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A dangerous complication: Domestic violence in pregnancy

Published: May 14, 2013 | No Comments

Photo: Flickr/Bies

Affordable Care Act provisions help but aren’t enough, advocates say

By Hannah Guzik
California Health Report

When Margot Newman* went into labor, her boyfriend broke her cell phone and hogtied her to the toilet in their cramped bathroom. If she left, or screamed, he said he’d kill her.

As her contractions grew stronger, she pleaded for him to let her go to the hospital. Finally, he allowed her to go to her sister’s house nearby, and she took Newman to the Ojai Valley Community Hospital.

“I prayed and prayed and prayed that I could get through the day,” Newman said. “We finally got to the hospital and my blood pressure was really high, and I had really high contractions, because he had put me in to labor.”

Her son, Landon, was born after 30 hours of labor and a number of medical interventions, due to Newman’s high blood pressure and other complications, likely stemming from the abuse she’d experienced in the days before, her doctor said.

Her doctor didn’t know about the severity of abuse beforehand, but had provisions of the Affordable Care Act been in place, he might have. Under the new federal law, health care providers are required to offer domestic-violence screening and counseling to all women, and health insurance companies are required pay for those services.

“An estimated 25 percent of women in the United States report being targets of intimate partner violence during their lifetimes,” reads a fact sheet on the coverage from the federal Department of Health and Human Services. “Screening is effective in the early detection and effectiveness of interventions to increase the safety of abused women.”

Health care providers statewide have been working to implement the new requirements since they took effect in August 2012. Meanwhile, activists and those who work with domestic violence victims say the provisions are a good start, but still not enough to solve the problem.

“I just think this is a really big problem and I think we have to improve the OBGYN comfort level with intervening and improve the skills set to intervene,” said Priya Batra, a women’s health psychologist who helps lead a domestic violence taskforce in Sacramento. “The most helpful intervention is saying, ‘This is not OK, you do not have live this way, there is hope out there for you.”

If they didn’t do so already, most health care providers have added a domestic-violence screening aspect to their “well-woman exams,” or annual checkups. But, depending on the provider, the screening could range from simply asking women experiencing abuse to check a box on an intake form to the physician taking several minutes to ask each patient a series of questions.

“I encourage clinicians to ask, ‘How are things at home?’ something that’s a conversation,” said Brigid McCaw, an internal medicine doctor and the medical lead of Kaiser Permanente’s Family Violence Prevention Program in Northern California.

“I will often follow it up with, ‘Do you ever feel physically or emotional threatened or hurt by your partner or spouse?’” To help them comply with the new law, some doctors, nurses and therapists are also receiving special training on how to help women experiencing domestic violence, something McCaw believes should be standard, she said.

“This is so common, unfortunately — one out of four women will experience intimate-partner violence in their lifetime — and you can’t tell just by looking on an age or social or economic status or education or religion or sexual preference,” she said. “So screening every woman when they come in for a well-woman visit or other conditions or concerns is absolutely warranted. There’s no way to know unless you ask.”

There’s also a lack of emergency shelters and transitional housing for victims, whose ability to escape the abuse often hinges on having another place to live, Batra said.

According to the 2012 National Census of Domestic Violence Services, a survey taken by all domestic violence agencies statewide on Sept. 12, the agencies served 5,258 victims in California that day. On that same day, the groups were unable to meet 1,170 requests from victims for help. About 68 percent of those requests were for housing — both emergency and transitional.

Domestic violence often escalates during stressful life events, such as pregnancies, particularly if they’re unplanned or occur in tangent with economic difficulties, according to the California Partnership to End Domestic Violence.

Women who have been pregnant within the last five years experience 12 percent higher rates of intimate partner violence, according to the 2005 California Women’s Health Survey cited by the nonprofit.

Of those experiencing physical intimate partner violence, 75 percent of the victims in the survey had children under the age of 18 at home.

Domestic violence and abuse — whether emotional or physical — can take a toll on both a pregnant woman and her developing fetus, McCaw said.

