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Deep down, Australia still accepts domestic violence Deep down, Australia still accepts domestic violence
(7 months later)
When I was a little girl my parents ran a milk bar When I was a little girl my parents ran a milk bar in a small, close-knit community. People would come to the shop for all sorts of things besides a milkshake. One of my strongest memories of that time is walking into our lounge room to find my mother and our family friend (we called her Aunty) sitting on the lounge in the back of the shop. There was clearly something wrong. There were tears and whispers. I remember distinctly noticing that Aunty had peas in her hair. My mother was picking the peas out. One by one, while Aunty quietly wept.
in a small, close-knit community. People would come to the shop for all Her husband had thrown a saucepan of pea and ham soup at her and she had come to our place to give him a some time to cool off. Tea was made. Hands were held and after a little while off she went back home. I recall some whispered conversations about what a “devil” her husband was to live with though otherwise a decent bloke and apart from that it wasn’t dealt with in any other way and really, there was no expectation that it should be. Life went on.
sorts of things besides a milkshake. One of my strongest memories of We like to think that as a community and as a society we’ve moved on from that “under the carpet” approach and no doubt, in some areas, we have. Violence against women and children is increasingly spoken about in ways it wasn’t when I was a child. These days it is both criminalised and publicly condemned at the highest levels, and more and more men are joining in the conversation that women have been having about the violence perpetrated against them for decades.
that time is walking into our lounge room to When we get down to it though, there remains a level of acceptance of domestic violence. Men get angry, men get desperate, men get isolated. Men get violent and there is imperceptible shrugging of the shoulders that accompanies it. “Oh, he was mentally ill,” or “she took the kids away from him,” seems explanation enough – certainly if some responses to the case of Greg Anderson, the Melbourne man who killed his 11-year-old son Luke is anything to go by.
find my mother and our family friend (we called her Aunty) sitting on And we persist with a narrative that men get “driven“ to violence by the outside factors beyond their control – like a partner leaving them and asserting their parental rights, taking an order out or moving away from them. We still wring our hands and talk about the heartbreak of the victims whilst bemoaning the somewhat inevitability of “things” just happening when emotions are involved. That narrative sees some of those men, who commit the most violent of crimes, dealt with sympathetically by some because well, who could blame them when they were driven to the brink of despair? After all, a man can only take so much.
the lounge in the back of the shop. There was clearly something wrong. But there is a problem with this acceptance. It means we never have to engage properly with prevention. And some of these incidents are preventable. Many of us with experience in the area could almost write the script. This is not just about mental health, family law, drugs or alcohol. Sure they might be common factors at play in this type of violence but they are rarely, of their own, the cause.
There were tears and whispers. I remember distinctly noticing that Aunty There are often other common features in the situations with the most dramatic and tragic outcomes – histories of violence; the presence of intervention orders; increasingly concerning behaviour in the lead-up, like failing to engage with supports like doctors or family members; erratic emotional outbreaks or perhaps even unusual calm. Shrugging our shoulders while we commend the courage of victims does little to ensure people are protected into the future. We must examine our responses to victims when they seek help, the resources we direct at those responses, the avenues available to perpetrators to get help and perhaps more long-term education aimed at prevention.
had peas in her hair. My mother was picking It was quite something to watch the frenzied response to young men tragically dying after assaults on the streets of Sydney. There was understandably a call to arms from the community, assisted by the media, and that call was responded to quicksmart. Young men are dying on our streets and well, that requires action doesn’t it?
the peas out. One by one, while Aunty quietly wept. When was the last time you heard the National plan to reduce violence and against women and their children spoken of or championed by any leader? Resourcing the aims of this plan, implementing and monitoring some of its recommendations needs drivers and I don’t really see any of our leaders firmly in the driving seat.
