Undocumented Latina Networks and Responses to Domestic Violence in a New Immigrant Gateway

Abstract

New immigrant gateways differ significantly from areas of established settlement, with repercussions for domestic violence situations. Through interviews and a focus group with undocumented Latinas, we examine one specific area of such difference, that of formal and informal networks. These networks affect women’s ability to seek and obtain help and procure their overall well-being. Findings suggest that the incorporation of Latinas into new gateways entails a reconfiguration of social ties and an increased level of isolation that renders immigrant women particularly vulnerable and ill-equipped to respond to domestic violence situations. We examine the theoretical and practical implications of our findings.

Keywords

undocumented Latinas domestic violence new gateways immigrant networks

Introduction

Since the 1990s, domestic violence (DV) scholarship has consistently emphasized the importance of distinguishing among contexts of violence. In effect, such distinctions have been identified as central to theoretical and practical understandings of the nature of interpersonal violence (Johnson & Ferraro, 2000). We engage this ongoing concern in the DV literature by exploring the experiences of Latina immigrant women in the spaces that have come to be known as new gateways. While men can also be victims of intimate partner violence, we focus on women’s experiences for several reasons. Tjaden and Thoennes (2000) found that 23% of Latinas in the United States report abuse by an intimate partner in their lifetime. Furthermore, in another study of DV among Hispanics in the Southeastern United States, Murdaugh, Hunt, Sowell, and Santana (2004) found that 70% (n = 309) of participants reported partner victimization during the prior 12 months. Most of these victims had been slapped, grabbed, pushed, or choked by their partners. Latino/a families had a greater risk of wife abuse compared to non-Latino/a White American families, where the difference in the risk of violence was related to the effects of age, economic factors, and attitudes toward violence. Indeed, research across ethnic groups reveals that domestic abuse in Latino/a communities is exacerbated by high poverty levels, underemployment, undereducation, and cultural isolation (West, Kaufman, & Jasinski, 1998). Furthermore, studies on DV and immigration policy demonstrate how the compound connection of marginal economic position, immigration status, and the lack of DV and immigration policy knowledge contribute to violence by men (Salcido & Adelman, 2004).

In this article, we approach the issue of DV experienced by Latinas from a feminist standpoint, while also engaging a concern with race, class, and immigration/citizenship status, as intersecting systems of power. We take into account issues that not only contribute to Latina victims’ challenges with DV but also perpetuate their political and economic entrapment, thereby producing and reproducing women’s vulnerability. That is to say, while battering can be understood as a gendered phenomenon of subordination, it is also a function of oppressive structures such as racism and poverty, and of the marginalization associated with immigrant “illegality,” which limits available resources for victimized women, facilitating the batterers’ ongoing use of violence against victims (Coker, 1999).

Existing literature on intimate partner violence among immigrant populations has tended to emphasize the nexus between culture and violence. Research has focused on the cultural contexts of perpetrators and victims, and the cultural factors that might keep victims in situations of DV. Less attention, however, has been paid to the embeddedness of culture and social structure, or the question of how structural factors and power-imbued social relations¹ shape the life conditions and experiences of immigrants, with repercussions for DV. Michalski (2004) notes that “violence has much deeper roots in the structural foundations of interpersonal relationships (and societal arrangements in general) that may be expressed or even justified through particular cultural orientations” (p. 653).

In this article, we specifically aim to call attention to the interaction between culture, structure, and place, as these factors concomitantly shape situations of and alternatives to violence among Latino/a immigrants. Given that places are constituted by the power-imbued (classed, gendered, and racialized, legalized, or illegalized) social relations between those who inhabit them (Massey, 2005), and that social relations are geographically contingent, that is, they differ from place to place, we can speak of distinct social geographies of violence. The conditions that contribute to or (re)produce violence, and the opportunities that victims have to secure their safety and well-being vary from place to place, and are reflective of and shaped in part by geographically specific configurations of class, gender, and race relations.

Attending to how structural factors and broader social relations shape geographies of violence is relevant for all populations, not just for immigrants; however, immigrants have place-specific vulnerabilities that are unique to their experience. Different places provide different contexts of reception for immigrants, more or less welcoming “climates,” and different opportunities for and obstacles to integration, defined as the extent to which all can attain full participation in the cultural, economic, social, and political life of the community and society in which they live (Breton, 1999). The quality and extent of integration efforts and the resources allocated to such efforts vary significantly across communities. On one hand, some receiving communities have programs in place aimed at community integration, and have launched efforts to develop the capacity of local institutions to serve the needs of their immigrant residents. On the other hand, restrictive policies and directives targeting immigrants are being increasingly adopted at the state and local levels. Some communities have enacted local policies restricting housing for undocumented immigrants or fining employees who hire undocumented workers. Similarly, some law enforcement agencies have sought federal funding to enforce immigration laws locally. As Latino/a families are often of “mixed status,” that is, they include some members who are documented and others who are not, the impact of restrictive policies targeting the undocumented and the fear of detention and deportation extend beyond the undocumented population to many who are legal U.S. residents or citizens. These tensions are bound to affect Latino/a family relations and dynamics.

New Immigrant Gateways

Since the 1990s, Latina/o immigrant populations have increasingly settled away from areas of established settlement, what the literature has called “new gateways” or “new destinations.” These new gateways are varied and include new regions and states across the nation, new (small and mid-size) cities, suburbs, and rural areas (Singer, 2004). A growing body of research illustrates the existence of a range of differences between new immigrant gateways and old areas of settlement, which have repercussions for the lives of immigrants. With regard to DV situations, we argue that the social geography of new gateways (the particular configurations of social relations, social structures, and cultural factors reflected in and shaped by new gateways) tends to exacerbate the conditions that produce violence in immigrant households, and also affect victims’ resources and overall ability to procure their well-being and safety.

