(6) Domestic Violence
13 Heartbreaking Confessions of Domestic Violence Survivors
Domestic Violence; It's EVERYBODY'S Business.
Making the decision to leave an abusive relationship is not a simple or easy choice. It involves considerations of risk and safety (is it more dangerous to stay or to go?), the availability of resources and support and a balance between losses and gains, made more difficult by the destructive effect that domestic violence has had on confidence and self-esteem. Some women may see leaving as a purely temporary measure, either to give themselves a brief respite before returning to the situation, or in the hope of shocking the abuser into a realization of what is happening. Others may not have finally reached the conclusion that their relationship has ended and may well need to go through the process of leaving and returning to the relationship a number of times, in the hope of making it work, before they are ready to finally move on, assuming the hoped for changes in their partner’s behavior do not take place. In all of these situations, the process of leaving may increase a woman’s confidence in her ability to manage alone and provide time both to reflect on the relationship and to consider her own needs.
For 15 of the women who talked to me, this was their first visit to a refuge, although it was clear that a number of them had left the abusive situation previously, staying with friends or relatives and then returning to the relationship.
Others had been in refuges before; six had made between two and three visits, one counted five visits and one woman thought she had been in at least seven. This group said that at each time of leaving they had regarded it as a final break, but had gone back for a variety of reasons, including the belief that the situation had changed or would change, and the financial and social difficulties which they saw as facing them. All of the women in the study were emphatic that their current decision to leave was final, but it is possible that one or more of them may have returned to the relationship at a later date.
Taking the decision
So why had they left now? Women commented that there had been a clear moment when they realized that they had to leave. For some of them, it had been the culmination of the leaving and returning process - a point at which they realized that things just couldn’t go on in this way any longer: A lot of people don’t have the family or friends to maybe use all the time, so maybe do go to a refuge and then go back and then go back again. But it does take, I think, one certain incident and one certain thing and when you just think…that’s gone too far, or that’s been too much or…you know, he’s hurt me too much, or whatever it might be. And then you do realize, even though you have known, probably, for years, that it’s never going to work.
That you actually have to say well, no, that’s it, I…whatever it might be, I can’t take any more. (Jenny). For others, like Stacey, it was the fear of imminent death that had given them the emotional strength to leave: ‘The situation got so severe, I just thought my life was in extreme danger.’ In other instances, the final driving force was anger. Janet decided ‘enough was enough’. Amy was more specific: ‘I thought, right, there’s no way you’re ever going to do this again.’ For her, as for other women in their thirties, there was also a realization that there must be more to life and that they were losing out on the chance of discovering their own potential. ‘I actually walked away this time for myself. I just felt there was nothing in life for me, anymore, hardly.’ Amalie agreed. ‘I mean, I haven’t had a life for the last 18 years. I’ve just had a beating, one long beating. And…now it’s my turn. I mean, I want a life. And I’m sick to death of dancing to his tune.’ A small group of women had had the decision to leave taken out of their hands, either because their partner had (yet again) thrown them out and they had decided not to go back, or they had come to the refuge to ensure their own safety straight from the hospital, or from court proceedings. Some of these women had now left the refuge and were living independently. The others felt that the action had helped them to make the break and they were unlikely to return.
