Abstract
Fathers who are arrested after an intimate partner violence (IPV) incident must navigate multiple systems, including child welfare, criminal justice and family court, that regulate their interactions with their family members post-arrest. Contact between fathers and their children is highly regulated in the name of safety, often creating lengthy separations and putting strain on already frayed parent-child relationships. While concerns for the safety of victims and survivors of IPV are warranted, there is increased acknowledgement of the important role that fathers, including those with a history of IPV, play in their children’s lives. This exploratory study used grounded theory methodology to interrogate how fathers seeking treatment at an abusive partners’ program maintained a relationship with their child(ren) and their identities as fathers. Fourteen fathers with experience in the phenomenon of interest completed in-depth qualitative interviews, focus groups, and demographic questionnaires. These data were analyzed along with observational memos to develop a four-stage theory of excision which captured the four stages of routine and effective separation of fathers from their children’s lives observed: (a) extraction; (b) re-assignment of identity; (c) exclusion; and (d) what remains. The presence of a single negative case in this study allowed for a discussion of this excision appearing to operate differently along racial lines. The urgent need to redress the institutional racism within these systems that has resulted in extraordinary burden and injustice to families of color is detailed. Implications for policies and practice with families living with IPV are discussed.
Introduction
Violence of any kind within families can have harmful effects on those directly affected and those who bear witness. Family life within the context of violence, a concept anathema to many, is a lived experience for a sizeable segment of the world’s population (Black et al., 2011; Devries et al., 2013). Yet, research dedicated to those identified as abusive partners, who wish to be active and involved parents, is sparse. The need for support and interventions that eliminate intimate partner violence (IPV) within relationships and ameliorate its effects on all involved is indisputable. Counter to this need, the larger societal response to IPV has been increasingly legislative, incorporating systems such as child welfare (CW), criminal justice (CJ) and family court (FC), in efforts to regulate a problem historically dealt with within families (Doyle & Aizer, 2018). The resulting practice of parental exclusion and family separation, one which is emotionally and financially costly to families and society alike (Messing et al., 2015), then requires that these systems be satisfied before families can attempt to move forward. With litigation and separation serving as primary responses to IPV, families continue to struggle with the deleterious consequences of violence, but as Doyle and Aizer (2018) detailed, they carry the added burden of potential negative impact on child wellbeing of the systems that are activated subsequent to a parent’s IPV arrest.
Families who live with violence, many for generations, need supports that can interrupt that violence and facilitate sustainable changes in the ways in which they interact with each other (Jung et al., 2019). Plainly stated, the children who are sympathetically viewed as victims today, may grow to victimize others as adults or be revictimized themselves, continuing patterns of intrafamilial suffering if left uninterrupted (Franklin & Kercher, 2012; Zazoni et al., 2013).
Intimate Partner Violence (IPV)
IPV, the physical or sexual violence, stalking or psychological harm by a current or former partner (Centers for Disease Control and Prevention [CDC], 2019), is a global public health problem deserving of attention and remediation (Black et al., 2011; Devries et al., 2013). IPV can have devastating physical, psychological, and emotional effects on victims and survivors as well as witnesses (Black et al., 2011; Campbell, 2002; Graham-Bermann & Perkins, 2010; Graham-Bermann et al., 2012; Izaguirre & Calvete, 2015). Violence of this nature can occur in relationships irrespective of age, gender identity, sexual orientation, nationality, race/ethnicity, and socioeconomic status (Capaldi et al., 2012). Research has shown that racial minority group status is correlated with higher rates of IPV, with African and Native American women in the United States of America (USA) experiencing the highest rates of lethality (Petrosky et al., 2017; West, 2004). However, Chesney-Lind (2002) and Breiding et al. (2017) caution against a racial causation explanation of IPV, instead, identifying higher correlations with stressors associated with lower socioeconomic status as possible contributors to this relationship. Other stressors, including substance use (Smith et al., 2012), are strongly correlated with IPV.
Gender and IPV.
Women are victimized more frequently in IPV incidents (Black et al., 2011; Tjaden & Thoennes, 2000) and experience higher rates of lethal violence (Miller & McCaw, 2019). Men are more likely to be categorized as IPV aggressors (Babcock et al., 2016). IPV is often bidirectional in relationships, with 1 in 5 women, and, 1 in 7 men reporting serious physical violence by their partner (Capaldi et al., 2012; Langhinrichsen-Rohling et al., 2012). Though IPV is bidirectional, global statistics support a gendered reality, with approximately 30% of all women over age 15 reporting one or more incidents of violence in their lifetime (Devries et al., 2013). Results from the 2010 National Intimate Partner and Sexual Violence Survey of 16,507 participants (9, 086 women and 7, 421 men) documented that both male and female victims reported first victimization before the age of 25, primarily by men, either intimate partners or someone known to the victim (Black et al., 2011).
Fathering in the context of IPV.
IPV is a fairly common occurrence in relationships, many of which include children who are also exposed to its deleterious effects (Graham-Bermann et al., 2012). Fathers with a history of IPV have been found to have more negative parenting attitudes, including age inappropriate expectations of their children, as identified by Burnette et al. (2017) in their study of 111 fathers who were enrolled in a 26-week batterers’ intervention program. When survivors choose to end relationships that involve IPV, the potential for continued control and coercion (sometimes using children as intermediaries) is a significant concern (Ahlfs-Dunn & Huth-Bocks, 2016). Humphreys et al. (2019) cautioned that CW services are unprepared to manage the high potential for re-abuse inherent in some cases of post-separation contact between fathers and their children. Holt (2015) echoed Humphreys et al.’s concerns, citing powerful narratives from children who recognized their fathers’ old abusive behaviors emerging in new ways after separation. Cater and Forsell (2014) also used the qualitative accounts of children to illustrate the ways in which exposure to abuse can frame children’s thinking. The children they interviewed viewed their mothers as being solely responsible for their care and saw the mere absence of violence from their fathers as sufficient parenting. The potential for neglect identified by Carter and Forsell, where the cessation of violence alone is viewed as sufficient parenting, underscores the need for additional research that can interrupt the pernicious effects of violence within families.
In spite of ample evidence of the need for caution, there is increased recognition of the importance of engaging fathers in their children’s lives (Maxwell et al., 2012; Stover, 2015; Zanoni et al., 2013, 2014). In a study of 210 men who accessed treatment after an IPV incident, Poole and Murphy (2019) found that fathers were more likely to complete court-mandated treatment, and had higher self-reported rates of behavioral and cognitive change following treatment than their counterparts who were not fathers. According to Stover (2015), fathers, including those with a history of IPV, play an essential role in the healthy development of their children. Hunter and Graham-Bermann (2013) found a buffering effect of father involvement on child externalizing (but not internalizing) behaviors after an IPV incident. Still, care must be taken when families do not wish to cease all contact with fathers with a history of IPV (Reisenhofer & Taft, 2013). As research done by Adhia and Jeong (2019) showed, a more nuanced approach to working with these families is indicated, where the quality of the relationship between fathers and children is assessed separately from their histories of IPV with their former partners. Zanoni et al. (2013) argue that, with childhood abuse profiles that mirror CW-involved mothers, these fathers need appropriate support to address their trauma in order to improve their parenting. Interventions that increase fathers’ ability to practice reflective functioning with their children may enhance the likelihood that continued contact will be more beneficial than harmful (Stover, 2015). These alternative approaches to working with fathers offer families opportunities for repair after the trauma of IPV.
