Excerpts from “A Letter From a Battered Wife” by Del
Martin. From Battered Wives, Pocket
Books, 1983.
A friend of mine received the
following letter after discussing wife-beating at a public meeting.
I am in my thirties and so is my husband. I have a high school diploma
and am presently attending a local college, trying to obtain the additional
education I need. My husband is a college graduate and a professional in his
field. We are both attractive and, for the most part, respected and well-like.
We have four children and live in a middle-class home with all the comforts we
could possibly want.
I have everything, except a life without fear.
For most of my married life I have been periodically beaten by my
husband. What do I mean by “beaten”? I mean that parts of my body have been hit
violently and repeatedly, and that painful bruises, swelling, bleeding wounds,
unconsciousness, and combinations of these things have resulted.
Beating should be distinguished from all other kinds of physical abuse
– including being hit and shoved around. When I say my husband threatens me
with abuse I do not mean he warns me that he may lose control. I mean that he
shakes a fist against my face or nose, makes punching-bag jabs at my shoulder,
or makes similar gestures which may quickly turn into a full-fledged beating.
I have had glasses thrown at me. I have been kicked in the abdomen when
I was visibly pregnant. I have been kicked off the bed and hit while lying on
the floor – again, while I was pregnant. I have been whipped, kicked and
thrown, picked up again and thrown down again. I have been punched and kicked
in the head, chest, face, and abdomen more times than I can count.
I have been slapped for saying something about politics, for having a
different view about religion, for swearing, for crying, for wanting to have
intercourse. I have been threatened when I wouldn’t do something he told me to
do. I have been threatened when he’s had a bad day and when he’s had a good
day.
I have been threatened, slapped, and beaten after stating bitterly that
I didn’t like what he was doing with another woman.
After each beating my husband has left the house and remained away for
a few days.
Few people have ever seen my black and blue face or swollen lips
because I have always stayed indoors afterwards, feeling ashamed. I was never
able to drive following one of these beatings, so I could not get myself to a
hospital for care. I could never have left my young children alone, even if I
could have driven a car.
Hysteria inevitably sets in after a beating. This hysteria – the shaking
and crying and mumbling – is not accepted by anyone, so there has never been
anyone to call.
My husband on a few occasions did phone a day or so later so we could
agree on an excuse I would use for returning to work, the grocery store, the
dentist appointment, and so on. I used the excuses – a car accident, oral
surgery, things like that.
Now, the first response to this story, which I myself think of, will be
“Why didn’t you seek help?”
I did. Early on in our marriage I went to a clergyman who, after a few
visits, told me that my husband meant no real harm, that he was just confused
and felt insecure. I was encouraged to be more tolerant and understanding. Most
important, I was told to forgive him the beatings just as Christ had forgiven
me from the cross. I did that, too.
Things continued. Next time I turned to the doctor. I was given little
pills to relax me and told to take things a little easier. I was just too
nervous.
I turned to a friend, and when her husband found out, he accused me of
either making things up or exaggerating the situation. She didn’t, but she
could no longer really help me. Just by believing me she was made to feel
disloyal.
I turned to a professional family guidance agency. I was told there
that my husband needed help and that I should find a way to control the
incidents. I couldn’t control the beatings – that was the whole point of my
seeking help. At the agency I found I had to defend myself against the
suspicion that I wanted to be hit, that I invited the beatings. Good God! Did
the Jews invite themselves to be slaughtered in Germany?
I did go to two more doctors. One asked me what I had done to provoke
my husband. The other asked me if we had made up yet.
I called the police one time. They not only did not respond to the call,
they called several hours later to ask if things had “settled down.” I could
have been dead by then!
I have nowhere to go if it happens again. No one wants to take in a
woman with four children. Even if there were someone kind enough to care, no
one wants to become involved in what is commonly referred to as a “domestic
situation.”
Everyone I have gone to for help has somehow wanted to blame me and
vindicate my husband. I can see it lying there between their words and at the
end of their sentences. The clergyman, the doctor, the counselor, my friend’s
husband, the police – all of them have found a way to vindicate my husband.
No one has to “provoke” a wife-beater. He will strike out when he’s
ready and for whatever reason he has at the moment.
I may be his excuse, but I have never been the reason.
I know that I do not want to be hit. I know, too, that I will be beaten
again unless I can find a way out for myself and my children. I am terrified
for them also.
As a married woman I have no recourse but to remain in the situation
which is causing me to be painfully abused. I have suffered physical and
emotional battering and spiritual rape because the social structure of my world
says I cannot do anything about a man who wants to beat me … But staying with
my husband means that my children must be subjected to the emotional battering
caused when they see their mother’s beaten face or hear her screams in the
middle of the night.
I know that I have to get out. But when you have nowhere to go, you
know that you must go on your own and expect no support. I have to be ready for
that. I have to be ready to support myself and the children completely, and
still provide a decent environment for them. I pray that I can do that before I
am murdered in my own home.
I have learned that no one believes me and that I cannot depend upon
any outside help. All I have left is the hope that I can get away before it is
too late.
I have learned also that the doctors, the police, the clergy, and my
friends will excuse my husband for distorting my face, but won’t forgive me for
looking bruised and broken. The greatest tragedy is that I am still praying,
and there is not a human person to listen.
