accountability - National Coalition Against Domestic Violence

Transcription

THE
VOICE
The Journal of the Battered Women’s Movement
Spring 2009
ACCOUNTABILITY
In this Issue
Reflective Leadership as a Strategy
for Accountability .................................... 4
Media Accountability in Reporting
Violence Against Women ...................... 7
Minimizing the Damage—Male
Accountability in Stopping Men’s
Violence Against Women ...................... 8
Untitled....................................................... 14
Accountability: The ETERNAL
Struggle ....................................................... 17
Abuse: A Journey Towards
Claiming the Term ................................... 19
My Offering ............................................... 20
I Can ............................................................. 22
Made in America: The Role of
Gender Socialization in Domestic
Violence ...................................................... 24
The VOICE is published by the
National Coalition Against
Domestic Violence
Editor: Gretchen Shaw
Contributors to this Issue:
Ben Atherton-Zeman
Asher Burk
Allison Fradkin
Lynn O’Neill
Terri Pease
Diane Singer
Rachel N. Spear
Rita Smith
Jason Robinson
Published opinions do not necessarily
represent the official position of the
National Coalition Against Domestic
Violence
To reprint any information listed in this issue,
please write Gretchen Shaw, Editor of
Publications, at [email protected].
Copies of The VOICE are available for
purchase through our online store:
http://shop.ncadv.org.
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Violence Programs
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NCADV Board of Directors
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Website: www.ncadv.org
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Lois Galgay Reckitt, President (Maine)
Barbara Paradiso, Treasurer (Colorado)
Rose Garrity, Secretary (New York)
Barbara Blunt (Louisiana)
Marilyn P. Horsey, (Pennsylvania)
Eileen Hudon (Minnesota)
Rabbi Diana Manber JW (New York)
Lu Rocha (Illinois)
Hediana Utarti (California)
The Voice: The Journal of the Battered Women’s Movement
Contributors (as provided):
Ben Atherton-Zeman
Ben Atherton-Zeman is a spokesperson for the National Organization for Men Against Sexism and is a public speaker on issues of
violence prevention. He has presented in 35 states, Canada, China
and the Czech Republic. For the past 15 years, Ben has worked
doing prevention education for rape crisis centers, domestic violence programs, and state coalitions.
Asher Burk
Asher Burk is the Family Violence Intervention Program (FVIP)
Manager with the Georgia Commission on Family Violence. He is
a lifelong resident of Decatur, GA and a graduate of Decatur High
School. He graduated from Guilford College in Greensboro, NC in
2001 with a BS in Business Management with minors in Criminal
Justice and Marketing. He completed a one-year intensive internship with Men Stopping Violence in 2005 and is active in their
Community Restoration Program. Asher has been working at the
Georgia Commission on Family Violence since 2007, first as an
intern, later as the FVIP Certification Coordinator, and now in his
current position. He is trained in various domestic violence intervention models including the Duluth Model out of Minnesota and
the EMERGE model out of Boston, Massachusetts, has attended
many trainings throughout the nation, and in the state of Georgia.
Asher comes to this work with a passion to end men’s violence
against women driven by personal experience with domestic violence as well as experience facilitating batterer’s groups.
Allison Fradkin
Allison Fradkin holds a degree in Women’s Studies from Purchase
College, where she received the Bell Chevigny Prize in the Humanities for Feminist Studies and earned the distinctions of Outstanding Junior and Outstanding Senior in her field. Since graduating from Purchase, Allison has pursued writing professionally. Her
work has appeared in print, online, and onstage. In addition to
writing, Allison is a drama instructor for young adults with disabilities.
Terri Pease
Throughout her career Dr. Terri Pease has focused on creating
clinical and programmatic responses to sexual assault and domestic violence in a variety of settings. As the Adult Trauma Specialist/Trainer at the Domestic Violence and Mental Health Policy
Initiative (DVMHPI) in Chicago, she works as part of a team to
develop curricula and training materials that address the intersection between domestic violence, trauma and mental health and
provides training and technical assistance to public mental health
agencies, state psychiatric hospitals, and domestic violence, consumer advocacy, and disability rights programs. She has devoted
much of her work to addressing trauma and abuse of people with
disabilities. She has been especially interested in enabling and
broadening collaborations between victim service providers and
victims with mental health, cognitive and learning disabilities.
Terri has provided direct services to survivors of domestic violence or sexual assault at programs in Pennsylvania, New York
and New Jersey, and directed a program in New York City that
engaged primary care physicians and mental health providers in
addressing domestic violence.
Accountability
Diane Singer
Diane Singer is an essayist, fiction writer, and fashion copywriter.
Her personal essay, DARKNESS AT NOON, chronicling her
brain tumor diagnosis and the resulting impact it’s had on her life,
was featured in the January 2009 issue of Self magazine. As a domestic violence survivor, she is acutely familiar with the worldwide epidemic of abuse. Diane has publicly spoken before the
press on behalf of the National Domestic Violence Hotline
(NDVH) putting a face and name to a survivor of domestic violence. Attending a DC press conference on behalf of the NDVH
alongside Joe Biden was one of her greatest moments, truly giving
credence and validation to the word survivor.
Rachel N. Spear
Rachel N. Spear grew up in Waveland, MS, and is currently working on her doctoral degree at Louisiana State University (LSU).
Her research deals directly with writing and creative expression as
forms of healing post-trauma, crossing several disciplines such as
psychological, pedagogical, and therapeutic studies. While pursuing her studies, she has taught English courses and is presently
working with LSU’s Communication across the Curriculum (CxC)
program, a grant-funded program that enhances undergraduates’
communication skills. She has presented her research at conferences such as Northeast Modern Language Association and American Association for the Advancement of Curriculum Studies. In
addition, she has been involved in a couple local art shows, judging student work as well as sharing her own. Spear finds joy in
teaching, volunteering, creating, laughing, and being with loved
ones and believes creativity, love, and stories can be transformative.
Rita Smith
Rita Smith is the Executive Director of the National Coalition
Against Domestic Violence (NCADV). Rita Smith began working
as a crisis line advocate in a shelter for battered women and their
children in Colorado in 1981. She has held numerous positions in
Colorado and Florida since then in several local programs and the
state coalitions, including Program Supervisor and Director. She is
currently the Executive Director of the National Coalition Against
Domestic Violence, where she has been working since late 1992.
She has been interviewed by hundreds of newspaper reporters,
appeared on many local and national radio and television news
shows, including the Washington Post, USA Today, People Magazine, NPR, Today Show, Good Morning America and Oprah Winfrey Show. She has co-authored a legal manual for attorneys working with domestic violence victims in Colorado, and in the fall of
1997, co-authored an article on child custody and domestic violence published in The Judges Journal (an American Bar Association publication). She believes that advocacy and social change are
intricately connected, and can not be done separately.
Jason Robinson
Jason Timothy Robinson is a teacher for Alexandria City Public
Schools. He is 27 years old. Jason was born in Brooklyn, New
York and grew up in Orangeburg, South Carolina. Jason attended
the University of Michigan during his career as an undergraduate
and has a Master’s Degree from Hampton University. Jason is an
educator, a writer, and a poet.
3
Reflective Leadership as a Strategy for Accountability
by Terri Pease, Ph.D.
No one should have to make a hard decision alone.
--Jeree Pawl
omestic violence programs, staff, and managers
alike struggle with finding ways to keep themselves accountable without losing sight of our values of
social justice and social transformation. Whether we are
talking about the difficulties that we face in building and
maintaining community among survivors, or the issues of
staff and program management, too often, when DV advocates and program leaders think about accountability,
we understand this as a distasteful responsibility that primarily involves oversight and criticism. For us as domestic violence programs, where empowerment is a key element of practice, these issues of accountability and supervision leave us uncomfortable. We recognize power as an
instrument of oppression, and consciously do not want to
replicate controlling relationships. With this mindset, it is
easy to avoid taking on the responsibility of oversight and
management until issues or difficulties create a sense of
urgency. Then, in responding to urgency, we are more
likely to approach a situation with criticism and direction.
The resulting relationships, fraught with anxiety, can lead
to an atmosphere of stress and mistrust that then permeates the entire program atmosphere.
Thoughtful, proactive leadership is critical to avoiding
this challenge in our work. P.J. Bloom described leadership as a way of thinking. Supervision, management,
power, and responsibility can all be thought of as aspects
of leadership.1 However, we tend to think that only the
first of these, the exercise of influence, is the essence of
program leadership. As program leaders, we are certainly
charged with the responsibility to maintain service levels,
to fulfill program commitments, to keep to budget requirements, and to report to our funders and constituencies. When we are explicit about these responsibilities and
about our values as leaders, when we directly state our
hopes and dreams for survivors, for staff, for programs
and agencies, for the movement, and for society, we model a reflective process that can support empowerment for
staff and survivors.
Reflective practice and reflective supervision, a model of
staff development and program accountability that has
been used with success in fields including nursing,2 community development,3 and early childhood education,4 has
the potential to resolve our dilemmas around accountabil4
ity in DV programs as well.5 Reflective practice involves
a process of mutual and ongoing learning in an organization. As an approach to supervision, it removes the authoritarian "top-down" focus of some administrative supervision, replacing it with a collaborative approach that
allows the shared wisdom, expertise, and experience of
program staff to be shared, strengthened, and applied to
our mutual goal of increasing safety for battered women
and their children.
In reflective practice, we learn that accountability does
not have to mean adherence to professional, academic, or
medically based models of practice (although we should
not deprive survivors of access to what is helpful from
this knowledge). First, accountability should be to the survivors we work with and to our values and aspirations as
individual advocates in a movement. Jeree Pawl, who has
spearheaded the application of reflective processes in the
field of early care and education, recognizes the essential
role that supervision plays in the quality of our work on
behalf of others:
The relationship between supervisor and
supervisee sets a major tone that reverberates throughout the system, whether it
does so for good or for ill. When it is positive, it can hasten exponentially the process of what the supervisee learns
through experience and self-reflection.
The practitioner’s experience in supervision directly affects the interactions he
has with the child and the family. It is this
complex nest of relationships that we care
about.
