Understanding Abuse: Partnering for Change 9781442682870

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UNDERSTANDING ABUSE: P A R T N E R I N G FOR C H A N G E Edited by Mary Lou Stirling, Catherine Ann Cameron, Nancy Nason-Clark, and Baukje Miedema

The more we learn about family violence, the more it becomes apparent that it is a complex and multifaceted issue. And despite progress in terms of community awareness and prevention programs in recent years, family violence remains a serious social problem that has proved difficult to ameliorate. Based on research projects conducted over ten years at the Muriel McQueen Fergusson Centre for Family Violence Research in Fredericton, New Brunswick, Understanding Abuse profiles the work done by many dedicated researchers committed to raising awareness and understanding of issues related to woman abuse and family violence. The contributors to the volume demonstrate the strength of community-based, action-oriented collaborations by carefully identifying the causes of domestic violence, clearly articulating the issues raised by abused women, and seeking to identify realistic solutions. This work provides professionals and policy makers with invaluable information on successful versus unsuccessful programs to prevent violence; it also provides academic and community researchers with detailed data on the intricacies of academic-community action research partnerships. MARY LOU STIRLING is a professor emerita in the Faculty of Education at the University of New Brunswick. CATHERINE ANN CAMERON is an honorary professor in the Department of Psychology at the University of British Columbia and a professor emerita in the Department of Psychology at the University of New Brunswick. NANCY NASON-CLARK is a professor in the Department of Sociology at the University of New Brunswick. BAUKJE (BO) MIEDEMA is the research director at the Dalhousie University Family Medicine Teaching Unit in Fredericton.

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UNDERSTANDING ABUSE Partnering for Change

Edited by Mary Lou Stirling, Catherine Ann Cameron, Nancy Nason-Clark, and Baukje Miedema

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO PRESS Toronto Buffalo London

www.utppublishing.com © University of Toronto Press Incorporated 2004 Toronto Buffalo London Printed in Canada ISBN 0-8020-3692-9 (cloth) ISBN 0-8020-8506-7 (paper)

Printed on acid-free paper

National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Understanding abuse : partnering for change / edited by Mary Lou Stirling... [et al.]. ISBN 0-8020-3692-9 (bound). ISBN 0-8020-8506-7 (pbk.) 1. Women - Violence against - Canada. 2. Girls - Violence against Canada. 3. Abused women - Canada. I. Stirling, Mary Lou HV6625.U53 2003

362.88'082'0971

C2003-903523-9

University of Toronto Press acknowledges the financial assistance to its publishing program of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council. University of Toronto Press acknowledges the financial support for its publishing activities of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP).

Contents

FOREWORD

IX

Anne Crocker and the Honourable Margaret Norrie McCain ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

xiii

Introduction 3 Baukje Miedema and Nancy Nason-Clark Gramma's Theory 21 Sheree Fitch Building Collaborative, Action-Oriented Research Teams 23 E. Sandra Byers and Deborah Harrison The Beckoning 53 Sheree Fitch Abuse in a Rural and Farm Context Deborah Doherty and Jennie Hornosty

55

What Rhoda Remembers about the First Five Minutes Sheree Fitch

83

vi Contents

Keeping It Confidential: A Struggle for Transition Houses 85 Carmen Poulin, Lynne Gouliquer, Bette Brazier, Judy Hughes, Bev Brazier, Rina Arseneault, Sarah MacAulay, and Lynne Theriault Karen's Normal Work Schedule 109 Sheree Fitch Working with Abuse: Workplace Responses to Family Violence 111 E. Joy Mighty In the Still Dark 133 Sheree Fitch Children and Partner Abuse in New Brunswick Law: How Responsibilities Get Lost in Rights 135 Linda C. Neilson Attention! 153 Sheree Fitch The Canadian Forces' Response to Woman Abuse in Military Families 155 Deborah Harrison Learning a Second Language 195 Sheree Fitch Gendered Silence: Immigrant Women's Access to Legal Information about Woman Abuse 197 Sandra Wachholz and Baukje Miedema Here Also What I Say 219 Sheree Fitch Building Bridges between Churches and Community Resources: An Overview of the Work of the Religion and Violence Research Team 221 Nancy Nason-Clark, Lois P. Mitchell, and Lori G. Beaman

Contents vii

Smalltown, Anywhere 247 Sheree Fitch Private Matters and Public Knowledge in Rural Communities: The Paradox 249 Arlene Haddon, Marilyn Merritt-Gray, and Judith Wuest Barbara 267 Sheree Fitch Schools Are Not Enough: It Takes a Whole Community 269 Catherine Ann Cameron Lessons from Home and School 295 Sheree Fitch Passing the Torch: Students Teaching Students about Dating Violence 297 Krista Byers-Heinlein, Jamie Hart, Tammy Harrison, Justin Matchett, and E. Sandra Byers Epilogue 321 Mary Lou Stirling and Catherine Ann Cameron Marie's Lullaby 325 Sheree Fitch

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Foreword Anne Crocker and the Honourable Margaret Norrie McCain

The story of the Muriel McQueen Fergusson Centre for Family Violence Research begins in Fredericton, New Brunswick, in 1977, when a small group of people gathered in a local living room to discuss establishing a shelter for women victims of abuse and their children. A core group decided to pursue community support and funding to open a shelter. As a first step, they sought information - especially statistics about the incidence of family violence from the police, hospitals, and government agencies. Unfortunately, no statistics were available except from the Fredericton police. The Provincial Department of Social Services had no way of retrieving such data from its files; the RCMP had little to offer except a category of intervention referred to as 'domestic disturbances'; the hospital tallied injuries, not causes (at least not these causes). Thus, the first task was to educate those agencies and front-line service providers, and to encourage them to record and aggregate data about woman abuse, in an attempt to determine the scope of the problem. The next was to appeal to a public that was deep in denial that any such problem existed in Fredericton. After three years of tenacious lobbying and public education, and repeated applications for government assistance, in January 1981, the Fredericton Transition House opened its doors. A few of the same group who had devoted so much time and energy to the founding of the Transition House realized that, as important as it was, a shelter was not the solution to the underlying problem of family violence. They also knew that the pittance provided by the provincial and federal governments to keep the shelter open was totally inade-

x Foreword

quate in terms of maintaining facilities and implementing the support programs so necessary for the victims and their children. So it was that in 1985, a group came together to discuss creating a fundraising organization that would help shelters in the province (there were several by this time) cover extraordinary costs and implement pilot programs for the resident children. Another objective of this group - which has since become the primary one - was to consider ways that research and public education could contribute to enlightened public policy that addressed the underlining causes of family violence. An early order of business was to find a patron whose very name inspired respect - someone who espoused the ideals of this cause and who publicly supported the efforts of the group. The choice was obvious: the Honourable Muriel McQueen Fergusson, P.C., O.C., Q.C., first woman Speaker of the Senate of Canada, a tireless leader and fighter for the rights of women, whose life and career had been devoted to social justice, equality, and compassion for those who had been shunted aside and ignored by a patriarchal social structure. Senator Fergusson agreed to honour and support our efforts. She contributed her wisdom and political savvy and kept herself well informed on the issues of family violence. No matter what we asked of her, she never let us down, and she sustained a keen interest in our work until her death at ninety-six in 1997. She kept faith with us, and we will continue to honour her as one of Canada's leading social reformers. Thus was born the Muriel McQueen Fergusson Foundation. We came to see that society lacked sufficient knowledge to understand the dynamics of family abuse, and therefore had no base on which to develop informed social policy identify those at risk, or implement intervention strategies: it was clear that information gathering should be our focus. Our goal was to build and maintain an institutional framework that would gather the information needed. In 1988 the foundation set out to create an institute that would shady the incidence, causes, and forms of family violence; this would lead to a clearer understanding of the social and personal dynamics of violence and perhaps to the development of successful educational programs and intervention strategies. The goal was to eliminate family violence. We recognized that to accomplish this we would need to form a partnership between on the one hand the academy, and on the other the community (including social and protective agencies, governments, and like-minded organizations and individuals). The community would ground the work in reality; the academy would ensure that

Foreword xi

the research would pass muster at the highest levels of professional and political scrutiny. Thus a joint committee of the foundation and the University of New Brunswick was struck to develop a mandate as well as governance and funding structure for the proposed research facility. In 1989 the committee sent Health Canada a request for start-up funding. The attached proposal was unique in that it reflected the foundation's desire to ground research in the community and to draw on academic expertise in the social sciences. The model called for an interdisciplinary approach to family violence research on the academic side as well as the participation of government professionals, service providers, police, and members of the broader community. In the early months of 1990, in the wake of the Montreal Massacre and the resulting public outcry, the federal government announced its readiness to do 'something' specifically, to provide start-up funding for five regional, collaborative, community-based research centres across Canada. Centres were subsequently established in British Columbia, Manitoba, Ontario, Quebec, and New Brunswick, and hence the Muriel McQueen Fergusson Centre for Family Violence Research was born. The province of New Brunswick committed itself to add to that funding for five years. The Muriel McQueen Fergusson Foundation was now able to launch a major campaign to raise the funds required to support the future operations of the Muriel McQueen Fergusson Centre for Family Violence Research, in partnership with the University of New Brunswick. The university now began to implement the academic portion of the joint agreement and to seek the involvement of other universities in the Atlantic region. The foundation, for its part, developed a campaign strategy, a campaign board, an administrative office, with the goal of raising a $2.5 million endowment. It also named the Honourable Margaret Norrie McCain as chair of the fundraising campaign. From the beginning, the Hon. Margaret Norrie McCain - and indeed her entire family - contributed time, work, and money to ensure that our message would be delivered as widely and effectively as possible. To raise such a large sum of money, we had to take our message from the Women's Institute meeting hall, to communities of faith throughout the region, to the boardrooms of major banks and corporations across Canada, as well as to other foundations. At the end of the day, we raised the necessary $2.5 million, in large part from the business community, foundations, and a few committed individuals. To these we express our infinite thanks. But just as important, we began a pub-

xii Foreword

lic education groundswell that grows even yet, as communities across our region and across the nation lift family violence from silence to public voice, from shame to focused public anger, from private pain to open healing, from ignorance to understanding. The development and continued success of the Muriel McQueen Fergusson Centre for Family Violence Research is an inspiring story, and it bears out our faith and vision that something can be done. As long as it must the work will go on to eradicate violence in our families against those in 'relationships of kinship, dependency and trust.'

Acknowledgments

Creating a book is always a major enterprise. As our edited collection developed, there were many who assisted us along the way. The editorial team would like to extend special thanks to Dr Connie BothwellMyers, former director of the Muriel McQueen Fergusson Centre, Ms Leanne Fitch, police officer in Fredericton, Dr Norma Jean Proffit, professor of social work at St Thomas University, Dr Ruth Mann, professor of sociology at the University of Windsor, and Ms Carole Dilworth, Community Research Affiliate, each of whom reviewed the manuscript early in the writing process. A very special thanks goes to Sheree Fitch for creating so many wonderful poems to introduce the chapters. Also, we would like to acknowledge Goose Lane Editions for the reprinting of 'Marie's Lullaby, 'Barbara, 'What Rhoda Remembers about the First Five Minutes, and In the Still Dark.' These poems by Sheree Fitch were published in her collection In This House Are Many Women (Goose Lane Editions, 1993). The poems are reproduced with the permission of the publisher and the author. We would also like to acknowledge Virgil Duff and the anonymous University of Toronto Press reviewers for their support and insightful comments. The Office of the Vice President (Academic) at the University of New Brunswick as well as the Dean of Arts have supported this project financially. Finally, we would like to thank Ms Shamsa Mohammed Haroon, who formatted the final manuscript.

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U N D E R S T A N D I N G ABUSE: P A R T N E R I N G FOR C H A N G E

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Introduction Baukje Miedema and Nancy Nason-Clark

Nearly ten years ago, a group of researchers, community activists, and other women and men interested in understanding woman abuse and family violence in Atlantic Canada crowded around a very large table in the Tartan Room of the Alumni Memorial Building on the campus of the University of New Brunswick. This was one of the first networking meetings of the Muriel McQueen Fergusson Centre for Family Violence Research, and its purpose was straightforward: to share the vision, to report on progress, to identify problems, and to become better acquainted with one another. Assembled in this context were women and men from local communities in our region of the country who desired to respond to abuse victims and their families and to work towards eliminating violence. Excitement was in the air. The teams were still rather new and hence fragile, yet there were many plans, strategies, and dreams of what could be accomplished through new forms of collaboration. Everyone agreed that violence in the family context was all too common. Everyone agreed that we needed to understand more about abuse. Everyone agreed that our goals included change. And how were we going to understand abuse and change our communities? One word summarized it all: partnership. Partnering for Change, the subtitle of our book, captures in just three words the essence of the vision that guided the early development of the Muriel McQueen Fergusson Centre for Family Violence Research, located on the Fredericton campus of the University of New Brunswick. The centre was a collaborative venture, a joining of the forces of skill and passion between researchers employed by the academy and

4 Baukje Miedema and Nancy Nason-Clark

community partners in the public and private sectors. This collaboration was to push us all to think in new ways, sometimes outside our disciplinary boundaries, sometimes beyond the bricks and mortar of our institutions or agencies. From the outset, the purpose was to understand more fully the issue of the abuse of women and children: the pain it brought, its long-term consequences, and the strategies for ending it both in our communities and in individuals' lives. The various individuals associated with the centre drew vision and strength from the goal of understanding abuse and working together for change. From the very earliest days, the inspiration for developing the centre came from the outside. As the Honourable Margaret Norrie McCain and Anne Crocker explain in their foreword, the Muriel McQueen Fergusson Foundation approached several academic researchers at the University of New Brunswick about their idea of creating a regional centre to study family violence and violence in intimate relationships. With the support of the Dean of Arts of UNB, five academic women1 took up their challenge.2 Building on their individual areas of expertise, each formed a research team that followed loosely a three-stage model: knowledge building; development of education, prevention, and intervention tools; and implementation strategies. These first five teams at the centre found funding3 for closely coordinated studies involving university-based researchers, community groups, and those who had been or still were victims of violence and abuse. Their research was informed by a continuing commitment to the idea that a feminist action-research methodology and strategy is one that engages women and men intellectually and operationally as agents of change. Critical, then, in the centre's development has been a commitment to both collaboration and change. The academy needs to use both its skills and its space to listen to community concerns and to forge meaningful, long-term links with a plethora of community groups and agencies. It then needs to implement an action plan to help reduce the suffering of victims of abuse and work toward eliminating the grave social realities that give rise to it. The original five teams - each of which has a separate chapter in this book - have been operating for almost ten years, although some have been more expansive in their research or social action than others. Joining these original partners have been over a hundred other researchers on more than a dozen teams. The centre's development, and the rewards and challenges presented by its growth and by its broadening

Introduction 5

agenda, are discussed later in this collection. The record of this development reveals a number of lessons about community-academic collaboration - lessons that may be very valuable for other groups embarking on similar initiatives. Elimination of the fear and reality of abuse for individual women and girls has been the goal toward which we strive. To get there, we believe it is vital to fully understand the context and consequences of abuse for individuals and for society. With knowledge comes social responsibility. From its very inception, the Muriel McQueen Fergusson Centre for Family Violence Research has sought to empower individuals, institutions, and community groups - and ultimately society in general - by providing up-to-date information about abuse, as well as strategies for responding to its victims and for changing the social relations in which we live. It is to that vision that our book is dedicated. Individual chapters of this book tell important stories of how collaboration is possible, and how to initiate change. They also point to strategies for facilitating both. But before we begin considering the stories of partnering for change, it is important for us to place the development of the Muriel McQueen Fergusson Centre in a national context of research and development on the issue of violence. At this point, note that the term 'family violence' encompasses many types of intimate violence, including violence against girls and boys, dating violence, violence in lesbian or gay relationships, and parent and elder abuse. Family Violence Research in Canada It has been more than twenty years since that infamous incident in the House of Commons, on 12 May 1982, when an NDP member for Vancouver, Margaret Mitchell, raised the issue of woman abuse. Her words in the House - that one in ten Canadian women experienced abuse at the hands of her husband or partner - met with laughter. Since that day much has changed. In Canada, family violence is no longer considered a laughing matter. Rather, woman abuse and other forms of intimate violence are now regarded as a serious social and health problem,4 due in large measure to the efforts of many activists and researchers. Linda MacLeod's 1980 study Wife Battering: The Vicious Circle for the Canadian Advisory Council on the Status of Women (CACSW) was one of the first attempts to estimate the incidence of wife abuse in our country. Seven years later, MacLeod pro-

6 Baukje Miedema and Nancy Nason-Clark duced a second major study on family violence, Battered But Not Beaten ... Preventing Wife Battering in Canada (MacLeod 1987). MacLeod's 1987 study suggested short-, medium-, and long-term strategies for reducing the incidence of family violence. One of the short-term goals was to have sufficient shelter space in Canada for battered women needing refuge. In 1979, Canada had 71 shelters; by 1987 this number had grown more than three-fold, to 230; by 1997 it had almost doubled again. As of 2000, Canada had 438 shelters (Statistics Canada 2000) providing protection to 5,000 residents (women and children) at any given point in time. The number of women who use these shelters annually is staggering. In 2000, almost 100,0005 women used the services of transition houses; the vast majority of these women (80 per cent) were seeking shelter because of abuse by a current spouse, former spouse, boyfriend, or common law partner. To be sure, only a small proportion of battered women seek refuge in a shelter. Thus shelters are a necessary response to the problem of domestic violence in Canada, but on their own they are not sufficient. In a collection published by the Vancouver Women's Research Centre, Listening to the Thunder: Advocates Talk about the Battered Women's Movement (Timmins 1995) many chapters highlight the need for shelter staff to be cognizant of the differences among women residents, especially regarding vulnerable populations such as Muslim women (Kherbouche 1995), women of color (Kang 1995; Boyce 1995), First Nations women (Forde 1995; Baxter et al. 1995), lesbian women (Murray and Welch 1995), and women with disabilities (Stevens 1995). Several chapters in our collection highlight the unique needs of especially vulnerable populations, including rural women, immigrant women, religious women, and military families. Some of our contributors consider more fully the role played by transition houses in meeting the needs of abused women and their children. Nason-Clark, Mitchell, and Beaman contend that the relationship between transition houses and churches needs to be strengthened in order to meet the pressing needs of abused religious women. Based on their research, the Religion and Violence Research Team is seeking to facilitate contacts and referrals between secular and sacred workers, to help facilitate the journey between the steeple and the shelter. Later in this volume, Carmen Poulin and colleagues discuss a number of the contradictions facing shelter workers, especially as they relate to the issue of confidentiality.