“We’re just beginning to understand in the last 10 to 15 years how important the maternal experience is for how babies do,” she said. “The fear and stress related to intimate partner violence, even if there aren’t direct injuries, certainly has an impact on the developing baby and those risk can stay with the baby over time.”

Pregnant women living with abuse face higher chances of pre-term delivery, as well as pregnancy complications, such as high blood pressure. They also have higher incidences of depression, post-traumatic stress disorder and anxiety disorders, McCaw said.

A pregnancy can make it more difficult for a woman to leave an abusive relationship, particularly if she’s reliant on her partner for health insurance, money or housing, said Krista Kotz, program director for Kaiser’s Northern California Family Violence Prevention Program.

“In general, things that would make a woman more financially vulnerable make it more difficult for her to leave,” she said.

Ventura mother Dena Lopez* experienced severe abuse when pregnant with all three of her children, giving birth twice with black eyes, bruises and broken ribs, she said. Finally, after giving birth to a stillborn baby who she “felt sure was brain damaged because of the beatings,” she left her husband.

That was more than 30 years ago, and she’s now a grandmother and teacher at an adult education program in Ventura County. Lopez also volunteered at a local shelter for domestic violence victims.

“I talk to the women who are in the same state of mind that I was in, and I try to tell them, ‘You don’t try to stay together for the kids. In the end, the decision to leave, it’s a life or death choice,’” she said. “The biggest thing is just knowing you’ve got some outside support and that’s the one big reason that you stay or return.”

Newman, who was also beaten multiple times while pregnant, left her son’s father a few days after he was born, with $3 in her bank account. She wasn’t sure how they’d survive, but she found work as a waitress, got an apartment in Ojai and obtained full custody of her son.

Landon is now two and doesn’t remember his father.

“I didn’t want Landon to grow up thinking that it’s OK to treat women that way,” Newman said. “He’s such a sweet and loving boy. What happened before almost seems like a dream.”

* Names have been changed to protect the safety of victims of abuse.

 

Tribal courts aim to heal

Published: May 3, 2013 | 1 Comment

Non-Natives in the tribal court system can expect a version of justice that differs from most American courts. The Yurok tribe practices restorative justice, which intends to repair the community and victim after a crime is committed. Instead of sentencing someone to a few days in jail, for instance, they may sentence them to give up fishing rights or donate fish they catch to the community. Photo: Linda Tanner/Flickr.

By Callie Shanafelt
California Health Report

Advocates for Native American survivors of intimate violence cheered when they won the right to prosecute non-Indian assailants in tribal court. That change came with a provision in the Violence Against Women Act earlier this year. On at least one slice of California sovereign tribal land, the change also means defendants will have to engage with a very different criminal justice system – one that is based on restorative justice.

“What you’re trying to do is resolve a problem,” Yurok Tribal Judge Abby Abinanti explained of their tribal court’s guiding principle. “There must be a consequence for a bad act. You work through the consequence, and if they’re amenable to it, make it up to the victim.”

The ability to try non-Natives in tribal courts, which was hotly contested, came with the reauthorization of the Violence Against Women Act earlier this year. Many Native women suffer from intimate violence. Nationally, Native American women experience higher levels of physical violence, rape and stalking than any other racial group. More than one in three Native American women will be raped in their lifetime, according to the Department of Justice. The majority of perpetrators are not Native American.

(Related: New VAWA provides unprecedented protection for Native American women)

Few perpetrators were brought to justice for a number of complex reasons. In states where native tribes did not share jurisdiction with the state, for instance, non-Native people could and did commit violent crimes against Native American women – and no one on tribal land had the authority to prosecute them. They had to rely on federal officials to find a prosecute criminals, a difficult proposition, especially where tribal lands are geographically isolated. Native American women may also live on a reservation with non-Native men who haven’t been subject to tribal authorities, including the tribal police.

Tribal courts haven’t had the right to prosecute non-Native people since 1978 when the Supreme Court ruled that tribes do not have jurisdiction over non-Indians. House Republicans like Senator Chuck Grassley were reluctant to give the right back.