Jeree Pawl’s tenet of reflective practice, quoted at the beginning of this article, helps us understand that a supervisor's role is primarily one of supporting staff (who make
difficult decisions every day) to share knowledge, experience, and thought in systematic ways in order to provide
quality services.6 This approach can help DV programs
preserve a commitment to social justice, empowerment,
and equality of voice in the day-to-day running of both
walk-in and shelter DV programs.
Ideally, reflective supervision focuses on building a learning relationship, one that sets the emotional and interpersonal tone for practice throughout the agency. This process is different from what we usually expect when we
think of a meeting for supervision, whether we have the
role of supervisor or supervisee. Reflective practice requires reflective leadership – awareness of our values, our
hopes and dreams as well as our need to influence practice by examining information, thoughts, and feelings
about the work. When we work and supervise reflectively,
the feelings and responses of staff and leaders are just as
relevant as information about standards, policies, and program requirements.
Becoming a reflective organization7 means that, at all levels of organizational practice, supporting the aspirations
and development of individual staff is a critical part of
program accountability. Program leaders (executive directors as well as program managers) who reflect upon and
attend to their own practice, values, hopes, and dreams, in
addition to their responsibility for the quality of practice,
create an atmosphere in which all staff in an agency feel
empowered to take responsibility for the quality of their
individual work and their individual practice. This is illus-
Accountability
trated by the two example approaches that follow in
which a program director (Carla) might take in response
to a situation when an advocate (Liza) has had an unsuccessful outcome in her work with a survivor (Marlene).
In ordinary practice, Carla, the supervisor, might approach Liza by saying, “I want to talk to you about the
interaction with Marlene.” In a system in which a blamebased approach to oversight and supervision prevails, Liza reasonably might feel immediately anxious, knowing
she is about to be called on the carpet about her work. She
enters the encounter prepared to protect herself, while
Carla is anxious about the unpleasant necessity of correcting an employee. The supervisor might try to be gentle
while wanting to be clear by saying, “We need to talk
about what happened.” Liza may respond by defending
herself: “I did my best.” She may also respond by blaming
the survivor: “Marlene is just difficult.”
In a reflective approach to the same situation, Carla and
Liza have a standing appointment for supervision. During
their next meeting, Carla begins as she always does by
asking Liza, “What’s on your mind about your work this
week? What shall we talk about?” Liza, like most work-
5
ers, knows when things have gone badly and can say (if she trusts her supervisor and the process), “I was unhappy about
how things went with Marlene.” However, even if Liza does not volunteer to talk about the situation, Carla still leaves
the agenda of the session in Liza’s control. Then, as the session moves on, she finds the opportunity to invite Liza to reflect on her experience with Marlene by stating her own worries and concerns.
Carla may say, “I was worried about how things went with Marlene.” This description includes Carla’s own feelings
about the situation and how it affects her hopes about how Liza’s continued work with Marlene proceeds. Carla’s questions (“What were your thoughts about what happened with Marlene? Did you accomplish what you hoped? What has
worked before when you faced that situation?”) all invite Liza to think about her own practice, to reflect on her work,
and to use Carla as a resource to improve her own interactions with Marlene and other survivors.
The advantages to this reflective approach include the predictability of supervisory sessions, the building of trust between supervisor and staff member, and clarity about supervisory relationships. Yet perhaps most importantly, the reflective approach places both the power and the responsibility for the quality of Liza’s work in Liza’s hands. The reflective
supervisor does not have to make her staff perform well. Reflective supervisors recognize that empowering staff to think
about and refine their own work shares power and retains an empowerment based approach.
To work in this way can be a challenge if we are accustomed to top-down leadership. The reflective supervisor has to
approach the interaction with her staff member with open hands knowing that she cannot use her power to force better
practice. Ultimately though, empowering staff to reflect on their own work lessens the burden on supervisors, and by
employing reflective practices, domestic violence programs help staff to apply the same empowering interactions with
survivors. A staff member supervised in this manner learns to use a similar kind of support approach with the survivors
she interacts with (e.g. “How do you think that went? Did you accomplish what you set out to do?”).
Of course, building a reflective program does not happen overnight. Perhaps the single most important element in implementing reflective work within programs is having the firm commitment of the program’s leadership to practice reflective supervision themselves. That kind of commitment to quality then expands, as the value of regularly scheduled supervision focused on practice becomes the norm in the program.
Allocating resources (especially time) to this kind of reflective practice may seem impossible at a time of reduced capacity and shrinking resources. However, supervision is not a luxury. Applying knowledgeable supervision beforehand distributes the sense of ownership and responsibility across the entire program staff, ultimately reduces the burden on managers and supervisors, and fully engages staff and survivors in our mutual efforts to create a safer and more just world.
References
1
Bloom, P.J. (2004). Leadership as a way of thinking. Zero to Three, (25)2).
2
Sherwood, G. et al. (2005). The Scholarship of Reflective Practice, a resource paper from the Scholarship of Reflective Practice Task Force at University of North
Carolina at Chapel Hill School of Nursing.
3
Amulya, J. (2004). What is Reflective Practice. Retrieved December 7, 2008, from The Center for Reflective Community Practice at MIT Web site, http://
www.itslifejimbutnotasweknowit.org.uk/files/whatisreflectivepractice.pdf.
4
Parlakian, R. (2001). Look, Listen and Learn: Reflective Supervision and Relationship-based Work. Washington, DC: Zero-to-Three Press.
5
Western, D. (2008). Developing a Reflective Practice Framework for Family Violence Practitioners. Presentation at World Conference for Family Shelters, Edmunton, Canada, September 9, 2008. Retrieved December 7, 2008 from the Alberta Council of Women’s Shelters Web site, http://www.womensshelter.ca/
presentations/125/WESTERN__Developing_a_Reflective_Practice_Framework_for_Family_Violence_Practitioners__AUSTRALIA_.pdf.
6
See footnote 4.
7
Norman-Murch, T. and Ward, G. (2001). First Steps in Establishing Reflective Practice and Supervision: Organizational Issues and Strategies. Zero to Three, 20(1).
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6
Media Accountability in Reporting Violence
Against Women
by Rita Smith
eading a news report of the multitude of assaults and murders of women one would get the strong impression, if not outright accusation, that the victims are somehow responsible for the violence perpetrated
against them.
In a recent news article about a murder in O’Fallon, MO, the reporter used the following language to explain how
an ex-wife’s statement that he was never violent was different than the experience of the woman murdered and a
previous girlfriend he sexually assaulted: “In both cases, he lived with strong-willed women in their homes and
would not disconnect when they tried to break up with him.”
In a news report of a murder of a woman in Monroe, LA, the reporter used the following language for comments
made by a police person: “‘The couple had a troubled marriage,’ police said, ‘and were separated more than a year
ago.’”
In a news report of a murder of a woman in Seattle, WA, the reporter used the following language to end the story:
“And yet her awareness wasn’t enough because, as story after story shows, nothing short of moving far away or
hiding or changing identity, can stop the maniacal pursuit of someone whose love kills.”
In each of these cases, words are shaping and defining the view of the victims, and that view is mostly unfavorable.
In the first example it implies that if the woman hadn’t been so strong-willed, the man she was involved with would
not have felt the need to hurt or kill her. In the second example, the use of violence by the husband is totally ignored
by stating that the marriage, a completely inanimate object, was troubled and explains the murderous act by the husband. In the last example, the reporter leaves us with the hopeless thought that love kills.
What is usually left out of these stories is the truth. The use of violence in intimate relationships is a choice, and a
powerful tool, that has one purpose—to control the other person. There is not an excuse, a provocation, or a reason
that can explain and justify the use of violence to control another person. The way in which each story is told can
either reinforce that idea, or build more tolerance and acceptance for the use of violence in families. It is also not an
accurate assessment that love kills, or assaults you.
It is time for media outlets to stop making excuses for the use of violence, or romanticizing the choices by abusers
and sex offenders with words that imply love and care for the victim. We must set different expectations for behavior, we must consistently enforce the laws that prohibit the use of violence against each other, and we must demand
that in our own circle of influence we actively object to the use of violence and stand up against it. The way we talk
about or frame the experience of violent attacks can either reinforce the violence or begin to reduce it.
The media has a huge part to play in how society thinks and behaves towards each other. How domestic violence
and sexual assault is presented in news reports can have a significant impact on changing social norms and beliefs.
If conscious efforts are made to make sure that victims are fairly and positively represented in the story, the unfair
stigma of their own responsibility for that violence may finally stop following them around like a silent ghost.
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Accountability
7
Minimizing the Damage – Male Accountability in
Stopping Men’s Violence Against Women
by Ben Atherton-Zeman, Maynard MA
My thanks to the many women who helped me write this.
have been working to end men’s violence against
women for almost 20 years and I am doing this work
largely because of the inspiration, teachings, and welcome
of powerful, smart, feminist women. We men (myself
included) owe it to these women, and to ourselves, to
practice true accountability.
More and more men are (finally) joining the movement to
end men’s violence against women. This is partly because
of the efforts of a growing, multiracial movement of men,
but it is mostly because of the efforts of women. The domestic violence movement has always invited and urged
men to become involved – my gender is a bit slow to respond, but it seems as if we finally are responding.
However, the rush to involve men needs to be tempered
with wisdom and caution. Certainly, male involvement
can be a positive thing. I believe it is my gender’s responsibility to step up and confront the violence that our gender perpetrates. But many communities are reporting that
we men who label ourselves “allies” are still a large part
of the problem – acting out sexism and denying it, refusing to be accountable to women, or even perpetrating violence ourselves.
Rescue Me
Certainly, many men who work to end men’s violence
ARE accountable to women. I could fill this article with
examples of men doing positive things across the globe –
indeed, I am currently writing a “Men’s Monologues
Against Violence” that highlights the work of some of
these men. So many men I have met are admirable, helpful, moral, honest, and kind, but usually these men have
been “raised” by long exposure to feminist women and to
survivors of violence.
