Abstract
Migration across international borders places tremendous stress on immigrant families and may put women at greater risk for intimate partner violence. In this study, we used narrative analysis methods to explore how nine Mexican immigrant women in the Northeastern United States described their experiences of intimate partner sexual violence, and how these stories were embedded within narratives of transition and movement across borders. We identified three major themes: The Virgin and the Whore, The Family, and Getting Ahead. We share important implications for researchers and health and social service providers working with this population.
Keywords
Intimate Partner Violence (IPV) as a Global Phenomenon
IPV is a global public health problem of epidemic proportions. IPV includes physical violence, sexual violence, stalking and psychological aggression (including coercive tactics) by a current or former intimate partner (i.e., spouse, boyfriend/girlfriend, dating partner, or ongoing sexual partner) (Breiding, Basile, Smith, Black, & Mahendra, 2015). Worldwide, 30% of women have experienced physical or sexual violence by their intimate partner, and intimate partners are responsible for 38% of all female murders (World Health Organization, 2013). Beyond the risk of disability and mortality from physical violence, the burden of all forms of IPV is both profound and complex. There is now strong evidence that exposure to both acute and chronic violence can affect mental/cognitive functioning through physiological neural, neuroendocrine, and immune responses (Black, 2011; Black & Breiding, 2008; Howard et al., 2010; Miller, 1998; World Health Organization, 2013). These same biological stress-response mechanisms are associated with cardiovascular disease, hypertension, gastrointestinal disorders, chronic pain, insulin-resistant diabetes, and a number of negative maternal–child health outcomes, including premature labor and low-birth weight infants (Altarac & Strobino, 2002; Miller, 1998; Wadhwa, Entinger, Buss, & Lu, 2011). Women are also at greater risk for acquiring sexually transmitted infections, most notably HIV, and using alcohol or drugs to cope with the violence (Campbell, 2002; Ellsberg, Jansen, Heise, Watts, & Garcia-Moreno, 2008).
Globalization and the feminization of the global labor market have given women the opportunity to move across international borders more independently and in greater numbers than ever before (Dannecker, 2005; Kofman & Raghuram, 2006; Mills, 2003; Oishi, 2005; Parson, 2010; Piper, 2003). Although many women migrate across borders for greater economic opportunity, immigrant women may also be at greater risk of all forms of gender-based violence, including IPV (Abraham, 2000; Klevens, 2007; Raj & Silverman, 2002, 2003, 2005; Villalón, 2010). Increasingly, scholars, clinicians, advocates, and members of law enforcement are recognizing the need to understand how international migration influences women’s vulnerability to violence and how their position as immigrants affects their experience and conceptualization of IPV, as well as their ability to access services related to IPV. Immigrant women’s risk for IPV is influenced by a multitude of intersecting factors, including gender; racial, ethnic, religious, and educational background; nationality, culture, and language; immigration (documented or undocumented) and socioeconomic status; past history of abuse; and the availability of local family/social networks (Erez, Adelman, & Gregory, 2009; Klevens, 2007; Menjivar & Salcido, 2002; Parson, Escobar, Merced, & Trautwein, 2016; Villalón, 2010).
Latina Immigrants in the United States
The United States hosts the largest number of immigrants in the world with approximately 40 million foreign-born residents (U.S. Census Bureau, 2013). Hispanics or Latinos, defined as individuals from Cuban, Mexican, Puerto Rican, South or Central American, or Spanish cultures, independent of race, are the largest immigrant group in the United States (U.S. Census Bureau, 2013). There is a wide range of reported prevalence of IPV among U.S. Latino families (19.5-50%; Denham et al., 2007; Hazen & Soriano, 2005; Ingram, 2007; Tjaden & Thoennes, 2000), and few studies indicate how researchers define the term Latino or whether participants were immigrant or U.S.-born Latinas, making it difficult to accurately assess prevalence in this diverse population. Nevertheless, the current consensus is that the prevalence of IPV in Latinas is similar to the general population when socio-demographic and relationship variables are controlled (Bonomi, Anderson, Cannon, Slesnick, & Rodriguez, 2009; Denham et al., 2007; Ingram, 2007; Klevens, 2007; Tjaden & Thoennes, 2000). However, several studies found Latinas to have worse IPV-related health outcomes than the general U.S. population, especially in the area of mental health (Bonomi et al., 2009; Krishnan, Hilbert, & VanLeeuwen, 2001; Tjaden & Thoennes, 2000). Latina victims may be more likely to have suicidal ideation (Krishnan et al., 2001) and less likely to report IPV or seek help than other groups (Dutton, Orloff, & Hass, 2000; Kasturirangan & Williams, 2003; West, Kanto, & Jasinski, 1998). Glass and colleagues (2009) found that although Latinas were just as likely to report IPV as non-Latinas, they were more likely to report that their partner used forced sex to control the relationship than non-Latinas.
