The Hearłbreak of Domestic Violence

The Asha Project Focuses On Black Women Victims

BY TOM JENZ

What is your background? Are you from Milwaukee?

Yes, I was raised on the East Side. My father worked at American Motors/ Chrysler, and my mother was an MPS social worker. Seven siblings in our family. I graduated from Riverside High School. From there, I went to UWM for college. I majored in African American Studies, but I took a lot of courses in social work.

Unfortunately, I had to leave college because I was stalked by someone I didn’t know. The stalker had followed me around the college, and eventually robbed me at my door, tried to break into my house. He put a gun to my stomach and took my purse. All pretty terrifying. As a young woman, I had been a victim of domestic violence by my boyfriend who was also a drug addict. I actually married him but left him a day after the wedding because it was coerced. I determined no one would ever abuse me again, and I began building the base of my future agency, Asha Family Services.

Which later became The Asha Family Project, as I understand. In 1987, I started The Asha Project, our treatment method focusing on mainly Black women. It revolved around my study of the Black family culture. Acceptance of domestic violence in Black communities is normal, but the ripples of consequence are extensive. Accepting abuse can be normalized in the Black community because women are viewed as objects. Women are devalued. Because of that, treating Black women victims is different.

How does the Asha Project work? How do you treat Black women victims?

The African American culture in Milwaukee is different in our responses to violence. At The Asha Project, we have a team of culturally responsive personnel. For example, a Black woman victim may be perceived as not being a “deserving victim.” After a violent attack, she might behave in an agitated state, be loud, emotional, swearing, gesticulating, saying things like, “You people better stop him, lock him up before I kill him.” Providers or Police might perceive this behavior as aggressive, as a threat, even breaking the law. We view it as her being in pain, and we try to help her calm down. The police or providers might say, “What is wrong with her?” At The Asha Project, we say, “What happened to you?” She may not want law enforcement involved for fear of entanglement in punitive systems.

And there are other considerations for Black women like poverty and misfortune.

More Black women die from domestic violence than any other group except

Native American women. We are both at the bottom of the socio-economic and political rung. And there often is generational violence, which filters on down family lines and is passed on to the next generation. In terms of domestic violence in the home, for example, a boy who sees his dad abuse his mother may end up as an adult perpetrator because this abuse often becomes accepted social behavior.

Something over 80 percent of inner-city Milwaukee families have no father figure in the home. Currently a Black father’s role in the family has been terribly diminished. Boys cannot be left to raise themselves.

Why did the role of the Black father decline over the past few generations?

Loss of good jobs. The shutdown of Milwaukee factories increased unemployment and oppressed Black men, some of whom turned to criminal activity and drugs to make a living. Eventually, mass incarceration removed many Black males from the home and community. This affected the women. Despite being beaten up, Black women will often believe that the perpetrator won’t really kill them. Black women are often resistant to calling the police for a variety of historical reasons including the fear their children might be taken from them because they were exposed to violence.

If a woman has just been assaulted by her husband or boyfriend, and she comes into your office on Center Street looking for help, what is the process you go through to help her?

Understand that each case is treated differently based on the survivor’s needs. I greet her warmly, and I listen to her story. I try to build trust, establish a relationship. I may need to find her temporary housing if she needs to get away from her abuser. I might conduct a danger assessment and develop a safety plan.

I will give her available options regarding addressing the abuse. For example, we can help her access a shelter, continue to give her counseling, find medical help, or refer her to law en - forcement. But our guidance is always based on what she wants to do. We will not report her perpetrator to law enforcement if she thinks that would put her in more danger. Ultimately, our goal is safety and security and helping her to a path of healing.

What if a victim tells you she wants to report the crime to law enforcement?

In some cases in the Black community, if a woman decides to file a restraining/protective order against a violent perpetrator and he is put in jail, there can sometimes be backlash from his or her own family, or she may feel she is betraying the community. In other words, she, the victim, is somehow to blame for her abuser being in jail. But the reality is that if he treats her with physical violence, he broke the law.

I’ve been told by street leaders that some young Black men have lost their way. It’s almost as if they have no hope for the future. Yes, many have lost hope. It’s based on complex issues they experience as a result of systemic racism and discrimination. Some may not have hope because they are dealing with too many layers of childhood and adult traumas, and many have lost their dads or parents due to the trauma. When I was growing up, most Black children lived in two parent families where the dads had good paying jobs, and they were able to buy homes and provide for their families. Currently, two parent, inner city Black families are around 10 to 15%.

What role should Black men take in curbing domestic abuse?

Men have to hold men accountable. In the Black community, Black men leaders have to stop the domestic violence, take responsibility. Little boys may not often listen to their mothers, but they will listen to and obey men.

Norton introduced me to her associate director of 20 years, Shawn Muhammad. At 51, Shawn has been counseling trauma victims and perpetrators most of his adult life. Stress drives his engine. Yet, he looks like a young man, and, like a young man, his attitude was centered on hope. I wanted to hear about his background.

Tell me about your family history. I’m an only child. My mom, Al'lean Davis, raised me alone. She is a retired MPS school teacher. I grew up on 14th and Atkinson, 17th and Capitol, and then later on 50th and Locust—heart of the inner city. I ended up graduating from Riverside High School. Out of high school, I enlisted in the Army, and ended up in Desert Storm in Iraq. Served in the Army for three years.

