Survivors of domestic abuse do not tend to be popular people. In theory most of us would be on their side, but this is rarely how things play out in practice. As Judith Herman wrote in Trauma and Recovery, it is easy to support the perpetrator because he wants nothing from us — no grand revision of the truths we take for granted. The accuser is more of a challenge: 

Without a supportive social environment, the bystander usually succumbs to the temptation to look the other way […] When the victim is already devalued (a woman, a child), she may find that the most traumatic events of her life take place outside the realm of socially validated reality. Her experience becomes unspeakable.

Much has been written about the pressure to be a “perfect” victim. This can depend as much on the status of the perpetrator as on any qualities pertaining to the victim herself. If she is listened to at all, it may only be because she is useful in other ways. Perhaps her accusation provides ammunition for those who would like to vilify members of the social, religious or racial group to which the perpetrator belongs. Of course, most of the time she is not so “lucky”; either those to whom she complains share the background of the man she accuses, or else there is more status to be gained in pitying him than acknowledging her.

One of the loneliest things about experiencing domestic abuse can be knowing that you are surrounded by people who claim to understand the topic — who may even be well-educated regarding all of the nuances — yet feeling fairly certain that they would find a reason why your experience does not count. This may be why, when the actor Justin Baldoni decided to send a “message of courage” to domestic violence survivors, I wondered whether many would feel not so much “seen” as alienated.

“Dear Survivor,” he wrote, “you embody resilience and courage, qualities that shine bright even on the darkest days […] Each step forward you take, no matter how small, is a declaration of your unyielding spirit and an inspiration to others.” He went on to describe survivors  “lighting the path for those of us still searching for the light” and “liberating us all”. Really?

I doubt any would recognise themselves as modern-day messiahs

To be clear: women who have lived through domestic abuse are amongst some of the most courageous women I know. Even so, I doubt any would recognise themselves as modern-day messiahs, enlightening the non-abused thanks to all of the strength and wisdom that their suffering apparently grants them. 

Trauma is messy and difficult. It makes sufferers do things which, far from inspiring others, have a tendency to annoy them: expressing mistrust, setting boundaries, questioning hierarchies, demanding redress. Reading Baldoni’s praise, I could only think of all the victims who, for all sorts of reasons, would be deemed not to measure up to his standards. It is as though ‘domestic abuse survivor’ has been mistaken for a pleasing political identity rather than understood as an individual who has the potential to disrupt your politics, too.  

Baldoni’s declaration follows the release of It Ends With Us, in which he stars as the abusive partner of a character played by Blake Lively. In this context, it is perhaps worth noting that there has been a great deal of criticism of Lively’s statements while promoting the film, including her claim that domestic violence “doesn’t define you”. Baldoni, meanwhile, has been praised as the only one to engage with the film’s subject matter with due seriousness. Personally, I think Lively’s words could be read several ways, and find it depressing that they have been subject to so much scrutiny. Should the publicity surrounding a film about domestic abuse really be dominated by discussions of the actresses’ flaws, not least when set against the apparent perfection of the abuse survivor as perceived by her male co-star?

It’s a perfection which would almost certainly not be extended to the women giving testimony in another film about domestic abuse, Vaishnavi Sundar’s Behind the Looking Glass. I would encourage anyone complaining that ‘It Ends With Us’ is too “glamourising” to watch Sundar’s documentary — but I suspect that most wouldn’t. “My experience is valid,” says one interviewee, “I know what I know, I’ve seen what I’ve seen and you ought to listen to me.” Many people will not, however, because the women Sundar speaks to are victims of abusive men who claim to be women themselves.  

These are women whose abusers have a particular untouchability

This is not the kind of domestic abuse that gets made into a Hollywood movie (or, if it ever had been, it would be a movie for which all those involved would now be apologising, pleading “different times”). Sundar’s film is, nonetheless, a visceral depiction of the denial of “socially validated reality” that Herman describes. The female partners and children of trans identified men are subject to control, gaslighting and manipulation, but their experiences are supposed to remain unspeakable. As one trans widow, Alison, puts it, “on the left it’s axiomatic that the untold stories will be told. This particular untold story no one wants to hear”. 

These are women whose abusers have a particular untouchability. “The man has been on this hero’s journey,” Helen Joyce tells Sundar. “He’s now this beautiful woman and there’s this fucking bitch who is saying no, that’s not my story.” In Down Girl, Kate Manne argues that moral injury is added to the insult abusers inflict on their victims when all sympathy is misdirected towards the former. Behind the Looking Glass offers multiple examples of this. These are not women who are being celebrated for their “unyielding spirit” — on the contrary, their abusers are. 

As another interviewee, Dinah, points out, the problem is not simply that these women’s partners are trans-identified males who also happen to be abusive. The abuse is deeply enmeshed with the men’s behaviour around sex, gender and sexuality — and all of it is excused by bystanders. While this specificity should not be denied, there are ways in which the film has relevance to other areas of domestic abuse. It presents a sweeping, near-universal version of the not-seeing and excusing response. As is so often the case with this particular assault on women’s rights, it is like being shown an extreme, stripped-down version of what is usually more carefully disguised or watered-down. 

To hear these women speak is more powerful than to be told that domestic abuse survivors are viewed as guiding lights. They are not, nor should they have to be. What they need and deserve is something far more modest: to matter just as much as everyone else — even those whom it is easier to pity because it costs you nothing at all.