What happens after we’re finished counting the women killed by men?

Content warning: the following article discusses domestic violence and homicide.

I’ve always bristled at how the death of a woman killed by a stranger generates so much more outrage than a woman who is killed by someone that claimed to love them. Murder is always deplorable. But surely, it would be logical if we were more shocked, more responsive, more angry when a murder is also a betrayal.

In early November, five women were killed by men they knew – and who once claimed to care about them – in the space of nine days. That’s more than one woman killed every 48 hours. 

Imagine if there had been a common cause of death that was something other than men’s violence. 

“Road toll kills five people in nine days.” “Strawberries in needles kill five people in nine days.” “Coward punches kill five people in nine days.” “Terror attacks kill five people in nine days.” “Armed burglars kill five people in nine days.”

The public outcry would have been loud and instantaneous. There would have been calls for public education campaigns, legal reform, weapons buy backs…

Our reactions are borne of a complicated milieu of social and cultural factors. They are the combined result of messages we’ve absorbed all our lives. Messages that dictate what we care about, what we relate to, what shocks us, what we’re willing to rally for, to petition for – and what we aren’t. 

Most people would tell you one human life is equal to another human life. But the truth is, some deaths are simply more acceptable to us than others.

The stories we tell, and the ones we don’t

One of Katherine Berney’s earliest memories of seeing domestic violence depicted on screen was in an episode of A Country Practice, a parochial Australian soap opera that followed the lives of hospital staff and patients of the fictional Wandin Valley.

“A woman was there,” Berney, who is the director of the National Women’s Safety Alliance (NWSA) tells me. “And she was stealing lipstick and tampons because, on reflection, she was a victim of financial abuse. And in that episode I remember being totally shocked as a child because the husband killed her – and it was a groundbreaking cultural moment.” 

Berney recalls how aghast her parents had been, too. “It was something that happened to other people,” she says. “It didn’t happen in the circles you were in, and if it did it was highly unlikely you’d even know about it.” 

In 2023, this is still true. The latest National Community Attitudes Towards Violence Against Women survey found that while 91 percent of respondents agreed violence against women is a problem in Australia, only 47 percent agreed that it is a problem in their own suburb or town. 

As Berney speaks, I think about a relative of mine who, several years ago, received a creased white A4 folder from their friend. Inside, the friend said, were photos of bruises inflicted by her husband. As far as I’m aware to this day the folder remains in a nondescript desk drawer, to be handed to authorities only in the event of this woman’s disappearance or death. 

How many women’s truths live in drawers like these? Hidden unless they are no longer alive to tell them?

Is education enough?

I begin my interview with journalist, author and anti-domestic violence advocate Jess Hill with what I consider to be an uncontroversial question. 

“How do we eliminate domestic violence?” As I ask the question, I blush, and begin to qualify the question before Jess even has the chance to answer. After all the countless studies and inquiries and commissions, of course we already know what needs to be done, the issue is doing it.

But Jess’s response catches me off guard. 

“I don’t agree that we know what needs to be done,” she says. “I actually think it’s still very experimental. I think our approach as a nation of improving gender equality as the fundamental way we’re going to prevent gender violence I don’t see that having an effect. I don’t think it has had a good enough effect over the last decade.” 

For Hill, there is a “lot of emphasis on education, and not nearly enough on regulation”. Better regulation to her looks like; age verification on pornography; regulation of problem gambling and alcohol; and holding those industries accountable for their contributions to violence against women. 

Research published in 2018 found a 40 per cent increase in domestic assaults on nights when the National Rugby League’s State of Origin is held. Police across Australia’s states and territories also report – and expect – increased rates of domestic violence over the holiday period, when regular spaces like workplaces and schools are shut and alcohol is plentiful.

“I see a lot of talk about changing culture and a lot of investment in programs that do that,” Hill tells me. “And I don’t think we’re seeing the results we’d hoped for. Within the [family violence] sector, we need to be having much more honest and upfront conversations about what’s going to be required to put downward pressure on rates.” 

While Katherine Berney agrees that we can’t ‘set and forget’ when it comes to male violence, she says the recent 10 year National Action Plan to End Violence against Women and Children is a significant step in the right direction. It maps out four domains for action: prevention, early intervention, response and recovery and healing. 

“That continuous evaluation piece, which we haven’t had before, is going to really help us to fine tune to say ‘is this working, is it not?’,” says Berney, who also welcomes the decision to include her organisation in the evaluation process. “Would I like to see things go further? Absolutely – but we need to not be afraid to fail.

“And what I mean by that is not putting people at risk, but to innovate new solutions and to have to have the freedom to innovate new solutions without being worried about there being financial or funding consequences on the other side.” 

If we keep doing the same thing while expecting a different outcome, Berney says, that’s not going to work. Hill agrees that what was once the colloquial definition of insanity, will not work to save women’s lives.

Unfortunately, the true test depends on when we next have this conversation. Will our community sit up and take notice? Will we take to the streets and demand action, when the shock jocks rant and rave, when the community won’t take ‘no’ for an answer? Will our parliament acknowledge this national shame and pass legislation and commit funding to change it?

Are we big and bad and grown up enough to have that conversation today? Or will more women have to die, to bring it to the forefront of our minds?

And, sadly, perhaps even that will not be enough.