“[U]nder the laws of our land, you got to have a jury that is a reflection of society as a whole, and on an Indian reservation, it’s going to be made up of Indians, right? So the non-Indian doesn’t get a fair trial,” Grassley explained at a town hall meeting in his home state of Iowa in February.

The conflict over tribal jurisdiction was unfortunate and misplaced, Abinanti said. “Clearly they don’t have a sense that we’re functional,” Abinanti said. “I’m not out to mistreat any defendant.”

Abinanti is a retired state court judicial officer and is familiar with both the state and the Native court systems. They are, she notes, systems with different philosophies about retribution and rehabilitation within tribal courts.

But the Yurok tribe focuses on restorative justice. They resolve needs of the victim, the offender and the community, rather than addressing harm to the state as done in most courts in the U.S. The Yurok’s goal is to repair the actual harm that has been done and find healing to end the bad behavior for the benefit of the community.
By providing support to the perpetrator, Abinanti also hopes to end their bad behavior.

“By the time it gets to somebody like me, it’s not the first time it’s happened,” Abinanti said.

This approach is aligned with traditional Native American perspectives about justice. Historically, the Yurok Tribe had a justice and dispute resolution system that included mediation or payment as part of the resolution process. A village leader or group of leaders would listen to the complaint, dispute, or problem and arrive at a settlement amenable to the wronged party and the community.

“One of the most important components of this traditional response was the conversation and negotiation that would occur about the incident, in which tribal leadership would mediate between the two parties,” reads a document of the Northern California Tribal Court Coalition Domestic Violence Court.

Working with Judge Abinanti is very different than working with state judges in Del Norte County, said Yurok Social Services domestic violence advocate Porscha Cobbs.

“With tribal court, there are ways to show accountability in a restorative way,” Cobbs said.

Instead of sentencing someone to a few days in jail, they may sentence them to give up fishing rights or donate fish they catch to the community. This would be a much more significant consequence than a night in jail for a Yurok man, Cobbs said. Many living on reservations in this rugged stretch of the far North of the state depend on fishing from the Kalamath River for subsistence.

Victims who went through the restorative justice process felt less fear of their perpetrator, an increased sense of security and a greater ability to resume normal daily life, according to one study.

Restorative justice models have been used around the world in many indigenous communities. One of the most notable recent examples was the Truth and Reconciliation Commission in South Africa. In order to heal from the injustices during Apartheid, the commission offered amnesty to perpetrators who agreed to tell the whole truth of their wrongs.

This community accountability may mean tribes can succeed with a variety of methods for healing and criminal justice. Though tribes are diverse in their approaches to criminal justice, several in the North are joining with the Yurok to better respond to domestic violence.

Stephanie Dolan directs the Northern California Tribal Court Coalition of five tribes. Dolan is setting up a domestic violence court for all the tribes in the coalition. Three of the tribes have the largest Native populations in the state.

Dolan partnered with the Center for Court Innovation in 2011 to conduct a survey about domestic violence among the tribes in her coalition. Their results differed somewhat from national statistics, showing that most participants thought that perpetrators of violence against women on reservations are equally of Native and non-Native backgrounds.

Members of the five tribes contend with high unemployment rates and high rates of women and children living below the federal poverty level and higher than average rates of substance abuse and mental health problems. These issues are risk factors for domestic violence and sexual assault.

Judge Abinanti says the new VAWA provision is helpful, but may be beside the point. “Who’s doing it is not my concern,” Abinanti said. “The issue is the behavior is not ok.”

 

New VAWA provides unprecedented protection for Native American women

Published: May 2, 2013 | 1 Comment

Juana Majel-Dixon addresses VAWA rally attendees. Photo: National Congress of American Indians/Flickr

By Callie Shanafelt
California Health Report

Native American women are physically abused, raped and stalked more than women of any other racial group in the nation. A new provision in the Violence Against Women Act, passed in February, allows Native American courts to prosecute non-Native offenders for the first time since the 1970s. While most expect the provision to help address violence against Native women, it also poses challenges for California’s tribal courts, which work with far fewer resources than county courts.