Filling the information gap
One of the biggest obstacles to leaving was the lack of information, mainly due to the isolation from any social contact which had been imposed on them by their abuser. This situation was made more difficult for those living in rural areas by restricted public transport services and lack of easy access to facilities such as doctors’ surgeries or advice centers, where this information might have been available. The majority of those for whom this had been their first stay in a refuge had had no idea, to begin with, that refuges or support services which might help them existed: I had no idea that there were any women’s refuges around, anywhere. I’d never seen one, never spoken to anyone who had been to one, didn’t know what I was going to do when I had to leave home. I just spoke to my social worker, I said, I’m leaving, I don’t know where I’m going. I could envisage myself sitting out on a bench somewhere…you know, not knowing what I was going to do. I had no money, nothing, in a terrible state of trauma. (Rachel)
Sometimes, as in Rachel’s situation, the link was made by a social worker. Other sources of information had been the police, notices in GP surgeries, or clinics and, more unexpectedly, an assistant in a shoe shop who produced a phone book and looked up a helpline number. National and local help lines had often been the first step towards seeking help and the support they had given to women in considering their options, making the decision to leave and finding a refuge, was remembered with appreciation:
Knowing that there is actually somebody there to help you. It is hard to make that first call. It really is and…and I think the people who are on the phone, mostly, I think, are the most important people. Because, if you can’t talk and feel trusted with them on the phone, you’re not going to come to a refuge. And when I phoned the national line, they were brilliant. I could have broken down and cried and it was like… [great sigh]…somebody’s actually listening to me. The helpline was great. Absolutely. (Liz)
The idea that someone had listened to them and believed what they said, without judging or criticizing, had helped to boost confidence, name what was happening to them as domestic violence and recognize that it was not acceptable. Similar comments were made about advice centers. This ‘giving permission’, both to name the violence and that it was not inevitable had been of immense importance to Stacey: ‘I said to her, well, I just can’t take any more. And she says, well, you don’t have to. There’s a place where you can go. That’s where it all started.’
Women felt that had this information been more readily available to them, they might perhaps have taken action earlier. As Helga told me: ‘I went through this for so many years, thinking I could either get beaten to death in a warm house or freeze to death on the street, with nowhere else to go.’ They were very clear that far more publicity and information needed to be made available, although unsure as to how best this could be done. As Charmian said: ‘Women are going through hell out there and they need to be told that there is somewhere they can get help.’
Making the break
It’s not as if…it isn’t easy, you know. Anybody who thinks, oh well, all we’ve got to do is just, sort of, walk out the door and just get a train, or whatever, and just sort of toddle into a refuge, you know. And it just isn’t like that; it isn’t easy like that at all. Its one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. You know, because you just leave everything. (Barbara)
For all of the women, leaving had been an ordeal in itself, whether it was for the first time, or one of several such occasions. Some of them, having made the decision to leave, were given help by the police or, like Rachel, by a social worker.
Three who had found their own way to a refuge had made a spur of the moment decision – ‘just got up and run, that’s what I did’ said Charlene. Others had thought and planned meticulously, ringing the refuge until there was a vacancy, noting transport times, deciding who and what to tell and whether to involve other members of the family, working out what to say to their children and how to carry out their plans. One woman persuaded her husband to drive her and her suitcase to one of her older children for a ‘short holiday’, from where she contacted the refuge network. For others, there was a narrow ‘window of opportunity’ in which to bring all their planning together and make their escape, before their resolve failed: He went off to work and it was just one mad panic. I knew, if I didn’t go that night, I wouldn’t do it, I just wouldn’t do it. And so, technically, yes, it was planned and I had support and back-up from me, family. But if I hadn’t, I’d never have gone. If I didn’t…if I hadn’t said, right, I’m going on that Sunday night, when he’d gone off to work, I wouldn’t have done it. I couldn’t get anything [together]. It was like; you thought this, oh, right. And that was going on all day. I’ve arranged to go on Sunday, so I’ll just pack a few suitcases! Do you know? You can’t do that! Because, if he’d found out, I wouldn’t have been able to leave. So, when he went off to work on that Sunday morning, it was just a mad panic. QUICK! NOW! And we were putting things in bags and we just left. We just left. (Stacey) Women arrived at their destinations emotionally and physically exhausted by the effort of leaving, with only what they could carry or put in a car, or, in many instances, with nothing at all.
Arriving at the refuge
The prevalent emotion on arriving, either for the first time or on a subsequent occasion, was fear, amounting in many cases to absolute terror. Some said they had felt physically sick. Not only was there the immediate fear that they might be found by their abuser and the possible consequences of that, but also the fear of the alien environment they were going to. Women were shocked by the fact that they had come to a refuge and uncertain as to whether they would be able to trust the other residents or, indeed, the workers. As Cathy, one of the refuge volunteers who had also experienced domestic violence, pointed out, having lived in an atmosphere of fear, isolation, and uncertainty for so long such doubts were understandable: You don’t know whether to trust these women or not. You don’t know them, see, they’re all strangers. And you don’t know if they’re trying to pull information out of you and on to Social, to tell them.
