addressing violence and abuse in a gendered world

Heather Fraser and Christine Craik

Violence and abuse are social problems that adversely affect societies, groups, families and
individuals. From a critical social work perspective, many forms of violence and abuse are examined,
and attention is given not only to the effects they can have on individual lives but also on collective
health and wellbeing. Recognising institutional violence as well as interpersonal forms of abuse (such
as child abuse, intimate violence, ‘queer’ and elder abuse), ‘we’ show that violence and abuse are
gendered and sexualised crimes steeped in history, religion and political ideology. Using the term
‘we’ to refer to the perspectives of the authors (two middle-aged, white, Australian feminists), we
also show that susceptibility to violence and abuse is not randomly distributed, but instead
connected to social contexts, status and identities, as well as access to resources.
Connecting the personal with the political, we examine how some forms of violence and
abuse—and some groups of victims/survivors—are liable to be ignored, trivialised and/or
discredited. Yet we write this chapter in the spirit of reconstructing—not just deconstructing—social
work and social welfare (also see Leonard 1997). Specifically, this chapter identifies how critical social
workers might understand violence and abuse.
The chapter is organised into three parts. First, we identify what we believe critical social
work is—and is not—as we discuss how critical social workers are likely to approach violence and
abuse. Next, we talk about progressive social change as change that (more actively) recognises the
human rights of all people, irrespective of gender, age, ethnicity, sexuality, ability and/or
geographical location. We concentrate on common forms of violence and abuse, reiterating why a
critical social work approach to violence and abuse is needed. In the third section, we foreground
gender-based violence as a ‘case study’ because it constitutes such a large proportion of all violence
and abuse committed.

Viewing violence and abuse critically

Critical social work is a name given to a broad constellation of approaches interested in the concepts
of power and language, discourses and progressive social change. Critical social workers are a broad
coalition of people who share some common interests, values and hopes about how power might be
exercised in the future, and language used to narrate different ways of being in the world (McMaster
& Swain 1989; Dominelli 1996, 2002c; Pease 1996, 1997, 2004; Ife 1997, 2001; Milner 2001; Brown
2003; Thompson 2003; Weeks 2003; Baines 2007a). As indicated in Chapter 3, ‘critical social work’
is a term inclusive of many others who use other referents (or names) for their work, such as: ‘anti-
oppressive’, ‘anti-discriminatory’, ‘human rights-oriented’, ‘feminist’, ‘anti-racist’, ‘structural’,
‘radical’, ‘liberationist’, ‘narrative and strength based’ and/or ‘anti/post-colonial’ (Leonard 1997;
Mullaly 2002, 2007; Briskman 2003b; Fisher 2004; Briskman et al. 2008). This means that across
these perspectives there is diversity of opinion. Yet, for all the differences, we (the authors) believe
that five broad views about violence and abuse tend to be shared:

• that violence and abuse are widespread social problems that can generate any number of
other social problems (such as substance abuse, further violence, mental health problems and so on)
(DVIRC 2006)
 • that violence and abuse have a range of causes and effects, with different implications for
social groups (such as women, children, the aged, and ‘queer’) (Pease 1996; McMaster 1997; CASA
House 2006; Couch et al. 2007)
• that stories told about violence and abuse infl uence who is held accountable for violent
and abusive acts (Wood 2001; Gilchrist & Price 2006; Briskman et al. 2008)
• that attempts should be made to eliminate violence, or at least reduce it (Plummer 2003;
Weeks 2003; Ayres & Gerarda Brown 2005) and
• that peace and non-violence are worthy values to uphold (Ife 2001; Fisher 2004;
Klosterman & Stratton 2006; Ramon et al. 2006).

