Words of Fire (70 page)

See also Evelyn C. White's Chain,
Chain, Change: For Black Women Dealing with Physical and Emotional Abuse (1985) and The Speaking Profits Us: Violence Against Women of Color
, edited by Mary Violet Burns for the Center of Domestic and Sexual Violence, in Seattle.

Over the past decade, the question of domestic violence against women
—
including black women—has emerged as a major concern in the fight against women's oppression. This is a controversial subject because, unlike other aspects of the subjugation of black women that target racism and economic exploitation, the burgeoning problem of battered women at first appears as an individual problem: a man beating a woman.

Too many blacks still think this is a divisive issue that should not be aired in public. However, the problem of battered women is a social phenomenon, not an individual one, and combatting this expression of social malaise must be approached with as much vigor as those rooted in the vagaries of a racial and class society.

The purpose of this article is to trace some of the obstacles I have encountered as a young black woman who calls herself a feminist working in the battered women's movement. My experiences have led me to some conclusions, which I offer for consideration.

I was introduced to the battered women's movement while working in New York City. It is a rare privilege to be associated with a multicultural, Third World-controlled agency with strong roots in the community. I had such a privilege for two years as I joined with dedicated workers in service to a predominantly black and Hispanic population.

The goal of our multidimensional involvement with community families was empowerment to assist families in the development of skills and the accumulation of resources necessary to overcome the cultural, racial, economic, and political oppression that smothered the community. We saw the family as the only institution truly able to meet and nourish individual needs. The agency was designed to foster independence in the community and to support families fighting back against exploitation, while maintaining their cultural and racial identities. In sharp contrast, most educational, social-service, and health-care systems in the community discourage autonomy and self-determination. Being an enthusiast and sharing the
commitment to community and individual empowerment, I joined in the work and began to call the community my home.

After a period of time, I gradually realized that some of these strong, culturally-identified families, which we had been supporting so vehemently, were dangerous places for some women to live in. Furthermore, the political machine at the forefront of the grassroots community movement was, in fact, subtly exploiting women by denying the reality of sexual oppression. As I began to look closely, the incidences of battering, I have since learned, may have been intentionally set for me. I can now recognize that this “trap” is analogous to the “trap” in which many battered women find themselves. It is the trap of silence. Because of the scarcity of agencies such as mine, I hesitated to disclose my observations. I was immobilized by denial and sadness. Fear of being cast out by the community silenced me in the beginning. Loyalty and devotion are enormous barriers to overcome.

The world is so hostile to Third World people that it seems much less painful to remain quietly ambivalent. I struggled with how to illuminate this dark secret about our homes and ourselves. Disclosure is so easily confused with treason!

After a few false starts, I found a way to break the silence. I began to hold regular meetings for women in the community to talk together about positive issues: community strength and survival techniques. Discussions ranged from cultural rituals, such as holidays, to practical skills, such as living on an inadequate income. As the passage of time built trust, so it certified alliances, and women began to talk about problems in the community and finally about incidents of violence in their homes. Survival techniques and community concerns were expanded to include violence against women. The acknowledgement of the problem brought great joy and many tears. Women freed themselves from the trap of silence.

These triumphant women developed a mighty support network, as all through history black women have done so well. They set out to create an arena in which battered women could meet the community in full voice. A great deal of progress was made in the eighteen months I knew these women. Certainly, there is a long way to go. My point is not to extol their virtues, but rather to relate the message about the trap.

Black women, be forewarned. It is a painful, unsettling task to call attention to violence in our community. You may find yourselves feeling caught by the trap called loyalty. There is already so much negative information about our families that a need to protect ourselves keeps us quiet. Yet, we must not allow our voices to be silenced. Instead, we must strengthen and speak the truths about our families; we must support each other; but we must hear the cries of our battered sisters and let them be heard by others!

In an effort to verify my experience, I looked to other Third World communities. My quest led me to sixteen vivacious women who refer to themselves as “Battered Minority Women” (BMW). Despite the inaccessibility of mainstream educational systems to members of BMW, these women are extremely well-educated, particularly in terms of political strategies. Their life experiences have afforded them keen insight and expert technique. Their alliance is built upon: (1) a history of being physically battered by men in their homes; (2) the experience of having survived the trauma of a lifetime of poverty; and (3) a strong allegiance to various Third World community groups. Most significantly, however, BMW shares a common analysis of the causes of battering, and they agree about the most appropriate response.

BMW believes that domestic violence is not a problem in black communities. Its occurrence, like substance abuse, crime, and unwanted adolescent pregnancy, is a symptom of living systematically deprived in a society that is designed to dominate and control Third World people. (On this point, I concur with their analysis.)

They define battering as the “systematic deprivation inflicted upon Third World men by society, which, in turn, is inflicted upon Third World women.” That is, black women are beaten solely because their men are deprived. The response they advocate lies herein.

According to the BMW, black women should involve themselves in the struggle for racial justice in order to end battering in their homes. They consider the only real issue to be racial liberation; the concept of sexual oppression does not exist for them. They assert that there is no inequality of power between men and women, and they reject the notion that they are being mistreated by the men who beat them. Complete responsibility lies with white society. (This summary of their analysis has been confirmed by BMW as accurate.)

