Melbourne, Australia – In December 2017, Lee Little spoke to her daughter Alicia just minutes before she was killed by her abusive partner. That brief conversation – Alicia assuring her mother she was fine and ready to leave the relationship for good – was the last time Lee would ever hear her daughter’s voice. Within minutes, Alicia was run down by her fiancé Charles Evans, who pinned her against a water tank with his four-wheel-drive before leaving her to die.
Despite the brutal circumstances, Evans was not convicted of murder. Instead, his charges were reduced to dangerous driving causing death and failing to render assistance. He served just two years and eight months in prison before walking free. For Lee Little, the sentence remains a devastating symbol of a justice system that consistently fails women. “It was gut-wrenching,” she said, vowing to continue advocating for her daughter’s memory “till my last breath.”
Alicia’s killing is far from an isolated case. Activists describe the ongoing crisis as an epidemic of femicide – the deliberate killing of women by men. According to official government data, one woman is killed every eight days in Australia due to domestic violence. Yet campaigners argue the figures are dangerously understated. Cases like Alicia’s, in which perpetrators are charged with motoring offences instead of homicide, are excluded from the statistics. Sherele Moody of The Red Heart Campaign, who tracks killings of women, insists that the true number is far higher, documenting 136 killings between January 2024 and June 2025 alone.
“The government underrepresents the epidemic of violence,” Moody explained, adding that policy, funding, and public messaging are shaped by these incomplete statistics. She stressed that vehicles are increasingly used as weapons by perpetrators, yet such cases are often dismissed as traffic crimes rather than domestic homicides.
While much of the national discourse often focuses on women’s safety in public spaces, activists say the most dangerous place for women remains their own homes. Data shows only 10 percent of female victims are killed by strangers, with the vast majority losing their lives at the hands of intimate partners or family members. For Indigenous women, the situation is even more alarming: they are 34 times more likely to be hospitalised by violence and six times more likely to die from family violence than non-Indigenous women.
The legacy of Australia’s colonial history – rooted in hyper-masculinity, racial discrimination, and systemic marginalisation of Indigenous communities – continues to shape these disparities. First Nations advocates link high rates of violence to intergenerational trauma, displacement, and the hyper-incarceration of Indigenous people, which perpetuate cycles of abuse and vulnerability.
The cultural backdrop of misogyny also plays a role. Activists and families of victims have criticised media coverage for perpetuating victim-blaming narratives that focus on women’s personal lives rather than holding perpetrators accountable. The murder of 19-year-old Isla Bell in 2024, for example, was widely reported with sensational details about her life, while little was said about the men charged with her killing. Her mother described the reporting as “abusive” and reflective of a toxic national culture that normalises male violence.
In response to rising public pressure, the Australian government has pledged to end gender-based violence within a generation, investing AU$4 billion in a ten-year national plan. Officials maintain that progress is being tracked and measured rigorously, but campaigners argue that without structural reforms, justice will remain elusive. One proposal gaining traction is a national domestic violence database that would publicly record offenders, enabling women to check partners’ histories. Lee Little is among the leading voices pushing for such reform, insisting it could prevent tragedies like Alicia’s.
Currently, the federal government cites jurisdictional challenges, as states and territories manage their own justice systems. But for grieving families like Lee Little’s, bureaucratic obstacles are unacceptable excuses. “Perpetrators can commit crimes in one state and move to another without recognition,” she warned, demanding a system that prioritises transparency and women’s safety over red tape.
For Lee, the fight is personal and unending. She carries with her the memory of Alicia’s suffering, from the broken bones and bruises caused by repeated beatings to the final moments of her life. Her activism is fueled by both grief and resolve. “I will be a voice for Alicia and for a national database till my last breath,” she said, determined to turn personal tragedy into a movement for justice.