WSCADV is mourning this week in the wake of the shootings of Alton Sterling, Philandro Castile, and the Dallas police officers who were protecting a peaceful black lives matter protest.

‘This is the brain on horror’: The incredible calm of Diamond ‘Lavish’ ReynoldsHopper, who studies the impact of trauma on the brain, compared Reynolds’s reaction to what he has witnessed among victims of sexual assault. When they report attacks to authorities, he said, they often sound like they’re reading from a grocery list. Trauma can trigger pain-regulating hormones, which can make a victim appear to be relaxed, even apathetic.”

Rape, Alton Sterling, And The Complexity Of JusticeDoes a rapist deserve support from Black women after his unjust murder? Were the police justified in killing him because of his past deeds? Are we willing to discard him solely on the basis of a conviction in a justice system we know to be deeply biased and anti-Black?”

We could be heroes: an election-year letter “Despair is also a form of dismissiveness, a way of saying that you already know what will happen and nothing can be done, or that the differences don’t matter, or that nothing but the impossibly perfect is acceptable. If you’re privileged you can then go home and watch bad TV or reinforce your grumpiness with equally grumpy friends. The desperate are often much more hopeful than that.”

Some stories that caught our eye this week:

Why The White House Wants You To Live In The United State Of Women “With an ambitious agenda to tackle the biggest issues holding women back from total equality, leaders from the White House, Hollywood, major corporations, and civil society gathered together in one room to propose solutions.”

Domestic violence survivor stunned by $21 million award in lawsuit against her ex-husband “Bailey was found guilty of misdemeanor domestic violence and was sentenced to 180 days in jail — 178 of which were suspended — and two years’ probation, according to court documents. “I just felt like he was getting away, and he really rocked my world,” Kershaw told the Dispatch last year. So, she said, she decided to sue him in civil court.”

The Stanford Rape Case’s Judicial Fallout “A jury pool’s mass refusal to participate because of the presiding judge’s actions in an unrelated case appears to be unprecedented, at least in the modern era.”

"Almost done"Last Thursday you sent me this picture with the message “almost done.” Your dorm room was clean and you were packing up to come home. You have done more than survive your first year of college; you have done well. You ran with discipline, you took your classes seriously, you made friends, you found your way. I’ve told you I’m proud of you, and here it is in writing. I mean it.

I’m glad you’re home. I always need to look at you, have you close, to know that you’re still whole. These are troubling times.

I had intended to write to you about the Stanford rape case. I want to know if you read the victim’s statement. And what do you make of what Brock Turner’s father said? I had thought I would write about justice and how I don’t think the answer is to give Brock Turner the same sentence a Black man would get. That’s the wrong twist on equality.

I want you to be invincible, especially now in a world that seems so destructive, but I worry about how invincibility contributes to momentary lapses in judgment that can have devastating consequences. I worry about you being hurt. If you are, I will do everything I can to help you heal and be whole again. I worry about you hurting someone else. If you do, I will do everything I can to help you take responsibility and to explore a justice that can help everyone with healing and wholeness.

I was overwhelmed by the last paragraph of the victim’s statement. I read it over and over―her promise to girls everywhere. In spite of what she has been through, she claims her power and extends it to others, with love and with hope. It was a victory of sorts―she will not be defined by what Brock Turner did to her. None of us will. Not the young women you run and party with. And not you. That’s the point. You are not Brock Turner. You can stand with her.

That would have been the end of this letter. But then the shooting in Orlando happened, and I can’t ignore it. The airwaves are exploding with information and opinion. It’s as if the piecing together of timelines and facts will make sense of something that makes no sense at all. There should be no war of attribution here: ISIS, homophobia, domestic violence, guns. The protections we have created, and the ways we enforce them, don’t work. Could any amount of knowledge and any number of warnings have stopped Omar Mateen from doing what he did? Punishment and isolation are not the antidotes for hatred. Already this is coming through with Pride.

My thoughts are not as coherent as I want them to be. All I am trying to say is that your humanity has been compromised by Brock Turner and Omar Mateen. There are limits to what a mother’s fierce love for her son can provide. Until you return to campus for your sophomore year, I can have the illusion of making the world right for you and keeping you whole. Today that is what I have. I’m glad you’re home.

You’ve probably seen the “See something, say something” signs on the bus or at the airport. It’s about preventing terrorism, of course, but the sad reality for women in this country is that their biggest risk doesn’t look like an oddly placed backpack at a bus stop.