Why do men choose to do this work? For myself, it was
because I had met (and dated) women in college who had
been abused and controlled by previous partners. These
courageous women shared with me stories of being sexually assaulted, physically assaulted, belittled, paid less,
and having their opinions ignored in favor of male opinions. To say nothing of unwanted flirting, sexual harassment, sexist humor, and objectified images of women
everywhere they looked.
Hearing what life was like for these women made me
8
mad. “Well, if you’re mad,” they said to me, “then you
should do something. Not many men are speaking up
about this.”
So I began volunteering, and later signed up to be an
Americorps member for a $4000/year stipend. I thought I
was in heaven – getting to do this work I loved AND getting paid for it!
I pictured myself as a knight in shining armor, riding in to
rescue the poor women. But it turns out that women don’t
need a knight to rescue them. It turns out they need me to
stop men’s violence in the world. It turns out women
wanted me to talk to my own gender.
I went to a Women’s Studies conference in Connecticut
and I was one of the only men at the conference. An older
woman approached me and said, “I really appreciate the
fact that you’re here. I want you to know that, from the
bottom of my heart. But I want to ask you for something.
Go home. Go home and talk to the men.”
Setting the Bar Higher
When I receive positive appreciation (or even applause)
for doing this work, I drink it in like a man dying of thirst.
Yet I began to notice that I was often receiving overwhelming appreciation for actually doing very little.
My female colleagues have noticed this all along and are
incredibly frustrated with the dynamic. One colleague in a
conservative state has trained five men to be her copresenters, if only to get her voice heard. Four of them are
police officers. Lately, she has heard them saying things,
making analogies, and telling the same stories she told
them originally – and getting more credit for it! Once, in
frustration, she called one of them and told him she had a
training request and needed a “dick and a badge” to accompany her so that the audience would listen to her. She
apologized to him for her rudeness, but I thought it was
worth noting that the mere presence of a man standing
next to her somehow gave her words more weight.
As a gender, we men are “Johnnies-come-lately” to the
issue of domestic violence and sexual assault prevention.
Yet when we do show up, we are often listened to more
than women, praised more than women, and are paid
more than women. Whenever we do the slightest thing,
we get a whole lot of credit – sort of like fathers in the 80s
who were staying home with their children (“Wow, he
changes diapers!”). Our abilities to accomplish what
women have been doing all along seem impressive to
many…especially ourselves.
What do we do with this phenomenon of men getting
praise for doing very little? As men, I think it is our responsibility to not only acknowledge the praise, but encourage praise for women as well. We men need to
acknowledge that we would not be here if not for smart,
powerful, feminist women who did this work long before
we did, and who taught us everything we know.
As I have already mentioned, if I say anything smart or
insightful in this article, it is probably because a woman
taught me that particular concept. If I do anything admirable or brave during my life, a woman probably inspired
me to do it. And I need to acknowledge that publicly, not
just here. My best teachers were survivors of domestic
violence, sexual assault, stalking, and daily sexism. My
best thinking was taught to me by Phyllis Frank, Anne
O’Dell, Suzanne Pharr, Ellen Pence, Jill Davies and many
others, and I need to say that publicly.
Nevertheless, it is tempting to give huge credit to men for
simply showing up. My own desperation to get
more men involved makes me want to stand up
and cheer whenever a man signs up to volunteer at
a domestic violence program. Why isn’t my response, “Of course he’s signing up – it’s about
time more men signed up!” Many women leaders
have confided in me that their desperation for positive male involvement has led them to nominate a
man to a Board of Directors or a Coordinated
Community Response team, long before that man
knew enough about the issue. These men will then
make public statements that blame victims and
undermine the work of women in that community.
what will reach men.”
“Roger,” I said, “If they don’t like the idea, you can’t do
it! We have to be accountable to women’s leadership.”
“Yeah, but they aren’t really the experts on what will get
men’s attention,” he replied. After the conference, I
emailed him and repeated my assertion that he needed to
be accountable to the women who had been leading this
work in his state. In the end, he held the event with the
cheerleaders despite local and state opposition from the
same groups he was supposedly supporting.
After the event, I called the executive director of the local
DV program to ask how things were going regarding this
man. She sounded exasperated, and began talking about
how much time dealing with him and with “Father’s
Rights” guys took away from her running her agency.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “You know that Roger isn’t a
‘Father’s Rights’ guy, right? I mean, he may be doing
some damaging things, but at least he’s not a ‘Father’s
Rights’ guy.”
“What’s the difference?” she replied. “Both sets of guys
take time away from my agency. Both sets of guys make
With Friends like These…
I was excited to meet “Roger” at a state domestic
violence conference, and he seemed excited to
meet me. Roger was passionate about challenging
men to speak out against domestic violence – he
eagerly told me about his idea to bring on more
men. Roger had invited an NFL football team’s
cheerleaders to do a routine for men – he said that
scantily clad, sexy women dancing around would
bring men to the event and then Roger could talk
to them about male violence.
I asked him what the local DV program or the
state coalition thought about his idea. “Can you
believe it?” he replied. “For some reason, they
don’t like the idea! But I told them that I know
Accountability
9
my job more difficult.” These men were conflated
in her mind. She and her staff had sent out press
releases, put out fires locally and statewide, and
held meetings to deal with Roger, who was out
there supposedly to “help women.”
In a different state, another friend of mine is part of
what she describes as a wonderful group of men
against violence that meets every other month. It
consists of about 15 men and 2 women. But she is
always the one who reserves the room; she is always the one who brings the food; she is always
the one who sends out the reminder emails.
This group of men dutifully put an item on the
agenda: “Sexism within this very group.” However,
this agenda item kept getting put off in favor of
other, more “important” agenda items.
[A] friend of mine is part of what she describes as a wonderful group of men
against violence that meets every other
month. It consists of about 15 men and 2
women... But she is always the one who
reserves the room; she is always the one
who brings the food; she is always the
one who sends out the reminder
emails...As my friend puts it, “Shouldn’t
it be the other way around?!”
The (male) chair of the group would sometimes “assign”
action items to the two women members – the men’s
group would then get the credit for the work the two
women had done. As my friend puts it, “Shouldn’t it be
the other way around?”
As more groups of men begin to organize to challenge
men’s violence, more of these same groups rely on a few
women to do most of the work. In a number of states,
women have told me of individual men or men’s groups
that begin taking on an anti-sexism project, but women
end up doing the brunt of the work and receiving very
little of the credit. Oh, the irony!
For myself, there have been many times where I have taken women’s thinking and posed it as my own. There have
been many times where I have interrupted women in
meetings, belittled women, and assumed they were not as
smart as I was. When I worked at a domestic violence
program in Maine, my supervisor was taking a little time
at the copier. I assumed she was having trouble, and assumed that I could help her – I began explaining how the
copier worked. She patiently said, “Actually, Ben, I have
used a photocopier before, and am perfectly capable of
doing this myself.”
Many times, when I am confronted on my own sexism, I
become defensive and try to explain why the thing I did
wasn’t sexist (as if that’ll make it all better). But I’ve
learned (from women) that the important thing is not my
intent, but the effect of my behavior. If we men claim to
care about women, then we need to care about the impact
of our actions, and not just our harmless intent, when confronted on our own sexism.
Of course, all men are socialized with sexism (racism,
homophobia, anti-Semitism, etc.) and it takes constant
work to contradict all the messages we received as boys.
10
However, some of the stories I was hearing about went
beyond daily sexism and a lack of accountability. Some
men have been told, “I don’t feel safe around you, as you
do the work that’s supposedly for women.” These men do
not change, convinced they are right. Additionally, some
supposed male allies to women have been served with
restraining orders, or have been tried and convicted of
crimes of violence against women.
Your “star” man of this week might be convicted of abusing his wife next week. You do not know how we treat
our partners at home – you only know how we treat you
(remember how charming batterers are in court?). As
more and more men become involved in this movement,
more and more positive male role models will emerge.
But more and more men will disappoint us—these disappointments will sometimes be public and embarrassing.
I was asked to say something for a church service at Pacific Lutheran University on the topic of involving men in
stopping men’s violence against women. I wrote the following story for the service.
The Rain and the River
What was once a beautiful, flowering prairie had become
an arid desert. But the rain was determined to bring back
the flowers, grasses, and the trees to the desert. Day after
day, drop by drop, the rain worked to water the desert and
make it green again.
Racing through the desert was a fast, powerful river.
One day the rain visited the river and asked for help.
The rain said: “River, you have so much water. Would
you help water the desert to bring back the grass and the
trees?”
“I am too busy,” sniffed the river. “I have a job to do – I
have to get to the ocean. Besides, watering the desert is
rain’s work, not river’s work. Leave me alone – you’re
bothering me.”
The rain was disappointed, so she went back to her job of
watering the desert. But while she was talking to the river,
she had fed the river some of her water. The river had risen a little.
Many seasons later, the rain visited the river again to ask
for help. “Please, River – you have so much water. It’s a
big job, bringing the grass back to the desert. I could really use the help.”
The river snorted. “Why do you keep bothering me? I feel
attacked every time you say you need my help. Why is
this my concern? I have to get to the ocean. Watering the
grass is rain’s work – leave me alone.”
But the rain had again fed the river some of her water.
The river’s waters had now risen, and he could see the
desert a bit better – part of him felt badly that he wasn’t
helping out.
The rain was, again, disappointed, so she went back to her
job of watering the desert. But they had talked longer this
time, so the river had risen even higher.
Some seasons later, the rain visited the river yet again.
“River!” she said. I’m getting pretty tired of being the
only one watering the desert. You really have a lot of water here. I could really use some help!”
The river had risen very high by then, mostly thanks to
the rain. He listened to the rain’s words, and looked out at
the desert. Some bits of grass had been brought back by
the rain. Some trees had started to grow. But much more
needed to be done.
The river liked to feel useful. He liked to have a purpose.
Until now, that purpose had been to rush to the ocean. But
in the desert, he saw that he could have a purpose here.
He could be useful here.
“All right!” cried the river. “I want to help!”
