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Wednesday, 7 January 2015

Please Don’t Hit Me Again - The AIM Network

Please Don’t Hit Me Again - The AIM Network



Please Don’t Hit Me Again














A story of domestic violence


I looked up thinking I had not heard correctly. Attending as many
conferences as I did often left me exhausted and I was apt to doze off. I
felt an elbow nudge my arm.

‘Did you hear what she just said?’ inquired my research assistant Gabby Hyslop.

‘I think she said. ‘History is just an ongoing commentary on the incompetence of men.’

‘How does that make you feel Nathan Peacock?’ she said with a glowing look of mockery on her face.

‘Shut up and listen will you?’ I said through clenched teeth while
straining to listen to the keynote speaker. My ears adjusted and I
focused on her next words.

‘At some time in the human narrative…..in our history, man declared
himself superior to woman. It must have been an accident, or at least an
act of gross stupidity. But that’s men for you’

As a journalist I had heard many a feminist speaker utter words intended
to be confrontational but this was planned to provoke even if it
sounded trite. She went on.

‘In Australia, the incidence of domestic violence is among the highest
in the developed world.’ In 2005, the Australian Bureau of Statistics
estimated that one in three women (33 per cent of all women) have
experienced physical violence since the age of 15. I leaned over to
Gabby and asked.

’What was her name again?’

‘Elisabeth Summers. Wonderful isn’t she?’

‘She knows how to stir the pot.’ I replied.



In fact, she had attracted my attention completely. I sat enthralled
even mesmerised not only with the empathy of her delivery but also with
its understanding. There was so much juice in the content. So much that I
was ignorant about. Then she moved onto the millennium goals.

‘You might remember that in the year 2000 world leaders set targets to
be met by 2015. One of the targets related to Universal Education with
the aim being that boys and girls everywhere would at least finish their
primary education. I am here today to tell you that these targets will
not be met. Girls are still far more disadvantaged than boys and if we
look carefully at the trends we can see’…she went on. ‘Another target
was that of gender equality with the aim of lifting the rates of women’s
wages and political representation. Again, the progress will be
insufficient to reach the targets set.’



At this point, she stopped indicating that it was time for the lunch
break and she would be back in forty minutes. The audience applauded
enthusiastically. Gabby and I stood.

‘I’ll buy you lunch Gabby.’

‘Not before time’ she protested.

When we were seated in the convention restaurant Gabby asked me what I thought of Elizabeth Summers address.

‘Excellent’ I said. ‘She does not mind being confrontational. I think
it’s about time men became more responsible for their actions.’

‘That’s a narrow focus Nathan. There’s more to it than that. It’s also
about how society it’s culture and how men have related to women
historically’.

‘I’m going to rely on you a lot for this story Gabby. I’m not well
versed on domestic violence issues. I hope you are’. As soon as I said
it, she looked at me with a sadness that made me look away. ‘Have I
upset you?’ I said.

‘No it’s something from the past. Will you excuse me? I need to visit
the lady’s room. I thought I would be able to handle this.’



When she returned, she was composed and relaxed. I tried to apologise
again even though I was uncertain as to what I had said to upset her.

‘Nathan’ she said. ‘I am eminently qualified to assist you for this story. I am a victim of domestic violence.’

Too say I was staggered would be an understatement. I had been working
with Gabby for a little over six months. I knew that she had been out of
the work force for some time and was recently divorced but this came as
a complete surprise. She was always fun to be around and seemed to be
well-adjusted emotionally.



‘Did Bert Flannery know about this when he assigned you to me?’ I asked.

‘No’ she answered. He is unaware of my past. (Bert was our editor and handed out all the assignments.)

‘That’s good to hear. It’s just the sort of thing he would do. Do you feel like eating?’

I ordered for both of us and made a small joke about being chauvinistic
in doing so. We ate in silence for a while and then I asked her if she
would be prepared to tell me her story.

‘Off the record or do you want to quote me in your piece?’

‘I want to write the best story I can and you don’t need to research this one. You are the story.’

‘Just a small part of it’ she said adding.’ There are thousands of
women. No millions of women who are mistreated by men throughout the
world’.

‘Then let me write your story?’

‘Can I trust you?’ she said looking deeply into the recesses of my eyes.

‘I believe I can Nathan Peacock’ she said with a smile. ‘I have seen you
stand up to Bert Flannery on matters of principle. In fact I will give
you the ending now. It will give you something to think about’.

With that, she made the following statement. ’The way you think and feel
about yourself affects every aspect of your life. When you love,
accept, respect and approve of yourself, you validate your existence’.

‘That’s the end.’ I said. It sounds like a beginning.

‘Yes’ she answered. Well it’s probably both. However, it’s a journey we
should not have to take. Can we have dinner tonight and I will tell you
my story? A bell rang to indicate that the lunch break was over.

