Why storytelling is one way to help us make sense of the crisis of violence against women

Why storytelling is one way to help us make sense of the crisis of violence against women

intimate partner

Bernard, 48, is single and clumsy with women and is a central character in my new novel ‘Never Look Desperate’. He doesn’t play footy. He doesn’t go to the gym. He is a beautiful photographer and loves to cook.

I created him because I needed to challenge the masculine codes that continue to rule what is and what isn’t manly in this country. Storytelling, to me, is one of the many ways we can untangle ourselves from the crisis of violence against women in Australia.

And it is a crisis. Despite the fact that this year alone, 67 women have been murdered by their current or former partner, when Lilie James was murdered by her scorned former boyfriend in a private school bathroom in Sydney in November, the country was yet again in shock. Then, not even a week later Alice McShera, a family lawyer in Perth was murdered allegedly by her partner in an upmarket hotel room Crown Towers. Last week in Adelaide, four women were murdered allegedly by current or former partners.

In fact, the numbers are growing at such rapid rates that the federal government next year will launch a new intimate partner homicide dashboard that will provide frequently updated numbers of women killed by former or current partners. 

We also have 40 men each week taking their own lives – 75 per cent of suicides in Australia are by men. This is twice as high for indigenous males and prominent in rural communities where life on the land is increasingly difficult.

Bernard, my character, represents many men in Australia who wrestle daily with the health impacts of isolation. They mix booze with anti-depressants for a wild ride on the mental health Ghost Train. They don’t have girlfriends to call late at night. They might have friends but they don’t confide in them. I have met these men. I have dated some. They are incapable of relationships after War of the Roses divorces. They have little access to the kids. They’re broke and broken and often swimming in the shame of their own bad choices.

And when you’re that down and out, you cannot possibly meet the ridiculous ideals of manhood in our country – to be the tough guy unaffected by emotion. The sporting hero. The gym body. The war hero. Crocodile Dundee. The blokey bloke. The larrikin.

I once said to a male buddy in his early 50s that I found his honesty and sensitivity to be a strength after his partner had left him. He laughed it off and poured another scotch.

Australia has implemented various measures to address violence against women, including the introduction of restraining orders and support services and now the intimate partner homicide data tracker. And while this may well all be good, it may be making a difference, what can we do to create the kind of seismic change required to reduce intimate partner violence in Australia?

It’s going to take time. We need generational change that will start in earnest when we start to change the way our boys and young men think about, talk about, treat and respect women. And, importantly, how men talk about themselves.

I see the shift happening, via conversations with students in university and high school classrooms. Advocacy groups and grassroots movements are actively working to challenge harmful norms, raise awareness, and provide support to victims. There are education initiatives. Schools and communities are increasingly focused on promoting healthy relationships, consent education, and challenging ingrained stereotypes. These programs aim to reshape cultural attitudes from a young age, fostering a society that rejects violence and respects gender equality.

And we need modern fiction, stories, art and culture to challenge those norms too. I believe creative industries play a bigger role in shifting the unhelpful male codes than collectively credited. They give us an opportunity to talk, to change our minds, to challenge preconceived ideas and open up discussions with others about the issues central to the male crisis. A character can’t save a life, or protect someone from harm, but fiction can start to shift the needle on seismic change.

×

Stay Smart!

Get Women’s Agenda in your inbox