IPV: The Familial Becomes Legal
Historically considered a familial matter, attitudes towards handling IPV started to change in the 1980s when lawsuits were filed against police departments by victims and survivors claiming harm as a result of police inaction when they responded to domestic violence (DV) disputes (Chesney-Lind, 2002). These lawsuits helped to usher in a number of mandatory and pro-arrest laws across North America (Durfee & Fetzer, 2014; Fraehlich & Ursel, 2014), intended to mitigate the influence of police officer use of discretion in arrest. They have been met with mixed reactions as their deterring effect on recidivism has been shown to be moderate to minimal (Chesney-Lind, 2002; Petersson & Strand, 2020), while arrest rates for women who are arguably more often victims and survivors have increased (Chesney-Lind, 2002; Dichter, 2013; Fraehlich & Ursel, 2014). The increase in dual arrests that resulted from these laws have spurred intense debates among advocates regarding the blaming effect on survivors (Dichter, 2013), and raise additional concerns in relationships where children are placed in CW when both parents are arrested. A call to the police for IPV can result in significant family disruption, with a number of systems including CW, as well as family and criminal courts becoming involved in a family’s life for an extended period of time (Dichter, 2013).
IPV was codified as a matter of public concern with the passing of the Violence Against Women Act (VAWA) in 1994, which increased funding for law enforcement interventions, DV shelters and related programs (Babcock et al., 2016). Since the passing of VAWA, the severity of IPV incidents no longer seems to inform how the identified abusive partner is treated once they are arrested (Babcock et al., 2016). That is, VAWA seems to have had a flattening effect where all IPV incidents receive similar treatment from the CJ system. This, in spite of evidence that there are some traits such as a lack of empathy and antisocial characteristics that are associated with more severe IPV incidents and recidivism (Petersson & Strand, 2020; Romero-Martinez et al., 2016). Chesney-Lind (2002) identified an emerging patters of racism once mandatory and pro-arrest laws were passed in the late 1980s. Specifically, African-American men were more likely to be arrested, and African-American and Latinx women reported feeling unfairly/poorly treated in their interactions with police.
Of all IPV 911 calls, 47% result in an arrest (Durfee & Fetzer, 2014). Arrests are more common when a weapon is used and for physical assaults (Fraehlich & Ursel, 2014). Charges are filed following three-fifths of all arrests, with about one-third of all calls to police for IPV resulting in prosecution (Garner & Maxwell, 2009). Many people charged with IPV are offered and take a plea deal to avoid a trial and possible jail time (Zacharias, 1997). Plea agreements have been criticized because they are viewed as advantaging those who are privileged in society over those who are not (Nejelski, 1976). Mandated participation in a diversion program such as a batterer intervention program, described in detail below, is a common stipulation of plea agreements.
Batterer intervention programs (BIPs).
BIPs were created as diversion programs starting in the late 1970s and early 1980s after mandatory and pro-arrest laws were passed across most of the USA (Feder & Wilson, 2005). BIPs are utilized as alternatives to fact-finding court procedures. These diversion programs are typically populated by male abusing partners from cisgendered, heterosexual relationships (Dutton (2012), and typically involve group attendance ranging from 16 to 26 weeks (Feder & Wilson, 2005). The most commonly utilized interventions include the feminist theory-informed Duluth model, cognitive-behavioral models, and psychodynamic approaches, all of which require abusing partners to accept and hold themselves accountable for their actions, recognize and express a willingness to change, and, learn alternative behaviors and coping mechanisms (Feder & Wilson, 2005; Gondolf, 2011). Findings from research on the effectiveness of court-mandated BIPs is mixed, with small effect sizes for reducing recidivism noted, and almost no effect when victim reports are considered (Gondolf et al., 2019; Herman et al., 2014, Stover et al., 2009). BIPs are considered to be rehabilitative in function, encouraging behavioral change. However, Peterson (2003) found that judges in specialized DV courts were skeptical of this focus, and in practice viewed them as avenues for monitoring the behavior of abusing partners.
Current Study
This study uses the accounts of fathers with a history of IPV to illustrate their efforts to remain involved in their children’s lives after their arrest for an IPV incident. Fathers’ perspectives, a marginalized viewpoint in research, are presented for consideration in the development of culturally informed interventions and policies that seek to improve child well-being outcomes through limiting family disruption. Congruent with grounded theory (GT) approaches, detailed later, this study does not begin with a structured research question as it is exploratory in nature (Burck, 2005). Knowledge development ensued directly from fathers’ accounts of their experiences giving voice to an often-suppressed perspective.
Methods
This exploratory study of fathers with a history of IPV was conducted at a community-based organization (CBO) operating within a large, Northeastern city in the USA. The study took place over the course of nine months from 2016 to 2017. Study procedures were approved by a University’s Human Research Protection Program. The study research staff consisted of this author, who served as the Principal Investigator (PI), and two research assistants (RAs), one doctoral level student and one master’s level practicing social worker.
Grounded theory (GT) (Charmaz, 1996), was selected as an appropriate methodology to examine the individual process of maintaining an identity as a father within the marginalized context of fathers with a history of IPV. The use of GT is an appropriate qualitative approach when conducting research in an area where theories are sparse and where the aim is to generate knowledge and theories based on data collected from those considered to be expert informers (Burck, 2005). Each father having a unique journey to seeking treatment at the CBO satisfied GT’s requirement for a multiplicity of experiences in the area of interest (Starks & Brown Trinidad, 2007).
Sampling
Eligibility.
Fathers aged 21 years and older, able to communicate in English, able to demonstrate an understanding of study requirements and sign legal consent for themselves were eligible to participate in the study.
Recruitment.
Flyers advertising the study’s availability were placed throughout the CBO where fathers were participating in a 26-week, trauma-informed group. Presentations were also made directly to fathers at their weekly group meetings. These purposive sampling techniques (Etikan et al., 2016), seeking fathers with experience in the phenomenon of interest, resulted in the enrollment of 14 participants. Given the cyclical nature of the groups offered at the CBO, all fathers had a recent (within the six months prior to the study) history of IPV.
Participation.
All 14 fathers participated in one of the three focus groups, with 9 of those fathers agreeing to be interviewed individually. Interviews and focus groups were conducted concurrently, allowing the research team to interact with fathers at different time points over the course of nine months.
Data Collection
A multi-method (Meijer et al., 2002) approach to qualitative research was used to link thick data from focus groups, in-depth individual interviews, and observational memos with descriptive data from a 15-question demographic survey (age, race, employment, number of children, history of CW involvement, ongoing contact with children, etc.).
Interview guides.
