Domestic abuse in literature: the reality behind the fiction

Posted on: 5 April 2022 by Mariam Abood in Posts

Digital Communications Assistant in the department of English, Mariam Abood, explores the representations of domestic abuse in literature, from the perspective of her prior work as a researcher in the domestic abuse sector.

Trigger warning: The following article contains content relating to domestic violence. If you are in immediate danger please call 999. If you would like help, contact Refuge on 0808 2000 247.

BookTok is the newest trend taking over the internet and TikTok. The #BookTok hashtag has already managed to garner over 5.8 billion views, and the authors of these books are seeing a tenfold increase in the sale of their work.

One such book that has mesmerised the internet, and readers alike, is It Ends With Us by Colleen Hoover – a harrowing tale of domestic violence in the modern age. The novel tells the story of Lily, a budding Boston florist, who marries affluent neurosurgeon Ryle. Ryle soon becomes abusive and through strength and resilience, Lily is able to escape. This article however sheds light on what happens to the women who can’t escape, be it because of their insecure immigration statuses, or lack of recourse to public funds, or because they are minoritized and penniless; a far cry from affluent Boston-bred Lily.

Through my experiences as a former worker in the domestic violence sector, I intend in this article to amplify the voices of Black and minoritized women who face domestic abuse, and illustrate the barriers they face.

Sara

Sara (not her real name) is an example of how difficult it is for some women to access domestic abuse services.

Sara has no recourse to public funds (NRPF). She is in an abusive relationship with a drug user, who repeatedly beats her. On a spousal visa, she risks deportation if she leaves her abusive husband. She is in debt to the NHS for over £500 and cannot access basic medical care because of the NHS’ legal duty to report her debt to the Home Office. All services turn her away due to her NRPF status, and this includes supposedly feminist organisations and refuges. When asked about her experiences, in her own words, she cried “I feel like a ghost that no one cares about”.

Sara’s haunting story is an example of the several complex domestic violence cases I dealt with when working for a black-led feminist organisation. Women would come to us with varying complex needs, from immigration restrictions to language barriers. I helped women who had been sexually, physically, economically and emotionally abused, and risked dealing with dangerous perpetrators. My role was as a researcher, and I still remember the day a woman approached me saying she was fleeing domestic violence, and I honestly didn’t know what to do. Every situation was different. I still remember the sorrowful look on her face, the hope in her voice when I told her my manager would call her within twenty-four hours. She simply replied, in a soft voice whilst cradling her baby, “I’ll be waiting by the phone”.

The reality behind the fiction

In It Ends With Us, Lily is white, upper middle-class and relatively wealthy: a typical recipe for socio-economic class and race privilege within the context of the Global North. Lily is a survivor, but there are so many other women who are unable to escape because society constrains them from doing so.

Despite the fact that Black and minoritized women make up only 13% of the UK population, they make up the largest demographic amongst domestic violence victims. And yet, Refuge data has illustrated that Black women are less likely to be referred for specialist support by the police.

This is a critical problem. Police and medical professionals make up the majority of safeguarding gatekeepers for all domestic violence victims, but minoritized women with insecure immigration already fear the police and NHS staff due to their corporal duty to report them to the Home Office. Research by Imkaan, the UK’s first domestic abuse charity for Black and minoritized women, has shown that not only do domestic abuse victims find themselves silenced by their community, but by the authorities too, as there is often a great deal of collusion between professionals and the perpetrators.

Thus, fearing deportation, many of these women do not feel it safe to approach the services that are supposed to safeguard them. This is a scenario in which Lily would have probably never had to fear.

When we want to break the silence and the stigma so many women face when reporting domestic violence, there are many measures that need to be taken. The most important one, however, is to begin to ‘unlearn’ silencing behaviour and hold the authorities accountable for neglecting their duty of care. Southall Black Sisters bravely began this process through their ground-breaking super-complaint regarding data-sharing between the police and Home Office regarding victims and domestic abuse. Strategies like theirs raise awareness, and thus help minimise harm and risk caused to victims.