Introduction 7

Returning to MacLeod's 1987 report, the author also noted 'medium term' goals and strategies for reducing woman abuse in Canada. Here, she suggested that preventative programs need to be developed and that community awareness of family violence must be raised. Although the data are scant, it can be said that few preventative programs are in place in these first years of the twenty-first century. However, police forces across the country - which are often the first service contact for abused women - have made dramatic policy changes. For example, mandatory arrest and charging policies have relieved victims of the responsibility for charging the perpetrator. Nowadays it is the police who arrest the perpetrators and lay the charges. These policies are well intended and are designed to take family violence very seriously and to assist abused women; however, they can be problematic for some groups of women (Miedema and Wachholz 1998). Women belonging to minority groups that have strained relationships with the police are often reluctant to ask the police for assistance. Peace bonds and restraining orders can sometimes help abused women, but often they do not provide any protection against a violent perpetrator. Although all these measures have some merit, the most promising development in the eradication of family violence is that society is becoming more aware of the impact and unacceptability of abuse anywhere, at any time. MacLeod's report formulated the long-term goal of programs as a radical shift in society's attitudes toward women and men and their social, intimate, and nurturing relationships (1987). The chapter in this volume discussing the work of the Dating Violence Research Team offers some interesting observations about young men and women and the process of raising awareness. Shifts in societal values come about partly in terms of institutions, which need to rethink and recast some of their notions of family, wholeness, and well-being. When schools, churches, employers, and the military reflect on their own environments, and the challenges and possibilities those environments represent, paradigm shifts become possible. Moreover, when systems (such as the legal system) look inward at their own ways of working, critique becomes inevitable and change possible. What initiatives have been undertaken in Canada in the past two decades? In 1991 the federal government created the Canadian Panel on Violence against Women. This panel was a 'direct result of the efforts of a small group of women who inspired a coalition of more

8 Baukje Miedema and Nancy Nason-Clark

than 30 national groups ... who came together to urge the Prime Minister to establish a Royal Commission on violence against women' (Canadian Panel 1993, 3). One of the catalysts for the panel was the Montreal Massacre,6 which occurred on 6 December 1989. The aim of the panel was to 'engage in a dialogue on violence against women in an interactive, responsive grass roots manner, with the aim of producing solid recommendation for prevention action, immediate interventions and long term implementation.' The panel's final report, Changing the Landscape: Ending Violence, Achieving Equality (1993), was a comprehensive discussion of various types of violence against women and contained a substantial number of solutions. The panel suggested progressive policies for many institutions in Canadian society, from the military to the education system. All institutions were encouraged to adopt a 'zero tolerance' policy concerning violence. The panel also argued that women's social inequality is one of the fundamental reasons why women stay in abusive relationships. The panel identified several key issues, including the following: the reduced earning power of women compared to men; the failure of workplaces to recognize that women are also primary caregivers; the lack of state support for childrearing and daycare costs, poverty among older women because of reduced pensions (a result of interrupted work histories); immigrant women's dependency on their husbands; low-paying jobs; and the lack of female leadership in Aboriginal communities. In 1993, Statistics Canada, on behalf of Health Canada, was commissioned to undertake a survey to provide reliable estimates of the nature and extent of male violence against women in Canada (Rodgers 1994). The results of the survey shocked many Canadians: 29 per cent of ever-married Canadian women over eighteen reported having been assaulted by their spouse. In other words, almost one in three married women in Canada had experienced abuse at the hands of their husband. In response to the accumulating data and reports on violence against women, the federal government created the National Clearinghouse on Family Violence. The Clearinghouse is a national resource centre for all Canadians seeking information about violence within families and looking for resources to address it. As the reports began to accumulate, a variety of practical suggestions surfaced. It was clear that readily accessible information targeted to different audiences was desperately needed. In 1995, Justice Canada produced a booklet, 'Abuse Is Wrong in Any Language.'7 This booklet explains in detail what wife

Introduction 9 abuse is, what women's legal rights are, and what steps women can take to seek help if they find themselves or somebody they know in an abusive relationship. This booklet comes with a companion document written specifically for service providers. For its part, Health Canada has produced several handbooks for service providers to help them recognize abuse among pregnant women and among the elderly, and also to help them recognize the impact of abuse on children who witness it. (1999a, b, c). Public Legal Education and Information Services of New Brunswick (PLEIS) has produced several pamphlets to assist abused women. Some offer general information on woman abuse; others deal with specific aspects of violence, such as 'going to court' and 'dealing with the police.' In sum, more and more resources are becoming available to help victims of abuse and to educate service providers. However, these resources are not always disseminated as widely as they could be, especially to those who need them most. In the field of education, several universities are now teaching courses related to abuse. For example, the University of New Brunswick, in conjunction with the Muriel McQueen Fergusson Centre, now offers a certificate program in family violence issues. Courses range from a general introduction to family violence issues to courses on specific topics such as crisis counselling, and family violence as a criminal law issue. In 1985, Women's Press published No Safe Place: Violence against Women and Children, a collection of essays edited by Connie Guberman and Margie Wolfe, who argued that women and children live in the shadow of violence all their lives. Like its predecessor by the same editorial team, Still Ain't Satisfied: Canadian Feminism Today (1982) was one of the first Canadian books to challenge women - to voice concern about abuse in our society, and to provide the ideas and resources to meet that challenge. A decade later, Ann Duffy and Julianne Momirov wrote one of the first Canadian textbooks on family violence (1997). In its pages they argue against the sensationalizing of family violence that portrays the perpetrator as a 'sick' person. Such a view, they contend, overlooks the fact that family violence is a societywide and systemic problem. The same year, Walter DeKeseredy and Linda MacLeod produced a Canadian textbook on family violence (1997). Here they examined family violence in a sociological and political context. These authors explain the rise of the right-wing political agenda as an aspect of the 'antifemi-

10 Baukje Miedema and Nancy Nason-Clark

nist' movement, and note that some neoconservatives are trying to downplay the incidence of violence against women and are even suggesting that men are equally vulnerable to abuse at home (even though there is scant empirical evidence upon which to build such a claim). Besides describing the extent of the problem of family violence, many researchers have been trying to explain it. Some do so from psychological theories, others from a sociological or feminist perspective. Still others employ a sociobiological framework to account for violence in society (Martin 1981; Thornhill and Palmer 2001; DeKeseredy and MacLeod 1997; Timmins 1995). To be sure, one discipline alone cannot claim sovereignty over the issue. In this view, one of the greatest impediments to the eradication of family violence is the complex nature of the problem. Family violence is tightly woven into societal issues such as poverty, dependence, substance abuse, gender roles, and institutional power - to name just a few. Norma Jean Profitt, a professional of social work, argues that there is a politics of resistance surrounding notions of what survivorship of violence involves, and suggests how that resistance can be broken (Profitt 2000). Societal change alone is not enough to eradicate family violence; personal attitudes also need to change. Several researchers have examined the impact of or response to family violence in specific social groups. In The Battered Wife: How Christians Confront Family Violence (1997), Nancy Nason-Clark has explored the relationship between faith communities and violence in the family setting. She argues that religious women are especially vulnerable when abused, for these groups are prone to place the family on a pedestal and are often reluctant to suggest response strategies that they perceive to be in conflict with their emphasis on family values. In the present volume and elsewhere, Deborah Harrison has considered the plight of military wives, the secrecy of their communities, and the consequent difficulties in responding appropriately to abuse victims (Harrison 2002). It can be said that both military and faith communities have a proclivity to hide - or at least de-emphasize - the prevalence of abuse within their ranks. Barbara Cottrell (2001) has examined the abuse of parents by their teenage children. Little is known about this topic because of its very sensitive nature. Although fathers and stepfathers are also abused by their teenage children, it is mostly mothers and stepmothers who are the victims; they face everything from physical to psychological maltreatment.

Introduction 11

Karen Green (1996) has considered issues facing aboriginal communities as they respond to abuse. She argues that 'one size [does not] fit all. The issues of violence in our communities are diverse and so are our own cultural ways. It will be a long journey to recovery. The East, South, West and North all must develop their own process of healing as must urban areas and reserves.' Baukje Miedema and Sandra Wachholz (1998) examined access to the justice system for abused immigrant women in New Brunswick. They contend that the country of origin has a tremendous impact on how abused immigrant women respond to the Canadian justice system. For example, if the woman is from a country where men disappear mysteriously at the hands of police, she will be very reluctant to ask police for help even in the worst cases of abuse. Family Violence: A National Agenda Until recently, family violence was absent from the national research agenda. Then, in the early 1990s, five research centres across the country were funded under the Health and Welfare and SSHRC Joint Initiative on Family Violence and Violence Against Women. Centres were created in Vancouver, Winnipeg, London, Montreal / Quebec City, and Fredericton. These five centres, with varying local mandates, were given five years of federal support to enable them to pursue their respective mandates. Our centre was unique in that it was the only centre that from the start had a foundation to share its vision and to raise funds to sustain it. The Muriel McQueen Fergusson Foundation mounted a major fundraising initiative with the enthusiastic inspiration and support of the Honourable Margaret Norrie McCain, lieutenant-governor of New Brunswick from 1994 to 1997, who dedicated herself to our cause before, during, and after her tenure. The more we learn about family violence, be it academic or community-based knowledge, the more it becomes apparent that family violence is a complex and multifaceted issue. Family violence is more than woman abuse. It is also more than child abuse, sibling abuse, parent abuse, or elder abuse. It is all of these violations and more. Nevertheless, family violence is gendered; most abuse victims are female, and most perpetrators are male.8 Family violence is not merely personal; it is also a consequence of social inequality and in that sense is socially constructed. Family violence affects the victim's social well-being and physical and psychological health (DeKeseredy and MacLeod 1997).

12 Baukje Miedema and Nancy Nason-Clark

Family violence has a far-reaching impact that extends into many private and public spheres. Over the past thirty years, an invisible societal problem has slowly been making itself visible. Fewer women are being murdered by their partners,9 and more services are available for abused women. Abused women now have access to safe houses so that they do not have to suffer in private any more.10 Although transition houses are not the ultimate solution, they do provide abused women with some temporary respite and support. This book celebrates the work of the many dedicated researchers who have joined together to increase our understanding of issues related to woman abuse and family violence. It demonstrates the strength of community-based, action-oriented collaborations in carefully identifying the multiplicity of causes, clearly articulating the issues raised by abused women, and then seeking to identify realistic solutions. It shares the message that listening to, understanding, and supporting women in abusive situations is critical to finding solutions to this devastating social problem. It documents the strengths of members of many disciplines working together toward the understanding and eventually the elimination of violence in the lives of children and women. Our multidisciplinary teams have worked in many settings, including transition homes, foster homes, schools, faith communities, workplaces, the courts, and military bases. They have heard the voices of rural, isolated, island, and farm women, immigrant women, church women, teenagers, and youth. They have been mindful that the lived experiences of those affected are the source of a deeper appreciation of causes and consequences and thus the critical keys to unlock an understanding of possible solutions. Our varied sources of knowledge provide converging evidence regarding the shared plight of those affected by interpersonal violence. Thus, although the different chapters in this book tell stories of abused women and children in widely divergent settings, common themes emerge. The challenge of gathering limited resources to ameliorate problems, and of overcoming the systemic forces that disempower women, can be overwhelming. But other messages are heartening such as the power of women to enable themselves and to help other women rise above and move beyond apparently insurmountable circumstances. Addressed in this book are the many paradoxes embedded in women's stories of abuse. For example, the very structures developed to respond to the problem are often barriers

Introduction 13

to solutions. Privacy can be a double-edged sword: it can sometimes protect the perpetrator better than the survivor. The very act of naming the phenomenon carries risks as well as benefits. It is often a challenge to identify problems clearly without labelling the individuals affected. Zero tolerance policies can stifle primary prevention educational initiatives. Being female in a male culture may be only one of many disenfranchising factors. Add to that being poor, being young or old, or being isolated, and the strength required to overcome structural barriers can become monumental. Abuse in an intimate relationship is commonly accompanied by isolation. Paradoxes of privacy lie at the heart of the experiences of rural, isolated, island, and farm women. In rural and isolated communities, where everybody is believed to know everyone else's business, the norms seem to include a paradoxical proviso that when violence takes place behind closed doors, it is not the responsibility of the community to act on their knowledge. Abuse persists as a personal rather than societal problem. A major paradox of military responses to family violence is the unwritten official assumption of zero tolerance, which drives underground the acknowledgment of the problem of woman abuse. For many, calling abuse in intimate relationships 'woman abuse' rather than 'domestic violence' is a step towards clarity in naming the problem.11 And it leads more directly towards effective solutions. Victimized women and those assisting them often have difficulty acknowledging the severity of the abuse: 'Having a little trouble in my marriage' can represent anything from a small spat to broken bones. Knowledge can represent power both within intimate relationships and in broader spheres of influence. The immigrant woman who knows her rights within the law of her adopted country may be less likely to endure certain forms of abuse from her spouse. A legal profession and judiciary that has knowledge of the impact on children of witnessing parental abuse can determine custody and visitation practices that are genuinely in the best interests of the child. Most of the research on which this book is based was conducted in small Atlantic communities. This explains why the theme of isolation runs through most of the chapters. But if isolation is taken to mean simply a lack of resources, many facets of isolation will be missed. Selfsufficiency, independence, and resourcefulness - values often cherished in rural communities - deserve to be recognized as strengths and can be brought to bear on solutions identified.

14 Baukje Miedema and Nancy Nason-Clark

These chapters repeatedly call for systemic change, in workplaces, in the military, in churches, in schools, and in the law, to name only a few institutions. From listening to the voices of women who have endured abusive intimate relationships, we have concluded that the elimination of systemic barriers to women living violence-free lives is one of the first steps toward safety and recovery. Efforts to bridge resources such as the transition houses and church ministries are vital so that abused churchwomen will be able to move between secular and sacred services during times of need. Shifts in thinking about the problem of woman abuse will require the concerted efforts of all communities at all levels, from the societal to the personal. We are confident that as our book highlights these themes - the naming of the problem of abuse; isolation and the nuances of life in rural contexts; and the paradoxical nature of intervention, including the relationship between those who offer assistance and those who require it - researchers, community activists, and women and men committed to ending violence will be able to extend our vision of changing communities and our notions of partnership. Organization of the Book Our book is organized around five broad topics.12 The first section introduces the reader to the themes and major issues identified throughout the book and serves as a guide to the chapters that follow. It includes a brief reflection on the dream that helped build the Muriel McQueen Fergusson Centre for Family Violence Research, written by The Honourable Margaret Norrie McCain and Anne Crocker, and the chapter by Sandra Byers and Deborah Harrison. Byers was the founding director of the Muriel McQueen Fergusson Centre, and Harrison was its first appointed director. Their chapter describes the development of different models of collaboration between the community and the university as well as the challenges and rewards of facilitating and fostering research teams. The second section highlights the challenges to women, especially rural women, in their transition from abusive situations. It also considers the complex issues encountered by their advocates in transition homes. Deborah Doherty and Jennie Hornosty provide composite profiles of women living in a rural and a farm context, respectively. Carmen Poulin, Lynne Gouliquer, Bette Brazier, Judy Hughes, Bev Brazier, Rina Arseneault, Sarah MacAulay, and Lynne Theriault suggest how

Introduction

15

transition home workers can address dilemmas posed by the issue of confidentiality. These chapters highlight the vulnerability of women involved in the transition from abusive relationships. The third section focuses on certain institutions' efforts to address woman abuse in their communities. E. Joy Mighty reports on her team's research with those workplace managers who seem reluctant to help employees who are struggling with intimate violence in their lives. Linda Neilson discusses the research of the Spousal Abuse, Child Custody, and Access Research Team, which shows how the legal system converges on abused women and their children in such a manner that the best interests of the child may be seriously compromised by legal assumptions of the rights of parents. In their investigation of military responses to spousal abuse, Deborah Harrison and the Military Team identify a code of silence steeped in the military ethos of group cohesion and a context of heightened male values. The fourth section highlights attempts to address violence in the lives of women and children. Sandy Wachholz and Baukje Miedema focus on immigrant women and the power differentials created by their lack of knowledge of their rights. Immigrant women need information to provide them with the options and strength to confront the abuse in their lives. Nancy Nason-Clark, Lois Mitchell, and Lori Beaman have worked with many faith communities and transition homes on bridging an understanding of the needs of women of faith. Arlene Haddon, Marilyn Merritt-Gray, and Judith Wuest expose the vulnerability of rural, isolated, and island women when public knowledge of abuse in their lives coincides with a reluctance to act on that knowledge. As Catherine Ann Cameron and the Creating Peaceful Learning Environments Team tell us, primary prevention interventions with rural girls and young women show that progress can be made in altering teens' perceptions of their right to live free of violence. The very basic challenges these young people face in addressing traditional community values can trap them in an acceptance of violence in their lives. This book concludes with a contribution by four students - Krista Byers-Heinlein, Jamie Hart, Tammy Harrison, and Justin Matchett, under the guidance of E. Sandra Byers and the dating violence research team - on how the next generation can involve itself in 'passing the torch/ with the ultimate goal of eliminating woman abuse in Canadian society. Woven into this book are poems by Sheree Fitch reflecting the narratives of pain and the healing journey.

16 Baukje Miedema and Nancy Nason-Clark As you read our story - the story of the development of the Muriel McQueen Fergusson Centre for Family Violence Research - we trust you will hear the voices that have given rise to the need for such a research initiative. We honour the spirit of all abused women and children who have endured and surmounted the challenges to their autonomy, dignity and feelings of self-worth. Partnering for change has been the centre's goal - indeed it can be the goal of communities across our nation. For together we can make a difference!

NOTES 1 Dr E. Sandra Byers, Dr Catherine Ann Cameron, Dr Jennie Hornosty, Dr Nancy Nason-Clark, and Dr Carmen Poulin were the initial five academic researchers associated with the development of the centre. 2 From 1989 to 1999, Dr Peter Kent was Dean of Arts at UNB. 3 Under the theme 'Women and Change,' the first five teams of the centre prepared a strategic research grant application to the Social Science and Humanities Research Council wherein they outlined the importance of community-academic collaboration and the focus on action based outcomes. 4 See Kroeger and Nason-Clark (2001) for an overview of data on woman abuse collected in various countries around the globe. 5 The exact number is 93,359. 6 A lone male killed fourteen female engineering students at the Ecole Polytechnique in Montreal. 7 These booklets were produced in a variety of languages. 8 See the first Canadian textbook on family violence by Ann Duffy and Tulianne Momirov (1997), which is comprehensive, and includes a range of aspects of family violence such as woman abuse and child, elder, sibling, and parent abuse. 9 Statistics Canada website: www.statcan.ca/Daily/English/000725/ d000725b.htm 10 The first Canadian shelters for abused women were established in 1972 in British Columbia and Alberta. 11 Throughout the collection, various research teams use terms like 'woman abuse,' 'family violence,' and 'partner abuse.' The terms used by the different teams reflect the context of their particular research. 12 All research teams were invited to contribute to the book; however, since

Introduction

17

various teams were in different stages of the research process, some felt unable to contribute to this collection.

