Mexican Immigrant Women’s Reconstruction of Punishment and Victimhood in Intimate Partner Violence

Abstract

Utilizing 20 in-depth, semi-structured interviews with Mexican immigrant women in Southern California, we argue that participants employ a bifocal lens to develop perceptions of intimate partner violence (IPV). By drawing on existing knowledge from Mexico as reference points, the findings show that participants construct law enforcement as the appropriate intervention in the United States. As a result, they construct new norms for victims on how to address IPV. Ultimately, this research suggests that perceptions of laws and law enforcement as change agents in ending IPV within the United States may create, in fact, a false sense of security in Mexican immigrant women.

Keywords

intimate partner violence Mexican immigrants bifocal lens

Introduction

Intimate partner violence (IPV) is widely recognized as a global social problem affecting populations and communities across sociodemographic factors (Garcia-Moreno, Jansen, Ellsberg, Heise, & Watts, 2006). Responses to this social problem vary and change dramatically by region. For some individuals, engaging in help-seeking through law enforcement is a viable option. However, a lack of response or sense of urgency by law enforcement personnel to incidents of IPV is common. Communities reinforce law enforcement’s acceptance of inaction by positioning IPV as private troubles, undeserving of intervention by authorities, even when law enforcement appears to be the only source of help for many victims (Bosch & Bergen, 2006; Frias & Agoff, 2015; Zakar, Zakar, & Krämer, 2012).

Although police in the United States have a long history of under-response to IPV, improvements have been made in the last several decades both with new laws against IPV and in increased police accountability. Comparatively, in Mexico and many Latin American countries, the application of laws and state resources remain scarce in cases of violence against women, particularly IPV (Neumann, 2017). Although efforts such as the creation of female-staffed institutions, like women’s police stations (Nelson, 1996) and domestic violence tribunals (Macauley, 2006), have been put forth, Mexican law enforcement response to IPV remains largely inadequate (Frias, 2013).

The implementation of new laws and responses to IPV in both the United States and Mexico serves as a catalyst for civilians to consider, and perhaps reconstruct, their definitions, perceptions, and beliefs around IPV. Likewise, when an individual migrates from one context to another, facing new laws and responses to IPV, they can experience a process of evaluating previously held beliefs and perceptions.

Many studies examining IPV in the United States or Mexico focus on help-seeking behaviors and/or on samples of battered women (Fugate, Landis, Riordan, Naureckas, & Engel, 2005; Ingram, 2007; Moe, 2007). In cases including immigrant populations, samples are largely composed of individuals directly involved in IPV (Kyriakakis, 2014; Reina, Lohman, & Maldonado, 2014; Silva-Martinez, 2016). One’s perceptions of given phenomena, however, are linked to personal experiences and, therefore, in cases of immigration, researchers should consider both the country of origin and the host country. Ultimately, a clearer understanding of Mexican immigrant beliefs related to IPV can assist the host country (the United States) in meeting the needs of an evolving, multicultural population.

In this article, we aim to examine the perceptions, definitions, and experiences of Mexican immigrant women as related to IPV. We show that contrary to past research positioning immigrants as reluctant to contact law enforcement in cases of IPV, our participants report that they are willing to contact law enforcement officials and expect others to do so as well. Although this is partly a result of the way our participants understand law enforcement’s presence and effects in cases of IPV, it is also the process in how immigrant populations come to define IPV punishment and victimhood through the application of a bifocal lens.

Literature Review

Research examining immigrant populations’ perceptions of law enforcement remains controversial. Some scholars report that their perceptions of the police are often more favorable than are the perceptions of native-born individuals within the same communities (Correia, 2010). Still, other scholars have found that immigrant populations are more critical of the U.S. criminal justice system than native-born individuals and as a result are more hesitant to contact police (Davis & Mateu-Gelabert, 2000; Martell, 2002). Less controversial, however, is that many IPV victims in the United States include immigrant women from Latin American countries (Fry, 2006). Accordingly, there is a great need to examine the way immigrant women from these locales come to understand IPV.

