Some abusers use coronavirus as an excuse to isolate victims
Years ago, near the end of shift, a fellow officer and his rookie partner responded to a domestic violence call. A woman told them how her intoxicated husband had slapped her, grabbed her hair, and thrown her to the ground.
With self-preservation in mind, they looked for the assailant around the house. Their failure was as smart as eating razor blades; they didn’t look behind the living room drapes.
After a few minutes of jotting notes, the officer heard the woman shriek. Lifting his eyes from his notepad, he saw the woman’s husband lunge from the drapes and wrap one arm tightly around the rookie’s neck. He was yielding a butcher knife that the officer assumed could be as threatening as a chainsaw. Within seconds, the rookie was sliced and diced and his uniform shirt was instantly saturated with blood.
They learned later that the woman knew her husband was behind the drapes, but she never signaled a clue. The rookie struggled violently to escape, but the husband had the advantage. The officer drew his weapon to fire, but couldn’t get a clear shot because the husband was behind the rookie.
The rookie’s ear-piercing scream was a clear indication that an immediate solution was needed. The smell and aura of fear and pain filled the air, and the officer knew that the rookie wouldn’t survive much more anguish.
The officer would tell me later that he had never experienced such a life-threatening quandary. He holstered his weapon and jumped on the rookie with everything he could bring. The force knocked the rookie down, the husband into the kitchen door jamb, and the butcher knife from the husband’s hand.
The skirmish became a two-way fight for life as the woman screamed for them not to hurt her husband. The rookie kicked the butcher knife away, and after an intense struggle, they were able to apply handcuffs.
The officer said that the rookie looked like an artifact from a meat grinder as paramedics rushed him into an ambulance. At the hospital, surgeons sewed him up with what later looked like enough sutures to reach California.
Our shelter in place makes me think of having fun strolling along a railroad track and getting mowed down by a motorboat. The coronavirus has changed our lives, the rules of engagement, and everyone is scrambling to find the safest way to proceed.
If a batterer is infected with coronavirus, has matted hair, wears smelly clothes or enjoys kissing nasty floors, law enforcement officers will still offer them compassion. Sometimes, their compassion is replaced with reactive force because they encounter negative and violent behavior.
The motive for most batterers isn’t always apparent. It can start when one person feels the right to control their victim, especially those who think that women are not equal to men. It could stem from low self-esteem, jealousy, a person’s inability to control their temper or another strong emotion. Some may think they are inferior to their victim in education, social or economic circumstances, or they could have a personality or psychological disorder. Alcohol or drugs aren’t always involved, and sometimes, it’s a trait learned from being abused or from watching family members abuse other family members.
Domestic violence has nothing to do with race, ethnicity, sexual orientation, income, clothing, type of car or ZIP code. The National
Domestic Violence Hotline reports that a growing number of callers say that their abusers are using coronavirus to isolate them from family and friends. Law enforcement officers get more calls about domestic violence when people spend more time together like holidays, vacations, and now, during our shelter in place restrictions. This togetherness is geared to stop the spread of coronavirus, but it looks like it has also geared up the number of domestic violence cases.
When I think back about the veteran and the rookie, I realize that the main thing I know about domestic violence is that I wish I knew more about it. It’s an epidemic in our society and the pandemic is making it worse. For any victim of domestic violence, get out while the getting is good, or wait until the abuse starts again. It’s not a passing phase, so confidentially call a professional who is waiting 24/7 at 1-800-799-7233.
Charlie Sewell is a retired Powder Springs police chief. His book “I’d Rather You Call Me Charlie: Reminiscences Filled With Twists of Devilment, Devotion and A Little Danger Here and There” is available on Amazon. Email him
at retiredchiefsewell@gmail.com.