REFERENCES

Baxter, Kate, Eliza Sasakamoose, and Darlene Little. 1995. Ducking bullets: Women from Ahtahkakoop Cree Nation work to end violence. In Listening to the thunder: Advocates talk about the battered women's movement, ed. L. Timmins, 281. Vancouver: Women's Research Centre. Boyce, Sonya. 1995. Wanted: Women of colour encouraged to apply. In Listening to the thunder: Advocates talk about the battered women's movement, ed. L. Timmins, 235-246. Vancouver: Women's Research Centre. Canadian Panel on Violence against Women. 1993. Changing the landscape: Ending violence, achieving equality: Executive summary, National action plan. Ottawa: Canadian Panel on Violence Against Women. Cottrell, Barbara. 2001. Parent abuse: The abuse of parents by their teenage children. Ottawa: Health Canada. DeKeseredy, Walter S., and Linda MacLeod. 1997. Women abuse: A sociological story. Toronto: Harcourt Brace. Duffy, Ann, and Julianne Momirov. 1997. Family violence: A Canadian introduction. Toronto: James Lorimer. FitzGerald, Maureen, Connie Guberman, and Margie Wolfe, eds. 1982. Still ain't satisfied! Canadian feminism today. Toronto: Women's Press. Forde, Jan. 1995. True North, true solutions? In Listening to the Thunder: Advocates talk about the battered women's movement, ed. L. Timmins, 93-108. Vancouver: Women's Research Centre. Guberman, Connie, and Margie Wolfe, eds. 1985. No safe place: Violence against women and children. Toronto: Women's Press. Green, Karen. 1996. Family violence in Aboriginal communities: An Aboriginal perspective. Ottawa: Health Canada. Harrison, Deborah. 2002. The first casualty: Violence against women in Canadian military communities. Toronto: Lorimer. Health Canada. 1999a. A handbook dealing with woman abuse and the Canadian criminal justice system: Guidelines for physicians. Ottawa: Health Canada. - 1999b. A handbook for health and social service professionals responding to abuse during pregnancy. Ottawa: Health Canada. - 1999c. A handbook for health and social service providers and educators on children exposed to woman abuse/family violence. Ottawa: Health Canada.

18 Baukje Miedema and Nancy Nason-Clark Justice Canada. 1995. Abuse is wrong in any language: A handbook for service providers who work with immigrant women. Ottawa: Department of Justice Canada. Kang, Ninu. 1995. Being many. In Listening to the thunder: Advocates talk about the battered women's movement, ed. L. Timmins, 83-2. Vancouver: Women's Research Centre. Kherbouche, Nacera. 1995. 'Uprooted and abused: Muslim women in transition.' In Listening to the thunder: Advocates talk about the battered women's movement, ed. L. Timmins, 43-50. Vancouver: Women's Research Centre. Kroeger, Catherine Clark, and Nancy Nason-Clark. 2001. No place for abuse: Biblical and practical resources to counteract domestic violence. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press. MacLeod, Linda. 1980. Wife battering: The vicious circle. Ottawa: Canadian Advisory Council on the Status of Women. - 1987. Battered but not beaten ... Preventing wife battering in Canada. Ottawa: Canadian Advisory Council on the Status of Women. Martin, Del. 1981. Battered wives. San Francisco: New Glide. Miedema, Baukje, and Sandra Wachholz. 1998. A complex web: Access to justice for abused immigrant women in New Brunswick. Ottawa: Status of Women Canada. Murray, Bonnie, and Cathy Welch. 1995. Attending to lavender bruises: A dialogue on violence in lesbian relationships. In Listening to the thunder: Advocates talk about the battered women's movement, ed. L. Timmins, 109-26. Vancouver: Women's Research Centre. Nason-Clark, Nancy. 1997. The battered wife: How Christians confront family violence. Kentucky: Westminster John Knox Press. Profitt, Norma Jean. 2000. Women survivors, psychological trauma, and the politics of resistance. New York: Haworth Press. Public Legal Education and Information Service of New Brunswick. 1995a. Dealing with the police. Fredericton: Public Legal Education and Information Service of New Brunswick. - 1995b. Going to court. Fredericton: Public Legal Education and Information Service of New Brunswick. - 1995c. Information for immigrant women: What is women abuse? Fredericton: Public Legal Education and Information Service of New Brunswick. Rodgers, Karen. 1994. Wife assault: The findings of a national survey. Juristat Service Bulletin 14(9). Ottawa: Statistics Canada. Smith, Dorothy E. 1991. The everyday world as problematic: A feminist sociology. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Statistics Canada. 2000. Transition home survey.

Introduction 19 Stevens, Cathy. 1995. Stopping violence against women with disabilities. In Listening to the thunder: Advocates talk about the battered women's movement, ed. L. Timmins, 223-4. Vancouver: Women's Research Centre. Thornhill, Randy, and Craig T. Palmer. 2001. A natural history of rape: Biological bases of sexual coercion. Cambridge: MIT Press. Timmins, Leslie, ed. 1995. Listening to the thunder: Advocates talk about the battered women's movement. Vancouver: Women's Research Centre.

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GRAMMA'S THEORY 'All in together girls, just fine weather girls.'

I remember it like yesterday - part of a skipping rope song At recess me and my girlfriends (on the girl side of the school playground) had a great old time till the bell rang. Usually, every recess, over on the boy's side, a fight broke out. (I've heard these days it's just as likely to be the girls.) Anyhow, back to my point. In this particular skipping rope game We were the months of the calendar year. One girl jumped in as January, skipped one beat, then had to get out before February skipped in. It was intense. You hardly ever had enough girls. Frantic, that's what it was. Imagine the energy - trying to get back to the front of the line in time to jump back in as July when you've just been April. Then of course, you also had take your turn as swinger not a swingee. Two girls, holding the handles, keeping the rope swinging steady were necessary to the game so we could be 'all in together.' So that's my theory of the ideal way to work together Yep. A metaphor that works for me. Besides, Who ever said we'd always have just fine weather? Earthquakes and tornadoes happen. Granted, sometimes sisters are not sisterly to each other. Get all tripped up on their own trips.

22 Sheree Fitch

They play the patriarchal game of who's on top Why not just skip because being in the game is worth it. (As I remember it, the bell always rang before there was a winner.) So just get everyone doing what they do best. Skip in, share that gift, skip out, know that the ones holding the ropes could break their wrists if at it too long. So relieve each other. Believe. In each other. You might even consider letting some boys play, too. No life isn't a playground It's not as simple as child's play you're thinking. Whoever said simple and easy meant the same? Never give up. Things do change. Sometimes, for the better. Not fast enough you say? (Hey, stop whining and just do the work. In my time, there were no shelters, no crisis centres, and when I was thirteen we had to petition to wear pants to school. We were finally allowed to wear pantsuits. Lucky us. That wasn't as far back as you think. 1970. We've come a long way, maybe.}

Sorry. Remember, I'm human, too. Just keep untangling the skipping rope, girls. And singing.

Sheree Fitch

Building Collaborative, Action-Oriented Research Teams E. Sandra Byers and Deborah Harrison1

The Muriel McQueen Fergusson Centre for Family Violence Research was established in 1992 to examine the full range of issues related to family violence and violence against women through a collaborative effort between the Muriel McQueen Fergusson Foundation (MMFF) and the University of New Brunswick (UNB). The MMFF (established in 1985) is a charitable trust located in Fredericton, New Brunswick, that has the goal of eliminating family violence by funding research into the causes, incidence, and forms of treatment of family violence, and by promoting and sponsoring effective public education programs. The MMFF proposed to raise the funds needed to establish and sustain a family violence research centre at UNB. There was general support for such a centre within UNB as well as among grass roots community-based organizations. With the support of UNB, the MMFF ultimately raised a $2.5 million endowment, which it now administers. During the five years of fundraising needed to secure this endowment, the centre was funded by a grant from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council and Health Canada as one of five family violence research centres established across Canada. The centre also received funding from UNB and the province of New Brunswick. When the centre was first established, there were five affiliated research teams, each investigating a different aspect of family violence. The teams included eleven faculty members and seventeen community researchers. New teams were added over the next six years until, at its peak, there were twenty teams associated with the centre, comprising 213 researchers. Forty-one of these researchers were faculty

24 E. Sandra Byers and Deborah Harrison

members, 146 were community members, and the rest were students. As each team was established, team members were educated about the centre's philosophy and research model and agreed to adhere to them. However, each team has had a somewhat different way of working, influenced perhaps by the way in which it was established, the problem being studied, and the personalities involved. Philosophy of the Centre Support for establishing a family violence research centre grew out of the general realization that although violence against women and children within families is an enormous problem with terrible personal and social consequences, family violence had been relatively absent from the national research agenda. This had led to a lack of information in a number of areas that are crucial to understanding and eliminating family violence. Thus, we saw the ultimate goal of the centre as developing a knowledge base that could be used to prevent and ultimately eradicate this major social problem. Because we were aware of the complexity of the causes and consequences of family violence, we believed that traditional academic research - that is, research conducted by individual researchers and their students within the framework of a single discipline - would not be sufficient to eliminate family violence. Having acknowledged the complexity of the causes of family violence, we felt that our research needed to be informed by the contributions of people from different disciplines and backgrounds and with different training and perspectives. Thus, from its inception, the centre adopted a model of collaborative action research (CAR) conducted by multidisciplinary teams of academic and community researchers. We proposed that each research project be guided by its own multidisciplinary research team comprised of academic researchers, policymakers, students, and individuals from different community organizations, and coordinated by an academic or community member of the team. In keeping with feminist principles of participatory or collaborative research (Stanley and Wise 1983; Reinharz 1992), members of the particular community that was the focal point of the study also would be part of each research team. The research would be designed to recommend programs, intervention and prevention strategies, and other policy initiatives regarding the most appropriate strategies for preventing and dealing with family violence. We envisioned that the academic members of the teams would provide leadership on the

Building Collaborative, Action-Oriented Research Teams 25

projects by suggesting research designs and appropriate methodologies as well as by identifying important gaps in our knowledge of family violence. Community collaborators would play a crucial role in identifying the important research needs, sharing insights based on their first-hand experiences with family violence issues, developing necessary resources, identifying policy recommendations, and sharing the findings with other members of their communities. Nonetheless, we expected that from the beginning, each team member would be involved in articulating the research questions and research design and would collaborate on all aspects of the research, including the articulation of policy recommendations and the dissemination of findings. Each research initiative would include action goals. In addition, we hoped that involvement in the research process would empower women working in the community by providing them with the research skills they would need to conduct community-based research in the future. We hoped that by involving policymakers and important segments of the community as active members of the research process, our research would have a greater impact on policy and practice than traditional academic research has had. Students would be able to use their work on the teams to fulfil some of their academic requirements. They would also learn about community-based research and about how to develop and implement innovative programs. The goal was to develop a research centre with broad interests that was capable of working collaboratively with community groups to develop the knowledge and data base needed to reduce and ultimately eliminate family violence and violence against women. It was intended that the research agenda be community-driven; put another way, most research needs were to be identified from the concerns raised by those working at the grass roots level in the Atlantic provinces. One of the tasks of the centre's director would be to initiate projects and stimulate the development of collaborative relationships between researchers and interested community groups in accordance with the concerns raised by community groups. By adopting a community-driven research agenda, we could be sure we were investigating the important issues in our communities as well as making recommendations that would work. An important issue for us was family violence in rural areas and small communities. Most of the research on family violence that had been done at that time had been conducted in urban areas; yet in Atlantic Canada people tend to live in small, often socially and culturally isolated rural communities, or in small urban centres that retain

26 E. Sandra Byers and Deborah Harrison

rural characteristics. Traditional urban strategies for prevention, intervention, and treatment are often not appropriate for people in such communities. By focusing on rural areas and small communities, we would be able to develop effective policy initiatives that were adapted to the needs of anglophone and francophone communities in Atlantic Canada and that could be generalized to other communities with similar characteristics. All teams used a collaborative research model based on principles of feminist, change-oriented research (Gauthier 1984; Reinharz 1992). As such, all the researchers were committed to the principle that the 'purpose of feminist research must be to create new relationships, better laws, and improve institutions' (Reinharz 1992, 175). In keeping with the plurality of methods used within feminist research, each team used a range of different methods. Nonetheless, we were able to delineate a three-stage model to guide the research teams and to try to ensure that the research not only contributed to our basic knowledge about family violence, but also resulted in concrete, community-based programs and public policy initiatives that could be widely implemented and could help prevent and eliminate such violence. In Stage 1, basic information about the topic and baseline data related to the specific goals of each project would be acquired through rigorous quantitative and qualitative research. In Stage 2, prevention, education, intervention, and treatment programs would be developed, existing programs improved, and policy recommendations made based on the data gathered during Stage 1. The programs would be designed to meet the specific needs of our local communities, including francophone and anglophone women and children in rural and isolated communities. We saw ourselves as working in collaboration with other agencies that were already serving in the area. In Stage 3, in collaboration with other agencies, these programs would be implemented and empirically evaluated in terms of their effectiveness, workability, and generality. These evaluation activities would lead to further policy recommendations. We emphasized that dissemination would be an important component at each stage of the research. Following this three-stage model would ensure that each project would both advance knowledge and result in effective strategies for eliminating family violence. In this chapter we examine the experiences of centre teams with CAR. Both of us (i.e., the authors of this chapter) are former directors of the centre. Sandra Byers was the director from 1991 to 1995 and was

Building Collaborative, Action-Oriented Research Teams 27

later honoured with the title of founding director. In the former capacity, she was deeply involved in articulating the original vision and philosophy of the centre and in establishing the original research teams. Deborah Harrison was director from 1995 to 1999 and did much to foster a period of intense growth and consolidation of the centre. Both authors also serve as coordinators of research teams associated with the centre. Thus, together we bring multiple levels of experience to the writing of this chapter. We wanted this chapter to reflect the lived experiences of team members, and not just our own views as centre directors. Thus, we interviewed one faculty member (usually the coordinator) and one community member of each of nineteen of the twenty research teams that had been associated with the centre by 1999 - a few of which have since disbanded. These teams had examined diverse issues, including the following: woman abuse in religious faith communities, rural communities, immigrant communities, and military communities; transitions of women in abusive relationships; dating violence; elder abuse; family violence and disability; family violence and the workplace; family violence in aboriginal communities; sexual harassment in universities; management and treatment of sex offenders; violence in schools; child abuse; legal issues related to woman abuse; family violence and substance abuse; and antiviolence school pedagogy. We asked each of our informants four basic questions. How had their team been formed? How had they tried to maximize the effectiveness of their team? What rewards and challenges did they associate with belonging to a centre research team? And did they see collaborative action-oriented research (CAR) as an effective research strategy, and would they participate in CAR again? Below we outline the diverse ways in which the various teams were formed. Then we highlight both the challenges and the rewards of CAR as the centre teams experienced them, based on our interviews. Finally, we draw together the implications of eight years of experience dcing CAR, and make some suggestions for the future of CAR. Models of Collaborative, Action-Oriented Research The centre's CAR teams varied in size from five to fifty members (the largest team had subcommittees in six provinces), with eight to twelve members being the norm. Each team had a coordinator - in a few instances, two coordinators. Most of the team coordinators were uni-

28 E. Sandra Byers and Deborah Harrison

versity faculty members, but a few were community members or government personnel. Some community or government CAR team members were given time off by their employers to participate; others contributed solely as volunteers. Most student members either were paid research assistants or were able to use some of the data obtained by the team to complete their honours, masters, or doctoral theses. A principle of team membership that was usually adhered to was the participation of people who had been personally affected by family violence; many had themselves survived abuse. Some members belonged to teams solely in this capacity; other survivors who were team members represented other constituencies (e.g., community practitioner) at the same time. A number of teams also made a point of soliciting the input of research participants - including those who were abuse survivors - during the research process. For example, some teams shared transcripts of interviews with the relevant participants and invited comments or changes. Several teams conducted focus groups with research participants during the data analysis phase in order to solicit their views on how the findings should be interpreted and/or translated into social policy recommendations. The teams established themselves in a variety of ways, which had implications for the particular challenges each team faced later on as it endeavoured to carry out its research, maximize the participation of all team members, and attend to team members' divergent needs. To simplify discussion, we have constructed a typology to represent the variety of ways in which centre teams came together. Each team more or less exemplified one of the following models as it went about establishing itself. Model 1: Centre Initiated. The centre set up a team in response to a request from members of the community. Often, some of the community members who had made the request formed part of the team, and the centre found university faculty who were willing to partner with them. The initial team members then invited other members to join the team in order to fulfil needs identified by these initial members. For example, the Family Violence and the Workplace team was set up in response to a question raised by a government administration about how to deal with an employee whom she believed was being abused by her husband. Model 2: Academic Initiated. A faculty member (or more than one faculty member) initiated a research idea and invited individual community members, and sometimes other university faculty, to join with

Building Collaborative, Action-Oriented Research Teams 29

him/her/them to form a team. Sometimes the invited community members were not separate individuals, but comprised an existing network that had already coalesced around a family violence issue. For example, the Women in Transition team was initiated by a faculty member who contacted transition houses about collaborating on research. Model 3: Jointly Initiated. A combination of academic and community individuals who had worked together in the past on a family violence issue came together in a slightly revised manifestation to form a centre team. For example, the Anti-Violence Pedagogical Interventions team was formed by such a group of individuals in Newfoundland. Model 4: Community Initiated. A group of individuals in the community, who had worked together in the past on a family violence issue, decided to pursue a research agenda, and with or without the help of the centre found one or more faculty members to help them form a team. The Moncton-based team Les facteurs de risque lies aux mauvais traitement des personnes agees (elder abuse) exemplified this model. Model 5: Government Initiated (Contractual Model). A provincial or federal government department approached the centre with a research idea and invited the centre to establish a team. The centre then recruited academic and community members of the team, while the government department supplied its own representatives. The government department(s) funded the research of the Management and Treatment of Sex Offenders team, and specified the deadlines and deliverables. The research team was formed in this way, after the New Brunswick Solicitor General requested assistance in determining the nature and extent of sex offenders and sex offences in New Brunswick. The manner in which each team was formed proved to be an important predictor of the challenges the team later encountered and of how it attempted to surmount them. This theme is developed below. Challenges of Collaborative Action-Oriented Research The challenges of CAR proved to be far more numerous than we envisioned when first planning the centre. Perhaps we were naive in failing to anticipate the complexities involved in transforming groups of individuals with common interests and concerns into research teams that could work together to implement and carry out CAR. Nonetheless, the teams generally rose to the challenges and found creative ways to overcome the difficulties they encountered. Below we discuss the chal-

30 E. Sandra Byers and Deborah Harrison

lenges and rewards noted by the team members whom we interviewed. Some of these challenges have been discussed in previous publications about CAR (Barnsley 1995; Cottrell et al. 1996; Harrison 2001; Miedema 1996; Wuest and Merritt-Gray 1997). For the purposes of this chapter, we have grouped the challenges identified by our participants into three categories: team building, structural inequalities, and burnout. Importance of Team Building Because of the diversity represented on many of the centre's research teams, it is not surprising that the most significant challenge encountered by these teams was team building. Many of the centre's teams found the task of meeting the divergent needs and agendas of their members to be difficult and time consuming. Why? The major reason was that academic and community researchers began the process with differing orientations respecting how to prioritize the team's time - for example, the time spent on research. The academic team members had been shaped by their professional socialization to expect research to take time. They had been inculcated with a willingness to toil unrewarded for several years, in anticipation of one or two payoffs at the end in the form of published books and/or articles. In contrast, community team members had not experienced this professional socialization and often found it hard to be patient with the research process. Many community team members were uncomfortable early on with the expectation that the team would complete the research before launching the project's action phase. Also, some of the community team members who had been allowed time to participate in the research by their employers had difficulty selling the value of research to these employers, and needed to show their employers frequent deliverables - in the forms of reports and/or pamphlets - in order to justify remaining on the team. These conflicting orientations posed initial problems: One challenge was the stress between community members and academics. Some community members were not comfortable with research; they wanted to take action, (academic team member) We got impatient with the professor's notion of research standards. The project got done pretty quickly after she left, (community team member)