Shifts in Punishment Affect Perceptions of Legal Outcomes

A society’s construction of appropriate punishment influences populations in their decision to contact law enforcement and become involved with the criminal justice system. Overall, punishments incentivize individuals to follow social norms; punishing an offender indicates their behavior is inappropriate and unacceptable to others in society (Durkheim, 1895/1958). Within the United States, punishment is constructed on the expectations of being certain, swift, and severe (Beccaria, 1764). And although the Eighth Amendment limits allowable punishment through its “cruel and unusual” clause, these definitions vary. Likewise, perceptions of the harshness of punishment also vary and affect members of a given society differently. Extant research suggests that depending on residency status and fear of deportation, Latinos exhibit different levels of confidence in the “justice” they will receive through the U.S. legal system (Becerra, Wagaman, Androff, Messing, & Castillo, 2017).

In terms of IPV specifically, the United States has experienced a shift toward greater certainty and severity of punishment. Historically, police officers “ignored domestic violence calls, delaying their response by several hours, or insisted on mediation rather than arrest” (Goodman & Epstein, 2005, p. 480). Often, this resulted in underarrest (Worden & Pollitz, 1984; Zorza, 1992). By 1986, however, nearly half of all police departments in the United States implemented mandatory or pro-arrest policies (Buzawa & Buzawa, 1990; Ferraro, 1996); by 1996, 66% of prosecutors’ offices adopted no-drop prosecution policies which prevent prosecutors from dismissing charges in cases of IPV. As a result, arrests and sentencing of offenders in cases of IPV increased (Epstein, 1999; Hirschel, Buzawa, Pattavina, & Faggiani, 2007). The implementation of the aforementioned policies and the increase in arrests and sentencing related to IPV demonstrate a reconceptualization of appropriate responses to IPV. Consequently, current legal codes and outcomes signal to society members, including immigrant populations who likely have little or no experience with U.S. legal entities prior to this shift, that law enforcement officials within the United States do not take IPV lightly and that help is available.

Constructions of Victimhood Affect Help-Seeking

There are several explanations for why immigrants, particularly immigrant women, may decide to contact law enforcement in cases of IPV. As noted above, one explanation is based on the perceptions of legal entities and outcomes within the host country. Another explanation, however, is based on the construction of victimhood and punishment within the host country. A victim discourse may be both inclusive, from the perspective that anyone can claim the position of victim, and selective, in that some individuals are more likely than others to be positioned and accepted as victims. Christie’s (1986) concept of the “ideal (crime) victim” supports the notion of selective discourses on victimhood, as it clearly outlines an individual who is worthy of and receives a complete, legitimate, and unambiguous victim status. He argues that the “ideal victim” is weaker in relation to the offender—vulnerable, respectable, and subordinate—and does not contribute to their own victimization. Building on Christie’s work, other scholars argue that the “ideal victim” is best understood in terms of their innocence and lack of wrongdoing in the context of a particular victimization incident (Lamb, 1999; Sank & Caplan, 1991).

In the context of IPV, Davies, Lyon, and Monti-Catania (1998) and Loseke (1992) argue that, especially during the beginning of the women’s movement, IPV discourses focused on the image of the “pure victim.” Although similar to Christie’s “ideal victim,” a “pure” (i.e., real) victim examines victimhood within the specific context of IPV. As such, this discourse represents IPV victims primarily as (a) adhering to traditional gender roles and being economically and emotionally dependent on their abusers; (b) passive and not violent themselves, except in the case of self-defense; and (c) fearful as a result of the violence and abuse they experience. In addition, in her discussion of victims of IPV, Loseke (2003) suggests that when individuals are perceived as “morally good” and as being harmed “through no fault of their own,” they more often receive sympathy and victim status (p. 79).

