(In)Visibility and recognition: Australian policy responses to ‘domestic violence’

Abstract

This article explores representations of gender and violence in Australia’s National Plan to Reduce Violence Against Women and Children. The Plan’s neglect of violence in the context of LGB relationships is discussed as indicative of the Plan’s implicit heteronormativity and its uncritical reliance on dominant discourses of gender and violence. In its failure to engage with the diverse complexities of gender and violence, I argue that the Plan perpetuates the exclusion of certain bodies, identities and experiences, such that rights to protection and safety are reserved for some and not others.

Keywords

Australia domestic violence LGB safety sex/gender social policy

Understandings of violence express, reflect and reinforce broader ideas about sex/gender, identity and difference. Ways of naming and responding to domestic violence (DV) affirm what is and is not recognised – and recognisable – as ‘violent’/‘violence’ and, as such, are central to who is implicated – as ‘perpetrator’ or ‘victim’, safe or vulnerable – in experiences of violence. This article explores the discourses of gender and violence drawn upon in Australia’s National Plan to Reduce Violence Against Women and Children 2010–2022 (hereafter, the Plan). It is argued that by aligning (domestic) violence with heterosexuality, the Plan fails to engage with critical questions concerning gender, violence and vulnerability and, thus, contributes to the invisibility of lesbian, gay and bisexual (LGB) experiences of violence. In recognition of the heterogeneity of the LGBTI population (see Willett, 2013), the focus of this article is limited to same-sex (LGB) experiences of domestic violence.

This article has two main parts: in the first I provide a broad overview of the state of play regarding both what is known about LGB Australians and their experiences of domestic violence in Australia and the representation of LGBT issues in Australian social policy. In the second part I discuss the Australian Plan’s representation of domestic violence and consider its implications for LGB inclusion and the limits of state protection.

The policy context in Australia

Whilst generally considered a relatively liberal society, Australia falls behind other countries, such as New Zealand, the UK, Canada and Sweden, in its recognition of LGB rights (Cage et al., 2014). Ministers in federal and state governments, for instance, hold portfolio responsibilities in relation to aging, disability, women and so on, but issues facing LGB Australians are not formally named or represented. Moreover, same-sex couples are still precluded from marrying despite considerable support for this among the Australian public (see for example Altman, 2016; Australian Marriage Equality, 2016). Important reforms have been achieved in some areas, however, most notably in the legal recognition of same-sex couple and parenting relationships. Federally, amendments to Australia’s Family Law Act (2008) have ensured that same-sex couples are recognised and protected in relation to ‘child and property concerns’ (Dempsey, 2013: 2). Other areas of substantial progress include civil union schemes and the extension of donor insemination and IVF services to lesbian couples in some states and territories. There nonetheless remains much to be done to address the marginalisation and underrepresentation of LGB people in Australian policy planning and decision-making.

Australia’s ability to make informed policy decisions is significantly impacted by its lack of comprehensive national data regarding the LGB population (see Leonard et al., 2012). The national Census of Population and Housing, conducted every five years by the Australian Bureau of Statistics (ABS), is the primary source for population level data in Australia. It does not however collect data regarding sexuality, sexual identity or gender identity; because Census data relate to household composition, LGB people are represented only in the context of their relationship status, that is, as a family unit (‘same-sex couple’) and ‘partner in same-sex couple’ (individual unit). Importantly, the ABS definition of ‘couple’ refers only to those people who are living together as ‘resident[s] in the same household’ (ABS, 2011), thus excluding other relationship forms and arrangements. Information regarding sexuality and/or gender identity is otherwise not routinely collected by the Australian government; hence, according to the most recent Census (ABS, 2012), while same-sex couples account for about 1% of all couples, this tells us little about those who identify as LGB in Australia.

The importance of robust data for effective policy responses is widely recognised (National LGBTI Health Alliance, 2009; see also Irlam, 2013). In this respect the failure to include sexuality/sexual identity in data collection is a major barrier to policy development in Australia (AIDS Council of NSW, 2009: 8). Elsewhere the Integrated Household Survey conducted by the UK Office for National Statistics (2012) and the North American National Health Interview Survey administered by the National Center for Health Statistics (Ward et al., 2014), both include questions regarding ‘sexual identity’ or ‘sexual orientation’ respectively. It is thus clear that the large-scale collection of such data is possible and, hence, is something that Australia could – and arguably should – be pursuing. Currently the Australian Study of Health and Relationships (ASHR), a collaboration between four universities, provides the ‘best’ estimate of Australians identifying as LGB. Preliminary findings for the second ASHR (2013), consisting of interviews with 20,094 men and women aged 16–69, show that 3.3% of male participants and 3.6% of female participants recorded their identity as ‘gay/lesbian, bisexual, other’ (Richters et al., 2014: 5).