One factor that distinguishes between established and new gateways is the timing or recency of the immigrant presence. In areas where the presence of Latino/as is longstanding, the influx of new immigrants is not unusual and is experienced as “normal.” In contrast, in new gateways, the newness of the immigrant presence means that many residents see demographic change as a “shock,” and even as a threat to community identity and quality of life (Cantú, 1995). This has repercussions for the interaction between immigrant and non-immigrant segments of the population and between long-term residents and new arrivals, and is likely to affect a community’s interest in and efforts toward integration. The extent to which a receiving community offers opportunities for or obstacles to integration has important implications for Latino/a immigrants in situations of DV, be they perpetrators or victims. For example, the lack of economic integration is likely to affect gendered dynamics and relations within Latino/a immigrant households. The inability to find a job or to make enough money to take care of daily needs might affect the ability of immigrant Latino males to fulfill traditional gendered expectations of males as primary “breadwinners.” Past studies suggest that because the “breadwinner” expectation is commonly stronger among Latino/a immigrant communities than among other U.S. ethnic groups and among U.S.-born Latino/as, immigrant Latino males who fail to live up to these gendered expectations may be even more apt to unleash their frustrations in the home (Coltrane & Valdez, 1993; Kantor, Jasinski, & Aldarondo, 1994; Mirandé, 1997). Tensions associated with immigrant Latinos’ unemployment and economic marginalization might give rise to conflicts between intimate heterosexual partners. Immigrant Latino men may be even more prone to resort to the use of violence to handle these conflicts in ways that affirm traditional notions of masculinity (Mirandé, 1997). Similarly, for immigrant women who are victims of DV, their ability to secure their well-being might be linked to their ability to become financially independent—that is, to access jobs that pay enough to allow them to take care of their basic needs and those of their dependents. For some immigrant women, especially for those who are undocumented and/or who are not English speakers, finding work might be especially difficult in new gateways, where the networks that might connect them to job opportunities are more limited, and there are fewer opportunities to obtain language training (Menjívar & Salcido, 2002).

Another difference between established and new gateways has to do with the size of the total population and of the immigrant population. In areas of established settlement, the presence of relatively large numbers of Latino/as (and even more specifically of others from one’s country or even one’s community of origin) offers the possibility of encountering people with whom one can interact in familiar ways and in one’s native language. One is also likely to encounter a larger and more diverse population in old gateways, which offers a greater possibility of contact and interaction. Thus, in established gateways one is more likely (at least relative to new gateways) to have diverse networks of family and friends, and a range of formal and informal connections within community. For these reasons, Latino/a immigrants’ move from their country of origin directly to a new gateway in the United States, or from an area of established Latino settlement to a new gateway, creates conditions that might exacerbate isolation and violence and are also likely to affect the resources available to victims and their families (Deeb-Sossa & Mendez, 2008; Schmalzbauer, 2009). The question of what happens to immigrants’ networks when they leave established areas of settlement and move to new gateways, or when such new gateway sites become their point of entry into the United States, remains mostly unexplored empirically. We begin to address this gap in the literature through an exploratory study focusing on the experiences of Latina immigrants in Central Iowa.

Latina Immigrants’ Networks

The move to a new country immediately entails significant changes in one’s networks. Immigrants leave behind important cultural and familial support networks. The nature and frequency of contact with family and friends in one’s country of origin is, at the very least, transformed upon departure. While many migrate to the United States with relatives or to reunite with relatives, the separation from one’s familiar context—the shift from the cultural space that one knows best to an unfamiliar context with a new language, new practices, new faces—entails a significant change in how one connects and interacts with others. For these reasons, some analysts describe immigration as a weakening of one’s networks (Abraham, 2000).

Research on immigrant social networking has demonstrated that strong social connections in host areas can provide economic and social resources to assist newcomers in adapting to their new environment (Browning & Rodriguez, 1985). Furthermore, social networks in the settlement area can aid in the development of ethnic affiliations that provide organizational support for new immigrants, facilitating access to information and assistance (Massey, Alarcón, Durand, & González, 1987).

The formation of immigrants’ networks in host societies is, nonetheless, a gendered process. Some studies have found that immigrant women are very successful at establishing informal networks in host societies (Menjívar, 2000; Menjívar & Salcido, 2002). Others, however, find that women face disadvantages in social status and human capital relative to men, and that they are not as able as are men to establish and maintain networks in receiving communities (Abraham, 2000). This places men in a position of power over women, in the sense that they can and often do act as intermediaries between women and state and local communities and resources (Menjívar & Salcido, 2002; Parrado & Flippen, 2005).

Existing research has extensively documented the importance of networks and social integration with regard to situations of DV. For instance, research indicates that fewer and weaker networks tend to be associated with a higher likelihood of becoming a victim of violence (Abraham, 2000; Baumgartner, 1993; Harrison, 2002). As Michalski (2004) observes, “The most vulnerable partners include those who are relatively isolated or lacking in social supports in relation to a partner who has extensive social supports” (p. 663). Social isolation has to do with the lack of social interaction (Hughes & Gove, 1981, cited in Abraham, 2000), while social integration refers to “the existence or quantity of social ties or relationships” (House & Kahn, 1985, p. 85, cited in Abraham, 2000).

As discussed earlier, in new immigrant gateways it might be particularly difficult for immigrants to establish networks and effective social support systems. Furthermore, emerging research suggests that new receiving communities might disadvantage women immigrants particularly. As Schmalzbauer (2009) points out, based on her research in rural Montana,

[T]he contexts of reception of new migrant destinations have created unchartered borders of social belonging that disproportionately affect women. Although migrant women’s entrance into wage labor and their access to social networks in traditional settlements disrupt gender relations and may be empowering for women, the social borders that have been drawn in new migrant destinations tend to be ones of exclusion, further marginalizing migrant women by restricting them from the services, supports, and economic opportunities that would help them care for themselves and their families. (p. 748)

The question of how Latino/a incorporation into new gateways (re)configures Latino/a networks, and with what consequences, necessitates further analysis and empirical examination. What is the nature of the informal and formal ties of Latinas in new gateways? How do Latinas form and develop such ties? Do they maintain ties with relatives, friends, and organizations in their countries of origin and/or in the U.S. sites in which they lived previously? In this article, we explore Latina women’s formal and informal networks in a new immigrant gateway and how these affect their ability to seek and obtain help in DV situations. In examining the experiences with network formation among undocumented Latina immigrants, we pay attention to a question often neglected in research, namely that of how heterogeneity within the Latino/a population (i.e., differences in national origin, citizenship and immigration statuses, class, length of residence in community) affects the formation and development of networks and the nature and strength of informal and formal ties. Our research seeks to contribute to the understanding of how immigrants’ experiences with DV are affected by dynamic and geographically contingent social and cultural relations.