Semi-structured interview guides for the focus groups and individual interviews were developed with the input and review of agency staff and fathers prior to the start of the study and included questions such as, “Can you describe for me how you came to be involved with the group at ____(CBO)?” Focus groups ran for approximately two hours, while individual interviews ranged from one hour to an hour and a half in length. The research team conferred after each interview and focus group regarding their written observational memos (described below) and impressions to decide on any changes or additions to the interview guides.
Observational memos.
Observational memos were written before and following each interview and allowed the research team members to capture unspoken details along with their impressions. This included how fathers interacted with each other (leaning in, nodding encouragement, gestures of support, turning away), moments of deep concurrence when almost all fathers nodded their heads vigorously in support as another father shared, or moments of quiet when they held space for each other when a difficult topic was being shared.
All interviews were audio-recorded with participants’ permission and professionally transcribed. These sources of data elucidated fathers’ individual experiences of how they constructed meaning of their identities as fathers pursuant to their experiences with CJ, FC and CW systems, and shared phenomena that characterized this group as a whole. The rich data collected from fathers with a multiplicity of experiences supported analyses that reached both informational and theoretical saturation (Fusch & Ness, 2015; Hardesty et al., 2019).
Analysis
GT utilizes constant comparative analysis, where analysis occurs alongside data collection with the goal of theory development (Cho & Lee, 2014). This iterative process (Cho & Lee, 2014) started after the first focus group. The father who spoke first, opened with references to the CJ system, detailing his arrest and processing by police with intricate details. Another father present nodded vigorously as the first father shared each step of his arrest, his eyes widening at points where he seemed surprised that their experiences were so similar. He sighed deeply as that father’s details of being detained and appearing before the judge seemed to connect deeply with his own (details from observational memos).
CJ involvement, specifically the order of protection (OOP) and its effect on contact between fathers and their children, dominated the discussion in the first focus group. This natural “bubbling up” of a shared phenomenon was noted by all research team members, resulting in the addition of the following question to the study guide --”What role did CJ involvement and the OOP play in your relationship with your child(ren)?” By the third interview, it became apparent that CJ involvement and the OOP in particular were dominant experiences for the fathers in this study. Through this iterative process, whereby data gathered informed emerging preliminary themes and subsequent questions, rich data emerged that told a story of the multiple systems that regulated how fathers could maintain a relationship with their children. This affirmation of shared experiences offered through nonverbal cues by fathers in the focus groups and documented in the observational memos and researcher impressions served to strengthen assertions that the research team made later in the analytic process.
Once all interviews were transcribed and cross-checked against recordings, this author read through each transcript, noting initial impressions and developed the codebook using Dedoose 8.2.14 as a data management tool. Notwithstanding the iterative process of data gathering and analysis, systematic analysis of the data ensued. Initial codes included brief descriptions such as “fathers’ actions driven by fear of re-arrest” and provided coders with exemplars for application to the transcripts. Each of the three research team members used the codebook to code a third of the individual transcripts. This author held weekly meetings with the RAs to discuss their progress, then dually coded transcripts completed by each RA. One RA dually coded the transcripts coded by this author. This author coded all focus group transcripts and observational memos grouping them into emergent themes.
The initial codes were grouped into larger themes. For example, “fathers’ actions driven by fear of re-arrest” was grouped with “father accepts a plea deal” and “excising power of OOP for fathers” to produce the larger theme of “OOP in effect.” Using axial coding (Creswell, 2013; Strauss & Corbin, 1990), themes were grouped according to similitude and dimensionality allowing for refinement into broader categories. For instance, the theme “OOP in effect” was grouped with other themes like “ostracism and loss of place” to form the category “holding on to fatherhood from the outside.” These categories were organized to develop the four stages of the “theory of excision” presented below.
Timmermans and Tavory’s (2012) guidelines on abductive analysis or the “inferential creative process of creating new hypotheses and theories from surprising research evidence (pg. 170)” were used as a framework to move this analysis from description of fathers’ experiences to a theory regarding how they are routinely removed from their children’s lives (Hardesty et al., 2019). This framework provided guidelines to explore hidden relationships that were uncovered during data collection. For instance, while a direct relationship between the IPV incident, action (A) and fathers’ exclusion from their children’s lives outcome (B) could be attributed to prevailing stereotypes of and research on these fathers as violent and dangerous men (Burnette et al., 2017), another observation (C) was made. All fathers of color had an order of OOP in place after the IPV incident which severely restricted their ability to see their children. The sole White father in the study had not been arrested and did not have an OOP in place. He remained at home with his children, with a history of IPV that self-reportedly did not differ in severity from the fathers of color. Observation C confounds the idea that all fathers with a history of IPV are dangerous and should have contact with their children restricted. It highlights that some fathers, those with privilege, can access care with little to no disruption to their families’ routines.
Rigor
This author spent a year at the CBO prior to the start of the study, becoming familiar with agency staff and operations. All members of the research team attended a group session (with prior permission obtained from fathers) to better understand the nature of the group and how fathers interacted with each other. A small CBO team (supervisors, case workers and fathers) contributed to and vetted the interview guides and demographic questionnaire prior to their use. This level of contact and involvement serves as an example of prolonged engagement which enhanced fathers’ familiarity with the research team and contributed to the trustworthiness of the data gathered (Lietz et al., 2006). In addition, this author included opportunities for reflexivity in the study by inviting fathers to ask the research team members questions about the study. Fathers asked this author and the master’s level RA (who also identifies as a woman) about gender and our motivation for conducting a study with men who were considered to be abusive.
Importantly, though the omission of fathers’ CJ involvement was addressed through the refinement of the interview guide, this omission highlighted the potential for unconscious bias to influence the research process (Burck, 2005). The steps taken in the development of the interview guide, done to create a tool sensitive to their experiences, still excluded their CJ involvement and could have served to hide experiences considered unsavory or unpalatable. GT’s iterative process served as a guardrail in this study, ensuring that the findings were reflective of fathers’ experiences, thus making them more trustworthy (Charmaz, 1996).
Findings
A Theory of Excision: From Father to Abusive Partner to Two Hours on a Sunday
The accounts shared by fathers yielded a theory of excision, whereby fathers with a history of IPV were routinely removed from their children’s lives consequent to an arrest for IPV. Once arrested, fathers faced prolonged separation with the reintroduction of contact with their children highly regulated by the courts and CW. Demographic data on these fathers are presented first. Then, the four phases of the theory of excision: (a) extraction; (b) re-assignment of identity; (c) exclusion; and (d) what remains, are detailed. The themes that comprise each category are illustrated through the use of direct participant quotes which were lightly edited by this author for flow and clarity. Phrases commonly used by fathers are presented in italics with quotation marks but without attribution because of their ubiquitous use. Other quotes are attributed either directly to individual fathers or to the focus group in which they were shared.
Sociodemographic Details
Participant Pseudonyms with Demographic Information.
Most fathers were intimately acquainted with various forms of control, coercion or dysfunction in interpersonal relationships starting early in life, sharing statements like, “I didn’t really have a relationship with my father … he controlled everything in the house growing up” and “My father did that too … he controlled my mother.” Observational memos documented nods of agreement or quiet attention to these accounts from other fathers in the focus groups, potentially indicating a resonance whether or not fathers decided to share their experiences explicitly. The group intervention that fathers were mandated to offered many of them their first opportunity to reflect on the impact these experiences continued to have on their functioning and parenting. “I had to witness many fights and arguments that my parents had with each other and go through many altercations with each of them. And I didn’t realize how much it affected me until this program (Focus Group 1).”