LGB Domestic violence

International research indicates that LGB people experience domestic violence at a rate that is similar (see for example Brown and Groscup, 2009; Donovan et al., 2006; Irlam, 2013; Rohrbaugh, 2006), if not higher (Messinger, 2011), than the heterosexual population. Whilst such findings should be used with caution given their reliance on data drawn from convenience samples (Hester et al., 2010; Tayton et al., 2014: 29) they nonetheless play a critical role in challenging conventional understandings of domestic violence. The situation in Australia is even more difficult to establish given the lack of equivalent research data. Information regarding the prevalence of interpersonal violence in Australia is obtained through the Personal Safety Survey, conducted every four years by the ABS. The survey does not distinguish between same-sex and other relationship contexts, however, and its conceptualisation of ‘partner violence’, consistent with the ABS definition of ‘couple’ discussed earlier, explicitly excludes ‘violence experienced by persons in an intimate relationship which does not involve living together’ (ABS, 2013: emphasis mine). This has particular implications for understanding LGB violence because, as the ABS acknowledges in its National Survey of Mental Health and Wellbeing (ABS, 2008), compared with the heterosexual population, LGB couples are significantly less likely to be living together.

In failing to recognise both diverse relationships and experiences of violence, it is clear that in their current form official measures do not accurately represent domestic violence – LGB or otherwise – in Australia. Outside of government, organisations such as the National LGBTI Health Alliance (2008: 1) consider DV a ‘major health concern’ for LGB Australians (see also AIDS Council of NSW, 2009), citing research including a 2005 Australian study in which 33% of its LGBTI respondents said that they had been in an abusive relationship (Pitts et al., 2006). Similarly, just under a third of participants in two smaller-scale studies reported that they had experienced abuse (Farrell and Cerise, 2007; Leonard et al., 2008).

In addition to the limitations associated with accurate data collection, low reporting rates make it difficult to ascertain the full extent of DV. A 2004 Australian study, for instance, found that two-thirds of the respondents who had been subject to ‘same-sex partner abuse’ had not reported this to the police nor sought help from any other agency (Leonard et al., 2008: 47). Similarly, in a US study of gay men, approximately half of the participants who had experienced DV reported that they did not recognise this as ‘abuse’ or ‘domestic violence’ and/or were unaware that ‘there was such a thing as “gay domestic violence”’ (Merrill and Wolfe, 2000, cited in Jeffries and Ball, 2008: 162). The underreporting of DV is not, of course, unique to the LGB community, but it is associated with distinct issues and implications in this context. Societal heteronormativity – including the dominant understanding of DV as ‘male perpetrated [and] heterosexual’ (Ard and Makadon, 2011: 631) – is critical here, as are individual experiences and impacts of homophobia. For instance, the LGB perception that services are ‘unsympathetic if not unsafe’, reported by Leonard et al. (2008: 48), is clearly a significant barrier. In this context, disclosing DV means disclosing one’s identity and hence, at least potentially, a shift in focus from the presenting problem of violence to issues of sexuality and/or gender identity (Ard and Makadon, 2011: 631; see also Donovan et al., 2014). The lack of acknowledgement of DV within the LGB community in Australia is equally significant and may reflect a reluctance to ‘feed societal homophobia’ (Chan, 2005: 5) by further stigmatising LGB relationships (Ard and Makadon, 2011: 631). Notably, persistent ‘assumptions about women’s non-violence’ (Barnes, 2010: 237) and the idealisation of lesbian relationships (Irwin, 2008) present substantial barriers to recognising DV in women’s same-sex relationships.

