Femicide Isn't a "Somewhere Else" Problem

Currently, a documentary about the 2002 murder of Laci Peterson is one of the top offerings on Netflix. It's a staggeringly famous murder case, still well-publicized 22 years after it occurred. But we don't typically use the word "femicide" to describe the murder of Laci Peterson by her husband Scott Peterson, though it easily meets the prevailing contemporary definition: "killing of women or girls because of their gender." According to the European Institute for Gender Equality (EIGE), this includes murder as the result of intimate partner violence, as well as other forms like honour killings and female infanticide.

There are plenty of people quick to claim that femicide is a problem limited to low- or middle-income countries, insisting that gender violence happens in faraway countries or history books. But violence against women because they are women happens on every continent and in every country, across all wealth, ethnic and religious lines. In places like the United States and Canada, what's rare is not the murder of women — it's just the word "femicide."

Early this month, Olympic athlete Rebecca Cheptegei was doused in petrol and set on fire by a former boyfriend. Her organs failed, and she died in agony after suffering extensive burns from the attack. Though Cheptegei is Ugandan, she had relocated to be closer to an elite athletics training center in Kenya, a country where violence against women is an urgent concern.

This is the second time this year that misogyny in Kenya has made international headlines, following a string of brutal killings that drew attention in January. The BBC reports that, in 2022, at least 34% of women had experienced physical violence. The implication is that Kenya is a particularly dangerous place for women.

And yet, women in North America are killed by men even more frequently.

Mexico is one of the deadliest countries in the world for women, and the United States is home to 70% of all femicides in high-income countries — making it just slightly less dangerous than Iraq and more dangerous than Puerto Rico, according to the World Population Review. Canada ranks better, with roughly 1 woman killed for every 100,000, but that's still two or three times higher than the femicide rate in any European country but Latvia.

"I'm the first to admit that I simply wasn't paying attention and, like many, felt femicides were extremely isolated occurrences," says Edna Diaz, the Texas-based co-director of Sangre Violeta / Sangre Violenta, a 2024 documentary short that explores the horror of gender violence in Mexico. "Approaching the topic initially felt daunting because it seemed like such a large and complex thing to try to unravel, and because it felt so distant."

The documentary weaves together three stories — a grieving father, a survivor turned activist, and a radical feminist collective — to illustrate life in a country where ten women are killed every day.

"In the process of making [the film], our team was surprised to learn that much of our American audience had never heard the term 'femicide' before," says Diaz, who points out that the numbers generally underrepresent actual femicide rates as many murders go unclassified, particularly in the US where "femicide" is considered a politicized term and rarely used by law enforcement agencies.

In fact, the word "femicide"  — or "femicidio" — has been more embraced in Latin America, in parallel with the word "feminicidio," which was introduced to capture the "element of impunity and institutional violence" due to inadequate response from the state, according to EIGE.

As a pretty, white and affluent woman from Modesto, California, Laci Peterson is the sort of victim who gets lots of coverage. Violence against transgender women and women of colour is far less likely to be covered by mainstream media, even as it occurs at a much higher rate. In particular, Indigenous women are the most likely to be murdered, and those missing persons and murder cases often go blatantly unacknowledged by the state.

So I'm not asking for more Laci Peterson coverage.

StillI, if we don't see the Laci Peterson story as a story of femicide — if we choose to isolate the highest-profile narratives from the more systemic data sets — then don't we become complicit in perpetuating the mistaken and racist story that femicide is a problem for other countries, other religions and other decades? Don't we embolden the cursed parts of X (formerly Twitter, ugh) that deny the epidemic of violence against women that's happening right here at home?

In search of a motive and narrative throughline, the three-part documentary series points to Scott Peterson's mistress, as if murder was a means of clearing the way to start a new life. In the final episode, the series revisits Laci Peterson's mother's remarks from the sentencing hearing, where she said, "The fact that you no longer wanted Laci did not give you the right to murder her."

This is the moment I keep thinking about. He didn't have to take her life. What level of casual entitlement to another person's body is required to see violence as a viable alternative to divorce or even therapy?

In 2018, 92% of female murder victims in the US were killed by a man they knew. Sixty-three percent were killed by current or former partners — husbands and boyfriends. Homicide is the leading cause of death for pregnant women, according to Harvard T.H. Chan School of Public Health.

That's the sick punchline behind the darkly funny joke: "Being a straight woman is wild because you have to date your only natural predator."

"The reality is, [gender violence] is within reach for many of us, sometimes hidden in plain sight. A woman you know, or someone she knows, might have been affected by domestic violence," explains Diaz. "And this is where the issue often begins — in the home, in the workplace, in our communities, by those closest to us."

As August ended, Rice University student Andrea Rodriguez Avila was shot and killed in her dorm room by a man she was in a romantic relationship with. A former Miss Switzerland finalist was strangled and dismembered by her husband. Just gone. Dead. Killed by men they once trusted.

I often think of Lily-Rose Depp's now-deleted Instagram post defending her father, in which she called Johnny Depp the "sweetest, most loving" person. It was such a definitive statement. I envy that faith.

Sometimes, I wonder which of the men in my life I could defend so definitively. Even the men I trust most — thoughtful, gentle dudes — are men I'm not sure I trust completely. At 34, with what I have seen of the world, are there any men I would be willing to call completely incapable of harm? With iron-clad certainty?

Would I bet on it?

Would I bet my life?

Rose McMackin is a writer and editor, and writes a weekly newsletter about country music.