Building Collaborative, Action-Oriented Research Teams 31

Although they were patient about the time needed for research, many academic team members began by being impatient with some of the ways of spending meeting time that were important to community members. The academic team members had been socialized to value mainly the eventual product of the research process - the published book or article. In contrast, community team members expected the process of doing the work to be rewarding in itself. Many of the community team members - especially those who were frontline employees - felt burned out and isolated in their daytime jobs and expected their membership on a research team to provide them with an opportunity to debrief and receive support from peers in similar occupations. Team members who were survivors of family violence or social service clients had their own sets of debriefing needs. For example, team membership took a special toll on survivors who were still working through what had happened to them in their abusive relationships. All community members had social and self-validation needs that they expected to be met at least partially by the team, especially as the bonds among team members grew. To try to meet these needs, several team coordinators began setting aside time at each team meeting for debriefing and socializing, often over a meal: Each person talked about herself at the beginning of each meeting. Links were created outside the project, (community team member) During the teleconference calls we had every two months, the community members were more prominent. The academics were the backroom people. During the calls, the community members got their needs met. They were able to share their highs and lows with each other, (academic team member) Team building was part of the process from the beginning. We kept the size of the team small to develop trust. We had check-ins at every meeting. We had a check-out at the end of the meeting to determine whether the meeting was productive and to clarify action. Team members had the opportunity to discuss issues that they often didn't have the opportunity to do at work. These personal connections between team members were important, (academic team member) Social activities improved our effectiveness in working as a team. Team members are so busy that we needed the team to do double duty - that is,

32 E. Sandra Byers and Deborah Harrison to fulfil both a social and a research function. We ate at team meetings. We started with down (gossip) time. Team members were personally connected, so time to catch up on each others' lives was important. Otherwise team membership would have been one more chore, (community team member) We did not do team building initially, which was a mistake. Subsequently we made our expectations and feelings explicit. It was important that we got a declaration of expectations from all team members, (academic team member)

Taking the time to address community members' needs did more than make the research process rewarding for them. It also contributed to bridging the psychological and social barriers that have always existed between community workers and university faculty. Some community workers felt awed by the academic team members' intellectual fluency and research skills. Team coordinators thus found themselves needing to devote time and energy to making sure that everyone on the team felt comfortable enough to participate fully in meetings. Some participants who were survivors and clients needed extra coaxing. When team members were dispersed geographically, this team-building task was harder. The task was also harder if not everyone on the team was operating in his or her first language. Some community members were not awed by university faculty; they had past experience working with faculty who, they felt, had exploited them by using them as 'collaborators' to obtain funding for projects for which, in the end, only the faculty had received credit and recognition. It took time for academic team members to acquire the trust of these community members. The diversity of perspectives represented on a typical team also meant that it was important to spend time during the early stages of team building to achieve consensus on research goals and priorities. Whenever there was turnover in the team's membership, these agreements needed to be renegotiated. It was also important for teams to achieve consensus on how their research results would be interpreted and disseminated. One team constructed an elaborate contract that specified how any disagreements in interpreting or disseminating findings would be resolved.2 Perhaps most crucially, all team members needed to invest time in building up a 'glue' of personal bonding that was strong enough to counteract their differences. Teams bonded during the informal segments of team

Building Collaborative, Action-Oriented Research Teams 33

meetings, during socializing activities on separate occasions, and as a result of working together over time. Buy-in from everyone is necessary. If you move forward too early, you get co-existence in the same room instead of unanimous buy-in, (academic team member) One challenge we had to overcome were the stereotypes of the university and what academics represent based on past negative experiences with other academics, (academic team member) Everyone present had the opportunity to present points of view. Members were respectful of the structure we were working in, were careful not to assign blame, and we had the common action focus of making things better for the future, (community team member) The cement came from everyone feeling that they had something to contribute, and that the team would look at all the perspectives rather than having one perspective imposed on the team, and from a participatory approach to building methodology and determining research questions, (community team member) There was a huge amount of team building, although it was not identified as team building. All the community members worked together [outside the team], but had a wide range of backgrounds ... Dialogue and disclosure led to changes in perceptions of traditional roles. Our discussions brought out our disciplinary beliefs that had to be hammered out. We began to see each other in different ways, (academic team member) I never felt that I was treated differently as a community member or talked down to. I felt that my opinions were respected and listened to. I felt that there was respect for the different knowledge that people brought with them, (community team member) When our team was not working well, we did a study on the team process [by having an outside person interview all team members]. The issues that were identified as important were the composition of the team, a need for activities to improve personal relationships to make working together more pleasant, and the importance of shared value systems, (academic team member)

34 E. Sandra Byers and Deborah Harrison

On many teams, personal bonding was difficult for academic and community team members to accomplish, however necessary it was. Bonding between academic and community team members was challenging enough under normal circumstances. When some community team members turned out to be 'watch dogs' representing an organization that had a vested interest in what the team discovered (i.e., that was concerned that the research results not damage the organization's public reputation), bonding became a much harder task. However, some teams - community-initiated teams and jointly initiated teams, for example - had well-established links within them before their research activities began. One challenge was a member whose main allegiance was to the institution being researched - less buy in, playing devil's advocate in meetings, continually challenging views. Other team members wondered whether [this member] was following instructions from his superiors. It took a lot of energy to deal with him. (community team member) We did social things such as potluck dinners because we were connected in other ways. Other team building was not necessary because we knew each other and were working together in other ways - that is, we were part of a network, (academic team member)

None of these activities came naturally to the university faculty, who were accustomed to conducting research at their own speed, exercising control over the process, and producing work of publishable quality without having to worry about the time-consuming intricacies of building a team. The successful academic has traditionally been one who acquires large research grants and publishes profusely over a short period of time. CAR team coordinators are aware that managing relationships among ten or twenty diverse personalities is an inefficient way to attain this goal and that, despite some lip service to the contrary, universities and granting agencies have not adjusted their ways of evaluating academics to reflect the realities of conducting CAR. As a result, some junior faculty who might have participated in CAR chose not to, since junior faculty who seek tenure need to get published quickly. For similar reasons, CAR was experienced as somewhat unrewarding for university faculty whose research interests did not exactly match the subject matter of the teams. Since university faculty are rewarded for publication, not for action, a few faculty reported

Building Collaborative, Action-Oriented Research Teams 35

that they had little incentive to stay on the team once the research and academic dissemination phases had been completed. For community members, in contrast, the action phase of the project was the crucial one. It would have been better for me if it had been my research area. If the intellectual excitement had been greater, I would have found it less depressing, (academic team member) Team membership was not recognized as part of my job responsibilities by my faculty, so I did it on top of my regular workload and had no secretarial support from my department. It was difficult to be the only academic on the team, and one who isn't that strong in research, (academic team member)

In summary, academic and community researchers came to the research team table with different expectations regarding how to prioritize time - expectations that reflected the differing conditions of their respective work lives. Academic team members expected to spend time conducting research. They did not at first realize that they would have to devote so much time to team building in order to achieve consensus, and to enable community team members to feel self-validated, comfortable, and trusting of the academics' motivations and good will. For their part, community team members expected to spend time engaging in team building and social action; many of them were surprised to discover that the research itself would take several years. For the team to operate successfully, these differing expectations needed to be resolved, and time had to be spent on both research and team-building activities. All of the centre's teams were challenged by these tasks. Most challenged were the teams that fell into the Model 1 subcategory (established by the centre), the Model 2 subcategory (faculty-initiated), or the Model 5 subcategory (the contractual model). Many of these teams nevertheless overcame the challenges. Teams that experienced fewer of these challenges from the outset, conversely, appeared to be those which fell into the Model 3 subcategory (jointly initiated) or the Model 4 subcategory (community-initiated). However, there were a few exceptions in the Model 4 instance, such as when a community group did not bond well with the faculty it invited to the team and/or the situation was complicated by the attempt to add an additional commu-

36 E. Sandra Byers and Deborah Harrison

nity group and/or advocacy association to the mix. Team building was harder to accomplish on teams whose community members had been appointed as representatives by their employers than on teams whose community members had been recruited personally. Overcoming Structural Inequalities Perhaps the most significant challenges faced by academic and community team members in their efforts to work together effectively were the structural inequalities existing between them - that is, the fact that the academic team members were in a position of greater power and control over what happened during the project. The most fundamental structural inequalities had to do with time and resources. Some government and frontline community team members were paid or compensated by their employers for participating in the research, but many were not and hence contributed all their time as volunteers. Many of these community team members were already overworked and burned out by their paid jobs, so joining a centre team constituted an additional personal sacrifice for them. The faculty team members expended considerable energy in teaching and university committee work; but at the same time, they were expected to carry out research and were allowed to set aside some of their paid work hours for this purpose. Furthermore, the university faculty team members found it easier to access financial resources for research and travel than did many of the government and frontline (especially frontline) members. Finally, since most research grants are awarded exclusively to university faculty, and administered exclusively by universities, the university faculty were in a better position than community team members to exercise control over how the team's money was spent: Community and academic members had different understandings of collaborative action research. The coordinator had a consultative model but the community members had a collaborative model. The community members didn't have enough experience to address this discrepancy, (community team member)

These time and resource inequalities spilled over into how the team's work was divided among its members, in ways that compounded the situation's asymmetry. One of the paradoxes facing each CAR team was that although a large and diverse membership was

Building Collaborative, Action-Oriented Research Teams 37

essential to its effectiveness, it was more efficient and practical for the team's work to be carried out by a small core group. By definition, whoever carried out - and especially whoever conceptualized - the work exercised the most control over it. Since the community team members had less time and fewer resources to contribute to the project than the academic team members, in many (but certainly not all) cases, the academic team members (including students) comprised the core group that did most of the work and that exercised most of the control over how the work was done. Apart from having more time, the academic team members were more skilled at some aspects of research than the community team members were, and found it easier to carry out the research tasks themselves than to try to delegate them: Collaborative research can't be synonymous with everyone having an equal role, (academic team member) It was a challenge to find time for meetings and to find time to fulfil my commitments to the team because of my other responsibilities. The research moved slowly as a result. I didn't always understand why research has to be done in a certain way. It requires trust in the academic's expertise, (community team member) The coordinator did the bulk of the administrative work. The process was not sufficiently participatory. I had difficulty getting the team to share roles, although eventually they shared minute taking. Only some members were involved in organizing the workshop, and this may have led others to feel disenfranchised, (academic member)

Since the structural inequalities between academic and community partners result from the societal monopoly over research exercised by universities and granting agencies, they cannot be overcome at the CAR team level. However, they can be mitigated. One strategy that worked for some of the centre's teams was to consciously seek ways to ensure that most team members participated actively in the work. Some teams found that the research tasks of collecting, analysing, and writing up data were performed better when academic and community team members truly shared them. Certainly, this strategy may have been more feasible for those community members who were compensated by their employers for participating on the team. Some strategies for sharing tasks did not work well - for example, in one

38 E. Sandra Byers and Deborah Harrison

team's case, rotating the responsibility for moving the team forward among team members from meeting to meeting and thus losing out on the continuity provided by having a single coordinator. Effective team building proved to be a necessary but not a sufficient condition for mitigating the team's structural inequalities, just as it was an essential part of counteracting the fact that the academic and community team members began with different priorities. From our interviews, it seemed that the most successful centre teams operated according to some combination of sharing the work and trusting the academic members of the team to do proportionately more than their share while consulting the community members often about its progress. That is, academic members on these teams, with the consent and often the encouragement of their teams, carried out more of the time-consuming activities but left decision-making responsibility with the team as much as possible. If the team was to be successful, it was certainly important for the academic team members to relinquish some of the control they had long been accustomed to exercising over the research process: Each person brought different skills and assets. We communicated frequently by phone and e-mail because we were geographically distant. The coordinator administered and divided the load according to our strengths, (community team member) The coordinators made an error in analysing data by themselves [because they had more research expertise]. The team redid the analyses so that they could believe the data, (academic team member) Everyone contributed in some way. Most members conducted interviews. Several members were involved in dissemination. The coordinator did most of the academic work - the community team members felt themselves not to be qualified, (academic team member)

Ideally, action research involves a collaboration between academic and community team members who are equal partners. The structural inequalities that are part and parcel of almost every collaborative situation represent a significant obstacle to attaining this ideal. While effective team building and work-sharing can mitigate the impact of structural inequalities, sometimes they are not enough. Granting agencies would assist the process if they could find ways to compensate community team members for their expenses and labour; allow suffi-

Building Collaborative, Action-Oriented Research Teams 39

cient time for team building when setting deadlines for grant applications and deliverables; and provide funding for the action, as well as the research, phases of CAR projects. Preventing Burnout Even when team building is successful and the impact of structural inequalities is minimized, maintaining a CAR team throughout all phases of its work requires formidable energy, momentum, and external support. Several centre team members interviewed for this chapter - especially team coordinators - admitted that maintaining team momentum and avoiding burnout was not always easy, that succeeding at both required strategizing, and that not all teams' efforts met with success. According to these informants, the most significant burnout issues were being without funds, unsuccessful team building, too little external support, and a burned out team coordinator. Being without Funds

While building a team and developing a consensus filled the time during the initial months of each CAR team's existence, the research could not be started until research funding had been obtained. It was difficult to maintain the interest of team members when the start of the research was delayed too long - eventually, members of these teams began to feel that they were spinning their wheels. The situation was especially difficult for the team coordinator, on whose shoulders rested a disproportionate share of the burden of keeping the team moving. Lack of money also increased the team coordinator's workload when tasks could not be delegated to paid team members (e.g., student research assistants) and community colleagues were too busy to carry much of the load as volunteers. The centre was able to provide $3,000 to $5,000 in seed money to each new team, and this bought enough initial time for many of the teams to build themselves, define their goals and methods, and apply successfully for additional funds. Sometimes, however, the team again ran out of money after these research funds had been used, and no funds were at hand for beginning the second part of the research or for initiating the action. Keeping up momentum between injections of funds was a significant challenge, even for those teams which were successful at obtaining substantial grants to fund their research. As one community team member noted, 'If there's

40 E. Sandra Byers and Deborah Harrison

money, the coordinator can delegate tasks. If it relies on volunteers, it fails/ Unsuccessful Team Building

When team meetings did not function well and pleasantly, team members eventually lost their incentive to attend. Sometimes, through sheer bad luck, personalities were incompatible, the team was unable to meet its members' needs, the barriers among members were not surmounted, the inequalities were not mitigated, and/or little personal bonding took place. When for financial or other reasons the research did not progress well, team building was subjected to additional strain. Note that although team building had to be attended to throughout the life of the team and could never be taken for granted, most teams succeeded at maintaining a strong working collaboration for several years: What we were looking at was not shared among the team - there was no consensus, (academic team member) The community people wanted to do the research themselves, but didn't know how to do it. They had no respect for the research process. The academics were accused of being discriminatory if they criticized anything the community people did. (community team member) Academics and community members may be interested in different questions. Academics get tired of talking and want to get on with the research. Community members want to quickly move to intervention. It's hard to find people who have the energy and can make the commitment that an ongoing project requires. It's hard to keep community members interested and having time for an ongoing project. If things don't go well, the team falls apart, (academic team member) Too Little External Support

As noted above, the centre itself was funded by a federal government grant and thus had some resources and infrastructure that could be used to support the work of the CAR teams. According to our informants, the teams appreciated the back-up institutional support that the centre provided in such forms as secretarial help, research assistance,

Building Collaborative, Action-Oriented Research Teams 41

publicity, information bulletins, newsletters, conference support, help in solving team-building problems, codes of ethics, small research grants, and liaison with the research and other services of the University of New Brunswick. Nonetheless, the centre could not supply the level of support that would have optimized team functioning. Thus, the teams had to rely on team members - most often the coordinator to provide or arrange many services such as scheduling meetings (extremely time consuming if the goal was 100 per cent attendance) and most secretarial support. Team members interviewed for this chapter found especially helpful the centre's networking meetings (at which research teams shared common problems), research days and brown-bag lunch seminars (at which research teams presented results), and skills development workshops. The teams based outside southern New Brunswick had access to somewhat less of this institutional support, but this did not seem to have a decisive impact on their energy level or success. All teams could have benefited from more external support than they received. Tor a team to work, you need more generic resources such as support in administration, dissemination, communicating the message, organizing conference and so on. Otherwise, all this falls on the shoulders of the coordinator' (academic team member). Too Much Success

Surprising as it may seem, one factor contributing to burnout has been too much success. By the time this chapter was being researched, several of the centre's teams had completed a major part of their initial research project and were into the action phase. Their research results had been publicized in the Atlantic Region and other parts of Canada and around the world, and they were finding themselves deluged with action-related tasks. Some teams were fielding copious requests to present their findings at academic and community conferences. Other teams found themselves devoting considerable energy to working with government bureaucracies, advocacy organizations, and/or community agencies to implement the recommendations that had arisen from their findings. Still other teams - or some of their members - had been encouraged to involve themselves in new projects. A few teams were 'drowning' in all of the above. In several cases, what teams had been asked to do was surpassing their capacity to respond, and team members were being forced to make difficult choices:

42 E. Sandra Byers and Deborah Harrison It was time consuming to manage the information flow and to coordinate schedules. After a while we were drowning in our own success - there was a deluge of requests for presentations. We had to figure out how we could give back to the community in a meaningful way. However, we had no secretary so the coordinator had to assume many of these duties. We constantly had a need for more money and time, (academic team member) It was difficult to find the time and human resources to carry out the ideas that were generated, due to other responsibilities, (community team member) Burned-Out Team Coordinator

The job of a CAR team coordinator is singularly demanding. Although other team members participate, it is fundamentally the coordinator's job to do the following: build the team and keep it moving; ensure that all team members participate and have their needs met; achieve consensus on important issues; organize meetings; manage funds; resolve disagreements; and perform much of the academic 'grunt work' of grant applications, collecting data, analysing data, preparing oral presentations, writing, and making sure deadlines for deliverables are met. Some coordinators of teams without funding found themselves with no one to whom they could delegate any of these jobs. Those team coordinators who were university faculty were often not only working hard, but also performing tasks they had never performed before and may not have been skilled in - most notably team- and consensusbuilding. All of this took its toll. After several years, some coordinators grew tired of the hectic pace but found it hard to relinquish their responsibilities. In particular, they found it hard to find other contenders for a job that had been so organized around their unique interests and skills - that is, to find someone else to take over as team coordinator. It was also difficult for them to contemplate shutting a team down while the team was functioning well, the issue it addressed remained important, and considerable work remained to be done. A few teams found no way around this difficulty, and after several years of useful achievements decided to disband: One challenge was the length of time it took to do the research. It was hard to keep commitments year after year. The amount of time and

Building Collaborative, Action-Oriented Research Teams 43 energy people could commit varied over time, but when is the research over? Coordinators want to do their part, but may no longer want to drive the process. Doing research collaboratively takes longer, (academic team member)

In their own way, burnout issues represent as serious a challenge to CAR as team-building issues and structural inequalities. We hope that as CAR becomes more common as a research method, CAR-fostering institutions such as the five Canadian family violence research centres will develop strategies for helping CAR teams overcome burnout as well as other challenges. These strategies might include the following: helping teams divide responsibilities more equitably; providing resources and other sources of support to lessen the administrative burden on the coordinator; providing training (or supplying a facilitator) to the coordinator and other team members in team building and group facilitation; more proactively helping teams fund their CAR; and providing human and economic support to teams' dissemination activities. One of our community informants suggested: It would work better if there was some kind of liaison or resource person from the centre who possesses special skills in the processes that help in working with teams that are diverse and to provide mentoring. Working with diversity requires a lot of people skills and social skills that the coordinator may not have.