As critical social workers, we are influenced by ideas from critical theory and scrutinise social
institutions, groups and practices for unfairness (Thompson 2003; Brown & Strega 2005; Couch et al.
2007). We therefore understand violence and abuse from socio-cultural, interpersonal and
intrapersonal points of view (also see DeLois & Cohen 2000; Mullaly 2002). While attending to
questions about group dynamics and individual personalities, we do not ignore the implications of
gender, class, ‘race’, sexuality, age and/or ability (CASA House 2006; Gilchrist & Price 2006). That is
why we use defi nitions of violence and abuse that allow collective and socially sanctioned forms of
domination, control and manipulation to come to light (Mullaly 2007).
Taking our lead from survivors, we are concerned about all forms of violence and abuse,
including those based on emotional, psychological, intellectual, spiritual, financial, material or
physical domination, or a combination of the above (Memmott et al. 2001; Department of Justice
Canada 2007; Gilchrist & Price 2006). While we realise that violence has historically been used to
refer to acts of physical aggression, and that abuse has often referred to chronic interpersonal
patterns of exploitation and degradation, we appreciate the potential slippage between the two
terms and prefer to show interest in how definitions are deployed, and what they attempt to
capture, or omit (Fraser 2008).
Across a diverse range of fields and modalities, critical social workers pay attention to
common patterns of violence and abuse, including those that are counter-intuitive or unintended
(Fraser & Briskman 2005; Briskman et al. 2008). Working with many ‘shades of grey’, we appreciate
that violence and abuse are often complex, contradictory phenomena, especially when they occur in
family and intimate relationships (Fisher 2004; CASA House 2006; Fraser 2008). We appreciate this
when we work with people affected by abuse (victims/survivors and perpetrators), realising that
some perpetrators ‘accept responsibility’ and are able to sustain non-violent change (Jenkins 1990;
Fisher 2004), while others are not. Similarly, we appreciate that while some victims/survivors will feel
shame and blame, and even chronic depression (Allers et al. 1992), others will not, that the legacy of
abuse symptoms (such as sleeplessness, poor concentration, self-loathing and self-censorship) can
vary, as can the utility of classifi cations such as ‘post traumatic stress disorder’, ‘battered woman’s
syndrome’ and ‘learned helplessness’. That is why we are cautious of the idea that victims/survivors
are ‘needy’ or become ‘hostage’ to their captors and/or suffer from ‘false consciousness’ if they are
not able to ‘free themselves’ of the abuse. We are cautious because we know how these theories can
be used to patronise victims and/or sully their reputations (Gilchrist & Price 2006).
Guided by concepts such as equality, safety, community, humanity and freedom, critical
social workers try to imagine alternative ways of being in the world (Plummer 2003; Baines 2007a).
Alternative ways are important because they help to envisage worlds where violence and abuse are
not regular features of so many people’s lives (Bagshaw et al. 2000; Rose 2000; Hart 2002; SECASA
2004a; UN CEDAW 2007). Yet alternative visions (or stories or scripts) are not always well received.
By conservatives and liberals alike, they are sometimes criticised for being ‘utopian’, ‘naïvely
optimistic’ or ‘magical’ in thinking. Our use of ‘nebulous’, ‘feel good’, ‘modernist concepts’ (such as
needs, rights and equality) and our deployment of ‘essentialising categories’ (such as ‘men’,
‘women’, ‘straight’, ‘queer’, adult and child) may also be criticised for overgeneralising or ‘totalising’
people’s lives (Mann 1994). However, these criticisms are valid only if we adhere too rigidly to these
categories, and to the exclusion of all other factors.
Critical social workers are advocates of progressive social change who work towards
egalitarian and democratic social processes. We realise that for our arguments to be heard and
‘taken seriously’, we may have to argue them more strongly than those reiterating ‘tradition’ or
‘balance’—that is, those who try to ‘trim’ the difference between human rights and their abuses
(Eagleton 2003). Because we correlate objectivity not with ‘even-handedness’ but fairness, we may
be accused of being too partisan or ‘subjective’ by conservatives and liberals alike (Eagleton 2003).
Even so, we try to contain any frustration or anger we might feel and harness it to challenging
injustice. Equanimity is required because it would be more than ‘ironic’ if change that purported to
promote peace, safety and non-violence were to be aggressively or violently pursued.
Apart from being stonewalled by expressions of fatalism (that ‘nothing will change’ because
‘that’s the way it’s always been’), we may also have to confront the dilemmas of objectivity that
Eagleton (2003: 134) describes:

Objectivity requires a fair degree of passion—in particular, the passion for doing the kind of
justice which might throw open your most deep-seated prejudices to revision . . . It demands
imagination, sympathy and self-discipline. You do not need to rise majestically above the fray
to decide that in a specific situation somebody else’s interests should be promoted over
yours.

