Using the case study of Juliano Kanyonyo, a 15-year-old Kenyan boy who died in 2018 following a traditional circumcision, the chapter analyses an emerging national debate on the safety, violence, and cultural ambiguities surrounding male circumcision, particularly as it becomes increasingly medicalised. The death of Kanyonyo triggered not only public outcry but also led to legislative reform, culminating in the 2020 Health (Amendment) Act, which mandates state-regulated circumcision under some form of medical supervision. While the Act represents, for some, the triumph of the medicalisation of circumcision in Kenya – initially driven by colonial medical missionaries and, more recently, by global health initiatives like the Voluntary Medical Male Circumcision (VMMC) programme for HIV prevention – it also raises serious questions about the potential for this legislation to disempower those it purportedly seeks to protect.

This tragedy provoked the anger of grieving mothers, particularly from central Kenya (Kandara), who sought the political support of female Members of Parliament (MPs) such as Sabina Chege and Alice Wahome – both of whom are mothers – to advocate for stricter regulations. Their activism is situated within a broader historical context of colonial interventions in the intimate, generative processes of initiation. The 2020 Act, which redefined the state’s legitimate reach into what are still largely considered private and cultural matters, is the culmination of a century-long history that began in the mission schools and government borstals of colonial Kenya (Haron et al. 2024; Ocobock 2017).2Colonial-era controversies over the banning of female genital cutting have been extensively studied (e.g. Adima 2020; Anderson 2018; Boulanger 2008; Hetherington 1998; Murray 1976; Pedersen 1991; Robertson 1996; Thomas 1996, 1998, 2003). However, critical scholarship on male circumcision during the colonial period remains surprisingly sparse (Haron et al. 2024; Ocobock 2017). British and American colonials promoted circumcision performed by medically-trained hospital orderlies as the preferred alternative (Beck 1970; Iliffe 1998).

The chapter explores how these developments intersect with global health policies, including recommendations from the WHO, which reflect a broader trend of state intervention in what were once private cultural matters. The analysis further highlights how legislative frameworks governing male circumcision are inextricably linked to Kenya’s historical engagement with FGM/C, particularly following the passage of the 2011 Prohibition of Female Genital Mutilation Act (hereafter the anti-FGM Act). Together, these laws reveal tensions between current health standards, cultural practices, and global governance, contributing to new contentions about state control over initiation rituals. Additionally, it also calls attention to the rising challenge that human rights, such as the right to bodily integrity, pose to long-standing cultural practices in Kenya.

The chapter engages with recent scholarship that calls for ethical consistency in examining male circumcision and FGM/C (Androus 2013; Earp 2015; Earp and Johnsdotter 2021). By juxtaposing these practices, it argues for a more nuanced and ethically consistent framework that interrogates the double standards in the regulation and condemnation of these rites. These discussions are shaped by a critical decolonial lens, examining how colonial histories and global health institutions continue to influence Kenya’s approach to genital cutting practices.

In this context, the advocacy of mothers and female MPs for tighter regulation for male circumcision represents a pivotal moment in the broader conversation on bodily integrity, cultural identity, and state authority. By situating male circumcision within Kenya’s legislative history, this chapter foregrounds the interconnectedness of global health policies, local cultural traditions, and gender politics, foreshadowing a deeper engagement with the ethical dilemmas and power dynamics at play in Kenya’s dynamic regulatory landscape.

The case of Juliano Kanyonyo exemplifies these contradictions. His death, a few days after his circumcision, provoked not only a localised outcry and activism, but also drew attention to the politics of past and present regulations. The response of mothers from Kanyonyo’s home area, alongside MPs like Chege and Wahome, was to express their anger over the lack of community care and government oversight during the male circumcision periods of December and April. Such activism was unprecedented. Women – acting politically as mothers – sought to bring attention to an elephant in the room: while zero tolerance approaches to FGM/C had become the norm in Kenyan communities, their sons were continuing to endure violent hazing,3Hazing refers to the ‘abuse of new or prospective group members’ (Cimino 2011:241) that individuals are compelled to undergo as part of an initiation into an extant coalition, organisation, or society. These practices are difficult to separate from initiation and work to establish hierarchy, test loyalty, or foster a sense of belonging, but they can often result in psychological or physical harm. botched circumcisions, and infections, all in the name of preserving an increasingly ambivalent ‘culture’. Mothers’ activism exemplifies the gendered dimensions of debates on genital cutting, where mothers become vocal advocates for reform in the face of state-sponsored medicalisation initiatives.

