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    If Domestic Abuse Is Underreported, Why Do We Celebrate Falling Figures?

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    Reading Time: 4 minutes

    A drop in reported incidents is often seen as success. But what if it isn’t?

    What if it reflects fewer victims coming forward, not less abuse?

    We know many victims never report to police. And even the wider data we rely on doesn’t always capture repeat victimisation in full.

    So what does “success” actually look like?

    From my perspective, both professionally and personally, it isn’t silence.

    As a survivor, I never reported to the police. Not because I didn’t trust them, but because reporting is only the beginning of a much longer journey, one that couldn’t guarantee the safety I needed. That matters. Because victims are weighing up whether to report alongside what happens next.

    If we want to measure success honestly, we need to look beyond reduced numbers and focus on something harder to quantify:

    • Trust
    • Confidence
    • Whether victims feel safer for engaging with the system.

    When Falling Domestic Abuse Figures Aren’t Good News

    A reduction in domestic abuse figures is often presented as progress. Fewer incidents. Fewer reports. A sign that prevention is working. But what if that’s not the full picture?

    Domestic abuse remains one of the most underreported crimes. Data from the Office for National Statistics, including insights from the Crime Survey for England and Wales, consistently shows that many victims never contact the police at all. For those who do, it is rarely the first incident, it is often one of many, and often after a significant escalation.

    Even these broader measures have limitations. Survey data has historically capped the number of repeat incidents recorded per victim, meaning high-frequency abuse is not fully captured. So while these figures offer a wider lens than police data alone, they still do not tell the whole story.

    When we see a drop in reported incidents, we need to ask a harder question: Are we seeing less abuse – or less reporting? Because those are not the same things.

    For a victim, reporting domestic abuse is not a simple or straightforward decision. It carries risk. It can escalate harm. It can affect housing, finances, children, and immigration status. It can mean navigating a system that feels complex, slow, or, at times, inconsistent in its response.

    Confidence in that system matters.

    If victims believe they will be protected, taken seriously, and supported through the process, they are more likely to come forward. If they do not, they are more likely to remain silent. And silence does not mean safety.

    It is also important to be clear about where that lack of confidence sits. Underreporting is not necessarily a reflection of the police response. Policing practice around domestic abuse has improved significantly. Officers are better trained, risk is more consistently identified, and safeguarding is more embedded than it has been in the past.

    If Domestic Abuse Is Underreported, Why Do We Celebrate Falling Figures? 1

    At NCDV, we have several passionate staff with backgrounds in policing, and we work in partnership with forces across England and Wales. We know how committed they are to protecting victims. But victims are not only deciding whether to report to the police. They are weighing up what comes next.

    The criminal justice process can be long, complex, and, at times, retraumatising. Outcomes are uncertain. Convictions can be difficult to secure. And for many, the question is not simply “will I be believed?” but “will I actually be safer for going through this?”

    There is also a more personal reality that sits behind this. As a survivor of domestic abuse, who did not engage with the criminal justice system, it was not because I did not trust the police. It was because I understood that reporting would only ever be the beginning of a much longer process, one that could not guarantee the outcome I needed to feel safe.

    For me, that uncertainty mattered. And it will matter for many others.

    The decision to report is not just about seeking an immediate response, it is about weighing the risks, the process, and the possible outcomes. For some, the uncertainty of that journey is enough to prevent them from taking that step at all.

    In many areas, success is still measured by reductions in recorded incidents. But in the context of domestic abuse, that measure is incomplete, and potentially misleading. Because a system that victims trust should not necessarily see fewer reports in the short term.

    It may, in fact, see more. More disclosures. More first-time reports. More victims choosing to seek help earlier. That is not failure. That is visibility.

    It is also an opportunity, because once abuse is visible, it can be responded to. Safeguards and support can be put in place. Legal protections can be pursued. Risk can be managed. Without that visibility, none of those things happen.

