Policy blog

Domestic abuse in India and the UK – more similarities than differences

Last night I watched India’s Daughter, Leslee Udwin’s film about the gang-rape of Jyoti Singh, a 23 year old student from Delhi. In December 2012 she was travelling home by bus after watching a film with a male friend. She was so brutally attacked that she died of her injuries two weeks later. Four men were sentenced to death for their part in her murder.

Before I joined SafeLives, I spent several months working in Delhi for a charity battling sexual and domestic violence. India’s Daughter made me catch my breath for many reasons. The situation in India is different to here, but not as different as we might like to think.

Abuse in the home

All of Joyti’s rapists grew up with consistent violence in their family homes. Thanks to research by academics like Eamon McCrory and Emma Howarth, we know more than ever about the impact of living with domestic abuse on children’s development. This is echoed in our own research. And earlier this year we called for all statutory agencies to improve their understanding of abuse to find affected families as soon as possible. We need to create the system where we get it right first time, for every family member.

A culture of blame

One of the men who raped Joyti, Mukesh Singh, is interviewed in the film. Speaking from prison, he expresses bewilderment that he has been treated so harshly. He shakes his head: “Everybody does it. If I have to be punished, why aren’t they punished?” A 2014 survey reported that over 70% of Indian men believe hitting their wife was acceptable if she didn’t look after the children to their satisfaction.

We might feign shock at these statements, but we have no grounds to be complacent. In the UK, only a small proportion of those who have committed violent acts against their partner or ex-partner will ever go to prison. And those who do are not likely to serve long sentences. Criminal justice is only one measure of punishment but, when it comes to domestic abuse, we’re short on alternatives. While victims need to be identified and get the right help sooner, it’s also time we focus on challenging the perpetrators to change their behaviour. 

The role of police

In Jyoti Singh’s case, the police quickly identified and arrested the perpetrators, but this isn’t the experience of most Delhiites. Many women in Delhi refuse point blank to go to the police who often share in and perpetuate the outdated prejudices about a woman’s place and her responsibility to modesty.

We have come a long, long way in the UK. I’ve seen first-hand the commitment of many police officers to improve their response to what, in previous years, might have been dismissed as ‘just a domestic’. I’m proud that SafeLives has worked with the College of Policing and Women’s Aid to create a new training package for frontline police officers to strengthen their understanding of abuse. I was delighted to read recently about joint patrols by local police officers and domestic abuse workers. And I hope that as we help HMIC do their re-inspection of forces this year, we’ll see the marked improvement called for in their 2013 report Everyone’s Business.

The discussion about sexual and domestic violence in India caught fire after Jyoti Singh died. But I know from my own time in Delhi that there’s a danger that words like rape, abuse and violence are used so often that they lose their meaning. In the UK, the statistic of 2 women a week dying at the hands of a partner or ex-partner is so well-worn that it barely raises an eyebrow. That’s why we shouldn’t be complacent. We need to constantly find new ways to show the grinding reality of lives dominated by fear of verbal, physical and emotional attack.

India’s Daughter is currently banned by the Indian government. It’s shameful that a government could rush to ban a film while having no national strategy to tackle the problem it exposes. After the death of Jyoti, men and women across India took to the streets, calling for equality and campaigning for women’s rights. This energy and well-directed anger of Indians who refuse to accept the current situation should inspire us all. There’s still a long way to go before families in the UK – and abroad – can live in safety. But more change can come, we can all do better.

Whose truth is it anyway?

We often wonder how those with a history of domestic abuse view the results of their behaviour – not least the damage they cause to both their partners and their children. This weekend, millions of people will watch the fight between Floyd Mayweather and Manny Pacquiao. Mayweather of course pled guilty to abusing his partner and mother of three of his children. As a result, he does not get to see his children as much as he might like. But what should we make of Mayweather’s version of the ‘truth’ when asked for how he feels about this?  His answer: “You know how women are sometimes”.  Hmm, no mention of his part in this…

Mayweather has a long and protracted history of perpetrating domestic abuse, with convictions reaching back as far as 2001. Just last year he made claims that “there are a lot worse things that go on in other people’s households”, adding that there’d never been any photographic evidence of bruises and bumps he’d caused. But we know that the truth of domestic abuse is often hidden behind closed doors.

