In recent months, demand for services and information around domestic violence and sexual assault has skyrocketed. Across America, groups working on these issues are struggling to help as many women and men as possible, to educate and provide services.
NO MORE encourages you to give to organizations working to end domestic violence and sexual assault.
Amid all the headlines about Ray Rice and Adrian Peterson, a small segment of the population has been left out—a very small segment. Children. How can parents reconcile and explain the violent behavior of athletes who appear to be heroes for so many kids?
ESPN anchor (and mom of three) Hannah Storm gave an emotional monologue this week asking: “Are fans and are families, are we as parents supposed to compartmentalize everything that’s happening? Are we supposed to simply separate a violent game on the field from violent acts off the field? And if we do, what message does that send?”
NO MORE says no way: The recent NFL incidents aren’t a reason to compartmentalize. They’re a chance to talk to our children about right from wrong; about actions and consequences. These lessons begin at home, in the backyard, at a Friday night game, or after a night of TV. We reached out to parents across the country to find out what they’re telling their children about the NFL.
Are fans and are families, are we as parents supposed to compartmentalize everything that’s happening?
This isn’t an exclusive problem within the NFL. It’s America’s problem, and we haven’t talked enough about it. I have a wife and daughter whom I love. The NFL has a pulpit and the right target audience to make a difference. The league has the power to send a message that this can’t be tolerated. – Allan Telio
Why is [Hannah Storm] looking to the NFL for answers in talking to her children? Shouldn’t she be telling her children that it doesn’t matter what others think, it matters what they themselves do? …They are worthy of respect. [Storm should] use the NFL’s actions or inactions as in opportunity to teach her children to be their own person. – Larissa L. Chmielewski
I tell my sons that one punch, one kick, one shove is too many. I tell them real men don’t hit, with their fists or their words.
I tell my sons that one punch, one kick, one shove is too many. I tell them real men don’t hit, with their fists or their words. I tell them I love them, but if they ever put their hands on a girl, I’ll be the first one to call the police and I’ll visit them in prison every week. I tell them the opposite of all they witnessed while I lived with their dad.
I’ve gone through counseling and I’ve changed; I don’t recognize that woman anymore. If he hits you once, he’ll hit you again; violence will escalate until it’s every month, every week, every day, every hour… Real love doesn’t hurt, no matter how many times he cries and says he’s sorry. – Marcie L. Williams
I am not a parent, but I did teach at an inner-city elementary school and … you could already get a sense of who had experienced domestic violence. Young boys who would grab their classmates’ hair or clothes and hit them on the ground; young girls who would kick, spit, and cuss at their classmates for “disrespecting them”; or kids who would become violent with the staff when asked to do certain things.
We held discussion circles every Friday on acceptable, appropriate, and efficient ways to address and express anger, along with giving the students the chance to share stories of any form of DV they had experienced, the way it made them feel. I was so surprised by the number of students who physically or verbally express anger or frustration negatively and harmfully on others without realizing they were doing so at such young ages. And I was so proud of my kids when, by the end of the summer, the number of outbursts, fights, and referrals given because of such situations had decreased so noticeably. – Anna Vinopal
It’s never OK to strike a partner — never.
I’ve always told my now 21-year-old son that “no means no” whenever it’s said in the course of events. If she says “no” at any time, he is to immediately stop. And it’s never OK to strike his partner—never. My heart sang when, in high school, he related a conversation he’d had with a female friend. The girl was dating a new boy and, when listing his virtues, she said, ‘And he doesn’t hit girls.’ My son’s reply? ‘Shouldn’t that be a given?’” — Jon Anne Doty
It’s a tough conversation to have with your children. We explained why you should never be mean to anyone and certainly never hit or hurt anyone. Explained to them that while if they do it now they may end up in timeout or lose a privilege, when they are older, the consequences are much more severe and you could lose everything. They agreed that you should never hit anyone, ‘especially a girl,’ my son said, and that Ray Rice should not be a Raven anymore. – Bryan Bartlett, as quoted in The Baltimore Sun.
Note: Last week, more people Googled “domestic violence hotline” than any week in the past year. If you or someone you know needs help, call the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-7233. For more on talking to your children about violence, visit the Indiana Coalition Against Domestic Violence.