Replicating what many had experienced in their childhood homes (Zazoni et al., 2013), fathers described relationships marked by high conflict and bidirectional violence leading up to their arrest (Capaldi et al., 2012). You [his partner] should have been in jail right with me. ‘Cause I wasn’t the only one. And she was hitting me with weapons …. The police told me, “if you’d have called the cops first, we’d have locked her up.” I’m not gonna call the cops on her, that’s not what we do. Just being men. And trust me, being in the neighborhoods we from, we don’t call the police on nobody. Then, they trying to give me a super ransom bail, like I just killed somebody or something. I don’t know, that just hurt me. (Focus Group # 3)
This quote shows that the current pro-arrest policies, a source of great consternation to DV survivors and their advocates (Dichter, 2013; Fraehlich & Ursel, 2014), were also undesired by many fathers in the study, even if physical violence was bidirectional. The deep distrust of the police illustrated here, told the history of fathers as men of color who live in bodies and communities heavily surveilled and regulated by police presence - a presence often experienced as itself violent and unjust.
All 13 of the fathers of color in the study had been arrested and jailed with charges filed for IPV. Each took a plea deal which allowed them to participate in the CBO’s BIP in lieu of a trial with possible conviction and incarceration. Race loomed large in fathers’ perceptions of their interactions with the FC and CJ systems. They obeserved that from the point of arrest through their entry into the group all of the accused “looked like me.” The disparity made fathers doubt the ability of these systems to interact with them fairly. I look at all of the participants in the program, all Black and Brown people that look like me. And it’s like, I think this type of resource can be useful for all types of people. But I only see a certain group of people here. It makes me sort of question how much me being who I am, you know, got me into this situation. (Focus Group 1)
This concern was universally shared by all thirteen fathers of color in this study.
Extraction: Journey Through the CJ System
Accounts of removal from their families shared by fathers closely mirrored each other in both the focus groups and individual interviews, suggesting systems operating on autopilot after an arrest. Focus groups were filled with fathers nodding their heads in agreement and mumbling yeah… me too as other fathers detailed their experiences from the 911 call.
The call.
Once a 911 call was made, it seemed inevitable to fathers that the police were going to leave with someone in handcuffs. Albert, who initiated the 911 call after an IPV incident with his wife, shared his account of answering his doorbell “covered in blood” while his wife “did not have a scratch on her.” He recalled the moment he realized how he may appear as a tall, shirtless Black man in his home with his petite, White, wife to the White officers who responded. The cops said, someone’s gonna be arrested. I had a choice, either write a detailed report [of what actually happened] or write a modified one that doesn’t incriminate her. Well, they didn’t give her the same direction. So, she wrote something that she thought, oh, this will get you off, but before I knew it, they were telling me they were willing to take me out in February without my shoes to jail. And I thought this was the most bizarre thing. And they were “trying to help me!” Then she tried to get me out by showing up at the precinct. The sergeant said, you can change your statement. I’m like, what happens if I change my statement? He’s like, well, we’ll submit it to the record and then we’ll arrest her. The woman who’s breastfeeding my 2-1/2-year old?! I think I’ll pass on that.
The arrest and jail time.
Fathers’ accounts of their arrests and jail time differed according to their history with the CJ system. For those with a lengthy history of arrest and jail time (4 fathers), the arrest itself seemed inconsequential. These fathers were from communities with high rates of poverty and heavy police surveillance and expressed the expectation that they would be fodder for the CJ system. Additionally, they indicated that many people in their communities understood that this is how the system works. They detailed varying accounts of being stopped and frisked, brought in for line-ups, and arrested repeatedly for misdemeanor offenses starting in their early adolescence. They were designated as “savvy navigators” of the CJ system. They lock you up because they want you to “better” yourself. They want you to sit down and really think, “oh, why am I in here?” But they are not really helping you. They weren’t living in your footsteps and your shoes to find out how everything occurred. Instead of saying well, let’s get to know you a little better and find out what’s going on with your life. They were just quick to throw you in jail and wait until the judge has time to see you. You have to sit up and just wait to see what goes on. Now they take it away from your lifetime, from you trying to better yourself. A lot of us come from areas where it’s poverty and stuff—we do stupid things or whatever, growing up and trying to better ourselves when we get older. And what happens, we [lose] the opportunity because we messed up while we were young. So now, we’re criticized, we’re looked at as minorities and people who were gonna fuck up with their life and shit like that. (Focus Group 3)
Still, these savvy navigators recounted feelings of loss, betrayal, and disbelief that their partners, who often had intimate knowledge of how the CJ system affected their communities, initiated calls that brought multiple regulatory systems into their families’ lives. I sold drugs, got caught again, did another three years. Those were nothing to me, but when they put cuffs on me this last time, I thought my world was over …. We [he and his ex] got a 15-year-old daughter together. Like, we’ve been going out, like my wife, you know, for 10 years. But it just hurts, like I don’t know. Like, she gets me like, sad with that, ‘cause you’ve been there, you know, at the state prison to see me, you should know. Right? Your father was in the jail, your brother was in the jail. Your grandfather. You know? Like, your family. And you should know what they went through. So, you shouldn’t, you know what I mean. But I shouldn’t have put my hands on her, I know. I was wrong for that. (Focus Group 3)
The fathers with no history of CJ involvement described being routinely traumatized by their arrests giving vivid accounts of the physical and psychological aspects of the experience. They take me into the jail for processing and intake. And then once they confiscate my things, they have me sit in a cell for a number of hours until they transport me with another person who was in jail to another facility. They chained me to the other individual, they led us, basically ankles shackled to each other to the back of a bigger vehicle, a paddy-wagon. The same one that you know, Freddy Gray
1
died in (John).
Living in a society where they were surrounded by negative racial stereotypes of men of color, their arrests and time spent in jail challenged the core of these fathers’ identities. Fathers like John were acutely aware of the threat that arrest posed to their place in society, what work opportunities they would have and how an arrest record would affect their ability to provide for their families. They described feelings of fear and helplessness as they understood that should their case go to trial and they be convicted, their futures would change drastically. Adherence to legal instructions within this new reality became a lifeline for fathers like John in an unfamiliar world.
The plea deal: Take it and get out of there!
Most fathers spent less than 24 hours in a holding cell; with the exception of two—both with prior CJ involvement who were held on charges other than the IPV incident. This relatively brief time in a jail cell appeared to have a profound impact; especially on those with no history of CJ involvement. They espoused awareness of the seriousness of the charges against them. Once they met with their lawyers, fathers were universally offered a plea deal which required them to admit to the details of the IPV charge before a judge. In return, they would avoid jail time, if they completed the abusive partners’ group. An OOP was issued in each case, barring contact with their intimate partners and their children (since their partners often retained custody of the children in all but one instance). One father was able to stay connected to his daughter (aged 15), stating that she “just picks herself up and walk down the street to my house—I still see her.” This did not apply to younger children who could not independently seek out their fathers.
