Shelters--A Safe "Base"

Shelters

A guest never forgets the host who had treated him kindly.

Homer

When we were children, we all played tag, and in most cases there was a designated place to catch our breaths known and respected by all as "Base." For thirty seconds you could hang onto a specific tree limb or place your foot on a particular rock, and the "It" person couldn’t tag you. Not that he wasn’t waiting ten feet away for you to come back off the safety zone so he could tag you and change the dynamics of the game in his favor. It was great fun, but it was also part of our socialization, a safe way to exercise, laugh, and in some way learn that even the hunted have methods of getting away and finding safety. Whether you’re trying to escape an oppressive regime by fleeing to another country, get to a building as lightening explodes all around you, or find a safe place where a man who just threatened to kill you can’t get in, the concept of shelter is universal.
Caring people have staffed every shelter I’ve ever dealt with, predominantly but not exclusively women, who go to work every day with the intention of helping people find Base and stay on as long as resources allow. Some shelter workers don’t trust cops, some love us; some hate all men, but some know that their clients have come away from relationships with the worst exceptions and not the norms for my gender. All of them have the advantage that they don’t have to be primarily concerned with things like due process of law and listening to the other side of a story. Their sole purpose is to provide safe haven for a person who has been beaten in his or her home, and the children who have been physically and/or emotionally abused themselves in that same household.
The responsibility extends beyond just immediate safety needs, however. Most shelters also provide counseling so that a battered woman can begin the process of healing from all the psychological trauma she has endured, and perhaps learn within herself why she felt the need to stay with such a vile human being for so long.
Shelters generally try to provide some level of financial support or job hunting assistance so that a victim isn’t forced to make critical decisions based solely on whether she will be able to feed and house her children. Many provide transportation, giving rides to court dates and doctor’s appointments, shuttling kids to schools, and going to apply for jobs. Some shelters even offer refurbished used cars donated by members of their community so that former victims can take even more control over their own destinies. Remember that batterers often control things most of us take for granted such as transportation, communication, and finances, so the ability of an escaped victim to earn her own paycheck, drive around town to do her own errands, and speak to friends and family as she wishes is huge. This is freedom, and shelters are in the business of helping people earn those freedoms back.
Shelter staff members often assist clients with legal paperwork so that critical processes such as protection or restraining orders, divorce petitions, or immigration documentation can get rolling. Many shelters now even provide access to free legal advice from local attorneys who have graciously volunteered a certain number of hours out of their own schedules in order to contribute to the cause. Legal matters are scary, and having someone around to explain and help wade through the process can be extremely empowering.
Regardless of the services provided, staff members in shelters are vigilant and protective, if nothing else. I hold an image of them as sentries on castle walls, calling down to demand the business and identity of travelers approaching the gate, more than willing to rain down hell on any barbarian impudent enough to try to breach their little fortress or endanger their charges.
I was once dispatched to a shelter after one of the social workers called to report the presence of a suspicious duffle bag on the driveway. The shelter had received a call from the husband of a woman who had been admitted into the facility a few hours earlier. She was a mass of bruises and bite marks, and her children reported watching as their father raped their mother and beat her around the house. They were already traumatized by the time this man figured out where they were and began what could only be described as siege warfare. He was ready and willing to wait outside her "Base" for as long as it took, and to use any tool at his disposal to make her come out early.
He’d been in the military, and one of his first tactics was to call the shelter and say he would be leaving them a "little surprise" on their driveway if his wife and children didn’t come out immediately. The shelter worker wouldn’t even acknowledge that his wife and children were in there, much less make a commitment that they would walk outside into his treacherous hands.
So he left his surprise, a red duffle bag that he made a show of holding up for all to see before gently placing it on the driveway within ten feet of the building itself and then driving away in a flurry of squealing tires, honking horns and profane threats.
The shelter staff dialed 911 and told our Dispatch personnel that the man had left the bag, that he had been a munitions expert in the military, and that he had a history of extreme violence. There was no other reasonable judgment to make than the man might have left a homemade bomb by the shelter, and I wondered if he was really cruel and desperate enough to blow up his own children.
Now, I don’t know one dang thing about bombs except that I don’t want to be around when one of them blows up. The only bomb squad in our area was about fifteen miles north of the shelter that day, and they had already gotten word that we needed them to respond immediately. In the back of my mind I sort of hoped they would be able to travel their fifteen miles and get there before I arrived, despite the fact that I was maybe half a mile away at the time. I knew that wasn’t going to happen, though, and so as I drove to the scene I began planning the evacuation of the shelter and a nearby apartment building, blocking off roadways, getting the fire department to respond, calling the Department of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms and FBI to help with the investigation, and decidedly not getting blown up in the process.
