Equal opportunity abusers

Domestic violence doesn’t discriminate on the basis of sexual orientation

By Tony Giampetruzzi

To contact the Family Crisis Center, visit www.familycrisis.org or call the hotline at (207) 874-1973.

* Some names have been changed by request

When Jason Bowman* arrived in Maine in 1997, he was ready for the dream.

The last few years had been tough. Although he had excelled as a theater major at one of the country’s top colleges, his academic career was cut short when his mother — his best friend and chief confidante — suddenly died during a routine surgery. Emotionally crippled by his mother’s death and his economic inability to continue with school, Jason headed for Boston. For nearly four years, he worked off and on as a coffee shop counter person or as a retail automaton. He was also coming to terms with his sexuality, taking advantage of all the social resources that Boston had to offer. The big city and a desperate sense of abandon eventually hardened him, giving him strength and a commanding presence despite his slight frame.

But fast-paced Boston took its toll on Jason and, with a renewed sense of purpose and a desire to pursue a career and a relationship, he made his way to Portland. Several of his friends had already come to Maine, so he looked forward to the many safeties and opportunities that the small city promised. It wasn’t long before he involved himself in the theater community. He was also ready to settle into a more long-term relationship.

Soon after his arrival in Maine, Jason met Michael, a brash older man with a profitable local business and dreams of his own. Michael was very different from any of the other men that Jason had dated. He was older, seemingly successful, and attractive. He was shorter than Jason, but stocky and confident. He was also very charismatic and disarmingly charming.

“He seemed to have all the answers,” recalls Jason. “He had a real desire to settle down. He wanted to start a new business in town and he wanted me to be a partner in that. He offered me a dream. I finally thought that I was going to build a life.”

For a while, the excitement of opening a new restaurant in Portland consumed Jason. Michael encouraged Jason to quit his job, saying that he would support him. He put Jason in charge of much of the business planning and, since leases were signed and vendors were courted, Jason had no reason to believe that the project was anything but a reality. In hindsight, Jason admits that the exhilaration of emerging from his former life blinded him to the warning signs that something wasn’t quite right. In fact, the coming months would prove to be a test greater than any Jason had faced in the preceding years.

“I ignored a lot of what I saw because I didn’t want it to be real,” says Jason. The truth was, Michael didn’t like Jason’s friends. He bristled at them and encouraged Jason to avoid them. Jason also ignored the fact that Michael and his ex-boyfriend had protection orders against one another. “(Michael) would often say ‘let’s go for a drive’ and it wasn’t too long before I realized that we were driving around to places where he thought he would see his ex, where he could check up on what he was doing,” says Jason. “That behavior concerned me, but I let it slide.”

Early in their relationship, Michael once became so incensed that he shattered a drinking glass. “In what would become typical behavior, he got weepy and apologetic and told me that he believed in me and our dream,” says Jason. “I felt that I owed him my loyalty and I wanted to believe him.” Within weeks, plans for the restaurant fell through, but Michael promised Jason that another venture would follow.

Financially dependent on Michael, Jason now spent most of his time with his partner and, to his initial surprise, with Michael’s wife and three children. “He told me that they were divorced, but I later found out that they weren’t. I wasn’t working and he needed a sitter for his kids, so that’s what I was supposed to do,” Jason says. “Things were getting strange when I would overhear him speaking to his wife and he would refer to me as one of the children.”

The situation escalated when, six months into their relationship, Michael’s penchant for intimidation and abuse became all too evident. Jason and Michael had gone out for a drink and Jason, tired, decided to return home without Michael. Within hours, he was awakened by Michael shouting obscenities to him outside his window. When Jason went closer to his bedroom window and told Michael to go away, Michael punched through the glass in an attempt to grab him. Amidst shattered glass, blood, and terror, Jason realized that something was terribly wrong. The next day, Jason’s friends encouraged him to leave Michael and to seek a protection order.

“I went to him the next day, though, and he cried. He was so sorry and he told me that he can’t live without me,” says Jason. “I had to decide whether to stay in a relationship where I felt owned and unpleasant or go back to a life where I was lonely, where no one had a claim on me. He convinced me that we could make it if we got away from my friends and the problems that were holding us back.”