Critical social workers try to practise non-violence in our day-to-day work (McMaster 1997; Pease
1997; Fisher 2004), monitoring ourselves (Myerhoff & Ruby 1992) and our work cultures for acts of
aggression, bullying, harassment and discrimination. Our underlying aim is to try to work respectfully
with others, including those different from ourselves (Ife 2001; Bishop 2002). We reflect on the
language used to frame situations because we know that language helps to construct reality
(Myerhoff & Ruby 1992). We pay attention to the forms of abuse most likely to be denied, ignored or
justifi ed (Hart 2002; Mayo 2005; CASA House 2006). We are open to recognising new forms of abuse
and forming alliances to tackle them. That is why we respect the work done to recognise sexual
abuse perpetrated by priests and other clergymen against parishioners, mostly children. It is also why
we have supported victims/survivors, their families and religious communities more generally, as
they call to account those who have participated in the public denials and cover-ups (Rossetti 1996;
Fortune & Longwood 2004).
While critical social workers value peace, we do not try to ‘keep the peace’ if it means turning
a blind eye to violence and abuse (Rose 2000; Klosterman & Stratton 2006). Having the presence of
mind to recognise violence when we see it, we remain alert to the possibility that some forms may
still be hidden or underestimated (Rose 2000; Hart 2002; CASA House 2006). We have learnt this
through revelations of the abuse infl icted on many Indigenous children, stolen from parents and
maltreated in orphanages and children’s homes in Australia up until the 1970s (HREOC 1997;
Memmott et al. 2001). We learnt it from the people subjected to the Child Migration Scheme, which
existed between Britain, Australia, New Zealand, Canada and Zimbabwe up until the 1970s (Child
Migrants’ Trust 2001). Through the People’s Inquiry into Detention in Australia, we were able to see
some of the finer detail of the violence and abuse inflicted on asylum seekers (Briskman et al. 2008).
And through inquiries into the health and wellbeing status of transsexuals, we can more carefully
appreciate how oppression can operate (Couch et al. 2007). With so many others, these examples
are sobering reminders of what can happen when people remain, or become accustomed to or
acculturated by, justifications for violence and abuse (Segal 1999; Wood 2001; Robinson 2008).