Michela Fusaschi (2023) provides a critical lens through which to view this differentiation between male circumcision and FGM/C. She argues that the reclassification of female genital cutting as Violence Against Women and Girls (VAWG) by the WHO has led to its isolation from its complementary male rite, further entrenching a biased framework that condemns one practice while normalising the other. The global health agenda has prioritised the medicalisation of male circumcision through programmes like VMMC, which were rapidly scaled up through non-circumcising communities in Kenya from about 2010 to 2016, while female genital cutting has been criminalised, perpetuating ethical inconsistencies and neocolonial cultural biases.

A decolonial approach to this issue interrogates the power dynamics inherent in these frameworks, emphasising that colonial legacies continue to shape contemporary discourse and policy. This chapter argues that a situated, decolonised ethics must engage with the complexities of both practices without falling into the traps of either cultural relativism or ethnocentrism.

Brian Earp (2020) describes this selective reasoning as a form of ‘moral occlusion’, where ethical inconsistencies lead to the production of social policies that are often incoherent and harmful to the very groups they aim to protect. In the Kenyan context, the legal framework surrounding male circumcision, particularly following the 2020 Act, reveals how state power, influenced by global health institutions, continues to regulate cultural practices in ways that reinforce colonial hierarchies.

By reflecting on these authors’ views, while grounding analysis in a case study, the chapter contributes to broader debates about the role of state power in shaping cultural practices, particularly in postcolonial contexts where the scaffolding of colonial laws is still very much in evidence.

However, within these communities, deeply rooted concepts of order are tied to moral questions about legitimate sexual relations and marriage, what John Lonsdale (1994) called ‘civic virtues’. These virtues are grounded in an ethic of male authority and provision (Moore 2016). Ethnic groups in Kenya often function as ‘communities of argument’, where dynamic practices like bridewealth or circumcision are debated and contested. As Luise White aptly describes, such debates provide a ‘forum for intense discussion about the workings of culture and power, about marriage, inheritance, and the customs that shape adult responsibilities’ (White 2004:2).

While actors such as private doctors and county medical officers have advocated for a hybrid, medicalised approach to boys’ initiations – aligned with the WHO’s model of ‘safe and hygienic’ TMC – local male-only councils like the Kikuyu Kiama kĩa Ma or Meru Njuri Nceke seek to regulate initiations within the bounds of civic virtue and state power. Against this backdrop, the events leading up to Juliano Kanyonyo’s tragic death represent a watershed moment. His death not only sparked public debate about safety and violence in TMCs but also exposed the deeper historical and political forces driving these discussions.

In 2018, I began an historical ethnography of the medicalisation of male circumcision in Kenya, conducting fieldwork in Nyanza on VMMC for HIV prevention. For over two decades, VMMC has dominated scholarly research on male circumcision, yet much of the policy literature on VMMC – the largest surgical-based medical intervention in Africa’s history – remains uncritical of the programme’s rapid expansion by global health agencies, often overlooking lingering, unresolved concerns within the targeted communities (Luseno et al. 2023).

My last visit to Kenya coincided with the tragic and violent death of Juliano Kanyonyo. At first, I paid little attention to the case, but as I began to see his death as a catalyst for political action – particularly through the activism of mothers advocating for safer male circumcision – I came to understand its deeper significance. Kanyonyo emerged as a powerful symbol for the many boys who have lost their lives during initiation rites. His death should not be viewed as an isolated incident but rather understood as part of a long-standing controversy, rooted in colonial times, where concerns about safety and rights have repeatedly emerged. Juliano Kanyonyo’s death prompted the first national legislation on male circumcision, the 2020 Act. This event forms part of a broader history of efforts to regulate genital cutting in Kenya, beginning with colonial interventions and extending to the landmark 2011 anti-FGM Act (Van Bavel 2023).

The connections between these two pieces of legislation highlight the influence of global institutions, such as the WHO and the UN, in shaping Kenya’s policies on these practices. This context and research methodology points to the need for understanding genital cutting as a unified category, challenging the gendered distinctions that arise when male circumcision and FGM/C are treated separately, despite their shared cultural and initiatory contexts in Kenya.