Recent weeks have seen a dynamic new national conversation about domestic violence, adding to the continuing dialogue about sexual assault. Together, we have the opportunity to bring these issues out of the shadows and make sure they are addressed and ended.
That is the goal of NO MORE. Launched in 2013, supported by major organizations devoted to ending domestic violence and sexual assault, NO MORE is a unifying movement with hundreds of local allies and thousands of followers nationwide. NO MORE is raising awareness with a groundbreaking PSA campaign, sparking new conversations and moving these issues higher on the public agenda. We are engaging everyone with a stake in this issue — bystanders and survivors, men and women, people of all races and ages — in saying NO MORE to domestic violence and sexual assault.
We welcome the opportunity to help foster positive change within the influential sports community. Two of our NO MORE leaders, Co-Founder Jane Randel and longtime advocate and NO MORE Steering Committee member Rita Smith, have been tapped by the NFL to help improve domestic violence and sexual assault policies and programs. They are trusted leaders whose deep expertise and passionate commitment to these issues has been reflected over the past decades. The NFL will be calling on the expertise of NO MORE Steering Committee groups, including A CALL TO MEN, the Corporate Alliance to End Partner Violence, Futures Without Violence, and the National Network to End Domestic Violence.
Ending domestic violence and sexual assault is a long journey, one that will be challenging and difficult. Addressing the necessary change within the NFL will take time and effort, but is a crucial step toward NO MORE domestic violence and sexual assault.
As awareness of domestic violence escalates after video surfaced of NFL player Ray Rice knocking out his fiancee, Janay Rice, in an Atlantic City elevator, a similar drama plays out in South Africa: the trial of Paralympic athlete Oscar Pistorius.
Pistorius has been found not guilty of murdering his girlfriend, Reeva Steenkamp, in February 2013, though he was found guilty of the lesser charge of culpable homicide, which is equivalent to manslaughter here in the United States. (He’ll be sentenced in October; jail time is a possibility. October 21 update: Pistorius was sentenced to five years in prison for the crime, plus he received a suspended three-year term on firearms charges.) Judge Thokozile Matilda Masipa said she believed that when Pistorius fired at Steenkamp through a closed bathroom door, he truly believed that he was aiming at intruders. (Just three weeks before her death, Steenkamp had told Pistorius that she was “scared” of him.)
NO MORE talked to three leaders in the field — a pioneering prosecutor, the former lieutenant of America’s largest domestic violence investigative unit, and the founder of Mentors in Violence Prevention — to get their take on the case.
Casey Gwinn The Oscar Pistorius case is not unique. Yes, he’s a double amputee and an Olympian. But if you look inside the case, the dynamics are consistent with domestic violence homicides that happen every day, all around the world.
Here you have someone who has a lot of internalized rage. Pistorius had a traumatic childhood, and as is typical, it has produced internalized rage. Add to that someone with a sense of power, control, and entitlement — someone who has never faced consequences — and this case isn’t surprising. It’s what I saw day in and day out as a prosecutor.
Still, I’m seeing a lot of cognitive dissonance in this case: How can this person who is driven and focused, who has accomplished so much, be guilty of this crime? How can he be the monster the prosecutor is describing? It’s similar to the O.J. Simpson case in that way.
Unfortunately, this kind of crime happens every day. I wish we were as obsessed over the death of every woman.
People think he must be innocent because he’s so heartbroken and devastated. The fact that he can cry convinces me of nothing. I’ve watched batterers weep in court my entire career.
Others wonder how Reeva could be scared of him and still be in love with him. Why stay with him? I think that, on the night she was killed, she finally came to grips with who he was. She ran into the bathroom to get away from him, and his rage erupted. When you peel away everything, his bereavement, his celebrity, you’re left with a man with rage issues who was never held accountable. His choice was to pull a trigger.
It is deeply troubling that one human being, whether a judge or not, will allow Oscar Pistorius to avoid accountability for murder. This outcome is a result of the biases of the judge toward the evidence and the way the judge is examining each element of the case. In my 20 years as a prosecutor, I rarely agreed to a “bench trial” because I was always concerned that judges would be far too analytical and nuanced in their examination of the evidence. I always loved the common sense of juries and their willingness to be practical in their review of the evidence and the story of the abuser. In South Africa, the prosecutor does not have the benefit of the jury trial system.