Methodology

The exploratory research² we present here was part of a broader project. Data were derived from face-to-face interviews and a focus group with undocumented Latina immigrants who were receiving services from one particular nonprofit anti-violence organization in the Des Moines, Iowa metro area³, one of a few organizations conducting outreach and providing services to Latina victims. Data collection was facilitated by the fact that the lead researcher served as a volunteer at the anti-violence service organization, and obtained the approval and help of the personnel there. Specifically, the organization’s director and the coordinator of advocate and volunteer work contacted Latinas who had used their services, informed them about the goals of the study, and asked if they were willing to participate. Subsequently, the lead researcher contacted via phone those individuals who expressed a willingness to participate. In this round of phone calls, the lead researcher answered questions that potential participants had about the research and provided information about the interviews (which constituted the first phase of the study), the types of questions that would be asked, and how confidentiality would be maintained. Interviews, which were about an hour long, were scheduled for a time and location that was convenient for participants. Some interviews were conducted in a private room at the service organization’s facilities. Others were conducted at the participant’s home. Once the interview phase of the study was completed, participants were invited to participate in a second stage, which entailed a focus group. Only 4 out of 10 respondents were willing to participate in the focus group. Those who declined cited time constraints as the reason for doing so. The focus group was conducted at another service agency from which the participants had received services and which was conveniently located for them.

Participants were given the option of being interviewed and participating in the focus group in either English or Spanish. All participants chose Spanish, which was their primary language. The lead researcher, who conducted the interviews and facilitated the focus group, is a native Spanish speaker. With participants’ permission, both the interviews and focus group were audiotaped and subsequently transcribed verbatim. Pseudonyms were assigned to all participants to ensure confidentiality. The data were kept in Spanish for analysis, which was conducted by researchers who are native Spanish speakers, but are also fully bilingual. Those chunks of data that were pertinent to this article⁴ were translated into English by the bilingual researchers who also conducted the analysis. This article reports and discusses data related specifically to participants’ formal and informal networks, their networking practices, and the meaning of those practices for them.

Bloom (1998) notes that one of the aims of feminist research is to “make space for participants to narrate their stories as they desire, return transcripts to the respondents so they can participate in interpretation, and respect the editorial wishes of the respondents regarding the final product or text” (pp. 17-18). Regrettably, we were only able to fulfill this goal partially. Throughout the interviews and focus group, the lead researcher constantly checked with participants to see if they understood and were interpreting accurately what was said about various topics and in response to questions. In addition, once transcriptions were finalized, the lead researcher invited respondents to meet, so that they could review the transcripts. Unfortunately, participants declined this offer due to personal time constraints.

Sample

Ten women were interviewed, all of whom were first-generation immigrants to the United States. At the time they participated in the study, most were separated or had divorced their abusive partners. Most were unemployed when they experienced DV, and most are now employed in low-wage jobs. All were undocumented when they faced DV, though at the time of the study, some were in the process of adjusting their undocumented status (see Table 1 for a description of participants’ demographics). They were all Spanish speakers and had reported having limited or no fluency in English. To ensure confidentiality, pseudonyms were assigned to participants.

Table 1.

Demographic Characteristics of Participants.

Pseudonym	Age	Nationality	No. children	Education	Job status at the time of domestic violence	Current job status	Length of time in the United States (years)	Length of time in Iowa (years)
Maria	41	Ecuadorian	2	Technical degree^a	Selling food from home	Unemployed	12	12
Sonia	35	Salvadorian	2	Elementary school	Unemployed	Retail sales	5	5
Melba	32	Mexican	1	High school	Unemployed	Housekeeping Manager	10	10
Rubi^b	37	Mexican	3	High school	Unemployed	Unemployed	14	14
Lola	25	Mexican	2	High school	Unemployed	Cashier at dry cleaners	8	8
Lucia	44	Mexican	3	Nurse	Unemployed	Office cleaning	15	11
Ana	31	Mexican	2	High school	Unemployed	Waitress	11	10
Isabel	34	Mexican	3	Elementary school	Unemployed	Hotel cleaning	11	5
Angela	37	Mexican	5	High school	Unemployed	Unemployed	10	10
Lina	37	Mexican	3	High school	Unemployed	Factory job	6	6

She obtained a high school diploma with a minor in accounting. High school technical degrees in some Latin American countries allow students to pursue specialization, while they obtain their high school degree. In the case of this participant, she had developed skills in accounting knowledge, analysis, and interpretation of financial statements, and computer skills (e.g., word, excel, power point).

This participant lived in a rural area in Iowa during the time of the abuse.

The questions in the interviews and the focus group addressed a range of issues related to the experiences of participants with advocacy institutions and their services. Related to the issue of networks specifically, women were asked about their family and friends in the United States, about the nature and frequency of interaction with them, their relationship with neighbors, their participation in community activities, and their involvement with community groups and organizations. They were also asked with whom they shared information about the DV situations they faced, and about what connections enabled them to access needed information and services.

Data Analysis

Data analysis began with an examination of participants’ narratives. Then, the data were organized in matrices as suggested by Miles and Huberman (1994), which helped condense the data and interpret it in a systematic way. Informed by a feminist approach, we sought to be attentive to how participants reflected on their own networking practices, how they engaged in activities that allowed them to build connections, and how they perceived and experienced community and institutional responses. We compiled narratives of each participant and developed a coding outline that accounted for their interactions with formal and informal networks. Then, we coded data that identified exclusive and shared patterns of experiences across participants (Purvin, 2007). Themes surrounding the connections or social networks and how they mediated participants’ ability to respond to DV were identified and grouped into categories. Later, particular quotes were chosen to illustrate each category.