It raised the critical question: is violence a legitimate, even necessary, aspect of male circumcision rituals? As a new initiate, Kanyonyo’s circumcision marked the beginning of a month-long period of seclusion – a doorway to his rebirth as an adult. During this time, his parents would not speak to him or, ideally, even see him. Across the nation, thousands of recently circumcised boys were healing from their wounds under the close supervision of initiated older youths, who acted as ‘mentors’ responsible for their care. While the events inside these seclusion huts remain closely guarded, it is widely understood that new initiates learn about social, moral, and sexual matters that parents avoid discussing. This process of transformation from boyhood to manhood requires non-family members to take on the role of separating the initiate from maternal (and sometimes paternal) bonds, seen as sources of childishness.

Mothers are believed to jeopardise the process of separating the man from the boy. Interactions with women and girls are considered inauspicious, except for specific encounters, often sexual, between young females and initiates nearing the end of their seclusion. Despite this, mothers and sisters play a central role in providing the large quantities of food deemed necessary for the physical recovery of the recently circumcised. This provision often sparks complaints, and sometimes serious arguments, between the mentors, their entourages, and the boys’ families. Shortly before Kanyonyo’s death, a serious altercation arose between his parents and the mentors over the size of a chicken they had demanded as part of a traditional ‘payment’ for their services.

The following day, when Kanyonyo’s mother knocked on the door of the small mud-brick house, built specifically for her son’s new life as an adult, the silence struck her as odd. Normally, she would hear jocular banter from inside, as her son’s mentors talked and joked. The youths would usually send her off as soon as she had left large pots of food at the threshold, knocked on the door, and collected the dirty dishes from outside. These seclusion huts, as they are called, are male-only spaces which females are not allowed to enter. The uninitiated and other members of the family are also barred from entry. But on this occasion, Kanyonyo’s mother sensed something was wrong. Defying cultural norms, she entered cautiously, only to make the painful discovery of her son’s lifeless body. A swift police investigation revealed that Kanyonyo’s death was likely caused by older youths entrusted with his care. Digital media and TV reports highlighted the tragedy, lamenting the loss of a ‘star’ and the dimming of a ‘bright future’. Many news stories focused on how Kanyonyo had overcome poverty to excel in his primary school examinations and secure a coveted place in a national boarding school. While botched circumcisions have been reported in Kenya for decades, discussions of hazing as mistreatment or bodily violence have been comparatively rare. Public tolerance of things ‘going wrong’ during traditional male circumcisions often legitimised violence as a socially normative way of shaping the character of irresponsible boys and turning them into exemplary men.

However, increasing awareness of human rights discourses in Kenya – especially children’s rights – has reframed ideas about bodily integrity and protection from cultural harm (Fagan 2017; Koomen 2014). Legislation such as the 2011 anti-FGM Act has strengthened the argument that some cultural practices can be ‘good’ or ‘bad’ from the perspective of individual rights. Kanyonyo’s tragic death crystallised these concerns about cultural harm, sparking national debates on the state’s role in regulating circumcision practices.

As the story gained national attention, local mothers expressed long-standing concerns about the safety of their sons under the care of traditional circumcision mentors and their entourages. The primary concern was safeguarding their sons from violent hazing, but the mothers I spoke with in 2018 were divided on the issue of pain. Some valued it as an essential part of initiation, while others sought to pay for an anaesthetic administered by the circumciser to numb the pain. In communities that practise genital cutting as part of initiation, pain is valued for its capacity to build character in the initiate. Historically, it was not only genital cutting that imbued pain with cultural significance, but also practices like tooth removal, ear piercing, and scarification, all of which were widely practised in Kenya (Kratz 1994:93–5). Pain is a common value across both male and female genital cutting, said to instil masculine ideals of autonomy and feminine ideals of resilience (Heald 1999:60). Jean Davison’s oral history of northern Kikuyu women of Mutira includes a quote from one woman who said that she ‘purchased her maturity with pain’ (Davison 1989:42). Public discussions about the relationship between pain, violence, and the masculinisation of boys have brought new concerns to light. These debates focus on the rights of boys as vulnerable individuals entitled to constitutional protections, such as freedom from violence. Echoing the discourse on VAGW, there are new ethical discussions about how boys may learn violence from their experiences of cultural harm. And while these emergent ethics are taking root in everyday life, through media and education, they are often at odds with the civic virtues espoused within Kenya’s ethnic communities.