There is evidence to suggest that the process of immigration and acculturation is itself a risk factor for IPV within Latino immigrant families (Caetano, Ramisetty-Mikler, & McGrath, 2004; Cunradi, 2009; Gonzalez-Guarda, Ortega, Vasquez, & De Santis, 2010; Gonzalez-Guarda, Peragallo, Vasquez, Urrutia, & Mitrani, 2009; Hazen & Soriano, 2005). Although disparate ways to define and measure acculturation make it difficult to determine with certainty the relationship between acculturation and IPV in this population, it is clear that acculturation does play a role in IPV risk and the experience of IPV. Changing cultural norms, psycho-social and relationship stress, disruption of family/social networks, undocumented status, financial vulnerability, and lack of access to care due to a number of barriers (e.g., language, cultural, financial, and documentation status), all may put Latina immigrant women at greater risk (Erez et al., 2009; Klevens, 2007; Parson et al., 2016). Additional predictors of IPV in the population include previous exposure to political violence or community violence (Casey & Nurius, 2005; Fortuna, Porche, & Alegria, 2008; Kimerling, Alvarez, Pavao, Kaminski, & Baumrind, 2007; Thompson et al., 2006), childhood physical/sexual abuse, and witnessing IPV at home (Aldarondo, Kaufman Kantor, & Jasinski, 2002; Cunradi, Caetano, Clark, & Schafer, 2000; Field & Caetano, 2003; Moreno, 2007; Nicolaidis et al., 2011; Schewe, Riger, Howard, Staggs, & Mason, 2006).
Latina immigrants face significant barriers to reporting IPV, maintaining their own safety and the safety of their children. Barriers to safety for immigrant women include a lack of culturally and linguistically appropriate community resources for battered women, social isolation, the absence of local family members, economic instability, and the perception that disclosure of battering to outsiders sullies community status (Erez et al., 2009). Criminal justice agencies that lack translation services and/or knowledge of immigration law, a lack of trust in law enforcement and/or government authorities, and immigration law that dictates legal and sometimes economic dependency on the batterer, who may be undocumented or lacking legal immigrant status, also pose significant barriers (Erez et al., 2009).
A global IPV epidemic coupled with an unprecedented level of women’s international migration suggests an urgent need for scholarship focused on the intersection of these two phenomena. In this article, based on our narrative research with nine Mexican immigrant women, we will discuss IPV within the context of migration and transnational families. We will also explore how deeply entrenched sociocultural and religious beliefs regarding virginity directly contributed to both childhood and adult sexual violence; the intergenerational and cross-border nature of family and IPV; and the strain of transnational motherhood and challenges associated with both protecting and providing for children from afar. Finally, although we acknowledge that migration itself is a risk factor for violence, we will explore how these women used movement across borders as an opportunity to overcome past histories of abuse.
Method
The Research Setting
Interviews were conducted at a well-established rape crisis center in the Northeastern United States. This urban rape crisis center offers specialized treatment services, comprehensive prevention education programs, and advocacy for the rights of victims of sexual assault. As part of their services, the center employs a licensed clinical social worker as a Latino outreach coordinator, who offers individual therapy, group therapy, community outreach, advocacy, and education specifically targeted to the city’s Latino population. We worked with the Latino outreach coordinator closely throughout the study, from the initial conceptualization and design, to recruitment and data analysis.
