I hate writing about the terrible things that happen to women, or I suppose it is more accurate to say I hate how I feel obligated to write about the terrible things that happen to women. I feel this obligation because terrible things have happened to me and because for too long I stayed silent. I was scared and ashamed and humiliated. My silence only amplified these feelings, the self-loathing, the isolation. If speaking about violence against women makes other women feel less alone, I am going to use my voice. And still. I hate writing about the terrible things that happen to women. I hate the inescapable feeling that writing about such issues accomplishes so very little. I hate the exhaustion I feel when I see yet another news story about a woman who has suffered at the hands of a man. I hate the guilt I feel because I am exhausted. Exhaustion is such a luxury.
Today, I hate writing about Janay Rice and the abuse she suffered at the hands of NFL running back Ray Rice. I hate why we’re talking about this woman’s intimate life, and I hate the violation of her privacy. On Monday, TMZ released an appalling video, reigniting the public conversation about domestic violence and professional athletes and the repercussions men face or don’t face for abusing women. This is a story about failure, compounded — failures in decency, judgment, compassion, empathy, ethics, and jurisprudence.
Rice was initially suspended for two games — more farce than punishment. Now that this second video has been leaked, Ray Rice has been released from the Baltimore Ravens and he has been suspended from the NFL indefinitely. We can only hope law enforcement will also intervene, as they long should have.
Today we are talking about Ray Rice, and before long, there will be another professional athlete, or singer, or actor who commits an act of domestic violence, and we’ll have the same conversations all over again. The victim will be interrogated for her choices. The perpetrator’s behavior will be rationalized. We will stare at the images of a woman’s bruised or limp body until we become numb. And then we’ll move on to the next story. It’s a cynical cycle and it’s time to break away.
Domestic violence is a problem far graver and wider in scope than the conversations we have when public figures get caught doing terrible things. Domestic violence is such a pervasive problem that there are “fact sheets” neatly summarizing the extent of the problem. These statistics have been compiled so as to illustrate the reach of domestic violence. These statistics have been compiled as if quantifying the problem might make a difference. So far, it has not.
We know the statistics, but they bear repeating. The National Intimate Partner and Sexual Violence survey estimates that there are 42,420,000 victims of such violence in the United States. That number is staggering. One in four women and 1 in 7 men have experienced severe physical violence by an intimate partner. Lest you think it is only adults experiencing domestic violence, 9.4 percent of high school students suffered violence from an intimate partner in 2010.
Most domestic violence, 77 percent of all incidents, occurs in or near a victim’s home. Where a woman should feel safest, she is all too often at risk. Domestic violence is the leading cause of injury to women. A woman is most at risk after she leaves an abusive partner. She is not safe at home, and she has nowhere to run.
more statistics. There are always more ways we can quantify suffering, but we seemingly have no idea what to do with this information. To this day, most domestic violence goes unreported. Statistics are not enough. Statistics don’t make victims of domestic violence feel safe enough to share their stories or get the help they need. We have given them no reason to feel safe.
Domestic violence shelters across the country are struggling to serve victims in need because there are so many, and these shelters are working with so little. The burden of proof for domestic violence generally falls on the victim, so even if she comes forward, there is no guarantee she will be believed. Law enforcement seems ill equipped, at best, for providing the necessary safety and support a woman needs to level charges against her abuser. Prosecuting these crimes and negotiating the justice system introduces further complications, if the crimes are prosecuted at all.
And, of course, we have rather grand and indulgent ideas about what women in abusive relationships should do. We have opinions about what we would do in her situation, as if our hypothesizing bears any resemblance to lived experience. She should leave him, we say. She should press charges. She should get a restraining order. She should go to a shelter. And when a woman doesn’t make the choices we approve of, she, rather than her abuser, must bear the responsibility for her suffering.
We demonstrate so little empathy or kindness for women in abusive relationships. We don’t want to hear real stories about what it’s like endure such relationships. We don’t want to hear how love and fear and pride and shame shape the decisions we make in abusive relationships. We don’t want to hear the truth because it is too complicated. We leave these women with nowhere to go. We force them into silence and invisibility unless they make the choices we want them to make.
In a perfect world, yes, a woman should leave an abusive relationship. She should have the emotional, physical, and financial means to do so. She should be supported by law enforcement and the justice system. She should receive counseling and emotional support. She should be given safe passage to a new life. The perfect world is made up of so much should.
We do not live in a perfect world. We live in this ugly mess of a world, where Janay Palmer wasn’t really believed until we bore witness to incontrovertible evidence — the repulsive image of her being knocked out with a single blow by an NFL athlete. Even with such brutal evidence, Ray Rice still has his defenders, and he will likely get third and fourth and fifth chances. For women in far less visible relationships, the imperfect world is even more unfathomable. I am here, writing from this imperfect world about yet another terrible thing that happens to women, knowing these words will not make a difference.
Roxane Gay is the author of the new book Bad Feminist.
The opinions expressed is article are solely those of the author.