I wish I could say this could be a watershed case, but it isn’t. During the O.J. Simpson case, we watched public awareness rise for about a year or 18 months. Then it faded away. I don’t think it changed the culture.
Unfortunately, this kind of crime still happens every day. I wish we were as obsessed over the death of every woman.
Jackson Katz This is a milestone in the history of post-apartheid South Africa. The domestic violence issue has now been highlighted in a very public way. The fact that a celebrity is involved underscores that violence is something that happens everywhere—not just in poor townships.
This is not a “poor black man” problem. Pistorius is a wealthy white man, with power and privilege. Pistorius made such a world-famous triumph over his disability. He became the face of the new South Africa, a source of national pride.
Part of the mythology surrounding sexual assault and domestic violence is that they are confined to poor or working-class communities. This is testimony to the fact that it cuts across those lines. It’s about masculinity, not class.
In the past, there was a subtext about domestic violence: Blame it on the outsider. Blame it on the marginalized. We can’t do that now.
Sociologically, it’s interesting, too. A black woman is the lead judge. Here you have a black woman sitting in judgment of an elite white man. Thirty years ago, this was unthinkable. The level of power dynamics has been completely reversed.
In the past, there was a subtext about domestic violence: Blame it on the outsider. Blame it on the marginalized. We can’t do that now.
Mark Wynn I worked in the largest domestic violence unit in American history in Nashville. I’ve spent a lot of time trying to educate people and shape the policy and procedures of domestic violence.
The term “crime of passion,” which has been used in this case, should be stricken. It reduces violence against women into a lover’s quarrel. It gives people like Pistorius language to use. The words passion and crime don’t belong together. We have an inability to talk about these crimes accurately.
This is horrible, because when you add it up, there are 2,000 people killed every year in domestic violence incidents. Every 18 months, we see as many people killed by domestic violence as we did on 9/11. And these offenders are no different than terrorists.
When you add it up, there are 2,000 people killed every year in domestic violence incidents.
When we look at what needs to change — government policy, education — this doesn’t happen overnight. Women have been slaughtered since the beginning of time, and only in recent history have we even begun to try to understand it. The first women’s shelter opened in 1974, in my lifetime.
We can’t get frustrated because things don’t change immediately and people don’t leave immediately. But what we can do right away is this: Change how we talk to victims. People say: Why didn’t she leave? Victims feel trapped. We’ll never know what Pistorius said to her the night she locked herself in the bathroom. But I can tell you from experience why people run away: They’re afraid.
If someone comes up to you and asks for help, be kind enough not to judge. I have no doubt that Reeva loved this guy. That’s what DV offenders do so well. They play on your worth, your beliefs. Victims do go back. But leaving is not an event. It’s a process. Public awareness about that has to change.
As a father, as an attorney who has dedicated much of his career to working on civil rights issues, and as president of James Madison University, I care deeply about the issue of sexual assault.
While JMU and other colleges and universities across the country have been working diligently for decades to prevent sexual assault, provide services to victims and punish perpetrators after appropriate due process, the topic catapulted into the national spotlight in recent months. We are now in the midst of an elevated national discussion about the societal issue of sexual assault and its impact on every college campus. This is good. But the discussion needs to be informed by critical thinking and problem-solving skills — and by balance. In some instances this summer, media and social media reports have been sorely lacking on that front. We have sometimes seen a rush to judgment and finger-pointing based on incomplete or inaccurate information. That is not how to solve the problem of sexual assault on our campuses or in society. We must all work together to be part of the solution and also to understand and respect the rule of law and due process.
The college experience is one of hope, excitement, intellectual development, and personal growth. Ensuring that this experience is available to each and every student requires universities and colleges to provide the safest campus possible. Our focus on the safety and well-being of our students helps them to thrive. James Madison University is a caring and compassionate community — and the responsibility to address these issues falls on all of our shoulders, not just at JMU, but in our society.
In fact, within the last few days, JMU joined many other colleges and universities in Virginia supporting Governor McAuliffe’s announcement of a statewide sexual assault task force. JMU appreciates the Governor’s leadership and support in dealing with this important topic. We believe that we can make great strides by working together across institutional lines to share ideas and best practices. We can and will learn from one another. Take a look at this recent story by the Washington Post about this ongoing work in Virginia.