Working towards social change, not just personal change

Critical social workers resist complacency and naïve and overly optimistic thinking. That is why we
challenge the idea that equality has arrived or that we have entered a ‘post-patriarchal’, if not ‘post-
feminist’, period (Ebert 1996; Segal 1999; Wood 2001). Aware of the importance of challenging
heterosexism and publicly exposing homophobia (Robinson 2008), we recognise the diversity of
interests within the category of GLBTI (gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgendered and intersex), while
questioning the validity of narrowly constructed gender categories and roles (Burge 2007; Couch et
al. 2007).
Concerned about rising numbers of refugees around the world, we challenge the legitimacy
of invasions and warfare, even when they are done in the name of ‘border control’ and ‘anti-
terrorism’ (Cox & Pawar 2005; Briskman et al. 2008). Thinking laterally, we also recognise how other
social practices impact on our environments. We do not ignore the potential violence caused by
‘environmental issues’ such as rising carbon emissions and global warming, a likelihood of a peak oil
crisis across the world, and potential wars over the global water and food supply (Smith 2008).
We participate in debates about basic human rights across the world, such as access to
decent water, food, housing, work and income (Ife 2001). We are conscious of debates about
‘competing priorities’, namely those related to ‘protecting the environment’ with ‘exploiting the
environment’, in the name of economic progress (Ife 2001; Cox & Pawar 2005). Well aware of the
problems of the rapid growth of global capitalism, we realise that the ‘rape of the earth’ is connected
to dominating and exploitative social relations, productive of many forms of violence and abuse
(Smith 2008).
Critical social workers are concerned about oppression and socially sanctioned abuse
(Mullaly 2002, 2007; Baines 2007a). Yet we know that the work involves much more than dividing the
world into ‘good’ or ‘evil’, victim or enemy, so that the latter can be condemned (Fisher 2004). We
know that people do not always abide by conventions, nor do what they are told (Burge 2007). We
know that exceptions are possible and possibly numerous, that some people can triumph over
hardship, and that their stories can be inspirational.
We realise that concepts, categories and classifications (such as class, ethnicity, gender, age,
sexuality, ability and geographical location) can be unstable and need to be used with care (Leonard
1997; Mulvey et al. 2000; Burge 2007). Sometimes this has involved facing new forms of abuse,
including those perpetrated by women and suffered by men (Mulroney & Chan 2005). Aware that
social contexts, status and identities (alone) do not explain the full range of violence and abuse
(Mulvey et al. 2000), we appreciate the individually felt aspects of social problems while still drawing
on ‘unstable’ concepts (such as needs and rights). We still use collective terms such as ‘needs’ and
‘rights’ because they help us to see, explain and take action against violence and abuse in ways that
do not over-pyschologise (Segal 1999). These concepts help us to imagine change beyond personal
deficiency, pathology and ‘maladjustment’ (Goffman 1963; Anastas 2007).
 In all its diverse forms, ‘social change’ is an important but volatile concept with a wide range
of ambitious possibilities. Progressive social change may be even more volatile, given that it usually
means challenging prevailing social norms and practices, including those that assume that profit
trumps human needs, that competition beats collaboration, and that conformity is preferable to
diversity (Burge 2007). For critical social workers, however, profit, competition and conformity are
not revered or promoted because they perpetuate steep social hierarchies and legitimate systemic
forms of abuse, such as poverty and oppression (Mendes 2007). Instead, we value human needs,
collaboration and diversity as we strive to promote emancipatory practices that will not, for instance,
see children, women and ‘queers’ revictimised through the legal system following abuse, or rural
communities further disadvantaged through ‘environmental crises’ such as droughts because of the
stripping of public infrastructure. Progressive social change means supporting rural, remote and
urban communities alike, including those trying to rebuild after emergencies and disasters (Yanay &
Benjamin 2005). It is helped by efforts made to document progressive social change in action (Yanay
& Benjamin 2005; Mendes 2007).
With respect for diversity, we try to be ‘inclusive’ and democratic (Briskman 2003b; Pease
2004; Briskman et al. 2008). We know this is ambitious, but we pursue it nonetheless—and across
many modes and fields of social work. We notice it in action when we see sexual assault services
open their doors to male victims/survivors (SECASA 2004a; 2004b), including those experiencing
same-sex abuse. Respect for democracy and diversity is evident through the multitude of alliances
formed to support the rights and needs of newly arrived refugees. We see it when religious and
secular groups come together to support Indigenous communities (Briskman et al. 2008). It appears
through the support given to people affected by industrial foreclosures and unpaid redundancies
(ABC 2002). It is evident when social workers join with women service users to co-author research
about violence and abuse while promoting women’s friendship and solidarity (Gilchrist & Price 2006).
Respect for diversity is also evident in work done with court-mandated violent men (Fisher 2004),
and social work carried out with people at war with one another (Lev-Wiesel et al. 2008). Overall, the
work is often done with people with scarce material resources and the most socio-cultural and
political obstacles to overcome (Baines 1997, 2007a; Sev’er & Yurdakul 2001; Koenig et al. 2003).
Given its scope and aspirations, critical social work can be emotionally taxing and
intellectually demanding work, especially in the area of violence and abuse. These demands are
intensified by the need for critical social workers to speak out against violence and abuse, and in
ways that do not—even inadvertently—blame the victim (Ryan 1976) or scapegoat victimised
communities. Realising the importance of viewing social problems as social, not just personal,