Gaps in knowledge regarding DV and LGB relationships in Australia reflect the lack of comprehensive and contemporary data and have crucial implications for the development of inclusive policy. Research, as observed by Jamrozik (2009: 52), is critical to the development of policy, not least because researchers, in their identification and interpretation of issues, contribute to the authoritative defining of social reality. The naming and framing of particular issues as ‘problems’ says a great deal about what is seen as ‘possible or desirable’ (Bacchi, 2000: 49) and ‘whose experience is named and whose is not’ (Murray and Powell, 2009: 6). In their analysis of DV policy in Finland and Scotland, for example, Hearn and McKie (2010: 138) noted the significance of definitions and terminology in establishing the parameters for ‘what may, or may not, be considered’ in the policy development process. In this respect, Australia’s policy response to violence against women and children presents a ‘public story’ (Donovan and Hester, 2010, 2014) of DV as heterosexual and primarily physical, within the context of a ‘gendered victim/perpetrator dynamic’ (Donovan and Hester, 2014: 9). In the following section I outline the Plan before discussing its specific implications for the recognition of violence experienced by LGB people.

Responding to domestic violence: Australia’s National Plan

The intention to establish a national approach to address violence against women was announced by the Federal (Labour) Government in November 2007. Kevin Rudd, Australia’s then Prime Minister, linked the initiative to his social inclusion agenda, specifically the promotion of ‘healthy communities’ which support ‘maximal participation in the nation’s social and economic opportunities’ and ‘healthier web[s] of relationships’ (Rudd, 2008). Some three years later, in February 2011, following its endorsement by the Council of Australian Governments (COAG), the Plan was officially released. Described as ‘unprecedented’ in its focus on ‘attitudinal and behavioural change at the cultural, institutional and individual levels’, (COAG, 2011: 10), the Plan sets out six ‘national outcomes’: (1) the development of safe communities and (2) respectful relationships, (3) strengthening Indigenous communities, (4) meeting the needs of women and children experiencing violence, (5) effective justice responses, and (6) perpetrator accountability.

There is much to say – and, indeed, much has been said – regarding the merits of the Plan. It has, for example, been praised for its ‘commitment to a feminist theoretical foundation’ which recognises the ‘oppressive power of patriarchy’ (Western and Mason, 2011: 28). There has however been little public debate regarding its conceptualisation of gender and violence nor – and ironically, given its positioning within the government’s social inclusion agenda – acknowledgement of its failure to engage with and recognise the needs of non-heterosexual and gender diverse populations. The 61-page Plan makes just two references to LGB people: first in relation to their eligibility for local community grants to fund primary prevention activities (COAG, 2011: 16); and second, as a group with ‘diverse needs’ in relation to the delivery of victim support services (COAG, 2011: 23). In this context LGB people, along with a range of other ‘diverse’ groups, represent generic ‘difference’. Interestingly, the Plan refers to both ‘same-sex attracted women’ (COAG, 2011: 2) and ‘gay and lesbian communities’ (COAG, 2011: 16), the latter term hinting at a broader focus than is otherwise evident; of the Plan’s six outcomes and 18 linked strategies, none relate specifically to LGB people, their needs or interests.

‘Naming and framing’: Gender and violence in the National Plan

Conceptualisations of violence – what it is, what it means and what causes it – emerge from and are imbued with assumptions about gender. More specifically, to speak about discourses of violence as ‘gendered’ acknowledges that gender, inevitably, provides the ‘context in which violence is constructed, experienced and explained’ (Virkki, 2007: 229). Perceptions regarding the relationship between bodies and violence, for example, are central to the ‘meaning and practice of gender’ (Hollander, 2001: 88) and to our ideas about who is capable of what. Critically, and as explored in the next section, the way we think about gender infuses our understandings of violence and vice versa, shaping who and what we recognise as ‘violence’/’violent’, as vulnerable, as in need of protection (from other people’s violence), and so on.

Naming the problem

The Plan’s representation of gender and violence has crucial implications for the conceptualisation of safety and ‘vulnerability’ and, hence, the (in)visibility of LGB experiences of DV. Terminology is important because the decision to use particular terms, and not others, signifies the ideological or political position taken in relation to both the nature of violence and ‘who is doing what to whom’ (Jones, 2004: 87). The term ‘violence against women’ (VAW), for example, fits within a tradition of activist-feminist research concerned with women’s ‘lived experiences’ of violence (Shepherd, 2007: 243). Certain terminology may also be associated with specific contexts/settings; ‘family violence’ (FV), for example, is commonly used in the legal domain and in the wording of state and federal legislation. FV is also the preferred term amongst Australia’s Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander (AATSI) people because it is said to better capture the extended nature of AATSI families as well as the range of violences between ‘kinspeople’ in these communities (Memmott et al., 2001: 1).