BMW members do not consider themselves feminist and negate the need to be part of a larger movement for sexual equality. They provide temporary refuge for the battered women in their community through a safehome model, demonstrating once again stalwart support for one another. Most of the women they protect return home after the violent episode. BMW proudly acknowledges a high return rate of women to the BMW safe-homes.

BMW is associated with groups in Boston, Los Angeles, Detroit, and Atlanta, who share a similar philosophy. I have heard their sentiments expressed frequently in quite convincing terms, and suspect that many women are lured by their analysis of racial oppression, just as I am.

I find this disturbing because if the argument is taken one step further, it approaches the theory of the black matriarch. This well-popularized myth suggests the notion of the “strong black woman,” willing and able to accept beating in the support of her man. The implication is that the role of black women in our families is to receive regular whippings in order to alleviate black men's stress. Clearly, this is a dangerous betrayal.

Undoubtedly, the stress black men must endure is cruel and often overwhelming. The connection this has to black women's accepting beatings puzzles me. Who is responsible? And where is the strength in acceptance? It is true that black women have historically been able to secure employment at times when black men could not. Does this make us any less oppressed? Why are we arguing whose oppression is worse?

We must cease this senseless debate. To be black in this society is bad; it's bad for men, women, and children. While it remains critical that black people continue actively struggling against racism and discrimination, it must not be done at the physical and psychological expense of black women. We have paid our dues, and black men must be held responsible for every injury they cause. Yes, experience has taught black women to be strong and resilient. We must learn that on occasion we must use our strength for ourselves.

The position that BMW advocates concerning sexist oppression is problematic. To negate the notion of feminism in our lives is to deny a critical component of our personhood. There is no such thing as partial liberation. We must demand our share of equality, too-long denied.

Thus, once we choose to speak out against the violence in our families, we may be confronted with serious challenges to our work based on differences in political understanding of women-battering. To meet these challenges we must take time to carefully talk, to construct and refine our analysis of violence against women, especially against black women. Even more, we must consider how to work side by side with those who disagree with our conclusions.

While we study and deliberate about women abuse, it is important for black women working in the battered women's movement to address the special problems associated with having to depend upon the criminal justice system as a vehicle for protection and problem resolution. The criminal justice and law enforcement systems have been the worst offenders in perpetuating violence against black people.

How can blacks in the domestic violence movement reconcile the reality of police brutality and blatant racism in the criminal justice system with the need for police and court intervention on behalf of battered women?

I cannot offer answers to these questions, but I suggest that black women confront these issues directly. As a movement, we must work within the system to assure that justice is available to our families. All the while, we must remain alert to the fact that the police may not necessarily respond consistently or responsibly. We must cultivate alternative methods of protecting black women in our communities.

Black women also need to candidly confront the issue of homophobia in society, particularly within our communities. Hatred of homosexuals and fear of being associated with lesbian women are both commonly expressed reasons that black women do not identify with the feminist movement. We continue to negate the valuable contributions made by black lesbian women to our culture as well as our struggle for racial liberation. By doing so, we have alienated steadfast allies. Black women must assume a leadership role in challenging our communities to put in check institutional and individual homophobic behavior. Currently, it is a decided barrier in our struggle.

To learn of rampant homophobia and deep-seated hatred of homosexuals startled me. To realize that oppressed people sometimes oppress others curiously disturbed me. However, it has helped allay my confusion and guilt about holding black men responsible for their violent behavior. Black women must be held accountable for the homophobia within our ranks.

The meaning of violence against women in our communities is different from that in white or other Third-World communities. We need to create time and space for researching a new, more meaningful analysis that is relevant to our lives. This is work we must do alone with no apologies for not including others. (No one apologized for the long years we have been excluded.) Our community needs something that the white women's movement has not given us, and we should know better than to expect to be given anything. We must do our own work.

This concept was dramatically illustrated at the Women of Color Institute of the 1982 National Coalition Against Domestic Violence meeting and conference. The one-day Institute, “Building a Colorful Coalition,” provided the occasion for assembling our vision and building our voice. By acknowledging our differences, we affirmed our union.

Nearly 100 Asian, Hispanic, Native American, black, and other Third World women gathered in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, to attend the Institute,
a true celebration of sisterhood. Certainly, every participant considered it the highlight of the conference. For me it was the highlight of my work in the battered women's movement.

The brilliant organizers of the Institute created an arena where we could strength our spirit as Third World women and clarify our dream for a violence-free world. The Institute and the Women of Color Caucus emerged in a leadership role of the conference, confirming my belief that Third World women will be catalysts in bringing about positive change in the struggle for the liberation of all people.

Black women must also work on the direction for the struggle of the racial justice movement. Let us not be distracted by the progress we have made. Although we have won some critical battles, I have a troubling sense that some of the victories may be leading some of us astray. As we surround ourselves with objects rumored to bring happiness and success, we often forget that most black people do not have adequate resources with which to control their lives. It is tempting to push on for our individual advancement without regard for those we are leaving behind.