Her husband had Today, when prime minister Abbott was asked whether Luke’s death would result in a change of policy, he replied: “I am sure that everyone in this field will be galvanised to be even more vigilant as a result of this, but I’m not sure every tragedy requires a change of policy or every tragedy requires a new program.’’
thrown a saucepan of pea and ham soup at her and she had come to our What about numerous tragedies with the same script? How many more women and children must die before we see a willingness to confront the systemic, institutional and cultural aspects to this scourge honestly and holistically? We need to talk about power. We need to talk about control. We need to talk about responses, supports and systemic failings.
place to give him a some time to cool off. Tea was made. Hands were held The unions are apparently deserving of such an approach – so why not the lives, the very survival, of women and children? Because wearing a white ribbon ain’t cutting it.
and after a little while off she went back home.
I recall some whispered conversations about what a “devil” her husband
was to live with though otherwise a decent bloke and apart from that it
wasn’t dealt with in any other way and really, there was no expectation
that it should be. Life went on.
We like to think that as a community and as a
society we’ve moved on from that “under the carpet” approach and no doubt, in some areas, we have. Violence against women and children is increasingly spoken
about in ways it wasn’t when I was a child. These days it is both criminalised and publicly condemned at the
highest levels, and more and more men are joining in the
conversation that women have been having about
the violence perpetrated against them for decades.
When we get down to it though, there remains a level
of acceptance of domestic violence. Men get angry, men get desperate, men get isolated. Men
get violent and there is imperceptible shrugging
of the shoulders that accompanies it. “Oh, he was mentally ill,” or “she
took the kids away from him,” seems explanation enough – certainly if some responses to the case of Greg Anderson, the Melbourne man who killed his 11-year-old son Luke is anything to go by.
And we persist with a narrative that men get “driven“ to
violence by the outside factors beyond their
control – like a partner leaving them and asserting their parental
rights, taking an order out or moving away from them. We still wring
our hands and talk about the heartbreak of the victims whilst bemoaning
the somewhat inevitability of “things” just happening
when emotions are involved. That narrative sees some of those men, who
commit the most violent of crimes, dealt with sympathetically by some
because well, who could blame them when they were driven to the brink of
despair? After all, a man can only take so
much.
But there is a problem with this acceptance. It
means we never have to engage properly with prevention. And some of
these incidents are preventable. Many of us with
experience in the area could almost write the script.
This is not just about mental health, family law, drugs or alcohol. Sure they might be common factors at
play in this type of violence but they are rarely, of their own, the
cause.
There are often other common features in the situations with the most dramatic and tragic outcomes – histories of
violence; the presence of intervention orders; increasingly concerning
behaviour in the lead-up, like failing to engage with supports like
doctors or family members; erratic emotional outbreaks
or perhaps even unusual calm. Shrugging our shoulders while we
commend the courage of victims does little to ensure people are
protected into the future. We must examine our responses to victims
when they seek help, the resources we direct at those responses,
the avenues available to perpetrators to get help and perhaps more long-term education aimed at prevention.
It was quite something to watch the frenzied
response to young men tragically dying after assaults on the streets of
Sydney. There was understandably a call to arms from the community,
assisted by the media, and that call was responded
to quicksmart. Young men are dying on our streets and well, that
requires action doesn’t it?
When was the last time you heard the National plan to reduce violence and against women and their children
spoken of or championed by any leader? Resourcing the
aims of this plan, implementing and monitoring some of its
recommendations needs drivers and I don’t really see any of our leaders
firmly in the driving seat.
Today, when prime minister Abbott was asked whether Luke’s death would result in a change of policy, he replied: “I am sure that everyone in this field will be galvanised to be even more vigilant as a result of this, but I’m not sure every tragedy requires a change of policy or every tragedy requires a new program.’’
What about numerous tragedies with the same script? How
many more women and children must die before we see a willingness to
confront the systemic,
institutional and cultural aspects to this scourge honestly and
holistically? We need to talk about power. We need to talk about
control. We need to talk about responses, supports and systemic
failings.
The unions are apparently deserving of such an
approach – so why not the lives, the very survival, of women and children? Because wearing a white ribbon ain’t cutting it.