Sometimes the world feels smaller than a single room. And sometimes the pain in that one room is greater than the whole world. Violence knows no borders or eras — it is as old as humanity itself. Only its forms change, but fear remains. Fear that lives behind the door, fear that grows in every country that has yet to learn how to protect its people.

In Estonia last year, 3,373 domestic violence crimes were recorded — 65 percent of them involved intimate partner violence. That averages out to nine cases a day. Nine times a day, someone was afraid to go home. In truth, the number is even higher, because most cases remain hidden. Most victims choose silence and hope that this time, it will pass. According to a Statistics Estonia study, Estonia ranks among the EU countries with the highest prevalence of intimate partner violence.

This is why the Istanbul Convention was created. It is not a political or ideological document — it is a shared agreement between people who, after wars and dictatorships, said: we can no longer remain silent. It says only one simple sentence: no one should be a victim because they are a woman. A simple sentence, but a hard one because it demands accountability. It makes governments, officials and every one of us ask: what do we do when that "woman" is our neighbor, our sister, our colleague or our mother?

There are still those in Estonia who call compassion an ideology and silence a tradition. Who say, "this is how it's always been." But a time that remains "always" never moves anyone forward. Our Constitution says everyone has the right to life and human dignity. Those words are simple, but they are the backbone of our civilization. If the state doesn't protect its people, then whom is it watching over? Freedom without protection is like a door that opens onto emptiness — beautiful, but dangerous.

Estonia made this promise back in 2014 when it signed the Istanbul Convention. It wasn't just a signature on paper — it was a promise to build a system that protects, prevents and provides a way to start over. That promise means a support center in every county, trained police, quick assistance and legal backing for those who face violence alone. A recent report by the Estonian Women's Studies and Resource Center shows that access to support services and trained professionals is exactly where the most improvement is needed.

I have seen people ask for help only when they have no voice left, when silence is all that remains. I've seen how one phone call, one safe room and one skilled listener can turn a life around. That is the moment when the state and the individual can become one again. Violence is not a private matter. It is a matter for society. It concerns everyone who wants to live in a world where light prevails over fear. That is why I believe the Istanbul Convention is necessary — not because Europe demands it, but because our people deserve a home where no one has to live in fear.

In some places, attempts have already been made to repeal the very treaty designed to protect. A president — whose country borders ours — refused to let that happen and said simply: denying violence must not become a political tool. Those words come from afar, but they are meant for us, too. If a society considers compassion a weakness, it is not yet strong.

In recent weeks, there has been renewed talk of a proposal for Estonia to withdraw from the Istanbul Convention. Such an idea is a step backward, not a path forward. The Council of Europe has repeatedly emphasized that the convention does not promote any ideology; it gives states tools to prevent violence and protect victims. To repeal it would be to abandon the promise to protect our people. A society that sees care as ideology cannot call itself civilized.

There is still much to do in Estonia. We need support in every county, round-the-clock assistance and a system in which victims do not have to prove their pain. Reducing violence begins with awareness and accountability at home, in the workplace and in politics. A society that allows silent fear to exist within its families is not strong. True strength lies in the courage to protect, in not being afraid to see pain that isn't your own.

When I think of Estonia, I think of a home where a child doesn't wake to shouting, where a woman doesn't have to explain a bruise and where a man doesn't have to feel ashamed for seeking help. That is the meaning of the Istanbul Convention. That is the idea of a free Estonia. And that is the boundary where civilization begins.

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