Loseke’s conceptualization fails to consider the complex and multi-faceted experiences of immigrant women. It is not uncommon for immigrant women in particular to abandon the help-seeking process for numerous reasons (e.g., fear of deportation, language barrier, and socioeconomic status) after initially contacting officials for assistance. As a result, immigrant victims often experience frustration from service providers and law enforcement (Briones-Vozmediano, Goicolea, Ortiz-Barreda, Gil-González, & Vives-Cases, 2014). Employing Loseke’s conceptualization, immigrant women may have a harder time achieving victim status because of this withdrawal. This suggests the individual seeking victim status can be identified at least partly “at fault” for their own harm, especially in reoccurring instances of violence, as they failed to follow through with stopping the violence. Although these experiences do not affect the initial willingness of immigrants to engage in help-seeking behaviors with these official entities, the negative implications around future likelihood of these same individuals re-engaging in such behavior with service providers and/or law enforcement are apparent.

Bifocal Lens as a Conceptual Framework

Immigrant populations present a particularly unique case for consideration when aiming to understand perceptions and beliefs related to particular crimes, such as IPV, and the responses of a host country. Menjivar and Bejarano (2004) introduced the concept of bifocal lens to explain how immigrants’ previous experiences with a given phenomenon shape perceptions of this same phenomenon within the host country. For example, an individual’s experience and knowledge of crime and the justice system within their country of origin will affect their perceptions of these same phenomena within their new country of residence.

Drawing on previous research, Correia (2010) suggests that immigrants from countries where police are unreliable, corrupt, or overly aggressive may be more likely to view police in their new host country with distrust and fear. This contention assumes that immigrants employ a bifocal lens to develop their perceptions and understanding within their new country of residence. Specifically, immigrants interpret experiences within their host country using knowledge and experiences from their home country as a reference (Menjivar & Bejarano, 2004). Correia (2010) posits that individuals’ negative experiences with authorities in their home country would lead to negative perceptions of authorities within their new country of residence. However, this work is challenged by Griffiths (2017), who recently employed immigrants’ bifocal lens as a means of explaining how immigrants may perceive phenomena in their host country differently than those in their home countries. She found that Polish migrants in a North West England community had more trust and confidence in the police of their host country than they did in the police of their home country. This was explained, in part, by the participants’ knowledge and understanding of Polish police as corrupt and their perceptions of British police as different.

Development and use of one’s bifocal lens is additionally affected by age of migration and years spent in one’s home country prior to migration. Abrego (2011), who studied adult and youth undocumented Latinos, found that individuals who migrated as adults, and therefore spent more time in their home countries prior to migration, often viewed themselves as marginalized in their host countries. They acknowledge their agency in decision-making around immigration, particularly as related to being undocumented, as a partial explanation for this feeling. As a result, they also often viewed law enforcement with fear. Alternatively, for immigrant populations who migrate when in their youth and, therefore, spend fewer years in their home countries, it is more normalized to view law enforcement and social resources in their host countries as approachable and themselves not as marginal members of their host countries.

In addition, both formal education and one’s family serve as critical areas through which people develop their attitudes about and toward the law (Piquero, Bersani, Loughran, & Fagan, 2016). These agents of socialization can shape beliefs regarding either the home or host country’s law and law enforcement. Hence, when employing a bifocal lens, the point of reference is shaped by exposure to these agents of socialization. This suggests that if an individual spends fewer years in the home country, they likely engage in greater socialization and education within the host country, in this case, the United States, and may view engagement with the law as more normalized. Hence, although the younger generation might engage with the law, the older population might use avoidance strategies as a result of their fear.

Research on immigrant populations experiencing IPV often focuses on identifying and drawing links between the violence and signs of acculturation, biculturalism, transnationalism, and/or assimilation (see, for example, Grzywacz, Rao, Gentry, Marín, & Arcury, 2009; Kim & Sung, 2016). These concepts are significant to understanding how immigrants adapt to, identify with, and navigate between their old and new contexts. Employing immigrants’ bifocal lenses as a broader framework offers further insight into the ways they not only develop norms but process them to develop perceptions and beliefs, even without direct experiences with the phenomena or people in question.

