Have you ever walked out of a conversation feeling unsettled - not because the words were harsh, but because something in the interaction felt off? Like someone wasn’t quite seeing you - or worse, they were seeing something in you they didn’t like about themselves?

Not speaking doesn’t mean not communicating.

A few weeks ago, GRANN was part of ANPA's (Australian Neurodivergent Parents Association) roundtable discussions about the Thriving Kids / No Child Left Behind report. We came into those conversations listening carefully, asking hard questions, and holding families’ experiences at the centre.

This is a factual analysis of the decision to dismantle Queensland’s specialist domestic and family violence policing unit. It is not a reflective piece, not a blog, and not written for comfort. It draws on available Australian data, policy material, and research literature to examine the implications of this decision for victim-survivors, justice processes, and institutional accountability. The focus is on structural impacts rather than individual intent.

*A note of care: this discussion involves violence, death, and systemic harm. Readers are encouraged to pause, step away, or seek support if needed. Conversations about gendered violence should not require self-sacrifice to be engaged with meaningfully.   Royal Commissions in Australia are not everyday affairs. They are formal, high-level public inquiries backed by statute (the Royal Commissions Act 1902) that can compel witnesses, gather evidence, and shine a spotlight into dark corners of policy and society. They’ve been used to examine everything from corruption, institutional abuse, deaths in custody, and even systemic violence against people with disability.   Their symbolic power is immense: they are often described as the nation’s “truth-telling” instruments. But they also come with real limitations. A Royal Commission can identify problems and recommend solutions - but it cannot itself implement culture shift, redress attitudes, or change the underlying norms that allow harm to continue. Implementation is left to governments, bureaucracies, services, and communities, with mixed results.   Historically, some Royal Commissions have reshaped entire sectors. The inquiry into institutional child sexual abuse prompted a complete overhaul of safeguarding practices in schools and sporting clubs, in theory. Many others, despite groundbreaking reports, have seen partial or slow implementation of recommendations. This recurring dynamic helps explain the complexity - and the skepticism - around calls for new commissions.   Before going further, it matters to be precise about language. This piece uses the phrase “killings of women and girls” deliberately. Not as rhetoric, but as description. These deaths are not random acts of violence; they are patterned, gendered, and overwhelmingly connected to power, entitlement, and control. Internationally, they are increasingly understood through the lens of femicide - the killing of women and girls because they are women and girls.   This framing includes cis women, trans women, girls, and gender-diverse people who are targeted because of perceived femininity or gender non-conformity. It also acknowledges that while most perpetrators are men, the focus here is not on individual morality or pathology, but on the social, legal, economic and cultural systems that repeatedly fail to interrupt harm before it becomes fatal. When the Public Says “Enough”! Royal Commissions as Mirrors of Crisis Australia has seen repeated crises that sparked formal inquiries: Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody (1987–1991) - an attempt to understand systemic failures in policing and corrections, and the social inequities that fed them. Royal Commission into Violence, Abuse, Neglect and Exploitation of People with Disability - a two-phase national inquiry spotlighting widespread harm to people with disability. Royal Commission into Defence and Veteran Suicide - which brought to light systemic issues contributing to high suicide rates among ADF members, including sexual violence and institutional culture. South Australia’s Royal Commission into Domestic, Family and Sexual Violence, established after an epidemic of fatal and near-fatal violence, delivered 136 recommendations and has stimulated state reforms including multidisciplinary responses and better regional support services. Australia has no shortage of well-written reports. What it has struggled with is memory. Royal Commission recommendations often outlive the governments that commissioned them. Implementation is uneven, delayed, diluted, or quietly abandoned once public attention moves on. For victim-survivors and families, this creates a particular cruelty: being asked to give evidence, to relive trauma, to speak truth - with no guarantee that the resulting recommendations will ever be fully realised. Any call for a new Royal Commission must grapple honestly with this history, or risk repeating a cycle of inquiry followed by inertia. Each of these inquiries hit a nerve by exposing patterns of harm that everyday politics and policy often ignore. Any serious examination of gendered killings must also contend with who is most exposed to risk - and why. Violence does not land evenly. First Nations women, women with disability, migrant and refugee women, LGBTQIA+ women, women in regional and remote communities, and women living with poverty, housing insecurity or state surveillance are disproportionately affected. This is not because these groups are inherently vulnerable, but because they are over-represented in systems that intervene late, listen poorly, and punish disclosure. Risk accumulates at the intersections of gender, race, disability, class, geography and migration status. A national inquiry that fails to centre these intersections risks reproducing the same blind spots that have already cost lives. Australia’s Femicide Crisis - Numbers and Reality In Australia, violence against women isn’t distant. It’s statistically entrenched: Violence against women is pervasive - lifetime prevalence figures show one in two women experiencing sexual harassment, and one in three experiencing physical or sexual violence. On average one woman a week is killed by an intimate partner, and hundreds more suffer grievous bodily harm. In 2024, 37 women were killed by current or former intimate partners alone. More than 1300 women and girls have been killed in Australia since 2000 - a grim metric that activists say underscores systemic, not isolated, failure. These figures are not abstractions. They represent lives cut short, families shattered, services