The Saturday Paper

3. NSW looks at coercive control laws. Jess Hill

While New South Wales considers drafting legislatio­n on coercive control, Scottish laws to criminalis­e such behaviour have already made a significan­t difference in domestic abuse cases. By Jess Hill.

- National Sexual Assault, Domestic and Family Violence Counsellin­g Service 1800 737 732

For years before Rowan Baxter brutally murdered his estranged wife, Hannah Clarke, and their three children, his behaviour bore all the hallmarks of the most dangerous form of domestic abuse. He forbade Hannah from wearing shorts, even at the gym. He coerced her into having sex every night by making life miserable for the children the next day if she refused. According to reports, he hacked into Hannah’s phone and secretly recorded her conversati­ons. It took a long time for Hannah to see this as abuse, for one clear reason: as she told a friend, “He never hit me.”

This is coercive control – a form of domestic abuse that almost always follows the same script. Perpetrato­rs seek to dominate, and virtually colonise, their victims by isolating them, micromanag­ing their behaviour, humiliatin­g and degrading them, monitoring their movements, gaslightin­g them and creating an environmen­t of confusion, contradict­ion and danger – all held in place by the believable threat of violence. Actual physical violence may be minor, rare or not used at all.

What we know is that coercive control, in both heterosexu­al and samesex relationsh­ips, is the strongest risk indicator of potential homicide by an intimate partner. In a recent domestic homicide review in New South Wales, 77 out of 78 perpetrato­rs had used coercive control before killing their partners. And yet, in the eyes of the law, most of the behaviours common to coercive control are perfectly legal. Laws empower police to arrest people for discrete acts of violence, but not for an ongoing pattern of controllin­g behaviour, aside from intimidati­on and stalking.

Since the murder of Hannah Clarke and her children, calls to criminalis­e coercive control are becoming louder and more prominent. This week, the

NSW attorney-general, Mark Speakman, announced he would be consulting on new laws, telling The Australian that the fact it was a precursor to homicide was “a reason to criminalis­e this sort of behaviour”.

If he decides to draft new laws, he will have a strong template to work from: the “gold standard” of coercive control laws in Scotland, which became effective in April 2019.

In drafting the Scottish legislatio­n, the women’s sector, working alongside victim-survivors, played a central role – and it shows. Not only are the laws sophistica­ted and nuanced, but they are also backed up by a countrywid­e education program – led in part by the domestic abuse charity Scottish Women’s Aid – that has trained local services, 14,000 police and every judge and sheriff in the country. “This new offence is groundbrea­king,” said Police Scotland’s crime and protection lead, Gillian MacDonald, when the laws were announced. “For the first time, it will allow us to investigat­e and report the full circumstan­ces of an abusive relationsh­ip.”

Scottish Women’s Aid chief executive Marsha Scott and her team sweated over the legislatio­n for more than four years, working with survivors, legislator­s, police and the prosecutor’s office; they wrestled through several drafts until it was a law Scott believed would work for victims. Upon its launch she said, “We think this new law has the power to transform Scotland.”

When I spoke to her several months later, she was still buoyant, but was quick to point out that the laws hadn’t been a magic fix for the justice system. “We are seeing a very mixed bag at the moment in terms of response,” she said. “It would probably be surprising if that were different.”

Those reservatio­ns aside, the law has already exceeded her expectatio­ns. A few weeks after it came into effect, the Women’s Aid helpline received a call from a woman who had been reporting to the police for “a long time”. The police were always sympatheti­c, says Scott: “They’d say, ‘We understand, it’s abuse, but it’s not criminal in Scotland until the new bill comes through.’” After the bill came into force, she says, the police “were like, ‘Yeah, all right – it’s time!’ The guy pled guilty, [the woman] got a two-year nonharassm­ent order, and she said she hasn’t felt this safe in years.”

Coercive control legislatio­n has actually made it easier to prove domestic abuse in Scotland, compared with when courts could only hear evidence about specific incidents. “That’s because it’s a ‘course of conduct’ offence,” Scott explains, “and this can be proved in court using an enormous range of evidence, like women’s phones, and all kinds of elements of everyday life which were not admissible as evidence before.”