And the river crashed out of his banks. He rolled over the
dry sand of the desert. He rolled over the new grass
brought back by the rain. It rolled over the new trees
brought back by the rain.
At first, the rain was happy. Finally, the river was helping
out! But pretty quickly, the rain realized that the river
might be doing more harm than good.
“Slow down,” said the river. “You’re not watering the
desert. You’re flooding it!”
Accountability
The river was shocked. “For so long you begged me for
help and now that I’m here you criticize me? I have half a
mind to go back and leave you to do this all by yourself!”
How does this story end? I believe that, in a very real
sense, the ending will be determined by the men who have
pledged to work to end men’s violence. We are the river –
we mean well, but we have done some damage.
The Hippocratic Oath taken by doctors’ states, “first, do
no harm.” I am not sure this is possible in this case, as the
very same men who are part of the solution are also part
of the problem. I think that we, the river, have already
overflowed the banks. As men, we will do some damage
despite our best efforts. I believe the key is to remain
open to feedback, to remain accountable to women, to
listen without (or despite) defensiveness.
The title of this article, “Minimizing the Damage,” might
seem negative, but the feedback I have received from so
many women is overwhelming. Clearly, across the country many men are getting involved and doing wonderful
things. Clearly, many of these same men are also lacking
in accountability to women leaders.
However, many women (and some men) have involved
men in their communities in ways that have worked very
well. These leaders seem to follow a five-step process that
I wish to outline here.
Involving Men and Keeping Us Accountable: A Five-Step Process that Just Might
Work
Step One: Educate us about male violence
This is the work that many women are doing already –
whether they are community educators in domestic violence programs, or hotline workers that are asked, “So,
what do you do for a living?” and end up educating the
stranger who happens to be sitting next to them on the
bus. Some of these education programs are aimed at men
—the Mentors in Violence Prevention Project, the Coaching Boys to Men campaign, and many others. Often, the
most effective way to reach men is simply to feature the
voices of survivors themselves. I believe that once men
have truly listened to the voices of survivors, and they
have survivors in their lives, they will not be able to NOT
do this work.
Step Two: Ask us to do something small, something
simple
The White Ribbon Campaign in Canada urges men to
wear a white ribbon as a pledge to “never commit, condone, or remain silent about men’s violence against wom11
en.” The Men’s Resource Center for Change and other
groups ask men to sign their names to a similar public
pledge. College campuses often encourage men to participate in events such as “These Hands Will Not Hurt” or
“Walk a Mile in Her Shoes.”
None of these efforts are very difficult, and some men
will complete these projects and do nothing else. Yet for
others (as it was for me), it will be the first step in a lifetime involvement.
Step Three: Ask us to learn more
Ask us to sign up for your agency’s volunteer advocate
training (if such trainings accept men). Some trainings are
40 hours or more. Men will use that time to learn about
the issue, meet others who are working for the same thing,
and begin to build relationships of accountability with
feminist women leaders.
Some colleges offer classes on men’s violence against
women, or will give credit for men (and women) to attend
an agency’s volunteer training. This helps busy students
and folks who do not yet prioritize these issues in their
lives.
Not all of the men who agree to the Step Two activities
will agree to attend a volunteer training. Many men will
help; however, only “when you need it.” These men are
still important – keep them on a mailing list and ask them
to help as often as they can (manufacture things for them
to do, even). Some states are developing statewide Men’s
Initiatives and have active email lists – Minnesota and
Massachusetts among them. For many men, continued
involvement with Step Two level activities will someday
get them to “graduate” to Step Three and make that bigger
commitment.
Most of our movement’s volunteer trainings cover more
than just the surface level. My first volunteer training was
where I learned that, for example, battering was not simply an individual “bad” man committing physical abuse
because he was sick or crazy. I learned that the real root
of battering is a society that favored my gender – sexism,
racism, homophobia, rigid gender role expectations, institutionalized power, and privilege of some groups over
others. Battering, I learned, was one person choosing to
establish a pattern of coercive power and control over another. Sexism and other forms of oppression influenced
this person’s choice, but in the end, it was that person’s
choice to abuse.
It was at this point that I realized that I had much more in
common with these “bad men” than I was comfortable
with. It was at this point that I realized that some of my
behaviors in college, for example, were certainly on the
continuum of violence. The men in your volunteer train12
ings might be realizing the same things – this might scare
them off, or it might bring them to a deeper level of commitment to challenge violence not just in the world, but in
themselves as well.
Step Four: Mentor us
Invite us to conferences – what an inspiring place to meet
our movement’s founding mothers! To meet others who
are passionate about doing this work! It was at conferences (especially the NCADV conference) where I met
and listened to Suzanne Pharr, Ellen Pence, and many
others.
Conferences might feel scary at first to these men – they
did to me. I had heard the stereotype of “man-hating feminists” and worried about how I would be accepted. Yet
from the very first conference, I was more than accepted –
I was invited, encouraged, and welcomed. Yes, when I
said or did something sexist, I was called on it – initially I
reacted with defensiveness and felt attacked. But after
awhile, I realized this feedback was a gift, and now I try
to treat it as such.
Some men new (and not new) to this work might react to
feedback with defensiveness. Hopefully, these men will
get over it, perhaps with support and encouragement from
other men who do this work. But if, by Step Four, men are
not willing to take feedback from women’s leaders, their
involvement and leadership potential should be reconsidered.
Step Five: Encourage us to take leadership
We may think we are ready to take leadership right from
the beginning! However, we should probably wait to do
so until we know more about the issue. Even at this point,
we will still make mistakes, but by now, we have set up a
relationship of accountability with feminist women.
The leadership we take might even be to do the same educational work that taught us back at Step One—so the
steps actually become a cycle! Moreover, the Step One
activities might bring more men on board, at which point
we can ask them to do some Step Two activities, and so
forth.
The Future
The “2008 Call To Action Statement By Those Aspiring
To Be Allies to Women of Color Advocates and Activists” states the following:
We all agree…that one does not get to
label oneself an ally nor should one be
fooled into believing that the journey to
becoming an ally is finite. In fact, as one
shared, “I was always told by women of
color that my ally status ‘expires
every day at midnight!’” We must
strive to work at it on a daily basis.
It is my honor to be an “aspiring ally” to women
who have been victims of male violence. I am willing to work on being a better ally – being a better
man – every day. I know that I have made mistakes,
and I am sure I will make more, but I will keep at it.
More and more men are going to become involved
in this movement. As this happens, we in the movement will use our collective wisdom to not only
keep them involved, but also see to it that these men
are accountable to women’s leadership. It is simplistic to believe that these five steps will
“accountability-proof” the men who are coming into
our movement. Some men will enter our movement,
learn from women, and not “take over” – they will
do the right thing right away. Yet many men are
entering this movement and becoming part of the
problem, while trying to become part of the solution. With this article, I am trying to help minimize
that.
Michael Kimmel and Tom Mosmiller have written a
book called Against The Tide about pro-feminist
men in the United States. I am from New England,
and I know that tides are powerful, but I also know
that they can change. I envision a tide of men who
have taken advocate trainings, who have listened to
battered women, rape survivors and their advocates,
who are accountable to our own sexism, who listen
and get past defensiveness when we are challenged.
Once this tide has changed, the men who sue our
shelters, who say they are for “Father’s Rights”
when really they are for the suppression of mothers,
and who refuse to be accountable to women will be
going against that tide.
For a long time, my gender has been the source of
most violence. Now that we are getting involved in
being part of the solution, we are bringing our own
sexism as we get involved. Nevertheless, the tide
can also change. With some work, men will become
involved in greater numbers, while practicing what
we preach. We are working on a tidal change to stop
domestic abuse, sexual assault, sexual coercion, sexism, racism, homophobia and heterosexism, transphobia, anti-Semitism, ableism, classism, and all
forms of injustice. Those tidal forces we are shaping
can create a culture where violence is unacceptable,
where hypocrisy is unacceptable, and where we men
challenge violence and sexism in ourselves as vigorously as we challenge it in others.
Accountability
Before he was finally arrested, Mildred Muhammad’s exhusband, who was known as the DC or Beltway Sniper, would
be linked to twenty-seven shootings—seventeen of them fatal.
Many members of law enforcement told Mildred they were convinced she was Muhammad’s primary target. Prosecutors in Muhammad’s first trial, as well as defense attorneys for Lee Malvo,
John’s young accomplice, put forth similar theories concerning
Muhammad’s motivation. They thought that John Muhammad
was shooting innocent men and women near where Mildred
lived and worked because he was ultimately planning to murder
Mildred. When he did so, he wanted it to look like random violence. This was his plan! With Mildred out of the way, he
thought he would be able to get custody of their children and go
on with his life. John Muhammad and Lee Malvo both acknowledged that their reason for being in the DC area was to “pick up”
and kidnap Mildred’s children. A law enforcement official told
Mildred that when Muhammad was arrested, one of the first sentences out of his mouth was, “It’s Mildred’s fault.”
On sale, October 2009
Pre-Order now through
Simon and Schuster
http://books.simonandschuster.com
13
Untitled
by Diane Singer
he first time I witnessed violence was in my own home
when my father knocked my mother down onto a coffee
table. It was 1964 and I was four years old. No one ever
talked about it, not that day, not since that day. I began believing that it never happened, sometimes thinking that I
made the whole incident up, although the hardened dripping
glue that dried in place on the Danish Modern coffee table
leg was a dead giveaway to what really happened that Sunday afternoon. The low self-esteem that I developed was also
an indicator, but not clearly visible to me or my family.
I developed a defense mechanism during my childhood by
creating my own idealized reality where everything was perfect, just like on TV. Father Knows Best and Leave it to Beaver were my personal favorites and I swore that I could have
that life if I did the right things, if I could only be good
enough. Hope and faith kept me going. I knew that a safe,
happy life was out there for me somewhere.