Jason very quickly realized that Michael had completely isolated him. In a rented apartment in Old Orchard Beach, the situation eventually became surreal. “I was Rapunzel,” Jason now half-heartedly jokes. “I shut out my friends completely and had no real way to leave. I knew that things had to be done before Michael got home. Cooking. Cleaning. I had to be at his beck and call.”

One night, Michael decided that he and Jason would meet friends at a restaurant in Portland. After dinner and some wine, Jason expressed that he was tired. With a smile and a nod, Michael agreed to take him home. Once in the car, though, Michael’s accommodating demeanor quickly devolved. “He told me that I had embarrassed him, that he would never let me out again,” says Jason. And when Jason began to cry, Michael proceeded to hit him in the face so hard that he actually saw stars. Jason was able to wrestle the steering wheel away from Michael and drove the car into a guardrail. “I knew that it would continue if he got me home, so before I knew it I was running down 295 with blood streaming down my face,” said Jason. “Finally I was stopped by a police officer who told me that I could have Michael thrown in jail right then and there.”

What went through Jason’s head was the reality of the life that Michael had imposed upon him: he had no car, no friends to turn to, no financial resources, and no job. “Never mind,” he told the police officer. “It’s all covered.”

From then on, Jason could count on a good physical beating at least every other day. The end game came weeks later when, while driving to Windham late one night, Michael was able to open the passenger side door of his vehicle and push Jason out of the car as it sped down Route 302.

I guess I was one of the lucky ones in terms of this kind of thing,” says Jason, now that he finally feels safe. That “thing” is same-sex domestic violence, a problem that has gone largely unnoticed for years. Sadly, the reality of the phenomenon has been slow to gain recognition as a real problem and is only now, with the growing acceptance of same-sex relationships, being acknowledged as an everyday and common menace.

Jason’s experience is actually the extreme side of domestic violence — the majority of abuse that takes place in relationships tends to be emotional abuse, which can be harder to identify.

However, Jason’s story isn’t unique. In many relationships, one partner employs intimidation based on economics, violence, or a host of other factors to isolate and abuse the one they “love.” But for many, being gay is confusing enough and seeking help cún be a daunting, mind-bending proposition. “From the statistics that are available, we know that domestic violence is just as prevalent for the glbti (gay/lesbian/bisexual/transgender/intersexed) community as it is for women,” says Curt Rogers, the director of the Boston-based Gay Men’s Domestic Violence Project. “That means that domestic violence exists in one in four glbt relationships.”

Advocates know that same-sex violence exists. They also know that violence occurs just as frequently in same-sex relationships as in heterosexual relationships. What troubles those in the know is the fact that, like their heterosexual counterparts, gays and lesbians are reluctant to report their abusive partners and to seek help. Well, actually, much more reluctant. And, when it comes to those in the transgender and intersexed community, even experts are often still at a loss as to how to reach those who are in the most disenfranchised communities.

Lois Galgay Reckitt is the director of Family Crisis Services, a Portland-based organization that for almost 25 years has provided advocacy and help for those who have been the victims of domestic violence. Reckitt is among a group of people who are ramping up efforts to reach out to the glbti community to let them know that resources exist for those who are living in abusive relationships. She says that in the last six months, calls to the Portland police department reporting instances of same-sex domestic violence have been pouring in — as many as 143 incident reports.

“It’s a problem, and we don’t know just how big it really is,” says Reckitt. “Just like in heterosexual relationships, so many people are hesitant to call and report — shame, guilt, the feeling that they should have done something to prevent the violence — all these things hold people back.”

But, says Reckitt, when it comes to same-sex relationships, there is an additional, heavily fortified barrier between those in the glbti community and assistance that may be available to them. “First of all, those in need of help may not even be out of the closet and — to call the police, to go to court — you have to basically accept the fact that you will have to come out,” said Reckitt. “And for abusers, part of their control and power is oftentimes the threat that they will ‘out’ their partner if they tell on them. That can be terrifying, so there is a whole panoply of tactics that an abuser can use.”

Sage Hayes and Jason Hunt both work at Outright. They are quick to point out that they are not experts on issues surrounding same-sex domestic violence, but they know a problem when they see one. As staff members at Maine’s largest organization serving glbt young people, they see, among the coterie, a good number of what appear to be same-sex domestic violence victims.