Only yesterday, the Independent Police Complaints Commission published a report into the death of Hollie Gazzard, a hairdresser from Gloucester. She was brutally murdered by her ex-partner in front of horrified customers and colleagues at the salon where she worked.

Hollie and hundreds of other women who died at the hands of current or ex-partners will never be able to tell their truth. They’ll never be able to share the fear of living with abuse, how it affected their children and how they were hoping that someone would notice and ask the question.

It’s this truth – the horrendous reality of domestic abuse – that drives us to make sure all families live in safety.

We think that there are three truths that victims of abuse would want Floyd to hear.

The first truth is that all too often we miss opportunities to spot abuse and stop it: in the year before they get the help they need, most victims will have five contacts with public services and it will take almost three years before they get help. For professionals, it’s about knowing how to start the conversation. It’s knowing what to do if a victim or child tells them things aren’t right at home. But to help families become safe, we first need to find them.

The second truth is that victims of domestic abuse need to work with a skilled, trusted professional who can help them address the risk they face and meet their needs. Properly trained and well-resourced specialist domestic violence workers – Idvas – make all the difference. More than 60% of those helped by an Idva and Marac report that the abuse stops.

The third truth is that we need to resource these services properly. But the reality is that, despite ever-increasing caseloads, we still only have half the Idva capacity we need. No matter how good and dedicated the Idva, that level of work will impact on how well they are able to do their job.  Look at our Facebook page if you want to see powerful examples of how they are trying to meet the needs of their clients with ever rising caseloads.

If we create a model response to domestic abuse in every area, all families will get safe more quickly, and stay safe in the long-term. It’s a huge challenge, but one we’ve thought long and hard about. And our new strategy sets out how we begin to achieve this.

This is our truth to ending domestic abuse. What’s yours?

Oh and Floyd, if you are reading this, think again.


 

Inspired by some Idvas – and irritated by the manifestos

Last week, I spent two days in the north-west, talking to domestic abuse specialists, police officers and expert support staff, and council officers.

I visited two police forces, observed a Marac meeting, had lunch with city council officers and tea with one of our Leading Lights Idva services. The common theme amongst this diverse group of professionals, all dedicated to stopping domestic abuse? The sheer demand for their help – and the struggle they were having meeting it.

Take the Idva service. They were one of the first Idva services to set up – and are consistently one of the best in the country. The job of an Idva is to stop murders and serious harm – and they do. We will never know how many victims are safe today because of the Idvas in that town over the past eight years.

Talking to the Idvas, I heard stories of huge creativity and ingenuity in finding ways to help victims and their children get safe. The beauty of an Idva intervention is that it’s 1-2-1, tailored to the needs of a particular victim and her children – not one size fits all. And working with all the right agencies at a Marac, the Idva can make sure each victim gets the right help that makes her safe – and helps her stay safe in the long-term.

But what made me furious was hearing how many victims each Idva was having to support. They were each carrying caseloads that, if continued over the year, will see them work with nearly 300 victims each. No matter how good the Idva (and these were good), that level of work will impact on how well they do their job. SafeLives recommends a safe caseload of just 60-70 victims per Idva per year.

And that picture is the same all over the country. Over the last year, visible cases of high-risk domestic abuse have gone up 18%. That’s around 8,400 additional victims that services across the country need to help. Idva services don’t turn women away, or run waiting lists to manage demand. Instead, they stretch themselves ever more thinly to give a service to every victim they can – which leads to shorter interventions. And there are no Idva services which have seen anything like an 18% increase in capacity to help victims – indeed most have seen a decrease.

So I’ve been thinking about that team of brilliant but overworked Idvas this week as the parties launched their election manifestos. Happily, all the main parties standing in England talked about domestic abuse – a real step forward. But it’s a missed opportunity that the funding pledges in the Labour, Lib Dem and Conservative manifestos are only for refuge – when we need to fund a range of effective services for victims, whether they need rehousing or not.

Idva services, and their friends and champions, need to make sure that politicians, funders and commissioners hear from us over the next five years. We need to convince them about the impact community services make. After all, more than 60% of victims supported by an Idva and Marac report no further violence at case closure, making this intervention the most effective currently operating in the UK.