Thankfully, some women hitting happy hour in Santa Monica recently did see something and said something. They witnessed a man slip something into a woman’s drink when she was in the bathroom. One of the witnesses promptly went to warn her. She was stunned but glad to know. When they asked how well she knew the guy (expecting a ‘we-just-met’ scenario), the woman said, “He’s one of my best friends.”

HE’S ONE OF HER BEST FRIENDS.

This, my friends, is where we need to open our eyes. With so much fearmongering out there about strangers in the bathroom, this story brings us back to the actual problem. Who’s committing rape? People we know.

This guy broke several of these rape prevention tips, but the quick thinking ladies-who-happy-hour and the wait staff acted swiftly and decisively and the guy was arrested before he left the restaurant. Kudos to everyone who chose not to ignore or second guess what was happening. Thank you for believing that this was possible and that you could and should do something about it!

I want a world where it wouldn’t even cross someone’s mind to drug their friend. But until that happens, let’s do what the fine folks in Santa Monica did: See something, say something.

see something, say something

 

Some stories that caught our eye this week:

13 Questions to Ask Before Getting Married Whether because of shyness, disinterest or a desire to preserve romantic mystery, many couples do not ask each other the difficult questions that can help build the foundation for a stable marriage, according to relationship experts.

Samantha Bee has opinions about untested rape kits. (explicit language)

Some stories that caught our eye this week:

Rape Is Not A Death Sentence “Every well-intentioned instance of ‘[rape] ruined your life’ needs to be replaced with ‘this was not your fault. This does not reflect on you. You will get through this.’ ”

No Visible Bruises: Domestic Violence and Traumatic Brain Injury “Many victims spend their lives grappling with the consequences of an undiagnosed, untreated, unsupported injury, about which the narrative almost inevitably turns hostile: that they are crazy, or somehow to blame.”

What Obama’s New Move On Guns Does For Domestic Violence Survivors “As women who end up living in domestic violence situations, one of the things that happens is that you lose all power…When you don’t hear your government officials talking about it, you are just silenced one more time.”

Some news stories that caught our eye this week:

In the face of the shameful refusal of local and federal government to care about untested rape kits, these Detroit businesswomen took action.

Listen to amazing survivor and homelessness advocate Jessie Garcia tell Humans of New York her story.

When rents shoot up, domestic violence survivors face a tough choice: stay or be homeless.

In honor of Domestic Violence ACTION Month I’ll be blogging all month about what it takes to end domestic violence. It is our view (at the Washington State Coalition Against Domestic Violence) that to prevent violence we need to:

Address root causes of violence, Shift culture, Build Skills, Promote healthy relationships

 

Last week I wrote about root causes. This week let’s look at shifting culture. How do we do that?

Ultimately we want to challenge our communities to reject all types of violence while at the same time expecting that all people will be treated with respect in their relationships. I know it sounds a little “pie in the sky.” But in our everyday lives, there are simple things we can do to shift culture:

  • Instead of asking, “Why don’t victims just leave?” we could ask, “What can we do to stop abusers from being violent and controlling?”
  • Instead of telling women how not to get raped, we could point out that only rapists can prevent rape.
  • Instead of saying, “I can’t imagine he would do such a thing, he’s so nice,” we could say, “What must it have been like to be with him behind closed doors? Let’s ask her.”
  • Instead of telling little girls, “He must really like you if he hit you,” we could say “Violence is never a way to show love.”
  • Instead of asking what someone did to set someone off, we say, “You didn’t deserve that, how can I help?”
  • Instead of throwing our hands up in the air over teenagers’ relationships, let’s dive in and ask them how it’s going.
  • Instead of thinking that domestic violence is inevitable, we can embrace our huge capacity for love and compassion and learn to Love Like This.

All of these seem doable to me. They aren’t “pie in the sky”—they are right there in front of us, like pie on our plates! Can you commit to making a culture shift this month? Let’s try it and move forward. Together we can end domestic violence!

dvam

Don’t be jealous.

I got an invitation to go to a Moth storytelling workshop the other day. If a blog could squeal, you’d hear it right about now.

If you don’t know what the Moth is, and you love storytelling, you are in for a treat. I almost never listen to the Moth without choking up or laughing out loud.themoth

The pre-workshop instructions from the Moth organizers said to not overthink a story before the workshop. They assured us they’d teach us the techniques of creating a Moth-worthy story.

I have so many stories. If you know me, you know this. All the time. But don’t you know, when I got the email about the workshop, my mind went completely blank. Story? Do I know any stories?

In truth, I’ve had a long dramatic life with many story-worthy moments. My problem? Most of them are not things I would be wild about telling in front of an audience of strangers.

