The House | On the anniversary of Valerie Forde’s death, we must deliver the change Black women need

Demonstrators march through London in June 2022 in protest against violence towards women, and to honour Nicole Smallman and Bibaa Henry, who were murdered in 2020 (Credit Image: © Vuk Valcic/ZUMA Press Wire)

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When three quarters of Black women who experience domestic abuse want to report it but feel unable to, we should ask a difficult question: what kind of system have we built, if silence feels safer than seeking help?

Valerie did everything we ask of victims. She recognised the danger and sought help. She was failed by the services meant to protect her. Nothing about Valerie and RJ’s deaths was inevitable. If her warnings had been taken seriously, both would still be alive today.

Research by Sistah Space, based on the experiences of more than 2,200 women across England and Wales, shows how serious this problem is. Nearly all of the women surveyed said they did not have confidence that reporting abuse would lead to fair or supportive treatment. Many said they felt misunderstood or dismissed when they did reach out. That matters because what happens when a woman asks for help can determine whether she is protected or put at greater risk.

Violence against women and girls is a national emergency. The government has set out an ambitious approach, with a focus on prevention, accountability and rebuilding trust. That direction is right. But it must be felt in practice across all demographics.

For too many Black women, coming forward is not just difficult, it is risky. There is fear of not being believed, of being stereotyped as aggressive, or of losing their children. Some fear that speaking out will make things worse. When those fears are present, it is not surprising that many women stay silent.

Sistah Space’s report gives clear examples of where things go wrong. Women describe coercive control not being recognised, or harm being minimised because injuries are not obvious. Some speak about bruising on darker skin not being properly recorded. These are basic issues, but they can make the difference between someone being protected or not.

Many professionals work extremely hard to support survivors. But without the right training, risk can be missed.

Culturally competent care is part of getting this right. It means understanding how different experiences shape the way abuse is reported, recognised and responded to. It means building trust, not losing it.

The government has committed to a survivor-centred approach to tackling violence against women and girls. The task now is delivery. For too many Black women, the system still does not feel like it works for them. Valerie’s Law is a practical way to change that. It would make specialist training mandatory for police, social workers and healthcare professionals, so that responses are informed by the lived experience of Black women.

This builds on work already underway, and strengthens it. It would also create a consistent standard, so that support does not depend on where someone lives or who they speak to.

Black women are not asking for special treatment – they are asking for equal treatment. They are asking to be believed and to be treated properly when they ask for help.

If we are serious about ending violence against women and girls, the system has to work for those who currently trust it least. On the 12th anniversary of Valerie and Jahzara’s murders, the case for change is clear. We know what needs to happen. The question is whether we are prepared to act on it.

Abena Oppong-Asare is Labour MP for Erith and Thamesmead