There's a popular theory that Australia's fragile society is awash with grog.

It's easy to get swept away with the tide of moral panic. But before we do, let's take a moment to consider some important distinctions.

First of all, Australia does not have a problem with alcohol. Australia has a problem with violence. Violence is not caused by trading hours or licensing rules. Nor is it caused by advertising or labelling or sponsorships. Violence is caused by violent people, in the same way that rape is caused by rapists and murder is caused by murderers.

Second, there is scant evidence to support the idea that drinking heavily will turn an otherwise peaceful person into a violent one. If you don't believe this, I'd recommend a trip to Germany. Living in Berlin for the past four years has given me a very … ahem, sobering view of the true relationship between alcohol and public violence – that is, there isn't one.

Germany is well known for its liberal approach to the bottle. In Berlin you can buy and drink alcohol anywhere, at any time . Were you so inclined, you could walk into a convenience store at 4am on a Tuesday and buy 10 bottles of vodka. You could then take those 10 bottles onto the street, or into any public park, and proceed to drink yourself silly – without breaking a single law.

This is a land utterly bereft of lock-ins, lock-outs and last drinks. There are no legal limits on the trading hours for licensed venues. Pubs and bars stay open until the manager decides to close up, usually around 5 or 6am when the last punters stumble home to bed. And the big nightclubs don't close at all – they operate 24 hours a day from Friday evening until Monday morning.

Drinking in Germany is also incredibly cheap. A case of beer sells for around €12 ($17). Which might help to explain why the Germans are some of the most enthusiastic boozers on Earth. Among the OECD nations, Germany ranks fourth in the per-capita consumption of alcohol. Australia, it might be noted, languishes in 15th place, behind the likes of Slovenia and Portugal.

Some argue there is a direct link between the availability of alcohol and the prevalence of social mayhem. By this logic, a country such as Germanymust be some kind of barbaric hell-world where every night at the pub ends in a brutal orgy of violence.

Alas, the reality here is a little different. Compared to King's Cross or the Melbourne CBD, Berlin's myriad nightlife districts are peaceful – almost serene. You can party all night long without witnessing so much as a heated argument.  In four years I have not encountered a single instance of unprovoked aggression.

The reasons for this disparity in public violence are unclear. It may have something to do with the hard lessons of history. Or maybe it's the sports we play. Many Australian men grow up with rugby and Aussie rules, both of which are more physical than Germany's favourite ball game.

But that's pure speculation. Whatever the underlying factors, Germany's experience tells us something very important about our own: a culture of heavy drinking is not the same thing as a culture of public violence.  One does not necessarily lead to the other.

Few would deny that public violence is a real problem in Australia, although it is much less of a problem than violence against women and children. But to blame any kind of assault squarely on alcohol is to absolve the perpetrator of moral responsibility, while making scapegoats of the small business owners and their employees  in the hospitality trade.

The practice of punching a stranger in the head   has less to do with alcohol than with some of the darker and more primitive aspects of our national character. The disease is deep inside us.

If we hope to some day bring it under control, we might start by exploring the genuine root of the problem, rather than embracing yet another round of oppressive regulations that punish the majority for the actions of a small minority.

Tim Gregg is an Australian freelance writer based in Berlin. 

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