James Madison University has a great deal of experience and innovative thought to bring to the table. We have a significant number of established educational programs and support services that enhance the safety and well-being of our campus community. Here is a link to some (but by no means all) of the existing programs on JMU’s campus.
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This past week at JMU we welcomed 4,300 incoming freshmen to our campus. We delivered the message loudly and clearly to these new students about our expectations for student conduct, and that every member of our community can and must play a role in dealing with the complex issues surrounding sexual assault. The freshmen orientation includes mandatory sessions that address this topic. Also, I have been encouraged that the students, staff, and faculty leadership with whom we’ve met have all agreed to work together on this topic — understanding that we all have roles to play. In fact, I discussed this in my back-to-school message that was sent to all of our students, faculty, staff, parents, and alumni. Here is a link to that message.
Every member of our community can and must play a role in dealing with the complex issues surrounding sexual assault.
Of course, there’s still much more work to be done. The efforts of NO MORE and other organizations are essential to increasing national awareness of sexual assault on college campuses. We are pleased to partner with NO MORE in these efforts and before this summer’s headlines, JMU had already started work to create this public service announcement using the toolkit provided by NO MORE.
If we all take responsibility, work together, and share ideas with one another, I believe now is the time when we can and will make significant progress in dealing with this important societal issue.
Jonathan R. Alger,
President, James Madison University
The media often focuses on two relationships in sexual assault cases: the victim and the perpetrator. In xoJane, Denver writer Lindsay King-Miller went a step further to share how she discovered that a longtime friend was also a rapist (She broke off contact after she learned about the crime). She talked about the experience and aftermath with NO MORE.
NO MORE: Why did you decide to write your story?
Lindsay King-Miller: It took me about a year to work up to writing about it, but it was on my mind for a long time and writing is part of how I process emotionally difficult things. I kept thinking about how, when I found out what my friend had done, I didn’t know where to turn or who to ask for advice. It’s not something that anyone ever mentions to you: ”If someone you’re friends with commits sexual assault, here’s how you should respond…”
The way we talk about sexual assault in our culture makes it really difficult to address that situation, because rapists are depicted as either faceless monsters with no redeeming characteristics—someone you’d never be friends with in the first place—or misunderstood “nice guys” who didn’t really do anything wrong.
There’s no road map for “he’s a person I really like who has done something I can’t forgive.” I wanted to offer other people in that situation one approach to thinking about it and dealing with it, even if it’s not the approach they would take.
I think we need more conversation about how people who aren’t sexual assault survivors can push back against rape culture, because that’s a responsibility all of us share.
NM: What were the responses to your story, and did any surprise you?
LKM: I try not to read comments on my own writing because I take it really personally. I skimmed the comments on xoJane, and I think responded to a couple, but I didn’t read them in depth. They were mostly supportive to the extent that I read them. I saw a few that were like, “You’re so brave” or whatever, which I’m definitely not. I’m sad that rape culture is so entrenched that we see believing a rape survivor and not remaining friends with her attacker as an act of bravery.
I’m sad that rape culture is so entrenched that we see believing a rape survivor and not remaining friends with her attacker as an act of bravery.
NM: Would you ever reach out to your friend again, and under what circumstances?
LKM: I don’t know. I don’t think so. Maybe if I heard that he was taking major steps like admitting to the crime he committed and seeking counseling. We still have some people in common, so it’s possible that that would find its way back to me. But I doubt it will ever happen, even if he does work to be accountable and make amends, which I hope he does. I think the trust between us is probably gone for good. That’s sad, but it’s certainly not the saddest part of the situation.
NM: How are you sure he’s guilty?
LKM: That’s not a question I’m willing to answer. The details of the assault and how I heard about it are the survivor’s story to share, not mine. I will say more generally that in the absence of strong evidence to the contrary, my default setting is “believe the survivor.” If someone says she has been sexually assaulted, I think the right thing to do is believe her (I’m saying “she,” but that goes for survivors of any gender). False accusations of rape are rare. If you always side with the survivor you’ll be right most of the time, and the risk of being wrong is one I can live with. I would rather err on the side of believing the accuser than on the side of believing the rapist. I am not a court of law; I do not have the obligation to believe someone innocent until proved guilty.
No one ever has the obligation to discuss their trauma with you.
