt to take)
a girl out of the U.S. for the purpose of having FGM performed. Penalties can include significant prison time.
Many states also have specific criminal laws addressing FGM.

The federal legal framework has evolved. The STOP FGM Act of 2020 became law in early 2021 and strengthened/clarified
aspects of federal enforcement. (Translation: lawmakers wanted to remove ambiguity and reinforce that this is child abuse, not “culture.”)

One detail that matters for compassion: a person who has undergone FGM is not the criminal. Survivors are not “at fault,”
and their eligibility for support or services should never be undermined by stigma or shame.

“How do we stop it?” What prevention actually looks like

Ending FGM is not a single magic campaign. It’s a layered strategy: community leadership, education, safer alternatives, strong legal protection,
and accessible care for survivors. Think of it like fire prevention: laws matter, but so do smoke alarms, building codes, neighbor awareness,
and a fire department that shows up without blaming the person whose kitchen caught fire.

1) Community-led norm change

The evidence base for prevention consistently points back to one theme: lasting change happens when communities themselves decide the practice is
no longer acceptable. Programs are more effective when they are led by respected local voices, include men and boys, and address the real reasons
families feel pressuredmarriage expectations, social status, fear of gossip, and misconceptions about health or religion.

2) Support for girlswithout putting them in the spotlight

Girls need protection, but they also need dignity. Prevention messaging should avoid turning children into “symbols” for social media campaigns.
In schools and youth programs, it can help to teach universal conceptsbodily autonomy, consent, child protection, and where to seek help
without singling out specific ethnic groups or religions.

3) Health care that is trauma-informed (not “curiosity-informed”)

Survivors often report that the worst part of seeking care isn’t the examit’s feeling stared at, interrogated, or treated like a case study.
Trauma-informed care means:

• asking permission before sensitive questions or exams,
• explaining options clearly,
• using interpreters appropriately,
• offering mental health support, and
• respecting that not every patient wants to talk about their history on day one.

4) Practical travel safeguards

Risk can increase around extended travel to visit relatives, especially when there’s social pressure to “do what’s expected.”
Prevention in the U.S. often includes education about legal consequences and child protection, alongside culturally competent family support.
The goal is not to criminalize families into silence, but to give parents and caregivers tools to say “no” with backup:
“We can’tthis is illegal and harmful.”

How to talk about FGM without turning it into a stereotype

Language can either open doors or slam them. If you want conversations that actually protect kids, keep these principles in mind:

Lead with safety, not accusation

“I’m concerned about safety and health” lands better than “Your culture is violent.” The first invites partnership; the second invites defensiveness.
And defensiveness is the enemy of prevention.

Don’t treat communities like monoliths

Many diaspora families are actively working to end FGM. Highlight survivor advocates, community educators, and faith leaders who reject the practice.
That’s not “softening” the issueit’s showing the real pathway to change.

Be precise

If you mean “FGM on minors,” say that. If you mean “coercion,” say that. Avoid vague language that muddles medical facts or legal definitions.
Precision protects survivors and strengthens prevention.

Support and healing: what survivors may need

Survivors are not one story. Some want medical care for pain or reproductive concerns. Some want counseling. Some want both.
Some want to talk about it; others prefer not to. The best approach is to offer optionsthen follow the survivor’s lead.

Common needs survivors report

• Gynecologic care: pain, infections, menstrual issues, sexual pain, scar-related concerns
• Pregnancy and childbirth support: delivery planning, clinicians experienced with FGM-related care
• Mental health care: trauma treatment, anxiety/depression support, culturally competent therapy
• Legal and advocacy support: protection orders, immigration/asylum guidance in some cases

If you’re a clinician, educator, or advocate: consider partnering with survivor-led organizations and networks.
They often provide training and guidance on respectful outreach and culturally competent services.

What you can do today: a practical checklist

If you’re a parent or caregiver

• Talk early about bodily autonomy and safety in age-appropriate ways.
• If extended family pressure exists, plan responses in advance (and enlist allies).
• Know that U.S. law protects childreneven if a relative frames it as “tradition.”
• Build a relationship with a pediatrician or family doctor who can support you without judgment.

If you work in health care, education, or social services

• Get training on FGM/C and trauma-informed care; don’t rely on “what you heard once.”
• Use respectful language and avoid sensational questions.
• Know your local child protection reporting obligations and pathways to support.
• Keep resource lists ready (legal aid, counseling, culturally competent clinics).