Young Kanyonyo’s death was treated as a one-off personal tragedy. But court records reveal a more disturbing reality: dozens of homicide and assault cases are logged by the police every December and April when many Kenyan adolescents undergo circumcisions in their home communities. Some observers argue that it is time to acknowledge that something has gone wrong. As Kenyan social and political institutions tackle the complex questions raised by the new constitutional framework of 2010, the balancing of human rights with cultural rights is producing new arguments and political activism, especially towards the young and socially vulnerable (see Hughes and Lamont 2018).

As the son transitions into adulthood following circumcision, a key symbolic shift occurs. Except for providing food, which a mother will do for an initiated adult son until he marries, her material and emotional responsibilities cease. After circumcision, the boy is symbolically cut off from his mother’s care. He is expected to limit interactions with her and assume responsibilities previously managed by his mother. This shift marks a significant moment in the separation of the mother-son bond, underscoring the son’s new status as an adult. In this context, food – as a form of provision and a symbol of a mother’s lingering social authority over her son – plays an important role in the broader social framework of circumcision and the son’s passage into adulthood.

Conflicts resulting in injuries or deaths among young initiates in Kenya often arise from disputes over money and food, often fuelled by alcohol. Court homicide records frequently indicate that arguments about these provisions trigger violent interpersonal crimes. While the role of mothers in these recurring incidents has not been extensively studied, analysing their changing role in the initiation of boys in Kenya is crucial for understanding the complex dynamics of cultural practices and state regulation.

Recent changes in Kenyan law aimed at further regulating male circumcision cannot be fully understood without considering the activism of women and mothers regarding genital cutting, despite the significant influence of WHO policies on male circumcision as a form of global governance (Njoroge et al. 2022). Additionally, it is vital to examine how legislation initially used to regulate and eliminate FGM/C during colonial times can illuminate current law-making regarding male circumcision. The roles of women – first as mothers and later as politicians – must be taken into account.

Kezia Njoroge’s (2014) ethnography on male circumcision and the shaping of masculinities in Muranga, Kenya, is one of the few studies that highlights the significant role of mothers in their sons’ circumcisions. Noting the institutional role of churches in regulating circumcision in this region, Njoroge was surprised to find that meetings about the upcoming circumcisions were attended by mothers (ibid.:106). Where were the fathers? Although Njoroge leaves this question open, she suggests that men felt stigmatised for bringing their boys to church groups for medical circumcision. The fear of betraying their ‘culture’ led some to abdicate their responsibility to circumcise their sons as they themselves had been circumcised: by a traditional circumciser at ‘home’ in the presence of a mentor (ibid.:189).

The transfer of authority over circumcision from domestic spaces to churches has left many rural men feeling stigmatised for abandoning their ‘traditions’. This tension is exacerbated by the long-standing efforts of churches to medicalise, moralise, and regulate genital cutting practices. The shift has also intensified conflicts between church leaders and neo-traditionalists in central Kenya, with the media often framing these clashes as a ‘culture war’ between modernists and traditionalists.5Omondi (2023). Francis Omondi, ‘The Illusion of the Kĩama kĩa Ma’, The Elephant, Nairobi, 21 February. https://www.theelephant.info/analysis/2023/02/21/the-illusion-of-the-kiama-kia-ma/ [Accessed 17 October 2025].

The adoption of Kenya’s 2010 Constitution, which enshrined cultural rights, facilitated a resurgence of registered cultural associations (Hughes and Lamont 2018). Such organisations had been banned during earlier regimes, including Daniel arap Moi’s presidency (1978–2002). Moi viewed groups like the Gikuyu-Embu-Meru Association (GEMA) as vehicles for fostering ethnic-regional blocs and advancing ethnic political agendas. He labelled them tribalist and used the ban to consolidate centralised authority and suppress ethnic-based opposition (Branch and Cheeseman 2008; Haugerud 1995; Lonsdale 1994).

The constitutional changes led to the establishment of neo-traditionalist organisations, including the Kikuyu Council of Elders Association Trust (2014) and the Agĩkũyũ Council of Elders (2018). These groups pose new challenges to mainstream churches by contesting their definitions of morality within a broadly Christian framework. Neubert’s (2023) rare analysis of Kenya’s middle class highlights neo-traditionalists as an actively political demographic inspired by ‘rural investment and close links to the home area’ and micro-nationalism (ibid.:50). Members of neo-traditionalist groups, such as the Kikuyu Kĩama gĩa Athuri and Kĩama gĩa Ma, tend to recruit men who value ancestral ethnic homelands, rural ties, customary law, and traditional gender roles (ibid.:50–1).