    If we are serious about tackling domestic abuse, we need to be equally serious about how we define success. Not just fewer recorded incidents. But greater victim confidence. Stronger reporting pathways. Consistent and effective responses. And, ultimately, meaningful protection.

    Because in this context, success is not silence. It is trust, not just in reporting, but in what happens next.

    Sally Herzog
    Training & Engagement Manager, NCDV

     

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    By Fiona Bawden, Times Online (8th May 2007)

    “Steve Connor, a student at City Law School, is a man on a mission. Six years ago he was a fairly directionless 27-year-old. Today, as well as taking the Bar Vocational Course, he is chairman of the National Centre for Domestic Violence, a ground-breaking organisation that he dragged into existence after a friend could not get legal help to protect her from an abusive partner.

    Connor’s route to the Bar has been circuitous. In 2001 he returned from a year in Australia (he says that he would not dignify describing it as a gap year), and took a job as a process server in South London. The job (“I just saw it advertised in the paper”) was not quite as dull as it sounds. On one occasion he was threatened with a machete, on another, he was nearly stabbed by a man he had arranged to meet on Clapham Common to serve with a non-molestation order: “He’d seemed really friendly on the phone…”

    The turning point in his life came when a friend, who was being abused by her partner, turned to him for support. Connor went with her to the police. She did not want to press criminal charges so the police suggested that she visit a solicitor to take out a civil injunction. “We must have seen 12 solicitors in a morning. We just went from one to the next to the next to the next. Everyone was very eager to help until we sat down to fill in the forms for the legal aid means test,” he says. The woman, who had a small child, did not qualify for public funding. But, Connor says, her financial situation as it appeared on paper did not bear any relation to her financial situation in reality. “She had a part-time job and she and her partner owned their home. Yet she didn’t have any money. Her boyfriend was very controlling and controlled all the money; he kept the chequebooks and didn’t let her have access to the bank account.”

    The injustice of the situation got under Connor’s skin. “I just couldn’t believe that there was no help available to people who did not qualify for public funds but could not afford to pay.

    I just kept feeling that this must be able to be sorted if only someone would address it.”That “someone” turned out to be him.

    In 2002, thanks entirely to Connor’s doggedness, the London Centre for Domestic Violence was formed. It started out with him and a friend, but is now a national organisation, covering 27 counties, and has helped approximately 10,000 victims last year to take out injunctions against their partners.

    NCDV now has nine full-time staff, 12 permanent volunteers and has trained over 5000 law and other students as McKenzie Friends to accompany unrepresented victims into court. We have also trained over 8000 police officers in civil remedies available regarding domestic violence. The National Centre for Domestic Violence (NCDV) has branches in London, Guildford and Manchester and is on track to have branches in 16 areas within the next two years.

    NCDV specialises exclusively in domestic violence work and could be characterised as a cross between McDonald’s and Claims Direct. The high degree of specialisation means that its processes are streamlined: clients can be seen quickly and the work is done speedily and cheaply. “Sometimes, we will have one of our trained McKenzie Friends at a court doing 10 applications in one day,” Connor says.

    Clients are not charged for the service. NCDV staff take an initial statement: clients who qualify for legal aid are referred to a local firm; those that don’t get free help from the centre itself. It runs on a shoestring, heavily reliant on volunteers and capping staff salaries at £18,000 a year.

    Steve expects to qualify as a barrister this summer and hopes that having a formal legal qualification will give the centre added clout. “We are already acknowledged as experts and consulted at a high level, so I thought it would be helpful if I could back that up by being able to say I’m a barrister,” he says. He is just about to complete a one-year full-time BVC course at the City Law School (formerly the Inns of Court Law School) and, all being well, should be called to the Bar in July. Although Connor sees his long-term future as a barrister, he says that he has no immediate plans to practise. “I want to get NCDV running on a fully national level. Then I may take a step back and have a career at the Bar.”