Tikanga called on to tackle violence

If ever there was a poisoned chalice in politics, it was the job awarded to Marama Davidson after the 2020 general election. As minister for the prevention of family and sexual violence, the Green Party co-leader was supposed to coordinate the heads of 10 government departments assigned to an inter-agency group called the ‘‘joint venture’’; to get the sector and tangata whenua on board; and create a national strategy to combat one of New Zealand’s most entrenched social issues, immediately.

It is something of a miracle, therefore, that a year later, Davidson has produced Te Aorerekura, the Action Plan for the National Strategy to Eliminate Family Violence and Sexual Violence. For the first time, New Zealand has a shared definition of violence that is intersectional and inclusive, and a road map of where we need to go.

Most markedly, it seems almost incredible to have a strategy so strongly informed by indigenous knowledge – the same thing was rejected by previous ministers. Te Aorerekura is centred on the Mā ori way of justice: the restoration of mana and whakapapa, healing, and the reintegration (rather than demonisation) of people who have used violence. It also seeks to prevent violence, with a new focus on education and early intervention.

That is not to say the strategy is perfect. It has many flaws. The biggest is related to its huge remit. Taking on both family violence and sexual violence in one strategy was always going to be deeply problematic. Sexual violence agencies have already said they feel their work has been subsumed in this plan – that where sexual violence differs from family violence, there is no space for them. Many of the 40 action points are also vague, or reheated, versions of work already under way, or feel disjointed from the strategy’s vision. While some new initiatives show real promise – better education for children; long-term commissioning; more training in diversity for general services – others are incomprehensibly bureaucratic.

For example, the plan puts Oranga Tamariki in charge of building specialist workforces for children. That agency is still in disarray. Does it have the trust needed for such work?

Equally, there is no specific mention of the Family Court, which has been repeatedly highlighted as lacking expertise in domestic violence. There’s also no mention of alternative justice pathways, or a review of consent law, or treatment courts. In fact, there’s nothing really tangible in the plan at this stage. If you were a victim or a perpetrator reading Te Aorerekura, you might struggle to see anything that would immediately change for you.

But the strategy does a good job in framing what violence is (the misuse of power) while managing to neatly sidestep what it is not (uncontrollable male urges, for example). It fairly highlights that, while anyone can use violence, the group more likely to cause harm is men.

It also deftly outlines the complex intersectionalities around who is more likely to suffer violence, highlighting the ‘‘socially accepted hierarchies’’ of ableism, sexism, racism or homophobia, as contributing factors, while holding space for the group that suffers most: wā hine Mā ori. The strategy is best when it describes how the ‘‘combination of colonisation, racism and sexism in Aotearoa New Zealand has increased impacts associated with intergenerational trauma’’ for these women, half of whom will experience partner violence.

I wish it had used the same pointedness in addressing the largest perpetrator group: Pā kehā men. Instead, as always, they escape all but the lightest scrutiny. The word ‘‘perpetrator’’ isn’t even in the document. Even the statistics, things like ‘‘7 per cent of all children had a family violence notification to government’’, are focused on survivors.

Davidson, of course, can’t be expected to end the worst excesses of patriarchy with just a year to plan. Her job was to get everyone around the table and achieve what she could. She says the language around ‘‘people who use violence’’ was deliberately inclusive. She wanted to focus on accountability, including the systems that have caused harm.

This is wise, on two levels. First, research into male violence has found that, to bring men on board to create the necessary change, language needs to be inviting so that men don’t conflate antiviolence with anti-male. We must repeat the message that most men aren’t violent, and to offer hope for change.

Second, some male perpetrators have been harmed by violence, too. They may have been wards of the state, or child abuse victims, or suffered bullying and violence at school. Mā ori men have also suffered the stigma of violence thanks to racist stereotypes and justice systems. They need space to heal as well as rehabilitate and compensate – to be accountable in a holistic way.

That is the tikanga Mā ori approach at the centre of this strategy, and Davidson says what’s good for Mā ori will be good for everyone.

Now Te Aorerekura is here, we have to hope she’s right.