Nationally, non-Native men commit 86 percent of crimes against Native women, according to the Department of Justice. Preying on women living on Native lands in Minnesota, for instance, is common during hunting season, a disturbing parallel pointed out by Native American novelist Louise Erdrich in a recent New York Times commentary. The offenders were secure, Erdrich suggested, in the knowledge that tribal police couldn’t arrest them.

“To protect Native women, tribal authorities must be able to apprehend, charge and try rapists — regardless of race,” she wrote a few months after winning the American Book Award for The Round House, a novel set in the aftermath of a rape on tribal land.

The new provision in the Violence Against Women Act (VAWA) came after a decade of such activism.

Juana Majel-Dixon of the Pauma Band of Luiseño Indians in Southern California was a part of the fight for the provision from the beginning. She is Vice President of the National Congress of American Indians and has a traditional appointment to the Pauma legislative council.

Ten years ago, a delegation of American Indian women went to the national task force that administers the money for VAWA programs. They asked for two percent of VAWA funds to help Native Americans.

(Related: Tribal Courts Aim to Heal)

At that time, rates of sexual assault and domestic abuse were just beginning to be tracked by race.

“This is starting to look pretty scary out there, how many Native women were being harmed,” Majel-Dixon remembers saying. The board ended up allocating 10 percent of funds to Native American women.

The extent of the problem became clear to them as they were advocating for victims of abuse, Majel-Dixon said.

The money allowed them to set up services specifically for Native American women and to collect data about the issue. “We ourselves realized there were no protections in Indian country,” Majel-Dixon said.

So they started to push for the provision to allow for the prosecution of non-Native defendants.

Yurok tribal member Elsie Losey says the provision would have helped her escape her abusive marriage. She grew up in Eureka watching her parents’ violent fights.

“I had this pattern of looking after the bad boy, the one that was going to push me around,” Losey said. “I thought it was a sign of love.”

A series of bad boyfriends eventually led to an abusive relationship with a non-Native construction worker with whom she had three children. Her partner isolated her from her family, tribe and the outside world. The first time he brutally beat her was when she left the house to visit a friend while he was at work.

“I wouldn’t leave cause I thought I loved him and I thought he loved me,” Losey said. “The first beating I will never forget. I could take the mental abuse but the physical—oh, my god!” Sometimes, Losey said, her husband would hit her with 2x4s from his job site.

Losey is not alone. A survey intended to help develop a domestic violence court was recently conducted among five northern tribes in California—including the Yurok. Almost half of the women responding reported that a partner had abused them. Slightly more than 70 percent of respondents said that they thought the perpetrators of domestic violence were equally Native American and non-Native. Many also said they felt more comfortable addressing these crimes with tribal police and in tribal courts.

But tribal courts, which are small and short on funding in California, may find it difficult to meet the requirements to prosecute non-Native defendants. None have their own jails. California is also one of a few states where Native and non-Native authorities have equal jurisdiction on tribal land, so the federal government doesn’t provide as much funding to tribal courts here.

There are only 22 tribal courts in the state, serving 40 of the 107 federally recognized tribes in the state. Many of the courts are also fairly new. The rest of the tribes rely on local authorities.

The new VAWA provision may be most helpful in states where tribal justice systems are more robust, like Minnesota, but until recently had no jurisdiction over non-Native people.

The members of the five Northern California tribes expressed more concern with the lack of cultural competency among non-Native authorities and service providers. The five tribes are currently developing a unified approach to domestic violence so the courts can better serve their members.

Forty-three percent of respondents felt that law enforcement—city and county law enforcement in particular—did not treat members of the community fairly in reports or investigations of domestic violence.

“I went to court once, and it went to pre-trial, and the judge told me if there was another domestic violence incident that brought me to court, they were going to send CPS to get my kids, and they would take me and my husband to jail,” said one victim of domestic violence participating in a focus group that was part of the survey. “And now I feel that I can’t turn to anybody if I have an issue. Or if we have a verbal altercation, I feel that I have to stay there and endure it. And stay and stay and stay because I can’t turn to anybody else. And that’s what makes it rough.”

Losey said that when she called the police about the beatings, her husband would be very calm and tell them that he would never hit her. With the police in the house, Losey finally felt protected, and would let her anger about the abuse show. So the police accepted her husband’s version of events.