Fathers with the financial means and social resources secured private legal representation, while those without were represented by public or family defense attorneys. Access to private legal representation did not seem to change the outcome but influenced the process. One father was able to negotiate turning himself in to the police. While he was ultimately charged and accepted the plea deal, he was able to avoid the humiliation of arrest in front of his children and spent a brief time in a holding cell before being released. Two other fathers with private representation eventually went back to the courts to appeal their charges and petition to have their records expunged. All attorneys were acknowledged for their role in providing essential information on how the courts operated and the pros and cons associated with the different options presented to fathers. In exchange [for a plea], they would just charge me with disorderly conduct. Which would not show up on my record. I felt very bad about that, because I felt like I was not that guy. I was not an abuser. By taking this, I’d have to admit to all sorts of stuff that she had told my lawyer that I did. Which, you know, I totally didn’t agree with. But I felt like I had to bite the bitter pill and just go with it. But I made sure to ask my lawyer, what’s the alternative? And he told me, well, we’d have to go to trial and trial is expensive. It’s another $7,000. Minimum. So, I was like, oh hell no. I can’t. And then I went into court and the judge asked me … I had to just say yes to everything and every time I said yes to something it’s like [a] stab you know, in my gut. (Focus Group 1)
While fathers could have chosen to go to trial, this option was not financially feasible. Bail stretched their financial resources and when faced with the possibility of thousands of dollars up front for a trial, most simply agreed to the plea deal without resistance, reflecting concerns raised by Nejelski (1976) regarding how plea deals often disadvantage those with the least privilege. The OOP also meant that fathers needed to find alternate housing with all of the associated financial responsibilities. This new financial reality made undertaking a lengthy and expensive trial nearly impossible for all.
Re-assignment of Identity: The Making of a Monster—From Man and Father to Perpetrator and Abuser
The dissembling of personal identity that fathers described in this process began at their arrest. Fathers stated that they felt they underwent a complete silencing, once a claim of IPV was made, no one seemed interested in what they had to say or the universal assumption seemed to be that they were lying. Antoine shared the following: When she filed for divorce, I was looking for help for free divorce lawyers. I called them one by one, and all of them—the same story. We help women that are victims of DV. In this case, you are the perpetrator. You are the aggressor and there is no help for you.
By their accounts, fathers did not experience the courts as places where they felt they were presumed innocent. Instead, they described systems that seemed heavily weighted in favor of their partners, with little interest in or responsiveness to their accounts of events. Fathers in focus group 3 recounted, “The legal system gets involved, like you said, it’s always the guy’s fault. Nine times out of ten.” This dissembling of identity was familiar to fathers who had prior CJ involvement but seemed more painful because it was related to their families.
The fathers who had no prior contact with the CJ system provided some of the most disturbing accounts of loss of identity and perceived status. For instance, John who prided himself as an exceptional student and was regarded as “going somewhere” shared the following: The officers who had come from upstairs to interview her and the other witnesses came down and they pad me, and they search me. They asked me to turn around and put my hands on the wall. Not in an aggressive way, just instruct me to do so and I complied. And, I remember this one officer telling me, they searched my wallet, they see my old ID from undergrad and they remark, hey, you know, this is a bright kid, he went to the University of _____. I hate to do this. But a rule is a rule. He asked me to put my hands behind my back and he handcuffs me and takes me to the squad car. This is the first time I had ever been arrested. I was in shock—I could not believe what had just happened.
Fathers universally stated that they emerged from their legal proceedings not primarily as fathers, but with a label of perpetrator and abuser, under the control of the courts and sealed off from their former partners and children.
Exclusion: Holding on to Fatherhood From the Outside
Fathers went from being involved at varying levels with their children to feeling ostracized from their place in their children’s lives. While some former partners were in support of the OOP, this was not true for all. Similar to findings by Alroy et al., (2020) who noted that no-drop policies can cause cases to be pursued long after the people involved want to resolve things, several partners in this study had declined to press charges, but with no-drop policies in place, their consent and cooperation were not required in order for cases to proceed. Fathers’ gave accounts of former partners who no longer wished to press changes and desired a resolution to the issues in their families. Several fathers pulled out their cell phones to show research team members texts from their former partners asking them for help with their children, often centered on spending time with them and allowing the mothers to have a break. The exclusion of fathers was multilayered as described below.
The OOP in effect.
The OOP emerged as a driver of fathers’ behavior post-arrest for IPV. For formerly resident and custodial fathers, the OOP meant that they had to secure alternative housing and were barred from participating in any aspect of their children’s lives. Brandon, a formerly resident and custodial father stated the following: It’s a different animal being arrested for this … I feel that this was one of the worst types of situations to put yourself in. Especially as a man, because it’s like, yeah, you’re gonna be arrested … you’re gonna be released the next day, but then the problem is, once you get released, what’s next for you? What are you gonna do? Because if your world revolves around your family life, then it’s really like, your world just collapsed. You don’t really have anything else to kind of fall back on …. But I mean, being arrested for this you get removed from your home, and then you can’t go back.
Lengthy separations between fathers and their children were the norm. First, they had to complete the criminal court proceedings before moving on to FC, where they had to negotiate child support, and petition for visitation. As with many other CW and FC cases, these extended separations were often influenced by factors outside of their control. Brandon shared the following: I mean, the problem was, I went to go file the motion myself. But because I already have an assigned lawyer, it had to be my assigned lawyer to do it … I had to go away last month for military training because I’m in the reserves. So I just wasn’t able to address it last month. So now I’m trying to do it, but he’s [his lawyer] kind of busy with a few cases, so I have to wait, maybe a week for him to be able to file a motion on my behalf.
Antoine shared his efforts to initiate child support payments in order to reduce bureaucratic delays to no avail. Here, he describes his interaction with the court officer: [Court officer voice] First, I want to congratulate you, because no one comes here to do that [initiate child support payments] voluntarily. Second, there is no legislation in the USA that can help you to start paying child support. It has to be ordered by the court system. If you want to do it, it cannot be done. It has to be legislated by the 9th District Court.
Leon, a young father with chronic CJ involvement, suggested a simple solution: I suggest that they should develop a program … if we were to go to court, you already [know] I need visitations, that should be an option. Like [ask me], do you want to be in your kid’s life? If not, just sign the papers right here, get that out the way. But if you want to be in your kid’s life, then you gotta do this mandated program. That’s got parenting, everything included. Whatever satisfy the courts. Get it all done in one shot and save us, as fathers, the turmoil. I shouldn’t have to go a whole year just to get visitation.
The excising power of the OOP extended to all of the fathers’ children, even those from prior relationships where custody agreements had been finalized. When they realized how extensive the reach of the OOP was. many fathers expressed feeling helpless, stripped of any decision-making power in their children’s lives and feeling reduced to a monthly check. This left many of them with the question “Am I still a father?”
Ostracism and the loss of place.