Australia, like other countries, lacks both a nationally agreed upon definition and a common language for referring to ‘domestic violence’. The stated focus of Australia’s Plan is violence against women and children, as reflected in its title and its opening reference to the United Nations’ Declaration on the Elimination of Violence against Women definition of VAW. DV – and not VAW – is the term most often used in the policy though and considerably more space is devoted to discussion of DV, defined as ongoing violence that occurs ‘between people who have, or have had, an intimate relationship’ and aims to control a ‘partner through fear’ (United Nations, 1993: 2), in the Plan’s introduction. While likely reflecting its more common use in Australia, the repeated use of DV in this context belies the politics of terminology and undermines broader recognition of DV as one of multiple and complex forms of violence against women.

Terminology, then, is more than semantics; the naming of violence reflects what is understood as violence and this, in turn, impacts on what is ‘counted’ and, hence, what comes to be seen as the size of the ‘problem’. It has been argued, for example, that the term FV provides more scope for recognising the violences experienced by LGB people in their home environment (National LGBTI Health Alliance, 2014: 4).The flip-side of this more inclusive approach is highlighted by those who argue that FV ‘degenders’ violence, implying that it can be perpetrated by any family member. Both FV and DV, however, invoke ‘family’ and ‘domestic’ as loaded concepts and are incredibly difficult to disentangle from the implicit heteronormativity of much Australian policy.

That DV encompasses more than physical acts of violence and involves a ‘range of controlling behaviours’ (COAG, 2011: 10) is acknowledged early in the Plan. Nonetheless, the body of the Plan – its outcomes and strategies – has a strong focus on physical acts of violence. This is evident in its use of the term ‘abuse’ rather than ‘violence’ to refer to ‘non-physical’ forms of violence as well as its reliance on statistical – prevalence – data to track the ‘success of its vision’, namely, a ‘significant and sustained reduction’ (COAG, 2011: 10) in VAW. In emphasising physical violence, the Plan overlooks the nuances, complexities and diverse meanings of violence. This has specific implications for the recognition of abuse given that controlling behaviours – ‘coercive control’, in Stark’s (2007) terms – play such a central role in same-sex DV (Frankland and Brown, 2014: 20), as in other forms of heterosexual DV (Frankland and Brown, 2014: 15).

Framing the problem

Sex and gender, in the Plan, are represented in dichotomous, yet curiously indistinct, terms. Reflecting the merging together of sex and gender, for example, DV is described as ‘gendered’ because it has an ‘unequal impact on women’ (COAG, 2011: 1). Similarly, references to ‘gendered patterns in the … perpetration of violence’ (COAG, 2011: 15) illustrate the use of gender to designate the (female) sex of the victim. In this perspective violence is gendered because it (mainly) happens to women and is (mainly) perpetrated by men. With the presumption of heterosexuality as a given, women are visible as the victims of men’s violence, thereby masking the differential meanings and impacts of violence for/upon diverse bodies. This is so both materially – in experiences of violence – and discursively, in the ways that the potentialities for violence are ‘limited by the meaning(s) ascribed to male and female bodies’ (Shepherd, 2009: 211). Such conceptualisations, based on a gendered binary of male aggressor/female victim both reflect and are of crucial significance in shaping the ways in which sex/gender and violence are performed and, as evident here, recognised (Malinen, 2013: 322).

Gender, in the Plan, is a ‘transhistorical’ (Shepherd, 2007) category, something that we are rather than something that we do. In its insistence on the binary of man/woman and masculine/feminine, the Plan fails to recognise that gender identities are never fixed but, rather, are the ‘products of power-laden social practices’ (Coleman, 2007: 205) which may or may not correspond neatly with male and female bodies. That men and women are fundamentally different is taken for granted, as the ‘starting point for the analysis of gender’ (Coleman, 2007: 245). Difference is thereby (re)produced whilst the discursive work that makes this happen is obscured (see Shepherd, 2007).

