You can't beat a woman

By William C. Shelton

(The opinions and views expressed in the commentaries of The Somerville News belong solely to the authors of those commentaries and do not reflect the views or opinions of The Somerville News, its staff or publishers.)

This past week, Deval Patrick, Paul Celucci, and Tom Menino co-chaired White Ribbon Day. Men across the Commonwealth took this pledge: “From this day forward, I promise never to commit, condone, or remain silent about violence against women, sexual assault, and domestic violence.”

Most who read this will nod and agree that those are words we should all live by. Not all will realize how challenging it is to do this effectively.

One Los Angeles night in late autumn 1969, I was standing on the busy corner of Western Avenue, hitchhiking West on Melrose Boulevard. A drunken couple walked into the corner, arguing loudly. He began punctuating his insults with thrown fists, most of which did not connect. She seemed paralyzed.

I was paralyzed too. I simultaneously felt an obligation to intervene, and an enormous inhibition against doing so. There was no significant physical threat-the man was too drunk to throw a straight punch. Yet I was frightened and confused, my stomach so tense that it was cramping. Part of my inhibition was that the many bystanders all seemed to be pretending that the situation didn't exist.

Forcing my limbs to move took a supreme act of physical will. When I interposed myself and said to the man, “You can't do this,” the woman ran away. He cursed me for a couple of minutes, and then staggered away as well.

Feeling shaken, I resumed hitchhiking. The man operating the corner newsstand and a woman waiting for a bus approached and angrily told me that I should mind my own business. Now I was deeply confused and distressed. I believed that I had done the right thing, but I felt as if I'd done the wrong thing.

Eventually, I got a ride from a man who was about ten years older than me. He saw the state I was in and asked me about it. I told him what had happened. He was sympathetic. He told me of his own experience when he interrupted a man hitting a woman in a New York bar. When the police came, the victim supported the assailant when he pressed assault charges against my benefactor who had tried to help. 

His kindness and compassion made me feel less crazy, less distraught.  But I also felt more confused. “What should I have done,” I asked him.

“You just have to do the right thing and deal with the consequences,” he answered. I thought that was a good answer, but over time, I wondered, “how do you know exactly what the right thing is?”

Four years later, I lived in Santa Cruz and had gotten to know a French Canadian named Giselle. She had married an American who beat her regularly, gave her nine kids, and then disappeared.

Giselle made extraordinary pizza. She conceived that if she operated a restaurant, she could support her family. Banker after banker told her, “You have no business experience and no collateral. I'm sorry, but it's impossible.”

A number of Giselle's women friends knew her need, her character, and her pizza. They pooled all the available cash that they had, some of it borrowed, and loaned it to Giselle. She rented a space, they helped her fix it up, and they called it The Impossible Restaurant. It quickly developed a reputation for serving the best pizza in the county.

One night, my girlfriend and I were enjoying a giambotta. At the next table, a drunk man sat with a woman and two boys, about nine and eleven in age. From time to time, he became so loud that we heard the ugly things that he was saying. Again, no one did anything. The more this went on, the more angry I became.

As I passed their table after paying the bill, I heard him say to the eleven year old, “You're an asshole.” I stopped, put my face in front of his, and quietly said, “The only person acting like an asshole here is you.”

Suzi and I left, but the drunk came after us in the parking lot. He cursed and said that he was going to teach me to mind my own business. I was physically scared this time, but I just stared at him. I turned and walked away, expecting him to pursue me, but he didn't.

When we got in the car, I snapped at Suzi that if she claimed to be a feminist and some guy wanted to do me violence, then I expected her to start looking for a stick. We drove home in silence. I was ashamed because of what I had said to Suzi. More deeply, I was ashamed because I realized that my actions at the restaurant had been more motivated by old feelings of bitterness from childhood experiences than by an accurate assessment of the best thing to do.

The next week, I went to the Impossible for lunch. Giselle came over and said, “I heard what you did, and I want to thank you.”

I said, “Actually I'm pretty sure that I messed up. I'm guessing that I just pissed the guy off, and when they went home, he took his anger out on her.”