Those fathers with chronic CJ involvement noted that they did not feel judged by their families or communities for their criminal past. Jail time related to drug use or sale was understood within a framework of doing what was necessary to survive. No matter the amount of time spent in jail or prison, they reported that they could return to their homes and resume their lives as partners and fathers—they knew they had a place. By their accounts, the arrest for IPV was substantively different. They experienced this arrest as a betrayal from within that resulted in a loss of place, disrupting their relationships with their children, a profound loss for men who often felt unwelcome in many other places in American society. It’s like I have no influence. I don’t never want to come to the day when my children act a certain way because of some other male influence. Like, they’re my children. I don’t care that me and the mother don’t get along, we made them together. And if I felt like I was a danger to my children, then I understand why you get all rights to them. But if I’m able to see my kids now, have them without you watching them, then why did you need to take my rights away [referring to the time the OOP was in place. (Focus Group 3)
CW involvement.
Of the fathers whose children were involved with the CW system as a result of the IPV arrest, all but one denied any direct notification initiated by a CW worker. Reflecting the low rates of CW outreach to and involvement of biological fathers and father figures documented in existing research (Brown et al., 2009; Maxwell et al., 2012), many fathers in this study became aware of CW involvement through family or friends who kept them abreast of what was happening with their child(ren). Two fathers received unannounced visits at their workplaces from CW workers accompanied by physically imposing men. Antoine shared the following: [CW] worker came to my work and they were kind of intimidat[ing] because they say that you’re [he was] facing criminal and family court, because the charges was a misdemeanor assault and endangering of your child because they were present. The CW people weren’t really helpful at all. After they went to see me at work, they asked me to go for a meeting in their office. And I did go. “Either you recognize or not recognize it - but you are guilty” [Referring to his perception of the worker’s attitude]. I shared my story and at the end, all what they wrote down, it was the opposite of what I said. I said it to them. Why did you ask me to come here when I have to work, I have to tell my boss that I have to come here for this? And you make me sign this and after I read this, it’s like, oh my god. This is all your interpretation! It is not mine. So, what is the point?
Though neither father appeared to have suffered any repercussions at work, such as demotion or dismissal, each questioned the rationale for the worker making an unannounced visit to their workplace, potentially jeopardizing their livelihood and their ability to support their children.
Ramon, the sole father in the study who was proactively notified of CW involvement had lost three children to the CW system. He was fighting to have his fourth and last child returned to his care. His children were removed from his wife’s care in 2010, and he stated that he was not named as a “respondent” in any of the first three CW cases and never involved in their permanency planning. His viewed his 1-year-old son as his last chance to be a parent and he described the barriers he faced in his efforts to meet the continued demands of his CW providers. I had done psych evaluation, drug tests—randomly. And everything is clean. So now they send me here for the 26 weeks, to the program. Now I’m waiting to see after I’m done with this what is next. Because every time, they send me to do something [else], always.
System-manufactured single mothers.
The exclusion of fathers resulted in increased stress and burden for mothers who took on the role of solo parent. “I know she is sorry—this is not what she expected to happen”—Albert said of his wife’s response to the aftermath of his arrest. In each focus group, and several interviews, fathers shared texts initiated by their former partners regarding their children. The course of the communications followed a pattern, first there was a plea for help—whether financial or some other co-parenting issue. The OOP did not prevent mothers from reaching out but threatened fathers with re-arrest should he respond. They are allowed to contact you. You are not allowed to have any communication or contact with them. I have been trying to do my best to avoid her and, in me avoiding her, it angers her. She realizes that you know, because of the situation, she’s essentially on her own. You know, she’s been reaching out to me at various times for me to get involved with my son. And as painful as it is, I can’t. She doesn’t realize that I can face serious legal consequences from this. (Focus Group 1)
If fathers did not respond, as they had been counselled by their attorneys, their former partners became more insistent in their pleas for help, before angry accusations that fathers had abandoned their children and no longer cared for them ensued. Fathers pointed to the ways in which the systems involved in their families’ lives, in their estimation, had turned their partners into “single mothers”, left alone to bear the increased pressure and strain because of their exclusion from their children’s lives. Brown et al. (2009) identified a similar process of father exclusion followed by (single) mother blaming in their work in CW.
Timmermans and Tavory’s (2012) abductive framework was used to frame the potential role of courts in creating single mothers through the excision of these fathers. Prevailing stereotypes of these fathers depict them as universally violent, controlling, absent and deadbeat (Maxwell et al., 2012). These findings offer a new window into the potential mediating role that systems and the OOP play in the estrangement between these fathers and their children. In this mediation, contact is prohibited by design to keep the mother safe, yet in many cases, it isolates mothers in their parenting.
It’s complicated.
Some families chose to negotiate informal contact between fathers and their children through a network of family and friends. This was always done in concert with the mothers of their children, who many fathers noted had no objection to their being in their children’s lives. This communal approach to the restoration of family bonds between fathers and their children appeared to serve a reparative function, recognizing the ways in which the courts and CJ systems have ravaged Black and Brown communities, and seeking non-litigious pathways to healing after these traumatic incidents.
Keith’s experience with his former partner illustrates this phenomenon well. According to Keith, he could count on one hand the number of years he had been home since he became involved with the CJ system at age 19. He went on the run after the IPV call, but was eventually caught and went straight to my final hearing and served the remainder of time in prison because of his parole violation. The mother of his children advised him that CW was involved. Though incarcerated, he contacted CW to become involved in the case. Once released, he and the mother of his children privately negotiated his continued and active presence in their children’s lives while he followed the rules and pace of the courts and CW system. Initially I reached out [to his ex]. We started talking and it was like, [she told me] “just be careful—at the end of the day, your kids still need a father.” The key thing to her was it’s not about me and her. I always explained that once you [we] break up, I wanna be a father.
Sustaining familial relationships when violence is involved is complicated. Keith stated that the mother of his children forgave him for “the incident.” She had no desire to see him incarcerated which would result in his absence from their children’s lives for years. With her consent, he periodically took the children if she needed a break. There was no pretense of a perfect familial picture on Keith’s part. He acknowledged his imperfections and struggles from his past, including intermittent contact with his father and a deep desire to not have his children experience him in the same way. His words best sum up just how complicated this all is. I just feel like it starts with me being a good person, a good father. I just feel like being honest with myself. I’ve done a lot of wrong … but it’s like, I think God really has a plan for me. I want to know what it is, I want to fulfill it. And that’s why I want my kids, so that they can see, it’s okay to take a lump or two, but the point is, you stay in and fight.
What Remains: Holding on to My Kids
Fathers’ relationships with their children were dramatically transformed by their experiences of excision from their lives. All fathers indicated that the information they had received in the 26-week trauma-informed group helped them to understand the impact of their actions on their children and the root of some of their own behaviors and thought patterns. This knowledge brought feelings of shame, regret and a desire to repair their relationships with their children. They balanced feelings with the reality that their roles in their children’s lives was severely restricted and that there were few resources available to help them with the repair they needed to make in these relationships. Antoine ironically laughed and asked this author at the end of his individual interview “what do I do now that I have all this insight into my actions?”
Two hours on a Sunday afternoon.
