State ‘confidentiality’ program has limits

Mike Manola took the title of the state’s address-confidentiality program literally. After a long legal battle, he learned a hard lesson: “Confidentiality” has limits.

Embroiled in a nasty custody dispute, the single father invoked the state program — which is designed to protect victims of domestic violence — as a shield against disclosing his address to the mother of his child. Both the Maricopa County Superior Court and the state Court of Appeals rejected his argument.

Manola reluctantly turned over his address to his ex, and threw up his hands in exasperation.

“What’s the point of the program?” asked Manola, who qualified as a domestic-violence victim. “Shut the program down. You’re giving false hope to people.”

The point, according to the courts, the state, and family-law attorneys, is to give victims of domestic violence, stalking or sexual assault an address to mask their actual physical location. But it’s not something akin to a witness-protection program, and is not intended to block information in family-court proceedings, such as divorces and child-custody disputes.

Debbie Giannecchini has reluctantly reached that conclusion, but only after protracted court filings that left her liable for nearly $8,000 in attorneys’ fees. Like Manola, she thought the addressconfidentiality program would keep her residence off limits to her ex-husband. She enrolled two years ago while in the midst of a divorce.

Like Manola, she lost her case. Both a Pinal County Superior Court judge and the state Court of Appeals ruled she must reveal her actual address to her ex so he knows where to find his daughter.

A ‘substitute address’

The program, run out of the Secretary of State’s office, provides a “substitute address,” not a “protected address” to domestic-violence victims, the state Attorney General’s office wrote in a friendof-the-court brief filed in Manola’s Court of Appeals case.

Under law, the state cannot disclose that address in official records, such as voter rolls or for social-service benefits. The exception: A court order.

In both Manola’s and Giannecchini’s cases, courts ruled they must disclose their address in a custody dispute.

“It leaves me in a very vulnerable situation,” Giannecchini said. “I don’t have the ... program backing me up.”

Although it still keeps her address out of public records, her ex knows where she and their daughter live, something that makes her nervous.

A ‘brilliant idea’

The confidentiality program, started in 2012, has about 1,700 participants, according to the Secretary of State’s Office. Participants get a substitute address at a state Capitol mailbox, which they use as their official mailing address. A staffer in the Secretary of State’s Office then forwards the program participants’ mail to the address where they actually reside.

Family-law attorney Doug Gardiner called the program a “brilliant idea.” In many cases, it helps domestic-violence victims. But, he said, it doesn’t override family-law issues.

“A husband has the right to know where his children are,” Gardiner said. Court rulings, he said, can supersede a state program.

When it comes to family law, the best interests of the child is usually the primary factor a judge considers, he said.

In Manola’s case, the lower court was skeptical of his claims that he feared continued violence from the mother of his child. The court noted Manola had not taken out an order of protection against the woman. Additionally, there had been no reports of “domestic violence, intimidation, threats, stalking or harassment” between the two since 2011, when she admitted to hitting Manola with a purse after an argument.

Manola tired of fighting the issue in the courts and turned over his address. But he maintains the program is a “joke” that can be trumped by a vengeful spouse in a custody dispute.

“You’re offering an entitlement that you’re backtracking on,” he said. “This is not some measly program, like a Bookmobile. This is domestic violence.”

Limits to the program

Some in the domestic-violence community counsel victims to not put too much stock in any program that purports to protect them.

Carrie Phillips, who ran a domesticviolence shelter for years, said ultimately the key to preventing violence rests with the abuser.

“There are limitations to what this (programs like the ACP) can afford you,” Phillips said.

Giannecchini said for the last few months, she and her ex-husband have been meeting at a midpoint between their residences to hand off their daughter for visits.

“It served absolutely no purpose for him to have my address,” she said since he has not made the drive to her Pinal County location to pick up their child.

Now she’s wrestling with how to cover the attorneys’ fees the court has said she must pay to her ex-husband’s attorney.

“I can’t afford to pay those court fees,” she said, adding she’s worried her wages will be garnished. She made only $11,000 last year, she said. “Where do they think I’m going to come up with $8,000?”