She didn’t know where else to turn. “I thought I wouldn’t be able to make it without him, I ran my family support so low in the ground,” Losey said. “So I stayed.” She remained in her abusive relationship for seven years.

Dealing with Native authorities would have made her feel like she was understood, Losey said. “I would have felt way more comfortable; I think it would have went a lot more smoother for me.”

 

Immigrant Latinas get course in leadership

Published: February 23, 2011 | 1 Comment

By Rosa Ramirez

Walking into the classroom of Richmond’s Latina Center intimidated Maria Lourdes Sanchez. The other Spanish-speaking women in the room, who also came to develop their leadership skills, were welcoming. But Sanchez was still afraid.

For years, her husband told Sanchez, 35, that she wouldn’t amount to anything. But the mother of three kept attending the leadership classes. She kept raising her hand and voicing her opinion. She noticed her talents for giving presentations in front of a crowded room or drafting a budget proposal.

The Latina Center’s leadership program—Mujer, Salud y Liderazgo, or Women, Health and Leadership—teaches immigrant women like Sanchez how to build their self-esteem while developing marketable job skills. The trainings are done entirely in Spanish. About 350 Latinas have graduated from the program since its inception ten years ago. This year, 34 women are in the program.

“When the women go through the program, it’s like they are discovering themselves,” said Miriam Wong, the founder and executive director of The Latina Center and an immigrant from Peru. “They’ll realize, ‘where have I been all this time?’” Wong said she’s seen how the 12-month curriculum has changed women’s lives.

The women go through a series of workshops and classes ranging from personal development– how to eat right, building self-esteem—to career development, like learning power point and developing fundraising plans.

On a recent Saturday, seven women met to prepare for a trip to Sacramento to meet with policy makers. They studied the legislative process, considered the responsibilities of voters, and learned how to dress when they meet policy makers.

Alejandra Escobedo, a graduate of the program, talks about how to dress for an upcoming trip to the state capitol. To her left is Guadalupe Chavez, 49, of Mexico. Guadalupe's project will focus on educating women on breast cancer.

“Cuando vallamos al capitolio deben vestirse conservadoramente,” said Alejandra Escovedo, one of the program graduates. When we go to the capitol, you must dress conservatively.

Each participant in the leadership program creates a project designed to help her neighborhood. This year, three women will focus their projects on health. One of the projects, lose 10 pounds with Zumba, will focus on maintaining a healthy weight by offering a free exercise class based on moves from salsa, merengue, Hip Hop and samba. Another woman is working on informing women of the benefits of using non-toxic cleaning supplies to clean the home, and a third is developing a project where a group will go from door-to-door and speak with women over 40 on how to detect breast cancer early.

“We’re doing this because we can contribute to our community. We believe in our community,” said Flor Esquivel De Bazal, a participant. “And we want our daughters to be the next leaders in our community.”

The Latinas who arrive at the Center have a lot in common: all are immigrants, some don’t speak English and some have never worked outside the home. About 90 percent of the women who come to the Center have experienced domestic violence, Wong said.

“Muchas no saben manejar. Muchas no tienen papeles,” Wong said. Many don’t know how to drive. Many don’t have documents. Those barriers prevent many from seeking help, Wong said.

Escovedo, 38, said these immigrant women, finding themselves alone and isolated from their families who are in their home countries, will suffer in silence, too ashamed to tell strangers their situation.

“They’re afraid that the word will spread. They’re afraid that people from their own towns in Mexico will find out,” Escovedo said.

Some are too afraid to speak with police or a social worker for fear that their legal status might be questioned. In some cases, the abuser will intimidate them into silence.

These kinds of threats are typical: “If you call the police they’re going to send you away, they’re going to send the kids way,” said Lt. Bisa French, with the Richmond Police Department. “There’s still some reluctance, especially when they’re not here legally.”

French said police have been working with Contra Costa County advocates to help dispel common myths. A police officer, French said, will not ask a victim of domestic violence about his or her legal status.

“That question does not come up,” said French.

