9/11’s
Hidden Toll: Increase in Domestic Violence
Muslim-American women are quietly coping with a tragic side effect of the
attacks—a surge in domestic violence
Sarah Childress
NEWSWEEK: Aug. 4 issue
His temper
flared even before the wedding. But Lila’s husband was usually sweet and
attentive, a devout African-American Muslim who even traveled to her
native country in the Middle East to meet—and charm—her family. To
make up for his rare outbursts, he brought home roses and kissed her feet.
But after 9/11, his temper turned violent.
Neighbors worried when they heard him screaming at her for leaving laundry
in the washing machine. "It changed him from an angel to a
monster," says Lila, who spoke to NEWSWEEK on the condition that her
real name not be used. Suddenly, when she tried to comfort him, he would
kick her to the floor. Once, she says, he threatened to hit her so hard
that she "would not land until next Sunday."
Sadly, Lila is not alone. Since 9/11, domestic violence has been on the
rise in the American Muslim community, according to social-service
agencies nationwide. The weak economy, an insulated culture and intense
scrutiny from law enforcement and locals alike have created a powder keg
that’s all the more frightening because there are so few resources to
deal with the problem; only three shelters in the United States cater
specifically to Muslim culture. And, with the authorities threatening
arrest and deportation for suspicious foreign nationals, Muslim women are
even more hesitant to report abuse than usual, according to Nora Alarifi
Pharaon, a psychologist at the Brooklyn, N.Y.-based Arab-American Family
Support Center.
Even before 9/11, Pharaon says, most abuse in Muslim communities went
un-reported. This is a patriarchal culture, she says, that puts a premium
on the family unit; the notion of counseling for marital problems is a
rarity throughout much of the Muslim world. Lila’s husband controlled
her money, her apartment—even her mailbox key. Lila says that would have
been fine had her husband "respected" her. "This is how I
was raised," Lila says. "I was the wife, and I knew what my
duties were." Even after he turned abusive, she tried to win his
approval. She took a job when he was demoted from his position at a major
airline, scrubbed the apartment tirelessly and planned romantic dinners.
But the violence didn’t stop. Still, her family back home encouraged her
to try harder.
The idea of seeking help at a shelter is a foreign one. Islam has a long
history of associating runaway women with immorality, says Sharifa
Alkhateeb, president of the North American Council for Muslim Women. Shame
and the difficulty of adhering to religious customs in a shelter means
many women eventually return to the socially appropriate, albeit abusive,
place beside their husbands. Women who leave shelters rarely seek further
help, Pharaon says, and that’s usually not because their husbands change
their ways.
It’s not just Islamic culture that can dismiss domestic violence. Very
religious strains of Judaism and Christianity sometimes make it difficult
for women to escape abusive relationships, says Alkhateeb. Batterers also
can misinterpret religious texts to justify abuse. "Women with more
conservative religious beliefs tend to stay in relationships longer, to
work it out, even if it’s to their detriment," says Linda Osmundson,
executive director of Community Action Stops Abuse. Recently, religious
leaders have been making efforts to combat the problem, she says.
"But our shelters are still full."
Lila finally stopped making excuses for her husband when he tried to evict
her from their apartment. "I felt like a small, small ant
crawling," she says. Now, living on her own and applying for
citizenship (and a divorce), Lila walks taller. But in a community that
traditionally speaks in hushed tones about domestic abuse—if it says
anything at all—too many women have yet to find a voice.
© 2003 Newsweek, Inc.
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