Extant literature on immigrants’ bifocal lenses largely engage in comparative studies between groups, such as in the work of Menjivar and Bejarano (2004). Although previous research frames the bifocal lens as a concept, we contend that immigrants’ bifocal lenses have greater impact and can be used as a conceptual framework for understanding and organizing information about immigrant adaptation. In this case, Mexican immigrants, employing their bifocal lens, conceptualize not only what appropriate responses to IPV are or who “real” victims might be but also the norms around how and why these outcomes are acceptable based on their perceptions.

The Current Study

In this study, we examine how immigrant women understand and construct punishment and victimhood within IPV cases by drawing on their experiences and perceptions of these concepts within their home country, Mexico, as they navigate life in their host country, the United States. For the purposes of this study, we draw on definitions used by participants in this study and employ the words “victim” and “victimhood” to reference women who experience violence within heterosexual relationships. Specifically, participants identified help-seeking behaviors, the responsiveness of police, and their experiences and beliefs about resources within both Mexico and the United States as central to their construction of punishment and victimhood within IPV.

Method

Recruitment and Sample

The research was conducted between October and December 2014 as part of a broader project on gender relations. Participants were recruited from multiple public spaces including church groups, nonprofit political organizations, and public organizations serving mostly first-generation Mexican immigrants. The first author, a member of the local Mexican community, had prolonged engagement and volunteered in various organizations from which the initial recruitment occurred. The study information was disseminated through flyers and verbal announcements at community events. In addition, the first author would frequently answer questions from potential participants in informal conversations including the topics that would be covered, the type of questions that would be asked, and the goals of the study. After establishing an initial sample, we employed snowball sampling, which was particularly useful in recruiting participants from outside these formal organizations.

The data in this study are drawn from 20 interviews with Mexican immigrant women to the United States. Although the first author often asked female participants if their male loved ones would also be interested in participating, these requests were usually unsuccessful. Considering IPV is largely understood as a gendered topic (Adames & Campbell, 2005), men may have experienced hesitation around participation. Only five men participated in this study and due to their small sample size, we have excluded them from the results discussed herein.

As a second-generation bilingual Latina, the first author conducted interviews in either English or Spanish depending on the participant’s preference. Eligibility criteria for study participation included (a) being 18 years of age and older, (b) having lived for at least the first 10 years of their lives in Mexico, and (c) currently residing in a Southern California county, referred to as Crescent County. The sample was further limited by accepting a maximum of three participants with the same number of years of settlement in the United States. This helped to facilitate a more varied sample and a heightened diversity of experience. Although this research centers on the topic of IPV, it was not required that participants directly experienced IPV. Because we were interested in perceptions of IPV, rather than experiences with IPV, this criterion was not included. As a result, only two participants spoke of direct experiences with IPV as a victim, though multiple participants drew from experiences of witnessing IPV.

The age of the participants ranged from 23-61 years, with an average age of 43 years. A majority of our participants (55%) were undocumented immigrants, followed by 20% who were permanent residents, and 15% who were citizens. In addition, two (8%) were in the process of legalizing their status. The length of residency in the United States ranged from 4-27 years, with an average of 18 years lived in the United States. Most participants had lived more than the required criterion of 10 years in Mexico with a range of 11-34 years, averaging 23 years of residence in Mexico. Almost all our participants had resided only in Crescent County since entering the United States. All names used are pseudonyms.

Data Collection

Interview guide

Both authors developed the interview guide to solicit responses regarding gender relations during their childhood in Mexico, observed gendered norms in Mexico, immigration experience, and their own beliefs now regarding gender relations, gendered norms, and IPV. The interview guide was translated by the first author, and a second native Spanish speaker back-translated the questions to ensure accuracy.

Semi-structured in-depth interviews were conducted. This format allowed the interviewer to obtain information in a collaborative manner, as the knowledge is co-constructed by both the interviewer and the interviewee (Hesse-Biber & Leavy, 2011). This was particularly useful because it allowed the participants to introduce what they deemed relevant without being restricted to the interview questions posed (Hesse-Biber & Leavy, 2011). For example, although respondents were not explicitly asked about the role of the criminal justice system, all but one of the participants repeatedly drew on this concept to explain their perceptions of IPV in Mexico and the United States. The flexibility of this methodology allowed us to continue this thread of discussion with further probing and follow-up questions.