Reinharz (1992) argues that when reproducing women’s language “we should pay attention to the particular descriptions they use. We should hear the richness of speech and allow our writing to be similarly complex” (p. 40). While the research we present here is based on a small sample, our methodological aim is not to make generalizations, but to take a close look at the experiences of a marginalized population within a sociospatial context in which the immigrant presence is relatively new and where immigrant women’s experiences with partner violence have seldom been explored empirically. In what follows, we aim to convey the experiences of undocumented Latina immigrants who experience partner violence in new gateway communities in Iowa, as they described their own sense of connectedness to family, neighbors, friends, and their broader receiving communities. We also present participants’ descriptions of the networks through which they sought support (successfully or unsuccessfully) in response to situations of DV.

Central Iowa Communities as “New Gateway” Sites

While the Latino/a population in Iowa remains relatively small in absolute numbers (151,544 as of July 1, 2010, according to the U.S. Census Bureau), the Latino/a share of the total state population has grown dramatically since the 1990s, mostly driven by state-led economic development initiatives and recruitment by meatpacking industries (Grey, 1995; Grey & Woodrick, 2002; Kandel & Cromartie, 2004). In fact, Latino/as are the largest and fastest growing ethnoracial minority in Iowa, constituting 4.5% of the state’s total population. Much of this demographic change has entailed incorporation of Latino/as into communities that have historically been fairly homogenous (predominantly White) in their ethnoracial composition. Within the Central Iowa area where our study participants lived when they encountered situations of DV and where they have been living to date are several of the counties where the Latino/a population has grown the most in the state since 2000, including Polk County, the county with the largest share of Latino/as and which experienced the largest percentage growth of Latino population since 2000 (97.9%). The City of Des Moines, where our study participants were able to connect with and obtain the services of an anti-violence organization, has the largest Latino population in any city in Iowa, at 21,612 in 2008. According to Census reports, in 2009, 73.4% of Des Moines’ population was non-Hispanic White, whereas 10.9% was Latino/a.

Findings

The Informal Networks of Undocumented Latinas in Central Iowa

The frequency and quality of social interaction in informal networks that include friends, relatives, and coworkers are important factors related to an individual’s level of social isolation or integration. Studies dealing with minority help-seeking behaviors in situations of DV recognize that victims often seek assistance from people within such informal networks (Morrison, Luchok, Richter, & Parra-Medina, 2006). We begin by exploring undocumented Latina immigrants’ connections with family in the new gateway context.

Family Networks

Family research has pointed to a variety of traits that tend to be present among Latino/as, including a high regard for family unity, respect toward family members, close personal relationships, and the placing of great importance on trust (Dominguez & Watkins, 2003; National Alliance for Hispanic Health, 2001; Perilla, 1999). The narratives of our study participants show that they rely heavily on familial ties for financial and emotional support, and that the well-being of their extended families is a central concern influencing their decisions regarding work and, subsequently, their ability to pursue financial independence.

Furthermore, for these women, family members were the only people with whom they interacted on a regular basis. Family ties were especially important because, for the most part, women lacked other ties that linked them to their new gateway communities. The experiences shared by undocumented immigrant women in our study reveal the ways in which the anti-immigrant sentiment that infuses the present sociopolitical climate in many communities (especially in those unaccustomed to the presence of immigrants) contributes to a lack of social integration of Latino/a immigrant families, or to what Nelson and Hiemstra (2008) refer to as parallel worlds within communities. In new gateways, by virtue of the newness of their presence and because they tend to stand out as a very visible ethnoracial minority, Latino/a immigrants are especially vulnerable to detection, detention, and deportation. Thus, fear often leads Latino/a families, who include undocumented members to remain “below the radar,” disconnected from community (see Sandoval & Maldonado, 2012; Schmalzbauer, 2009). For Latino/a immigrants in Iowa communities, the fear of detention and deportation has been exacerbated by recent and very visible raids and deportations in Iowa and throughout the Midwest (Jackson, 2008; Mehaffey, 2010; Nguyen, 2006). In some Iowa communities, some sectors have advocated for harsher local immigration controls and even for deputizing local law enforcement to enforce immigration laws (Petroski, 2010; Visser, 2008). These factors create a local context in which immigrants feel, and in fact are, constantly surveilled and under threat.

Given gendered dynamics within households and communities and the systemically disadvantaged position of women, the unfriendly (sometimes even hostile) climate toward immigrants that has become entrenched in many U.S. communities, and the formalization of anti-immigrant sentiment into local policies designed to exclude immigrants from community, tend to have particularly deleterious consequences on immigrant women, especially in new gateways. Several existing studies suggest that Latina immigrants live profoundly isolated lives in new gateways, in large part due to fear of being identified as immigrants and being detained (see, for example, Sandoval & Maldonado, 2012; Schmalzbauer, 2009). The stories shared by our study participants show that they rarely circulate outside their homes, and when they do, because they have to shop for groceries or go to a doctor, they do so with much fear and apprehension. They report typically postponing their travels through public spaces until their partner can drive and accompany them where they need to go. That is, they report not just being very isolated but also being highly dependent on their male partners. Ana described how her partner tried to keep her dependent on him by refusing to teach her to drive:

I had to learn to drive on my own, because he would tell me he was scared to teach me. . . . I took the truck on my own and said, I’m going to learn, and if he does not want to teach me I’ll learn by myself, little by little.

Research has shown that high levels of dependence on men undermine the position of women in the household (Parrado & Flippen, 2005), with repercussions for violence situations.

Not only does isolation increase the risk of partner abuse, but for undocumented immigrant women, their condition as “deportable aliens” occludes all recourse they may be able to seek for dealing with abuse, both inside and outside the domestic space. In Melba’s words,

[P]eople (immigrants) are afraid when they move here . . . they are afraid of the police . . . because you know, there are cops that are getting people deported in other states . . . because the truth is that the majority of people who experience abuse are illegal . . . and they not only experience domestic abuse but also abuse from their employers because they don’t pay them, and they do nothing because they are afraid of getting deported.