Being beaten is a terrible thing; it is most terrible of all if you are
not equipped to fight back. I recall an occasion when I tried to defend myself
and actually tore my husband’s shirt. Later, he showed it to a relative as
proof that I had done something terribly wrong. The fact that at that moment I
had several raised spots on my head hidden by my hair, a swollen lip that was
bleeding, and a severely damaged cheek with a blood clot that caused a
permanent dimple didn’t matter to him. What mattered was that I tore his shirt!
That I tore it in self-defense didn’t mean anything to him.
My situation is so untenable I would guess that anyone who has not
experienced one like it would find it incomprehensible. I find it difficult to
believe myself.
It must be pointed out that while a husband can beat, slap, or threaten
his wife, there are “good days.” These days tend to wear away the effects of
the beating. They tend to cause the wife to put aside the traumas and look to
the good – first, because there is nothing else to do; second, because there is
nowhere and no one to turn to; and third, because the defeat is the beating and
the hope is that it will not happen again. A loving woman like myself always
hopes that it will not happen again. When it does, she simply hopes again,
until it becomes obvious after a third beating that there is no hope. That is
when she turns outward for help to find an answer. When that help is denied,
she either resigns herself to the situation she is in or pulls herself together
and starts making plans for a future life that includes only herself and her
children.
For many the third beating may be too late. Several of the times I have
been abused I have been amazed that I have remained alive. Imagine that I have
been thrown to a very hard slate floor several times, kicked in the abdomen,
the head, and the chest, and still remained alive!
What determines who is lucky and who isn’t? I could have been dead a
long time ago had I been hit the wrong way. My baby could have been killed or
deformed had I been kicked the wrong way. What saved me?
I don’t know. I only know that it has happened and that each night I
dread the final blow that will kill me and leave my children motherless. I hope
I can hang on until I complete my education, get a good job, and become
self-sufficient enough to care for my children on my own.
[1983]
Biography/Obituary by William
Grimes, NY Times, Aug 27, 2008
Del Martin, who married her partner of 55 years, Phyllis Lyon, on June
16 in the first legal gay union in California and who helped found the
pioneering lesbian-rights group the Daughters of Bilitis, died Wednesday in San
Francisco. She was 87.
The cause was a broken arm that exacerbated her existing health
problems, Kate Kendell, executive director of the National Center for Lesbian
Rights, told The Associated Press.
The June wedding was not the couple’s first effort at legalizing their
union. In February 2004, Mayor Gavin Newsom of San Francisco challenged
California’s marriage laws by announcing that the city would issue marriage
licenses to same-sex couples who requested them. Of the more than 4,000 couples
who married before the California Supreme Court intervened a month later, Ms.
Martin and Ms. Lyon may have been the oldest, and were certainly first and the
most celebrated.
That summer, though, the California Supreme Court invalidated all
licenses for same-sex marriages, arguing that the mayor had exceeded his legal
authority. Ms. Martin and Ms. Lyon were among the original plaintiffs in a
series of lawsuits that led to the court’s declaring same-sex marriages legal
this year.
Mr. Newsom invited the couple to be the first couple to marry under the
new ruling. This they did, in San Francisco’s City Hall, after living together
as a couple for more than half a century.
On Wednesday, Ms. Lyon, 83, said in a statement, “I am devastated, but
I take some solace in knowing we were able to enjoy the ultimate rite of love
and commitment before she passed.”
Ms. Martin was born Dorothy L. Taliaferro on May 5, 1921, in San
Francisco. She studied journalism at the University of California, Berkeley,
and San Francisco State College. At 19 she married James Martin, but the
marriage ended in divorce four years later. Their daughter, Kendra Mon,
survives, as do two grandchildren and Ms. Lyon.
While working for a construction trade journal in Seattle, Ms. Martin
met Ms. Lyon, an employee at the same firm, and the two became romantically
involved and entered into a permanent relationship in 1953. In 1955, having
moved to San Francisco, they joined with six other women to found the Daughters
of Bilitis, the first social and political organization for lesbians in the
United States, which soon established branches around the country. The name was
taken from “Songs of Bilitis,” a collection of lesbian love poems by Pierre
Louys.
Ms. Martin was the organization’s first president, and from 1960 to
1962 she edited its newsletter, The Ladder, which Ms. Lyon had edited from its
inception in 1956. The organization disbanded in 1970 as more radical lesbian
groups came to the fore.
In 1964 Ms. Martin helped found the Council on Religion and the
Homosexual, which lobbied city government to end police harassment of gay men
and lesbians and change discriminatory laws.
Ms. Martin is believed to have been the first openly gay woman to be
elected to the board of directors of the National Organization for Women, where
she agitated to put lesbian issues on the table. She was also an active member
of the Alice B. Toklas Democratic Club, which was founded in 1972 to support
gay candidates in San Francisco.
In her later years, she was a member of Old Lesbians Organizing for
Change. In 1987 she earned a degree from the Institute for Advanced Study of
Human Sexuality.
She wrote a book, “Battered Wives” (1976), and two others with Ms.
Lyon, “Lesbian/Woman” (1972) and “Lesbian Love and Liberation” (1973).
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