Ultraviolence

Psychological abuse is the ultraviolet of the violence spectrum. The bruises on women’s psyche are invisible. Physical violence means physical damage, and that tarnishes beauty. Psychological abuse doesn’t—it’s convenient that way. The female function of sex appeal remains unscathed and evidence of the crime is hidden to boot. Really, it’s a win-win for the bad guys (and yes, I use “guys” purposefully).

Because my mum is the coolest, I like to follow in her footsteps. She’s fairly outspoken, and I try to be the same. She volunteers her time with female survivors of domestic violence, and I do the same. A recurring concern among the women I’ve met is that their abuse was not serious enough to warrant an intervention. There was the sense that psychological abuse, while degrading, did not “count”—as if what measured the severity of abuse was something quantifiable (perhaps the number of bruises, or of hospital visits).

Then again, I can hardly blame these women—and they were overwhelmingly women—for thinking such. It was only two years ago that the FBI acknowledged that rape could occur without physical force, thus modifying the federal definition of rape that had remained unchanged since 1927. Fun fact for the sake of intersectionality: the ’27 definition only accounted for the “the carnal knowledge of a female.” Sorry male or trans survivors! No justice for you!

Physical abuse is horrific, but it is only one narrative among many. Instead of focusing solely on the most physically shocking examples of abuse, we must include multiple narratives for the term. Failing to do so means marginalizing hundreds who require help. It’s not one-narrative-fits-all.

Survivors of partner violence are a diverse group, and the challenges they face are equally disparate. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of survivors in America of every creed and color. At the same time, there are certain cultural barriers that make it harder for women in certain demographics to achieve justice.

Along with me, the Violence Against Women Act turned twenty this fall. Under VAWA, survivors of abuse can self-sponsor when they apply for citizenship. The act, however, only provides that exemption to victims of “battery”—in other words, just for victims of physical abuse. Survivors of psychological abuse are conspicuously absent from VAWA’s text, just like they are conspicuously absent from justice.

VAWA’s loophole is especially concerning because immigrant women often live in situations that facilitate domestic abuse. A report by the Family Violence Prevention Fund listed some predictable reasons why this would be the case: Immigrant women may face a language barrier, can be easily isolated from the rest of society, and often live in insular communities where their every move can be monitored. None of these factors cause the abuse, but they make finding help that much harder.

Japan—my home—is just as much a danger zone. Speaking with Noriko Mizuno, a family law professor from Tohoku University, I learned that police often do nothing to protect victims of partner abuse. Rather, victims are expected to take matters—quietly—into their own hands. She cited an example of a woman who went to the police, only to be told that she should just leave her husband, thereby risking her financial stability. One of the (unfortunately true) stereotypes of Japan is that the appearance of familial unity is paramount—even if it means risking a woman’s life.

I don’t mean to suggest that certain cultural traditions intrinsically condone violence against women. They do not. “Diversity” can get thrown around a lot as a rationale not to intrude on abusive practices (“We can’t criticize circumcision and genital mutilation—it’s their culture”). This dismissal itself stinks of racism—either that or ignorance. A psychiatrist once suggested to my friend that it was normal for her father to batter her mother, because her family is Muslim. Racism or ignorance? I imagine it takes a great deal of one or the other to define a culture as fundamentally violent.

Chalking the issue up to a natural consequence of Muslim or Asian culture does absolutely nothing to help victims of abuse, while also furthering stigma against large swaths of the globe. But ignoring differences completely is a stupid thing to do, and ultimately throws women under the bus.

Unlike the current Chief Justice, I don't think that glossing over these differences is the way to further equality. Race matters; culture matters; background matters. Along with special vulnerability comes the need for special protections.

Tez Clark ’17 is a Crimson editorial writer living in Adams House. Her column appears on alternate Fridays.