NM: What advice would you give to other people who find out that they’re friends with a perpetrator?
LKM: Listen. Think. Don’t reject the accusation out of hand. Don’t say, “Well, he’s never assaulted me, so I don’t buy it.” Don’t defend the perpetrator. If you choose to remain friends with him, that’s valid, but don’t claim that it’s “not taking sides.” Don’t insist that the survivor offer you proof before you’ll believe them. No one ever has the obligation to discuss their trauma with you. I think it’s OK to remain friends with a perpetrator and invest in their rehabilitation, but you need to understand that that may make the survivor and survivor’s friends feel unsafe around you or need to distance from you, and that’s their right.
NM: Do you believe that a perpetrator can change or reform?
LKM: I do, I think. I don’t think our culture is really set up to accommodate that, unfortunately. We do punishment more than rehabilitation. But I think that learning and growing has to include accepting the consequences of your mistakes, and that can mean losing people. I don’t think anyone has a responsibility to forgive, even if a perpetrator reforms. Growth has to be for its own sake. I believe it’s possible, but honestly, I can’t think of any real-life examples.
It was an unfathomably lenient decision: In June, Virginia’s James Madison University punished three Sigma Chi fraternity members for sexually assaulting a female student on spring break by banning them from campus—after graduation.
Two of the attackers could graduate on time; the other would stay on campus for another year until earning his diploma.
Really?
The pathetic punishment crystallized the frustration felt by so many victims of campus rape: Why even bother coming forward? News of the punishment, or lack thereof, went viral. Even Jon Stewart mocked the story.
But there’s a victim behind the headlines and jokes: Sarah Butters. Butters, who’s pursuing her undergraduate degree elsewhere—“I’m just not proud to have a James Madison diploma,” she says—asked to share her side of the story with NO MORE.
I went on spring break in 2013 with a large portion of my school to Panama City. Everyone there was there was from Greek life. My parents’ big thing was, “Don’t go with someone you don’t know,” but I knew everyone there.
We were drinking on the beach. I was with friends, and at some point I blacked out. I ended up back at the condos we were renting with my friends.
Over the next few days, I heard rumors about a video circulating. Friends were telling me, “You need to say something to these guys.” I immediately went up to one of the guys who I was closest to and asked him, “Do you have a video of me?” I was wondering what I could have done.
He told me that there wasn’t a video. He lied to my face, but I believed him. But later, one of the guys showed it to one of my friends and said: “I could ruin her life with this.”
Friends were telling me what to do: I should press charges; I should just make it go away. I was hearing so many opinions and I couldn’t form my own.
Meanwhile, friends had gotten hold of the video. I was concerned, but I also didn’t want to watch it yet. I was too nervous and helpless. I was dating one of the guys in their frat—I was so close to them.
Two weeks after spring break, I finally sent the video to my best friend, who went to Radford. I needed an outsider to watch it, someone who knew me well. She saw it, and she flipped out. “This looks like what happens before a rape,” she told me. I watched it that night. It was a 90-second video. I was in a bathroom, leaning against a wall, and three guys were groping me, pulling me onto their lap. I kept trying to put my top back on and they’d knock it out of my hand, saying, “You look great.” They were grabbing my breasts, touching me.
I have a scar above my bikini line from an ovarian cyst, and one of the guys kept trying to grab my bikini bottoms to see it. When he tried to do that, I let out a yell. It was such a disturbing yell.
The morning after I watched it, I woke up to a text from one of the guys, saying, “Hey, we didn’t mean for this to be a problem. We’re not sending it around. We can meet up and talk about it.”
I met with them, with my roommate, at my house. I wanted to be in my comfort zone. I get so mad at myself now that I let them in.
They said, “This is an inconvenience for all of us.”
I’ll always remember that. It was such an insincere apology.
I was told by JMU’s judicial affairs office that the common punishment for this kind of harassment is suspension. I was told that it’s very rare for someone to get expelled. I didn’t know what to do—I didn’t want to put myself through the misery of taking action. What if I lost? But I was told, if the judicial board had the video and watched it and could tell who was in it, they’d move forward anyway. So I bought a flash drive and handed them the video. They said they’d review it.
I had a really rough summer emotionally. My grades slipped. I got free counseling at JMU, but it didn’t help.
