Mali, a single mother from southern Thailand, relocated on September 10, 2017 to be with her now partner, John. She came on a visitor’s visa with her two kids from her first marriage. The two of them together, they believed, could build this new life. What she found herself in instead was a living nightmare of control, emotional manipulation and eventually physical abuse.
After marrying John in 2018, Mali quickly learned that, as a migrant, her situation was especially precarious. She got to know John when he was on vacation in Thailand and they started their relationship on that trip. In the beginning, perhaps, she thought, if I leave and go to Australia, I will find some safety and some stability. Instead, she got ensnared in an abusive dogma.
These are just a few of the strategies that John used to maintain control of Mali. The most grotesque episode was when he made her son eat rotting lettuce leaves. They had been thrown in the garbage can. These acts were the exception. They were part of a much larger pattern of abuse. As her story goes, Mali suffered through an aggressive form of control and verbal abuse that ultimately turned into physical violence.
I tripped in front of the kids,” Mali remembered. She explained how John had forced her against the kitchen door during that attack.
Mali’s life became increasingly restricted. After work at the factory, she sped directly home to her farm in rural south-west Victoria. In January, he took complete control over her money. With a shaking hand, he snatched her inaugural pay cheque. He warned her that he would revoke her visa if she ever had the audacity to defy his orders.
“My visa sponsor feels like he has all the power. He can do whatever he wants to control us,” Mali explained. “We feel as if we’re always at his mercy.”
As a temporary visa holder, Mali was not only lacking in availability of any supportive services, but completely prevented from accessing them. Marie Segrave, a researcher on domestic violence and migration, highlighted how the migration system can enable violence against women and empower perpetrators.
Our study found that migration status is often used as a weapon, Segrave stated. Temporary visa holders who are not on a pathway to permanency have nearly insurmountable restrictions on the social support they’re able to receive. That gives openings to abusers to deceive them and intimidate them.
The fear felt by women such as Mali is only magnified when children are in the equation. “The fear can be very real, particularly in situations involving children,” Segrave added.
With the assistance of domestic violence services, Mali was able to assert control over her visa situation in 2020. In the end, she triumphed and won permanent residency for herself. Reflecting on her journey, she said, “I’m glad I didn’t give up. There is help out there, and we all deserve safety.”
Mali’s experience sheds light on the broader issue of how migrant women are often left vulnerable under Australia’s current visa regulations. Women’s rights advocate Su Chaitham said experiences like these undermine our ability to enjoy basic human rights.
“These actions violate a person’s basic human right to live independently,” Chaitham stated.
Chaitham encouraged the people they worked with who were in harmful contexts to act quickly. “If you are not safe, call triple-zero. If you can’t, leave the house and go somewhere public — a neighbour’s home, a shop, a petrol station, anywhere with people and CCTV.”
“If Australia aims to end violence within a generation, we must provide consistent protection for all women, regardless of visa status,” Segrave asserted.
Mali’s harrowing true story is typical of the predicaments that countless migrant women experience once they are trapped in abusive situations. The intersection of migration status and domestic violence requires immediate attention from policymakers to ensure safety and support for those most at risk.