Narrative Methods
Narrative analysis is the study of stories. The method encompasses a wide variation of traditions that are concerned not only with the content of a story but also with how the narrator chooses to tell the story (and what she chooses to leave out). We used a combination of narrative analysis methods, including a holistic content perspective, holistic form analysis (Lieblich, Tuval-Mashiach, & Zilber, 1998), and constant comparative method (Glaser & Strauss, 1967). By combining narrative methods, we were able to examine the specific content of women’s stories of intimate partner sexual violance (IPSV) in the form of themes, and also formally observe the structure of the stories themselves through graphic representation of plot types.
Conceptually, we approached the study of narratives through a constructivist philosophy (Bruner, 2004). That is, we embraced the contextual, reflexive, and interpretive nature of our inquiry and recognized that the women’s narratives of IPSV were co-constructed between the participant, the interviewer and, in some cases, the translator.
Procedure
After receiving institutional review board approval from the University of Pennsylvania, we recruited participants through referrals from the urban rape crisis center. The Latina outreach coordinator approached women from the center or the community who fit the inclusion criteria. The principal investigator (PI) then met with potential participants; described the study in greater detail; answered questions; and, when appropriate, scheduled a time for the interview. To be included in the study, participants had to self-identify as female, be age 18 or older, be a Mexican immigrant living in the United States, be English- or Spanish-speaking, and have experienced some form of IPSV. We operationalized IPSV as any non-consensual or coerced sexual act, perpetrated by one partner against another, in an ongoing intimate relationship. Potential participants were excluded from the study if they were unable to complete the informed consent process, were unable to schedule a 1-2 hr block of time to meet for an interview, or stated that discussing IPSV might cause extreme emotional distress or put them in danger. All the women referred to the study by the Latina outreach coordinator met inclusion criteria and agreed to participate.
After completing the informed consent process, the PI interviewed nine women about their IPSV and migration experiences in a private room at the rape crisis center. Participants were given the choice of speaking in English or Spanish with the assistance of a translator. All interviews were digitally recorded. Each participant was asked a series of open-ended questions and narrative probes, which are provided in the appendix. At the end of each interview, the PI asked the participant to create a written timeline of the important events she shared in her narrative. Through this activity, the participant had the opportunity to share further details about each event, which often led to additional storytelling. Recruitment continued until saturation was reached with regard to important themes.
Due to the sensitive nature of the questions, we anticipated that some women might experience psychological distress related to the interview. In this event, we planned to stop the interview immediately and use the Draucker, Martsolf, and Poole (2009) distress protocol. Through the use of the protocol, the PI planned to assess whether the participant was a danger to herself or others and whether she needed immediate assistance or a referral for counseling or other services at a later time. We also had an external consultant available for the PI to call for consultation, if necessary. Although these plans were always in place, we never had the need to use the distress protocol or call our consultant during the duration of the study.
Each recorded interview was transcribed in its original language (seven in Spanish and two in English). A professional translation service translated all Spanish interviews into English in separate documents. We analyzed the data using Atlas Ti® qualitative software in a three-step process. (Although we describe it here as a linear process, it was conducted in an iterative fashion.) The three steps were the holistic content perspective, holistic form analysis, and case comparison. In this article, we will present the results from the holistic content perspective method, which provided rich data that illuminated the phenomenon.
In the first stage, we used the steps outlined by Lieblich et al. (1998) for the holistic content perspective. The research team read through the narratives several times independently to get a global impression of the story. Then we identified frequent themes present within the narratives, paying special attention to frequency of themes, transitions between themes, and the context in which themes appeared, and discussed findings together as a team.
The holistic content perspective method resulted in a list of themes and a variety of memos that documented the evolution of our thoughts and the process of analysis. Although we anticipated that there would be themes around both migration and violence, we were open to the possibility of de novo themes emerging as well.
We established trustworthiness through several approaches as per Lincoln and Guba (1985). We used prolonged engagement and triangulation between investigators by frequent meetings to enhance the credibility of the findings. And we increased confirmability through reflexive journaling, documenting project memos and creating an audit trail. All analysis was done in English; however, when we identified salient themes or story typologies, the PI reviewed the original Spanish language transcripts in consultation with a native Spanish speaker to ensure that the themes and typologies were congruent with the original language.