Rewards of Collaborative, Action-Oriented Research Most of the informants we interviewed for this project reported that the rewards they experienced as CAR team members were at least as great as the challenges they faced. Several participants went out of their way to tell us that membership on a CAR team had been one of the most meaningful experiences of their lives. Certainly, the rewards articulated by our informants make it clear that the CAR approach has made enormous strides toward achieving the major goal that was envisioned when the family violence research centres were established getting diverse groups of academics, practitioners, policymakers, and survivors to work constructively together to enhance Canadians' understanding of family violence, and implement more enlightened policies and practices. Moreover, the rewards articulated make it clear that even though they were 'pathfinders' in a new method of conduct-

44 E. Sandra Byers and Deborah Harrison

ing research, most teams succeeded in finding ways to overcome the challenges. What are the rewards of CAR? First and perhaps most significantly, academic and community informants agreed that their CAR was carried out in greater depth and reflected the real world more accurately than academic research alone could have done. From the standpoint of academic participants, the fact that the eventual 'users' of the research results - the frontline community workers and policymakers - were on the team from the beginning had profound implications. Most important, community workers' and policymakers' conceptualizations of what was important, grounded as they were in their frontline work experiences, added depth and richness to the research questions being asked. Furthermore, the diversity of perspectives on each team enabled links among issues to be made compellingly evident during the kinds of discussions that took place at team meetings. Finally, all team members valued the especially comprehensive picture of reality and the creative solutions that emerged from the team's work. Academics and community people need each other, (community team member) Academics have less control over the process, but the end product is richer. The fact that our project reflected the community members' agenda made it successful, (academic team member) Academics by themselves are missing something. By sharing our knowledge, our end product becomes a lot better, (community team member) Doing better research because it's informed by inside knowledge from community members of the team. The combination of insider and outsider perspectives results in better research. It's also rewarding to know that there's the possibility that something tangible will come out of the research, (academic team member) You get richer data from doing the research as a team with different perspectives, (community team member)

Second, the diverse character of CAR team membership was rewarding in itself. Many interview participants told us that the diversity of perspectives represented on each team made being a CAR team

Building Collaborative, Action-Oriented Research Teams 45

member a rich adventure. The diversity also presented new opportunities. The range of activities attempted by CAR teams was far greater than any one team member would have attempted if he or she had been working alone. For example, during the data collection phase of the project, community team members became researchers for the first time, while during the action phase, academic team members saw their work making a concrete difference in ways that in their earlier lives they would not have believed possible. An additional positive spin-off of the new opportunities was the mutual appreciation that team members developed for one another's abilities and skills. Finally, the diverse character of team membership made the bonding and sense of common purpose that developed among team members singularly rewarding and empowering. Academic team members experienced a sense of community that is often lacking in university research settings, while community and government members, instead of toiling alone in family violence, found themselves surrounded by peers in other walks of life who toiled alongside them and experienced similar frustrations and crises. Sharing a new adventure. Learning new things together. Being with a variety of people who could work together with common goals. Being on the edge of new knowledge, (community team member) Sharing ideas and research results. Knowledge that you're not alone in trying to prevent violence and do research around violence prevention. Building of friendships and camaraderie, (community team member) Being with others who provide encouragement and inspiration and are nice people, (academic team member) Coming to feel like a team with people whom you didn't know at first. Team members' different perspectives enrich the process. You get richer data from doing the research as a team with different perspectives, (community team member) Liking the people on the team. Working in a trusting environment. Having an impact. Feeling passionately about the target group, (academic team member) Personal relationship with stakeholders. People from diverse back-

46 E. Sandra Byers and Deborah Harrison grounds being able to work together and feel that they're doing something worthwhile, (academic team member) Synergies. Feeling that you're not working on the issue by yourself, rowing your own boat. The realization that there were a lot of people interested in the issue. Working with others, (community team member) It represented a process of empowerment and validation for women who had struggled for years over this issue. Working with these women in a different context was also fun. (academic team member)

Academic and community CAR team members experienced separate rewards as well as rewards in common. First, although research was a familiar activity for academic team members, they experienced a carryover from research into action that was new to them, as they reaped the benefits of having frontline service providers and/or policymakers involved at all stages of the project. Thus, they were able to realize a concrete, practical, and socially important outcome from their work. Academic team members also found rewarding the special pride that student team members took in their own contributions, and they took pleasure in watching how quickly the students' abilities expanded. For their part, community team members were excited to see changes in policy and frontline practice - changes they often had long advocated - occurring as a result of their work. Community mem bers came to appreciate the value of research, and found that decision makers responded more positively to research data than they had in the past to arguments and anecdotes. Some of the centre's teams produced reports and/or pamphlets, and the community members felt gratified when they saw these items being used: I was actually helping people who are on the frontlines. It was a more meaningful way to be a sociologist, (academic team member) Having something that started as an idea around a kitchen table take off. Being connected with the community. Dissemination requests and opportunities due to connectedness with the community ... Social change component which is different from most academic research, (academic team member) Level and intensity of outside interest in what we were doing. Having

Building Collaborative, Action-Oriented Research Teams 47 people take the issue seriously as it's not taken seriously in my faculty. Seeing members of the team grow, (academic team member) I became more aware of the problem, and got a better understanding of how what I know can be applied directly to my work, (community team member) I learned things that apply to other groups, like how groups in general work well, (community team member) Having more influence on decision makers because you have data to support your recommendations, (community team member) Getting an introduction to research. Role modeling of female researchers, (community team member) The organization that I represented gained insight and understanding on the impact of family violence on the organization, (community team member) Possibility of true academic-community partnership. The positive response from the community. The research was being taken seriously and collaboration with the university gave weight to the findings. Learning how academia works including politics, red tape, challenges, (community team member) Finally, as a result of their experiences on CAR teams, a few academic and community team members changed their lives. Some academic team members decided to stop doing research that was not collaborative and action-oriented, while at least one community member enjoyed research so much that she decided to return to university. Discussion It is striking to compare the section of this chapter on rewards with the section on challenges. The rewards identified by our informants indicate that on most of the centre's teams, the academic and community members learned not only to accommodate their mutual differences but also to appreciate those differences and work effectively together. Hence, although university faculty and frontline workers and govern-

48 E. Sandra Byers and Deborah Harrison

ment personnel often began with sharply variant perspectives on research and action, their perspectives often converged as the teams proceeded. Many community team members developed an appreciation for the research process and its end products, just as academic team members learned to enjoy meetings that were not exclusively task oriented and to derive excitement from contributing to social change. University faculty who were senior enough in their careers to invest time in incorporating the community members' perspectives were especially well situated to reap these rewards, as were community team members who had had positive collaborations with university faculty in the past. Teams whose members had collaborated previously (as in the cases of our Models 3 and 4) were advantaged as well. Teams were encouraged from the outset to set long-term goals and were provided with initial seed money by the centre, and this bought most team members enough time to learn how to function together well. Several teams maintained interest and momentum for a long time without receiving additional funds. Successful team building, in the face of formidable challenges and over considerable time, has comprised the most admirable quality of the centre's success. The fact that many of the centre's teams have exercised important influence on social policy attests to the comprehensive renderings of reality that their research investigations captured. Space permits us to cite only a few examples: • The Religion and Violence team has carried out its research and action in five Protestant Christian denominations throughout the Atlantic region. As a result of its work, programs on family violence for religious faith communities in the Atlantic region - and indeed worldwide - have mushroomed. In addition, the team's Building Bridges workshops have helped solidify what were formerly very tentative links between members of faith communities and the staff of transition houses. • The Creating Peaceful Learning Environments team has delivered conflict resolution training for teachers, as well as peer helping, social skills development, and anger management programs for students from Kindergarten to Grade 12, in eight New Brunswick school districts (more than two hundred schools). Its efforts have also underpinned the New Brunswick Department of Education's recent Positive Learning Environments initiatives. • The Dating Violence research team conducted the first major shady of

Building Collaborative, Action-Oriented Research Teams 49

dating violence in a predominantly rural province. This was also one of very few bilingual Canadian dating violence studies ever done perhaps the only one. This study provided valuable information to the New Brunswick Department of Education about teens' attitudes toward and experience of dating violence. The Department of Education subsequently supported activities to prepare a presentation based on the results of the study that could be used with middle and high school students to help prevent dating violence. Two two-person teams of university students (i.e., a male and a female) delivered the presentation to more than 2,000 students in their classrooms. • The New Brunswick Department of the Solicitor General has implemented or is in the process of implementing all of the recommendations made in the 1997 report of the Management and Treatment of Sex Offenders team (Byers et al. 1997). These recommendations came out of research conducted by the team. • Many of the recommendations of The Canadian Forces' Response to Woman Abuse in Military Families, produced in collaboration with a sister team at the RESOLVE Centre (Research and Education for Solutions to Violence Everywhere) at the University of Manitoba (Muriel McQueen Fergusson Centre and RESOLVE 2000), are in the process of being implemented by the Minister of National Defence. • At least three of the six provinces that participated in the Looking after Children project of the Child Abuse and Neglect research team are moving forward with expanded implementation of the protocols developed by the project, and most other Canadian provinces and territories have begun implementing the protocols on a pilot basis. Certainly the structural inequalities between academic and community team members, and the policies of granting agencies and universities that help maintain these inequalities, were difficult to mitigate on several teams and, when all is said and done, still remain. One of our aims in writing this chapter has been to convey the message to granting agencies and university personnel that the achievements of CAR are significant enough to justify policy decisions targeted at reducing these inequalities. Useful policy reforms would include the following: allowing sufficient time for team building when setting deadlines for grant applications and deliverables; compensating community team members for their expenses and labour; funding the action as well as research components of CAR projects; and recognizing that although

50 E. Sandra Byers and Deborah Harrison

CAR projects generate publications at a slower rate, they represent a significant faculty contribution to both the university and the wider world. If CAR is to fully realize its potential of enabling analyses of social problems to benefit from the combined knowledge of academic and community practitioners, it is essential that we put structures in place to encourage these collaborations. Conclusion Over the past eight years, CAR at the Muriel McQueen Fergusson Centre for Family Violence Research has represented an intense learning experience. We started with what we believed was a clear vision of what we wanted to accomplish and how we proposed to do it. However, we were naive and had not really thought through the process of implementing our vision and our philosophy. We did not anticipate many of the challenges that ultimately arose. We did not anticipate the length of time it takes to develop a truly collaborative research team. We have had many successful teams; we have had a few teams that did not work well or did not achieve their goals. Through it all, we have learned a lot, as individuals, as teams, and as a centre, about how to do collaborative action research - we have grown, we have changed, we have adapted. The learning process has not always been easy. Nonetheless, the best assessment of our success in growing and adapting comes from our respondents' answers to two questions: 'Do you think that collaborative action research works?' and 'Would you do it again?' In response to these questions, our informants almost all said 'yes.' However, they often qualified their responses by pointing out that we still have things to learn about how to do CAR better, that CAR does not always work, and that systemic changes are needed to facilitate collaborative action research. They tended to add that if they were to do it again, they would do it a little bit differently, having incorporated what they had learned during the process: It's a new way of doing research so it needs refining. We have a way to go to know how to do it better. It has potential but there are still a lot of rough edges, (academic team member) Yes, but not always. It depends on the constellation of people - the skills, common vision, motivation and interpersonal skills of members. You can't just throw a group of people together, (academic team member)

Building Collaborative, Action-Oriented Research Teams 51 Yes. It's not the same as traditional research and can't be measured with the same yardstick. The team needs to do a self-evaluation every couple of years to see whether it's still meeting personal and team objectives, (academic team member) Despite the challenges - and sometimes the pain - encountered along the way, the outcome of the CAR experiment of the MMF Centre has been mostly a success. Above all, the venture has demonstrated that when people from a range of backgrounds decide to join forces to find solutions to an urgent problem, they usually manage to surmount the barriers between them. When they do so, they find creative solutions to the problem, they grow as individuals, and they make a difference.

NOTES

1 Authorship order is alphabetical, as both authors contributed equally to this chapter. 2 Some members of the Spousal Abuse and Child Custody and Access research team participated as representatives of government departments or community service agencies, as well as in their professional capacities. The team thus recognized the potential for personal conflicts of interest, as well as for conflicts among research team members. Like several other teams, this team established a set of guidelines on ownership, access to, and dissemination of data. In this case, however, the guidelines also included clauses on majority/minority rights and responsibilities; team obligations to record dissenting interpretations and opinions; and procedures governing members who wished to terminate their participation. The team also constructed a conflict resolution process, in the event that one should become necessary. Despite, or perhaps because of, these efforts, apparently no conflicts arose during the course of the team's work.

REFERENCES

Barnsley, Jan. 1995. Co-operation or co-optation? The partnership trend of the nineties. In Listening to the thunder: Advocates talk about the battered women's movement, ed. L. Timmins. Vancouver: Women's Research Centre. Byers, E. Sandra., Roland Crooks, Brian Griffiths, Brian Mackin, Gayle Mac-

52 E. Sandra Byers and Deborah Harrison Donald, Greg Macdonald, Raymonde Marcoux-Galarneau, Cheryl Renaud, Brenda Thomas, Brian Thompson, and Pamela Yates. 1997. The extent of sex offences and the nature of sex offenders in New Brunswick: A research project. Report submitted to the New Brunswick Department of the Solicitor General. Cottrell, Barbara, Stella Lord, Lise Martin, and Susan Prentice, eds. 1996. Research partnerships: A feminist approach to communities and universities working together. Ottawa: Canadian Research Institute for the Advancement of Women. Gauthier, Benoit. 1984. Recherche sociale: La problematique a la collecte des donnees. Montreal: Presse de 1'Universite du Quebec. Harrison, Deborah. 2001. Can research, activism, and feminism converge? Some notes on collaborative action-oriented inquiry. In Advances in gender research, volume 5. The international feminist challenge to theory, ed. M. Segal and V. Demos. Greenwich, CT: JAI Press. Miedema, Baukje, and the Members of the Research Team on Family Violence in Immigrant Communities in New Brunswick. 1996. Building a research team: The struggle to link the community and the academy. Atlantis 21: 89-93. Muriel McQueen Fergusson Centre for Family Violence Research (University of New Brunswick) and RESOLVE (Research and Education for Solutions to Violence Everywhere) Centre (University of Manitoba). 2000. Report on the Canadian Forces' response to woman abuse in military families. Submitted to the Minister of National Defence. Reinharz, Shulamit. 1992. Feminist methods in social research. New York: Oxford University Press. Stanley, Liz, and Sue Wise. 1983. Breaking out: feminist consciousness and feminist research. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Wuest, Judith, and Marilyn Merritt-Gray. 1997. Participatory action research: Practical dilemmas and emancipatory possibilities. In Completing a qualitative project: Details and dialogue, ed. J. Morse: Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage.

THE BECKONING Outside my kitchen window are sunflowers seven feet high their big brown eyes the same colour as the bruises beneath mine. With the children gone now, he is no gentle man farmer his demons thrive, the farm withers. I am pickling beets today the juice stains my hands I am reminded of my own blood Just this morning a deer appeared, flicked its tail at me as if to beckon me, dare me, to follow. I had a fantasy. Some morning soon, I will wipe my hands on my apron make a bouquet of sunflowers walk in to the woods and keep walking even after the snow comes, I will keep walking walk, stumble, run, until I come out the other side Then, I will grow herbs, grind them apply them to old wounds I will be bom again as a sunflower. Sheree Fitch

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Abuse in a Rural and Farm Context Deborah Doherty and Jennie Hornosty

During the past twenty years, research on family violence1 generally, and woman abuse in particular, has increased significantly. Yet comparatively little research, either in Canada or the United States, has focused specifically on the situation and needs of abused women in farm and rural communities (Canadian Farm Women's Network 1995; Epprecht 2001; Jiwani 1998; Logan, Walker, and Leukelfeld 2000; Schissel 1992; Van Hightower, Gorton, and DeMoss 2000). This lacuna in understanding the reality of abused women in geographically isolated communities may be due, in part, to the urbocentric bias of many social researchers or the assumption that no differences exist between the experiences and needs of abused women in rural and urban communities. There is also a myth that family violence seldom happens in closely knit rural communities (Martz and Sarauer 2000). Policymakers may idealize rural life and ignore the extent of social problems in rural areas (McLaughlin and Church 1992). Yet there is reason to believe that wife abuse is at least as prevalent in rural and farm communities as it is in urban centres. In her groundbreaking report for the Canadian Advisory Council on the Status of Women, MacLeod (1980) suggests that contrary to general perceptions, wife abuse is a problem in rural communities, even though it may be more hidden. Similarly, Statistics Canada's Violence Against Women Survey (1993) found no significant differences between rural and urban centres in the incidence of wife assault. LaPrairie (1983) suggests that wife abuse may be even more prevalent in rural than in urban areas (DeKeseredy and Hinch 1991). Schissel (2000) notes that an ethos

56 Deborah Doherty and Jennie Hornosty

of privacy prevalent in rural communities tends to hide the extent of family violence. Saskatchewan researchers Martz and Sarauer (2000) report that the women they interviewed believe that wife abuse is common in rural areas, although fewer cases may be reported because of the fear and isolation that rural women experience. Similar conclusions about the prevalence of wife abuse in rural regions are found in American studies (Gunderson 1998; Logan, Walker, and Leukelfeld 2000; Straus, Gelles, and Steinmetz 1980; Websdale and Johnson 1997). Rural and farm communities are not homogeneous entities; nevertheless they share certain important cultural, social, and geographical similarities that make them significantly different from urban environments. For example, rural communities are to some degree geographically isolated and tend to have less access to health, education, and other social services. Job opportunities are scarce, childcare is often not available, and public transportation is inadequate or non-existent. As well, rural attitudes tend to be more conservative and patriarchal, and this reinforces stereotypic gender roles for women and men (Gagne 1992, cited in Van Hightower, Gorton, and DeMoss 2000; Jiwani 1998; Martz and Sarauer 2000; Schissel 2000). These structural characteristics create systemic barriers that may make it more difficult for rural women to name abuse, report abuse, seek and get help, and leave abusive relationships. Geographical remoteness, for example, means that families are more isolated, which may make it easier to hide wife abuse (Chalmers and Smith 1988). Physical isolation also makes finding employment and accessing social services more difficult. Patriarchal values and beliefs can legitimize male social control over women; hence, women who seek support in dealing with abuse may be perceived as violating community norms about appropriate gender roles. These factors, in turn, can reinforce women's fear and isolation and make them more vulnerable to abuse (Doherty and DeVink 1995; Hornosty 1995). Thus, while the nature of the abuse suffered by a rural woman physical, psychological, emotional, and economic - may be similar to that of her urban sisters, the community context in which the abuse occurs is dramatically different. If we are to help rural and farm women, it is critical that we understand the social context in which the abuse takes place. Any programs designed to help rural women must be informed by the rural context and culture in which these women live.

