by Anonymous
Whilst violence against women and girls has reached epidemic proportions in Britain, it’s clear that the government is still not taking this issue seriously. For those of us from marginalised groups, the impacts are even more devastating.
As a survivor, I’ve decided to share my story in the hope that it will shed light on major systemic failures and help other victims.
In the Beginning
After meeting my ex-husband, our relationship progressed quickly. We spent loads of time together and he wanted to know everything about me. It felt like a dream. Following costly and time-consuming immigration applications, I finally arrived in the UK on a spousal visa.
I quickly found a great job and supportive friends, and I was looking forward to building our lives together. Unfortunately, my partner had other plans.
It wasn’t long before the emotional and psychological abuse began. When he escalated to physical and sexual abuse, I was terrified, and could never predict what would set him off next.
Although I was the primary breadwinner, he prevented me from opening my own bank account and spent the majority of my wages behind my back. When he began threatening to cancel my visa and kick me out of our shared home, I knew that I had to get out.
However, as a migrant, leaving was virtually impossible. With no recourse to public funds or services, I couldn’t access refuge or housing support. I was afraid that my partner would revoke my right to stay in the UK at any moment. The prospect of detention and deportation was constantly hanging over my head.
Alone, I eventually managed to secure private accommodation and open a bank account. I hired a solicitor to apply for indefinite leave to remain on the domestic violence route.
At that point, I assumed that the worst was behind me. But it was only the beginning.
Access to Justice
Despite the economic abuse I’d experienced, I didn’t qualify for legal aid or a fee waiver. The immigration application cost thousands and the Home Office kept my passport and residence permit, leaving me without proof of my right to rent and work in the UK.
Then I suddenly lost my job and my financial independence. My health was deteriorating, but GPs refused to register me without ID. I had no access to support or benefits— I was completely alone. It all felt so cruel and inhumane.
I ultimately decided to report the abuse, despite being advised that the police regularly share migrant victims’ data with the Home Office for immigration purposes. But I couldn’t bear the thought of my abuser hurting anyone else. I was assessed as being at ‘high risk of homicide,’ but the police failed to investigate my case properly or enact meaningful measures to protect me. Instead, officers told me to return to my home country.
I was told that the investigation would be compromised if I didn’t hand over my mobile and sign off on its contents being stored by the government for 100 years. I was forced to spend money on a new mobile as I wasn’t eligible for a phone contract. After handing over loads of evidence, the police promised to arrest my ex-husband and search his property. But that never happened. Instead, they invited him in for an ‘interview under caution’ and then let him go. By failing to search his home, the police gave him an opportunity to destroy valuable evidence. Then, over a year into the investigation, they suddenly closed the case. I was devastated.
Victims’ Right to Review
I hired a solicitor to assist me in engaging the Victims’ Right to Review scheme. After identifying numerous failures, the investigation was re-opened. However, the new officers have made countless errors and compounded my existing trauma. Disturbingly, they told me that I couldn’t have been a victim of coercive and controlling behaviour because I had been in full-time work and was ‘articulate.’
Three years later, the investigation is ongoing. Still, the police have failed to consider the impact of my disabilities, the perpetrator’s weaponisation of my immigration status, and/or the implications of the ‘no recourse to public funds’ (NRPF) rule in my case.
I’ve been re-traumatised time and time again, and have been treated like a criminal rather than a victim. My movements are restricted, my privacy is gone, and I’ve lost nearly all stability in my life.
My PTSD has exacerbated my disabilities, and I cannot work. I’m struggling to make ends meet, and the police have told me that I cannot discuss the abuse in therapy.
I’m not expecting justice in my case, but I continue to fight for others who aren’t able to do so.
State Accountability
Meanwhile, in light of repeated promises to better support victims of VAWG, the government have failed again. Recent Home Office reports have rejected the Domestic Abuse Commissioner’s recommendations for additional funding and provisions for migrant survivors, to include those with NRPF and specialist ‘by and for’ services. They’ve also refused calls to impose a data-sharing ‘firewall’ between the police and immigration enforcement.
Without proper support and safe reporting mechanisms, migrant victims will remain trapped with their abusers and dangerous perpetrators will continue to operate with impunity.
As a migrant survivor, I’m aware that the consequences could be deadly.
If the government are serious about tackling violence against women and girls (VAWG), then they need to prioritise victims’ safety over immigration enforcement, to include robust funding and additional protections for marginalised victims. And the culture of misogyny, racism, and ableism within the police must be addressed.
Without meaningful action, survivors like me will continue to live in fear. At a time when nearly three women are killed each week in England and Wales as a result of domestic abuse, I can only hope that I won’t be one of them.