In 1989, I saw a television movie about Tracey Thurman, a domestic violence victim whose husband stabbed her 20 times and kicked her in the head while the police stood by and watched him do it. That same year, I read an article about 4-year-old Joshua Deshaney, who suffered irreparable brain damage due to beatings at the hands of his father, occurring after social services workers declined to do anything more than dutifully record incidents of apparent abuse in their files. These two cases convinced me of what I already knew: the public turns a blind eye to private family violence.
When the Violence Against Women Act (VAWA) was passed in 1994, it was a watershed moment. It was the first comprehensive federal legislation designed to end violence against women. It focused on prevention, offered funding for victim services, created a federal criminal law against abuse, and a requirement that orders of protection be granted full faith and credit in all states. Society had been looking away from domestic violence, and VAWA was an attempt to change the culture.
I was fortunate to be able to get a job where I oversaw operations and services at a domestic violence shelter not long after the passage of VAWA. Over and over again, even though VAWA was the law of the land, my clients’ stories proved to me that the law and the systems that enforce it treat some harms, including domestic violence and sexual assault, like they don’t matter very much. And that because of systemic racism, ableism, and classism, some victims of abuse are treated as if they matter even less. I also learned that some perpetrators, by dint of their privilege, are largely able to flout the law with impunity. But at least, by helping survivors access shelter, affordable housing, and public assistance, I felt that I was able to remove some barriers to helping my clients achieve safety and stability, even if the legal system failed them. Part of the reason why I became a lawyer is because I wanted to do more.
Studies have shown that lack of safe and affordable housing is often reported by survivors as one the most significant barriers to leaving an abusive partner. Domestic violence is one of the primary causes of homelessness for women and children. That is why, in the 2005 reauthorization of VAWA, a housing title was added to protect domestic violence victims from being denied admission to or evicted from federally subsidized housing based on their abusers’ acts. The 2013 reauthorization expanded protections to more housing programs, enhanced survivors’ ability to keep themselves safe through emergency transfers, and expanded covered crimes to include sexual assault, dating violence, and stalking.
In my work as an attorney in Vermont for over a decade before I came to Empire Justice Center, I represented survivors seeking to exercise their VAWA housing rights, helped to develop Vermont’s Continuum of Care and Emergency Solutions Grant VAWA compliance policies and notices, and offered trainings on VAWA to housing managers, advocates, and attorneys. Something I appreciate about the VAWA housing protections is that a survivor can self-certify eligibility – she gets to have agency and her certification is beyond reproach (absent contradictor evidence). Compliance from housing providers does, however, require some work at times, and I felt that additional training and oversight was warranted. Through my work in Vermont, I joined a national team drafting language for the next iteration of VAWA Reauthorization. After five years of work, on March 15, 2022, the Reauthorization of VAWA was passed into law as part of the Consolidated Appropriations Act of 2022. The housing title now covers additional programs, and includes additional language regarding training and compliance.
VAWA’s housing protections are strong, but our clients often need an advocate to help them exercise their rights. As attorneys and advocates, we can help our clients empower themselves by accessing safe affordable housing through exercise of their rights under the Violence Against Women Act.