Abuse in a Rural and Farm Context 57 Rural New Brunswick

Our research was carried out in New Brunswick. In order to contextualize the stories of wife abuse that we present and our findings, it is important to briefly describe the province. New Brunswick is substantially rural; 51 per cent of its 738,133 inhabitants live in areas defined as rural (Statistics Canada 1996). Only in Prince Edward Island and the Northwest Territories is the percentage of rural population higher. According to the 1996 Census rural means living in small towns, villages, and other places with populations of less than 1,000 (Statistics Canada 1996). Eleven of the fifteen counties in New Brunswick are predominantly rural. Most people living in the rural areas in New Brunswick are involved in agriculture, fishing, fish processing, logging, mining and forestry, or tourism. The most recent Census of Agriculture showed that there were 3,206 farms in New Brunswick, many of which were small family operations. Much of the employment available to rural residents is in the primary industries; a significant proportion of these jobs are seasonal and low paying. Literacy and numeracy skills are below the Canadian average (Statistics Canada 1998). Poverty is a reality for many rural families. The median income in New Brunswick was $15,200 in the mid-1990s (Statistics Canada 1996); however, the mostly rural counties had median incomes well below average. New Brunswick is largely English speaking (65 per cent); however, 33 per cent of the province's people are French speaking. Most of the women we interviewed came from a fairly homogenous rural and farming background and shared common cultural, physical, and social characteristics. While factors associated with particular employment sectors may present some unique systemic barriers to leaving a violent home, the purpose of this chapter is to explore how rural women experience similar challenges in disclosing, coping with, and leaving an abusive situation. Methodology The Family Violence on the Farm and in Rural Communities Research Team, one of the original five teams of the Muriel McQueen Fergusson Centre for Family Violence Research,2 was established in 1994. This multidisciplinary team of academic and community researchers in-

58 Deborah Doherty and Jennie Hornosty

eluded an RCMP officer, a public health nurse, a farm woman, a counsellor, a representative from public legal education, and academics. The team worked collaboratively to formulate the key research objectives and the strategies for collecting data. The following research objectives became the basis of our work: (a) to understand how rural women talked about their experiences of abuse; (b) to understand how these women came to define such behaviour as no longer tolerable; (c) to identify the social and cultural aspects of rural life that the women felt made it especially difficult for them and other abused women to seek help or leave such relationships; and (d) to identify remedies and resources for improving community responses and for eliminating violence and abuse in rural areas. The research approach was action oriented and was informed by collaborative research models and feminist methodologies. An overriding concern was to ensure that the voices of women who had experienced abuse were given a central place in our understanding of the problem and the solutions proposed. The rural and farm women who participated in our research were recruited through advertisements in local newspapers, postings in public places, word of mouth, and referral from service providers, as well as through direct and indirect contacts by members of the research team. In order to let women tell their stories as they experienced them, we used a qualitative research approach. In-depth interviews, lasting anywhere between ninety minutes and five hours each, were conducted with more than fifty abused farm and rural women in New Brunswick. With the permission of the participants, we taped most of the interviews and transcribed them later for analysis. An important component of our collaborative research approach was to involve rural women in the development of the research questions. Before beginning our main interviews, we had a number of open-ended discussions with women who were no longer in abusive relationships. They suggested the types of questions we should be asking, how to ask them, and what to be sensitive to. They also identified different sociocultural barriers faced by rural women and made us aware of how wife abuse can be hidden in rural communities. Besides the interviews, which were conducted in both English and French, the team held three community focus groups in a predominantly rural county.3 We began the main interviews by explaining to the women that we were interested in their stories and their experiences. We asked background-type questions pertaining to their childhood experiences, the

Abuse in a Rural and Farm Context 59

community in which they grew up, the length of time they had been in a violent relationship, the nature of the abuse, the number of children, and so on. We asked the women to tell us about their experiences of abuse in the family, how they defined wife abuse, and how it was silenced. We inquired about the specific factors that led them to leave abusive relationships. And, importantly, we asked for their suggestions about what was needed to help other farm and rural women in similar circumstances. Empowering research participants to identify solutions is a central aspect of 'action-oriented' research. Instead of writing a traditional academic article, we have decided in this chapter to present women's experience of living with abuse by compiling and integrating these experiences into two stories: one of an abused rural woman, the other of a farm woman.4 To this purpose, we have identified the common themes and insights that emerged from the dozens of interviews and developed composite stories. We believe that this is a highly effective way to retain the richness of the voices of rural and farm women speaking out about abuse.5 Although each woman we interviewed had unique experiences, we found as we read and reread the transcribed interviews that many commonalities surfaced relating to rural and farm life. These commonalities, and the different barriers women experienced, are captured below. We felt it important to present both a rural and a farm perspective. Although there are many social and cultural similarities between farm communities and rural non-farm communities, there are also some important and unique differences. Just as rural women must confront unique challenges that are different from those of urban women living with abuse, so too farm life creates different barriers for abused women coping with abusive relationships. All farm women are rural women, but the converse is clearly not true. Farm women are only a minority in rural areas, with farmers being only 12 per cent of the rural population (Lunn 2000). For them, the family is not separate from the context of the family farm. A farm is not only one's home; it is the source of one's livelihood. Husband and wife may work side by side, in the barn or in the fields. Farmers develop a special attachment to the land, and the survival of the farm often depends on an economic and intimate partnership between husband and wife. It took great courage for each woman we interviewed to share her individual story of pain and suffering. But from each interview emerged great wisdom and hope, as well as ideas for helping other women who are experiencing abuse in similar situations. The first

60 Deborah Doherty and Jennie Hornosty

composite is presented as Karen's story. It is about the life of an abused woman in a rural community; Sue's story, presented second, speaks from the perspective of a farm woman. The point here is not to suggest that every abused farm and rural woman has identical experiences; rather, it is to emphasize some of the structural and cultural similarities of experiencing abuse in a rural context. The stories of Karen and Sue capture the lives and many of the fears and unique problems encountered. Their situations reflect the women we interviewed, and the words in their stories are often the exact words used by women in this study. Karen, a Rural Woman Living in the country is a great for kids. All the neighbours look out for them and people will help you out if you're having a tough time. But everyone turns a blind eye if your husband isn't treating you very good. It's nobody's business. I was born in a village in rural New Brunswick. I had two younger sisters and an older brother. My father was very authoritarian, definitely the boss in the house. My mother always tried to have everything just perfect for him. She was quite religious and she taught us that women should do everything for men and submit to them. But things weren't perfect and she always blamed the kids. She seemed to be screaming all the time. Maybe because I was the oldest girl she took a lot out on me. She told me I was fat, ugly, and lazy and that nobody would ever want me. I had a totally negative self-image. I dropped out of high school in my last year to marry the first guy who wanted me. I always regretted that because I loved school and I got good grades. But Sam wanted to get married right away. He had dropped out of school the year before and I was afraid I would lose him if I didn't go along. Didn't matter that he was jealous and wanted to control my every move. That was just proof of how much I meant to him. Anyway, all my friends seemed to be treated the same way. Sam also grew up in a rural community near me. His dad was really brutal and I felt sorry for him. He had a tough time as a kid, a lot tougher than I had it. He was very wild but everyone liked him. He could be so charming and he was quite good looking. When he started dating me, everyone saw a change for the better. They all said that I was good for him and that I had calmed him down. I felt really proud of that. I knew that he could get violent at times. He would smash his fist into a wall if he

Abuse in a Rural and Farm Context 61 didn't like what I had said. But the fact that he loved me overshadowed everything. Sam made pretty good money working in the woods and after we got married we moved into a little trailer on the outskirts of Sam's town. I finally got a licence, but I had to ask Sam for permission to use the car and he'd rarely let me have it. I just wanted to be able to do the shopping on my own or visit some of my girlfriends. But Sam always did the shopping and he didn't want me hanging out with any of my old friends. When Sam was out of seasonal work, he tried to find odd jobs to support us. Half the time he was on El. I wanted to work, too, but Sam insisted I stay home. Cleaning the house became my pride and joy. Sam wanted to start a family right away and I was pregnant within a few months of the wedding. Sam seemed pretty happy at first. But as soon as I started to show, his attitude changed. He would call me horrible names and swear at me. Although Sam wouldn't let me use birth control, he went berserk when he found out I was pregnant again just nine months after our first son was born. One night in bed he started punching me in the stomach, telling me I was a fat cow and to give him more room. After that, I slept on the floor. I was afraid he would hurt the baby. Two babies were a lot of work and I was always tired. One day, my oldest son was sick and the baby was cranky. I was sitting in the rocking chair trying to soothe them when Sam came home and demanded his supper. When he found out I hadn't even started it, he kicked the rocker over - with me and the babies in it. He went off ranting about how I didn't have enough time for him any more. Despite feeling unhappy and depressed, I never understood I was being 'abused.' I had heard about family violence but I thought it meant some maniac who put his wife in the hospital with a fractured skull or gunshot wound. Not the everyday slaps and shoves I got or the put downs and controlling tactics. That was just life. I often thought about leaving Sam 'cause I was so unhappy but he would threaten to kill himself. I did try to leave one time. I called my mother and asked her if I could come home with the children for a few weeks 'til I figured things out. I told her how terrifying it was living with Sam. She said Sam was a good provider and if I ever talked that way again, she'd call child protection and tell them I was crazy. I had nowhere to go and I was afraid of losing my children. I had never heard of the transition house. By the time I had been married for eight years, I was taking all kinds of medications to help with depression. My doctor never asked what was behind my constant anxiety and I was reluctant to tell him. I didn't think

62 Deborah Doherty and Jennie Hornosty he would care. After all, he was a fishing buddy of Sam's and who knows what he might say? There's so much gossip in rural areas; it's hard to trust anyone with your private life. Once he suggested that Sam and I go for marriage counselling but Sam wouldn't have anything to do with counselling. Sometimes when Sam was hitting me I thought about calling the police. But after my first and only experience involving them, I decided never to do it again. I just wanted the police to calm Sam down but they wanted to charge him. So I lied and told them there hadn't been any physical violence. After they left, Sam really let me have it. The problem is, lots of people in the country have police scanners and the whole town soon knew what was happening. I felt that they were blaming me for being a bad wife and my kids told me I had embarrassed them. Not that people didn't know already, but you feel like you're committing this huge betrayal if you call the police. Not once did anyone blame Sam for treating me so bad. So, why did I finally leave? Three things made me decide to take action. The first two had to do with my kids. I always thought I could take anything as long as my children were safe. But by the time they were nine and ten years old, Sam was hitting and verbally mistreating them. My son started to act out in school and I knew he needed help but there was nothing available in our small town. I thought, 'If you won't help yourself, you've got to help your kids.' Second, I didn't want Sam to turn on the kids so I was always screaming at them to be quiet. I thought I was protecting them but I eventually realized I was becoming a tyrant. The last thing that helped me decide to leave was the support I got when I began to work. We had been struggling with the bills, so Sam agreed that I could get a job in the local grocery store. When my shift was over Sam would come by and if I wasn't outside waiting for him he would lean on the horn. One day the manager said, 'Your husband shouldn't treat you like that. It's disrespectful and abusive. You work hard and don't deserve to be treated like that.' I was amazed that somebody actually believed that Sam was not treating me properly. When I read the pamphlets about woman abuse in the employees' washroom, it was like they were describing me. I realized I wasn't alone and that there were shelters where women could go for safety. I didn't just walk out. Where would I have gone? I made a plan to leave and it took me about eighteen months to get away. I had no way to get to the transition house, which was about fifteen miles away, but I started putting little bits of money aside. When I had a chance to get a ride into the city I packed the kids and went. They were confused and angry at

Abuse in a Rural and Farm Context 63 first. But the staff at the shelter made us feel welcome. The next big hurdles are still to come. I'm looking for a job and I need to find housing. I dread dealing with the legal system around custody of the children and I still worry about Sam. But right now the children are starting counselling programs and I'm trying to make decisions that will give us a life without violence. Sue, a Farm Woman It's hard to leave the farm ... You will leave everything behind and if you leave you will bankrupt the farm or he will burn everything down. You know that he would go to any extent to stop you from getting things even if it meant that he did burn the house down and got nothing himself. I grew up on the family farm here in New Brunswick. We were always close to my dad's side of the family since his brother farmed with him and my grandparents had retired on the farm. My family didn't seem different from other families. We raised sheep, had a few milk cows and lots of pets, too. Mom and dad worked together on the farm and dad was the head of the household. Mom did all the traditional things like housework, cooking, canning, and sewing. My mom always said a farm is the greatest place in the world to bring up children. After high school I got married to Tom, who grew up on a farm about twenty miles away from us. I thought he was so loving and he really seemed to care about my opinions. My parents liked him too, and told me what a great 'catch' he was. He worked on the farm with his father and I got a job as a cashier in town. After Tom's father died and he inherited the farm, I gave up my job and put all my energies into working on the farm. I didn't mind doing farm work, along with all the 'women's work.' Unfortunately, something always seemed to be going wrong on the farm. It could be the weather, it could be pests, it could be the prices, it could be anything. Whatever it was, Tom would yell at me and tell me I was stupid. One time during haying season he stormed into the house because the bailer wasn't working. He called me all sorts of names and started hitting me saying I broke the bailer. I tried to tell him I hadn't been near it, but he didn't listen. I could give you hundreds of examples. I never knew what he would blame me for next. Tom not only beat me physically, he also isolated me from everyone, which is pretty easy to do on a farm. The first few years we were married we went over to visit my parents or have a meal with them almost every Sunday. Slowly Tom started finding reasons for us not to go. I think he

64 Deborah Doherty and Jennie Hornosty was afraid I might tell my mom and dad about his behaviour. Not that he ever let me out of his sight when we were visiting. And he made it quite clear to my parents and friends that nobody was welcome to drop over to house unless they had been invited. Sometimes months would go by and I wouldn't see or talk to anyone. You probably want to know why I stayed in the relationship. I tried leaving twice before I finally made the break. Once, after I had been married for ten years, I went home to my parents. I had two children by then. My parents tried to act understanding but they kept saying I should try harder to make things work. It was uncomfortable for everyone. When Tom found out where I had gone, he called me and threatened to kill the children's pets if I didn't come back right away. We had three guns in the house and I knew he wasn't joking, so I went back. The children would have been devastated if the dog or cats had been killed. And I began to worry that he wouldn't feed the spring lambs and they would die, too, so I decided to return. Tom always apologized and said things would change. And they did for a while, but soon the beatings and emotional abuse started again. The second time I left I had heard about the transition house, which was a two-hour drive away. Since there's no bus service into town, I asked a neighbour from the next farm if she would drive me. She never judged me or told me I should stay. I think she was worried about my safety. Over the years the neighbours had seen my bruises and they knew Tom was beating me even though they never spoke out. In the country everyone knows everyone else's business. Yet most people strongly believe it's no one's business what goes on between a husband and his wife. What happens in the family is a private matter and nobody should interfere. People are willing to help one another for all sorts of reasons. If a neighbour's barn roof collapses, all kinds of people will drop by to help out. But not when it comes to abuse in the home - nobody interferes! When I arrived at the shelter, the people were friendly but it was hard staying there. We were not used to being so cramped, and the kids were really unhappy. They hated the city and missed their friends and pets. Also, the people at the shelter didn't understand farm life or what it means to live on a farm. They made me feel guilty for saying good things about farm life and caring too much about the animals. Some of the kids at the shelter called my son names like 'dumb farm boy.' My daughter cried every night and complained about everything. After staying for three weeks, I decided to go back. I didn't know what else to do. It's hard to explain my reluctance to leave, but leaving Tom was like

Abuse in a Rural and Farm Context 65 leaving my entire life. Farming is hard work, although I didn't mind it even when it lasted twelve or fourteen hours a day. I put all my energies into making the farm a success - without ever getting paid for doing it. How could I walk away after eighteen years - from everything I had ever known? I worked side by side with Tom bringing in the crops, haying, feeding the animals, and even helping repair some of the equipment. We weren't rich, but we made a comfortable living. A family farm like ours is a cooperative effort, and I worried it wouldn't survive without the children and me. It really drew me back. In the end, it was my mother who helped me when I left for the last time. I swore I would never go back to a transition house and I felt resigned to staying with Tom. But three summers ago we had a financial disaster - our hay was rotting in the fields. One evening Tom exploded and beat me senseless. Thank heavens the kids were over at friends. I had to go to the hospital because he fractured my jaw. Tom was with me in the emergency room and when the doctor asked what happened, he said I had fallen off the bailer. No more questions asked! I'm not sure who called my mother, since things are supposed to be confidential at the hospital, but somebody let her know I was there. She came over and I told her what really happened. She said right then and there that she would help me leave and she arranged for me to go stay with a cousin in town. Leaving was hard. I had to go without the children. They were thirteen and sixteen years old by then and they refused to come with me. They blamed me for everything and wanted to be with their friends and pets. I didn't fight for custody and I sure didn't ask for support. If I had tried, that would have been the end of the family farm and the end of my kids' inheritance. They would have hated me even more and I was afraid to think what Tom would have done to me. I would probably never have felt safe again in my life. It's been a couple of years now since I left. I had to live on welfare for a year but I was lucky enough to find a job at a call centre, which pays for a small apartment. I would rather live in the country but there are no jobs there and no housing. Also, I still feel the stigma of leaving and it's hard to go to my old church or be around many of the people I used to know. I know from how they act that it is hard for many of them to be around me. I still have a lot of adjusting to do before I will truly feel comfortable with life in the city. Most of all, I miss the kids; they still live with their dad on the farm. They were quite hostile to me at first, but my daughter often asks to spend a weekend with me these days. My parents bring her into town and as long as I don't rock the boat, Tom lets her come. I often wonder whether I made the right decision by leaving. But

66 Deborah Doherty and Jennie Hornosty mostly I have faith that things will get better. I also want to help other farm women who might be in the same situation as I was. That's why I wanted to share my story. I want them to know that there is hope.