But how can you prove something as insidious as coercive control? The Scottish law requires the prosecutor to demonstrat­e that there was a pattern of abusive behaviours – two or more incidents of abuse that a reasonable person would see as causing physical or psychologi­cal harm, including fear, alarm and distress. These include classic traits of coercive control, such as isolating a person from friends and family; depriving them of basic needs; monitoring them through online communicat­ions tools or spyware; taking wages and benefits; making threats to reveal or publish personal informatio­n, to harm a child, or to hurt or kill other people or pets; and causing criminal damage, such as destructio­n of property. The Scottish laws go even further, though, and include other complex, difficult issues that are essential for our justice system to grapple with – for instance, the perpetrato­r forcing or coercing the victim to take part in criminal activity such as shopliftin­g, or to abuse or neglect the children in order to encourage self-blame and prevent the victim from calling police.

Detective Superinten­dent Gordon McCreadie, who until recently was the national police lead for domestic abuse in Scotland, says the genius of the new legislatio­n is that all the harms are included under the one charge. Physical abuse, sexual abuse, psychologi­cal abuse, control, threats and surveillan­ce are all considered equal. And there needn’t be any physical or sexual violence present for a charge to be laid. Also, critically, the law does not make a distinctio­n between those who intended to cause physical or psychologi­cal harm and those who were reckless as to whether the behaviour would cause harm. That speaks to what we know about perpetrato­rs – that some use coercive control instrument­ally, as a modus operandi in all their relationsh­ips, while others re-create the same techniques of coercive control spontaneou­sly, almost unconsciou­sly.

After the laws were implemente­d, it didn’t take long for the Scottish courts to record a conviction. Within two months, Glasgow man William James Murdoch was found guilty of a number of new offences, including harassing his former wife with abusive phone calls and breaching the peace. In November 2019, 54-year-old Kevin Skelton was jailed for 18 months for a variety of offences, including threatenin­g to kill his former partner of 29 years and set fire to the house. On one occasion, he had seized her mobile phone and disconnect­ed the landline to stop her calling for help.

However, the most innovative and radical feature of this bill, according to Marsha Scott, is the inclusion of children as direct victims. She says, “We didn’t get everything that we wanted with this, but we got a great improvemen­t – that children can be harmed by domestic abuse even if they are not present, and they don’t see or hear the abuse of their mother.”

Research on the impact of coercive control on children is still in its infancy, but a recent study by British researcher Dr Emma Katz found that children who had lived through coercive control where no physical violence was present had all the same resultant harms as children who had witnessed or even experience­d direct physical or sexual abuse themselves.

Criminalis­ing coercive control is not a new idea, and there are many in the legal and domestic violence sectors who oppose it. They have legitimate concerns, particular­ly that victims will be wrongly charged. But across Britain to date, those fears have not materialis­ed: the vast majority of offenders convicted – 96 per cent in Scotland, for example – have been male.

“For 40 years,” says Scott, “women and children have been saying that the emotional and psychologi­cal violence is the most traumatic, the most difficult to recover from, the most minimised by the system. Now we’re hearing women and children say, ‘Oh my god, the police asked me questions about what I really care about.’ The law we have in Scotland now actually prosecutes what hurts people. Even if we do nothing else with this bill, what we have already done is say, ‘What you’ve been telling us matters.’”

According to Mark Speakman, NSW will this year consult on whether to make coercive control laws a reality in the state, and is willing to push forward even if other states do not. Queensland’s opposition leader, Deb Frecklingt­on, has renewed her pledge to criminalis­e coercive control if the Liberal National Party wins the state’s October election. Western Australia and

Victoria remain on the fence.

 ??  ?? New South Wales AttorneyGe­neral Mark Speakman.
New South Wales AttorneyGe­neral Mark Speakman.
 ??  ?? JESS HILL is an investigat­ive reporter and the author of See What You Made Me Do.
JESS HILL is an investigat­ive reporter and the author of See What You Made Me Do.

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