I was venting with my dad about it a lot. He’s a police officer and he contacted JMU’s director of judicial affairs, Josh Bacon. Bacon said he couldn’t tell if what happened in the video was consensual or not. That was really discouraging. JMU had been my dream school since eighth grade. I trusted them. This is where I felt safe.
I felt I had the short end of the stick. I filed a formal complaint in January 2014. It took JMU over a month to schedule hearings. Once the process started, the guys couldn’t talk to me. If I saw them on campus, it ruined my whole day. It was affecting my whole life, but not theirs at all.
There was a separate trial with each of the three guys. I had to be in the same room during it. It was so disturbing. After the third trial, Josh Bacon said that he’d never seen a case so serious. He told me that he wanted to propose an “abnormal” idea—expulsion after graduation—because they’d just appeal any other punishment, and graduation was coming up anyway. I just started bawling when I heard that. It was not OK. Who would punish them? Who would even know if they were on campus? What if they were tailgating? Or at a reunion? I was told that I’d have to identify them and tell campus police. If they recognized them, they’d be escorted out.
But the burden to identify them was on me. I was devastated.
Bacon went ahead with the expulsion punishment anyway. I read the student handbook; this wasn’t what was supposed to happen. The judicial board had caught them in lies—one guy said he hadn’t grabbed my bikini when clearly he did on the video—it was such crap.
The guys changed their attitude when expulsion was presented. They said they’d earned their diploma and paid for it. They were embarrassed not to be able to bring their kids back to their alma mater.
A local reporter covered my story; it aired locally that June. I didn’t expect it to blow up nationally. I thought it would draw attention to the area but not nationally. The Huffington Post wrote a really fair story about it after that.
When you hear about sexual assault, it’s only recent that the term is “survivor.” It used to be “victim.” I felt like a victim. I felt I never got closure. I never got to move on. But I also got support—from other people who saw the stories, from my sorority who told me how strong I was. My Facebook blew up. Twitter blew up with #standwithbutters. I hadn’t wanted to show myself in these stories, but then I realized if it would help someone else to put a face with the story, I wanted to do it. It helps for people not to read a generic story, but to see who I am.
I filed a federal civil rights violation complaint with the school. That process is going through now. It’s a drawn-out process, but I did it because I don’t want another girl to go through this. If my case was the most serious they’d seen, and I had video evidence, and they still didn’t even get suspended—what would happen to someone else? How could anyone else feel comfortable coming forward?
As for where I am now, I withdrew from JMU. Whenever I used to see a JMU sticker, my heart got happy. But I had to break up with my school.
I’m taking classes at a community college now. I love working with kids, and I want to be a teacher. I’ve always worked to put myself through school, so I need to take one step at a time.
But I’m finding myself through all this. When I saw the NO MORE PSAs, I recognized all the excuses: “She was asking for it. She was drunk.” So I wanted to share my story here.
These are not excuses. I want other women to know—you cannot be bullied into silence.
Kate Ranta met Thomas Maffei online. She was a busy single mom with a three-year-old son, and many of her friends encouraged her to try Match.com. At the very least, she thought she’d get a couple of fun dates out of it.
Maffei, a handsome older Air Force officer, fell for her immediately. They were engaged in three months, married in six.
“He was extremely handsome and charismatic,” she says. “We seemed to click instantly. He was divorced, like me. We’d been through similar things. I thought we were coming from the same place. He seemed very together.”
She got pregnant right away.
“Looking back, I realize that he wanted to move really fast, but I lost myself in the relationship,” Ranta says. She was in love.
Early on, Maffei exhibited controlling behavior—he refused to let her cook, and he insisted that she avoid all social media. He eventually relented and let her join Facebook, if she cleared her friends with him first. “He told me that it opened the doors to infidelity,” she says.
He did insist that she work and make her own money, because he wouldn’t let her see his bank accounts.
“When I was growing up, nobody talked about domestic violence,” Ranta says. “And, if you did hear about anything, it was physical. My parents will be together 46 years next month—I didn’t witness any abuse, and I didn’t know what to look for,” she says. “Looking back, I realize I wasn’t even fully participating in my own life. I was in a bubble.”
She rationalized his actions. How bad could things be? The couple had a generally comfortable life in Fort Belvoir, Virginia; her friends and family liked him; and he was an attentive new dad.
