It’s estimated that three out of 10 American women have been stalked, physically assaulted, or raped by an intimate partner. While it’s true that any woman can be a victim of intimate partner violence (IPV) regardless of race, religion, sexual orientation, or economic status, the color of her skin will inevitably determine how she’ll be received by judges, lawyers, service providers, and peers if she decides to disclose this abuse. Having worked as a senior program specialist for the Department of Justice’s Office on Violence Against Women, I’ve witnessed this disparate treatment based on distorted beliefs and stereotypes, even by people who claim to be advocates for women and children.
I’ve heard defense attorneys imply on numerous occasions that IPV is understandable in Latino cultures because it’s a form of machismo, or that IPV doesn’t exist in Asian cultures because Asian women are taught to be docile and respectful, thereby preempting potential conflicts. One of the most prevalent and insidious myths suggests that Black women are too loud, brassy, and tough to be victims. Because they’re perceived to be more aggressive and accustomed to violence than white women, they face a markedly different experience when seeking help for their experiences with IPV, which makes them far less likely to even seek help.
I can tell you myriad stories of Black women who reached out to police for help after experiencing IPV, only to be mistreated, arrested, or shot because the responding officers “felt threatened” while responding to a “domestic dispute,” or carelessly mistook the survivor for the aggressor.
In several court cases I sat in on, one particular judge repeatedly chastised Black survivors of IPV for “engaging” in domestic violence and “exposing” their children to violence. He accused them of lying about the abuse and threatened to call Child Protective Services on them. He was noticeably less accusatory when white female survivors came into his courtroom, often taking the time to explain the important points of the protection-order process and offer legal resources to them, a courtesy which was not extended to survivors of color.
More than 75 percent of Black women killed by an intimate partner are murdered after they separate from their abusive partners. Why? Even with a protection order in place, police often decline to intervene, especially if the survivor fights back against her attacker in self-defense. The death of Marjorie Krystal Evans Mallory, a 44-year-old Black woman, made national headlines when she was killed in September, two days after a judge approved her request for a divorce. She and her violent husband had an extensive history with the legal system, and the husband had made numerous threats to kill her. Despite overwhelming evidence of the husband’s abuse, the sheriff’s department called the relationship “toxic” and insisted that they’d done everything they could do to help Mallory before her death. But if you read between the lines, it was clear that their perception of her as an aggressive, loud, Black woman biased how they should’ve seen her: as a vulnerable victim deserving of police protection.
The decision to leave a violent relationship is difficult enough on its own, but for Black women, the problem is compounded many times over. Are enough therapists who want to help IPV survivors ready to confront this harsh reality?
Michelle Dodge
Michelle Dodge, JD, LICSW, RPT-S, is an individual and family therapist in private practice in Washington, D.C. She’s worked in the area of family violence for more than 30 years and specializes in therapeutic interventions for children and families affected by child maltreatment, intimate partner violence, and trauma.
