Domestic Abuse, Written by an Immigrant

When I volunteered to write about Domestic Abuse this month, I didn’t know what I was signing up for.  I’ve had numerous internal debates on what I’d share and how I’d open this up.  I was thinking, maybe I can start with the stats such as 1 in 4 women and 1 in 7 men have been victims of severe physical violence (e.g. beating, burning, strangling) by an intimate partner in their lifetime (1).  Surprising?  Maybe to some. But these are just numbers. What we are need are real stories.  Stories of how someone you would never have suspected, could have been a victim for years. Stories of the lasting impact abuse can have. Stories of how this is so much worse for minority and immigrant communities because we live in a broken system.  So, at the risk of oversharing, this is my story.

  

I am an immigrant.  I was born in Assam, India.  I was the first in my generation and I was surrounded by love.  My father is a brilliant man. He was ranked first in his engineering college and got the only scholarship in the state of Assam to get his PhD at The Ohio State University. He left when I was 1 and I followed him here 3 years later.  It was strange meeting my father for the first time, everything changed after that. We went from living a loving, supportive lifestyle to having nothing. We were just surviving.  Both of my parents worked odd jobs to keep us afloat and we needed government assistance.  Stress was high.  Not only was there financial strain, but we were in a new country with no family.  In addition, my father's advisor took advantage of his immigration status and kept promising him his PhD for 12 years, taking credit for all of my fathers work. In addition to my father's abusive upbringing, this exploitation destabilized him.  

  

The story is similar for many Indian (and other) Immigrants.  The competition in India is high.  Families do what they can to get ahead, sometimes at the expense of their children’s well-being. My father was beaten daily by his family. He credits his success to the abuse and therefore he believed it was necessary for my success like many immigrant parents do. The US is reported to have a prevalence of 22% in domestic violence but immigrant women are as high as 50%(2). The worst thing is many don’t have the ability to leave because of immigration laws, language barriers, social isolation, and lack of financial resources (3). 

  

It was all of the above for us and so he came at me, often with fists, hangers, belts, once even a hammer.  There was both physical and psychological terror in our household daily and I took it upon myself to protect my family by being the rebel, I fought back and purposely defied him to keep his focus on me.  It took a lot of therapy, art and mentors to put myself together after I finally got out of that situation.  Healing, I have discovered, doesn’t mean that the scars disappear.  

  

Why am I sharing this?  I have made it my life’s mission to fight for those who were less fortunate like me and my family, including my father who was also a victim.  The first step is increasing awareness.  We cannot hide in shame and statistics.  We have to be loud and talk about very personal stories. We need to make sure that immigrants don’t get exploited and then pass along the stress to their family.  We need to make sure there are mental health resources for everyone who needs it.  We need to make sure that women, especially immigrant women (+nonbinary, trans and men), have the resources they need to get help.  

   

If you asked me what saved me, I would say my mother’s love and her mentorship in art.  Art isn’t a luxury for me.  It is a practice that I need to see the beauty in my scars and know that I am putting my story out there to help others though similar circumstances.  

  

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