I opened the door to the conference room to allow Gabby through. She
thanked me and a very attractive sophisticated woman of about
twenty-five went through. As she passed she said.

‘Oh, you didn’t need to hold the door open just because I’m a woman.’

‘Well I didn’t open it just because you’re a woman. I opened it because
I’m a gentleman.’ I said with a trace of heightened annoyance. When we
sat down I told Gabby that I was all for women asserting themselves so
long as they didn’t lose their femininity. Men must be allowed the
indulgence of appreciation. Gabby congratulated me on my handling of the
situation.

‘Some of them take it a bit for granted. Instead of being equal they
have a need to be superior.’ she said. ‘They seem to confuse equality
with assertiveness where as both require each other.’



Elizabeth Summer’s first words after the lunch recess were. ‘Women
need to be free to be strong and men have to be free to be gentle and
vulnerable. The Church will never be complete without the fullness of
femininity.’

Now it’s the Church’s turn I thought.

When the church shows less inclusiveness care and love than society then
it is time for it to  re appraise itself. Let me refer you to some
recent decisions of the church. In the United States last year, the
Southern Baptist Union officially declared that according to scripture
women were inferior to men. This decision led to former President Jimmy
Carter resigning from it. More recently, Pope Benedict declared that
anyone promoting the ascension of women to any form of ministry equal to
that of men would be committing a sin equal to pedophilia. She went on
to criticise the church for it’s hypocrisy and inaction on women’s
issues. I looked at Gabby seeking confirmation of Elizabeth Summers
accusations. She gave me a ‘let’s talk later look’ and I returned my
attention to the podium. She now launched into a historical summation on
the progress of the women’s movement, concluding that in terms of
equality women had advanced very little over the centuries. She even
mentioned how the early church had debated for almost a century what the
correct position was for women in intercourse. ’Wow’ I thought. I am
going through a steep learning curve. Her address ended to thunderous
applause from a predominately feminine audience. Gabby and I made our
way into the lobby where I brought us both a coffee. We agreed to meet
at seven for dinner in the hotel restaurant.



Gabby’s Story


Dinner was relaxed and pleasant. Gabby had the most engaging
personality and I failed to see how any man could be abusive toward her.
When we finished I reminded her that she was going to tell me her
story.

‘I haven’t forgotten. It’s just that I may become a little emotional and
I don’t want to embarrass you here. Can we go to your room?’

‘Are you okay with that?’ I said.

‘I said I trust you Nathan’ she replied.



She asked for a glass of water and began.

‘I believe he was a product of his upbringing. All the signs were there.
His temper was on display early in our relationship. He pressed me to
have sex with him and when I refused; his temper got the better of him.
He would put me down in front of people and call me all sorts of
offensive things using the foulest language. He didn’t abuse me
physically, that came after we were married. In fact, at twenty I
decided to marry in the hope that he would settle down.’



I interrupted and asked why she didn’t break it off if she knew what he was like.

‘Well Nathan’ she answered. ‘Love can be so blind.’ Even intelligent
women are fooled by it. It was only later when I was forced to look back
on our relationship, that it all became clear to me. I lived in an
alien surreal world of denial. I had been a fool not to see it but my
story is common to many women. His temper tantrums at the football club
were but one example. In the end, the club banned him. I thought it was
only when he was drinking but it wasn’t. He would become extremely angry
at the slightest provocation. Everything was always someone else’s
fault and his parents seemed to condone his behavior by always making
excuses for him. I think his father had a big influence on him. He
didn’t treat his wife very well insisting that women needed to know
their place in the scheme of things. I think that probably had a large
effect on his behavior. He had issues at high school and was eventually
expelled. But he could talk. By God, he could talk and he could wrap me
around his little finger. He was often sweet and kind and made me laugh
at the simplest things. I overlooked his bad behavior mistakenly
believing that I could change him. I even ignored my friend’s advice
when they doubted the sincerity of our relationship, saying that they
were not privy to Paul’s other side. My parents were distraught at the
thought of me marrying him and only agreed after my father had spoken
firmly to him.’



The first night of our marriage was a disaster. Paul had given a poor
speech at the wedding and people were offended at some of his crass
references to my family. I told him how spiteful his comments were and
that was the first time he hit me. That night I lost my virginity in
unspeakable circumstances. Then he told me how he expected me to behave
in our relationship. I became pregnant that night and when I later gave
the news to Paul, he seemed genuinely excited. He even gave me reason to
believe that he might change. It was short-lived however. When the
pressures of fatherhood became apparent to him, he drank more and
slapped me around.