Results
Sample and Demographics
We examined the transcripts of nine participants for this study. All nine participants were women born in Mexico who migrated to the United States and who experienced IPSV at some time in their lives. They ranged in age from 21-35 years and were in the United States 2-12 years, with the exception of one participant who was 58 years old and lived in the United States for 55 years. Eight of the women had children, some of whom lived in the United States (five) and others lived with their grandparents in Mexico (three). Five of the participants were married or partnered with a male, and only one participant was still with her abusive partner. Their Mexican origins included Mexico City, Mexicali, Oaxaca, Puebla, and Guadalajara.
The major organizing principle of the women’s stories was that of suffering. The women consistently shared the same themes throughout their narratives, providing remarkably similar accounts of childhood sexual abuse, family violence, migrating to the United States, fear, loneliness, children, abusive partners, and IPSV. The themes we identified were La Virgen y la Puta (The Virgin and the Whore), La Familia (The Family), and Avazar (Getting ahead). All names used throughout this section are pseudonyms.
La Virgen y La Puta—The Virgin and the Whore
Women talked about the importance of virginity repeatedly throughout their interviews. They reported that once they experienced childhood sexual abuse or were raped by their intimate partners, they were no longer considered virgins and were seen as whores by their partners, families, and community. The rejection and disappointment they received from their mothers were especially devastating to these women, who were often kicked out of their parents’ home and sometimes forced to marry their abusive partner.
For Maria, her childhood sexual abuse made her a whore in the eyes of her partner. Then, her repeated rape by that partner made her a whore both in the eyes of her mother and the doctor she visited for a vaginal infection:
. . . I met my ex-husband, the father of my kids, when I was 14 years old. I didn’t want to tell him that I was being abused when I was four. It was because it had been an incest situation—my mother’s brother. When I told my mother that my uncle had abused me, my mother didn’t do anything. She told me to stay quiet. And don’t say anything about the topic to anybody. When I met my ex-husband when I was 14, I knew that I couldn’t say anything to him about what had happened to me. When I started having a sexual relationship with him and he realized that I was not a virgin, he started treating me really bad and he started saying that I was a whore or a prostitute . . . when I got pregnant my mom kicked me out of the house. Basically they forced him to marry me because uh, I was just 16 years old. But he didn’t want to get married to me. And that’s when real hell started. I think he hated me, because he said I had no value because I was not a virgin. In Mexico, it is very important to be a virgin when you get married. And he kept asking me why I was not a virgin, why I was not a virgin. And I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t speak. He was very angry and he hit me. I couldn’t go back home because my mom didn’t want me home. She said that I deserved this because I was a whore, because I opened my legs. So I had no choice but to stay with him. And he took advantage because there was no one there to protect me. And he did anything he wanted with me. For five years I was, uh, I was beaten by him, uh, he was savage. He raped me every time he wanted. Anally, vaginally, both—he’d just switch back and forth between vagina and anus. I got a whole bunch of infections in my vagina. He liked it because he said that my vagina was inflamed because of the infection and he said that, now you are a virgin because it was swollen. But it was very painful and it was sore. I couldn’t say anything because if . . . (crying) . . . he’d say that I was a whore and that I liked that. He, um, didn’t take me to the doctor to take care of the infections. He said that—once he did take me to the doctor and the doctor said to him that this type of infection only happened to women who are promiscuous. So I got another hit—he hit me again. He’d always accuse—accuse me of being with other men, which was not the truth.
Similarly, Esperanza and Luz told us about the ways in which their abusive partners used their virginity status against them:
He hit me sometimes. We fought a lot. He made me feel as if I wasn’t worth anything. He said—he said I was a slut. That I wasn’t a virgin when I was with him. And he said I should be thankful with him because he fell for me. He said no one would fall for me. That I—that I wasn’t worth anything. And I did feel like he—like he said I was. He always made me feel like a fool. Like I was nothing. That I didn’t have any value. And . . . he told me I didn’t have any value because . . . He knew that when I was with him I—I wasn’t a virgin.
