Domestic peril

Crime rates are plummeting, but violence in the home remains constant

by Ian Donnis and Tim Arango

Lunch time is near, and the phone rings as state prosecutor Stacey Veroni winds down a rare morning not filled by court appearances. After guiding a visitor to an empty cubicle, Veroni's attention is diverted by a ringing telephone. "I have to take this -- it's from a victim who was supposed to call," she says, peering across a desktop cluttered with piles of manila folders and legal memoranda. These kinds of calls -- from victims of domestic violence -- are a constant for Veroni. From her post as head of the attorney general's domestic violence/sexual assault unit, she plays daily witness to a disturbing fact of contemporary American life: although violent crime has dropped precipitously across the nation, violence in the home continues unabated.

Thanks to more than three decades of steady activism in Rhode Island and across the nation, battered women find it easier to report domestic violence and get help. Awareness has been raised, laws have been enacted and police have been trained to respond more effectively to the problem. Once considered a personal matter between a man and a woman, domestic violence is now widely condemned and increasingly described as a public health issue. But despite all this -- despite the fact that the FBI index of major crimes fell in 1998 for the seventh consecutive year and the US murder rate is at a 30-year low -- domestic abuse remains widespread in America.

It was hard to remain oblivious about this when three women, Mary Brown, 53, of Providence; Jeanne Robinson, 49, of Cranston; and Laura Vincent, 38, of North Providence, were killed during a six-week span between last July and September. Brown and Robinson's boyfriends were charged in connection with their respective slayings, and Vincent's boyfriend -- a suspect in the 1990 disappearance of his wife -- killed himself after attacking her. The deaths came as local activists were preparing intensified outreach efforts for October, the month designated as National Domestic Violence Awareness Month. But although the amount of bloodshed in such a short time was unusual (over the last 12 years, an average of 3.5 women have been killed in domestic assaults in Rhode Island each year), it hints at the much larger amount of non-lethal violence that takes place behind closed doors, peaking on holidays and Super Bowl Sunday, largely hidden from public view.

It's different when a person of prominence -- a police officer or a legislator, for example -- is linked with battering. The outrage that forced last month's resignation of state Representative Michael J. Farrell (D-Central Falls), after he was arrested and charged with domestic assault for the second time in eight years, reflects the transformation in public attitudes toward battering. But the abuser who dwells in relative anonymity is unlikely to face the same kind of public disgrace -- and pressure to change his behavior -- when he beats his wife or girlfriend.

All this comes as no surprise to advocates in the criminal justice system or staffers with the Rhode Island Coalition Against Domestic Violence's six member agencies, who mount quotidian efforts to keep battered women safe. Although a few advocates once held hope out hope that the level of abuse would wane as America slowly started coming to terms with domestic violence in the '80s, such expectations now seem naive.

"I've always had the view -- and I still have the view -- that it's going to take several generations to make that kind of statistical change," says Deborah DeBare, executive director of the Rhode Island Coalition Against Domestic Violence. Another decade of aggressive outreach and advocacy, she says, could deliver further gains -- fewer repeat offenders, more accountability for batterers and decreases in the number of severe assaults. But, adds DeBare, "I definitely think it will take a couple of generations for the attitudes in our culture to change."

Arrests for domestic violence in Rhode Island jumped more than 88 percent in just three years, from 2917 in 1995 to 5485 in 1998, according to the state Supreme Court's Domestic Violence Monitoring Unit. Advocates attribute the surge to the increased willingness of battered women to come forward and the fact that, as a result of a 1995 state initiative, every police officer in the state has undergone at least four hours of specialized training on domestic violence.

Measured another way, phone calls to the domestic violence coalition's six member agencies jumped from 8761 in 1981 -- the earliest statewide figure -- to nearly 21,000 in 1998. Although advocates say that such figures reflect increased reporting, the volume of calls also illuminates the pervasiveness of the problem.

Janice Dubois, chief of the Supreme Court's domestic violence unit, tracks domestic violence statistics that are compiled by police departments throughout Rhode Island. She recently mailed reports to local officials across the state, providing the latest data about battering in their communities. For 1998, Woonsocket had the highest rate of domestic violence, with 12.72 arrests per 1000 residents. Central Falls and Pawtucket weren't far behind with a respective 12.33 and 9.15 arrests per 1000. In Providence, there were 3.91 arrests per 1000 residents.

In one sign of how much work remains to be done, Dubois hasn't received a single inquiry about the numbers. "You'd think one mayor, one president of a town council, one town manager, would call," she says. "No response."

Estimates of the overall incidence of domestic violence vary widely -- illustrating the difficulty in quantifying such abuse -- and many cases go unreported. While one US Justice Department survey indicates that 960,000 women are battered each year, the Commonwealth Fund, a New York foundation that studies health and social issues, puts the number at 3.9 million.