In 2010, Ranta suggested moving to Coral Springs, Florida, where she could be closer to her parents. To her surprise, Maffei agreed.
“Then his behavior became completely erratic,” she recalls. “He told me that if any men outside of family members tried to befriend me on Facebook, I had to tell him.” When a male high school friend reached out, Maffei turned violent.
He left their home with their son in the middle of the night. Ranta called 911. He returned home, raised his fist, and threatened to hit her. When the police arrived, Ranta fled the house and stayed with her parents.
“I was done. Terrified. That one incident alone completely scared me, because I didn’t know what he was capable of,” she says.
She was able to secure a temporary restraining order, though she was refused a permanent one. “The law is set up to protect attackers, not victims,” she says.
Eventually, she and her two children stealthily moved from her parents’ house to their own apartment, not telling Maffei where they’d gone.
Then she saw her slashed tires in the parking lot. He’d found her.
On November 2, 2012, she was at home with her father and younger son when she spotted Maffei through the window, coming toward the front door. She dialed 911.
And then the shots rang out. She was hit twice, once in the left breast. The bullet missed her heart by millimeters. Her father was also hit twice in the arm and side as he tried to keep his son-in-law from barreling through the door. Their little boy sat by and sobbed. (Ranta’s older son was visiting his father.)
The dispatcher stayed on the phone as Maffei fired; the frantic call was later made public. Ranta was airlifted to the hospital, where she received blood transfusions. Miraculously, she and her dad survived.
Maffei was arrested at the scene, and he’s now awaiting trial in a Florida prison.
But Ranta’s journey has just begun. “For the first year after it happened, I didn’t feel safe. I was looking over my shoulder. It’s no way to live—sheer survival, just getting through day to day,” she says. She wore a panic button around her neck and installed a security system in her home, which was flagged by police.
But it didn’t help much. “I was always looking in the mirror, wondering who was behind me,” she says. Her son, who grew clingy after the shooting, received counseling through a state-funded trauma group.
Now, Ranta says, “He tells people that he has no father.”
Ranta is determined to speak out, sharing her story through advocacy groups like Everytown for Gun Safety and Moms Demand Action.
“Trust your instincts,” she urges. “I recognized his weird statements and behavior, but I blew it off. I just wanted the relationship to work. But any controlling behavior is a red flag. As soon as you see it, just let go of the relationship. Get out. Don’t look back!”
Visit Kate’s Facebook page and see her family photos at Love and Support for Kate Ranta and Family.
THE CHILLING LINK BETWEEN GUNS AND DOMESTIC VIOLENCE
- Over the past 25 years, more intimate partner homicides in the U.S. have been committed with guns than with all other weapons combined.
- More than half of women murdered with guns in the U.S. in 2011 — at least 53 percent — were killed by intimate partners or family members.
- In 57 percent of mass shootings between January 2009 and June 2014, the perpetrator killed an intimate partner or family member.
Source: Everytown for Gun Safety
Need help? Contact The National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-SAFE (7233) to learn how to help someone in an abusive relationship or to get help for yourself.
Learn about the warning signs for potentially abusive relationships here.
Learn how to help yourself or a loved one remain safe while in a relationship, planning to leave, or after leaving a relationship here.
Sixteen-year-old Jada endured two assaults. The Houston teenager was allegedly drugged and raped at a party last month. Then last week photos of the assault went viral—which is the only way she found out about her rape. People mimicked her on social media with the hashtag #jadapose, posing like unconscious, barely clothed rape victims. (Most of the photos have been reported and taken down.)
Her story is sickeningly common: The alleged assault happened at a high school house party, where she was offered a drink, possibly laced with a drug. She woke up hours later, underwear on backwards. Then her story gets unusual: She became an unwilling celebrity when photos of her unconscious body emerged on social media, initially Tweeted by her accused assailants.
But instead of running scared, Jada fought back. And that’s when her story becomes amazing. She harnessed social media to reclaim her voice, Tweeting this searing image:
#Jadapose was drowned out by the outrage of thousands, who Tweeted their solidarity. If any good can come of her ordeal, it’s that Jada has become a role model for other survivors and supporters.
And Jada didn’t stop there. She went on national television to tell her story. “Everybody had seen my face and my body, but that’s not what I am or who I am,” she said.