Literature/implications
The extant literature is full of discussions surrounding what is commonly called the “virgin–whore dichotomy” within Mexican culture. In particular, the construct is derived from both traditional indigenous Mexican religious practices and the Catholic Church. Both reinforce the importance of virginity as part of female sexual morality (Espin, 1986; Guerrero-Pavich, 1986; Twinam, 1999). Historically, the most striking example of the virgin–whore dichotomy is the juxtaposition of the indigenous woman, Malinalli Tenepal, or la Malinche as she is most widely known, and la Virgen de Guadalupe (Virgin of Guadalupe). As the story is told, Malinalli Tenepal betrayed her people by acting as an interpreter for the Spanish conquistador Hernán Cortés. Perhaps more importantly, though, her rape by Cortés and consequent pregnancy resulted in the symbolic first child of the mestizo race. Described as la chingada (the fucked one), Malinalli Tenepal’s double betrayal of her people is ultimately blamed for the colonization of Mexico by the Spanish. Octavio Paz (2002), winner of the Nobel Prize for literature, describes it this way in his classic text, which was first published in 1950:
. . . she is the Chingada. She loses her name; she is no one; she disappears into nothingness; she is Nothingness. And yet she is the cruel incarnation of the feminine condition . . . and as a small boy will not forgive his mother if she abandons him to search for her father, the Mexican people have not forgiven la Malinche for her betrayal (p. 25).
In contrast, as the Mexican manifestation of the Virgin Mary and patron saint of Mexico, la Virgen de Guadalupe is the antithesis of la Malinche. She is able to give birth to a child without losing her virginity and as such, “ . . . she represents the holy, chaste woman, the embodiment of feminine purity as well as the virtues of nurturing and self-sacrifice. Thus, she is venerated in Mexican culture as the proper symbol for womanhood” (Petty, 2000).
Moving beyond the moral standards of Catholicism, Mexicana/Chicana feminist analyses of this construct add to our understanding of this particular theme in the context of the lives of the participants in this study (Anzaldua, 1987; Asencio, 2002; Espin, 1999; Gonzalez-Lopez, 2003; Hurtado, 2003; Zavella, 2003). Gonzalez-Lopez’s (2003) study of how Mexican immigrant mothers teach their daughters about virginity is particularly illuminating. Based on individual interviews conducted with 40 Mexican immigrant women living in Los Angeles, she found that virginity was seen as a form of capital with a social exchange value. Participants believed virginity led to financial stability and happiness via marriage. In contrast, premarital sex led to pregnancy, which damaged family honor and, in some cases, led to forced marriage. In the same way, women believed that premarital sex led to increased machismo, 1 even when women were “non-virgins” at marriage as a result of rape or incest.
The women interviewed for this study told us stories about these very same ideals of virginity and the consequences of being labeled “whores.” As demonstrated in the quotes above, sex (and sexual assault) before marriage was indeed seen as damaging to family honor by their mothers, and sometimes resulted in forced marriage with their partners. Once married, when women disclosed their childhood sexual abuse to their partners, it was used as justification for IPSV.
La Familia—The Family
Throughout their interviews, women spoke about the importance of la familia. Conceptually, la familia encompasses three interlocking themes regarding the family: (a) experiencing past abuse by family members, (b) navigating ambivalence about the family of origin, and (c) loving your own children and giving them a better life.
Experiencing past abuse by family members
Five out of the nine women involved in this study told us stories about experiencing violence and abuse during their childhood by immediate family members. Lora and Alanza witnessed fathers and step-fathers physically abusing their mothers. Maria, Yolanda, and Alanza were sexually abused by their uncles. They framed this childhood sexual abuse as some of the most traumatic events in their lives, which were compounded by the profound betrayal they felt toward the mothers who did not protect them: “I think the person that hurt me the most was my uncle” and “ . . . sometimes I think my mother knew [about the sexual abuse], but she didn’t do anything.”