Latina immigrants’ narratives show that they rely on family, especially for financial support. Their stories also reveal that they themselves play a central role in supporting their families, sometimes financially, and often by taking on childcare and household maintenance responsibilities. Women in our study reported undertaking the bulk, if not all, of the work of social reproduction within their extended families and households. In areas of long-established Latino/a settlement, many undocumented Latinas work outside the home. In new gateways, such as Iowa, while job opportunities may be more restricted for undocumented women, some opportunities are available, albeit mostly in service jobs such as maids or housecleaners. Yet, women may choose not to pursue such opportunities for various reasons. Consider the case of Maria, who decided not to search for a paid job when she moved to Iowa, so that she could be available to take care of her grandkids, thereby enabling her daughter (who has a work permit) to work outside the home. She explained,

My daughter has two kids, and now she is looking for a job . . . and if she finds one, she would need me to take care of the kids; that’s why I haven’t thought about getting a job, because I wouldn’t be able to watch the kids.

Similarly, several of the women who did not live with or near extended family reported that, even if they thought or knew that jobs were available, they could not pursue them due to lack of access to affordable childcare, and further because they did not have people they felt they could entrust with the care of their children. For example, Ana explained,

I do not have anyone who I trust, and even if I did know someone, what I would earn in an afternoon (of work) I’d have to spend it all on daycare . . . and I’d be neglecting her (daughter) were I to leave her by herself. . . . What if she is raped, or mistreated, or what if they don’t feed her well? What would I do?

Maria also commented about the prohibitive cost of childcare and explained how it influenced her own decision to pursue informal economic activity from within their home instead of trying to find a paid job outside the home:

It (daycare) is so expensive. I say it because of my daughter. She has two daughters. Daycare would cost about $150 a week for each one. Just imagine how much she’d end up paying. It’s better for her to stay home with the kids, and we can work selling food from home.

In areas of established settlement and in their countries of origin, extended family networks typically furnish child care support. Our data suggest that in new gateways, the relative isolation in which immigrant Latinas live (e.g., a smaller number of neighbors, friends, or acquaintances with whom they interact on a regular basis) and the fear of detention and deportation, exacerbated as this fear is by racialized conditions and relations in new receiving communities, may not only limit immigrant women’s ability to establish networks, but further may also restrict their ability to develop close relationships imbued with trust outside the bounds of kin. This finding is consistent with Schmalzbauer’s (2009) findings from her study of Mexican women’s experiences in new gateways in Southwestern Montana.

Most study participants reported being financially dependent on their partners. The experience of Lucia reveals that for undocumented women in situations of financial dependence, leaving their abusers entails taking on the responsibility to provide financially for children and other family members in a context in which they have very few, if any, alternatives of economic assistance or jobs that would pay them enough to cover basic needs. Lucia reports being unemployed and left with two daughters to provide for when she separated from her abusive partner:

When I separated from my partner . . . I moved to my brother’s house. . . . He (partner) moved to Texas, because he said he was going to try and change. But there he was arrested and sent to jail for a DUI . . . and my life got even more difficult then. I was not working, and I had nothing I could count on. . . . There was a month when I didn’t even have enough to feed the kids.

While Latinas spoke about family as an important source of financial and emotional support and of ethnic solidarity in a community in which they are an ethnoracial minority, most also reported that in dealing specifically with situations of DV, they did not go to family for support. Rubi shared, “I wouldn’t say much (to my family) about the situation . . . ” Similarly, Maria shared,

It used to be that everybody would see me well, like I had a happy home, but nobody knew how it really was . . . One never talks about what is happening, or about what one is feeling . . . it’s very difficult bringing it all to the surface . . .

This finding is congruent with the results of other studies, which suggest that fear of being ostracized or judged by extended family members on whom they rely for financial and emotional support often precludes immigrant women from seeking support in familial networks to deal with DV situations (Acevedo, 2000; Bauer, Rodriguez, Flores-Ortiz, & Szkupinski Quiroga, 2000; Dutton, Orloff, & Hass, 2000). The fact that their husbands’ relatives were often their only family nearby made relying on family particularly difficult for several of the women in our study. For example, Ana said about her experience, “I don’t have any friends or family here. He (partner) does have his sisters and all, but I don’t have any family here. And one locks oneself up for so many years, undecided about whether to look for help.”

Most of the women in our study reported that when they decided to seek help with the abuse situations they faced, they did so by contacting and confiding in friends or neighbors. Remarkably, though, they described having very few friends and that contact with neighbors was sporadic. In the next section, we begin with a discussion of the factors that, according to Latinas’ own accounts, limit their ability or willingness to establish and maintain informal non-familial networks in new gateway communities in Central Iowa. We then turn to a discussion of the networks that women did actually have, and how they functioned to connect women to help with DV situations.

Non-Familial Networks

Some studies suggest that immigrant women tend to establish informal (non-familial) networks very effectively in their host societies (see, for example, Hondagneu-Sotelo, 1994; Menjívar, 2000, 2002). In fact, research suggests that in established gateways it is often through such networks that immigrant women, especially those who are not proficient in the language of their host society, are able to access information and services and a greater understanding of their rights (Menjívar, 2000). In contrast, the findings of our exploratory research in Central Iowa are more consistent with those of other studies (see, for example, Abraham, 2000; Hagan, 1998), which suggest that women are not as able as men to establish and maintain informal networks. Study participants reported that, at the time they were facing abuse, their interaction with the world outside their homes was largely mediated by their male partners and that they had very few connections with neighbors or friends. Not only did they live very isolated lives, seldom leaving their homes without their male partners, but they also alluded to fear (in the context of immigration enforcement) as an important factor that further confined them to the home space and shaped whether, when, and how they circulated in public spaces, with whom they interacted, and how.

The narratives of study participants show that they were mistrustful of other Latino/as in the community and that this contributed to the paucity of their informal networks outside of family. For example, Ana shared in the focus group that

what happens is that here you have acquaintances, and instead of helping one another what they do is they tear you up. . . . We are Latinas, or Hispanic, or whatever, but I tell you, we don’t help one another.

Maria also shared an experience that suggests a sort of antagonism between her family and their Latino/a acquaintances in the community. She said, “In the winter we (Ecuadorians) used to gather together every week, we would meet every week at a different house. But some of them stopped coming and started gossiping, so we stopped doing it.” Later in the interview, Maria talked about her particular distrust of Latino/as who lived in the community before she arrived and who had documented status:

When I got here there were 2 or 3 families that had documented status, and they never supported us in any way. In fact, they would tell us that no one was going to rent an apartment to us, and things of that sort. Thank God one figures out how to make it. One has other friends and knows that one can get ahead. They (the documented families) mistreated us. They were three documented families, and they never lend us a hand so we could get ahead.

