A moral community pays attention to violence

The Northland Family Help Center is celebrating 30 years of service to Flagstaff, Ariz., and surrounding communities. Its mission?

The center "provides a safe haven, advocacy, and education for people living in unhealthy and violent relationships. We envision a community where all people live in safety, where all forms of violence have been eradicated, and where healthy families and individuals serve as the foundation of a vibrant and productive community."

You got it. This is where women go when husbands, boyfriends or strangers lay their hands upon them in physical or sexual violence. This is where children go who are likewise assaulted by fathers, mothers, stepparents, etc.

On Sept. 20, Northland Family Help Center scheduled the Pearls of Hope concert, fundraiser and community awareness day in downtown Flagstaff. They invited politicians, the founding director and leaders from other nonprofit social service agencies to speak.

And they asked me to be the master of ceremonies.

Easy money -- not that Northland paid me a fee. I'm saying I love Flagstaff. Went to undergraduate school there. Ponderosa pines. Blue skies. The San Francisco Peaks. My little sister, her husband and my nephews live there. My mom, too. I fancy living there someday. Besides, the event headliner was Michelle Shocked, one of an ever-shrinking group of singer/songwriters who simply won't sell out.

But where was I? Yes -- master of ceremony. No brainer. Good cause. Good times. Good friends and dear family. I said yes.

I approached the stage. T-shirts. T-shirts everywhere. They go on forever, lining the fence on the perimeter of the downtown park. Each shirt has an owner. Each owner expresses him/herself on each shirt. Words. Drawings. Lines, colors, movement.

Me and Mom got away before Dad could hurt her anymore.

I said no. Then I said no again. The third time wasn't the charm.

I was riveted. Just wasn't emotionally prepared. Me -- whose very bread and butter includes this stuff every day.

It was called The Clothesline Project. One color T-shirt for domestic violence. Another color for sexual abuse. Another color remembered a loved one murdered in domestic violence. Still another color for rape. Sheesh, there was a separate T-shirt color for gang rape. Good god.

I went for a walk. I came home a changed person. I was gang raped.

Two babies gone. Miscarriages caused by an abusive husband.

On and on it went. I lost count of the shirts. But that's the point, right? We don't see these people. We walk by them every day at the mall, the grocery. We work in the cubicle next to them. They sit in our second-grade classrooms. We sometimes date, fall in love with, and marry them before we learn that our mate, too, has earned the ignominious honor to design and display such a T-shirt.

When, on a Monday morning, you say to your co-worker, "How was your weekend, Bonnie?" it's unusual for Bonnie to respond: "Hey, great -- husband only smacked me around the one time when I dropped the casserole. All in all, it was bearable."

You said you loved me. But no means no. Please don't love me anymore.

Why would you bruise your own apples?

I could talk myself blue in the mouth offering clinical explanations for why some men and women humiliate, assault and in some cases torture children. Why some men humiliate, assault and in some cases torture women. Why those same women imprison themselves and/or their children with silence and passive complicity for, in some cases, months and years. But, right here, right now, typing this, none of that feels important.

What feels important is saying a few things out loud. Violence stinks. Bullies are cowards and should be brought to account. A moral community decides to pay attention to violence and bullies and the victims thereof. A moral community never does nothing.

I'm driving down Valley View Boulevard. I see the couple up ahead. Can't miss them, really. He just shoved her into the street. The truck swerves to miss her. When she regains the sidewalk, he grabs her hair and yanks her head back. He shoves her against the retaining wall.

I call the police. I sign the witness form. If they call me, I'll testify.

Assuming, of course, she presses charges.

Steven Kalas is a behavioral health consultant and counselor at Clear View Counseling Wellness Center in Las Vegas and the author of "Human Matters: Wise and Witty Counsel on Relationships, Parenting, Grief and Doing the Right Thing" (Stephens Press). His column appears on Sundays. Contact him at skalas@review journal.com.