Right about the time I turned the corner to view the shelter building, however, I saw Cpl. Phil Crosby reaching down and picking up a red duffel bag from the driveway. Phil is a large, tall man, simultaneously goofy and cool, as patient as any cop I’ve ever known, and either intensely brave or remarkably stupid.
I guess it was just brave, because the bag didn’t blow up, and he looked up smiling and holding the thing out to show me like it was a big fish he’d just caught. "It’s just rocks," he called out to me, and I went from an adrenaline pumping machine to one relieved, slightly shaking, giddy cop.
Phil had been an engineer in the military before his law enforcement career, and he’d kept up his skills by doing a National Guard assignment. He’d been in combat in Iraq, and at the time of this incident he was slated to go back. He was, to say the least, not impressed with the duffel bag. He’d seen the real thing over in the desert, and somehow he just knew it was a bag of rocks. He never told me how he knew, and it was obvious he took great pleasure in my simultaneous pride and discomfort in his save-the-day move. I honestly admire the hell out of Phil and while I stood there deciding whether to punch or hug him, all I could do was shake my head in wonder at his courage, or bone-headednesswhichever way you prefer to look at it.
What was the shelter staff doing at the time? They were doing their job, and doing it quite well. Obviously no one could leave because the maniac might have been hiding outside waiting to snatch his wife or children the moment they fell for his decoy duffle bag, or he could very well have been out in a nearby tree line with a rifle waiting to get revenge on the woman who had "ruined his life."
Staff members got everyone to the side of the building opposite the duffel bag, and then moved tables and heavy objects to create even more of a barrier between their clients and the primary source of danger. Some read to children, others soothed the women with fraying nerves, and every one of them stayed calm and supportive during those tense moments. I’m sure the staff members were as frightened as any of the clients, but they maintained a cool demeanor and kept everyone safe. I wouldn’t have expected any less, but that doesn’t diminish the heroism and calm they demonstrated that day, and I suspect those women, children, and I will never forget it.
Because of the secure nature of shelters, most don’t allow people to simply drop in without a screening process. Access to a shelter generally comes after a battered person or a person who is in danger of being attacked makes a phone call to the shelter and talks to a staff member. The call might also come from a police officer looking for sanctuary for a victim, or from a hospital trying to find a safe place for a patient they are expecting to release soon.
Regardless, the shelter employee will ask several questions to ascertain the severity and sincerity of the situation. It is not unheard of that a stalker will send a sister or adult daughter into a shelter pretending to be a battered woman in order to get close to the fleeing wife or girlfriend or confirm that she is actually there. This, of course, is rare, but it is a concern for shelter staff members. The privacy and safety of their clients is of paramount importance, and they guard against treachery every minute of the day.
Shelter staff members won’t even confirm to me that a woman is one of their clients unless the woman takes the initiative in contacting me. I often call a shelter and ask them to pass along my contact information to a victim I’ve heard is there. I know the shelter will not confirm that she is, in fact, their client, but I am confident at that point that the woman will get the information she needs to contact a specific person at the police department who is interested in her case. In most instances that is all that is necessary for a frightened victim to come forward and start availing herself of police services. We may never hear from her, but at least we’ve reached out through shelter staff.
Once the shelter employees are confident that they are dealing with a victim (or potential victim) of domestic violence, they will offer shelter and services if bed space is available. Bed space is a big issue because it is a rare time when there is enough space to meet the needs of any particular region. Victims are turned away at times, and there is nothing more frustrating or frightening to have to tell a woman with children that there is simply no safe haven for her there. Sometimes clients are sent to motels or to other shelters. Sometimes they are given bus fare so they can at least get out of the area. Regardless, it is a less than optimal choice that is often thrust upon shelter staff members.
In many cases, however, the victim is welcomed in and provided a host of services. One of the primary goals of any shelter is to create an environment in which the clients can choose their next step in life based on information they can learn about how unhealthy a violent lifestyle is to them and to their children. They are given information about how to secure long-term housing, financial assistance, protections afforded them through the criminal justice system, and other options and services that could help them change their lives dramatically.
I’m told that staff members rarely get down to serious talks of counseling, life planning, and tackling tasks such as job hunting and legal issues for two or three days after most women arrive. This is simply because most women sleep and walk around in a haze for that time period. Some haven’t felt safe enough to sleep well in years; others must simply get through the raw emotions and realities associated with the fact that their lives may have just changed forever in a dramatic, bridge-burning manner. It’s a lot to take in, and it takes time. Professional shelters make allowances for that.
Some victims do change their lives. Some go back to the man who drove them into shelter in the first place. Regardless, for that brief period in their lives they were safe and given time to breathe. A shelter staffed by conscientious people who have dedicated themselves to protecting and empowering those who have suffered from abuse in their own homes was their "base" for a time, and sometimes that is all a person needs to get back into the game of life.