Additionally, there were concerns and fears around all they had lost and as to how they were going to manage with no food, no money, and no belongings. For some, there were more long-term concerns about the future and the future of their children. This last was a particular concern for Asian women, where a child’s marriage prospects might be seen to be affected by the woman’s actions.
Coupled with fear was a general feeling of being so numbed, dazed and mentally confused by their experiences, that it was difficult to take anything in You feel like you’re absolutely shell-shocked. I just could not, for days and days get my head round the fact that I was actually here. The whole thing is very strange and very weird and very, very surreal. Like being in a Ken Russell film or something, you know, floating through it. (Barbara) I think, looking back on it now, the first eight weeks, I just walked round in a daze. You know, I was doing things, getting the kids in school, but, it just didn’t seem… I can’t explain it, it was a horrible feeling. (Amy) My head was in bits and I didn’t know whether I was coming or going. (Leanne)
These feelings of confusion and distress, similar to those which are generally experienced immediately after bereavement, have also been recognized in other research.
Given the intensity of these feelings, the way in which the arrival at the refuge was managed was extremely important in helping women to settle down and feel comfortable, after the immense effort they had made to escape. Their immediate needs varied according to their situation. So, for Shelley, arriving with only the clothes she stood up in and having had to leave her children behind, the first need was for space and time to express her feelings. ‘I couldn’t stop crying or anything. They let me talk to them for hours, do you know what I mean? To get everything off your chest and that.’ Where a move had been planned, even if executed in haste, it seemed easier to get straight into settling in: Katja [worker] met me and we went into the living room and she introduced herself and we sat talking and she took all me details and things and what had happened and explained things to me very thoroughly. What was expected and what I was expected to do and what they would do and stuff. And then she showed me to my room and stuff. (Stacey) For all the new arrivals, the prime factors at this time were not feeling rushed, being listened to, believed and treated with respect as an individual who had been through a difficult and traumatic experience. Small welcoming gestures – a hug, being given a mug of tea – were vividly remembered months, even years, after they had occurred. ‘Beautiful,’ said Maryam. ‘It was wicked.’
All the refuges maintained a limited stock of non-perishable food which could be made available to women and children to start them off and would loan small sums of money until other finance became available. At one refuge, the local branch of the Mother’s Union provided a Welcome Box of toiletries and other essentials for any new arrivals, a small luxury which made a big difference. At another, the Welcome Pack for children included some new, age-appropriate toys which were theirs to keep.
AFRICA: THE CRIMINAL JUSTICE SYSTEM AND THE PROBLEM OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE IN WEST AFRICA
Domestic violence is a form of aggression perpetrated by a family member or an intimate partner, usually male, on another family member or partner, usually female. According to Amnesty International, domestic violence is a problem the world over and affects one in every three women; this translates into approximately one billion women who have been beaten, coerced into sex, or otherwise abused in their lifetime. This problem is particularly pernicious in Africa, where both international and regional human rights and gender-sensitive documents have not been implemented by the governments of the various countries. This text examines how the criminal justice systems in West African countries respond to the problem of domestic violence in the subregion.