Lina also commented about her distrust of other Latinas and her reluctance to share with friends information about the abuse she faced:

I had had very bad experiences, that you would tell a friend something and that friend would go and tell someone else. So it was best to not say anything. Having friends here in the United States is very different from when one is in one’s country. In your country you find true friends. Here they are friends only when they need you. . . . [E]veryone was snooping into my life, because I got married to an American. And for many Latinas, if you marry an American it’s so that you can get papers; immediately people would say you got married to get papers, and they’ll start saying, “Well, if she got married for that reason . . .” instead of saying, “How nice that they love each other,” or “Things will go well for them,” it’s always about envy.

Findings from studies by Lopez (2000) and Nelson and Hiemstra (2008) showed that in new gateway communities in Nebraska and Colorado, the presence of co-ethnics in a locality does not necessarily mean that there will be solidarity between long-term residents and newcomers from a particular ethnic group. From a sociological stance, micro-level dynamics among Latino/as within particular communities must be understood in relation to broader structural processes and power relations. Starting from this premise, we posit that the limited and distrustful interactions between our study participants and other Latino/as may be reflective of a broader context of imposed competition in which Latino/as find themselves pitted against one another over access to jobs and limited resources. Similarly, we argue that the tensions that study participants described reflect, in part, the effect of racialized ideologies and practices that marginalize (and often even demonize) Latino/a immigrant populations.⁵ Some Latino/as (those who are U.S. citizens or have lived in the United States longer) may seek to distance themselves from newly arrived immigrants, given the stigma associated with “immigrants” and “illegality,” and to make claims of belonging in the United States and in particular communities.

In addition, as the DV literature has documented extensively, victims often feel shame about the abuse they are experiencing, and this already makes it difficult for them to disclose their experience to others outside the family (Dasgupta, 2005). A concern with “everyone finding out” may be even more pronounced in new gateways where the Latino/a population is significantly smaller than is the case for established gateways. Lucia explained why she was apprehensive about telling her friends of the abuse she was facing:

I, with the friends I do have, often it doesn’t really help (going to friends for help). It’s very difficult finding a friend who one can trust, because almost always they’ll laugh at you, or they’ll say, “Oh look how awful he is to her, it’s because he doesn’t love her.” I mean people will start commenting, and then word starts to spread, and everybody finds out. And all of that made me feel ashamed, so for those reasons I never said anything.

Nonetheless, despite the fact that their informal networks were very limited, 5 out of the 10 study participants sought and were connected to DV services through informal ties with neighbors and friends. Lucia, for example, explained that for her what made a difference was meeting another Latina who had faced a situation of DV. “The friend who I met seemed like a very special person to me, because she had suffered the same as I had . . .” Similarly, Angela explained how she sought help through a Latina neighbor:

There was this lady . . . sometimes I would go to her house. She was my neighbor. . . . Sometimes I wouldn’t want to stay at my home because I was afraid, so I would stay at her place. One day she told me that I was welcome to stay at her house whenever I wanted (crying) . . . that I should (crying harder) . . . I would stay with her for 3 days, but then he (husband) would look for me, and you know, after 3 days I didn’t want to eat because I was too embarrassed, because I didn’t help her with anything. Besides, I had a kid that is not his, and I was pregnant . . . so I was too embarrassed, and I wouldn’t eat.

Melba heard about DV through a Latino radio station. She then spoke to a friend (who she said was her only friend), who then looked up and gave her information about the anti-violence organization she eventually contacted in Des Moines. Another participant, Ana, mentioned that she had seen information about DV in a Latino newspaper, but that it took the encouragement of friends for her to make the decision of contacting an anti-violence organization for help. The other five women in our sample reported that they learned about services through local institutions and outreach efforts of the anti-violence organization through which they eventually obtained help. In the next section, we discuss what participants shared regarding their formal connections to groups and institutions in Central Iowa communities.

Formal Networks

Membership and participation in formal groups and organizations and access to economic, legal, and political institutions—an individual’s formal networks—are also crucial elements of social integration. In what follows, we begin by discussing participants’ involvement with community groups and organizations. We then turn to exploring their experiences with local institutions. Our discussion focuses on those groups and institutions that participants described as having connected them to information, resources, or services they needed to overcome DV situations, or those that they contacted unsuccessfully in their search for help.

When participants were asked about their involvement with local institutions and with community groups and activities, most of them reported not belonging to any formal organizations. Likewise, from their accounts, their interaction with local institutions was limited to attending church activities and some activities at their children’s schools or the local community college. One participant also named the local “clinica” (a health facility where bilingual personnel provide free services to Latino/as) as an institution they go to, more or less regularly, in search of services. Participants noted that their engagement with these institutions was related to (a) the celebration of traditional cultural and religious festivities, (b) the fulfillment of parental and family responsibilities, and (c) their interest in obtaining English language training. The following quotes illustrate the nature of interactions between participants and several of these community institutions. For instance, Maria said,

I go to the church. . . . I help at the church . . . when they do those Latino activities—you know, when Ecuadorians, Venezuelans and Colombians set up tables with food, or if they have folk dancing I go and help. I prepare Ecuadorian food but that’s it.

Similarly Ana noted, “I go to my daughter’s school activities. . . . I try to participate in those after school lecture activities, but I don’t usually have time.”

The undocumented Latinas’ reports about their formal connections within community are congruent with the findings from Chavez’s (2005) research in another new gateway community. Chavez found that there were differences in how Latino/a and White residents practiced civic engagement. Specifically, recently arrived immigrants in the rural California town he called “Yodoy” were less likely than others in the community to be involved in formal social organizations. This was due, in part, to immigrants’ undocumented status and limited English fluency, and to a sense among immigrants that formal community organizations do not cater to their needs. Immigrants became involved with groups and institutions they saw as important to their well-being in U.S. society, and these often included school and church. In effect, participants’ involvement in community activities was almost exclusively connected to their church and their children’s schools.

