'I've had to ward off men with machetes': domestic violence in the remote Northern Territory town of Binjari

In the small, remote town of Binjari, only 15 kilometres west of Katherine, it is a tragically common reality for many women young and old.

Police are called to the community multiple times a week to break up violent arguments that have left partners bearing lifelong scars.

With a population of no more than 300, Binjari's chief executive Debra Aloisi says she has seen harrowing incidents and has had to resort to banning perpetrators from returning to the community.

"I've had to ward off men with machetes and I've had to lock women in my office to protect them," she said.

"We've had vicious attacks. A women's child was thrown on the ground and she was hit repeatedly with a hammer... Another had boiling water poured all over her.

"It is a cycle. Police come, the [perpetrators] are taken away, they serve some time and then they come back."

Binjari is part of a long list of almost 100 remote communities dotted across the Northern Territory where alcohol is strictly banned.

Yet, Ms Aloisi lays blame directly on the alcohol that is tiptoed in. "It's a massive problem," she says.

"The police stood at the gate for two weeks once and they couldn't believe how much they confiscated."

Ms Marony, who has lived at Binjari from its earliest days in 1990, says most of the women suffer in silence, behind closed doors.

Wearing scars decades old, she says she was forced to escape a violent relationship in 2006, only to turn to another one of the same nature.

"My first partner was really violent. He would strip me and use weapons when I hadn't done anything. But I loved him and stayed too long," she said.

"Then one day I saw a police lady and I went to her to get help and she took me to the crisis centre."

Ms Marony's current partner is currently serving about three months for hitting her with a beer bottle right before Christmas.

"It was the first violent abuse in a long time," she said.

"Most of the time it is verbal arguments because I speak up for my rights. But even for those I'll take off to the [Katherine Women's] Crisis Centre because I know it's safe - a lot of women do that."

She says the rates of domestic violence in the community have worsened as the victims become younger.

"Last year I saw quite a few younger ones in their teens and early 20s getting badly hurt and having to escape. It is mainly the alcohol."

Peggy Slater, a receptionist at the Binjari council for over seven years, says domestic violence is one of the key issues for the town, compounded by limited prevention and support programs.

Up-to-date statistics on the rates of domestic violence in regional and remote Australia, and rates of DV against Indigenous women are hard to come by, but they still paint a stark picture.

Indigenous women living in remote Australia are 45 times more likely to experience domestic violence than their white, city dwelling counterparts, according to the 2001 Gordon Inquiry.

"It is very bad here, but it is all very hush hush," Ms Slater said.

"I see a lot of the younger generation getting intoxicated and then fights erupting from there."

Never one to be in an abusive relationship herself, she knows first-hand what it is like to live in constant fear.

"I grew up with domestic violence. My dad would come home and have two bottles and then another two, and when they were finished he would want to start a fight with my mum," she said.

"I would wake up from the dead of sleep and get our clothes packed, my mum would give me the signal and we'd escape with my siblings."

Norman Slater, a relation of Peggy's, spent years of his life behind bars before making a change, becoming an advocate against domestic violence in Binjari by speaking up.

"It was alcohol-fuelled, boredness, jealousy and the financial hardship - but there was no excuse," he said.

He says it has taken him years of rehabilitation to get to the point in his life he is at now.

"We had no money, we spent it all on alcohol. There was no food, and it all builds up," he said.

"It got bad, I would punch and kick and throw things. I grew up with it, and I was in and out of jail. It was a cycle, but then one day I got sick of it."

Now a role model to younger men in the community he says he has completely turned his life around.

"I started treating my wife with more respect, started drinking less, I got a job and a licence. But it still goes on.

"Police come out here a lot."

He also places blame on access to alcohol and says he would like to see the government provide more resources for men to get help.

"Most people won't do anything sober. But if we had a bigger 'single man's quarters' where men can access help and stay out of trouble, that could be a good way to start breaking the cycle."