Navigating ambivalence about the family of origin
For these women making migrant transitions across borders, the family of origin played a significant supportive role on both sides of the Mexican–U.S. border. Maria’s, Esperanza’s, and Karmina’s mothers cared for their children in Mexico, while they worked in the United States and remitted money to Mexico for family expenses. Josie’s younger brothers, who she raised like her own children after her parents abandoned them, continued to live in the United States and remained important support people in her life. She told us about a time they protected her from her abusive ex-boyfriend, who had come looking for her:
I didn’t dare tell them everything that happened in that year I was out of the house until one day he [abuser] came looking for me there. And my brother said, “She’s not alone. We are here.” And they left and kicked him out.
Like so many other parts of these women’s lives, the role of family was complex and cannot be easily described here. The very same people who hurt them so deeply also fulfilled supportive roles in their lives and were cast not only as villains within their narratives but also as providers and supporters during transitions. For example, the same father who beat her and her mother to the point of hospitalization paid for all of Lora’s expenses when she traveled to the United States. The same mother Maria blamed for her childhood sexual abuse saved her life during a suicide attempt and, at the time of the interview, cared for Maria’s two children in Mexico. Perhaps, then, it is no surprise that the participants described a certain amount of ambivalence about their families of origin, while also clearly stating that they wanted more for their own children.
Loving your own children and giving them a better life.“
They [children] are the most important things to me.” We identified this major theme early during data analysis by highlighting more than 50 different quotations about children in the first round of coding. Frequently, the participants used words such as providing, protecting, fighting for, teaching, supporting, uniting, and loving when talking about their own children. Children were cited as the guiding reason for every important decision, including leaving or remaining with their abuser and migrating to the United States.
With the exception of Alanza, who came to the United States when she was 3 years old, and Lora, who did not have any children of her own at the time of interview, all the women told us they came to the United States to provide better lives for their children: “I wanted something better for my children.” The women had to make a choice between remaining in poverty in Mexico and migrating to the United States for a better life with the ability to send money home to their families. “I came here because I was a single mother with two children and I didn’t have too many chances—economical chances in Mexico.” To earn money, they sometimes left their children behind in Mexico for years at a time to be cared for by other family members (usually their mothers), and it always required great personal sacrifice. For example, many of the women talked with vivid detail about the emotional toll that migration away from their children had taken on them. Here, Esperanza talks about how she prepared her children for her departure:
. . . I was hoping that nothing would happen to me on my way [across the border]. Just thinking that I was responsible for my children. And it was—it was very painful to leave my children. But this was important because it was—it was to improve their lives. The only thing I did was talk to them. And I told them I was coming to work for a long time. That they were going to stay with their grandparents. That I was going to work and make an effort. Even when—even when I didn’t see them for a long time, it doesn’t mean I didn’t love them. That I loved them a lot. That I was going to look for something. That I was going to be better for them.
Esperanza spoke through tears about missing her children in Mexico and the decision she made to return and be reunited with them:
I’m thinking about going back. Around this January or February. Because (long pause) maybe I didn’t come to do a lot, to tell you the truth, I didn’t come to do a lot. I had a lot of dreams. My dream was to build my own house. But no, I couldn’t because my children wouldn’t go to school. Um, and they are the most important thing to me. (Crying) Spend their childhood with them, be with them, play with them. Enjoy the years that they are experiencing. Because those are—those are the things that will never come back. And for me that’s the most important thing. Enjoy them from now on, because later when they are older. They—when they are older they aren’t always going to be with me. So for me it’s better to enjoy them now while they are young.
Beyond providing for their children financially through migration to the United States for work, the women also spoke frequently about the importance of protecting their children from abuse, encouraging them in their education, and teaching them to love the family.
. . . I’m very careful—very careful with my children, mm-hm, with everyone. With their grandfather, their father, with everyone. No, I don’t like when they touch them. I don’t like it, no, I get angry, but I have tried to control myself, as I saw violence my whole life. I have tried to keep violence out of my house. I want a united, happy family. Um, go back, I don’t know, go back to Mexico and teach my daughter what love is. Love for the family. Um, and to be a good girl. To study. And to be with the people who love her.