This is the window of time that remained for one formerly resident, custodial father following excision. Fathers struggled to maintain their identities as parents with this limited contact with their children. Fathers in one focus group indicated that they began to feel like single men again without the day-to-day parenting responsibilities that revolved around their children. They described having all this time now that was formerly dedicated to their children. The conditions of the OOP meant that for many who did not have informal agreements with the mothers of their children, there were months when they could neither contact nor engage in any of the activities that centered around the rearing of their children. Brandon’s children were still in kinship foster care at the time of the interview. Not yet allowed to have visitation with them, he stated the following: I need to have tough conversations with my oldest, I would say my two oldest, the baby, maybe not so much, but at least the two oldest … about the situation that has occurred. And it’s something that I don’t want to do over the phone. I want to be able to sit with them, have this conversation with them and address the issues … so now I have to wait to go through a system to tell me that I’m deemed fit to be near them.
A monthly check.
The emphasis placed on timely child support payments while visitation was often delayed, led many fathers to state that their relationships with their children had been reduced to a dollar amount. They perceived their financial contributions as being viewed more important to the courts than their bond with their children. As Leon noted the following: “You’re gonna start paying child support. But you don’t have to be in that kid’s life, you know. They never asked me that.” This shared experience of excision among fathers, regardless of the quality of their relationships with their children and their desire to be involved, requires that systems involved with these families take a more nuanced approach to understanding how to better support them.
Why fight.
The universal response to questions regarding why fathers persisted, given all of the barriers they faced, was, “My child(ren).” At this point, in both the focus groups and interviews, a more subdued tone would fall over the room as some fathers pulled out their phones to share photos of their children with the research staff. Ramon shared photos of his son from their weekly visitation. He was tearful (other fathers in the groups universally supported and comforted fathers who became emotional by moving closer to them or saying “It’s ok, let it out”) as he described his exclusion from the decisions regarding the adoption of his three other children and his determination to keep his son. He described his advocacy to lengthen his visits from two one-hour visits a week to a single two-hour visit, allowing him to spend more time with his son and use technology (video chat) to calm him upon his departure.
Fathers described deep commitments to their children having “different experiences than I had in life.” Though reticent to speak of their own traumas, they shared their determination that their children not experience the same things that they had. Leon insisted the following: I have to stay in her [his daughter’s] life. She doesn’t get the love I give [her] from her mom. You see it between her mom and the grandmother … she didn’t get that love either so she doesn’t have it to give. But I’m gonna give that to my daughter, so I have to fight.
Fathers were invested in remaining involved in the shaping of their children into the people they hoped they would become. Moving far beyond the financial maintenance of their children, fathers expressed concerns about who would influence their children and how their children would make sense of their absence from their lives. 2
The Negative Case: Race and the Absence of Excision and Race
There was a single outlier/negative case in this group. Frank, the sole White father in this study accessed the program voluntarily, without CJ involvement and lived with his family while he sought help for issues related to IPV. Negative cases provide dissonance in emergent theory development and offer opportunities for deeper learning about a phenomenon (Booth et al., 2013) Frank lived outside of the city and commuted to attend the program. He had sought out treatment privately, but that option was financially unsustainable, leading him to access the publicly available and less expensive program at the CBO. He was interviewed, as were all other fathers prior to joining the group. He, like them, had to acknowledge his actions and demonstrate a sense of accountability in order to participate. In his words, I honestly think I’m the only one in the program this time around that’s self-referred. I knew what I was coming into. And they told me, usually nobody just comes here looking for help. It’s usually court appointed. And just the way that they have the program lined up and all the exercises that they do is something that I was interested in.
This negative case allowed for an exploration of the excision of fathers due to a history of IPV that appeared to operate differentially according to racial privilege. Frank was able to negotiate the abuse in his relationship privately, outside of the reach of the regulations of the systems routinely traversed by the fathers of color. He experienced no arrest, court-enforced, extended separations from his children and never had CW workers go to his place of employment or remove his children from his care. Yet as he described his relationship with his partner, there was similar volatility to the relationships described by the fathers of color: It’s always been up and down. Never got to the point where we’re calling the police on each other. In this system these days, it’s like most of the time it’s one person’s arrested or both of you are arrested and the kids go into foster care. It’s not an option really to be involved with the law unless there’s life or death situation. But we’re both products of being abused in different relationships and then taking it out on each other. Both of us realize that and we’re seeking help. The last incident that was “violent” was back in October and that was kind of a struggle and the kids woke up and kinda saw yelling and the struggle or whatever and that’s you know, the point where I got out. I stayed away for a little while. And explained to them what was going on and came back.
In Frank’s case, the multiple systems that are typically mobilized following an IPV incident were not activated or engaged in his household, yet these systems were activated and swiftly responded to violent behavior with fathers of color. This surprising finding raised new questions. Why were White fathers so underrepresented in the BIP? Staff members from the BIP where the study was conducted confirmed that it was rare to have a White father in the groups run twice yearly. Frank’s ability to voluntarily access help for a problem he and his family shared with all the fathers in the program raises concerns that the multiple systems activated after an IPV incident operate not only in response to the crime of IPV but to who commits that crime.
Discussion
The findings detailed above illustrate the significant challenges fathers with a history of IPV face when trying to remain meaningfully involved in their children’s lives. The excision of fathers of color made no exceptions according to the severity or frequency of the IPV offense, building on Chesney-Lind’s (2002) research regarding the flattening effect in response to IPV incidents. Outside of race, the sociodemographic representativeness of fathers who participated in this study reflects the universality of IPV as a problem that families deal with globally (Capaldi et al., 2012; Devries et al., 2013). Fathers who were resident and involved were represented as well as those with more peripheral involvement in their children’s lives. Well-educated and stably employed fathers were excised, just as fathers with lengthy histories of CJ system involvement.
Fathers expressed concern that they received differential treatment by the courts based on their race. Essentially, being Black or Brown was seen as a strong determining factor that led to their being deemed monstrous/dangerous and excised from their families. Evidence of racial bias in IPV response is reflected in research going as far back as the 1990s where Chesney-Lind (2002) found that Black fathers being more likely to be arrested for similar IPV incidents than White fathers. Racial bias at every stage of the CJ system from arrest through incarceration, where racial minorities are treated more harshly than Whites for similar offenses, was also documented by Kutateladze et al. (2016). While Cuomo (2019) remarked that compulsory arrest laws should have mitigated the impact of racial bias in arrests, the fathers in this study experienced the opposite.
Scholars like Van Cleve and Mayes (2015) argue that it is impossible for the CJ system to operate in an egalitarian manner without being critical of the historical and contemporary role of race in America. This study was nested in a city where Whites make up the majority group of all races/ethnicities, at close to 43% of the population (United States Census Bureau, 2018). The absence of mandated White fathers from the CBO’s trauma-informed group defied the established research on the ubiquity of IPV in relationships across racial and socioeconomic lines (Capaldi et al., 2012; Petrosky et al., 2017; West, 2004). Data on IPV in a non-institutionalized population of 10,000 New York City residents aged 18 and older, documented psychological abuse rates of 18% for White, Black and Latinx people. Physical abuse rates from the same study were 9% for Whites and 11% for Blacks and Latinx people (Alroy et al., 2020). The routine routing of fathers of color through the CJ, FC, and CW systems, contrasted with the absence of White fathers and families from these systems, illustrates the ways in which institutionalized racial injustice continues to burden families of color. The contrasting experience of the single White father in this study shows that it is possible for some fathers, and according to agency staff mostly White fathers, with a history of IPV to voluntarily seek out treatment, with limited familial interruption. Unlike the fathers of color, Frank did not lose his identity as a father and was trusted to continue to be in his children’s lives while accessing help. Fathers of color were not allowed the “privilege” of managing these familial problems outside the reach of the courts and other regulatory systems.