problems, critical social workers are motivated to stand up against injustice, sometimes against allies,
workmates, bosses, friends or family members (Fisher 2004). We do this even though we know that
questioning (hetero)sexist privilege, or deconstructing currently popular ideas about ‘attachment’,
‘trauma’, ‘victimisation’, ‘recovery’ and ‘resilience’, may not win us friends or favours. At the same
time, we appreciate the need to be strategic with language. We value attempts to find new ways to
represent growth after hazards and trauma, without suggesting that if such growth is absent, it
reflects some kind of inadequacy or failure on the part of victims (Lev-Wiesel et al. 2008).
Mounting arguments that we know are often out of step with traditional (hierarchical,
asymmetrical) social arrangements, we know we run the risk of having our arguments distorted
and/or being called obstructionists or troublemakers (Eagleton 2003). We know that we are more
likely to be charged with unearthing strong emotions and/or testing longstanding loyalties than those
reiterating ‘tradition’ (Goffman 1963; Maushart 2001; Couch et al. 2007). We forge ahead not out of
some heroic motivation, but because working in the field of violence and abuse has brought us up
close to hurtful social practices that have long traditions (Herman 1992; Jackson 1999; Maushart
2001; Wood 2001; Couch et al. 2007).
Historical discourses about provocation, culpability and blame have had a long and lingering
hold over the popular imagination, and have perpetuated ‘normative’ beliefs (or beliefs that
narrowly define what is normal and abnormal) which have then been used to rationalise or excuse
violence (Oakley 1981; Pease 1997; Fraser 2008; Robinson 2008). These beliefs are evident when
particular communities or cultures are cast as ‘naturally inclined’ to be violent (e.g. ‘cultures of
poverty’), or as having a naturally high threshold for violence (e.g. ‘they are used to it’). They surface
through the claims that some groups ‘can’t help’ being violent, and even enjoy the violence (see
Segal 1999). They have a nasty habit of blaming victims and absolving perpetrators, as evidenced
through the historical assumption that men are naturally aggressive, and women and Indigenous
people ‘get used to’ violence, or even take some kind of masochistic pleasure in being abused. For
abuse survivors, attacks on their characters and credibility may have profound effects, sometimes for
generations (Allers et al. 1992; HREOC 1997; Child Migrants’ Trust 2001).
Traditional, patriarchal and asymmetrical gender discourses are founded on the beliefs that,
(1) the sexes are naturally ‘opposite’ and ‘attracted to each other’; (2) fathers are the natural heads
of families and households (Oakley 1981); and (3) women are natural wives (to men) and primary
caregivers to all members of the family (Waring 1999; McPhail et al. 2007). They include corollaries,
such as men having active ‘sex drives’ and ‘instinctual’ aggression and women being inherently
passive and supplicating (or accommodating) (Segal 1999; McPhail et al. 2007). They are used to
promulgate (or push) dominant sexual scripts for romance and family, including those idealising
‘masterful, decisive and strong’ men pursuing beautiful women who still protect their sexual
reputations with the view of ultimately creating nuclear family units of reproduction and
consumption (Oakley 1981; Fraser 2008). They are dominant because they are applied not just to
people for whom they fit but to all people, including those for whom they do not (bene)fit, and who
they may actively harm. For so-called ‘sexual deviants’, their effects have been palpable (Couch et al.
2007; Robinson 2008).
While working with some of the most personal dimensions of abuse, critical social workers
still maintain a watchful eye over patterns of abuse, including common forms of and targets for
abuse. The proliferation of research into violence and abuse has certainly helped. It has taught us
that people classified as ‘sexually deviant’ are more vulnerable to being abused and implicated in, if
not blamed for, the abuse after it has occurred (Bell & Binnie 2000; Willett 2000; Couch et al. 2007).
We know that women are more susceptible to abuse than men, and that when they are abused, they
are often incriminated (Flood & Pease 2006; McPhail et al. 2007).
Age is also a well-known risk factor for abuse, with the very young and old particularly
vulnerable to abuse, especially from ‘loved ones’ (CASA House 2006). Women, children, the disabled
and frail-aged, and people classified as queer also have a much higher risk of violence and abuse than
able-bodied heterosexual men (Bell & Binnie 2000; Willett 2000; Mullaly 2007). Violence among
ethnic minorities is also usually higher than it is for middle- and upper-class Anglo-Europeans. We
know that the risk of being abused increases for people with threatened or ‘spoiled’ identities
(Goffman 1963; Breakwell 1986; Willett 2000), including those who are working class, disabled or
from ‘culturally and linguistically diverse’ backgrounds (Oakley 1981; Ebert 1996; Plummer 2003;
Mooney Cotter 2004). We also know that the levels of violence and abuse are usually higher for
people who are Indigenous, resource poor, not formally educated, and living in rural or remote
communities (Memmott et al. 2001).
In ‘peacetime’, the bodies of women, children, homosexuals, the elderly and/or disabled are
susceptible to denigration, objectification and violation (Herman 1992; Wood 2001; Couch et al.
2007). In wartime, human bodies may become even more of a battleground, with rape, abduction
and humiliation common practices of armed conflict, and increasing numbers of civilian casualties
(Cox & Pawar 2005), most of whom are female (UNIFEM n.d.).
In short, critical social workers appreciate that while we may have ‘come a long way’ with
respect to sexual equality, we still have a ‘long way to go’ (Flood & Pease 2006; Mendes 2007). We
know that, while some women are the beneficiaries of global capitalism, many more live in the
economic margins, if not in poverty, with decreasing educational and employment opportunities
(Young 1997; Fraser 2008). We also know that to this day many women across the world, and across
social classes, find their lives disrupted and/or disfigured by violence, particularly spousal violence
(IFSW 2005) and sexual assault (CASA House 2006).