When I came back to Milwaukee, I worked for a little while, and ran the street for a little while, doing what young inner-city men do—dealing drugs, drinking alcohol, chasing women and doing stupid things. When I had my first child, I straightened out. I converted to Islam and went to Springfield College and then to UWM.

Around 1999, Antonia hired me at Asha Family Services. My mother just so happened to be a survivor of domestic abuse at the hands of my father. She never did directly discuss it with me, but as a child, I did see her beaten up and bruised. I grew up hating my father, but two years ago we reconciled, I forgave him, and we now stay in touch. I’ve been working in the field of domestic abuse for over 20 years now, and it feels like this work has chosen me.

Let’s talk about what you are doing now with The Asha Project. From what I understand, The Asha Project believes there are specific methods to address the elimination of gender-based violence and the sexual exploitation of women and children in Black communities. Can you elaborate on that concept?

At The Asha Project, we use culturally responsive methods to deal with African American victims. Our founder, Antonia Drew Norton, understands Black women, how they think and talk and move. She makes sure Black victims feel comfortable getting the help that they need without feeling judged. She hires advocates who have an understanding of our culture. The typical picture painted of a domestic abuse victim is that she is passive and scared. The victims that we serve do not look like that. Some may seem loud and combative when talking about their abuse, but they might not even want their abusers incarcerated. Often, they just want the violence to stop.

In your own job responsibilities, are you able to counsel the abusers, the men perpetrators who are violent to women?

We have the UJIMA program. It’s not funded, but it’s a program where I work with a group of African American men that do harm. I conduct these UJIMA groups on Wednesday evenings and Saturday mornings.

UJIMA is a collaborative, multidisciplinary program geared to stop violent behavior patterns and reduce the number of domestic violence victims.

What do these men abusers say about why they resort to anger and violence with women?

Many Black men grew up in a family and community environment where they saw violence as a method to solve their problems. This translates into their relationships when they become adult men. In other words, they use violence to resolve a domestic dispute just as they do in the streets. They never learned to articulate their dissatisfaction or had the patience to resolve conflicts non-violently. Many of these men are frustrated because they can’t get a job or provide for their children, and this might be exacerbated by issues with alcohol or drugs.

In their childhood years, some of these men might not have had a male presence in their own homes. They may have seen their moms beaten up by a boyfriend or absent husband.

That is true. But in my work, I have to believe in behavior change, and that I can help them. Too often, the answer is punitive, put the perpetrators in jail. I mean, who wants to fund a program for abusers? Keep in mind, many of the women victims that we serve return to the men who abused them.

And this behavior can go back many generations. When I asked a domestic violence counselor why so many crimes go unreported, she said, “In the Black community, what happens in families behind closed doors stays in families.”

Have you seen this?

When I was growing up, that was called: “You don’t tell my business.” My mother used to say that to me, “You don’t tell my business.” As a child, I made the mistake and told an older Black teacher of mine that my mother had been beaten up. She called my mother, and my mother was upset with me for telling. This is an unwritten rule in our community because our people are generally distrustful of systems. At the Asha Project, we understand why our sisters are distrustful of the criminal justice system. I have five fulltime dynamic advocates working here that are very capable and relate well to victims.

Domestic violence is not just punches and black eyes. It can also be yelling, humiliation, stalking, manipulation, coercion, threats and isolation. Or keeping tabs online, perpetual texting, the silent treatment, or even calling the victim “stupid” so often they believe it. Do you agree with this definition?

Absolutely. Many times after the tears and bruises go away, the mental and emotional abuse stays. It’s like an old sink that has a leak, keeps dripping and wears out the porcelain. In domestic violence, those abusive words are the dripping. There is the statement: “Hurt people, hurt people.” We need to change the messaging that goes on in our community. I’m talking about anti-violence messaging, that domestic violence is unacceptable. For instance, I’d like to see a Community Code of Conduct, and have that code posted all over the community.

Neighborhoods can enforce good conduct. Residents looking out for one another. Parents disciplining kids, not even their own kids. Adults uniting to define the social culture, and families united in similar values.

I agree. One of our principles is the preservation of the Black family. But currently, our communities are a collection of mothers that work outside of a home where many fathers are absent. Worse, children seem to be raised by tech devices and the internet—TikTok, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, texting and video games that stress violence. Children's influences are social media, music, TV shows and streaming. These current social values are the opposite of what we believe is healthy messaging.

The concept of ‘neighborhood’ is disappearing. As a child, I’d readily accept correction from a Black man, because there was a different energy that as a Black boy I got from a Black man. Nowadays, people mind their business and isolate themselves in order to stay away from the threat of violence. People who live next door from each other often don’t even know each other.

I sense general anger among inner city Blacks. especially among young men and women. Am I reading this right?

Yes, you are reading that right. My heart aches for the younger generation. What have we built for them? What have we left them? They are frustrated. For many of them, the only route that they see is through illegal business or jail. A lot of our children don’t think they will live to be 21. They see life as a game, and it’s rigged for them to lose, so why play the game?

The violence in our community is the worst I’ve ever seen in my 22 years of working in the field. There is an African proverb that states “The ruin of a people starts in their homes.” Think back to Martin Luther King Jr. His cry was “jobs and justice.” How many more generations have to go by before the Black community unites and does something for ourselves? I would guess that everyone in our neighborhoods knows someone who was lost to violence. Sometimes, I think that our community is drowning in trauma. I notice that many children have become hardened. There is a loss of innocence.

For more information, visit Ashafamilyservices.org

Tom Jenz writes Central City Stories for shepherdexpress.com.