Native communities are disproportionately affected by high rates of domestic violence, while state-led interventions in these communities are often costly and ineffective.
In rural California, the state鈥檚 Department of Health and Human Services says the solutions require a cultural shift, that entire communities must take responsibility for ending violence against women.
Now, new programs on the ancestral lands of the Yurok Tribe are trying to do that.
Lori Nesbitt trudges up a hill overlooking the ocean, her back to the mouth of the Klamath River below. She works with people experiencing domestic violence and it鈥檚 been a long day.
鈥淭oday didn鈥檛 go as planned,鈥� she says. 鈥淭he women didn鈥檛 show up.鈥� 聽聽
These women were supposed to show up for Nesbitt鈥檚 domestic violence intervention program. The idea is for perpetrators to listen to each other and learn what triggers abusive behavior. But when nobody shows up to the group, Nesbitt says, it鈥檚 contagious.
Contagious because the program is peer-driven. There鈥檚 a women鈥檚 group run by Nesbitt and a men鈥檚 group run by a male Yurok tribal probation officer. Most people in the groups were ordered to attend by a judge, in the hopes that they鈥檒l buy in to treatment, rather than merely accepting punishment.
But Yurok Chief Justice Abby Abinanti says that鈥檚 a big shift in perspective.
鈥淚 stopped asking defendants, 鈥榃hy did you do that?鈥欌�� she says. 鈥淢any people don't understand why they get in to a behavior that they themselves do not like.鈥�
Abinanti is head of the reservation鈥檚 court system, which runs the intervention program. She says one way to understand the high rate of domestic violence among her people is to look at history.
鈥淵ou have intergenerational trauma, where you have a history that is not pleasant between us and other cultures,鈥� she explains. 鈥淲here you have massacres, where you had people carried off to boarding schools and where you have a tremendous amount of poverty. All those things are breeding grounds for behaviors that are not acceptable in community.鈥� 聽
Community is a word Abinanti uses a lot. She says the whole approach of her court is based on restoring relationships.
鈥淎nd that鈥檚 hugely different than creating consequences for behavior in the hopes that somehow that deters the behavior.鈥�
So, if punishment doesn鈥檛 work, what will?
鈥淵ou create access to programming that does not make them have to be found guilty first,鈥� Abinanti says. 鈥淚t makes them have to say, 鈥楬ey, I don鈥檛 want to do this. I want my children to see me differently. I want my grandchildren to see me differently.鈥欌��
The intervention program is one way the Yurok Tribe is trying to cultivate that mindset throughout a community grown accustomed to domestic violence.
But if people don鈥檛 buy in to the program, it doesn鈥檛 work. And Vicky Bates says, there鈥檚 already too much to worry about.
鈥淧eople just can鈥檛 survive,鈥� Bates says. 鈥淎nd to get their medical needs taken care of and to eat, they鈥檙e stuck. If they don鈥檛 have a ride or a friend with a ride, then they鈥檙e stuck.鈥�
Bates gives a lot of rides. She鈥檚 a domestic violence crisis worker through the Tribe鈥檚 justice center.
鈥淭hey鈥檙e a hard people to help鈥� she says, 鈥淏ecause they don鈥檛 have vehicles, they don鈥檛 have phone services. How can you help them? 聽So, we get them a bag of emergency supplies together, and hopefully they have that if they have to run down the road.鈥�
Bates says she spends a lot of time in the car taking clients to medical or court appointments, or to the nearest grocery store, a 45-mile round trip from the reservation. Then, at the end of each day, she鈥檚 got more people to take care of.
鈥淪o, when I leave at five o鈥檆lock, or six o鈥檆lock, or whatever hour I leave, sometimes it鈥檚 later than that, sometimes it鈥檚 been up to nine or ten o鈥檆lock. I have to make sure I shrug my shoulders off and go home to my family.鈥� 聽聽
Bates is a mother, grandmother and a single parent.
At her house on the reservation, kids bounce around as she talks about the ways domestic violence has affected her.
She says she wants the kids to hear about her life, which hasn鈥檛 been easy. She was married to an abusive spouse by 16. Now, she鈥檚 in her 50s and wants to teach her kids an openness that her parents never had.
鈥淚 don鈥檛 know, it was just too busy, too many kids,鈥� she recalls. 鈥淭here was always something going on: family trauma, deaths, kids falling apart, and we were just kind of breezing through all of that and not dealing with hey, let鈥檚 plan for tomorrow. It was more like, uh, let鈥檚 try and save today, let鈥檚 try and help whoever鈥檚 broken today and move on."
Bates鈥� voice quavers and she starts to blink back tears.
鈥淚 don鈥檛 know why that made me emotional, probably because she walked in.鈥�
One of Vicki鈥檚 granddaughters strides into the room.
鈥淚鈥檓 Keepuen and it means 鈥渨inter鈥� in Yurok鈥�.
Keepuen鈥檚 10. She say she wants to be a singer when she鈥檚 older.
鈥淚鈥檝e been working on my voice,鈥� she proudly says.
When offered a microphone, she goes for it.
鈥淚 want to shout!鈥� Keepuen sings. 鈥淚 want to scream 鈥榯il the words dry out. So put it in all of the papers, I鈥檓 not afraid, they can read all about it, read all about it鈥� ohhhohhhohhhhohhhh ohhhh.鈥�
Her voice carries through the house, another home where domestic violence has left behind scars, but not silence.
Del Norte Triplicate writer David Greider contributed to this report, which was supported by a California Health Journalism Fellowship from the USC Annenberg School of Journalism.