Outreach efforts of anti-violence advocates through local institutions were successful in conveying information about DV to several of our study participants. Lina reported learning about DV and services available to victims while taking ESL classes at a local community college:

I didn’t know about these (anti-violence) organizations until they (advocates) went to DMACC, where I was taking ESL classes. They went to talk about DV and the services they offered . . . that is how I learned about services.

Isabel and Lola reported having seen informational flyers at church⁶ and the health clinic. Ana saw an advertisement in a Latino/a newspaper. In Ana’s case, having seen the information was not enough impetus to seek help; it took the encouragement of friends for her to eventually do so. Two participants reported learning about services from a Latino police officer and a lawyer, respectively.

As we have discussed, isolation and dependency were major factors contributing to undocumented Latinas’ experiences of domestic abuse. Our participants’ narratives reveal, first, that integration (with its social, cultural, economic, and political dimensions) is simultaneously a gendered and ethnoracialized phenomenon and, second, that the lack of integration in communities has real consequences for the lives of immigrant women. Integration, in turn, is in large part mediated by and contingent upon individuals’ access to institutions (educational and economic institutions, for example). It is important then to examine the extent to which our participants, who made the decision to seek help and were successful in obtaining anti-violence services, report becoming better integrated into their Central Iowa communities and the extent to which local institutions have effectively responded to their needs. We begin with participants’ interactions with local law enforcement whom they contacted for help as they sought to break away from the abusive relationships. Several participants reported contacting local police after episodes of DV. Angela, who experienced DV for more than 7 years, and encountered several life-threatening episodes, discussed one experience when she called police:

One time my partner was throwing pillows at me and I didn’t even know why so I called a police officer who I knew spoke Spanish, but then he sent other officers . . . and I do not know how to speak English, and they did, so they talked to my partner because he speaks English . . . and my partner told them I was crazy and that he was leaving to go to work. So they left.

Although there was one bilingual police officer who could have helped her (the person from whom she had learned about services available to victims of abuse), Angela was not able to obtain help because the officer was not available when she called. In new gateway communities, law enforcement often lacks or has very limited bilingual personnel (see, for example, Cabell, 2007; Culver, 2004). Angela’s example illustrates how this limitation in institutional resources and capacity, which is a problem especially in new gateways, places immigrant Latina victims at heightened risk.

While participants describe that they now have lives in which they are able to leave their homes and interact with others more freely, they report continuing to struggle with a number of obstacles that prevent their full integration into the communities where they live. For one, they remain undocumented. Anti-violence advocates have connected women with legal assistance, and all of them have started the legal process to try and regularize their immigration status, a process that can take months or even years. In the meantime, they have to find a way to support themselves and their children. They find themselves with very few options for jobs, and the jobs they can find do not pay them enough for the basic needs of their family. Consider the experiences of Ana and Lina:

If you don’t have recommendations you can’t get a job. . . . I haven’t been able to find a job. . . . I have 3 kids and I’m a single mother now. . . . I got to 5th level of my GED because I want to get ahead; however, it wasn’t enough because now I can’t find a job that I like. (Ana)

I gotta work at a factory because I don’t have experience or education and I can’t go back to school because I can’t afford childcare. . . . Now I’m just wondering what I’m going to do. Because I work, but I don’t earn very much to support my children. So I wonder . . . He used to pay all the bills, I worked but just to pay for clothes for the children, and to give them money for school, and things like that. He would give me money for all other expenses. Now I’m on hold. I need help to be able to pay for an apartment, and right now I’m stuck because I don’t know what to do. (Lina)

The lack of English proficiency and obstacles to obtaining language training continue to be a problem for them as well, severely limiting their job options. Maria, who had a technical degree from Ecuador, said,

Here the only jobs one can get are cleaning jobs, or in the kitchen, nothing else. In my country I had a degree, but here I have nothing. I speak Spanish in my country but I cannot speak English here. I went to college in my country, but not here.

Maria’s experience exemplifies how some Latino/a immigrants who arrive in the United States with credentials and formal education experience downward mobility due to language barriers and unauthorized status. Furthermore, in a segmented U.S. labor market sustained by employer recruitment and a host of racialized and gendered ideologies and practices (Maldonado, 2009; Shih, 2002; Waldinger & Lichter, 2003) and, given the symbolic and material consequences of the sociopolitical construct of “illegality,” the vast majority of Latino/as continue to be incorporated into the U.S. economy in a position of marginality, mostly as low-wage laborers, as an ethnoracialized underclass (Jensen, 2006; Johnson-Webb, 2002; Maldonado, 2009). While those unauthorized who arrive with economic resources and relatively high levels of formal education—as is the case, for example, of many South Americans (Lowell & Suro, 2002)—have better chances of eventually regularizing their status and removing some obstacles to economic mobility, those who arrive lacking economic resources and educational attainment, as do the majority of immigrants from Mexico and Central America, face almost impossible odds, being locked into low-paying jobs that do not allow for the development of English language skills and offer few or no prospects for advancement. While this is a dynamic that affects both men and women, research shows that the jobs that the majority of Latina immigrant women enter are characterized by the lowest wages and some of the least favorable work conditions (Browne, Tigges, & Press, 2001; Chang, 2000; Hondagneu-Sotelo, 2001).

While immigrants may seek to obtain language training through venues other than the workplace, in communities where such venues exist the fact that available jobs typically entail inflexible schedules and long work hours, coupled with the time constraints associated with family responsibilities, makes language training difficult to access. Rubi spoke about the situations that have made it difficult for her to learn English:

I used to take ESL classes at the church. Since my sister got ill I haven’t been able to go we both used to go. But now I have to take care of her, take her to her therapies, to the doctor . . .

