Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ)
Ainur Iman/Unsplash He once called one of my relatives and said “when a chicken stops laying eggs, people slaughter it and eat it”. Because I had not been able to become pregnant, he basically said I too should be slaughtered.
When Zakira* made this comment during an interview for my PhD research, I was shocked. “Does this relative of yours live in Australia?” I asked. “Yes, she is in Australia,” Zakira said. “And no, if you are going to ask me whether she reported it to the police, she didn’t.
Neither did I.” Zakira isn’t alone. My research on migrant women’s experiences of abuse revealed people around these women were aware of threats, yet nobody contacted police. A consistent pattern My research focused on spousal financial abuse, but it soon became clear it was deeply entangled with emotional, physical, and sexual violence.
These overlapping forms of violence help enforce fear, dependence, and silence. Across these stories, a pattern emerged: a deep reluctance to contact the police. One participant told me she didn’t even know how to call police.
I had no idea people in Australia call police if anyone is beaten. I thought it is like the way we do in Bangladesh; it is the family who mitigate the problem. That’s why I kept complaining to my in-laws each time I was beaten.
Another said: I wasn’t sure they would help me because I am Muslim, and they are not. Zakira told me: In Bangladesh […] f the police get involved in family matters, the whole society shames that family.
In Australia, I had no idea what the police would do if I called them. What if my husband beat me more once the police were gone? What if the police blamed me instead? […] And this was a matter between a husband and wife, what would the police do?
After particularly violent incidents, Zakira would sometimes walk to the local police station and stand outside, trying to gather the courage to go in. But, each time, she turned and went home. This was partly because shortly after arriving in Australia, her husband and one of his friends told me the police strip-search the complainer if they suspect anything.
I did not want that. I did not want to be naked in front of the police. Police not always seen as a source of safety Not all women in my research remained silent. Beena told me: I called police on the second time because I did not want to end up like my mother.
From my childhood I have seen my father hit my mother on whatever occasion he wishes to. If me or my sibling tried to save my mother, he would beat us too […] I didn’t want my own family to become the same.
Most, however, did not see the police as a source of safety. Coming from a post-colonial country where the policing system was originally designed to serve the British Empire rather than protect ordinary people, many carried a deep-seated fear and mistrust of law enforcement.
This was shaped by experiences of policing culture in Bangladesh, where abuse of power and impunity are common. As Safia said: In Bangladesh, there’s a saying: if a tiger attacks you, you suffer 18 wounds; but if the police get involved, you suffer 36!
She added: I thought if I call police they will come and take my husband to jail straight away […] where will I go with my children? I had no money, no support. Several women described being repeatedly warned by their husbands that involving police would lead to deportation or removal of the children.
Another woman, Roji, worried that because her husband spoke fluent English and she didn’t, he would be able to convince the police while she would struggle to even understand what was being said. Stigma and shame Migrant women often face enormous emotional, financial, social, and cultural barriers even after contacting police.
Many described becoming immediately overwhelmed by guilt and uncertainty after seeking help. Under pressure from family and community members, and frightened by the prospect of navigating Australia’s legal and welfare systems alone, many withdrew complaints.
Women described how involving police often leads to gossip and stigma.
Humaira was on the verge of calling triple zero when she thought of another family who’d involved police: Since people saw police coming to their house, the other families don’t allow their children to play with the children of that particular family […] I hung up immediately.
Dependency built into the system Migration is not automatically liberating for women. In many cases, migrant women face new vulnerabilities, such as isolation and financial dependency on their spouse, after arriving in Australia. My research raises an uncomfortable question: what if the systems meant to protect migrant women are often unable to hear them properly in the first place?
Most women who actually sought help described feeling lost trying to navigate the system. Many described feeling rushed interacting with authorities, unfamiliar legal language, and the absence of culturally sensitive communication. After police attended an incident at Safia’s home and took her husband to the police station, she was asked whether she wanted to “press charges”.
But no one explained what that meant, or what the possible consequences could be. Another woman, Ayesha, said of her experience: The police came and gave an AVO against him. I even did not know what AVO means.
Mala, who endured prolonged physical, sexual and psychological abuse, eventually contacted police about her experiences. But when police mentioned an AVO, That was the first time I heard the word AVO. Later that day, the police called me back and informed me that my husband didn’t acknowledge any accusation.
I had no idea what that means legally. It was very difficult for me to understand what the police were telling me. Many participants described entering legal processes without even the most basic understanding of Australian laws, police procedures, or support services.
However, not all participants experienced police interactions negatively. Faiza described how her ex-husband falsely accused her of being violent towards him after calling the police, tearing his own shirt, and banging his forehead against a wall.
Arrested and taken to the police station, she felt bewildered. But a female police officer calmly guided her through the process. One officer offered her a sandwich and juice to break her Ramadan fast. Faiza recalled: As I was crying, the officer told me, “This is not the end of the world, don’t worry”.
I felt like those were the most comforting words I had ever heard in my life. It’s also important to recognise many migrant women hesitate to disclose abuse because they fear feeding racist stereotypes.
But rejecting racism shouldn’t mean ignoring women’s suffering.
If we fail to confront this violence and the structural failures surrounding it, many migrant women face the prospect of years trying to survive systems that never fully saw or understood them. *All names have been changed to protect identities.
The National Sexual Assault, Family and Domestic Violence Counselling Line – 1800 RESPECT (1800 737 732) – is available 24 hours a day, seven days a week for any Australian who has experienced, or is at risk of, family and domestic violence and/or sexual assault.
Farjana Mahbuba does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.