Most activists cite the Commonwealth Fund finding or other studies that show similar results when asked to specify the amount of violence. The reason, explains one national activist, is that while both estimates rely on household surveys, rather than police reports, the Commonwealth Fund defines abuse instead of just asking whether women have experienced it. The consequence is that someone who has been pushed or slapped but not seriously injured may answer "no" on the Justice Department survey and "yes" on the Commonwealth Fund's questionnaire.

In a sweeping report that was released two weeks ago, researchers at John Hopkins School of Public Health in Baltimore found that one of every three women in the world has been beaten, raped or otherwise mistreated. Echoing those advocates who liken their efforts to the civil rights movement, the researchers called for the abuse of women to be treated as a global health problem, rather than just an issue for law enforcement.

It's a compelling question -- why, at a time when crime has plummeted in most American cities -- does domestic violence remain prevalent, particularly after increased public awareness and improvements in the criminal justice system? And if this phenomenon has persisted through relatively good times, it certainly doesn't bode well for what will happen when the economy takes a turn for the worse.

A look at the historical record is revealing. No less an intellectual icon than Aristole observed, "The male is by nature superior, and the female inferior; and the one rules, and the other is ruled. This principle, of necessity, extends to all mankind. The courage of a man is shown in commanding, of a woman in obeying." In the New Testament, Saint Paul said, "Let wives be subject to their husbands as to the Lord; because a husband is head of the wife just as Christ is head of the Church."

Advocates and other observers cite the many centuries in which this kind of thinking went unquestioned in explaining the persistence of domestic violence. Until relatively recently, it remained legal in Rhode Island and many other states to beat one's wife. Even after battering was criminalized, it was not actively prosecuted and punished.

Detective Lt. John Clarkson, a 16-year Pawtucket police veteran, recalls that while responding to domestic calls early in his career, "we'd show up and say, `Do you want to make a complaint? No? OK, see you later.' That was the normal course of action that departments followed everywhere."

Efforts to chip away at the silence surrounding domestic violence gathered strength with the feminist movement of the '60s and '70s, as shelters opened and support services for battered women expanded. (The six member agencies in Rhode Island for battered women are: the Blackstone Shelter in Pawtucket; Elizabeth Buffum Chace House in Warwick; the Women's Resource Center in Newport; and Sojourner House and the Women's Center of Rhode Island, both in Providence.) Cases in which abused women were injured and killed -- sometimes after seeking help in vain from an uncaring justice system -- galvanized support for fundamental changes in how courts and police responded.

In one such instance in the early '80s, Tracy Thurman of Torrington, Connecticut, won $2.3 million after suing town police for failing to protect her from a stabbing and beating by her estranged husband. It marked the first time a federal court admitted a civil suit filed by a battered woman. Thurman was featured on national television and became a cause celebre for the movement. Her case prompted the Connecticut legislature to draft a first-in-the nation law to fight domestic violence, which mandated police training and judicial reform. In 1988, Rhode Island followed suit with the Domestic Violence Prevention Act.

In particular, the act spurred sensitivity training for police and judges, and required cops to learn to document a domestic violence crime scene, so an adequate case could be made in court even without the victim's cooperation. Perhaps most importantly, the new law required police to arrest suspects in domestic violence cases -- with or without the consent of the victim -- if there was probable cause. Twelve years later, more than half of the state's domestic violence cases now proceed in court without the victim's testimony, according to Veroni of the attorney general's office.

The enhanced national profile of domestic violence can be seen in a variety of federal initiatives -- the US State Department even funds programs to reduce battering in Russia and Ukraine -- and in 1994, the Violence Against Women Act funneled federal money to police departments across the nation. In Pawtucket, the funds increased training and introduced follow-up visits for victims by police and a social worker. Although the program has since ended, it left lasting departmental benefits in terms of officer education and awareness, Clarkson says.

Even in symbolic ways, the message that domestic violence is unacceptable continues to grow. Last fall, a 17-year veteran of Pawtucket's city government swept leaves and cigarette butts from the front of the police station. Pinned to the maintenance worker's blue T-shirt was a purple ribbon, an emblem of National Domestic Violence Awareness Month. "It's the first time we've worn these," the woman says. "The mayor's department gave them to all the departments."

Police remain frustrated, however, by the many cases in which a woman makes a domestic complaint only to later rescind it, Clarkson says. "They're afraid if they do say something, the spouse or partner will retaliate later," he says. "That's a big stumbling block. It's a huge problem -- victims ending up almost trying to recant what they said. They're so financially dependent on the person. They have children. He's bringing the money into the house, and without him, she's on welfare."

And domestic violence is still surrounded by stubborn myths and stereotypes, such as the widespread and ill-founded assumption that it's easy for a woman to leave an abusive relationship. "The most common question," says DeBare, "is `why didn't she leave?' Some day I hope that question is turned around to, `why do we accept battering as a way of life?' "

In some areas, advocates for battered women give Rhode Island high marks for ongoing efforts to reduce domestic violence. The state's welfare family violence program, in which welfare recipients can gain access to special advocates and waive work requirements if they are facing abuse, has been hailed as a national leader. DeBare says a comprehensive set of statewide services, in which police, prosecutors, probation officials and advocates work closely together, has developed during the last four years. "I come away from any national meeting with the sense that Rhode Island is one of the leaders," she says.