When Kelly was born he resented her saying he would rather have had a
boy. His drinking increased and so did my beatings. I became expert at
hiding bruises and cuts. I always carried dark sunglasses to hide my
black eyes. As he drank more the less money, he gave me for food. Then
he took it out on me when there was no food on the table. He demanded
sex whenever it took his fancy and I hated the thought of him coming
near me. On many occasions, I asked him to take counseling but this
always ended in a tirade of vile abuse that left me with a guilt
complex. My husband was really an animal masquerading as a man.



I put up with it for twelve years. I learned to live within myself.
To hide within my thoughts and sorrows. Strangely, though, there were
some good times. Paul seemed a little more attached to Kelly, as she
grew older. Well until she was old, enough to know what was happening.
Then she would have nothing to do with him. When she was ten, he made
sexual advances. She rejected him by footing him in the crown jewels.



‘Good on her’ I interjected. ‘How did it all end?


‘Well I left him a couple of times but he always sweet-talked me into
returning. Then one Friday night he came home drunk and demanded his
dinner. Because he was late, his had gone cold and when I re heated it
he said it was crap. He flew into a horrible rage, threw his plate at me
hitting me on my left cheek. I began to bleed. Then he started punching
me. I fell to the floor and he kicked me repeatedly. He broke some ribs
and my right cheekbone was shattered. The rest is a little hazy because
I kept going in and out of consciousness.’



‘The next thing I remember was lying in a hospital bed with Kelly and
my parents looking down at me. My mother was crying uncontrollably. I
found it difficult to put all the pieces together. Then it all came
flooding back. I remember Kelly screaming. I saw her hit Paul over the
back of his head with the steel pan I had used to reheat his meal. For a
girl of twelve she was strong and when she connected, Paul collapsed on
top of me and I couldn’t move. That’s all I remember. Apparently, Kelly
phoned Dad who in turn called the police. My father told me how
courageous Kelly had been. When he arrived, Kelly had let him in and
returned to try to get Paul off me. Paul had recovered enough to get to
his knees, Kelly hit him again with the pan, and he was out like a
light. Dad quickly summed up the situation and called an ambulance.’



‘So what was the wash-up?’ I asked.


‘The wash-up is that Paul got three years for assault causing
grievous bodily harm and a fractured skull. Kelly received a bravery
award; I got a divorce and a new life.’

When she closed the door to return to her room I knew that something in
my life had changed. I wondered if I could ever look at a woman in the
same way again. I began to think about my relationship with women. I had
been married and divorced twice. I thought I loved both of them but
they both complained about the one-sidedness of the relationship. I went
to bed and drifted off to sleep with a troubled mind.



I arose early and went down to the restaurant for breakfast. I took a
table near the window overlooking Sydney Harbor Bridge, and ordered a
coffee. While I was looking through the menu, I heard a voice say.

‘Mind if I join you?’

I looked up to see the smiling face of Elizabeth Summers. She looked even more attractive up close than she did at the podium.

‘Of course.’ I said. ‘I should think it an honor.’

‘How chivalrous.’ she said. ‘Even old fashioned but lovely at the same time.’

‘I guess I was raised on manners of the traditional kind.’

‘Why did you say an honor?’

I told her I thought I had learn’t more about women at the conference than I had in two marriages.

‘Now I recognize you. You were sitting with Gabby yesterday.’

‘You know Gabby’

‘Yes we attend the same Church.’

‘Church.’ I said with some trepidation.

‘But yesterday when you mentioned the church I took it to be in a derogatory manner.’

‘Well I’m sorry if it came over that way. It wasn’t my intention.
Perhaps I should explain. You see churches in general do magnificent
work in many areas of need but sometimes they think they have ownership
of righteousness and that’s not true. Many institutions have similar
values. Institutional Churches shouldn’t be beyond criticism. The Church
that Gabby and I attend is progressive in terms of understanding
women’s rights and our search for equality. Gabby is in fact attending a
course run by the church for women who have experienced abuse. Her
daughter also attends. The course is very successful especially with re
introducing victims to the real qualities of men.’

‘And what might they be’ I asked.

‘I think it’s what I said in my address yesterday. Men need to be free to be gentle and vulnerable’

‘Can you expand on that?’

‘I think some men because of their culture or their upbringing find it
difficult to love themselves because society tells them they are
superior from birth.

‘I can relate to that’ I said.

‘But there are others who are weak because they inherit all the faults
that parents, teachers and other significant people in their lives heap
on them in their childhood.

‘That’s fascinating. I said. ‘Would you consider an interview? I’m
writing a story on domestic violence. Gabby is my research assistant.’

Before she could answer, Gabby arrived at the table.

‘You’re looking particularly radiant this morning’ I said as she took a chair.

‘Why, how complimentary Nathan’ she answered.

‘Yes but does he understand that gender equality is a moral challenge’ said Elizabeth Summers. ‘That’s the point.’



The end


’The way you think and feel about yourself affects every aspect of
your life. When you love, accept, respect and approve of yourself, you
validate your existence and give approval to the equality of others.




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