I went tonight, as an observer, to an Impact Panel. This is a monthly get-together of various people who work in DV (police, therapists, etc.), a couple of DV survivors, and a whole bunch of convicted abusers (or as we affectionately call them around here, "the perps".) The agenda for the meeting is for the perps to listen to the experts and maybe actually learn something about how their behavior affects others.
These meetings are mandated by the court for convicted abusers -- those convicted of a misdemeanor and who are on probation.
I took notes at tonight's event, and my summary of the festivities is below the fold. Think of it as time-delayed liveblogging. All names in this diary are changed to protect the innocent, and not-so-innocent.
The evening starts off on a high note -- for me, anyway. I sit and watch the perps pay at the door. They have to pay $20 each for the privilege of being there. All the proceeds go to the local nonprofit DV agency, whose staff coordinates and moderates these events. And if they don't complete the program successfully -- something that's determined by the evening's moderator, a colleague of mine -- they have to repeat it. Heh.
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We start off with a videotape. Photos of women with badly bruised faces. Some DV statistics scroll down the screen. Every 30 seconds or so, the words "THERE IS NO EXCUSE" appear on the screen for a second or two before another bruised face appears. The Beatles provide the soundtrack of the first part of the video, a peppy little toe-tapping pop tune from Rubber Soul:
Well I'd rather see you dead, little girl
than to be with another man
You better keep your head, little girl
or I won't know where I am
You better run for your life if you can, little girl
Hide your head in the sand little girl
Catch you with another man
That's the end little girl
Well I know that I'm a wicked guy
And I was born with a jealous mind
And I can't spend my whole life
trying just to make you toe the line
Let this be a sermon
I mean everything I've said
Baby, I'm determined
And I'd rather see you dead
...
I'm sitting off to the side. The room's fairly large, and is set up classroom-style with rows of tables and chairs all facing the front. Almost every chair in the room is occupied; I estimate that there are between 50 and 60 people in the room. Of this number, there are two observers in addition to me, both of them women, and there are three women sitting together in the middle of the room whom I'm told are there as mandated participants, i.e. they are abusers. Everyone else in the room is male. I see three or four black men, a couple who look Hispanic, one who looks like he's Native American. The rest are white. I'd guess the average age of the men in the room to be mid-30s. Half of the men in the room have either shaved heads or ultra-short buzz cuts. The three women -- one white, one black, one Hispanic -- are older, I'd guess mid-to-late-40s.
My colleague Jane leads the first segment of the program, talking about the Power and Control Wheel* (PDF). She walks the group through each of the different parts of the wheel, prompting the participants to speak up and contribute. I don't expect that any of them will voluntarily speak, but several do. She asks for examples of the various types of behavior in the wheel. When asked what intimidation looks like, one man volunteers "Burning your wife's clothes." When asked for examples of sexual abuse, the same man says "Takin' it from them when they don't want to give it." When she gets to the part about using children, she says to the room: "Tell me one positive thing about being a child in a violent home." The room is silent.
When she finishes the wheel, she asks the room what they see in front of them. No one has an answer. "None of this talks about hitting," she says. "Domestic violence begins long before you lay a hand on your partner." This gets a reaction from the men, and I begin to hear cross-talk throughout the room with phrases like "So-called victim". There's a guy sitting down front -- I don't know his name, but to me he looks like a Travis, so in my head I start calling him Travis. Travis says "I'm not justifying what I've done, but it's her fault [for provoking me]." Jane politely cuts him off before he can say anything else.
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Jane then does a brief role play with John, who is a member of the local sheriff's department. They've obviously done this before, plenty of times. He's the abusive husband, she's the wife. He comes home, she tells him that she's been offered a job, he goes off on her, yelling, cursing, name-calling, threatening. He's way taller than she is and he keeps moving in while she backs away. He doesn't touch her, but I'm cringing a little inside. Afterward, Jane asks for reaction from the group. The men who speak up all seem to be mostly interested in talking about whether or not John's character has done anything criminal and whether or not he could be arrested for doing that.
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The next speaker is Gary, a 22-year veteran of the local police department. Gary gives a few factoids about the state DV laws. I learn that prior to 1984 there were no laws to mandate an arrest in cases of domestic violence. Since 1984, however, police are mandated to make an arrest of the primary aggressor if there is probable cause to believe that an assault has taken place.
Gary spends most of his time talking about court orders: no-contact orders, restraining orders, and orders of protection. There are differences between these, mostly with regard to the circumstances under which they are issued by a judge. What they have in common, though, is this: A misdemeanor assault committed in violation of any of these court orders is an automatic felony charge. Gary says to the group: "I know most of you are under one of these orders right now. My advice to you is, read your order, and then read it again, and then find the smartest person you know, and ask them to read it and explain it to you. And then don't violate it, because if you violate it you will be charged with a felony." He keeps hammering on that: Comply with the court order for your own protection. He doesn't even bother to talk about why it's important for the victim's sake that the orders should be complied with. I find that rather interesting.
He asks for questions at the end of his talk. A couple of guys, including my new friend Travis down front, start up with the "But she started it" talk again. Gary cuts them off saying he's out of time.