When I was in the sixth grade, my family moved from the
city to the “burbs” and I started in a new school during the
last month of the school year, which made me a stranger and
an extremely unpopular one. Looking ethnically different
and being a “newbie” was a combination that resulted in
years of taunting by other students. I was nicknamed
“DOG,” which left me lonely and definitely not at all like
who I wanted to be, my TV icon, the confident and bubbly
Marcia Brady. Finally, in my last year of high school, a boy
showed interest in me. He was the class rebel and my controlling father despised him, which made the forbidden fruit
even tastier. Non-violent, unconditionally loving Jim was
good for me. Perhaps that’s why my dad loathed him, and to
this day I still don’t understand the rationale for the hatred.
After my family and I moved again, this time over a thousand miles away from New Jersey, I started college and fell
for “John” at a college party. There were bowls of stale
chips, cheese curls, and thin, fatty Ribeyes courtesy of Sifty,
our friend who managed a local Bonanza where he magically
made meat disappear out of the institutional sized freezer
and into his beat up red Jeep. Beer was plentiful—one keg
on the front porch, one in the backyard. Of course I’d been
drinking and so had everyone else at the house. Somehow, I
ended up being able to engage John in conversation. I was
nervous, so I drank more to get the words flowing freely. I
woke up the next morning in his attic bedroom, alone. I wasn’t even sure if we had had sex or not. I had been completely
toasted and had no recollection of even going upstairs. I
looked around the room, a true college-guy hovel, and saw
dirty underwear, jeans, empty beer bottles, and a can of wintergreen Skoal chewing tobacco on the floor. I pulled back
the shades and there he was, sitting in the sunny backyard,
smoking a cigarette, wearing a plaid flannel shirt, the Mid14
west uniform. He was reading the newspaper, obviously an
intelligent guy, and drinking a cup of steaming hot coffee.
Wow, I liked coffee too! I didn’t say a word, just kept staring at him, thinking about what he was thinking; if he was
thinking about me and if he liked me—even just a little bit
would have been enough. But I really wanted love and I
knew that getting John to love me would be a huge step toward achieving happiness in my life, just like on TV. When I
asked him to go out on a first date, I couldn’t believe that he
said yes. We were from different worlds, me a city girl and
him a farmer’s son in central Iowa. Opposites were sure to
attract and I treasured every moment he’d spend with me. In
the beginning of our relationship, I even walked behind him,
thinking that he was so much better looking than me, so
much more worthwhile, that he should be up front where he
belonged. As an added bonus, no one would think he was
with me. I wouldn’t tarnish his reputation. We were in the
throes of courting, mostly me courting him, and I began to
forget all about Jim, all about unconditional love. It only
mattered that I loved John, my dad loved John, everyone
loved John.
The first slap hit so quickly that it didn’t seem real. It came
out of nowhere—his cold, right hand stretched out flat, giving it more weight than it had when we held hands walking
to classes earlier that day. There were no warning signs. We
hadn’t been arguing; nothing seemed to be wrong. We were
enjoying happy hour at a local college dive. John and I were
both buzzed but pleasantly so, not drunk off our asses. We
were talking about upcoming midterms, me swiveling on a
stool and rearranging the packets of sweeteners, salt, and
pepper in their rectangular ceramic holder on the bar. Then
suddenly, hard and fast, his hand came and went. As soon as
it connected with my left cheek, he was gone, off to a booth
to be with some friends, watching a football game on a TV
perched up in the corner of the bar ceiling. I stumbled to the
stairwell where I rolled my body into a tight ball of tears and
confusion. After talking myself into thinking it never happened, two minutes later I was back at the bar and John’s
strong arms were wrapped around my tiny waist.
“Bartender, she’ll have another,” John ordered.
I obediently took a sip of the chilled wine cooler, the ice
dulling the pain. He kissed my right cheek and we pretended
it never happened, me believing that it hadn’t.
I never told anyone about any of the violence that I let myself be subjected to. I adopted my family’s “Don’t ask; Don’t
tell” policy and John was still with me, so it was working.
Violent episodes happened often but without any warning at
all. I couldn’t find a rhyme or reason for the attacks. They
didn’t come after a disagreement or when he was drinking.
They just happened. The lack of logic to when and where
made it all seem unreal and so unlike what I was beginning to
see on TV. Instead of the black and white smiling family faces
of Aunt Bea and June and Ward, the world was now in scary
Technicolor. Over the airwaves, Phil Donohue and Sally Jesse
Raphael featured thought-provoking programming that explained the details of DV. I couldn’t relate to any of it.
John didn’t fit the batterer profile that I heard about on those
shows. There was no making up, no apology offered, no format to what happened. This was not a cycle, this was not
abuse. An important component in disbelieving my reality was
that John’s abuse left no visible signs. I didn’t look like a battered woman; I had no broken bones, no black eyes. Even
though John choked, shoved, knocked me down, grabbed me
by the throat, and slammed me into a wall, no one knew. He
wasn’t controlling or jealous; there was no way I could justify
his tirades as abuse. John never admitted to the abuse, so he
had nothing to deny, and I certainly wasn’t about to ruin his
reputation with misinformation. Instead, I became
his PR person, building spin
around him to make him
into even more of a golden
boy. I believed my own
hype—everyone did. I was
finally good at something.
happy, making jokes. Not like Monday mornings when
you’re depressed. And as a good friend, I have to tell ya,
you look like hell.”
“Gee, thanks for the support, but you’re wrong. And those
cancer sticks you’re smoking IN MY CAR will kill you
someday,” I said, changing the subject.
While at work, I thought about what Kevin said. He was one
perceptive chain smoker. It had been a very violent weekend. But, John was off again on a business trip and I was
beginning a new art class that night, so I put it out of my
mind, until the next time.
About a month later, after two back-to-back hospital stays
for severe bowel obstructions, I was scheduled for surgery.
After an intestinal resection that left me with stitches from
stem to stern, I returned home. While watching TV in bed, I
heard John slamming the phone receiver into its cradle.
The first slap hit so quickly that
it didn’t seem real. It came out of
nowhere—his cold, right hand
stretched out flat, giving it more
weight than it had when we
held hands walking to classes
earlier that day.
We got married and life
moved along violently
while I continued trying to
make our home inviting,
warm, and comfortable for
him. I wanted desperately to
be good, but I began to realize that I had no idea what that
meant. John started a new job as an executive and he traveled
a lot. Without him around, I felt more peaceful. At my new
job, I established a network of friends that, for the first time in
my life, offered unconditional love.
More pain surfaced when severe medical illness intervened in
the form of an intestinal disease and I was hospitalized repeatedly for bowel obstructions. I began to realize that my painfree moments were few and far between, that life was indeed
short, and that I should begin living every moment to the fullest.
One day, while at home recovering from a hospital stay, I saw
an ad on TV and scribbled down a number for a domestic violence hotline. I went back to work and didn’t think much
about it for months, the penciled number waiting on the page
in my datebook.
On a Monday morning after spending a weekend with John, I
picked up my co-worker, Kevin, and he said, “Did you ever
notice how much worse you are on Monday’s?”
“We’re going hunting
Saturday!” he shouted,
his hand still holding the
telephone.
“I’m sure you’ll all have
a terrific…”
In a matter of seconds, I
saw John swinging the
phone like a pitcher on
the mound. Before I
could duck, it was hurtling through the air toward me, where it struck
my incision, before hitting
the floor and breaking into mini-plastic pieces. The force of
the phone and the subsequent pain caused me to fall to the
floor, collapsing in tears. I heard John walk away and I
steadied myself, stood up and reached for one of our wedding gifts, the Chicago Cutlery knife block. I grabbed a
butcher knife and staggered toward him. John was hunched
over a file cabinet in our makeshift office. I jumped him,
holding the knife tightly in one hand, the other firmly
around his neck.
“That’s it!” I screamed. “No more, no more, no more!”
He flipped me to the floor instantly and in no time, his
brawny frame was on top of me, the knife held tightly in his
right hand, left elbow on my throat, his knees pressing hard
across my recently sewn up stomach. I felt one of the stitches pop open.
“Please John, we can’t do this anymore. Please,” I begged.
“At least put the knife down.”
“Worse than what?”
He dropped the knife but not the attitude, “You shouldn’t
have tried something this stupid. Just how dumb are you?”
“Than when John is away for the week. Those days, you’re
I don’t know if it was Kevin’s words of wisdom, or the fact
Accountability
15
that I’d had enough of John causing me pain, which when
mingled with surgical pain, finally put me over the edge. I’ll
never know. I called the number I’d been carrying around for
so long. The paper was frayed and the digits sketchy, but I
could still make them out.
“Hotline, how may I help you?”
“I need, well, I don’t need, I have…”
“Can I help you?”
“I think I’m being abused, but maybe not.”
“Your zip code please?”
“50265”
“Call this number. If you are in imminent danger, please
call 9-1-1.”
I was referred to a local domestic violence shelter. It was
depressing, filled with young mothers and their children, all
of whom, unlike me, had no place to go. They had no money, no future, no hope, just restraining orders against their
men. I met with a counselor, who validated that I was being
abused. She gave me a book, Getting Free, and as I read, I
saw myself and John clearly for the first time. I returned to
the shelter a couple of times and took part in a group session
where I heard hideous stories of abuse, ensuing hospitalizations, and jail sentences. Realizing my reality, I was finally
terrified and somehow I convinced John to attend a batterer’s
group.
I received a phone call from John’s counselor who told me
that his intake session didn’t go well. John said he wasn’t
like the other losers in the group; who unlike him, were all
court ordered to attend. He insisted he wasn’t an abuser. His
counselor advised me to leave, but I chose not to. At one of
my last sessions at the shelter, they asked me how it was
going with John.
“Much better,” I said. “He’s really getting a lot out of his
Monday night group.”
“There is no Monday night group, Diane, there never has
been. John’s group meets Thursday nights and he has only
attended two sessions…only two.”
All the times he left the apartment for group, he was lying,
most likely at a bar, watching Monday Night Football and
getting drunk instead of getting help. The truth about his lies
hit me harder than his fist. I decided it was over.
I began my public escape, finally telling my parents and
friends the truth. I applied for jobs in New York City, thinking that perhaps I could go home again even if no one was
there that I knew. I lined up an interview trip, landed a job
one mile from my childhood home, and found a cozy attic
apartment. John and I treated this as a trial separation, with
him declaring that he would return to counseling. He helped
me drive east with a tiny U-Haul trailing behind my beat-up
Ford Escort.