“Because we as a community are so invisible as it is, there’s the sense that abuse can’t be real. To face the fact that you are being abused begs a person to accept the fact that they are in a same-sex relationship,” explains Hunt. “So first there is the identity issue and then there is the abuse. For many people, they haven’t even accepted the fact that they are gay, so the fact that they are in a relationship with someone of the same sex isn’t real either. For those people, the abuse, then, isn’t real because they haven’t even accepted the fact that they are in the relationship.

“There are so many layers to reporting,” says Hunt of making a call to an abuse hotline like that maintained by Family Crisis. “You have to make the call, you have to trust that the person on the other end of the line isn’t homophobic. Then, even if there aren’t assumptions made about your sexuality, the person on the other end may have never met a gay person, so they may not know what to do. Then, of course, there is public disclosure about being gay if it gets to the courts. It’s a lot. We see really crushed people come through these doors, people so abused in relationships, they don’t know what to do.”

Hunt adds that the very concept of domestic violence transcends traditional definitions, and that young glbt individuals are often victims in an untraditional living situation. “There are a lot of misconceptions when it comes to same-sex domestic violence,” Hunt says. “Sometimes it’s not even about partners.” Hunt refers to a young person who may have been kicked out of his or her home and who is brought in by an older, more experienced and more powerful guardian or group of people.

“There can be abuse based solely on the power balance. People need to remember that families are constructed in such different ways. There are power dynamics that people have never thought about.” Both Hayes and Hunt remind that even the term “violence” is misleading. In fact, anytime someone uses power to manipulate, coerce, or intimidate, the end result is abuse, says Hayes. Further, that power can come in many forms: financial, emotional, spiritual, or physical.

Literature from the Gay Men’s Domestic Violence Project points out even more ways that same-sex domestic violence differs from what is seen in heterosexual abuse cases. “The discrimination LGBT people face can lead to our over-protection of same-gender relationships, and an unwillingness to recognize abuse when it happens. Some idolize ‘queer love’ as a deconstruction of many of the power differences in heterosexual relationships, and defend same-gender relationships against a homophobic society bent on invalidating them. This defensiveness can build community denial about abusive relationships.”

The GMDVP website continues by stating that “ . . . as an oppressed and defamed group, the LGBT community is often hesitant to address issues that many fear will further ‘stain’ the community. ‘Don’t we have enough to deal with?’ is a common phrase from people unwilling to discuss domestic violence in the LGBT community.”

Nonetheless, advocacy and prevention efforts have been underway for years, and more and more people are seeking help all the time. Rogers says that, today as in the past, the stumbling block is a lack of poster-children willing to tell their stories so that victims can see their situations are not unique and that help is out there. “Given the history of outreach to domestic-violence victims, it has been easier for women to identify as victims of domestic violence. Even now we have few images of [gay] men willing to tell their story.”

Rogers adds that the situation is even worse for those in the transgender and intersexed community.

“It always takes the voice of a survivor to stand up and admit the abuse to get the attention of the community,” says Rogers. “Many people bought into the myth that men only oppress women.” Rogers is among those who are quick to point out that awareness of the problem continues to expand. “We used to call it same-sex domestic violence and now we must refer to it as glbt domestic violence. There are bi men who are abused by their female partners. And when it comes to the transgender community, our biggest challenge isn’t only getting people to talk about it, but getting service providers to respond appropriately. Domestic violence is pretty much domestic violence across the board. Batterers will take advantage of whatever tools they have available to them, and, when it comes to transgender people, they have a lot of tools.”

So how does the Portland region measure up when it comes to victim services? Just ask Jason. He was nearly killed after being thrown from a moving vehicle, but, after that incident, he immediately separated himself from the situation. Soon, Michael began to stalk him, leer at him when he was out with his friends, and make menacing calls to him in the middle of the night. He then began to defame both Jason and his friends.

“Humiliating me at home was one thing, but humiliating me in public in front of other people — that I knew was the last straw,” says Jason. “When he started doing that I knew that I had absolutely nothing left.”