overwhelmed, and legal and medical systems struggling to keep up. Women’s rights advocates have been calling for a national inquiry into the killings of women and girls - a femicide-focused Royal Commission - to understand why these deaths continue at such scale and what systemic changes could prevent them. Why A Royal Commission? And Why Now? Royal Commissions are proposed in crises that overwhelm existing systems. They can: Break open taboos by allowing survivors and victims’ families to tell their stories publicly. Map patterns of systemic failure across institutions, media, law enforcement, and services. Generate concrete recommendations - from data systems to funding reforms - grounded in evidence and testimony. This is part of why some voices see a commission into gendered killings as necessary: they want a national audit of failures, not just scattered reforms. They argue that without that deep look, policymakers will keep tinkering at the edges. There’s precedent for nation-wide inquiry leading to structural shifts - but not always in clear, linear ways. Some recommendations are taken up; others linger in “implementation backlogs.” And in many cases, entrenched cultural attitudes continue to undercut legal and social reforms. This is where the limitations of commissions become apparent: they inform change, but they do not make it happen. There is another uncomfortable truth beneath these calls for inquiry: Australia does not even count the deaths of women and girls consistently. There is no single, unified national femicide data system. Instead, information is fragmented across police jurisdictions, coronial findings, health systems, family courts, and media reporting. Advocacy organisations and journalists are often left to do the work governments have not systematised. This data failure matters. What is not consistently counted is easier to minimise, misclassify, or forget. A Royal Commission could offer the first comprehensive national mapping of how, where, and why these deaths occur - not as isolated tragedies, but as a preventable pattern embedded in policy silos and institutional gaps. The Current Debate Calls for a federal Royal Commission have recently focused on other high-impact events too, such as the December 2025 Bondi Beach terror attack and rising concerns about antisemitism - sparking debate over the role and scope of national inquiries. Families of victims have called for a Commonwealth Royal Commission to examine failures and societal conditions that contributed to the violence, but the government has so far resisted, pointing to existing inquiries and criminal proceedings. This modern flashpoint underscores a broader truth: calls for Royal Commissions often arise when citizens feel existing systems are too fragmented, too slow, or too insulated from real-world harms to protect people first, and to explain what went wrong. Critics counter that commissions can be expensive, slow, and sometimes redundant with other legal processes - and that governments often don’t act decisively on their recommendations. The truth sits somewhere in the middle. They can catalyse change, but they cannot force it. Royal Commissions are powerful instruments of inquiry. They can compel testimony, expose institutional negligence, and draw together evidence that would otherwise remain siloed. They are particularly effective at naming patterns that governments and systems have learned to normalise. But inquiry is not the same thing as change. A Royal Commission can recommend reforms; it cannot enact them. It can expose culture; it cannot transform it. It can diagnose systemic misogyny, but it cannot, on its own, undo the beliefs, norms and power structures that allow violence against women and girls to persist. This distinction matters. Without it, inquiries risk being treated as endpoints rather than beginnings. Systemic Change and Attitudes: The Real Work Begins After the Report An Australian Royal Commission into killings of women and girls - if ever established - would almost certainly provide an unprecedented, comprehensive body of evidence, testimony, and structural recommendations. But the hard truth is this: Royal Commissions can document patterns, but they cannot rewrite culture. They can recommend resources and laws, but they cannot ensure implementation. They can compel testimony, but they cannot ensure everyday safety, respect, or equality. The chapters of change that matter most happen when education, community norms, policing, media framing, service funding, legal accountability, and attitudes toward gender and violence shift in tandem with policy. This is true whether the focus is gender-based violence, missing and murdered women, fatal family violence, or intersections with race and class. The commission may shine a light - but the long walk toward prevention, respect, and equitable safety happens in the meshwork of daily life: in schools, workplaces, services, homes, and hearts. So if a Royal Commission is a tool, let it be one in a broader forge of transformation. What we really need is not just another report on the shelf - but the deep, persistent work of altering the systems and social attitudes that enable violence to persist. Thoughts to Sit With in Closing Imagine a series of maps. One shows every Royal Commission since federation - lines, arrows, pages of recommendations. Another shows the lived experience of women and girls in Australia: where they live, where they walk home, where systems failed, where support lit up amidst darkness. The maps don’t overlap cleanly - but they tell complementary stories. The first is about inquiry. The second is about experience. A Royal Commission can give us the first map. It can tell us what has happened. But the second map - the one charting how we actually change society’s direction - that is authored piece by piece by communities, policymakers, families, educators and citizens reshaping norms and systems together. In the end, transforming violence into safety - and horror into understanding - requires more than a report. It requires a new kind of cartography altogether: one that marks paths toward equity, justice, and shared responsibility. Wouldn’t that be a story worth telling? Perhaps the most confronting question is not whether Australia needs another inquiry, but why so many women must die before inquiry feels politically unavoidable. We already know the risk factors. We already know where systems fracture. We already know which groups are most exposed, and which warnings go unheeded. The question, then, is not what a Royal Commission might uncover - but what we choose to do with what has already been revealed.

