Revised: 6 May 2026

When I first conceived of this website, I intended my inaugural post to introduce the PhD project I was about to undertake, followed by further posts documenting challenges and experiences as they unfolded. However, after a meeting with my supervisor on February 27, 2025, that vision is no longer possible and so I write this account instead.

The pursuit of a PhD is a journey driven by curiosity, ambition, and the desire to contribute something meaningful to the world of academia. For nearly two years, I poured my energy into preparing for this undertaking, guided by Associate Professor Claire Ferguson — a noted forensic criminologist whose expertise and reputation I greatly admired.

I originally met Doctor Ferguson in 2017 while I was undertaking her Forensic Psychology unit during my first year at Queensland University of Technology. Looking back, that unit was the most interesting subject of my entire Law/Justice double degree. Her approach helped to shape my understanding of criminological and forensic principles and inspired my curiosity. That inspiration led me to enrol in her Forensic Criminology unit six years later, during which she extended the offer to supervise my PhD — a proposal I considered quite an honour and immediately accepted.

Together, we began laying the groundwork for what I expected would be a productive three-year collaboration—one in which I could refine my ideas and pursue a research question that aligned with my academic aspirations.

One of the research ideas I had been developing stemmed from a domestic homicide case discussed during the forensic criminology unit, where the motive for the crime had been described in the literature as ‘revenge’. While that categorisation seemed reasonable on its face, a deeper examination of the circumstances suggested more complex psychological factors at play.

Around that time, I had been reading the works of evolutionary psychologists, including: David Buss, Martin Daly, and Margo Wilson, whose research explores this often-overlooked evolutionary perspective on human behaviour. Their insights, combined with my experience working with separated fathers in need of support, led me to suspect that certain male-perpetrated violence, often broadly categorised as ‘revenge,’ might instead be driven by more deep-rooted evolutionary mechanisms.

The further I explored this idea, the more convinced I became that this may be the case.

For more on male violence, read my post:
Thoughts and observations on male violence.

Initially, Professor Ferguson was enthusiastic and supportive of our collaboration. However, during a meeting meant to finalise my research question for the Higher Degree by Research (HDR) paperwork, our discussion about feminist criminology marked a turning point in our communication.

I arrived at our meeting ready to discuss three topic questions, and had prepared a slide presentation on suicide, my preferred subject, which I intended to present last. I began with my least favoured topic, domestic homicides, which examined whether certain aspects of evolutionary psychology might contribute to some cases of male domestic violence (DV).

For this topic, Professor Ferguson had recommended that I familiarise myself with the works of Kate Fitz-Gibbon, a prominent academic whose research in this area has been instrumental in criminal law reform. After studying her work, I shared my thoughts at our meeting.

Her feminist perspective, particularly her advocacy for abolishing the partial defence of provocation—a legal mechanism that historically allowed reduced sentences for men who committed murder under claims of being provoked—was central to my comments.

Fitz-Gibbon’s research has been lauded for driving reforms to address systemic gender inequalities by challenging the misuse of this defence in cases of male violence against women, but I was troubled by what I perceived as a double standard.

While she has advocated for the abolition of the provocation defence for men, she strongly supports recognising mitigating circumstances when women kill their partners, framing these cases in the context of prolonged family violence.

In my view, feminist criminology, while insightful in many respects, has inherent limitations because it heavily relies on women’s interpretations of male psychology. Consequently, its perspectives may not fully account for the fundamental differences in how men and women process emotions, respond to extreme stress, or are biologically predisposed to certain behaviours.

The feminist perspective often emphasises that male violence stems from societal power imbalances, where women are subjugated by men within the patriarchy. However, I believe that feminist interpretations of male behaviour—particularly violent behaviour—are often oversimplified or mischaracterised.

I also questioned how domestic violence is portrayed by feminist groups and the media, where it’s usually framed using a familiar cliché: a controlling, violent man severely beating or possibly killing his female partner. But based on various studies, and my own experiences, this stereotype does not always hold true.

Kim Halford, a professor of clinical psychology at the University of Queensland, said in an interview that thirty years of international research consistently shows that men and women are violent towards each other at about the same rate (Arndt, 2016).

Many similar facts are also selectively overlooked in discussions about DV. For instance, data from the Australian Institute of Criminology show that nearly a quarter of intimate partner homicides are committed by women (23.1%), demonstrating that women are not the only victims of lethal domestic violence and men are not the only perpetrators (Bryant & Cussen, 2015).