So that’s the next challenge for us at SafeLives. Whoever forms the next government, we will tell them from day one that they need to invest in and promote effective, risk-led Idva services alongside housing for victims of domestic abuse. It’s our job to sort the funding and the politics, to make sure that everyday our brilliant Idva colleagues can help more victims get safe and stay safe.

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Idva-Marac – a great model but not a revolution on its own

I received a great email from the Resolutions Consultancy this week. It called for nothing less than a revolution in child protection in Australia, ahead of the upcoming Signs of Safety conference.

The point that resonated so strongly for me was the clear distinction that they made between the value of a particular model (Signs of Safety), and the context in which it operates:

Signs of Safety is the most comprehensive practice approach currently available to the child protection field. Signs of Safety has been refined by thousands of practitioners across 17 countries since 1988.

While the Signs of Safety is completely grounded in what works in practice, the model alone will not change how child protection work gets done. Practice decisions are always shaped by myriad factors including organisational anxiety, leadership, workload levels, workforce experience and stability, cultural confidence, political vulnerability, information recording systems and compliance – not to mention the actions of courts, police, mental health services, non-government collaborators, politicians and many more.

To transform practice requires a sophisticated, whole of system approach to implementing the Signs of Safety. That’s the revolution.

Here in the UK, we share that revolutionary spirit. We want to see a revolution in the way that we respond to domestic abuse - one that builds on the advances of the past 10 years.

We are rightly proud that all over the UK, victims and their children now get support from a dedicated professional Idva, who co-ordinates a range of other agencies at a Marac meeting.

But it’s also right that there is some healthy challenge about the Idva-Marac model.

Just as with Signs of Safety, we have to be honest that a good model on its own will not change the whole response to domestic abuse - especially where it is not being implemented faithfully. For example, we are concerned to hear about Idva contracts being awarded where the practitioners are not required to be trained by us, or to follow the national definition of the Idva role.

And just as the extract above highlights, we have to live with (and try to address) the operating environment in which we operate. In the multi-agency approach we advocate, issues such as workforce stability, workload, leadership and confidence are key.

Throughout it helps if we are clear about what the Idva-Marac model actually is. It’s not short-term, and it’s not criminal justice focused. It’s about achieving long-term safety built on a trusting relationship with an Idva who in turn coordinates the resources of partner agencies to manage and reduce risk and meet needs.

We’ve spent the last ten years advocating for the Idva-Marac model – and we will continue to push for every multi-agency partner to get better at helping high-risk victims become safe, and for enough trained and well-supported Idvas so that every high-risk victim gets the right help.

But a revolution in domestic abuse response needs more than the Idva-Marac model. There are other significant gaps to be filled – and we’ve set out how we’re going to approach them in our new vision and strategy.

We are excited about our new vision. It builds on the Idva-Marac model and sets out a practical approach to system change. We would love to know your thoughts.  

It will be a great revolution if we achieve it.

Read more about Signs of Safety

 

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Getting it right first time – the grim reality

When I worked in the City no one ever talked to me about domestic abuse.  Now, a week does not go by that a friend does not ring me for advice about how to find help for their daughter, sister or close friend.  Most recently I was called by a friend who wants to help an elderly neighbour who, having finally divorced her abusive husband, is now suffering violence and abuse from her grown-up son.  My friend asked if I could find a local support service that she could speak to. Easy I thought.

Not so easy. I rang the service provider we had trained but they have lost the contract to a housing provider. They gave me the number for their floating support service. I rang but the number had changed. So armed with the new number I rang again. This time I got an answer phone telling me that they were only open from 10am to 2pm. Not to be defeated, I rang again the next day to find that they couldn’t help me and referred me to yet another organisation.

The next call found me talking to someone who wanted to give me immigration advice. I explained that I was looking for a domestic abuse support service and they offered to give me the number of a firm of family law solicitors. Not so easy at all. Five phone calls and I was no further forward. My internet searches yielded one service that was open from…10am to 2pm, one day a week.  

The good news is that I finally found a proper domestic violence service – thanks to a referral from one of our Leading Lights accredited services – and I am hoping that they will be able to help.  

So, five calls later it just reminded me that there are huge hurdles in getting help – even when a 70 year old woman who has lived with domestic abuse for over 40 years finally gets to a point where she has no choice but to speak out.  What does it feel like to all those women who don’t have a friend to help navigate the system?  For those women who will never call the police?