But in other ways, there remains a lot of room for improvement.

On an ongoing basis, advocates from the Coalition Against Domestic Violence's six member agencies make outreach efforts, ranging from single-day speaking engagements to training that enhances the ability of clergy and other professionals to identify victims of abuse and provide referrals. School-based offerings vary from an occasional guest speaker to six-week lesson plans on domestic violence. But although educational programs for children represent the best hope for breaking the cycle of violence, says DeBare, "The more comprehensive programs are the rarity. It's primarily due to obstacles with funding, and schools feel like they have tight curriculums and it's hard to bring in new material."

Indeed, most who work in the field say children have long been ignored in the fight against violence in the home. "Earlier intervention strategies have not been utilized," says Esta Soler, executive director of the San-Francisco-based Family Violence Prevention Fund. Kids who witness violence in the home, she says, face increased risk for a host of problems, from abusing drugs to becoming batterers and victims themselves. Although children are not counseled in our society, "We know that kids who witness violence will grow up with much more complicated lives," Soler says.

She believes sustained efforts on several fronts -- increased domestic violence screening by doctors; adopting policies in the workplace for identifying potential victims of abuse; and emphasizing assistance for children who are exposed to battering -- could make a dent in the amount of battering in America.

But in Rhode Island, where the state's $700,000 annual allotment for the Coalition Against Domestic Violence has remained at the same level since 1988, advocates say stagnant funding precludes a meaningful expansion of outreach and advocacy efforts (a slight increase in state aid is expected this year). "We need a substantive increase," says DeBare. "We need almost double the money we have now to respond adequately. There is a definite correlation between the amount of money put into a program and the number of people who hear about us."

The need for increased funding is echoed by Jane Hayward, associate director of operations at the state Department of Human Services, which spends about $1 million each year on domestic violence, most of it either in aid to the coalition of contract services with the member agencies. "As with all of these kinds of issues, I'm not sure the dollar amount is adequate, given the numbers [of domestic violence victims] we've seen."

On the national level, activists look for inspiration from advocacy movements like Mothers Against Drunk Driving and the anti-smoking effort, both of which have had success in changing public attitudes. "When you have a massive public education campaign, you see a rapid decline in the number of smokers," Soler says. "Domestic violence has never had access to the money to do a sustained public education campaign." Although Massachusetts and some other states have funded efforts to raise awareness, such messages tend to be outflanked by cues from abusive pro athletes and other elements of popular culture. In some respects, it's telling that the Woodstock festival, which flowered in the '60s as an idealized symbol of community, was marred last year by a number of mid-concert sexual assaults on women and a closing outburst of destruction.

The transformation in how the criminal justice system views battering can be seen in how the domestic violence/sexual assault unit was created in the Rhode Island attorney general's office in 1995. At the same time, an amendment to state law recast a third misdemeanor domestic assault conviction as a felony carrying a minimum mandatory one-year sentence. But despite similar efforts across the nation, critics contend that sufficient deterrents haven't been built into the law. In fact, the law's limitations have been reflected in many cases in which battered women obtained restraining orders and made other efforts to protect themselves, only to be stalked and killed by their partners.

"Part of the lack of a decrease [in the amount of domestic violence] is that there aren't any real consequences until someone is dead," says Rita Smith, executive director of the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence. "We tend to skirt this issue a lot in the system in the beginning."

DeBare agrees: "I think there definitely need to be stronger penalties." Domestic assault remains a misdemeanor in Rhode Island. First-time offenders must participate in a certified batterers intervention program, although they are typically spared prison time. (Attacks with a higher level of violence could be charged differently, for example, as assault and battery with a dangerous weapon, and a third misdemeanor conviction for domestic assault becomes a felony.)

But DeBare says too many abusers never face a third conviction since the law enables first-time offenders without a criminal record to have their slates wiped clean if they are not arrested during the following year. The result, she says, is that some men wind up abusing again and are never charged with a felony, despite being habitual offenders.

The flaws of the expungement procedure were raised in the case of Michael J. Farrell, the former state representative from Central Falls, who was arrested and charged with domestic assault on New Year's Day. Since a 1992 arrest on the same charge had been wiped from his record, Farrell was treated as a first-time offender -- his case was filed for a year and he will not face any criminal punishment unless he is arrested during the next 12 months.

Back at the attorney general's office, Veroni says she understands the criticism of expungements. But the practice is appropriate in many cases, and the law will catch up with most repeat offenders, she asserts.

Faced with the brutal toll that abusive men exact on their girlfriends, wives and children, Veroni remains focused on the positive difference that prosecutors and others can make on a case-by-case basis. She finds satisfaction when intervention brings an end to battering, especially when there are children in the home. "That is the goal," she says. "To stop the cycle of violence."