The repercussions of the multiple system involved after an IPV incident are significant for the entire family. IPV is one of the top three reasons cited for CW involvement and child removal (USDHHS, 2020). The overrepresentation of children of color and near absence of White children in CW in NYC mirrors that of the fathers in the BIP where this study was conducted. In 2018, 141 children were placed in foster care from Brownsville, a predominantly Black neighborhood, while Park Slope and Carroll Gardens combined, two predominantly White and wealthier neighborhoods, had 8 children placed in foster care (New York City-Administration for Children’s Services [ACS], 2019). The near ubiquitous presence of fathers of color in the BIP 3 for an offense that is known to be a broad reaching social problem begs the question, “What is the true function of these systems in regulating the lives of families of color following an IPV incident?” As shown in the four phases of excision, the cost to families is significant in time, finances and in their ability to maintain their relationships. This question should alarm policymakers and practitioners and demand immediate action.
The outsized discussion here of race and the multiple systems fathers of color had to navigate in order to maintain a relationship with their children is commensurate with the time, energy and mental space required of fathers to prove that they were safe enough to have contact with their children. Fathers of color had to earn the privilege of visitation under supervised circumstances that would strain the strongest of familial bonds, highlighting the regulatory versus restorative roles played by the systems that were subsequently involved with their families. Visits, once granted could be difficult. The CW worker who supervised John’s visits with his son cautioned him that the court would not look favorably on granting him unsupervised visits since his infant son began crying 15 min into their second visit together and it was difficult for John to soothe him. With no contact for seven of the eight months of his son’s life, John would be judged on the quality of their interactions after two visits. The worker’s evaluation would be submitted to the court and influence the judge’s decision on his ability to spend more time with his son. John described feeling deflated and deeply discouraged by this interaction.
There is reticence towards fathers with a history of IPV trying to maintain a bond with their children. Maxwell and Oehme (2001) detail a list of controlling and abusive behaviors documented in visitation, while Haight et al.’s (2002) study of mothers, foster parents and CW workers shows how challenging visits can be and also how excluded fathers are from the discussion of family preservation. Maxwell and Oehme stated that in the case of IPV reunification was not the goal and they caution strongly that there are legitimate concerns of re-abuse. However, their work excludes the subset of fathers like the ones in this study who identified their children as their strongest motivation to stay engaged in and complete the treatment program, similar to Humphreys et al.’s (2019) findings.
Should the excision of fathers with a history of IPV from their families be the desired outcome of the involvement of the multiple systems that are activated after an IPV event, then the current approach is both efficient and sufficient. Policymakers and practitioners should however acknowledge that there is a cost to children with this approach, especially since IPV is often indicated in a significant number of CW cases. Coakley (2013) documented that when fathers are engaged during CW permanency planning, children are more likely to leave foster care and be placed with either a birth parent or a family. Campbell et al. (2015) proposed that fathers should be included in CW permanency planning because of the higher potential for children to exit foster care and benefit from their fathers’ involvement. The converse was true for children who did not have their fathers involved in both studies.
The excision model is a one-size-fits-all response which views family separation as the simple solution to complex problems. Though FCs are not criminal courts, they often operate in a punitive manner with devastating results. The absence of a reparative focus in the FC system marginalizes families who desire non-litigious solutions to the violence within their homes. Mothers who do not wish to see their partners arrested or incarcerated are viewed as uncooperative and breaking the social contract regarding how IPV should be dealt with (Cuomo, 2019). Many mothers navigate their own complex stages of change (Reisenhofer & Taft, 2013), where excision is not viewed as the sole solution. Though confounding to providers who rely heavily on excision as a solution, many mothers, especially those from communities where encounters with the CJ and court systems are highly contentious, do not wish to punish the fathers of their children (Messing et al., 2015). These mothers face possible arrest and criminal charges for their actions (Cuomo, 2019). The court asserts absolute control over women that it is ostensibly seeking to protect and empower. This substitution of absolute control, from an abusive partner to the regulation of the courts, in IPV cases is reason for a reevaluation of this approach to working with families. Messing et al. (2015) iterate how counterproductive this approach is as it undermines mothers’ right to meaningfully participate in decisions about their childrens’ future. Messing cautions that the movement of IPV policies and practices from a social problem to a problem with a carceral solution has not served women who are from marginalized communities or whose communities experience institutionalized racism and oppression by state actors.
The mandate through which Black and Brown fathers entered the BIP exposes their unequal treatment by the courts and the coercion built into their access to services. Was the process of arrest, jail time and the plea agreement essential? Black and Brown fathers emerged from this process estranged from their children and with the potential for a criminal record that could deter their ability to serve as providers for their children for the rest of their lives. Diversion policies, that promote voluntary access to treatment without CJ involvement, could be a less disruptive and more restorative response to IPV within families. There are certainly situations where an OOP is essential, but the systems that respond after an IPV event should reevaluate the ways in which these OOPs operate to protract family separation, delaying opportunities for families of color in need of supports to pursue healing and restoration.
Limitations
While focusing solely on the perspectives of fathers served as a strength of this study, shedding light in an area of research where little is known, additional perspectives from providers and mothers would have strengthened the findings detailed here. These qualitative findings are not intended to be generalized, but they do shed light in this very specific area of need. Notwithstanding, these findings elucidate an area about which very little is known and highlight the need for change in how families of color experiencing IPV once again bear an outsized burden that is not simply based on what they have experienced but who they are.
Conclusion
Excision meant that fathers’ relationships with their children were upended for extended periods of time. Systems operating punitively according to race resulted in fathers and families of color regulated in when and how they could interact. Excision was swift and resulted in fathers becoming external figures in their children’s lives, struggling to hold on to any semblance of their parental identity. There were no provisions built into this excision process for restoration or healing within families, regardless of the fathers’ or their former partners’ desires. The dissembling of parental identity that took place as a consequence of excision worked to the detriment of fathers and their families who wanted to their active in their children’s lives, but who needed help to navigate those relationships successfully. Research that investigates on the impact of embedding programs like the CBO’s trauma-informed BIP within community centers and educational programs, so that they can be voluntarily accessed without activating regulatory systems that operate more harshly with people of color, is needed.
Footnotes
Acknowledgments
My thanks to the staff and fathers at the CBO where this study was conducted. This study would not have been possible without their dedication, openness and passion for supporting families through some of the most difficult moments in their lives.
Declaration of Conflicting Interests
The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
Funding
The author(s) disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: Author acknowledges the support provided by President’s Fund for Faculty Advancement, Hunter College and McSilver Institute for Poverty Policy and Research, New York University.