Recognising global violence against women

As Ban Ki Moon, the United Nations Secretary-General, said on 8 March 2007:

Violence against women and girls continues unabated in every continent, country and
culture. It takes a devastating toll on women’s lives, on their families, and on society as a
whole. Most societies prohibit such violence—yet the reality is that too often, it is covered up
or tacitly condoned (UNIFEM n.d.).

In Australia, the United Kingdom and the United States, between 20 and 30 per cent of women
experience domestic violence (UNIFEM n.d.). In other countries, the estimated figures are higher.
Take, for instance, Bangladesh, Peru and Tanzania, where around 50 per cent of the women are
abused (Koenig et al. 2003; WHO 2008b), or rural Ethiopia, where 71 per cent of women are thought
to suffer some form of physical abuse from spouses (WHO 2008b).
From international research, we know that women of the ‘developing world’ or ‘Third World’
are exposed to a wider range of violence and abuse, including those associated with ‘indentured’ (or
slave) labour, honour killings, dowries and female circumcision (Ghansham 2002; WHO 2008b). Five
thousand women every year are estimated to be victims of ‘honour killings’, with perpetrators
justifying their actions on the grounds that the violation of the woman’s chastity (through premarital
sex) was an affront to their family’s honour (Sev’er & Yurdakul 2001; WHO 2008b).
Attacks against women for ‘failing’ to protect their sexual reputation are widespread across
the world, and have a long history (Fraser 2008). In Pakistan, Turkey, Jordan, Syria, Egypt, Lebanon,
Iran, Yemen, Morocco and other Mediterranean and Gulf countries, however, ‘honour killings’ have
been most prominent (WHO 2008b). With these crimes, another 7000 women are killed each year,
especially in Southern Asia, because of dowry disputes (UNIFEM n.d.), with an unknown number of
deaths wrongly classified as ‘suicides’.
Even when laws and other social policies are enshrined to protect women’s rights and
prevent gender-based violence, discriminatory and harmful social practices may endure, and may
therefore become the focus of critical social work attention. As Hitchcock (2001) writes:
 The anti-dowry laws in India were enacted in 1961 but both parties to the dowry— the
families of the husband and wife—are criminalised. The laws themselves have done nothing
to halt dowry transactions and the violence that is often associated with them. Police and the
courts are notorious for turning a blind eye to cases of violence against women and dowry
associated deaths. It was not until 1983 that domestic violence became punishable by law.