Additionally, the most recent data pertaining to filicide, or the killing of a child by a parent or parental figure, show that women consistently commit the majority of cases (57%) (Brown et all., 2019).

There is also a consistently employed narrative of victimhood that is used to excuse or soften women’s culpability in cases of DV. This characterisation often obscures the fact that it is becoming increasingly common for women to engage in manipulative behaviours, such as using children as leverage during divorce proceedings, or making false accusations of violence against partners, which are under-recognised forms of abuse, [i.e. provocation].

I then suggested that more research should be conducted into how women’s behaviour may inadvertently contribute to fatal escalation in domestic violence cases where the woman ultimately becomes the victim. But because feminist groups generally dismiss such inquiry as ‘victim blaming’ or ‘victim shaming’, contributing factors are largely ignored.

Additionally, much of our current understanding of violent behaviour is based on social learning theory which posits that the human mind is Tabula Rasa—a blank slate—and that it is only through socialisation that individuals develop behavioural patterns. While many studies show this not to be the case (see Appendix), many criminologists work entirely on the premise that violent behaviours are learned by observing others, particularly during childhood or through experiences in prison (Petherick et al, 2020), rather than being innate biological responses.

The evolutionary psychology perspective, on the other hand, suggests that violent behaviour is an evolved response tied to reproductive strategies and survival mechanisms (Buss, 2024, p. 117; Daly & Wilson, 2017 p. 9). Daly and Wilson further argue that many homicides, especially those related to domestic violence, can be explained by evolutionary principles such as mate retention, jealousy, competition for resources, challenges to genetic lineage, and perceived threats to status (2017, p. 94).

Their work suggests that violence, particularly in the context of relationships, may have evolved as a response to threats against reproductive success, genetic lineage, and survival. Much of the current data already acknowledges this view, but is not being considered in practice.

If this hypothesis about evolutionary triggers is correct, there could be compelling grounds for reconsidering the provocation defence for men—not to excuse male violence against women, but to better contextualise it within a broader psychological and criminological paradigm than it is currently applied.

The implication that certain violent behaviours may be hard-wired through evolutionary processes brings up a key question: what factors trigger these behaviours? And this was the intended focus of this particular research topic.

It was after providing this feedback that I noticed a palpable change in Ferguson’s demeanour. Her tone changed, she stopped looking directly at me, and her responses became noticeably more formal. The warmth and ease that had characterised all our earlier communications seemed to vanish. At that moment, she paused, looked at me, and said, “You know I’m a feminist, right?” The question wasn’t hostile, but it felt like a warning. It was then that I suspected that my critique—although academically grounded—had placed me on the wrong side of an ideological boundary.

She then ended our conversation without hearing anything else I had prepared and casually suggested that I seek-out another supervisor—at another university—to pursue an alternate topic I had briefly considered back in 2024. Her suggestion was a shock. That topic had long since been discarded, as it fell outside her area of expertise and therefore her ability to supervise it.

The purpose of this first of two meetings was to finalise a topic that was more in concert with the forensic nature of our association and better aligned with her expertise. Slowly, it became clear that she was, in effect, withdrawing her offer to supervise me—without actually saying so. She then left to catch a train, leaving me stunned and unsure how to interpret what had just happened or what I was expected to do next.

On the advice of another lecturer, I waited a week before emailing Professor Ferguson to express my disappointment at her decision to end our collaboration and to convey how unfair it felt to have something I had worked so hard for discarded in such a cavalier fashion. The message was comprehensive and direct, but in no way rude or threatening.

The response I received from Claire was confusing. She initially denied severing our relationship, then proceeded to list several reasons for doing so. Much of her reasoning misrepresented my motives and goals, including the assertion that I was “quite unclear on what [I] could spend three years researching” – which was patently untrue and made the reply feel more like an attempt to rationalise her actions than a reflection of genuine concerns.

Every point she raised was incongruous with what had been discussed at our meeting or in any prior communications. Among the reasons she listed were financial concerns, which had been addressed through our agreed plan to prepare a strong scholarship application, which would have resolved any funding issues. My engagement with other supervisors had occurred at her own suggestion, to identify a potential second or third supervisor to support the project.

Furthermore, my commitment to the research had never wavered, demonstrated by nearly two years of preparation and exploration of multiple research directions which had continued while she was away on maternity leave. All of this only confirmed what I had already suspected: that my critique of feminist criminology had been the real catalyst for her abrupt decision.