16
“You’re leaving me for this dump?” John shouted when he
saw where I planned on beginning my new life and insulting
the hell out of my choice.
It wasn’t much, but then I didn’t take money with me when I
left, only personal belongings: books, photos, my dog, and
his toys. I left all of the furniture because I knew we’d be
back together and I believed he deserved to have a nice
home. I would have to sleep on the floor. I drove him to the
airport where he said he’d see me in a month. I had no idea
I’d never see him again. For a while, we talked on the phone
every day. I cried every night.
“Come home Diane. We all know you’re going to anyway;
you can’t make it on your own. You might as well get it over
with and come back.”
His insistence motivated me to stay in New Jersey. Our
phone calls grew farther and farther apart and on my 30th
birthday, he sent me divorce papers, postage due. A friend in
Iowa told me John had a girlfriend, a farm girl, my complete
opposite. I called his mother on his birthday and finally told
her about the abuse.
“Mary, you need to know this, although it’s tough to hear.”
“What? What do YOU want?”
“John, he’s been abusing me for years. I know he’s with
someone new now and I think you should know, his girlfriend should know. Any woman he’s going to be with has a
right to be safe. He needs help.”
“Joe had done the same thing to me, but I was smart enough
to stop doing what annoyed him, so he stopped hitting me.
You should have done the same.” She slammed the phone so
hard, it was as if I could feel the receiver hit me once more.
CLICK.
The circle was finally broken, the cycle of abuse came to an
abrupt halt, and my life began. I’ve learned a lot, the foremost being that you have to live your reality to take responsibility for it. No form of escapism through TV, movies, or
diversion will really be a worthwhile escape mechanism if
you don’t own up to what’s going on. I could have spoken
up about what went on in my house so many years ago. I
could have made a different choice than to be with John, and
although I became a victim, I recognize my part in it. Silence
isn’t golden, but it can be deadly. I am now independent,
free, and remarried to a man who loves me unconditionally.
Life became so good that I thought it had to be a dream until
I was diagnosed with a primary brain tumor. I endured ten
hours of life-saving brain surgery. With my type of tumor,
head injury is often cited as a causative factor and it’s likely
the non-visible damage that John caused finally showed itself. Although I am left with debilitating side effects, I’ve
never been more safe and secure in my life. I am living proof
that any victim can become a survivor.
Accountability: The ETERNAL Struggle
by Asher Burk
have been working in the field of domestic violence intervention for about
three years now, but before I began my career, I grew up with the issue. My
mother was a fierce victim’s advocate working within the criminal court system.
She would often involve me in conversations about the dynamics of domestic
violence and the challenges the court system presented to her in trying to help
battered women. The words “safety” and “accountability” were mentioned often
in my household, but they were only words at that point.
As I move forward, I want to be clear that I am not writing this article to establish myself as an expert on accountability; I am a student of this work, and I
learn something new each day.
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Accountability
I began my career at a batterer’s intervention program in Decatur, GA as an intern. This gave me the opportunity to experience accountability in its true form –
a thoughtful examination of my words and actions and the effects they have on
the people in my life, particularly on the women in my life.
As I was going through this transformative experience, I was brimming with
self-righteousness. I would be the “model man” who stood up for women’s rights
and for non-violence. I began spouting my newfound knowledge to every man
who was within earshot, citing my own personal growth. This proved to be an
isolating experience, and I often angered my potential male allies with my indictments of their language and behavior toward women.
I brought these experiences to my mentor, who advised me to keep women’s
safety in the forefront of my mind when engaging men on this issue. He advised
that my attempts at holding men accountable were brash and that I risked
“losing” these men who needed to hear this information.
I still struggle with this notion of “accountability” and what it entails, as I have
felt unable to help when approached with domestic violence situations. How do
the principles of community accountability really apply to everyday life? How
can I confront a man about his violence when I cannot guarantee the victim’s
safety? How do we as men incorporate women’s safety into holding other men
accountable? When we ask men to get involved, what are we really asking for?
Where is the line between men’s accountability and victim’s safety? I don’t expect to answer these questions, but I do want to keep them alive in our regular
dialogue.
Many of us who work in the domestic violence movement have often experienced our friends, family members, even new acquaintances disclosing to us an
issue of violence in their lives. On those occasions, depending on where we find
ourselves working (direct victim services, batterer’s intervention, policy formulation, etc.), our initial responses may differ.
A batterer’s intervention provider may be thinking of holding the perpetrator accountable first. A victim’s advocate may be thinking of safety planning and support for the victim first. The questions here seem to be: In whose interest is the
first move made? Is it about the man “getting it” at the expense of the victim’s
safety? Of course, this is assuming we have time to think and plan about the situation before us. In theory, we would be able to both hold the perpetrator account17
able and keep the victim safe.
I am reminded of a men’s discussion group I was attending recently. In that group, we were presented with the scenario
of a man attacking his intimate partner in a subway station in plain view. As we went around the circle everyone had different ways they would approach the situation and that was the point. There is no one way to intervene or speak out
about a domestic violence situation. There are many variables that need to be weighed. Sometimes we think we are doing the right thing, and it may end up working out in the end, but in the process we have trampled all over the victim. It’s
important to remember that the abused person in any situation is the expert on what is best. It is our responsibility to sit
with the discomfort of knowing our investment in her safety does not guarantee an end to the abuse or her leaving the
relationship.
Safety is fluid – something that needs to be checked and evaluated consistently. Therefore, since they are tied together,
accountability is fluid (outside of a court-mandated group process). Since we cannot always get everyone on the same
page, there is no fixed formula for intervention. As a result, doing the “right” thing does not always feel good, and that
does not have to be a bad thing. It can be frustrating, but we must continue taking action to hold batterers accountable
and keep victims safe.
The Body Shop and NCADV: It’s Been a Wonderful Six Years
The Body Shop Concludes its Stop Violence in the Home Campaign
Since 2003, NCADV has been extremely fortunate to work with The Body Shop on their Stop Violence in the Home campaign. This partnership has created awareness, raised critical program funds for NCADV, and built partnerships between
local domestic violence programs and The Body Shop stores throughout the country. Those local partnerships have also
raised funds for direct services and provided donated products for residents of emergency shelters. To date, almost $1.5
million dollars have been raised through their efforts.
NCADV’s partnership with The Body Shop’s Stop Violence in the Home campaign has become one of our most important
joint ventures. The money generated by this campaign has enabled NCADV to enhance current programs such as the
Face to Face Reconstructive Surgery Referral program, and to create new projects such as the Teacher Training Manual,
an invaluable tool for education professionals working with young victims of domestic violence.
In July of 2009, The Body Shop will begin focusing on other critical issues within our global community. We give them our
utmost support and best wishes in their efforts to help raise awareness and funds for the important missions of other
causes.
However, NCADV still needs your help!
Please take time between now and the end of July to visit your local Body Shop store or visit the Body Shop
website to purchase the wonderful products created to benefit NCADV so we can continue to provide our valuable
services. Click on each image to purchase or visit your local Body Shop.
These Body Shop products directly benefit NCADV:
Thank you to The Body Shop for the amazing support you’ve given us over the years!
We truly appreciate your support in ending violence in the lives of women.
For more on The Body Shop, please follow this link or visit
http://www.thebodyshop-usa.com/bodyshop/beauty/activate-self-esteem
18
Abuse: A Journey Towards Claiming the Term
by Rachel N. Spear, Ed. S.
06.29.04
A breakdown the other week. You would have thought that I
would have grown, would have changed, would have decided
that I deserved better. After all this.
I go through phases of giving up, of letting go and moving
on. But these efforts are halfhearted and early-ended.
How quickly we return to old ways, familiar people when we
become anxious about the changes, about the unknown. And I
am so much more comfortable submerged in a world of
known pain, expected hurt.
Victim to my own inabilities to just forget about it, about
him… about us.
I don’t know if I want to or if it’s just the easiest option. But
one day, I won’t. There’s been too many times when false hope
has been crushed by his brutal reality.
come over to my house a week ago. I did not tell her that
he had me on my bed, begging me to masturbate. I didn’t;
but he did. According to him, that was not cheating. I did
not tell her that he repeatedly told me he thought of me
when he was with her; that he sat in her driveway while
on the phone with me; that he said he loved me.
It sounds ridiculous—now—to have been in a relationship
like this. He was in complete control. He had me when he
wanted, how he wanted. He had me behind closed doors. I
loved him too much to hurt him, too much to leave, too
much to tell her, too much to live without him. I cried,
every time. Countless times, I tried to end it all. Sometimes I succeeded.
11.09.04
I know I said I need this; I know I said I want this.
I will surprisingly not call, not answer, not need him so
much…
But why is it so damn hard? Why do you remain on my
tongue, with my thoughts, and in my heart?
But until then, what’s so bad about living in a fixed world?
If only I could forget you, forget your name, your voice. Forget my vice.
Besides everything. When it’s with him.
…
I’m addicted to you, to your company, to your nonchalant
embraces. And for what?
I think he’d love for me to stay the same. Stay his. This way.
You can’t even say you’re sorry!
It’s so nice, so convenient, so consistent.
I told you that you hurt me, that you’ve made me cry time
and time again. And it doesn’t phase you at all. It doesn’t
make a difference.
For him.
But it’s my own hell. And a part of me is scared to even verbalize the need to leave.
That was a journal entry written in 2004. It was my voice
to myself, a voice that emerged repeatedly after each time
he hurt me. My journal was my haven—a place where I
could vent, yell, question. I analyzed matters, explored
why I always ended up back in his arms, why I believed
he had changed, why I was prone to these situations.
Sometimes I recognized the intensity of it all, knowing
that I needed out, seeing that he did mistreat me. For
years, that wasn’t enough. I returned to the relationship
every time he wanted me.
He said he loved me. That was enough—then—not now,
not ever again.