Literature/implications
The ability to move across national borders, whether by legal or illegal means, is transforming the family. As parents migrate to find work and provide for their children, many immigrant families experience prolonged periods of separation (Dreby, 2007; Parreñas, 2001; Schmalzbauer, 2004; Suarez-Orozco, Bang, & Kim, 2011; Suarez-Orozco, Todorova, & Louie, 2002). Although this is not a new phenomenon among immigrant fathers, the rapid feminization of the global labor market has led to an increase in the number of mothers who are separated from their children across national borders (Fresnoza-Flot, 2009; Hondagneu-Sotelo, 1997, 2003; Parreñas, 2001). Transnational parentality, particularly transnational motherhood, is well documented in the sociology and feminist literature (Dreby, 2007; Foner, 2009; Fresnoza-Flot, 2009; Hondagneu-Sotelo, 1997, 2003; Mahalingam, Balan, & Molina, 2009; Menjivar, 2006; Menjivar & Abrego, 2009; Parreñas, 2001; Schmalzbauer, 2004; Suarez-Orozco et al., 2011; Suarez-Orozco et al., 2002).
In a large, cross-sectional study, Miranda, Siddique, Der-Martirosian, and Belin (2005) found that separation from children during migration was strongly associated with an increased risk for major depression for mothers, as compared with women without children and women whose children were living with them. Likewise, children who experience family separation are more likely to perform poorly in school, exhibit behavior problems, have attachment difficulties, express feelings of powerlessness and abandonment, have frequent/chronic physical illnesses and symptoms of anxiety and depression, and exhibit increased anger and aggression, as compared with their peers (Battistella & Conaco, 1998; Burke, 1980; Dreby, 2007; Lashley, 2000; Parreñas, 2001; Smith, 2006; Suarez-Orozco et al., 2011; Suarez-Orozco et al., 2002). Children who have experienced long-term separations from their primary caregivers (usually mothers) are the most vulnerable to poor outcomes and most likely to require psychiatric services (Heymann et al., 2009; Morgan et al., 2007). In her ethnographic study, Dreby (2007) reported that children left behind by migrant parents suffer significant negative consequences and are the “most disadvantaged members of Mexican transnational families” (p. 1061).
Although further work needs to be done in this area, it is clear family separation due to migration is difficult for both mothers and their children. Three of the women in this study had to make difficult choices between remaining in poverty in Mexico with their children and migrating to the United States for a chance at economic stability without them. As single mothers, they felt that they had little choice but to come to the United States to make enough money to support their families, even if it meant leaving their children behind. Leaving the children behind with mothers who had not protected the participants themselves from sexual violence created additional conflicts.
Avanzar—Getting Ahead
Women spoke about the importance of getting ahead in spite of the risks inherent in immigration. They improved their lives through migration to the United States, separation from their abusive partners, and obtaining financial and personal independence. A transition from being other-oriented to becoming increasingly self-oriented was reflected repeatedly throughout the narratives. For these women, supporting themselves by working hard and earning their own money was particularly important. “I worked, worked a lot, a lot, a lot. I didn’t care if it was a lot of time, no, no, I just wanted to focus myself on getting ahead for myself.” Lora, the only participant without children, spoke about it this way:
I don’t know. I like to work. I like to be independent. I don’t like to be dependent on people or take orders or commands. My purpose or goal isn’t getting married or having children quickly and have them shout at me and I—that is, I’m not thinking about getting married now and having children so someone supports me. I think I can support myself.
Several women also spoke about the importance of education and learning English to get ahead and improve their lives.
The transition from being other-oriented to a new self-orientation was also clear in the way women talked about sex. In the past, sex was something that happened in the context of horrific abuse and was rarely pleasurable. Participants told us repeatedly about hating sex and not being able to refuse their partners’ advances in the past. They would then proceed to tell us about how that has changed—how they no longer see all men as abusers and all sex as bad, but rather they have opened themselves to the possibility of pleasurable and consensual sex. Sex is no longer solely about the pleasure of their partner (other-oriented); now, it is also about their own decisions and desires (self-oriented).
I don’t see having sex as something bad. I understand now that if I don’t want to, it’s my decision. And I also—I decide who to do it with and who not to do it with. And to think about myself always before thinking about other people. . . . I decide now about myself.