As neo-traditional councils of elders increasingly attract male support, churches have responded by elevating women’s roles in shaping and enforcing moral frameworks, including the regulation of male circumcision. This dynamic underscores the shifting interplay between religion, tradition, and cultural identity in contemporary Kenya.

Despite this separation from both parents, Njoroge observed that mothers are typically more involved in organising their sons’ circumcisions. A key aspect of this involvement is selecting the young, circumcised men to serve as mentors for their sons. In Kikuyu culture, being asked to mentor someone else’s son through the circumcision process is seen as both an honour and a significant responsibility – one that carries considerable risk. Mentors are acutely aware of the potential for complications, including botched circumcision, infections, or even violence. Choosing a mentor requires careful planning, as there is always a risk that the mentor may not maintain control over who visits the initiate, or what actions they take in the event of a medical emergency due to infection or injury.

While violence may be effectively managed in a medical clinic, what occurs in the seclusion house at the hands of mentors and visitors is completely beyond parental control. Aware of the prevailing violence and the risk that their sons may be bullied, beaten, and otherwise harmed, the issue of institutionalised bullying during circumcision – first reported in the courts and more recently covered by the national media – has now been legislated against. Interpersonal violence is often dismissed as a necessary aspect of masculinisation, tied to ‘cultural rights’ by those who defend circumcision practices and resist further state regulation over male bodies and parental authority. The prevailing notion is that enduring pain and violence is part of the psychosocial making of men, and that this domain should remain outside the realm of rights discourse.

It is necessary to bring male circumcision and FGM/C back into conversation with one another. The historical and ethnographic evidence from Kenya shows that the most significant rulings on female genital cutting have historically influenced efforts to regulate male circumcision. The 2020 Act reflects a long history of interventions, challenges, and controversies related to genital cutting, tracing back to colonial efforts to control and regulate FGM/C. Additionally, it signifies a new politics of bodily integrity in Kenya, shaped by the country’s national history and the influences of global health governance. Such shifts have occurred as human rights became increasingly ‘codified in the constitutions and statutes of African nations’ (Shell-Duncan 2008:229).

Writing about FGM/C and male circumcision in isolation obscures the legal history of their regulation and control by the state and global governance institutions, such as the UN or WHO. The Kenyan case is particularly instructive. The motivations for genital cutting are interconnected with the formation of personhood, sexual development, marriage, and broader identity aspects such as gender, clan, ethnicity, and national identity. The contrasting global responses – acceptance of male circumcision versus condemnation of FGM/C, as reflected in WHO policies – warrant scrutiny, particularly in African contexts.

The legislative histories of Kenya’s 2011 Prohibition of Female Genital Mutilation Act and the 2020 Health (Amendment) Act demonstrate the interconnectedness of male and female genital cutting practices, shaped by global institutions like the WHO and American-funded health programmes. Tracing these practices further back to the British colonial period reveals enduring patterns in Kenyan discourse and policy on genital cutting, irrespective of gender (Adima 2020; Anderson 2018; Boulanger 2008; Hetherington 1998; Murray 1974, 1976; Pedersen 1991; Robertson 1996; Thomas 1996, 1998, 2003). These continuities underscore the need for future research to unravel the intricate historical, cultural, and global influences that have shaped these policies over time.

These legal reforms reflect broader efforts to reconcile traditional practices with modern health standards. They highlight how Kenyan mothers, facing issues like the bullying and injuries of their sons during circumcision rites, advocate for non-violent, safer alternatives, challenging entrenched norms. This activism, supported by national politicians, underscores a paradox in postcolonial gender politics: while promoting safer practices, it also raises questions about state control and cultural rights.

The primary argument here is that recent legal shifts in Kenya’s approach to male circumcision are deeply intertwined with the history and regulation of FGM/C. Growth of the rights-based opposition to FGM/C through appeals to promoting health and protecting bodily integrity first took root in Kenya’s 2011 legislation on FGM/C, and were later echoed in the 2020 law that regulates male circumcision.

The advocacy of Kandara mothers and female MPs highlights the importance of viewing women as political agents within this context. Their calls for political action, if not legislation, reflect an unprecedented public engagement with issues of violence, safety, and hygiene, which serve as forms of power in the discourse governing both male circumcision and FGM/C. This chapter argues that assertions of defending bodily integrity, and the rights of individuals, must consider the intricate dynamics of gender politics, particularly as they relate to the localised, community-impacting force of these laws.

