“What Would Ellen Pence Do?”: The Enduring Power of Coordinated Community Response in the Fight Against Domestic Abuse

Today, we sit down with Tanya, Criminal Justice Programme Manager at Standing Together Against Domestic Abuse, to explore her journey from crime analyst to national systems change advocate.

In a world increasingly reliant on algorithms and analytics, I often find myself guided by a simple question: What would Ellen Pence do? I never truly met her, not in the way we think of meeting someone. But I sat in rooms where she spoke. I listened. I absorbed. And I never forgot. Her words, her principles, and her vision for Coordinated Community Response (CCR) continue to shape everything I do. CCR isn’t just a theory. It’s a lifeline—a deeply human response to the complexity of domestic abuse. 

I was first introduced to Ellen through Beryl Foster (founder of Standing Together), one of the great minds who taught me how to think like a CCR person. It was Beryl who helped me understand that partnership isn't a buzzword—it’s non-negotiable. She helped me see systems as people and processes working together (or not), and to ask what those systems were actually doing for the survivors we claim to serve. 

That’s what brought me to Standing Together. After starting my career as a crime analyst, I spent time in the private sector. But I found myself questioning the value of making profit for the sake of profit. I wanted my work to matter. I wanted to know that what I was doing could change something for someone. That brought me back—to data, yes, but also to impact. Real, measurable, human impact. 

At Standing Together, my role was data-led—but not just for reporting’s sake. From the outset, the organisation recognised that data and coordination were the bedrock of effective systems change. We tracked cases from the moment a 999 call was made through to conviction and beyond. We mapped where victims were falling through the cracks—and why. And we used those learnings to push for systemic improvement. 

This kind of detailed case tracking wasn’t common practice. But Ellen Pence taught us that if we weren’t following the victim’s journey through every point of the system, we weren’t really doing CCR. And if we weren’t coordinating our responses—across the police, courts, health, housing, social care—we weren’t preventing harm. We were just reacting to it. 

Later, I began to cover Domestic Abuse (DA) Court coordination. Suddenly, the data I had spent years structuring came to life. I saw what was working, what wasn’t, and how disconnected certain systems really were. It reshaped everything I thought I knew. My data frameworks evolved in real time with the reality of people’s experiences. I could no longer look at spreadsheets without seeing stories—of harm, of resilience, of survival. 

Every quarter now, I bring agencies together—police, CPS, probation, IDVAs, voluntary services—to review active cases and systems. That’s SDAC in practice. That’s CCR in action. 

As I have often said: 

“I would like there to be a CCR and an SDAC model in all courts in the country— in Magistrates Courts, Crown Courts and Family Courts. We need coordinators like me who look at the whole picture. People who meet regularly with all the agencies, statutory and voluntary. That’s my vision.” 

It’s a vision rooted in deep practice and collective learning. And it’s driven by one foundational principle: justice must be victim-centred. 

I find myself asking that question constantly: What does ‘victim-centred’ actually mean in practice? 

“Agencies always say they want to be victim-centred—but too often, they forget to ask the actual victim. You’ll be in a room with practitioners from various agencies discussing what should happen next. Everyone has ideas. Then I’ll say—have you spoken to the victim-survivor? And they’ll say, ‘Oh yeah… good idea.” 

That’s not just an anecdote—it’s a warning. Systems built with survivors in mind must also be built with survivors involved. Because otherwise, we risk designing justice in a vacuum. 

I remember a case where the court agreed that a woman could give evidence remotely, assuming she could just find a quiet room. 

“She had two autistic twins, it was lockdown, and they hadn’t stopped to think what that meant for her,” I shared. “That’s the reality we’re working with. Victim-centred means you take that reality seriously.” 

One of the most powerful moments in my journey came during my Masters research. While sifting through old project files, I came across a postcard. A woman who had been supported by one of our partner organisations, Advance, wrote from a café in Paris. She told her advocate: 

“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.” 

That’s an outcome. Not one you can tally up in a quarterly report. Not one you can present in a chart at a funding meeting. But it’s the kind of outcome that matters most. 

The question is: how do we measure that? That became the focus of my dissertation—turning lived, emotional, transformative impact into something we could monitor, not for the sake of bureaucracy, but so we could protect and expand the work that makes it possible. 

I’ve been lucky. I’ve worked alongside people who change lives daily—Beryl Foster, Anthony Wills, and a long list of Independent Domestic Violence Advisers (IDVAs) whose names may never be in headlines, but who have shaped outcomes in ways we’ll never fully understand. They are the heartbeat of our movement. 

That work has taught me that respect must flow in two directions: for the practitioner and for the survivor. 

“You can’t expect a police officer to be an advocate. That’s not their role. But you can find ways to connect with what motivates them, understand their pressures, and build something together.” 

And we do build. Every week. In every SDAC meeting. Over and over again—with courage, with commitment, and with survivors at the centre. 

Of course, it hasn’t all been easy. I’ve sat through austerity. I’ve watched budgets shrink, services vanish, and organisations turn inward—sometimes out of self-preservation, sometimes out of fear. But fear cannot lead this work. Coordination must. Courage must. Compassion must. 

I remember Ellen telling a story about training police in the US and facing strong resistance and denial from the participants. It got so bad that she and her colleagues literally ran out the back door during the tea break. They couldn’t cope. But she told us that story to remind us: this is hard. It’s okay to find it hard. What matters is how you respond. 

That honesty has shaped how I lead. Because I don’t just want change—I want duty. I want respect. I want accountability. 

“I want there to be a duty to collaborate. I want all policies and procedures to be truly victim-centred. I want all Criminal Justice agencies to be accountable for their response to DA. At the moment some agencies appear to be more accountable than others.” 

And I want equality of voice. 

“I don’t want the third sector to be called ‘third’ anymore. We should be at the same table, asking questions and getting real answers—treated like the professionals we are.” 

At the heart of it all is the Coordinated Community Response. Always. 

“Every conversation I have, I end up saying—well, the CCR would solve that, wouldn’t it? It brings people together. That’s how we make justice happen.” 

And justice, done well, is a quiet revolution. A woman doesn’t have to shout to be heard. A court listens. A system responds. And survivors—finally—can feel that the system can work for them. 

Let’s stop chasing postcards and start building systems that earn them.