If you’re a writer, creator, or journalist

• Center survivors’ dignity. Don’t use their pain as clickbait.
• Include solutions: prevention models, community leadership, care gaps, and what works.
• Avoid “single-story” framing (e.g., blaming one religion or region).
• Be careful with graphic details; they can retraumatize readers and aren’t necessary for accuracy.

FAQ: quick answers to common questions

Is FGM ever medically necessary?

No. FGM is defined as non-medical injury to genital tissue. It provides no health benefit.

Is it only practiced in one religion or one part of the world?

No. It has been practiced in multiple regions and among different faith communities, and many religious leaders oppose it.
Reducing it to “one religion” is inaccurate and fuels stigma.

Is it happening in the U.S.?

Risk exists in the U.S., including through travel or coercion in some cases, which is why public health agencies estimate
a significant number of U.S. residents may have experienced FGM or be at risk.

What’s the best way to help without harming communities?

Support survivor-led efforts, focus on child safety and bodily autonomy, and promote culturally competent health care and education.
Prevention works best when it’s built with communities, not done to them.

Experiences and voices (composite snapshots)

The following are composite snapshotsfictionalized blends based on commonly reported experiences shared by survivors,
clinicians, and advocates. They are written this way to protect privacy while illustrating real patterns that show up again and again.

1) “I didn’t have words for it until I got to college.”

She described her first gynecology visit in the U.S. like walking into a room where everyone else had the script. She didn’t.
The nurse asked routine questions. The forms had boxes for everything except the thing that shaped her relationship with her body.
When the clinician gently asked if she’d ever experienced cutting, she frozenot because she didn’t trust the doctor, but because she’d spent
years training herself not to remember. Later she said the hardest part wasn’t the exam. It was realizing she’d built a whole personality around
“being fine,” and now someone was offering care that required honesty. What helped most was simple: the doctor asked permission, explained each step,
and said, “You’re not alone, and you’re not responsible for what happened.”

2) “My mom didn’t want it. My aunties did.”

In her family, the decision wasn’t a decisionit was a storm. Her mother argued. Quietly at first, then loudly. The relatives called her “Western.”
They warned her daughter would be rejected. They promised it would be “small,” “clean,” “nothing.” Her mother felt cornered, like she was being asked
to choose between her child and her entire support system. When the family planned a long trip, her mom panicked and asked a local advocate what to do.
The advocate didn’t insult the family. She didn’t lecture the mother for being “weak.” She helped her practice a script and connect to alliesfaith leaders,
community mentors, and health professionalsso “no” didn’t have to be a lonely word. The trip still happened. The harm didn’t.

3) “Childbirth brought it all back.”

She was excited for the baby and terrified of the hospital. Not because she feared doctors, but because she feared being misunderstood.
At her first appointment, she tried to explain her history without crying. The clinician paused and said, “Thank you for telling me. Let’s plan your care
together.” For months they discussed options, pain control, and what would happen in laborno surprises, no hurried decisions.
In delivery, she asked that staff not use the word “mutilated” around her; she preferred “cutting” because it felt less like a label attached to her identity.
The team respected that. After the baby arrived, she said something that stuck: “For the first time, I felt like the hospital was a place where my body
belonged to me.”

4) “Advocacy started with one awkward conversation.”

He was a youth mentor in a diaspora community and thought FGM was “a women’s issue,” meaning he didn’t have to think about it.
Then a teenager asked him why adults kept joking about marriage and “being proper.” He realized the jokes weren’t harmlessthey were
part of the pressure system. He didn’t become an overnight expert. He started by listening to survivor advocates and attending a training.
Then he did the bravest thing for a guy who hated conflict: he told other men to cut it out (pun intended, but not the painful kind).
He challenged the myths respectfully, backed parents who wanted to refuse, and helped make “We don’t do that” a statement that got nods instead of gossip.
He said later, “I thought stopping FGM required a superhero. Turns out it required a community willing to be slightly uncomfortable for the sake of kids.”

Conclusion: Stop FGM by protecting girls and backing survivors

Stopping FGM is not about shaming culturesit’s about protecting children, supporting survivors, and refusing to let social pressure override bodily autonomy.
The path forward is clear: enforce strong laws, expand trauma-informed health care, invest in community-led prevention, and amplify survivor voices.
If you take one message from this article, let it be this: tradition is never an excuse for violenceand change is most powerful
when it is built with communities, not imposed on them.