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Next up is Matthew. Matthew is a convicted abuser who's successfully completed a course of treatment. Matthew doesn't look like he could so much as hurt a fly. He's about as tall as I am, 5'9", with a slight build. He looks very young and very vulnerable. I would never in a million years look at him and guess him to be a batterer.
Matthew starts to talk. He says that it took him three years to complete a six-month treatment program. He says that if you're an abuser and you blame your wife for beating on her, then you're not a man, you're a child.
Travis, sitting down front, starts to laugh. I've been watching and listening to Travis sit and smirk and clown around and make excuses for his behavior by blaming his partner for over an hour by now, but as Matthew speaks Travis starts laughing outright. Matthew, to my complete astonishment, goes from earnestness to rage in about 3 nanoseconds, and looks like he's going to go over the table at Travis. "Do NOT disrespect me!" Matthew shouts. Travis just laughs harder. Matthew stops himself, turns his back on the group and stands clenching and unclenching his fists for a few seconds, breathing deeply. In the meantime Jane and another woman named Sheila, a therapist who works with abusers ("perpetrator providers", they're called) move in and take charge of the situation. Sheila goes and sits down next to Travis and suggests that he control himself. Jane stands near the front of the room and addresses Travis. "Sir," she says, calmly, "Your behavior is inappropriate." "I can't help it, it's not my fault I laughed," Travis says. "I'm trying not to laugh." "Try harder," Jane replies. "If you continue this behavior I will ask you to leave and you will have to repeat this program." Sheila in the meantime simply sits next to Travis and looks at him. Travis turns red and looks at the tabletop. Jane indicates to Matthew, who has calmed down and turned back around by now, that he can continue.
Matthew talks a little about his wife and kids. He somehow managed to save his marriage despite his history of abuse. He says "I haven't laid a hand on my wife in over three years, but I still see her wince when I get angry." Matthew asks how many in the room have sons. At least half raise their hands. Matthew says "If you don't change your life, there's a 98% chance that your son will end up sitting in a room just like this one, because you're teaching him to be a batterer." The room, which has been buzzing with whispers since the Matthew/Travis confrontation, falls silent when he says this. "If you don't change your life your daughter will end up with a man who's just like you, and that man will beat her up."
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When Matthew finishes, Carla speaks. Carla's a survivor. I'd been told before the program that Carla has a harrowing tale of abuse to tell, but I don't get to hear much of it. Carla gets up and states that she's going to cut her presentation short, because Travis's behavior has made her feel unsafe and she isn't comfortable telling her whole story. So, instead, we get a highly edited version. Still, it's bad enough. I look at the men in the room. They're paying attention to Carla, but their body language is different than when Gary, Matthew or even Jane were talking. When Carla speaks -- and she's clearly ill-at-ease -- they sit back in their chairs and cross their arms. It's not a defensive attitude I see in them so much as a disrespectful and subtly intimidating one. Very, very interesting.
Matthew has sat down next to me while Carla is speaking. I turn and whisper to him, "Are you okay?" "Yeah," he whispers. "I'm the foreman on a construction crew and I'm used to being yelled and cursed at by pissed-off workers." "Yeah," I whisper back, "But there's a huge difference between an annoyed construction worker and a gigantic flaming abusive asshole." Matthew snorts with suppressed laughter.
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Last up is Sheila, the 'perp provider'. She rises from the chair next to Travis and walks to the front of the room. I am too caught up in watching the group to catch much of what she's saying -- she makes a very brief statement. Then she asks for questions. Travis raises his hand, and a dialogue ensues:
Travis: "But what if she's pushing my buttons and provoking me?"
Sheila: "Violence is a choice."
Travis: "But what about when she starts it?"
Sheila: "Violence is a choice".
Travis: "But --"
Sheila: "Violence is a choice. There is no excuse."
Travis gives up and slumps down in his chair. I mentally stand up and give Sheila a rousing cheer.
...
We've run out of time, and Jane thanks the group, asks them to complete their evaluations and turn them in, and tells them they can leave. I stand at the door with Jane while she collects the forms. When Travis turns his in, Jane puts it at the bottom of the stack in her hands. We both get a pretty strong whiff of alcohol on Travis' breath as he walks past us. After the room is cleared, we pull his form off the bottom of the stack and look at it. Travis has, rather stupidly, put his name on the form, and Jane smiles when she sees it. I ask her why she's smiling. "Because I couldn't remember his name, but now I can call his probation officer and strongly recommend that he repeat the program. He'll be back again next month," she says.
We look at Travis' evaluation form. Travis has written, in big capital letters: THIS PROGRAM WAS TOTALLY BIASED IN FAVOR OF WOMEN AND THE OFFENDER [i.e., Matthew] DIDN'T KNOW WHAT HE WAS TALKING ABOUT!!!!! "Yep," Jane says, "He'll be back next month." We grin at each other.
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As I leave, I see Matthew standing outside the meeting room, deep in conversation with two men who'd been participants this evening, neither of whom had spoken up at all during the program. I catch Matthew's eye and wave good-bye. He waves back.
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* This is the original version of the Power and Control Wheel, which was originally developed in the 1980s. More recent versions -- which, as it turns out, are very difficult to find on the web -- have discontinued the term "Male Privilege" and instead use the term "Domination".