Laws are made by legislatures and enforced by the police, and when violators are arrested, the courts interpret the law and assign punishment accordingly. It follows, then, that before the police and subsequently the courts can get involved in the problem of domestic violence, the law must prohibit this behavior. However, among West African countries, only Mauritania has specific domestic violence legislation in place. Article 297 of the Senegalese Penal Code, amended in 1999, punishes violence against women by imprisonment of one to five years (Center for Reproductive Law and Policy). Ghana and Nigeria both have draft legislations designed to make domestic violence illegal in their countries. As of this writing, the rest of the countries in West Africa have yet to draft domestic violence legislations. Without specific domestic violence legislation which prescribes the responsibilities of the officials of the criminal justice system, the victims will continue to suffer. By the same token, the constitutions and sometimes civil laws of the various West African countries guarantee equality before the law and forbid discrimination based on sex, race, religion, class, ethnicity, or language; despite this, women continue to experience extensive societal discrimination, especially in rural areas, where women generally are confined to traditional roles. For example, though the Ghanaian Parliament banned the practice of customary servitude (known as Trokosi) in 1998, the practice still goes on. Also, female genital mutilation has been outlawed in many West African countries (including Burkina Faso, Gambia, Ghana, Guinea, Ivory Coast, Mauritania, Niger, Senegal, and Togo), but the practice continues and prosecutions are few. Further, despite the 1985 Agrarian and Land Reform Legislation in Burkina Faso-which established equality between men and women and granted women the right to own land-in practice, women in this country are still denied this right (Center for Reproductive Law and Policy).
Commitment on the part of the governments of the various countries to enforcing the provisions of the constitutions and, in some cases, civil laws of their respective countries would stem the tide of domestic violence within the West African sub-region. Such commitment would include providing funds for gender-sensitive training of criminal justice officials and outlining the responsibilities of each part of the criminal justice system. Further, it has been charged that some laws in West African countries are narrow and in some instances ambiguous, and as a result, are confusing to even criminal justice officials. For example, rape laws in Liberia, Nigeria, and Sierra Leone provide a narrow definition of the crime of rape that requires penetration of the vagina by a man’s penis for the elements of the crime to be complete (Advocates for Youth; Amnesty International; Human Rights Watch). Acts of forced oral or anal sex or penetration by foreign objects are not considered rape. According to Human Rights Watch, this discrepancy in rape laws is worse in Sierra Leone, where the law holds that unlawful carnal knowledge of a girl under the age of 16 is a felony but unlawful carnal knowledge of a 13-year-old girl, whether with or without her consent, is a misdemeanor. To be classified as a crime, in either case, the victim must be a virgin, because forced sexual intercourse with a nonvirgin in Sierra Leone is not considered rape. Similar confusion exists in Senegal, where the rape of a person over the age of 16 is a felony but the rape of younger girls is misconstrued by the police and the judiciary as unlawful carnal knowledge, which makes the act a misdemeanor. To improve the handling of domestic violence by the criminal justice system, any inherent confusion in the law as well as narrow definitions of the crime of rape must be given attention. In evaluating how the criminal justice system handles the problem of domestic violence in West Africa, it is necessary to note that several statutes in many West African countries discriminate against women. For example, in Cameroon, civil law allows a husband to oppose his wife’s right to work in a separate profession if the protest is made in the interest of the family. Also, while Cameroonian law gives a woman the freedom to organize her own business, it allows her husband to end such commercial activity by notifying the clerk of the commerce tribunal of his opposition. These laws, in effect, subjugate women to the authority of men. In addition, the law in many West African countries either tolerates marital rape or does not recognize it as a crime. In Cameroon, for example, marital rape is recognized as an offense under statutory law but tolerated under the customary law because it is culturally accepted that consent to marriage constitutes unlimited consent to sexual intercourse. The law permits men in West Africa to have two or more wives simultaneously but does not allow polyandry. Spousal abuse is not a legal and sufficient ground for divorce (Gambia is an exception).
Further, the law in some countries even permits husbands to beat their wives (New York University School of Law). In Nigeria, for example, the Penal Code permits husbands to ‘‘correct’’ their wives as long as such ‘‘correction’’ does not result in grievous harm, which is defined as loss of sight, hearing, power of speech, facial disfigurement, or other life-endangering injuries (Women’s International Network). Under this type of legal discrimination, it should not be surprising that the police in Nigeria as well as within the sub region do not intervene in ‘‘family affairs’’ except in the case of serious bodily harm or murder.