Attachment theory is one of psychology’s most trusted maps. Secure. Anxious. Avoidant. Disorganised. Neat categories, widely taught, easily applied. They promise insight into how we love, connect, and survive relationships.

A Professional Learning Reflection for the Start of the School Year

There is a quiet assumption embedded in many systems that work with children.

Transitions are everywhere.

In psychosocial recovery work, we are often invited into people’s lives at moments of intensity. There is courage in that invitation. There is also responsibility.

In neurodivergent life, there are two “social survival apps” many of us end up running in the background:

In community and non-profit spaces, especially those led by disabled, neurodivergent, and queer people, there is a quiet pattern many of us recognise but rarely name.

There’s a quiet list many children learn by heart long before they can name it.

“Loneliness epidemic” has become a headline magnet, but underneath the buzzy phrasing is a genuinely messy public health and social justice issue. Loneliness isn’t just “being alone”. It’s the felt gap between the connection you want and the connection you have. You can be in a house full of people and still feel like you’re speaking through glass.

 When recess gets taken away during the school day, it’s rarely about “bad behaviour”.

In Disability and Neurodiversity spaces, “Thank you for being brave” has become almost automatic. A reflex. A well-meant pat on the back after someone discloses something deeply personal, painful, or risky.

On the Disability-Industrial Complex Driving the National Autism Strategy.

Autistic community is one of those things people talk about as if it already exists in every corner — a ready-made place where we all fit neatly, instantly, effortlessly.But the truth is: authentic autistic community is still something we are building.Carefully. Tenderly. Imperfectly.

When Burnout Arrives Disguised as Belonging