Jason’s actions were swift. And, he says, so were those of the police and courts in helping him obtain a protection order against Michael. “They were all far more gracious than what I expected. The police seemed bewildered by the situation. They were almost like ‘you’re a guy . . . why don’t you fight back?’ ” Jason remembers. “But they were compassionate.” He feels that he really started to get results, though, when he began to talk to the women in the system. “They were not only compassionate, but overwhelmingly concerned.”

That’s probably because many of them had been involved in helping victims of domestic violence, although mostly women, for years. But Reckitt says that Family Crisis has made itself available to the same-sex community and doing victim advocacy for the community since the early ’80s.

This year they begin a whole new, higher-profile effort to reach victims of glbti abuse. “We have a lot of work planned for the new year, including the hiring of a part time glbti outreach worker,” says Reckitt, who sits on the newly formed, Family Crisiú sponsored, Bi/Gay/Intersexed/Lesbian/Transgender Intimate Partner Violence Task Force. “Coalition building, networking with other glbti groups and domestic violence networks, and building a general database . . . these are all things that are underway.”

For years, Family Crisis has been ahead of the national curve in offering services to victims. “We help get protection orders, help with paperwork, help with police and courts processes and we have a shelter for women.” Family Crisis also finds shelter in hotels for transgender victims and men, something that is not readily available in most states.

The GMDVP offers a complete safe-home network for men, but Rogers says that such programs are rare. Many states do have advocacy, though — programs that grew out of an anti-violence network set-up in the ’80s to respond to victims of GLBT hate crimes. “What we found is that domestic violence victims were landing at our door.” To date, many agencies have stayed in the “hate-crime response mode” — they offer mental health and legal support, but they have never segued to shelter services.

“In some areas of the country, it’s a huge, huge problem, but ours is an unusually open place,” says Reckitt, who also says that the resources made available to the community by Family Crisis are top notch. From a comprehensive Web site, to outreach at Gay Pride, to informational posters and business cards in area bars, Family Crisis has taken diligent measures to make itself an advocate for victims in the glbt community.

The group also takes their message to schools and community forums, where they talk about the reality of both heterosexual and same-sex domestic violence. Years ago, Family Crisis developed a skit called “Jake and Caroline,” which showed the intricacies ýf an abusive relationship to high school students as part of an outreach/education program. But recently, a new skit has been developed — “Jake and Carl.” And, although it has yet to be rolled out to the public, Reckitt says the short scene is powerful. “It was so real that when other staff members saw the actors, they were frightened,” says Reckitt. “It looked like these two guys were really going at it, so it’s very real.”

Family Crisis also maintains an office at the Portland police department, which makes their services even more accessible. But, says Reckitt, victims will always be hesitant to seek help. Whether it’s the shame associated with being a victim, or the inability to accept one’s sexuality, those in abusive same-sex relationships have monstrous hurdles to overcome when facing the abuse.

Amy Neil* is still nervous. She’s at the tail end of a process to protect herself from an abusive ex-girlfriend.

Amy met the woman while she was in college, and she rocked Amy’s world. Within a short period of time, the pair moved in together, making life-sharing decisions. But, as the relationship went on, it became apparent to Amy that she didn’t really know the woman she had chosen to live with and, after two and a half years, she decided to move out.

“She got really scary. You hear people talking about Jekyl and Hyde, well, this was totally that,” says Amy. “She stalked me, terrorized me, stole things. She would break into my apartment, and she tried to damage my reputation.”

Amy called the police and Family Crisis early on, and, she says, that was the key to overcoming the abuse. “They were incredible. The hotline, for one, was so helpful for me to get the resources that I needed.”

Amy says that one thing helped the process along, an advantage that she believes many never have when responding to domestic violence. “I was out. I had that advantage and that privilege. It helped that I had family and friends and colleagues to turn to,” says Amy. “All my answers, my support, safety, and validation came from these people. If I hadn’t been out, I can’t even imagine the isolation that I would have experienced.”

Amy learned that no one can even begin to face domestic violence on their own. “Now I call it domestic terrorism. There are so many things involved besides violence. Going forward, I think that I will always be a little more aware of what people are all about,” says Amy. “I’m much more careful now.”

Tony Giampetruzzi can be reached at tgiamp@aol.com.