The law also discriminates against women in the manner in which it punishes people who assault others. For example, the Criminal Code for Southern Nigeria prescribes different sentences for the crime of assault depending on whether the victim of the attack is a man or a woman. Whereas assault on a man is a felony and carries a prison term of three years, assault on a woman is a misdemeanor and carries a prison term of two years. Also, Section 361 of the Penal Code in Cameroon criminalizes adultery, but the provisions differ depending upon whether the adulterer is the wife or the husband. The law holds that ‘‘any married woman having sexual intercourse with a man other than her husband shall be punished’’ and that ‘‘any married man having sexual intercourse in the matrimonial home or habitually having sexual intercourse elsewhere, with a woman other than his wife or wives, shall be punished’’ (International Women’s Rights Action Watch ). In effect, for a man to be punished for adultery, the act must either take place in the matrimonial home or be habitual. But, in the case of a woman, all acts of adultery are criminal. Also, nationality laws in Liberia and Nigeria allow men from these countries to transmit their nationality to their children wherever they are born and whoever their mothers are. Women, on the other hand, are not given the same privilege (International Women’s Rights Action Watch). Furthermore, immigration rules in Nigeria require that a married adult woman wishing to obtain an international passport must secure her husband’s endorsement before such a passport can be issued to her and if she wants the children to be endorsed on her passport that she presents their father’s written consent. Rules of this nature make the intervention of the criminal justice system in cases of domestic violence problematic. Additionally, whereas divorce is a permissible option under the marriage and divorce laws of West African countries, it tends to be treated as a male prerogative. A woman cannot be granted the divorce on the ground of adultery or abuse alone; she must accompany either claim with cruelty and/or desertion. Men, on the other hand, can divorce their wives without any verifiable justification. In effect, women can easily be divorced but not seek the divorce. So, when the spirit and/or the letter of the law clearly discriminate against women, there is very little that criminal justice officials can do to fight domestic violence.
Criminal justice officials in various countries in West Africa have been accused of maintaining a dismissive, unsympathetic, or nonchalant attitude toward the problem of domestic violence within the sub-region. Human Rights Watch has charged that the police do not see domestic abuse as a ‘‘real’’ crime but as a family matter in which the state has no right to intervene (AFROL News). Court officials are said to be complacent in dealing with victims of domestic abuse who seek their assistance (U.S. Department of State ) and judges are said to blame the victims of domestic abuse for their own victimization. The criminal justice system as a whole has even been accused of discriminating against women in the sub-region (U.S. Department of State). Relative to the above, the following need to be taken into account.
Each country within the sub region is made up of multiple ethnic groups whose customs, traditions, norms, values, beliefs, practices, dialects, and languages are different, to say the least. To be sensitive to this ethnic pluralism, the governments allow customary laws to operate alongside civil or general laws as long as such customary laws pass the ‘‘repugnancy test,’’ which is the government’s legal requirement that for a customary law to be enforced, it must neither be repugnant to natural justice, equity, and good conscience nor be contrary to any written law.
It is the common experience in these countries that the law in theory and the law in practice remain estranged; the customary law is actually given precedence over the civil or general law in the case of conflict. Since the state allows the police and the courts (especially those in the rural areas) to operate in accordance with local norms and values, interviews conducted by both Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch reveal that victims of domestic violence (including sexual violence) and their families do not report such abuses to the police but rather seek informal (mostly financial) settlements.
It is postulated that this reluctance to report abuses to the police is due to negative experiences with the criminal justice system, especially with the police. Also, customary norms and practices in the various countries (especially in the rural areas) either do not see anything wrong with wife beating or tolerate the behavior. Consequently, both men and women see spouse abuse as normal (Human Rights Watch); women especially see domestic violence as another burden they must bear (League of Democratic Women). Since the officials of the criminal justice system are products of the same culture, it should be expected that they too would not see anything wrong with a man beating his wife. While this does not justify the abuse or excuse either police or judicial inactivity with reference to this problem, it does indicate that the government of each country needs to embark on a public awareness campaign to educate the public about the ills of certain norms, traditions, customs, and values, as well as the costs of domestic violence to the society at large. It also indicates that the governments need to pass domestic violence legislation detailing the responsibilities of all citizens, the police, court officials, prosecutors, judges, social workers, and counselors, as well as providing and funding shelters for abused women and children.
