Domestic violence destroys the lives of women and girls everywhere. But for Black and ethnic minority women, the pain is heavier, and the road to safety is far harder. Abuse does not happen in isolation. It sits alongside racism, poverty, language barriers, cultural isolation, and fear of immigration control. These pressures do not just surround abuse; they trap women inside it.
There is a damaging belief that ethnic minority women “accept” violence and that it is normal in their cultures. This is not true. Women do not stay because they accept abuse. They stay because leaving can mean sleeping on the streets, losing their children, being detained or deported, or being rejected by their own community. When women ask for help, they are often not believed. Their abuse is treated as a cultural problem instead of a crime and a human rights violation. This lets abusers escape responsibility and leaves women carrying both the violence and the shame.
Because abuse is labelled “cultural,” women are refused protection and specialist support. They are told to wait, to cope, or to go back home. Fear grows. Trust in services disappears. Many women feel there is nowhere safe for them to turn. Silence grows stronger. Trauma deepens. Violence continues.
Our work comes from lived experience. We are not speaking from the outside; we are survivors of this violence and discrimination. We know what silence costs. We know how hard it is to walk away from abuse when you are a woman of colour. We know what it means to rebuild your life while being judged, blamed, or ignored. We know what it is to raise children while carrying fear and trauma. We know what it is to be seen as “culture” instead of as a human being.
Unlike referral-only services, our work does not end with a form or a phone number. We walk alongside women and girls for as long as they need us. We deal with immediate danger, but we also tackle the barriers that stop women from speaking out or staying safe, e.g., insecure immigration status, lack of English, no money of their own, and deep mistrust of institutions that have failed them before. We are a grassroots organisation, rooted in our community, taking the journey with our women and girls instead of passing them on and walking away. This early, steady support prevents crises and reduces pressure on emergency services, hospitals, police, and child protection.
Yet despite this, women-of-colour-led specialist services like ours are pushed to the margins. We are excluded from mainstream funding and left out of planning where decisions about women’s safety are made. There is still no clear local strategy that puts the lives, safety, and rights of women of colour at the centre, even in a city that calls itself a place of sanctuary. This is a serious failure in protecting women, in meeting equality duties, and in safeguarding those most at risk.
As an organisation, we have been punished for naming violence against women of colour. We have been shut out of funding, blocked from support systems, and excluded from spaces that claim to stand up for women’s rights. Our work has been treated as a side issue instead of essential work. We have been forced into “them and us,” where our women are seen as someone else’s responsibility, and we are treated like outsiders.
The worst discrimination we faced was losing our building. We were evicted. We begged for help. We warned what would happen to the women who depended on us. Still, doors were closed. We were left without a roof, while women in danger were left without safety. That was not bad luck. That was discrimination in action.
Our misery is not accidental. It is created by systems that ignore women of colour, silence their suffering, and deny them the same protection given to others. We are still here, but we should never have had to suffer this much just to exist.
Women of colour do not need “cultural excuses” instead of real protection. They need the same safety, justice, and support as any other woman. Violence against women and girls cannot be reduced unless survivor-led, specialist services are treated as essential, not optional. These services must be built into the system, not added as an afterthought.
Funding and backing these services is not voluntary- it is a legal duty and a moral one. It saves lives. It improves safeguarding. It prevents harm before it becomes a crisis.
Gender justice and public safety will never be achieved while women of colour are left behind. This is not a small gap in the system, but it is a deep injustice at its centre. Closing this gap is not extra work; it is the foundation of any serious and fair strategy to end violence against women and girls.