Jada took control. She refused to hide. She refused to succumb to the shaming culture of silence. In doing so, she became more than a survivor—she became a symbol of resilience and bravery. After going public with her outrage and her image, here’s how the Twitter story changed:
Sharing her truth in the face of so much ugliness, the world would be a better place with more Jadas in it. #iamjada
— MakeHerWay (@MakeHerWay) July 20, 2014
Rape isn’t funny and rape culture is not a joke. This young woman is brave. #IAmJada http://t.co/3ZeNFSmU5V
— Ashley (@IAmAMoni) July 14, 2014
Why is Sexual Assault the only crime where the victim is blamed, shamed, bullied, harassed, and laughed at? #IamJada
— Stephanie Bridges (@i_spat) July 14, 2014
Social media can be used for good #iamjada #speakup4allwomen pic.twitter.com/oNahl4revE
— Mera Corlett (@mscorlett) July 14, 2014
I stand with Jada b/c when someone violates you, they’re the ones who should be ashamed. #IAmJada — Kaye Powers (@powkaye) July 14, 2014
Arrest Jada’s attackers. Stand up to the #jadapose scum. Fight rape culture. @RonanFarrow #IAMJADA #JusticeForJada #YesAllWomen — Michael Clarkson (@m_clarkson78) July 14, 2014
Because rape is never funny and the media should stop making excuses for rapists #IamJada #JusticeforJada — Joey Cross (@JoeyCross7) July 19, 2014
Photo: #jadapose it’s nothing funny about #rape what If it was your mother, sister or whoever would it… http://t.co/u5vbJ1atyn — Tommy McDuffie (@tumtummac24) July 14, 2014
Really happy to see #jadapose completely taken over by people offering positive reinforcement to Jada and condemning rape culture — Mackenzie Keefe (@macklekeefe) July 12, 2014
Social media can be frightening and lawless, but it can also be a source of tremendous support. Jada got the last word.
Now we know the #Jadapose is one of confidence and strength.
As for Jada? Even though her example will go on to inspire thousands of other survivors, this moment won’t define her. As she told MSNBC’s Ronan Farrow, she plans to work in a crime lab one day.
Ten Men can make a difference. This groundbreaking group—poets, campers, golfers, dads—is made up of diverse Rhode Island men with a common vision: a world without domestic violence. Some have children. Some work with survivors. Some are survivors themselves. All of them want to say NO MORE.
They know that true manhood doesn’t include violence, power, or aggression, and they’re here to spread the word to other men and boys. They know that many everyday men want to stop the cycle but don’t just know how.
How do they help? Each year, ten exemplary men are nominated by the Rhode Island Coalition Against Domestic Violence. Through a yearlong commitment, they reach out to the community and coordinate public awareness campaigns to help men find their voices.
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Ten Men is the first statewide effort made up of these pioneering male role models.
Meet a few of them here.
Rilwan Feyisitan, Jr.Profession: Director of Program Operations, Community Partnership of Providence
Hobby: Camping—or anything on the water
“I’m privileged to be part of this amazing work. I’ve literally held men as they have broken down in tears reflecting on their role as abusers. They see their sons and grandsons going down the same path. I now stand shoulder to shoulder with some of them in answering the call to be more than just well-intentioned men. The Ten Men project allows many of us to give a face and voice to the male response needed to end domestic violence.”
Jay GotraProfession: CEO, Alliance Security
Hobby: Golf
“Protecting homes and families is what I do at work. So it seems only right to protect women and children in my community against domestic violence.”
Edgar MoyaProfession: Account Executive, Telemundo New England
Hobby: Spending time with family
“I strongly believe that it’s possible to break the cycle of domestic violence if everybody gets involved—including the men in our community.”
John-Marra YouteProfession: Director of Outreach, Admissions and Student Services for Year Up Providence
Hobby: Poetry
“I joined the Ten Men initiative to find other men who refuse to be defined in a Man Box. As a father of a six-year-old daughter, I am here to stand beside her to assure her that she will not live in a culture where violence is the norm. The issues of violence are personal and real for me. Too many occasions, I work with young adults who are often victims of violence and look for a way to escape the nightmare. I am here to say No More!”
Join us in saying NO MORE to domestic violence at NOMORE.org. Learn more about the men here.