The participants attributed improvements in their lives and their changing attitudes to both their own work on character development/self-improvement and the influence of family, friends, and new intimate partners. When we asked Yolanda to tell us about who or what had been helpful in her healing process, she spoke about her character:
. . . what helped me was my character, my character, um, and how I can explain? I don’t like to be the same, I do not want to be, no, um, my character has helped me get ahead, to make tough decisions in my life, because that’s what it taught me and it taught me to be independent, then um, that’s helped me a lot.
In the same way, Luz shared about how her boyfriend has helped her change: “He helped me change in the aspect that I was very negative . . . so he taught me to love, to believe, and to be happy.” Josie shared a similar story,
My husband is an excellent husband, who takes care of me. Who has helped me find myself again. Who has showed me I wasn’t empty. That I can be happy. That I can smile. That I can be Josie again.
Literature/implications
Given the high level of trauma experienced by the women who participated in this study and the significant transitional stress of migration, it would be easy to view this population through a deficit paradigm, which fails to acknowledge the resilience and strength of an individual. And although there is no doubt that women making transitions across borders face significant risks to their safety and health, the women who participated in this study spoke mostly about how migration had improved their lives and given them greater opportunities than they would have had in Mexico. The migratory transition to the United States was an important part of a larger effort to move forward with their lives after significant trauma; provide for their children; forge new, healthy relationships; and continue to avanzar (get ahead). These findings forced us not only to shift our thinking from viewing migration solely as a risk factor for violence exposure, but also to consider it as a form of individual strength and agency. Although migration created additional problems for some, these women described immigration to the United States as part of a dynamic process encompassing positive adaptation within the context of significant adversity, the very definition of resilience (Luthar, Cicchetti, & Becker, 2000). Based on our findings and those of others (DeFrain & Asay, 2007; Grigg-Saito, Och, Liang, Toof, & Silka, 2008; Raffaelli & Wiley, 2013; Usita & Blieszner, 2002), we recommend that prevention and intervention efforts with immigrant communities be guided by a resilience and strengths-based framework.
Conclusion
Based on the limited available literature in this area, we began this study believing that women’s migration across borders would increase vulnerability to abuse and play an important role in their experiences and conceptualizations of IPSV. In reality, these women experienced a lifetime of trauma and abuse, which started during childhood and adolescence in Mexico. In the end, transition was important, although not in the ways we had anticipated. The transitions women spoke about were not necessarily related to physical movement across borders, or negotiating destabilized gender roles, as suggested by previous research (Klevens, 2007). Women discussed transitions in the context of getting ahead, moving forward, and being better. This idea became clear as they shared how they were working to reclaim their sexuality, recreate family in the United States, and reconnect with their children. The women’s narratives demonstrated to us that the challenges faced by female migrants are not caused by migration, but rather are the result of global systems of inequity. Migration placed tremendous psycho-social stress on these women, while providing a way to avanzar.
The three themes of la Virgen y la Puta (The Virgin and the Whore), La Familia (The Family), and Avanzar (Getting Ahead) provided further contextual understanding of the ways in which women conceptualized their own histories of gender-based violence and how they had incorporated them into their larger lives. In the theme la Virgen y la Puta (The Virgin and the Whore), women described pervasive sociocultural beliefs about the importance of virginity and the consequences of being viewed as a whore after childhood sexual abuse or adult sexual assault. Through la Familia (The Family) theme, women discussed their ambivalence regarding families of origin that were both abusive and supportive at various times in their lives, and the efforts they made to love, protect, and provide for their own children. The final theme, Avanzar (Getting Ahead), demonstrated the women’s determination to improve their lives through migration, separation from abusive partners, and the forging of new positive intimate relationships.
Footnotes
Appendix
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: National Institutes of Health, Ruth L. Kirschstein NRSA Pre Doctoral Fellow Research on Vulnerable Women, Children & Families (T32NR007100; Marilyn S. Sommers, Principal Investigator); Evelyn Jacobs Ortner Center on Family Violence, Research on Violence Against Women Seed Grant (Tiffany Kim Principal Investigator); and Sigma Theta Tau International Society of Nursing, Rosemary Berkel Crisp Research Award (Tiffany Kim Principal Investigator).