Sanchez’s case is typical. Her husband would become verbally abusive toward her when he was drunk. One day, she noticed that one of her sons was imitating his father’s temperamental moods.

“He started yelling at me that he didn’t like his food. He was acting just like his father,” Sanchez said recently at the Center. She took the boy to a therapist. She was referred to Wong’s group.

Wong says the program grew of out this kind of necessity.

“It’s a way of giving them a hand, so they can begin taking steps on their own,” Wong said.

Each of these women comes to their classes ready to lead, even if she doesn’t know it yet. “Latinas in the U.S., they have already overcome many barriers,” Wong said. “They’ve left their families in their homeland to find a new opportunity here.”

Developing women’s leadership skills helps their children, their partners and their communities, said Wong. Immigrant Latinas are the glue that binds family and community, Wong said. Part of what they bring with them to U.S. is strong connection to family, and even stronger hopes of seeing their children succeed.

Latinos make up 35 percent of the population in Richmond. According to the five-year estimate of the American Community Survey, the foreign-born population is 32.1 percent, compared to 26.8 percent in California.

The graduates from the leadership program have hailed form Mexico, Guatemala, El Salvador, and Honduras. They have gone to work as community organizers, peer leaders and have created their own businesses.

The hand-made quilts hang on the walls of the center’s garage, which doubles as a meeting space, created by graduates of the leadership program. Each square tells the story of one woman. Some have embroidered flowers, others have messages dedicated to the person who has helped them become stronger, and still others have drawings of a peaceful vista.

“Madre gracias por todo tu amor,” reads one. Mother, thank you for all your love.

Sanchez went through the program, got a job, and found the support she needed to find a safe home for her and her three young children. She returned to the Center to help other victims of domestic violence.

“I know that it can be a lot of suffering,” said Sanchez, who is the Center’s program assistant for the parenting classes. “I get a lot of satisfaction when I see a woman succeed and get her children ahead in life.”

 

Contra Costa moves against domestic violence

Published: April 25, 2010 | No Comments

By Heather Tirado Gilligan

Before Patricia left her abusive husband nineteen years ago, she struggled for years with the abuse, her fears and her reluctance to press charges. Whenever she did speak to the police, it was difficult for her to explain why she did not want to pursue prosecution.

“It was hard for a police officer to understand, if you know this is a dangerous situation for you, why would you keep calling, and why, when we come out here, won’t you press charges?” she said, speaking about her experience only on the condition that her last name be withheld. Facing judgment is one of the biggest challenges in breaking away from violent relationships, Patricia said.

“I knew the person who battered me better than anyone,” Patricia said. “I knew that if I pressed charges, when he got out of jail, there would be more harm for me.”

Combating the stigma and deep fear that follows victims of abuse is the goal of the proposed Contra Costa County Family Justice Center. The agency is a public-private partnership spearheaded by Contra Costa County’s Zero Tolerance for Domestic Violence Initiative. The Center will provide services to victims of domestic violence, sexual assault, child abuse and sexual trafficking under one roof, said Devorah Levine, executive director of Zero Tolerance.

Formal planning for the Contra Costa Family Justice Center began this year, Levine said. Working groups were created to unite the many county service providers and private non-profits, and a site to house the center was selected in Richmond. By the end of the year, Levine hopes that the Center will be ready to house representatives from key agencies across the county, including the police department, legal assistance, housing assistance and counseling assistance.

A Family Justice Center should increase prosecutions for domestic violence, said Bisa French, spokeswoman for the Richmond Police Department.

“When we work more closely with advocates and victims we get more cooperation,” French said. “Victims feel safer and are more willing to pursue prosecution.”

French is also assigned to the Family Services Unit, which responds to domestic violence calls. Family Services responds to between 25 and 35 cases of felony domestic violence per month, French said.

Increased demand amid decreasing resources

Richmond’s rates of violence against women are the highest in the county. The city accounts for only 10 percent of the county population, but 20 percent of forcible rapes and 21 percent of domestic violence incidents in the county occur in Richmond. Last year, 16 women died as a result of domestic violence in Contra Costa County.