Wendy Brown’s (1995) notion of ‘wounded attachments’ is useful in this context. It critiques the framing of political identities around victimhood or injury, arguing that such approaches can inadvertently harm those they aim to represent. When the anti-FGM/C movement labels those who have undergone genital cutting as ‘survivors’ or ‘victims’, it raises questions about how this framing might justify or facilitate an expansion of state power over women and girls perceived as vulnerable. Brown highlights the problematic reliance on the state for addressing social injuries, warning that this can lead to an ‘ever-increasing reliance on the state for adjudication of social injury’ (Brown 1995:18).

This critique is particularly relevant to the legislation discussed in this chapter. Brown’s argument invites us to consider how laws regulating genital cutting might align with her insights on how injury discourse expands state influence over marginalised populations – in this case, young adolescents in Kenya. She argues that state power has increasingly extended its reach not through traditional centralisation but via mechanisms such as deregulation, privatisation, and the outsourcing of governance functions, which align with neoliberal forms of power (Brown 1995). These strategies, characterised by decentralisation, self-regulation, surveillance, and incentivisation of discipline (Brown 1995; Harvey 2005), enable a diffuse yet pervasive form of governance.

This chapter examines how Kenyan mothers have become politically active in debates on the initiation of their sons – a space previously dominated by male elders. Their involvement reflects broader dynamics, including the influence of the WHO in shaping Kenya’s public health agenda, the moralisation of VMMC messaging, constitutional devolution under the 2010 Constitution, and the proliferation of NGOs promoting human rights and bodily integrity. Also significant are historical interventions by mainstream churches into initiation practices, the resurgence of neo-traditional cultural associations, and the increased availability of medical and legal services.

Understanding the broader political context of Kenya’s 2011 and 2020 Acts is essential. Brown argues that framing certain groups, such as girls and women subjected to FGM/C, as victims often legitimises state interventions into intimate spaces. Such actions can expand state sovereignty over the bodies of those it seeks to protect, challenging traditional structures like lineage, clan, and ethnicity. This is evident in Kenya, where criminalisation has paradoxically driven FGM/C underground, leading to the proliferation of clandestine clinics in regions such as Kisii and Meru (Christoffersen-Deb 2005; Muchui 2024).6Muchui (2024). David Muchui, ‘Concern in Meru as male circumcision parties spur on FGM’, Daily Nation, Nairobi, 15 August. https://nation.africa/kenya/news/gender/concern-in-meru-as-male-circumcision-parties-spur-on-fgm-4724976. The zero-tolerance approach, combined with limited access to medicalised circumcision, has exacerbated the very issues these laws were intended to resolve.

Global political influences, including the WHO’s emphasis on health and safety, further complicate Kenya’s regulatory landscape. For example, the 2020 Act, which promotes the medicalisation of male circumcision through trained practitioners, aligns with the WHO’s public health priorities. However, it fails to address deeper issues such as gender-based violence during Kenyan ‘circumcision seasons’. Court records reveal significant concerns about consent and sexual abuse in these contexts, yet public discourse often overlooks these issues. This silence has bolstered neo-traditional councils of elders, intensifying conflicts with churches over control of initiation rituals and mentorship roles for young men, thereby deepening societal tensions.

The stark differentiation between ‘male circumcision’ and ‘FGM/C’ leads – as Brian Earp concludes – to moral occlusion, where entrenched biases blind individuals and groups to the social complexities and cultural nuances surrounding these issues. Polarised debates often result in a narrowing of perspectives, diminished empathy, selective moral reasoning, oversimplification of complex issues, and the creation of echo chambers that reinforce divisive views. These factors not only impede understanding but also pose significant challenges to constructive dialogue, making it increasingly difficult to navigate these controversial topics.

To foster an ethically consistent and decolonial approach, it is essential to bring male circumcision and FGM/C into a single analytical framework. Such an approach encourages a more comprehensive understanding of the ethical dilemmas at play, urging us to consider how the regulation of these practices impacts the very communities it aims to protect. Crucially, this framework must avoid the complacency of both cultural relativism, which can excuse harmful practices under the guise of defending culture, and ethnocentrism, which imposes external values without regard to local worldviews. By critically reflecting on the dynamics of state-level regulation and acknowledging the voices of mothers and local communities, those wishing to participate in debating genital cutting from a variety of differing perspectives can move towards a more nuanced and empathetic discourse that prioritises the well-being and rights of all individuals involved.