In conceptualising gender as a fixed quality, the Plan also fails to recognise the significance of relations within and between ‘categories of men and women’ (Milner, 2004: 95). For example, while its emphasis on ‘advancing gender equality’ (Strategy 1.3) is laudable, by operationalising this as ‘building greater equality and respect between men and women’ (COAG, 2011: 15) gender is reduced to a relationship between men and women. Overlooked here are the complex power relations associated with the gendered coding of ‘constructs, categories, subjectivities, objects, activities and institutionalised practices’ (Peterson, 2005: 517) as well as the ways in which hierarchies of power function within and between sex/gender categories.

The Plan is notable for its largely uncritical acceptance of DV as perpetrated by men against women. In its invocation of a discourse of gender as tied to, or a natural consequence of, one’s body, violence is positioned as both a gendered behaviour and, as such, the ‘natural’ outcome of the male body. Outcome One (‘Communities are safe and free from violence’), for instance, focuses on men’s ‘leading role’ in confronting ‘controlling, macho, aggressive and ultimately violent behaviour’ (COAG, 2011: 15). The emphasis on promoting ‘positive male attitudes and behaviours’ (COAG, 2011: 18) in Outcome Two (‘Relationships are respectful’) further solidifies the gendered association of violence and ‘maleness’. Violence is thus implicitly linked to being a man – or rather, given the absence of any reference to masculinity/ies in the Plan – to being a particular type of man, one who holds ‘violence supportive attitudes’ and adheres to ‘rigid gender roles’ including ‘jealousy and controlling behaviour’ (COAG, 2011: 15). Underpinned by a ‘binary logic of gender’ (Greig, 2001: 10), the Plan thus reinforces both the essentialist ‘truth’ of sex/gender difference, that men and women are inherently different, and the stereotypical inevitability of men and violence.

In the Plan’s story of DV, then, women and men’s diverse experiences of and engagements with violence, in the context of same-sex relationships and otherwise, are rendered largely invisible. Whilst it is indisputable that the vast majority of violence against women is perpetrated by men, a more nuanced understanding of sex, gender and violence is necessary to ensure that the public story of DV (Donovan and Hester, 2010) is accessible – and recognisable – to all. A different approach, one that seeks to disentangle sex and gender by challenging the assumption that one follows naturally from the other, has the potential to bring into focus the ‘hierarchical differences between certain bodies’ (Mason, 2002: 10) which underlie diverse experiences of violence. This means drawing attention to the discursively constructed ‘social fabric’ that both informs and normalises the use of violence by ‘some people against inferior “others”’ (FitzRoy, 2001: 283). In this sense, recognising that gender(ed) discourses are embodied, or ‘given physical form’, through ‘material acts’ of violence (Shepherd, 2009: 212) enables both a clearer vision of DV and different – and more inclusive – conversations about how best to respond to this.

Safe communities? Gender, vulnerability and protection

The partitioning of certain behaviours as representing particular types of problem (‘domestic’ violence), and particular types of people (‘perpetrators’, ‘victims’), is neither incidental nor inevitable. Rather this enables the obscuration of critical questions, as explored next, regarding who is seen as vulnerable and needing protection, which violences are deemed problematic, what safety ‘means’, and how this is constructed differently for men and women. Discourses of gender are, in this sense, ‘productive of violence’ (Shepherd, 2009: 214), shaping what comes to be seen as in the ‘public interest’ and, hence, as worthy of policy attention.

Safety: ‘Everyone has the right to be safe …’

Central to the Plan is its claim that ‘everyone regardless of their age, gender, sex, sexual orientation, race, culture, disability, religious belief, faith, linguistic background or location, has a right to be safe and live in an environment that is free from violence’ (COAG, 2011: 11). ‘Safe’, in this context, is neither self-evident nor straightforward, not least because the Plan is so clearly focused on particular violences experienced by certain groups and not others. In its mobilisation of heteronormativity, via dominant discourses of gender and sexuality, the Plan makes available certain subject positions ‘through which people can be identified or come to know themselves’ (Hayes and Ball, 2010: 220). The limited ‘discursive and material opportunities’ (Shepherd, 2010: 155) made available to men and women in this context, particularly in relation to the circumscription of agency and feminisation of victimhood, thus vividly illustrate the ways in which discourses of violence (re)produce gendered subjects (see also Shepherd, 2007).

