The image I am referring to is a copy of a matrimonial advertisement published in a Sunday newspaper in Sri Lanka. A parent had paid to publish it in the hope of finding a husband for their daughter. Before anyone rushes to exoticize the practice, let us be honest: this is not fundamentally different from matchmaking elsewhere. The method may differ, but the impulse does not. Parents across cultures involve themselves in their children’s marriages, whether openly or more discreetly through introductions and social networks.
But the practice itself is not the point. The real issue is the language buried inside it, and what that language reveals about how women are still valued in parts of our society.
This old advertisement was sent to me by someone in Sri Lanka after she shared a recent experience of her own. Together, the two stories made one thing painfully clear: our cultural biases against women have not disappeared. They have simply learned to survive in more polished language.
The advertisement, published decades ago, reads like a résumé for a prospective bride: age, caste, education, assets, etc. It states that the woman was divorced after a very brief arranged marriage. It then adds, almost casually, that because her parents had failed to conduct proper inquiries about the groom, the marriage had to be ended within days. Even that wording is revealing. The marriage happened through parental decision-making; the divorce, too, appears framed as something done to her rather than chosen by her. But the sentence that demands attention is this: by great karma, the daughter had been saved from damage. The ad goes on to say the family seeks a suitable man who has never been married.
Damage. What exactly is this supposed to mean? One could pretend it refers to emotional pain, trauma, or the scars left by a failed marriage. But anyone familiar with our culture knows what is really being said. The implication is that the marriage was never consummated, and that this woman therefore remained “intact.” In other words, her value was preserved because she was still considered sexually untouched.
That is precisely why the advertisement was sent to me. Only a few months ago, the person who sent this clipping to me was approached by an acquaintance looking for a bride for a man: a doctor of Sri Lankan origins living in the UK, and a divorcee. His main requirement was that his future wife must never have been married. Let us not dress this up in polite language. A divorced man was looking for a woman with no prior sexual history. He was looking for a virgin.
So, what is this obsession with a woman’s virginity? And please, let us stop pretending it is about “protecting” women.
If society truly wanted to protect daughters, it would raise them to be independent, self-sufficient, and fully human. It would not educate them with one hand and restrain them with the other. It would not tell them to dream big, only to warn them that travelling alone may damage their reputation, or that ambition may make them seem less marriageable. It would not deny them knowledge of their own bodies, their own needs, and their own right to autonomy.
And if society truly wanted to protect women, it would raise sons differently. It would teach boys to respect women, not to consume them. It would teach them that women are not objects to be judged, controlled, or possessed, whether by clothing, conduct, or sexual history.
Not long ago, a Sri Lankan man in Toronto, close to his eighties, sent me a Facebook message declaring that a woman’s virginity is a gift to a man. He wrote, proudly, that his wife had provided proof of her virginity to his mother. He even suggested that women could avoid being called damaged or second-hand goods if only they protected their chastity. It was a chilling reminder that geography does not automatically produce progress.
The same mindset has been institutionalized in other ways too. In the mid-2000s, a medical clinic advertised hymenoplasty as a way to restore the dignity of rape victims. Think about the cruelty embedded in that claim. It rested on the cruel assumption that a rape victim’s dignity had been lost, and that it could somehow be reclaimed by restoring the hymen and, with it, the physical evidence of “virginity.”
These are not isolated remarks. They are symptoms of a culture that continues to treat women as commodities, measuring their worth through purity, obedience, and sexual “untouchedness.” We celebrate heritage and tradition, yet too often fail to defend the rights, safety, and full humanity of women. Worse, we do not merely fail them; we frequently force them to carry the shame of the violence inflicted upon them.
The recent case in Sri Lanka has brought this hypocrisy into brutal focus. In May 2026, authorities arrested a senior Buddhist monk, Pallegama Hemarathana, over allegations that he repeatedly sexually abused a minor girl at a temple in Anuradhapura in 2022. Reports said child protection authorities had raised concerns about delays in his arrest, and the case later sparked heated public debate when he was released on bail. What disturbed me was not only the allegation itself, but the reaction around it. Even in the face of such a grave accusation involving a child, some voices rushed to defend the monk, while others chose silence, as though loyalty to the robe mattered more than the morality of the situation or the suffering of the victim. That is exactly the danger of blind faith: when reverence for a religious symbol becomes stronger than one’s commitment to justice, truth becomes negotiable and victims are left standing alone.
And let us be clear: this is not a problem confined to Buddhism. Abuse, denial, and institutional protection have surfaced across religious traditions. The West has spent decades confronting the sexual abuse crisis in the Church, exposing not only individual perpetrators but systems that hid them, moved them, and protected the institution at the expense of children. Many of our cultures in the East and across Asia are only beginning to face that same reckoning in public. The pattern is painfully familiar: sacred authority is treated as untouchable, survivors are doubted, and communities worry more about protecting the image of the institution than protecting the vulnerable. Neither a robe, nor a collar, nor any sacred title should place a person above scrutiny. If culture or religion asks us to defend power before we defend a child or a person, then something has gone profoundly wrong. No faith is dishonoured by accountability. What dishonours faith is the refusal to speak, the instinct to protect the powerful, and the willingness to sacrifice truth so that an institution can remain comfortable.
Legal accountability is essential, but it alone will not uproot a problem this deeply embedded in society. If women are to live safely and enjoy true equality, then the mindset that sustains these injustices must also change. That is where conversation becomes vital. We need to keep asking difficult questions, examining the beliefs we inherit, and confronting the human cost of traditions that wound those they claim to protect. Change does not begin with silence; it begins when people are willing to speak, listen, and think more honestly about the world they are helping to shape. Encouragingly, these issues are now being discussed more openly, and many courageous people continue to push for a better society. May we not allow that conversation to fade, but instead let it deepen, broaden, and lead us toward something more just.