Yet, because she framed the issue as some sort of misunderstanding, I went to her office at the Kelvin Grove campus to see whether the situation was salvageable. On my first attempt, the head of school informed me that Claire would be on leave for up to three weeks due to flooding and blackouts near her home, so I left.

I was on campus again the following day, and on a hunch I tried again and found that Professor Ferguson was back at work but attending a meeting. As I began writing a note to leave on her door, I was approached by an older female staff member whom I had never met. She asked if she could help, and when I explained who I was and why I was there, she immediately became hostile and informed me that I was not welcome, and that Professor Ferguson did not want to hear from me ever again.

I asked the woman why she was being so hostile, and she replied that she had read my email, as if this alone should explain her behaviour. Knowing I hadn’t written anything in my email that would warrant such a response, her answer clarified nothing. So I asked what specifically in my email she believed justified her hostility, but she refused to answer. Instead, she became even angrier and began admonishing and reprimanding me in front of fellow students and staff before demanding that I leave and never return. Humiliated, I left.

Days later, I received an email from the head of school stating that my recent email and interactions with staff had been brought to the university’s attention, and that based on these, the school was no longer in a position to supervise my PhD. There were no questions asked, no explanations given – just bureaucratic stonewalling that implied I was somehow at fault.

The handling of the entire situation was not only unfair, but unprofessional and devoid of transparency. Furthermore, the lack of process was completely at odds with the university’s own Staff Code of Conduct, particularly the section on Respecting other’s opinions, Making Fair Decisions, and Student Grievances and Complaints – and all this, from an ironically named “School of Justice”.

And I don’t make this criticism lightly or out of personal resentment, but rather from the perspective of someone who ran their own successful business in Sydney for more than a decade before relocating to Brisbane to study. During that time, I employed staff, trained and mentored juniors, and provided services to major corporate clients. On the rare occasion that a disagreement occurred between staff and client, my approach was always to understand the facts before making any significant decision.

Only once I understood the situation could I begin working toward a constructive resolution. I believe that maintaining relationships and creating something positive out of nothing is far more honourable than severing long‑standing ties and ending up with nothing from nothing, unless absolutely necessary.

However, the university’s handling of this matter stands in complete contrast to these principles and constitutes not only a breach of their own policy but, in my view, an especially amateurish form of conflict resolution.

Knowing I had done nothing to warrant such treatment, I contacted the university student university student ombudsman, hoping to initiate mediation and gain some much needed clarity.

But, I was informed that I fell into a bureaucratic grey area. Having graduated almost seven months earlier, a delay caused by Professor Ferguson’s extended maternity leave, I exceeded the six month time limit for past student assistance, and because the HDR paperwork had not yet been submitted, I was deemed not to be a current student, and therefore ineligible for support.

This technicality left me without any recourse or answers. I was effectively banished from the university where I had spent seven and a half years completing a double honours degree and building the academic record necessary to qualify for advanced study, by a bureaucracy more concerned with protecting its own interests than upholding even a modicum of basic procedural fairness.

My research aimed to address a critical gap in criminology by examining male psychology through an evolutionary lens, broadening the scope of existing knowledge. This interdisciplinary approach had the potential to refine risk assessment tools and criminal profiling methodologies, ultimately contributing to more effective strategies for preventing domestic homicides.

Watching that goal collapse so abruptly and without explanation forced me to reflect on what had unfolded. It revealed how challenging prevailing ideologies in academia can carry penalties, even when approached respectfully and in good faith. It exposed the imbalance of power between students and supervisors, and how readily corporate institutions will abandon policy and integrity. Ultimately suggesting that academia still has a long way to go before it meets its duty to support students who challenge stale and ineffectual perspectives.

Although these events have redirected my academic path, they have not diminished my passion for research or my commitment to intellectual inquiry. If anything, they have strengthened my determination to challenge conventional thinking on my own terms.

As disappointed as I am, I will continue exploring and writing, examining established narratives without being constrained by institutional limitations. Some of the most meaningful intellectual contributions have emerged from spaces where ideas can evolve freely, unencumbered by academic bureaucracy or by those who decide which perspectives may be explored and which are sidelined.

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Claire E Ferguson claire ferguson evolutionary psychology feminist criminology forensic criminology Kate Fitz-Gibbon Professor Claire Ferguson provocation defence QUT school of justice Tabula Rasa