What Did We Learn from Rural and Farm Women's Experiences? Although the data collected by our research team largely corroborate other studies in the area of woman abuse, our study is unique in that it focuses on rural life. In our interviews with rural and farm women, certain common themes emerged that emphasize how the sociocultural and geographic nature of rural communities presents particular barriers for women who are faced with abuse. As is evident in the narratives of Karen and Sue, the limited access to services, geographical remoteness, norms of privacy, and patriarchal views and beliefs around marriage can all serve to isolate and disempower rural women who are being abused. Given the structural commonalities of living in small communities, it is not surprising that the experiences of rural and farm women were often very similar. However, as we indicated earlier and as illustrated by Sue's story, the structure of farm life and women's responsibilities on the farm pose unique dilemmas for farm women trying to leave abusive relationships. While there is an inherent danger in suggesting that rural lifestyles are homogeneous, the fact is that the women we interviewed identified the same problems and issues over and over again regarding their attempts to deal with violence in their lives. The following themes emerged most frequently from the interviews and are clearly the most salient concerns of rural women. Although some of these are interrelated, we present them as separate analytical themes to illustrate the complexity of the problems and solutions. Denial/Inability to Name the Abuse

One of our most significant findings was that so many forms of abusive behaviour are not named as family violence in rural communities. Women often endure many years of emotional abuse before the physical violence begins. This behaviour may be well known by neighbours and friends; however, the entire community seems to participate in blaming and using minimizing language and responses. This can act to normalize abusive behaviour and to bolster norms about the private nature of family life. Since no one labels hurtful and harmful behav-

Abuse in a Rural and Farm Context 67

iours as abuse, women often do not recognize themselves when they hear about 'family violence.' The hurt they feel in their personal lives is never 'named.' Rural men and women who grow up witnessing or experiencing abuse in their own homes come to feel that it is normal, since others in the community seem to be minimizing or condoning it. Rural/Farm Life and Culture

A distinguishing feature of rural communities is the existence of patriarchal attitudes and cultural norms that strongly reinforce traditional gender roles. Rural communities tend to promote a way of life that many rural people experience collectively as well as individually. Farm and rural women attest to the many benefits of living in the country with helpful neighbours, little fear of crime, and a peaceful existence. However, we also learned from the women we interviewed that rural communities often foster a shared perspective that women are subservient to men, and this reinforces the division of labour and traditional attitudes relating to the subservient role of women as wives and homemakers. This situation is exacerbated on farms because there is no separation between home and work and husbands and wives often work side by side. The farm's survival is often dependent on the cooperation and effort of women, and farm women are reluctant to take action to deal with abuse if it might jeopardize the survival of the farm. Farming is more than an economic livelihood; it is a total and unique way of life. Leaving means leaving one's roots, and doing so constitutes a far greater disruption to one's life than leaving an abusive relationship in an urban setting. Religious Values

Religious institutions can be a strong moral force in people's lives, and this is particularly the case in rural communities. As such, religion can be a source of support, or it can be a vehicle for reinforcing women's subordinate position in the family. Religious beliefs often promote the value of staying in a marriage and the duty of a wife to preserve the family at all costs. Some women we spoke with mentioned the frustration they felt when clergy failed to respond to their disclosures in a supportive fashion. For some women, leaving an abusive situation eventually meant leaving their faith community.

68 Deborah Doherty and Jennie Hornosty Privacy/Confiden tiality

People in rural communities tend to build strong interpersonal connections, which can also be a source of support and security. However, this sense of familiarity, whether it relates to kinship ties or friendship, can also lead to a feeling that there is a lack of anonymity and confidentiality. Many women spoke about the lack of privacy in rural life. Concerns about confidentiality and anonymity often focused on access to social and medical services. In this regard, women in large urban centres may benefit from anonymity. The rural women we interviewed feared that an appropriate level of confidentiality would not be maintained if they sought local services such as mental health counselling, medical treatment, marriage counselling, and so on. The closeness of people in rural communities means that service providers and professionals may be friends with the abuser or his family; hence, there is a greater reluctance on the part of victims to confide in local service providers. They fear that their account of the abuse will not be taken seriously. In turn, professionals and others in the community may be reluctant to offer help. These dynamics greatly exacerbate the isolation that farm and rural women tend to experience. Public/Private Realms

Rural communities tend to promote a fierce sense of independence and autonomy within the family. Despite strong networks of friends and neighbours who help out in times of need, no one is expected to interfere in another's private family matters. This ethos of privacy surrounding the family means that women who break the silence and report abuse to police or others often feel deeply humiliated. Moreover, rural communities tend to have strong traditional values relating to the role of women in making marriages work - values that discourage women from leaving abusive relationships. Because of concerns with privacy in rural areas, women may not trust service providers to keep their 'secret/ As a result, there are few places where a woman can turn to find support. Family, friends, and neighbours may be aware of the violence or abuse, but they do not want to hear about it. Economic Dependency

Many of the rural women we interviewed did not have access to jobs,

Abuse in a Rural and Farm Context 69

job training, or money to help them leave. This is not surprising, since rural New Brunswick is characterized by seasonal jobs, low incomes, and high rates of unemployment. Women's difficulties in becoming economically independent mean that leaving an abusive relationship is not always considered a viable option. They may have no way to support themselves and their children, and nowhere to go. A complicating factor for farm women is that they usually do not receive a wage for their work on the farm, so it is difficult for them to save any money for themselves. Women who are not in the paid labour force have no employment insurance, no pension, and therefore no economic security if they do leave. Lack of Access to Services and Information

The geographic isolation of rural communities means that rural women do not have the same access to social services as urban women, nor do they have information available to them about their options or their rights. Moreover, acting on these rights can be much more difficult in a rural or farm context. Despite changes in our legal system with respect to the division of marital property, farm women may be told - and believe - that they have no rights. And those who do know their rights may find it particularly hard to exercise them. For example, some women felt that leaving would undermine their children's inheritance in the family farm. Transition houses and other services are often far away and inaccessible, or they are staffed by people who may understand the abuse but who do not understand the unique context in which the abuse is occurring. Interaction between abused farm and rural women and the service providers they meet sometimes results in heightened frustration and revictimization. For example, several farm women told us they felt revictimized by service providers, who made them feel guilty for not acting on their rights because of their loyalty or attachment to the farm, or farm animals and pets. Isolation

Geographic distance in rural areas means that rural women experiencing abuse are not only emotionally isolated from family and friends, but physically isolated as well. The nearest neighbours can be a couple of miles away. Often there is little opportunity to socialize with other women because of the distances between homes and lack of access to a

70 Deborah Doherty and Jennie Hornosty

vehicle or public transportation. The geographic distance between farms means that abuse on farms is easier to hide. There are no neighbours nearby to see or hear what is going on. In a crisis, it may take the RCMP up to an hour to respond. Contacting service agencies for information or support may entail several expensive long-distance calls, which could easily be discovered by the abuser, placing the woman at further risk. Controlling Tactics and Emotional Abuse

As indicated earlier, the women we interviewed tended to equate wife abuse with physical violence. Yet many women also told us about experiences involving years of controlling tactics, such as preventing contact with family and friends, threats of suicide, remorse, promises, and intimidation, all of which kept them believing they should stay. In a rural or farm context, these threats and controlling tactics, whether explicit or implicit, often relate to harming pets or the farm animals or even the woman herself. Since almost every farm or rural household owns at least one gun, many of the women emphasized the devastating impact of such threats. Another form of abuse involved emotional blackmail - telling a farm woman that the farm would go bankrupt if she left and everyone would blame her. Since farm women are dedicated to the survival of their farms and the preservation of the animals, many stay to protect what they cherish. In a farm context, emotional abuse also takes the form of blame for everything that goes wrong on the farm, from the machinery breaking to a failed crop to the animals getting sick. Fear of Losing One's Identity and a Particular Lifestyle for Children

Another significant finding of our research related to the strength of attachment that women have to their rural way of life. This emotional attachment is especially strong among farm women. The family farm often represents economic security, a safe lifestyle for children, a connectedness to nature, and self-sufficiency. For many women it is the only life they have ever known, and they take pride in defining themselves as farm women. To deal with abuse by leaving the farm is to give up one's life. The women interviewed spoke of the lack of understanding of city folk for such feelings and attachments. Despite this attachment to rural life, many of these women came to recognize the

Abuse in a Rural and Farm Context 71

harmful effects of family violence on their children, and this was often the catalyst for action. However, living in the country often means that there are few opportunities for the children to get counselling or help with issues related to witnessing abuse. Effect on Woman's Personality and Health

No matter where wife abuse occurs, it generally leads to negative emotional, physical, and health consequences for abused women and their children. Almost every woman in our study poignantly described the ways that abuse had affected her mental and physical well-being. They talked about injuries, low self-esteem, anger, depression, suicidal thoughts, fantasizing, substance abuse, and overmedication. Some of them talked about abusing the children themselves. Trauma during pregnancy seemed to be a common theme. In rural areas, few mental health services are available, and this makes it difficult for women to get help. Women also told us that their family doctors often gave them medication for their symptoms or referred them to marriage counselling instead of trying to help them deal with the abuse. Women suggested that their drug and alcohol addictions tended to be seen as the problem rather than a response to abuse. It seems that health care providers may not always recognize the signs of abuse in the home. For farm women, abuse can lead to additional health problems, which are exacerbated by farm work, which is physically demanding by definition. For example, farm chores may begin early, and women also have responsibility for housework and looking after children. This, combined with late night tirades from an abuser, can mean that abused women often get little sleep. Their fatigue leaves them with little energy or time to socialize with friends and family. Moreover, the arduous nature of farm work may leave abused women too tired to care about themselves or to seek help. A number of women in our shady suggested that this fatigue makes them more vulnerable to farm accidents. Strategies Suggested for Helping Abused Rural and Farm Women A key objective of our research was to identify resources that would be useful in rural communities to women experiencing abuse within the family. In light of this, we asked the women we interviewed to share their insights on solutions that would be sensitive to the context in

72 Deborah Doherty and Jennie Hornosty

which rural and farm women experience abuse. The women in our study felt that many of the programs they encountered seemed to have been designed from an urban perspective. They offered numerous concrete suggestions and alternatives for helping other rural and farm women living with abuse. They spoke of the need for support networks and for more effective dissemination of information, and for the fostering of a countervailing ideology that abuse is wrong. They emphasized the urgent need for a more coordinated, comprehensive approach to family violence. Reflecting on solutions to family violence was an empowering experience for many of the women we interviewed, who saw this effort as one way for women to take ownership of the problem. The strategies discussed below are based on their insights: • Increase public education about the nature of abuse and its impact. The women we spoke with stressed the importance of creating public messages to help people name and condemn abusive conduct. They commented that women living in abusive relationships need to be told by the people around them that violence is not acceptable and that the abuse is not their fault. This message must be pervasive, and must be reinforced in public awareness campaigns in which local communities are encouraged to take ownership of this message. It is important to target the message in such a way that family, friends, neighbours, and others in the community listen to the voices of abused women and let them know they are believed, supported, and understood. • Change the prevailing ethos that 'private' matters are not of public concern. As discussed earlier, rural communities place considerable value on the privacy of the family. The shroud of secrecy that often surrounds family violence makes it especially difficult for women to disclose, since they know that others are not keen to interfere in family problems. The women we interviewed talked about the importance of bringing the issue of abuse out into the public domain so that it can be discussed openly. They emphasized how important it is for rural communities to find ways to reflect on issues of family violence and show support for victims while holding abusers accountable. • Provide better measures to ensure privacy so that women feel safe to disclose abuse. A related issue was the importance of fostering an ethic of confiden-

Abuse in a Rural and Farm Context 73 tiality among professionals and service providers. As we learned, women are reluctant to disclose abuse when they feel the whole community will know. A common concern of abused women living in rural areas is local gossip and lack of anonymity for those seeking help. It is therefore incumbent on service providers and professionals to develop practices and procedures that protect women's privacy and promote confidentiality. They must ask questions about abuse in private areas out of earshot of others. They must exclude the woman's partner from the conversation in a non-threatening way; they must implement T believe' policies with their staff; and they must train their staff on how to ensure confidentiality, since all these challenges are exacerbated in rural areas. Disseminate information about abuse and the legal rights of abused women. Geographic isolation and a small population base mean that the resources available in rural communities are limited. However, it is critical that accurate information about family violence, legal rights, options, and available services be readily accessible both to abused women and to all service providers. As we were told, there is something inherently wrong with a system whereby rural women can learn about abuse only if they travel to the city and happen to find a pamphlet at a government office. These materials must be disseminated in rural areas at appropriate times and locations. For example, a blitz of information in a farming community should not happen at harvest time, and an information campaign in certain rural communities might better coincide with the exodus of men to lumber camps. The characteristics of rural communities must be taken into account to ensure that information dissemination is effective. In rural areas, family violence information should be posted where women will be able to access it safely. Public areas, such as a doctor's waiting room, are not always appropriate because a woman's spouse often accompanies her and it is possible that others sitting in the room know them. Private examining rooms and washrooms are much more likely to provide a safe space for an abused woman to review information. Flyers could be put into mail-outs with other materials, or in circulars in local papers. They could come home in children's school backpacks, they could be placed in private washrooms in malls, churches, and community halls. Information about abuse should also be targeted at men and disseminated in locations frequented by them such as gyms, bars, and pool halls.

74 Deborah Doherty and Jennie Hornosty

• Demonstrate sensitivity. The women interviewed noted that their workplaces, social service offices, faith communities, hospitals, and doctors and others whom they encountered typically did not recognize or respond to abuse with sensitivity or provide safe spaces for disclosure. Helping professionals, especially those who do not come from rural communities, may not understand or empathize with the unique barriers faced by rural and farm women. For example, some of the women told us they felt revictimized when transition house staff could not understand their attachment to rural life and farm animals. Similar concerns about lack of sensitivity were made about police and the legal system. For example, in rural areas many people own scanners and keep track of police activity. This can discourage abused women from calling for help, although several women interviewed felt that the police blamed them for not being cooperative. It is important that all services and institutions intended for addressing woman abuse proactively create safe environments that promote disclosure and ensure appropriate referrals and responses. • Co-ordinate services and improve communication among all service providers, including the police. Another problem identified in the study was again associated with the geographic remoteness of services. Rural women often must travel long distances to the city to apply for particular services, benefits, housing, legal aid, mental health and counselling services, or welfare. This can be a formidable obstacle if they have to make several long trips. The coordination of services is essential for all abused women. However, coordination takes on an added degree of urgency for rural and farm women. The women we interviewed suggested that when affordable public transportation is not available, service providers should find ways to offer free transportation to rural women who must travel to the nearest town or city to get help. • Establish outreach centres and safe houses that meet the needs of rural women. Rural and farm women spoke of the need to have non-threatening local places where they could find information, assistance, advice, and support in a person-to-person, face-to-face fashion. Pamphlets and written materials in private spaces are helpful for women with

Abuse in a Rural and Farm Context 75

literacy skills, but they do not help women who cannot read. It is important to get information out in a more personal format. To share one example, since physical violence often escalates during pregnancy and at the birth of a child, the women we interviewed suggested that public health nurses be trained to watch for signs of abuse and to promote safety and security for mothers and children during prenatal and postnatal home visits in rural areas and at wellchild clinics. Several women suggested that 'survivors' or caring people in their community could work together to set up local safe places offering short-term assistance to an abused rural woman so that she would not have to travel to a distant transition house to get help. • Work with local women and farm organizations. The women we interviewed emphasized the importance of listening to the voices of rural and farm women, including those who had experienced family violence. To be effective, programs designed to help rural and farm women must have the input of rural and farm women, rural women's organizations and agencies, and so on. Local women's groups and farm women's organizations must be involved in identifying ways to help abused women. • Set up a toll-free crisis hot line that is widely advertised. Many of the women interviewed told us they could not phone the nearest transition house or other services for advice because it would show up on their telephone bill as a long-distance call. This would create suspicion and perhaps put them in danger. A toll-free number that is easy to remember and widely known would help clear this hurdle. It would also assist rural women who are seeking information and advice but want to maintain their anonymity. Conclusion Although more focus is being given to woman abuse in rural and farm communities, research in this area remains limited. Similar to other studies (Biesenthal et al. 2000; Jiwani 1998; Logan, Walker, and Leukelfeld 2000; Martz and Sarauer 2000), our research highlights the importance of looking at the social and cultural context of abuse and understanding community values and norms. Our findings indicate that rural communities share characteristics, values, and lifestyles that

76 Deborah Doherty and Jennie Hornosty

can make it more difficult for women to report abuse, seek help, and leave abusive relationships. Geographic and social isolation, limited access to social services and resources, lack of anonymity and confidentiality, difficulties in naming abuse, the strength of patriarchal values and beliefs, the centrality of farm life for farm women, and norms around privacy in family matters are all aspects of rural and farm life that pose challenges and limit options for abused women. Because rural communities typically have small populations, service providers may be good friends or social acquaintances of the abuser. Consequently, victims of abuse tend to feel that service providers or professionals will be less likely to take complaints seriously. As well, rural values, which emphasize the importance of 'keeping the family together at all costs,' may mean there is a stigma attached to those who leave abusive relationships. There is reluctance among some to admit that wife abuse is a serious problem; furthermore, there seems to be a high degree of tolerance for abusive behaviours. Researchers for both the Ontario Rural Woman Abuse Study (Epprecht 2001) and the British Columbia study of two rural communities (Jiwani 1998) made similar observations and reached the same conclusions. It is clear from our interviews that farm women often face additional challenges because of the nature of farming and the value they place on the family farm. The pressure to maintain the family farm creates a strong sense of responsibility to help ensure its economic viability. Women in our study emphasized that their concerns about the economic ruin of the farm and worry about harm to farm animals and pets were powerful deterrents to acknowledging, disclosing, or leaving abusive relationships. These views are identical to those expressed in a report by the Canadian Farm Women's Network (1995). In their words, victims of abuse sometimes turn a blind eye to abusive situations rather than take the risk of being blamed for the failure of the family farm should they leave an abusive relationship, even temporarily. Sociocultural and geographical factors make disclosing and leaving abuse more difficult for rural women. These same characteristics make it more difficult for women to access information. Another important observation by women in our shady was that service providers, who are often trained in urban perspectives, might not fully understand and respect rural values and lifestyles. Information for abused women, whether it is about their legal rights as mothers and wives, the role of the police, or crisis services, must be available in appropriate and safe rural locations, and at appropriate times. Service providers should be

Abuse in a Rural and Farm Context 77

well trained to respond to rural women with sensitivity and with understanding of the rural and farm context in which they are experiencing the abuse. As the women we interviewed noted, strategies to help abused farm women must take into account the realities of farm life. Their failure to do so can lead to feelings of frustration and revictimization. An important aspect of our research is that we gave primacy to the voices of abused rural and farm women. We chose the 'composite story' format to present the data because we felt that it was the most appropriate means of sharing, not only the complexity of women's lives, but also the passion and immediacy of the experiences they shared with us. The stories of Karen and Sue demonstrate the strength and courage of women to name the problem of abuse in rural communities and to find solutions. This determination, hope, and energy were evident among many of the women we interviewed. Moreover, we were heartened to hear from several of the women at the end of the interviews that providing suggestions about solutions was an empowering experience. As researchers, we have gained new insight into the systemic barriers encountered by abused rural and farm women in their attempts to disclose their situations or leave the abuse. In effect, these women have challenged all of us - researchers, crisis workers, clergy, doctors, police, lawyers, policymakers, local employers, and service providers, as well as friends and neighbours - to look at their lives and options through their eyes. It is important that we learn to incorporate their insights into our programs and policies when we are attempting to find ways of responding to abuse in rural areas. As we were so often reminded, any strategies and solutions for addressing family violence in rural communities must be rooted in the rural and farm cultures of abused women. By providing a vehicle for the voices of rural survivors of abuse, our research makes an important contribution to understanding these cultures. Although our research is an important step toward increasing awareness about wife abuse in rural communities, we are also aware of its limitations. For example, all of the women we interviewed came from similar English or French cultural backgrounds, and all were in heterosexual relationships. While some of the women we interviewed were victims of child abuse, we did not focus on this area except to make note in individual cases. Elder abuse is another aspect of abuse we did not explore, nor did we specifically seek out abused rural

78 Deborah Doherty and Jennie Hornosty

immigrant women, who may be further disadvantaged by language and cultural barriers. Further research is needed in all these areas to better understand and respond to diversity, if we are to have a truly comprehensive understanding of and response to violence against women in rural communities. Nevertheless, we believe that the findings from our current research will foster an increased recognition of the unique concerns of abused women in rural and farm communities. This will encourage more effective ways of disseminating family violence information, coordi nating assistance for abused women, and strengthening prevention measures. These findings can be used in a multitude of ways: to inform advocacy strategies for changes in family violence laws and protocols, to restructure the delivery of social services in rural areas, to develop relevant public education materials and awareness campaigns, to appropriately name abusive behaviours and hold abusers accountable, and to establish appropriate and coordinated support programs. NOTES

1 Two key concepts are used repeatedly in this chapter: the terms family violence and woman abuse. Our understanding of the term family violence reflects the plethora of definitions that exist, both in academic literature and in various government abuse protocols. Generally, such definitions all have at their root the recognition of aggression and mistreatment of vulnerable individuals, usually women, children, and the elderly, by someone in a family or intimate relationship. The term woman abuse is used in a broad, encompassing fashion to include abuse that is both physical and psychological in nature (i.e., mental, emotional, and spiritual), as well as sexual and financial. Since our focus has been on the abuse of rural and farm women and their families, we have reviewed existing research that used a wide range of terms such as wife battering, spousal assault, and domestic violence. Many of these definitions have come into popular usage in the media and by service providers, often with a very incomplete understanding of their actual meanings. 2 Membership on the team has fluctuated over the years. Original members included Jennie Hornosty (team coordinator), Deborah Doherty, Pat Hayward, Kathy Long, Margaret McCallum, Floranne McLaughlin, Susan Nind, and Sandra deVink. The original data were collected between 1994 and 1997.