The stated vision of the Plan is that ‘Australian women and their children live free from violence in safe communities’¹¹ (COAG, 2011: 10). By failing to critically engage with diverse experiences of ‘safety’ and ‘community’ – and those of LGB people in particular, the Plan thus perpetuates the ‘naturalness’ of both sex/gender difference and the social hierarchies associated with sexuality, class, race, ethnicity, bodily ability, and so on. Implicit also in its reliance on the binaries such as perpetrator/victim, sex/gender, man/woman, is the assumption that gendered power exists only in relation to ‘opposite sex’ relations. Accordingly the invisibility of DV in LGB relationships is closely connected to the assumption that ‘same-sex’ means equal power; that is, that people in same-sex relationships are ‘basically physically and socially matched in terms of power’ (Brown, 2008: 459). Moreover, victimhood is invariably feminised because the vulnerability with which this is associated is ‘not part of shared cultural conceptions of masculinity’ (Hollander, 2001: 85), and hence, as discussed next, does not fit with the dominant story of DV.

Telling stories about domestic violence

The idea that men are aggressors but not victims represents the flipside of the assumption that women are victims but not aggressors; together, these constitute the ‘public stories’ of domestic violence (Donovan and Hester, 2010: 279). In this respect it is significant that the Plan makes no attempt to reconcile its assertion that ‘everyone has the right to be safe’ with its failure to engage with the complexity of men’s and women’s diverse experiences of violence. There is, for example, no contradiction acknowledged here between ‘safe communities’ and violence between men. This is despite recognition, in the Plan’s Introduction, of the high rates of violence experienced by men, a (statistical) ‘fact’ which is quickly explained away as a ‘different type of violence’ requiring ‘different strategies’ (COAG, 2011: 1). Men’s experiences of violence are not referred to again and the implication is clear: violence between men is not domestic violence. Questions such as why this ‘type’ of violence is different and, most significantly, how this might relate to and broaden our understanding of DV, are left unposed and certainly unaddressed; the public story of DV remains intact.

In highlighting the interconnectedness of discourses of gender, difference and violence, Hollander (2001) focuses on the centrality of beliefs about vulnerability to the construction of gender. Violence, as suggested by Mason (2006: 175), ‘makes a “statement”’, marking the ‘bodies of its victims with signs of vulnerability’. Vulnerability is thus embodied and, as such, inseparable from (embodied) social positionings; gender, sexuality, age, race, and ethnicity are ‘translated into vulnerability through the body’ (Hollander, 2001: 105). In linking women’s safety to men and, in particular, to men’s willingness to control, protect and defend – including as advocates, leaders, role models and bystanders (COAG, 2011: 14–18) – the Plan thus enables, and is enabled by, the heteronormative ‘truth’ of sex/gender difference.

Men are present in the Plan as both agents of violence – ‘perpetrators’ who must ‘stop their violence and [be] held to account’ (COAG, 2011: 29) – and as agents of change – leaders who ‘speak out’ about VAW and promote ‘positive male attitudes and behaviours’ (COAG, 2011: 18). Particular ideals regarding both ‘good’ and ‘bad’ men and what it means to ‘be’ male thus underpin the ‘logic’ of the Plan. References to men’s ‘leading role in discouraging violent behaviour’ (COAG, 2011: 14), for example, perpetuate the ‘social truth’ of violence as inherently ‘masculine’ (FitzRoy, 2001: 283) and of masculinity as implicitly ‘male’ (Greig, 2001). Moreover, the distinction drawn between men’s violence towards other men and men’s violence against women implies that there is no connection between the two and that power relations align with sex/gender. In this view, violence ‘happens to women, [… and is] perpetrated by men’ (Shepherd, 2010: 155, emphasis in original); women, and to a lesser extent men, are thus ‘constrained, almost defined by their bodies’ (Shepherd, 2010: 154).

Whilst the Plan nominally refers to ‘same-sex attracted women’ in the context of flexible service provision and the recognition of diverse needs (COAG, 2011: 23), it otherwise neither acknowledges nor engages with issues of sex/gender diversity. Malinen (2013: 325) observes that a particular challenge for women who experience DV is the struggle to reconcile this with ‘their own and others’ assumptions that women are physically or psychologically incapable of doing harm’. The implicit association of femininity and non-violence is crucial here, as is the assumption that women’s relationships are essentially ‘egalitarian and non-violent’ (Barnes, 2010: 233; see also Irwin, 2008), and the Plan does little, if anything, to challenge these ideas. In reinforcing the public stories of DV, the Plan fails to acknowledge that all relationships are negotiated within a social context that is ‘permeated by power dynamics’ (Donovan and Hester, 2008: 286). Moreover the intersecting axes of identity and difference transcend and shape the actions and motivations of individuals. The story of DV presented in the Plan is a familiar one but is credible only to the extent that we are willing to accept the male/female, powerful/powerless binary.