May 8, 2007, was the last time I talked to him. Actually, it
was the first true time I talked to his girlfriend. I told
her…well, not everything, but all she needed to know. I
told her that we were more than friends; that he had just
Accountability
The truth is I didn’t make a difference. I stayed in my own
patterns. I settled. I always let him back in—literally. I
wanted matters to change so badly. I didn’t change. I believed in the “man” I thought he could be and kept making excuses for the boy he was. He would call. I would
answer. He knew I would never change.
02.24.05
This time is different than all the ten-million times before. I
went through the hate phase, the pissed phase, the numb phase,
and now, I’m in the hurt phase.
Normally, I’d call and apologize (for nothing when he was
the one who hurt me). But I haven’t, and I refuse. And normally…he’d wait a couple days, and then my phone would
ring his stupid ring tone three, four consecutive times until
I’d answer. But yes, this time is different.
I deleted everything—phone numbers and email addresses…
We’ve fought more than anything this past year, and I’ve
cried more than anyone. But after each fight, after each
agreement to never talk again, I always counted the days
19
My Offering
by Jason Timothy Robinson
A poem for my sister,
Sharia Renee’ Robinson
(1979-1997)
To You, I offer these.
It’s all that I can do.
I hope that you accept them.
They’re my special gift for you.
Your supply will never end.
There will always be more for you
Because whenever the thought of
you comes to my mind,
I’m sure they will be there too.
You’ll be in my heart and mind
Throughout all my days, months,
and years.
As long as I have breath in my
body,
You will always have my tears.
until he called, until he apologized, until he came over again.
Not this time. And it hurts more to “know” that I’m finally -truly and deeply -- trying to let go of it, of him.
I’m ending it again—only this time it’s for keeps.
But it wasn’t for keeps. It never was, not until May, 2007.
It was years of the same routine. He never changed and I
was worn, tired, hurt, and insecure. I hated my life and I
hated him for what he did to me. I hated him for what he
did to her, for how he treated me, and how he used me. I
hated him for how he lied to her, to himself, and to me.
07.08.05
We decided that we would not talk…
The past five weeks have been difficult, very difficult. And I
thought you’d call July 13, considering that’s the day we
20
met. But you called earlier. You called tonight. I didn’t answer, but liked hearing your message, your voice. And tears
fell. I’m not sure if or when I’ll call back. Your message was
so soothing, so apologetic…“I’m sorry for all the times I’ve
hurt you. I love you. I miss you. We’ve been through so much.
I love you (pause) as a friend.” You had to say it. You had to
emphasize. But you say “friend”…”Friends” don’t end up in
bed together. “Friends” meet each other’s girlfriends and boyfriends. Shit, I can’t have a “boyfriend”—every time I get
close to a boy—you find out and come back full forced.
…
But I’m not sure if I should call back. I’m learning to be myself. I’m learning to not make excuses. I’m learning that love
cannot exist with the pain that we give it.
I called, naturally. I was stuck in my patterns, in his patterns. I wanted to believe that we could be “friends,” that
we would not cross the line, buy this never happened. We
never ended matters for too long.
He continued, and I continually let him. I let him back
into my life. In a way, I let him have all of the power.
Truth be told, at that time (and for whatever reason), I
probably needed him as much as he needed me. Each time
that I attempted to move on without him, a part of me
knew I would return. I can remember thinking to myself
that if I loved him—truly, deeply, and honestly loved
him—then I would stick it out and would take the good
with the bad. He skewed my concept of love.
05.12.06
10 things I hate…
i hate the word hate.
i hate that snowballs are not year-round.
i hate that stores have made their sizes bigger.
i hate that my phone rings after midnight.
i hate that i answer it.
i hate that you are drunk on the other end.
i hate that you say you think of me when you are with her.
i hate that you don't want me, but don't want anyone else to
want me.
i hate that i've let you treat me this way for five years.
and most of all...
i hate the word love... because you have no clue what it
means...
I eventually questioned his “love” for me on top of recognizing that our patterns were unhealthy for me. However,
I never quite understood or even thought that he was
abusing me. “Abuse.” I never called it that and can’t do so
now. I am more comfortable with phrases like “unhealthy
relationship” or “dysfunctional patterns.”
During those years, I struggled just to find some hope,
some happiness, something that was not filled with tears
and confusion. I didn’t call it anything. I knew it wasn’t
normal, but it was my “normal.” It was what I had come
to know, to expect. Anything else was inconceivable. I
tried not to fall back into old habits, but I would, despite
my wanting and trying to resist him. Each time he reentered my life, I gave him enough; or rather, his manipulative personality convinced me to give him enough.
abusive, then it reflects badly upon me. I was in a “bad”
relationship. I “let” it continue. I “allowed” it to happen.
Therefore, I am “bad.” I want to feel comfortable one day
stating that “H,”’ the man I loved, “abused” me. It was his
action.
I’m not sure why. I will never know. I do know that I am
learning to call it for what it was—abuse.
This has been, and continues to be, my journey to claiming
the term.
I’m learning, but I’m not quite there.
Finally, as a part of this journey, I am learning the need for
accountability—of myself and of others. As women who
have been abused, we have to hold ourselves and others
accountable for analyzing the people involved and challenge how others speak about relationships, about abusers,
and about being abused. We have to help people become
comfortable placing the action on the actor. In addition, we
should assist in processes of forgiving the self, of letting go
of the self-hatred and the self-blame that can develop during these relationships. I am re-learning who I was before
him and with him and this is helping me to become the person I am today—a new, different self who is more secure in
my skin and wants to be loved and respected.
No, he never hit me. He never slapped me or bruised me.
Nothing was ever physically violent. It was aggressive,
but not violent. It was assertive, but never violent. It was
seductive and sensual, but I was convinced all of his actions just showed how much he cared, how much he desperately needed me. At least that is what I thought.
On three separate occasions, I can remember pushing him
off me. His body, his mouth, his hands crossed the line. I
said no. I wanted him to stop. I begged him to stop. Two
incidents were in his car—a gray, Mazda. I still get queasy, mad, and angry when I see a similar vehicle.
I’m getting better, moving on, trying to forgive him.
However, some days I return to the pain when I least expect it. Some nights, I wake up because of bad dreams. I
relive those times when he was most assertive. I have
cried frantically at 3am because I was upset at how I let
this go on for so long, how (in a way) I began to play the
girl he thought I was. I did things with him that are
against my character. And yes, I still (at times) blame
myself for how he treated me.
It may have taken years to end this relationship, but it’s
over and I am learning.
I am learning that healing has its ups and downs, that a
damaged heart opens cautiously and slowly, but it does
open again. I am learning that I was abused.
We are socialized to recognize “abuse” in certain forms.
We learn that abuse is “mean,” that abuse is “ugly.” We
associate it with slaps, screams, yanks, yells, bruises, and
black eyes. We associate it with physical and verbal
abuse. Those terms seem identifiable. However, abuse is
not always black and white. It has many “colors.” Abuse
can also be psychological and emotional, yet these terms
seem more intangible and are harder to imagine, define,
and recognize.
I am slowly learning to verbalize my past relationship for
what it was—abusive. I still find it difficult to admit and
still cling to terms that lessen its severity. I am afraid of
the stigma of the word. I don’t want people to pity me,
feel sorry for me, or try to help me work through my
memories. Maybe I fear that if I label the relationship as
Accountability
My security is, in part, nurtured simply by writing my story
over and over again in different styles with varied beginnings and in a number of tones. It is for my own eyes.
I hope by sharing my story with others I am working towards increasing general outreach and emphasizing that
“abuse” does come in many forms. We may not recognize
its exact term, but we feel the pain and hurt and have the
scars to prove it. Our experiences do not make us “bad”
people and do not mean we are “stuck” in old addictions or
unhealthy patterns. They become a part of us and our many
stories and we can use that part to work towards change.
No one should be embarrassed or ashamed for what she did
or did not do. No one should claim she has all the answers
when this may not be the case. No one should remain silent.
Tell your story. Tell your truth, whatever this means to you.
Tell it in whatever form or variation speaks to you, your
pains, and your healings.
I imagine that your story will speak to someone else.
People will see themselves in your stories and they, too,
may begin to hold themselves and others accountable in
similar ways. They may realize that they do not have to be
afraid and that they, too, can begin their own journey towards ending violence and begin healing.
They like you and me, can move towards owning themselves again and claiming their terms.
21
I Can
by Lynn O’Neill
s a young girl, I dreamt of being a poet. One of my favorite authors was Russian born Anna Akhmatova (18891966). Hers was a long, rich life. Yet passing through
some of History’s least proud moments, such as the Stalin
terror, she was witness to some very atrocious things. Somehow, she managed to make coherent words of utter insanity,
crystal images of unthinkable things. For that, she will be most
regarded.
From Requiem, 1935-1940:
“In the awful days of Yezshovschina I passed seventeen
months in the outer waiting line of the prison visitors in Leningrad. Once, somebody ‘identified’ me there. Then a woman, standing behind me in the line, which, of course, never
heard my name, waked up from the torpor, typical for all us
there, and asked me, whispering into my ear (all spoke only
in a whisper there): “And can you describe this?”
And I answered:
“Yes, I can.”
Then the weak similarity of a smile glided over that, what
had once been her face.
As an aspiring writer, I was utterly amazed by this passage. I
could not believe what Anna had done. She had perfectly and
neatly explained it—the soul of a writer. Like some great lioness in motion, she pounced right on the beast and spit it back
whole. No bones, simply, “Yes, I can.” I do not know why it
astounded me so. She was, after all, a poet; that is what they
do.
Not until I was fully grown, did I see another perspective. Anna was talking to herself as she wrote those words. Coaxing
her own confident courage, she remembered what she had
been handed and would not keep to herself: the gift of a clear
voice. She knew there would be a price to pay. Born in the
wrong place at the wrong time, caught in the snare of an oppressive and ruthless government, she would not escape without great personal loss. Her son, Lev, was imprisoned. It was
then that she understandably began issuing governmentfriendly statements. Her government was not so forgiving—
they mocked her by keeping him over a decade. The echo of
those prison doors would have been hard for her to forget.