Abuse in a Rural and Farm Context 79 3 This research project is ongoing. In an earlier report (Family Violence on the Farm and in Rural Communities Research Team, 1997), we explored some of the barriers that victims of wife abuse face in accessing support services, including transition houses, in a rural community. In the current phase we are looking at service providers' perceptions of and suggestions for addressing wife abuse in rural and farm areas. 4 Jennie Hornosty and Deborah Doherty are indebted to the other members of the team for their contributions to the research. However, the analysis of the data in this chapter is the sole responsibility of the authors. 5 Elsewhere, the authors have analysed the data in a more traditional framework; see Hornosty and Doherty (2001a; 2001b).

REFERENCES

Biesenthal, L., L. Sproule, M. Nelder, S. Golton, D. Mann, D. Podovinnikoff, I. Roosendaal, S. Warman, and D. Lunn. 2000. Research report: The Ontario Rural Woman Abuse Study (ORWAS) final report. Ottawa: Department of Justice. Canadian Farm Women's Network. 1995. 'Family violence in rural, farm and remote Canada.' Unpublished Report, Fredericton. Chalmers, L., and P. Smith. 1988. Wife Battering: Psychological, Social and Physical Isolation and counteracting strategies. In Gender and society, ed. A.T. McLaren. Toronto: Copp Clark. DeKeseredy, W., and R. Hinch. 1991. Women abuse: Sociological perspectives. Toronto: Thompson Educational Publishing. Doherty, D., and S. DeVink. 1995. Family violence on the farm and in rural communities: 1) Historical overview and methodology, 2) A preliminary analysis of family violence on the farm and in rural communities. Paper presented to Gender Studies Week, St Thomas University, Fredericton. Epprecht, N. 2001. The Ontario Rural Woman Abuse Study (ORWAS). Paper presented to 7th International Family Violence Research Conference, University of New Hampshire, Portsmouth, NH. Family Violence on the Farm and in Rural Communities Research Team. 1997. Barriers to the use of support services by family violence victims in Northumberland County. Report submitted to the New Brunswick Department of the Solicitor General, Fredericton, NB. Gagne, P. 1992. Appalachian women: Violence and social control. Journal of Contemporary Ethnography 20: 387-415. Gunderson, D. 1998. Study finds domestic violence a serious problem in rural Minnesota, [online]. Minnesota Public Radio [cited 8 November 2001]. Avail-

80 Deborah Doherty and Jennie Hornosty able from World Wide Web: news.mpr.org/features/199809/ 24_gundersond_violence-m/index.shtml Hornosty, J. 1995. Wife abuse in rural regions: Structural problems in leaving abusive relationships (A case study in Canada). In With a rural focus, ed. F. Vanclay. Wagga Wagga, NSW. Hornosty, J., and D. Doherty. 2001a. Barriers women face in leaving abusive relationships in farm and rural communities: The importance of understanding the social and cultural context of abuse. Paper presented to 7th International Family Violence Research Conference, University of New Hamphsire, Portsmouth, NH. - 2001 b. Responding to wife abuse in farm and rural communities: Searching for solutions that work. SIPP Public Policy Paper No 10. Paper presented to Rural Canada: Moving Forward or Left Behind, Saskatchewan Institute of Public Policy, Regina, SK. Jiwani, Y. 1998. Rural women and violence: A study of two communities in British Columbia: Unedited technical report. Ottawa: Department of Justice. LaPrairie, C. 1983. Family Violence in rural, Northern communities: A proposal for research and program development. Ottawa: Solicitor General of Canada. Logan, T., R. Walker, and C. Leukelfeld. 2000. Rural, urban influenced, and urban differences among domestic violence arrestees. Journal of Interpersonal Violence 16: 266-83. Lunn, D. 2000. Rural and farm women, [online] Community Abuse Program of Rural Ontario [cited 8 November 2001]. Available from World Wide Web: www/womanabuseprevention.com/html/rural_and_farm_women.html MacLeod, Linda. 1980. Wife battering in Canada: The vicious circle. Ottawa: Minister of Supply and Services. Martz, D., and D. Sarauer. 2000. Domestic violence and the experiences of rural women in East Central Saskatchewan, [online] Muenster: Centre for Rural Studies and Enrichment [cited 5 November 2001]. Available from World Wide Web: www.hotpeachpages.org/paths/rural_dv_eastsask.html McLaughlin, K. and S. Church. 1992. Cultivating courage: The needs and concerns of rural women who are abused by their partners. Woodstock, ON: Ingamo Family Homes. Schissel, B. 1992. Rural crime, policing and related issues. In Rural sociology in Canada, ed. D. Hay and G. Basran. Toronto: Oxford University Press. - 2000. Boys against girls: The structural and interpersonal dimensions of violent patriarchal culture in the lives of young men. Violence against Women 6: 960-86. Statistics Canada. 1993. The violence against women survey. Daily Juristat (18 November).

Abuse in a Rural and Farm Context 81 Statistics Canada. 1996.1996 Census. Ottawa: Statistics Canada. - 1998. International adult literacy survey: A New Brunswick Snapshot. Ottawa:

Statistics Canada. Straus, M.A., R.J. Gelles, and S. Steinmetz. 1980. Behind closed doors: Violence in the American family. Garden City, NY: Doubleday. Van Hightower, N., J. Gorton, and C. DeMoss. 2000. Predictive models of domestic violence and fear of intimate partners among migrant and seasonal farm worker women. Journal of Family Violence 15:137-53. Websdale, N., and E. Johnson. 1997. The policing of domestic violence in rural and urban areas: The voices of battered women in Kentucky. Policing and Society 6: 297-317.

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WHAT RHODA REMEMBERS ABOUT THE FIRST FIVE MINUTES pressing the buzzer thinking how ugly the sound of a buzzer an intercom voice asking: who is there wanting to say me just me choking on my name the sound of my voice thinking how ugly the sound of my voice making it all too real doors unlocking the woman named Valerie her eyes like pillows a calico cat on a green paisley couch a desk piled high with papers then there were whispers a kind of chorus: someone new is coming someone new is coming someone new is coming do we have enough room someone new is coming hear how hard she's crying she has a little baby Valerie's voice apologetic: can you please fill out this form? Sheree Fitch

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Keeping It Confidential: A Struggle for Transition Houses Carmen Poulin, Lynne Gouliquer, Bette Brazier, Judy Hughes, Bev Brazier, Rina Arseneault, Sarah MacAulay, and Lynne Theriault

'Bewildering' often aptly describes 'confidentiality.' In the context of transition houses, confidentiality is based on a complex, multifaceted, and sometimes contradictory set of assumptions. It represents a juggling act between individual and group demands and rights in the context of a legal, political, and antiwoman social realities. In this chapter, working from the standpoint of transition house workers,1 we explore the complicated dynamics of confidentiality. In doing so, we hope to illuminate the challenges and contradictions it represents. We begin by describing the theoretical, political, and practical incentives for keeping information confidential in the context of the shelter movement in Canada. We then briefly describe the research process we followed to examine the issue of confidentiality. Then, in the main section of this chapter, we highlight areas where confidentiality is at stake and must be negotiated, through a thematic presentation of quotes from shelter workers. The discussion will shed light on the tensions that emerge from the interplay among the feminist theoretical underpinnings of the shelter movement and its professionalization, the remaining taboo surrounding the issue of violence against women, the narrow conceptualization of justice, and the need for confidentiality. Introduction According to the Oxford Dictionary (Allen 1990, 8th Edition), 'confidentiality' is the noun associated with 'confidential,' which is defined as follows: '1 spoken or written in confidence. 2 entrusted with secrets (a

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confidential secretary). 3 confiding/2 Most of us encounter the meaning of the second definition early in life: 'Keep it secret, promise you won't tell anyone!' Children are introduced to confidentiality through 'secrets' and must face the conflicting demands and loyalties inherent in keeping information confidential. Confidentiality is about privacy, autonomy, decisions, and behaviours based on a set of individual or group values. A breach in confidentiality reduces autonomy and is said to be disrespectful of persons (Sieber 1984). For a child, to be disrespectful to a sibling might be to tell a parent about her brother's misbehaviour. For a shelter worker, to be disrespectful to an abused woman might be to report evidence of child abuse. By law, however, shelter workers are bound to report such observations.3 For practical reasons, however, the present study focuses on the patriarchal aspects of violence against women. As Haggerty and Hawkins stated, 'balancing abused women's rights to privacy with legally mandated reporting requirements involves considerable thought and planning' (2000, 508). Confidentiality, then, becomes a terrain that must be negotiated, and despite political agendas, value systems, and foresight, confidentiality principles often place shelter workers in compromising positions. Theory, Research, and Practice: The Common Thread Why is confidentiality such a struggle in the work of crisis interveners? Why does it represent compromises and contested principles? To understand the practical aspects of confidentiality and to develop workable strategies to deal with this issue, we must examine two important facets of the problem. We need to understand the process of professionalization in the context of transition houses, and the concept of secrecy as it relates to woman abuse in a society organized around patriarchal principles (Lerner 1986). Resisting Professionalization

The women's movement, through its feminist analyses of woman abuse and its grass roots activism, did much in the 1970s to drive the development of the shelter movement (G. Walker 1990). With the help of a media scandal, the battering of women moved from the private domain into public discourses. In 1982 the Canadian House of Commons broke into laughter after a member of Parliament mentioned that one in ten married women was being abused (MacLeod 1987). Once

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the problem of 'battered women' had entered Canada mainstream political agenda, government funding became available for agencies that served battered women. Soon after, more funds were directed toward programs for abusers. Around the same time in the United States, a similar trend developed. Many professionals who controlled service agencies began to claim 'violence against women' as a mental health or criminal justice problem (Schechter 1990). As a consequence, while more attention was paid to this form of violence, feminist political analyses were often lost, altered, or perceived as beyond the scope of many of the service programs offered. Increasingly, feminists working in the shelter movement were pushed aside and discredited as 'not professional enough.' Even though their analyses, skills, and knowledge were building blocks for these new programs and services, professionals dealing with 'family violence' came to be seen as the experts on this topic. Walker's analysis of the Canadian women's movement focused on how government expectations in return for funding amounted to yet another means of co-opting the feminist agenda (G. Walker 1990). Once the problem of woman abuse had reached the governing apparatus, feminists found themselves devoting more time to bureaucratic processes - collecting statistics, filling out paperwork, filing reports - in order to access government funds. Regarding this undertaking, Walker argues that 'aspects of the mobilization of a movement for political change got lost. The work done with battered women has become, in many cases, the site for professional and voluntary service provision, which overrides the consciousness-raising elements of linkages with a fully mobilized women's movement and the other issues involved in the struggle against women's oppression' (1990, 213). Walker goes on to explain how working at a shelter for abused women became a sort of 'internship' or training ground for women entering social work and related fields. As a result of this, 'the experts' in speaking on behalf of abused women came to be seen as the professionals rather than those feminist activists who were committed to a larger societal project. Although this sort of evolution is not unique to the transition house movement, the contradictions it embodies deserve attention (G. Walker 1990). As Loseke describes, the very idea of a person with professional training being 'in charge' stands in opposition to the idea of a self-help context in which consciousness raising and empowerment are the primary goals, as they are in the transition house experience (Loseke 1992). There has been resistance to the pro-

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fessionalization of crisis interveners (Quinby 1995), the result of which has sometimes been a struggle between feminist activists, whose concerns are focused at the frontline level, and feminist professionals, who may identify themselves as part of what Morgan has called the 'social problem apparatus' (Morgan 1981). The increased clout of funding agencies introduced a new level of bureaucracy and the professionalization of transition houses; it also led to a certain weakening of the political impetus behind transition houses. It did not, however, create a workforce of recognized professionals, and this has posed a considerable challenge. That the workforce has not been professionalized has had many negative consequences, among them poor wages, low public and professional status, and lack of credibility. As Schechter puts it: 'Although some middle class feminists rebuff the hierarchical privileges and higher salaries attached to professionalism, working class women often want and need the skills, money, and control over their work that professional status can offer' (1990, 307). Professional status can also be used to protect a group that needs it, and foster respect among individuals working in other agencies. In New Brunswick, no specific credential, such as a degree in social work or psychology, is required to work in a transition house. Consequently, women with a wide range of experience and formal training have joined transition houses as staff or volunteers. Given this history, and the interplay of the factors discussed above, how is it that confidentiality has become a concern? It is likely that the term 'confidentiality' came to be part of the transition houses' vocabulary as a result of the professionalization movement as just described.4 In other words, the jargon from various professions was likely introduced by shelter workers and board members who were also enrolled in professional training programs or who already held professional degrees. The use of the term may have been further reinforced by an increase in interactions with outside service agencies. Another probable link between the process of professionalization and the concern for confidentiality relates to the history of shelters per se. Shelters were first developed as temporary measures, at least in principle (Gold 1991); but they have since become institutions. They have short- and long-term goals; they provide counselling services, programs for children, crisis interventions, and follow-ups. Perhaps with the recognition of the long-term need for shelters - the process of institutionalization - came recognition of the need for formal policies and procedures to deal with issues such as 'confidentiality/

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Yet 'separatism' was one of the fundamental principles of the transition house movement (Frye 1983). Its intent was to afford abused women safety, time to regroup, and space to gain a shared, politicized understanding of their experience of abuse (Quinby 1995). Loseke documents how rules, such as keeping the location of the shelter confidential, have been implemented as a means of minimizing danger for all at the shelter (Loseke 1992). Arguably, the foundational feminist principles of the transition house movement - its values and ideals, such as the right to autonomy, respect, and secrecy - do encompass what crisis interveners today associate with confidentiality. Consequently, for shelter workers, confidentiality has come to represent a means to provide abused women a physical and psychological place of safety. Background and Method Based on telephone interviews with shelter workers across New Brunswick, Garish-Dugay and Poulin identified thirteen specific challenges faced by directors and crisis interveners in their work with abused women (Garish-Dugay and Poulin 1993). The results of this study prompted the Transitions of Women in Abusive Relationships Research Team and the New Brunswick Coalition of Transition Houses to work together on a project, the overarching objective of which was to improve services for abused women in New Brunswick. In the fall of 1997 the research team, in consultation with the coalition, carried out an action research project. The action component took the form of a two-day workshop for New Brunswick's crisis interveners. It consisted of training sessions structured around two themes that crisis interveners chose to examine: confidentiality and victim blaming. During these sessions, they examined how these issues were handled on a day-to-day basis; they then generated lists of specific areas where they needed either more training (e.g., with respect to recent changes in legal practices), or to develop or coordinate strategies with other service providers, or to modify practices to improve services to abused women. The effectiveness of the workshop (i.e., the research component) was evaluated by pre- and post-workshop focus groups, who considered whether interveners had changed how they conceptualized and talked about these issues.5 Focus groups are a 'collectivistic rather than an individualistic research method that focuses on the multivocality of participants' attitudes, experiences and beliefs' (Madriz 2000, 836). Eight focus groups

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of eight to ten participants per group met for one hour before the workshop sessions and again afterwards. To reflect New Brunswick's bilingual population, five groups were conducted in English and three in French. To the extent possible, each group was composed of participants from different houses. Roughly one-third of the participants came from each of these locations: urban centres, towns, and smaller communities. The focus groups were organized around six questions, three of which focused on confidentiality issues: 1. If we were to talk about 'confidentiality/ what are some of the issues you have had to deal with during your transition house experience? 2. Think of the last time you did an intake on a woman who was coming to the shelter for the first time. What did you say to this woman regarding confidentiality or how did you discuss the issue of confidentiality with her? 3. Think about your last month at work; can you think of a time when confidentiality was an issue? Each focus group discussion was recorded and later transcribed. Subsequently, members of the research team analysed these data. The analysis began with the development of codes for a thematic analysis. The validity of the codes is demonstrable given that the research team is multidisciplinary and includes past and present transition house workers (see Gouliquer et al. 1999). The development of the codes followed a three-stage process. In the first stage, all members of the team worked through the transcript of one focus group together and generated a preliminary list of codes. Members then worked independently, further developing the list of codes. Finally, team members contrasted and combined their respective lists of codes to produce a main code set, which was adopted and applied to all focus groups. Given that all team members participated in generating and applying the codes to the data, reliability of the data analysis was a concern. Specific aspects of the intra- and inter-rater reliability of the data analysis were examined. Intrarater reliability is a measure of how consistently team members applied each code to the data. To obtain an estimate of intrarater reliability, we devised a procedure to answer this question: 'How consistently were codes applied to the data by each individual coder.' The overall intrarater reliability estimate yielded an intrarater reliability of 86.2 per cent, std = 10.2 (range = 66.9-95.2) (Brazier et al. 2000). Interrater reliability, which is the consistent application of codes across coders, was also examined. Here, the question asked was, To what extent did coders agree on the application of each code in the main code set.' The in terra ter reliability was estimated at 87.9 per cent, with a std of 15.7 (range = 33.3-100) (Brazier et al. 2000).

A Struggle for Transition Houses 91 Findings: Areas of Negotiation The way confidentiality is embedded in the work of crisis interveners emerged from the thematic analysis of the focus groups. More specifically, we were able to identify locales of conflict and struggle wherein confidentiality became a negotiated reality that went beyond the understanding and application of confidentiality and its principles. Seemingly simple guidelines or rules became complicated by the 'everyday life' of the shelter. The following section provides an overview of key themes as manifestations of this negotiation. Keeping the Address of Shelters Confidential There are many reasons why it is desirable for shelters to keep their locations as confidential as possible. Many abusers try to exert complete control over their victim, and a woman who decides to leave and spend time at a transition house is defying his need to control her behaviour. Often, an abuser will go to great lengths to learn the whereabouts of his partner. An abuser may cause trouble if he locates the shelter (NiCarthy, Merriam, and Coffman 1984). In addition, given the stigma surrounding victims of domestic violence, some women may not want to be seen going to and from a house known to be a shelter for abused women. Several factors compromise the ability of interveners to keep the shelter's address confidential. For instance, the reality of small or rural communities makes the confidentiality of this information almost impossible to maintain (NiCarthy, Merriam, and Coffman 1984): C'est un peu comme quand elles appellent le taxi ou quelque chose comme