Similarly, several women in our study who turned to social service agencies in search of assistance for their U.S.-born children reported that navigating the process to obtain assistance was difficult. They were uncertain as to what types of assistance they were eligible for, and service agency personnel were not helpful in providing clarification for these things. It took repeated visits to service agencies and the intervention of anti-violence advocates and lawyers for women to get a good sense of their rights and those of their children, and to obtain services. They reported having to wait a long time for service approval. For example, Lucia, a mother of two U.S.-born children, shared,

I went to request assistance (social services), and they would not help me. . . . (The worker at the service provider agency) asked me how I paid for rent, and I told her I did not have a job and that’s why I was asking for assistance. She asked me how my brother paid the rent. I told her that’s the reason I was there asking for assistance, because jobs were scarce for my brother at the time, and she didn’t want to help me. She was making things harder. I didn’t even have money to get food for my children for a full month. Then my lawyer told me I didn’t qualify for Medicaid, but that my children did. So Daisy (advocate from anti-violence organization) sent them (Medicaid providers) a fax saying that I just needed money for my children. But it took so long, I waited so long. And now I know that it usually takes 24 hours to get assistance approval, but in my case it took them so long. I don’t know why.

The experiences of our study participants suggest that efforts to serve the needs of undocumented immigrant women who are victims of violence through formal channels require a targeted approach. Churches, bilingual health clinics, and schools appear to be important institutions through which information can reach immigrant women. Similarly, the experiences undocumented Latinas shared demonstrate that integration must be one central goal connected to anti-violence efforts. Anti-violence advocates must work closely with local institutions to ensure that, in the aftermath of their violent relationships, immigrant women can obtain the tools that enable them to live self-sufficient lives.

Summary and Implications

Place-specific conditions and social relations might exacerbate or ameliorate conditions for violence. They might also affect the potential for victims to procure their personal well-being and the well-being of their children and other vulnerable family members. Data from our exploratory research in new gateway communities in Central Iowa suggest that undocumented immigrant women in new gateways find themselves living extremely isolated lives in which they are particularly vulnerable to situations of violence, and where they have a limited ability to access the resources they need to secure their well-being and the well-being of their children and dependents. Isolation, along with victims’ limited social networks, amplifies the need for continued analysis of the unique needs of (and responses to) DV victims living in new areas of immigration settlement.

Multiple factors contributed to the isolation of immigrant women in our study. For one, they were living in a “new gateway” region where the presence of Latino/as is relatively new, and the number of Latino/as is relatively less. Lack of English fluency further contributed to isolation, as women found themselves in communities of mostly English speakers. In the present context of heightened immigration enforcement, the fear of deportation, the stigma associated with “illegality,” and entrenched practices of surveillance, sometimes even hostility, toward those who look “Hispanic,” alienate Latino/a immigrants from other community members, even from other Latino/as. Policies targeting undocumented immigrants, such as the denial of drivers’ licenses, produce further isolation by restricting mobility and the capacity to function and contribute to the community day to day, pushing immigrants to the shadows. Gendered household relations and expectations also contribute to the isolation of women, preventing them from working or developing connections outside the home.

Study participants reported having very limited networks: formal and informal. Some reported having moved away from their own families and living with their male partners’ extended family in Iowa. This fact affected their ability to seek and obtain support in/from family. Even those who lived with family or had family nearby reported living remarkably isolated lives. For all study participants, their interaction with others outside the home was minimal and almost always mediated by their male partners. Participants were all unemployed at the time they experienced abuse and reported being financially dependent on their male partners and extended family. A fear of detection and deportation in the context of entrenched anti-immigrant sentiment and heightened immigration enforcement also contributed to the lack of informal connections. Competition and distrust were pervasive elements in participants’ descriptions of their relationships and interactions with other Latino/as in the local community. Our findings and those of studies in other new gateway sites suggest that research and practical efforts to address DV must pay attention to the implications of growing Latino/a heterogeneity for intra-Latino dynamics and for victims’ ability to establish and maintain networks in new gateways. Differences in class, national origin, legal and citizenship status, linguistic ability, length of residence in the United States, and in particular communities (structurally embedded and imbued with power as they are) entail markedly different lived experiences for various segments of Latino/a communities. Our data suggest that recently arrived immigrant women find themselves marginalized, sometimes even by other Latino/as. We interpret this finding as congruent with Brabeck and Guzmán’s (2009) assertion that “disregarding the sociostructural context fosters the erroneous assumption that all individuals are equally capable of creating safe lives, when in fact a classist, and increasingly anti-immigrant society limits the choices of some intimate-partner-abused women more fully than others” (p. 819).

Anti-DV legal and advocacy services open up significant opportunities for protection for victims. Nonetheless, intervention strategies must keep sight of the structural conditions that place particular constraints on the lives of immigrant women. Some legal and social services require victims to divorce or separate from their batterer, so they can be eligible to receive legal and advocacy services (Purvin, 2007). Although the intention of such interventions is to protect victims by keeping them away from their abusers, this approach fails to account for the perpetrator’s role in the social networks of undocumented Latina survivors.

The experiences our study participants report in the aftermath of DV situations highlight the importance of designing DV interventions that aim to equip survivors with skills and adequate access to institutional resources, so that they can, in the long-term, pursue fulfilling lives. In the case of immigrant women, this requires addressing structural obstacles to integration within community contexts. In this sense, anti-DV pursuits are very much congruent and are necessarily entwined with anti-racist and economic justice efforts that aim to include immigrants not as a marginalized class, but as full participants and contributors within U.S. society.

Footnotes

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) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

Notes

Author Biographies

Angelica S. Reina, MS, is a doctoral student in the Department of Human Development and Families Studies at Iowa State University. Her research interests include domestic violence, resilience and health, food insecurity, and housing among Latina immigrants.

Marta María Maldonado, PhD, is an associate professor of Sociology and U.S. Latino/a Studies at Iowa State University. Broadly, her scholarship examines the everyday dynamics of race, class, and gender in U.S. institutions and communities, with a focus on the conditions and experiences of Latino/a populations. She has studied the racialization and gendering of agricultural work, social relations in new rural gateways, and intra-Latino/a dynamics.

Brenda J. Lohman, PhD, is an associate professor in Human Development and Family Studies at Iowa State University. Her research interests address the successful academic, physical, psychosocial, and sexual adjustment of adolescents, especially economically disadvantaged minorities. In particular, she is interested in understanding females’ experiences with dating violence during their teen years and intimate partner violence during their adult years. Her research interests draw upon a variety of research traditions including developmental psychology, family studies, family policy, economics, education, and sociology. Her research paradigm has an applied or policy-relevant focus, specifically the interplay of economic circumstances, social systems, and developmental processes.

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