Giselle said, “She's used to getting hit. She's not used to having someone stand up for her.”

I would have said, “I'm not so sure,” but I didn't say anything. I would have started crying.

To be continued.

Comments

[Citizen]

Mr. Shelton,

Some of the people who post here discuss other people, often in a hateful way. Fewer discuss ideas and principles. It is most rare when someone illustrates their principles by applying them to their own lives, not matter how imperfect and awkward.

I appreciate what you do, and what you have done here. I appreciate your willingness to acknowledge the mistakes you make, even when trying to do the right thing. We don’t get better if we don’t try. I suspect that this is the message you intend to get to when you “continue.”

[it *is* funny]

Thanks for posting this. I watched my mother get hit by my step-father for years and I ALWAYS wished some bystander would say something, do something. Even if you don't know what to do, you must not let the abuser think they are invisible. It makes the victim think she is invisible too.

[Bill Shelton]

it "is" funny,

Thank you for you eloquent honesty.

[Kate]

Bravo, Bill - You were brave to intervene with the couple in Los Angeles and the family in Santa Cruz. Those poor boys might have thought it was normal for their father to treat them that way, leading them to think it’s OK for them to treat other women that way.

I believe it carries more weight, when men speak out about other men’s violence toward women and children. When a woman speaks out, I’m guessing that the abusers look at her with the same disregard/disrespect they have for their own wives/girlfriends.

“I was ashamed, because I realized that my actions at the restaurant had been more motivated by old feelings of bitterness from childhood experiences than by an accurate assessment of the best thing to do.”

I don’t think that’s anything to feel ashamed of. Obviously, the father’s behavior struck a nerve, and as you say, took you back to situations where you were the victim, so you responded as you (maybe) wish you could have responded in your childhood; you put yourself in the place of those two boys and you defended them.

The world has become much more dangerous since the ‘60’s, ‘70’s and even ‘80’s. Now, one might run the risk of being stabbed or shot, while in defense of a stranger, but who of us can live with ourselves if we don’t, at least, call for help.

it *is* funny - That must have been terrible for you to witness. We feel we have no control over many things, when we are children, because we usually don't. It's outrageous that your stepfather dared to behave this way, PERIOD, but for him to hit your mother in public and in front of you, shows that he didn't fear reprisals from anyone. I'm sorry for that little child that you were.

[Disgusting!]

Women condone wife-beating
July 27 2003
The Sun-Herald

More than half of Zimbabwean women surveyed say a husband is justified in beating his wife sometimes, US researchers have found.

Men are within their rights to beat their wives if they argue, neglect the children, refuse to have sex, burn food or leave the home without permission, most of the women surveyed said.

"If nothing is done, the next generation of women may be just as likely to believe that wife-beating is acceptable behaviour," one of the researchers, Michelle Hindin, of the Johns Hopkins University School of Public Health in Baltimore, said in a statement on Friday.

Hindin's team reviewed data from a 1999 World Health Organisation survey of 5907 Zimbabwean women aged 15 to 49.

Women aged 15 to 24 were two-and-a-half times more likely than women aged 45 to 49 to believe that wife-beating was justified, researchers found. But among the older women, more than half said wife-beating was often acceptable.

Poor, rural women, those with less than a secondary education and those with lower occupational status were more likely to say their husbands had the right to beat them.

"Interventions that promote joint decision-making might be a promising strategy for increasing women's views towards equality in marriage, while promoting men's views that household disputes should be settled with negotiation, not violence," Hindin said.

Reuters

[Jo]

Hi Bill,

I was looking around on the web for the "Impossible Restaurant" because I lived in Santa Cruz for many years and still have never found a pizza that comes close. The restaurant closed many years ago now and I have no idea where Giselle went or if she ever opened another place. Yours was the only post I could find about it.

What I'm wondering is if you know where she went or, ideally, the recipe for that amazing crust!!

I'm sorry to be focusing on the pizza... I know that the post is about much more important matters and I really appreciated the story and it's lesson a lot. But... the BEST PIZZA EVER is now really impossible to find.