Want to know who I am? I could be you

Sometimes at night when I’m alone, I look in the mirror and ask, “Who am I?” The woman looking back at me has many faces:

I am the one leading music at your church on Sunday,

• the teacher helping your child with his math,

• the neighbor who drops by with warm scones on Saturday,

• the volunteer handing you a cup of soup at the shelter,

• the girl beside you on the stair climber at the club,

• the mother at the doctor’s office with her sick child,

• the business owner on the phone asking for assistance with her Internet service,

• and the friend who calls just to hear your voice.

I stand behind you in line at Wal-mart and sit beside you at the hockey game. I post my latest vacation photos on Facebook and wait at the post office to mail my holiday packages.

But I’m also one of the many nameless women in our state who have been battered, bruised, violated, suffocated, humiliated and terrorized by the man who is the father of my three children and who was my husband for 17 years.

After decades of silence, our case had its day in court and our private pain became public record. Based on photographic evidence the judge found that the children had been beaten and ordered two custody investigations, but these were never conducted. The Office of Children Services refused to look at our family’s history of abuse. The court took the position that it could “determine legal custody without determining exactly how (and by whom) the children were physically abused.”

In the end, the court was unwilling to allow the time to hear the witnesses or review state trooper log notes, forensic reports and medical records that document our experience and the judge essentially rendered a “nothing happened” verdict.

For all the legislation that has been passed to protect the best interests of our most vulnerable victims of domestic violence, justice has not found its way to the streets yet — not in our case or in the cases of many others I have come to know.

Tomorrow morning I will get my children ready for school as my ex-husband straps on his Kevlar vest and service weapon and pins on his badge. As a federal law enforcement officer with the Department of Homeland Security, he defends our nation’s borders and resources from terrorist attacks. The irony is not lost on my children or me. He protects us from them, but who protects us from him? This question remains unanswered for now.

Who am I? Here is my answer:

I am a woman who will not hide in the shadows or live in fear any longer. I am a fighter, but I will not be driven by hate and I will not use violence to stop the violence. I am a mother who looks each day into the eyes of my children who endured the injustice with me and vows — with every beat of my heart — to make this state a better place for them than it has yet shown itself to be.

There are some who say those who crusade against such violence are fighting an uphill battle because we are fighting against something that we are powerless to change. But that was yesterday’s news.

I am one of many catalysts across our Valley who is rising like the fabled phoenix from the ashes in defiance of that defeatist mindset. Together we say, “No more!” and in that solidarity we find that we are indeed powerful to effect change. Together we are working to establish a culture of honor in our homes, schools and communities.

Today’s headlines could read: “It’s a new day!”

Together we will contend for freedom from oppression in all its forms, justice in the courts and on the streets, and peace for the families that live here in our Valley and across the state of Alaska.

Catherine Whaley is director at Firedance Academy and is a partner with Alaska’s New Day Alliance.