Critical social workers are interested in international issues of gender and sexual equality because we
appreciate that the notion of community extends beyond our individual ‘habitus’ and national
borders (Cox & Pawar 2005; IFSW 2005). We also realise that some of the issues that affect the ‘Third
World’ have now embedded themselves in the societies of more affluent nations through the rapid
expansion of migration and global capitalism (Cox & Pawar 2005; Mendes 2007). ‘Female
circumcision’, early marriage, foeticide and human trafficking are good examples.
With no single health benefit from the procedure but many possible risks (WHO 2005), an
estimated 130 million girls and women around the world have undergone ‘female circumcision’, or
female genital mutiliation (FGM) as it is otherwise known. Even when formally outlawed, an
estimated two million girls each year are thought to have it done (WHO 2008b). In many regions of
Africa, the Middle East and Asia, including some parts of India, Indonesia, Malaysia and Sri Lanka,
FGM is still considered an acceptable cultural or religious practice (UNIFEM n.d.).
Prevalent throughout the world, especially in Africa and South Asia, early marriage involves
young girls being pressured, if not forced, into early marriage and sexual relations. As well as
jeopardising their general health, this (i.e., early marriage) increases their risk of exposure to
HIV/AIDS, and limits the girls’ chance of completing school (UNIFEM n.d.). Foeticide, or the
abortion of a foetus simply because it is female, is also practised in many parts of the world, so much
so that it has been held responsible for creating gender imbalances in Asia, particularly India
(UNIFEM n.d.). In India, foeticide has been illegal for the past twelve years but among the urban
middle classes it is still practised widely (Hitchcock 2001; Ghansham 2002). Apparently, the Indian
government is offering financial incentives to families which give birth to girls and raise them until
they are ‘marriageable’ (UNIFEM n.d.). While precise data are hard to come by, human trafficking is
estimated to range from 500 000 to two million people per year (Cox & Pawar 2005; UNESCO 2004;
WHO 2008b). The majority of victims are poverty-stricken females (see IFSW 2005), some of whom
are kidnapped by human traffickers, while others are lured to ‘developed countries’ such as Australia
through false promises of overseas jobs and educational opportunities (UNESCO 2004; UNIFEM n.d.).

Conclusion

Locally, nationally and internationally, critical social workers are concerned with how social problems
such as violence and abuse interact with social patterns, dynamics and identities. Caring for and
about individuals and groups alike, we do not ignore the social contexts of people’s lives, including
those that make people more or less susceptible to violence and abuse. To do so would be to ignore
the vast body of knowledge about violence and abuse, both historical and contemporary, that
correlates violence and abuse with gender, class, ethnicity, age, ability and sexual identities.
As with other social problems, critical social workers attend to the social, cultural and
political dimensions of violence and abuse. We recognise that sexism, misogyny, ageism,
heterosexism and homophobia continue to pattern many people’s socio-emotional landscapes. We
know that laws, policies and social conventions have a long history of benefiting heterosexual men,
especially middle-class, white, able-bodied ones. And we know that even when these laws are
dismantled they may be reproduced through dominant discourses, which influence the types of
relationships we are likely to have, the resources we are likely to be able to access when
relationships ‘go wrong’ and the stories that are told about our love lives along the way.
As we have suggested, critical social workers are well aware that there is no magic to working
for peace and the elimination of violence and abuse, but hard and often confronting analyses.
Whether it is about violence and abuse, or some other social problem such as poverty and
unemployment, we know that being critical means recognising that people often live in
environments that are unfair, and need to be challenged. As we do so, we try to envisage and then
institute fair(er) alternatives by promoting the values of equality, safety and humanity in intimate
relationships and beyond.