I hear the echoes too tonight as I stare at my monitor, poking
out these words, deleting them. A friend of mine had made a
simple suggestion. Since I was good with words and knew
something of domestic violence, perhaps I could tell about it.
It seemed an easy task at first. I thought I had something important to say. Normally I am so good with words. However,
here I sit, with nothing good enough, nothing people do not
already know, just writing and deleting. I am, plainly, overwhelmed.
There are so many kinds of abuse- political, social, domestic,
22
and many more. Their hundred ugly faces spin round and
round in my head—prejudice, ignorance, oppression, greed,
and just plain evil. How do you narrow it down, when it’s all
so connected? I don’t feel like trying. I feel small, inadequate,
and stupid for thinking I might change the world with anything
I might possibly have to say.
“What’s wrong with you?!”
I shudder, shake myself back to the present. My neighbor’s
dog has begun to bark.
He is making strange sounds—low, half-growls, not fullblown barks—suppressed sounds. What would cause that? A
dog might bark like that, maybe, if someone he halfrecognized were hiding close by, luring him to hush. Why do I
think of these things?
“They better shut that bitch up, or I’ll throw a steak soaked
in rat poison over the fence!”
No, I didn’t really hear that voice. It’s only in my head. That is
what he used to say when he was here, every time the dog
barked. It used to frighten me. He never really hurt the dog;
the dog is fine. The message was aimed at me: I am capable of
abominable acts, so tiptoe, bitch.
I’m not afraid of much these days. I live peacefully and well. I
protect myself as best one can. If a dog barks, I might get up
and turn on the outside lights. Lights will deter a potential
crime from happening. Not wanting to be identified, an intruder normally will not make the attempt; they don’t want to be
caught, they don’t want to be punished.
“Never think you’ll get one minute of sleep after I’m gone.
I’ll be in this house so fast you’ll never know what hit you.
And I will slit your throat from ear to ear.”
All right, enough. Clearly, I have poked a stick into some
slumbering demon in my head—those are his words again.
They are exactly what he said to me. Well, there was more to
it; he went on using obscenities about what he’d do to my insides after he cut me open. I will not tell you, it is too disturbing. Images of a violent, graphic nature have a strange way of
festering under your skin, but then, what could be stranger
than living with a man who wanted to kill you?
Nothing! Nightmare over, chaos has left the building. I used
the normal legal remedies to make him leave. He left and never came back, done deal. He found a new wife right away. I
wanted to warn her, I really did, but I didn’t think she’d believe me. I thought, she would have to find out on her own.
Why did I think this way? That was so…fearful…of me.
Several years later, I heard they divorced. I am sorry for what
she may have endured. I also saw him recently in the local
mall with his new girlfriend. Why did I choose not to I tell
her? What would I have said? There should be a secret sign or
something. No, on second thought, there should be far fewer secrets in the world.
“You’ll be alone for the rest of your life if you leave me. No
man would ever want you, you stupid slut!”
This is where he messed up. I liked the thought of being alone.
That is all I wanted in the whole wide world. It sounded so safe,
peaceful. I just didn’t know how to go about it.
“What’s wrong with you?!!!”
Shut….up!
These must have been the words that stuck. I must have bought
into that belief that I was not ok. I was not at the time, someone I
loved, someone I trusted in the beginning, was physically and
mentally abusing me. This is how ordinary people are caught up
in situations like this—through trust. Abuse does not start right
away, of course. Nobody falls in love with someone who is mean
to them.
I am just having a hard time at this moment figuring out how I
did not see it coming. Studies show that many victims of domestic abuse had been victims before or experienced some form of
abuse as a child. This is not the case with me. I grew up in a normal and healthy environment. Maybe, because of this, I just didn’t recognize the signs. I was also very young when I married and
moved far away from everyone I knew. He got furious when I
went anywhere besides the store. A favorable climate for abuse to
occur, I’d say. Was he doing this on purpose? That’s madness!
Ironic, isn’t it? He was practically giving it away, but I was not
listening. There was something wrong with me. I wasn’t trying
hard enough to get away! How typical of him, to mock me. There
was something more sinister to it though. Something like brainwashing. He would repeat that phrase and other defeating messages over-and-over, for no apparent reason. I thought it was peculiar in the beginning, but repetition makes things more common
place. Over time, it becomes the standard. He wanted me to doubt
my own mind thoroughly so he could control it.
Could he possibly have been doing that on purpose? Brainwashing me? No, he was not that clever. I think he learned to do that
from someone else… his father. I feel sick. I picture a child witnessing abuse; now I see a child, of a child, of a child. I have a
son, too. He was small when these things happened, but I wonder
what he saw. I’m going to call him in the morning.
It’s almost morning now. I’m starting to get a grip. Things do
look smaller at a safer distance. Miniscule, really…squashable
even. I can do something after all; I have voices in my head to
help me.
There is no army that can stamp out domestic violence forever. A
new enemy is born each day—normal, healthy children who learn
from us. They multiply in private, one human being at a time,
learning to hurt another. Also born, is the one who is weaker, and
needs know how to fight. It is easier to understand when we realize we are talking about a type of sickness, a monster. All the
monster wants, all it needs, is to control you. The monster will
hurt you to achieve that. If you are taken away, it will feed on
Accountability
someone new. It does not matter who you are, regardless of
the price you paid.
Freedom is only ever truly fought by the one who is not
free. They are the one brave soldier who stands up and asks,
“What is the price of freedom?” It is the responsibility of
those of us who can help that should. We must continually
provide helpful resources, and always seek new ways to
stop the cycle of abuse. Nevertheless, the victims must do
most of the work. It is not an easy task to take your life
back, but when they do, they will be ready to turn and help
another in whatever way they can.
I believe talking openly about domestic violence without
fear of blame is the biggest area of opportunity to improve
the problem at large. Similar to deterring the efforts of criminals, abusers will come to know they likely will be exposed. Once the beast becomes afraid to be exposed, it may
cool its collective heels a bit. Give it nothing to feed on and
get away from it, but talk about it. I agree as many experts
do, that it is more effective to treat the victims than treat the
abusers (unless they are independently seeking professional
help). They have taken up quite enough of people’s time,
energy, and lives already.
We need to work on showing people, especially children
and teenagers, what healthy relationships look like. If you
know what it looks like, or what it does not look like, tell
someone. Do not be afraid that you are not saying anything
new. You may not be, but you may be saying it to someone
new. After all, new people are born every day—the message
will be new to someone. Speak about it if you can. Write
about it if you can. If you can sing, sing about it; paint, paint
about it. If forwarding an email is all you can do, then click
on it. As for me, I hope I have illustrated some of the harmful effects of abuse, having been up all night with voices in
my head. This is what I have to offer.
I paid a heavy price for this and I hope it helps someone.
Any relationship where one is being physically or mentally
injured or forced by any means to live without free will and
at the expense of their well being, is abusive. It is not acceptable. I did not grow up to be much of a poet, after all. I
prefer to say things that people do not have to ponder. I am
not afraid to try though, if you are not afraid to listen:
Slobbering on your last bits
He sucks greasy fingers
Tosses you to the floor.
Belching.
“I’m finished here.
I want something new.”
There is no answer.
Storms the house
“You bitch!”
Breaks the mirror
“I’ll kill you!”
“I’ll kill you!”
Echoes off the wall.
23
Made in America: The Role of
Gender Socialization in Domestic Violence
by Allison Fradkin
The child is father of the man.
~William Wordsworth
en could use a makeover.
Or, more accurately, manhood could stand to undergo a few renovations.
In the case of domestic violence, abusers are made, not born. Batterers are produced by a society that overvalues males
and devalues females. Gender socialization—the process by which individuals learn what is and is not appropriate behavior for their sex—plays a critical role in the creation of an abuser.
While not all males are socialized identically, there exists a fundamental link between male socialization and domestic
violence. Individual socializing agents, such as peers, siblings, and family members, as well as institutions of socialization, such as schools, sports, the legal system, the media, and religion, interact to inculcate in boys and men the ideologies of male privilege and male prerogative. This means that males are granted gratuitous power and status simply because they possess a phallus.
Beginning in their formative years, boys are indoctrinated with the ideology that males are inherently superior to the opposite sex. They learn, for instance, that they are physiologically stronger than their female counterparts. Behaviors such
as aggression, dominance, and assertiveness are frequently cultivated and praised in males but censured in females. For
example, boys are encouraged to engage in activities that venerate violence, such as roughhousing and high contact
sports. Thus, contrary to the “boys will be boys” platitude, aggression and physical superiority are not so much ascribed
as they are achieved.
Moreover, physical strength is not the only area in which males are supposedly superior to females. Intellect, competence, ability, and worth are other realms in which both sexes learn that females are inferior to males. In addition, males
are encouraged to suppress so-called “feminine feelings,” such as compassion and empathy, and are discouraged from
expressing affection for others.
The insidious dichotomy of male superiority/female inferiority is constantly and consistently reinforced throughout both
sexes’ lives. When men abuse women, whether the abuse is physical, psychological, emotional, and/or sexual, the perpetrators are essentially committing a hate crime against the opposite sex. Yet males’ aversion to and abuse of their female
counterparts is neither innate nor inevitable. Rather, gender socialization conditions males – and females, as well – to
perceive the subjugation and denigration of women as normal and natural. More perniciously, it enables devaluation to
shade into dehumanization. Once women are perceived as non-human entities, it becomes easy for men to abuse them
without compunction.
In order to eliminate domestic violence, or, at the very least, to reduce its prevalence, the concept of and criteria for manhood must be dismantled and reconfigured. I believe that both males and females are blank slates at birth. Males do not
enter the world armed with sexist, misogynistic ideology. They have the capacity to cultivate such beliefs. But, if this is
the case, then it stands to reason that they also have the capacity to cultivate positive perceptions of the opposite sex.
While re-socialization of adult men may be difficult, if not impossible, until and unless males are socialized to perceive
females as their equals (and vice versa), the prevalence of men’s domestic violence will neither abate nor dissipate.
24
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