Domestic violence

Now and again, I find myself ponder about the most unexpected issues. Unexpected because my mind works in ways which constantly take me by surprise; it finds food for thoughts and create associations from the strangest sources.

Some times it is happy thoughts, which make me wander about with a silly grin on my face, other times they drive me mad because of the reruns; just can’t get it off my mind. (Songs, the beat and the lyrics, do that to me a lot!) I twist and turn around the subject, try to see it from a different point of view, just to make sure my prejudices don’t kick in. I know I have them, you see, but I am not happy about it.

The other day a picture appeared on facebook, which made me think. One of these disturbing ones which just gives a hint to a problem there is no obvious solution to.

We call it: Domestic violence.

Violence and abuse are not condoned as legal anywhere, as far as I know (apart from those twisted, extreme groupings, isolated from society, lacking just cause), but there is something forgiving about assault when we can call it domestic.

I can’t help but thinking the whole consept of calling it domestic is just so totally wrong. We like our own privacy, and therefore hesitate to interfere in what we see and/or hear goes on in our neighbour’s house. Still, privacy is not the same thing as amnesty to break down other people, just because they are unfortunate enough to live in the same house as you do.

The victims are children, women and men, who inhabit a profound loyalty based upon love and belonging. Powerful feelings in itself, even more so when added threats and reassurances. Often they refuse the fact they are victims, because they love him/her/them, or "...but it's my dad/mum..."

When abuse is finally out in the open and the extent is gradually unveiled, people who knew about what was going on, come forward and tell about what they have seen and heard. Very seldom they express any remorse they did not contact anyone to report their concern. BUT, they have found it disturbing for quite some time.

Feeling pangs of conscience can be very uncomfortable, what an ease it must be when someone else finally blows the whistle.

We think that victims should speak up for themselves, we do not want to take on the responsibility for their safety and wellbeing.

Maybe we think we protect our own privacy, maybe we think we will be perceived as peeping Toms, maybe we are afraid that others will mistrust our integrity, maybe we just want to make sure we are right and wait off and see IF it might happen again, one more time, just in case we are wrong.

I don’t know why we are so reluctant to speak up on behalf of someone living under worrying conditions; I just know that somehow we must change the way we think and act in order to protect victims of abuse. The outcome of ongoing domestic violence is far too often too severe, and unpredictable, for us to look the other way, for too long.