Paradoxical as it sounds, Levine said county budget cuts are part of what prompted her to begin a center. Concentrating resources in one location is the best way to help more women, she said.

“Over time, it certainly saves this county and the community money, that we aren’t working at odds,” said Rhonda James, executive director of Community Violence Solutions, the non-profit that serves as Contra Costa County’s rape crisis center, and one of the organizations helping Zero Tolerance in its push to open the center. Without proper communication, service providers can duplicate efforts, James said.

The biggest obstacle that remains for the center is raising funds for rehabbing of the proposed site in Richmond, Levine said. She’ is fundraising and seeking volunteer labor to get the building ready for the agencies already in line to help. The work will cost an estimated $1.1 million.

Service providers are seeing huge increases in demand combined with funding cuts and decreased donations, said Michelle Davis, director of development for STAND Against Domestic Violence, Contra Costa County’s domestic violence prevention agency.

The number of unique calls to STAND’s crisis hotline increased by 85 percent this year, Davis said. Emergency food and clothing assistance has been needed by 39 percent of clients this year.

“I can’t tell you we’ve ever seen anything like this before,” Davis said of the combined budget cuts and increased demand. “This is really off the chart for us.”

Connecting services

Abused women usually require more than one service, Levine said, and are overwhelmed with fear and feelings of worthlessness when they begin the process of leaving their relationships. Then, the process of separating from an abusive spouse requires a complicated series of bureaucratic interactions, like securing restraining orders, beginning divorce proceedings, and drawing on the resources of social agencies to find emergency shelter.

“If we are all in one place, the odds of someone falling through the cracks is just smaller,” James said.

“The reason that there are difficulties between pieces of the system aren’t usually because people are small minded or evil,” James said. “It’s because we don’t know that when someone has to move from law enforcement to medical to social services to housing that there are these pieces that fall away.”

Patricia saw that fragmentation first-hand.

“Everything was pretty disconnected,” she said of seeking help in Contra Costa County. Much has changed since she was a victim, Patricia said, but assistance remains scattered. “A lot of services were available through STAND, but a lot I had to find out on my own. It took a few years to wrap up most of the services I needed.”

The Latina Center in Richmond helps serve women who are trying to escape abusive relationships.

Leticia Mendoza, a former victim of domestic violence who is now a peer counselor in the domestic violence program at Richmond’s Latina Center, said that she had no idea how to get help when she left her abusive relationship seven years ago.

“It was hard because I didn’t know anything here,” she said. “So I represented myself in court. I didn’t know any English at all…I didn’t know what I was doing.”

Creating a culture of safety

Violence occurs more frequently in poor areas generally, but the problem of domestic abuse cuts across socioeconomic lines, James said. Women from all ethnic groups, races and income brackets draw on public and private resources for victims of abuse.

Yet poor women, and women who don’t speak English, do have a harder time finding emergency services and protection, James said.

Miriam Wong, director of Richmond's Latina Center.

Some women, like Mendoza, overcome legal and personal challenges and leave their abuser behind. Others don’t, said Miriam Wong, the executive director of the Latina Center.

Listen to Miriam Wong in her own voice.
miriam_wong

A victim seeking assistance at an emergency room, police station or clinic is unlikely to make initial contact with a service provider specifically trained to help them, according Wong. Latinas who don’t speak English and weren’t born in the U.S. are especially vulnerable, because language and cultural barriers make it more difficult to get help.

Working closely together, desk by desk, will teach providers how to help all women, James said.

“It’s not just about the services, it’s about the culture that is created when you have larger systems…really looking into the eyes of victims,” James said. “Most people don’t present and say, I’m a victim of domestic violence or sexual assault. They say, I have a broken jaw. I’m hurting. I’m homeless.”

“It truly does take many minds—and many hearts—to pay attention to when a situation becomes very dangerous for a family,” Zero Tolerance’s Levine said.

Given the ever-rising need for help, Patricia said, the center cannot open soon enough. “To me,” she said, “it’s just amazing to think about all the possibilities.”

Listen to Patricia in her own words.

patricia_final

 
 
 

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