“Well, that's true,” she agreed amiably, “those are the obvious ones.” And then she listed several others, some of them so perverted and obscure that it made each of them wince to think about them. “But what about other forms? What do you think those might be? Abusers wear many hats and many faces. What about controlling someone, their every act and every move, every thought? Destroying their confidence in themselves, isolating them, frightening them? Maybe just driving too fast in a dangerous situation until you terrify them? Or threatening them? Disrespecting them? Making someone believe that white is black and black is white, until you confuse them completely, or taking money from them, or telling them they'd be nothing without you, that you ‘own’ them? Taking their free will away from them, or forcing them to make reproductive choices they don't want, either having babies one after the other, or constant abortions, or maybe even not allowing them to have children at all? Do any of those sound like abuse to you? Well, they are, classic forms in fact, and they're just as painful, just as dangerous, just as lethal, as the kind that leave bruises.” Maddy felt as though she couldn't breathe as she listened. She went deathly pale, and Bill Alexander noticed, but said nothing to her.
“There are many kinds of violence against women,” the speaker went on, “some of them obvious, all of them dangerous, some of them more insidious than others. The most insidious are the subtle ones, because the victims not only believe them, but blame themselves for them. If the abuser is clever enough, he can use all of them, and convince his or her victim that it was all their fault. An abuse victim can be driven to suicide, drug abuse, crippling depression, or even murder. Abuse of any kind, at any time, is potentially fatal to the victim. But the subtler forms are the hardest to stop, because it's harder to see them. And worst of all, the victim is so convinced most of the time that it's her fault, that she goes back for more, and helps the abuser do it, because she feels she owes it to him, and she feels so guilty and so bad and so worthless that she knows he's right and she deserves it. She believes that she would be nothing without him.” Maddy felt faint as she listened, the woman was describing her marriage to Jack in every detail. He had never laid a hand on her, except the one time he had grabbed her arm, but he had done everything the woman had described, and Maddy wanted to run out of the room screaming. Instead she felt paralyzed in her chair.
The woman went on for half an hour, and then the First Lady opened up the meeting to questions. Most of them were about what could be done to protect these women not only from the abusers but from themselves, and how to stop it.
“Well, first, they have to recognize it. They have to be willing to. But like abused children, most of these women protect their abusers, by denying, and blaming themselves. It's too painful most of the time to admit what's happening to them, and to tell the world about it. What they feel is shame, because they believe everything they've been told by the abuser. So first, you have to help them to see it, then you have to help them remove themselves from the abusive situation, and that's not always easy. They have lives, they have kids, they have homes. You're asking them to pull up stakes and run away from a danger they can't see and aren't even sure is a real danger. The problem is that it's just as real and just as dangerous as a gun pointed at them, but most of them don't know it. Some do, but most of the time, they're just as scared as the others. And I'm talking about smart, educated, sometimes even professional women, who you may think should know better. But no one is exempt from being a victim of abuse. It can happen to anyone, and it does, in the best jobs, the best schools, with high incomes or low. Sometimes it happens to beautiful, smart women that you can't believe would fall for it. Sometimes they're the easiest targets. Women who are more streetwise are less apt to buy the bullshit. They're the ones who get the shit kicked out of them. The others are tortured more subtly. Abuse doesn't know color, it doesn't know race, it doesn't know neighborhoods, or socio-economic rules. It touches everyone. It can happen to any of us, particularly if we have a background that predisposes us to it.
“For instance, a woman who has seen domestic violence at home as a child, say with a physically abusive father, may think that a man who never beats her physically is a great guy, but he may be ten times more abusive than her father, much subtler and far more dangerous. He can control her, isolate her, threaten her, terrorize her, insult her, belittle her, demean her, disrespect her, withhold affection or money from her. Abandon her, or threaten to take away her children, but she won't have a mark on her, and he tells her she's one lucky woman and what is worse, she believes it. And you'll never be able to put him in jail, because when you nail the bastard for what he did to her, he'll tell you that she's crazy, stupid, dishonest, psychotic, and lying to you about him. And worse yet, she probably believes it. Those women have to be pulled slowly out of relationships, and gotten off the ledge to safety. But they'll fight you all the way defend him to the death, and their eyes open very slowly.” Maddy felt as though she were going to cry before the meeting ever ended, and it was all she could do to remain outwardly calm until it was time to leave, and her knees were shaking when she finally stood up. Bill Alexander looked down at her, and wondered if she was suffering from the heat. He had seen her go pale half an hour before, and she was nearly green by the time it was over.
“Would you like a glass of water?” he asked kindly. “It was an interesting meeting, wasn't it? Though I'm not sure what we're supposed to do to help women in that kind of situation, except maybe educate and support them.” Maddy sat down again then and nodded at him. The room was beginning to spin as she listened to him, and fortunately, no one else had noticed that she was feeling ill, as he went to get her a glass of water.
She was still sitting there, waiting for him, when the guest speaker came over to talk to her.
“I'm a great admirer of yours, Ms. Hunter,” she said smiling down at Maddy, who was unable to get up, and smiled wanly at her. “I watch your broadcast every night. It's the only way I know what's going on in the world. I particularly liked your editorial on Janet McCutchins.”
“Thank you,” Maddy said through dry lips, just as Bill appeared with a paper cup full of water, and he couldn't help wondering if she was pregnant. The speaker watched her take a sip, and her eyes seemed kind and warm as she watched Maddy intently. Maddy stood up when she finished it, and she didn't want to admit to anyone how wobbly her legs were. She was beginning to wonder how she was going to walk outside to get a taxi, and Bill seemed to sense her distress.
“Do you need a ride anywhere?” he asked chivalrously and without thinking, Maddy nodded.
“I have to go back to the office.” She wasn't even sure if she could go on the air, and for a moment she wondered if it was something she'd eaten. But she knew better than that now. It was someone she'd married.
“I'd like to get together with you sometime,” Dr. Flowers said, as Maddy said good-bye to her and the First Lady. She handed Maddy a card, and Maddy thanked her and left, but she tucked the card into her shirt pocket. Coupled with what Greg had said, she felt as though she'd had a double dose of it, and she wasn't sure if it was reality or a nightmare. But whatever it was, it had hit her like a freight train. And she looked it as she rode down in the elevator with Bill. He had parked his car outside, and she followed him to it in silence.