Recognising oneself

The Plan’s story of DV provides ‘no intelligible way’ for GB male victims of domestic violence to ‘recognise themselves’ (Ball, 2011: 321) and very little scope for LB women to do so. Men are ‘safe’ in the community even though they are more likely to experience violence in public spaces. Men’s safety is not positioned as a national concern and, within the context of this policy response to DV, men are excluded from state protection. In short, men’s experiences of victimisation are unrecognisable within the dominant story of DV. Instead two positions are available to men: the ‘bad guys’ responsible for perpetrating violence against women and children – reflected in the Plan’s focus on effective justice responses and perpetrator accountability; or the ‘good guys’ – the defenders, protectors and change agents who ‘promote male intolerance of violence’ (COAG, 2011: 19). The representation of DV in the Plan thus perpetuates the twin assumptions that violence between men is a ‘fair fight’ – that men can, and should, defend themselves (see Ball, 2011) - and that women need protection (from men).

The meaning(s) ascribed to bodies profoundly influence how we interpret the world (Shepherd, 2009: 211) and, hence, what we expect of ourselves and others – who we see as dangerous and how we think we should respond, who we feel safe with, and so on. Moreover, given the association of DV with the home or domestic sphere, as reflected in the Plan’s alternating use of the terms VAW and DV, it is hard to see past the gendered/classed connotations of the public/private split invoked here. As argued by Hearn (2010: 140), public and private are ‘material social arenas and ideological constructions’, with ‘different forms, meanings and significances for different social categories’. In its demarcation of public/private, the Plan thus (re)produces – indeed is built upon – silences in relation to social, and in particular gendered, hierarchies.

Conclusion

In placing violence against women and children firmly on the political agenda Australia’s Plan represents a significant milestone in public policy. As a collaboration between all Australian governments, the Plan clearly acknowledges VAW as a national priority and, through its emphasis on primary prevention, ‘recognises what feminist activists have long argued’, namely that gender equality and violence prevention are fundamentally connected (Theobald, 2011: 8). This has not come about easily but rather represents the collective and sustained efforts of feminist activists over many years. However, in its representation of DV as a heterosexual phenomenon of physical violence perpetrated by the stronger (man) over the weaker (woman), it is clear that the Plan is premised on gendered notions of vulnerability and dangerousness in which the right to safety and, hence, (state) protection is implicitly linked to some groups and not others. As observed by Donovan and Hester (2014), whilst the articulation of this ‘public story’ of DV is rightly celebrated as one of the major legacies of feminist activism, it is also a ‘story of exclusion’ (Donovan and Hester, 2014: 9). Thus, as an exemplar of the public story of DV, the Plan simultaneously denounces violence against women whilst, perhaps, inadvertently, silencing other forms and experiences of violence.

The Plan’s potential to contribute to the (continued) obscuration of endemic and complex power relations is a critical concern. As an articulation of heteronormativity, the Plan makes it difficult to ‘see’ both sex/gender diversity (Mason, 2001: 24) and, more broadly, the shifting patterns of inclusion and exclusion associated with intersectional hierarchies of identity and difference. In its failure to engage with the complexities of identity/ies, the Plan thus reduces and quarantines both diversity and diverse experiences of violence, positioning these as marginal concerns in relation to policy development, resourcing and service provision. Large-scale policy initiatives such as the Plan present key opportunities to ‘re-shape public stories’ so that ‘those who need to can recognise their own experiences’ (Donovan and Hester, 2010: 287) and access those services appropriate to their needs. However, in its (re)production of gendered, heteronormative discourses and obscuration of the social hierarchies that underpin violence, Australia’s Plan represents a re-telling, rather than a re-visioning, of the familiar story of DV.

Footnotes

Note

Kate Seymour works as a Lecturer in Social Work at Flinders University in South Australia. She is a qualified social worker with a background in direct social work practice and management. She also has extensive experience in the criminology discipline as both a lecturer and researcher. Dr Seymour’s research interest and activity spans the fields of social work and criminology, being focused on the discursive construction of gender, masculinities and violence within the context of policy and practice.

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