I finally picked a nice safe story about something that happened to me in high school. When I told the story to my partner (step one in story development) I put both of us to sleep. No good. I had to pick one of the risky stories, or flunk out of storytelling school.

So I took the plunge. I told the story of my childhood friend—and the deep relationship I had with his entire family. And something bad that happened.

I loved them all. They were my second family and I wished they were my first. Every night, they ate dinner together around a big table with a white tablecloth, real silver, nice plates and cloth napkins. They had an electric warming gadget to put the main dish on in case someone wanted seconds. And the conversation—oh, they read New Yorker magazine and newspapers and discussed important stuff in a civilized way. I was in heaven. They also had a summer “camp” in Maine—a creaky old house with a large screened-in porch—where the big dining table lived. The house was on a lake with the purest water where we swam and sailed. I loved all these people so much.

Time passed and all the kids grew up. I went away to college—3000 miles away. This was in the olden days, when people wrote letters—so I had a booming correspondence with several members of my adopted family. We all stayed tightly connected.

One year, when I was home for Thanksgiving, my friend and I got together and, as always, we talked and talked. I told him about my recent volunteer work at a Rape Relief in my new town, and about my particular interest in child victims. He asked me, bemused, if I didn’t think that the real problem with adults having sex with kids was the social taboo—that barring that, it really would be no big deal. Right? I remember thinking he was just yanking my chain, putting a theoretical thing out there to argue about. But the more we talked, the clearer it became that he was serious.

I knew he was close with a teenager whose mother was a tenant in an apartment he owned. So I remember insisting that he assure me that he was not having sex with this kid. The conversation went nowhere and I returned to college deeply troubled.

I wrote my friend a letter asking him once again to assure me that he would not have sex with kids, and he wrote back a 3 page, double-sided reiteration of what he already had told me about his rationale for why it’s okay for adults to have sex with kids.

I used to think that life was right and wrong, black and white. There was no time when I wouldn’t be dead sure about the right thing to do. But having my beloved friend wander down this terrible road left me stunned. And flat footed. Should I report? Or maintain my relationship so I could keep tabs and try to persuade or deter him?

It killed me to do it, but I turned him in. He was investigated and I guess the child he was in contact with didn’t disclose any abuse because my friend wasn’t arrested and I wasn’t called upon at that time to do anything more.

He and his entire family stopped talking to me. I felt phantom pains from that loss for years.

Fast forward a decade plus, and my phone rings one morning. I enter into a surreal conversation with a state patrol officer who is asking questions about my friend and what I know about him. Victims finally had come forward and the police were looking into prosecution. She knew something about a letter, and they’d tried to get this letter from the child protection agency, but they’d shredded their old files. Could I help?

Yes, I kept a copy from all those years ago because I knew this was not going to go away. The letter was entered into evidence and I was subpoenaed to testify at a trial. No trial took place because my friend came to a plea agreement. He went to prison.

People are always surprised by this, but I went to visit him there. Yes, I did. A couple of times. For those of you with friends or family in prison, you know about this. How you visit people even though they are not overjoyed to see you, and even though you are not overjoyed to see them. But because you are connected, and staying in touch is the only thing you can do.

My friend served his time. But when the date arrived for his release, it didn’t happen. He was civilly committed—the fate of many pedophiles. Civil commitment lives outside of most of our view and happens to people we are afraid of—and honestly, afraid for good reason. I completely understand why we want to lock up the bad guys. Forever. Period.

But I know this bad guy. For a whole bunch of reasons I don’t think he’s someone who should be in civil commitment. My friend was losing his freedom. All my hard edges defining right and wrong continued to crumble.

Years passed and my friend won a trial to secure his release. Every strand of my being, all my decades of work on behalf of victims strained as I went to testify on his behalf, for his release. There are many reasons I believed he was safe to be at large, and to the best of my knowledge he has not reoffended since he won that release.

I know this is hard for most people to understand but this is my world, where love and justice collide.

And this is the story I told at the Moth workshop.

The miracle of story-telling brought me others after the workshop who told me their own stories.

There are so many victims, which means there are so many perpetrators. And these rapists and batterers are people we know and in some cases people we love—in all the messy ways that happens. Even when we try to lock them up or throw them away, our loved ones return.

Some news stories that caught our eye this week:

For years and years, women have been telling the world that Bill Cosby raped them and the world did not care. Why not?

Scientists were in the spotlight this week for successfully landing the Philae probe on a comet, but one of them wore a shirt covered with naked women to celebrate. And we wonder why there aren’t more female scientists?

Best hashtag of the week: #FeministPrincessBride

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