The public’s reluctance to report abuses to the police also indicates that the governments of West African countries need to pay attention to those customary norms, values, beliefs, and practices that are prejudicial toward women and girls and that make them vulnerable to abuse. For example, whereas statutory laws among West African countries set the age of marriage at between 15 and 21, under the customary laws of the various countries girls are marriageable at 12 and, in some instances of arranged and forced marriages, younger. Along the same line is the custom that requires the family of a prospective husband to pay a ‘‘bride price,’’ or dowry, in the form of money or a gift to the family of the prospective wife (U.S. Department of State). Historically, this payment indicated appreciation for the qualities and skills possessed by the bride and served to cement the relationship between the two families and their respective extended families. Currently, this symbolic gesture is assumed to be equivalent to payment for a commodity and, as in any commercial transaction, entitles the husband-the buyer-to full ownership rights over his ‘‘purchase’’. Having been ‘‘bought,’’ many women married under customary law have no authority within what is seen as the man’s home. According to human rights organizations and the United Nations, this practice subjugates women to the unbridled authority of their husbands because it reinforces the inferior status of women within customary marriages (League of Democratic Women; United Nations) and forces women who cannot repay the dowry to remain in abusive relationships. Another customary practice that contributes to the abuse of women and as a result needs to be given legislative attention by the governments of West African countries is wife inheritance. Once a bride price has been paid, the woman is considered the property of the husband. When he dies, the widow is often unable to collect any inheritance; indeed, since she herself is considered part of the man’s inheritance property, she could be inherited by another male family member, often against her will (AFROL News). If a woman is customarily considered to be her husband’s property and can be inherited by another male family member on the death of her husband, there is not much the police can do for her if she is a victim of abuse; they might even be apt to escort her back to her abusive husband or family, to whom she belongs. Also hampering a positive relationship between abused women and the police and criminal justice system in West Africa is the growing incidence of religious fundamentalism. Fundamentalist and dominant interpretations of Islamic law, Sharia, in countries with large Muslim populations (such as Nigeria and Sierra Leone) treat women as legal minors and accord men the status of heads of their families with guardianship authority over and responsibility for women. These interpretations allow men to have up to four wives, to whom they have unabridged sexual
access and who cannot refuse, because such refusal can be conceived as a defiance of their duties and can give rise to accusations of disobedience, thereby triggering legal justification for beating. In these countries, Sharia tends to be interpreted in ways that give men power over women family members. As a result, women have a duty to obey their guardians-husbands, fathers, or other male heads of the family; failure to do so could result in violence. Such fundamentalist interpretations are evident in decisions handed down by Sharia courts in Nigeria. For example, an appellate Sharia court in northern Nigeria upheld a death by stoning sentence against a woman for having sex outside marriage, while setting free the man she allegedly had sex with on the ground that the court lacked sufficient evidence to prosecute him for the alleged adultery. Under the Maliki School of Thought, dominating interpretation of Sharia penal codes in the twelve northern states in Nigeria which have introduced them since 1999, pregnancy is considered sufficient evidence to condemn a woman to death, but a mere oath by the man denying having had sexual intercourse with the woman is often considered sufficient proof of innocence unless four independent and reputable eyewitnesses declare his involvement in the act of voluntary intercourse. The fault here is not with the police or the criminal justice system failing to protect women or discriminating against women, but with the federal government for allowing such fundamentalist/dominant interpretations of religious tenets to prosper. This article asserts that the criminal justice system in West Africa does not take the problem of domestic violence within the subregion seriously. The authors believe that this is mainly due to the lack of domestic violence legislation and gender-sensitive laws; preference given to statutory and customary laws that discriminate against women and girls; prevalence of customs, traditions, beliefs, and practices that are prejudicial toward women and girls; and the inability of the governments of West African countries to check the growing incidence of religious fundamentalism and ethnic intolerance.