Interview process

The first author, a bilingual speaker and member of the Mexican community in Crescent County, conducted the interviews in the participants’ preferred public spaces, including cafes, public parks, and apartment communal spaces. All interviews were conducted in person, and informed consent was obtained to audio-record all 25 interviews. Interviews began with a series of demographic questions. The remainder of the interview incorporated open-ended questions about IPV and the treatment of women more broadly in Mexico and in the United States. Using a semi-structured interview guide, the first author asked participants for detailed information about their broad perceptions of IPV and, more specifically, their responses to it. Interview duration ranged from 50 min to 3 hr; the average length was 1 hr and 33 min. Participants received no compensation for their time and participation.

Data Analysis

The first author transcribed and translated the interviews from Spanish to English for the purposes of coding, analysis, and presentation. Utilizing a grounded theory approach in the analysis of data (Charmaz, 2004), we looked for emergent themes as the interviews were conducted, transcribed, and translated. Once all interviews were transcribed and, following an inductive approach, each author read the 25 transcripts several times. In each reading of the transcript, we paid particular attention to the participants’ reported changes in meanings and discourses. We individually identified repeated patterns and relationships in the data. Thereafter, we cross-checked identified patterns with each other, comparing the extent of emergent patterns within and between all transcripts, and compiled all the text supporting the patterns. Then, we returned to the transcripts to ensure the participants’ suggested definitional meanings were maintained and to assess the accuracy of the identified patterns (Charmaz, 2006). Throughout the analysis, we wrote analytical memos to assist in defining each analytical category. These were particularly important during analysis, as codes were kept “active” (Charmaz, 2000), and in identifying and structuring an analytic framework from which to build our findings. Ultimately, emergent patterns regarding participants’ perceptions of IPV in Mexico and the United States centered on reconstructing notions of punishments and victimhood in cases of IPV depending on responses by law enforcement as formal agents of social control. The quotes presented here are translations by the first author.

Results

Perceptions of Agents of Social Control, Law, and Punishment

Very few Mexican immigrants in this study spoke about interactions with law enforcement in either the United States or Mexico. In fact, only two participants spoke of direct interactions with law enforcement in the United States. Yet, despite their lack of direct experience, participants believed the United States, as a society, to be oriented around principles of law and punishment, which contrasted strongly with their views of Mexican society. Participants reported that Mexican authorities were known for being nonresponsive or for having weak responses in IPV cases. By drawing on their own references of Mexican law enforcement, participants employed a bifocal lens to create new, redeveloped perceptions of agents of social control, law, and punishment within the United States.

Viewing law enforcement as an appropriate body of intervention in the United States represents a stark departure from the participants’ views of law enforcement in Mexico. Carolina supported the perception of law enforcement intervention in IPV as normative when she explained, “There are those men [who] hit the women [in the United States]. There are. But, they know that, automatically, women will call the police, and [the police] are going to arrest them. . . . [Arrest] in Mexico just didn’t happen.” She perceived both the law and the formal agents of social control, law enforcement, as certain and guaranteed in their outcomes. She also identified the specific punishment: arrest. This observation of the reliance on imprisonment within the United States is corroborated by its high incarceration rate compared with Mexico (Patton, 2008). The perception of authorities as failing to respond to IPV in Mexico further enables Carolina to construct social norms of the United States based around a more responsive system. Specifically, Carolina suggests that intervention in the United States is targeted both at the women, who make the calls for assistance, and also at perpetrators, who are then arrested.

In addition to understanding law enforcement intervention as normative and certain, immigrants also constructed such involvement within the United States as timely. Jessica, a recently arrived undocumented immigrant to the United States, believed, “Here, if you hit her, [the community has] already called the police, locked him up, or thrown him back to Mexico, that easy.” Here, Jessica describes both the outreach by civilians to authorities for assistance and the outcome of intervention by authorities in terms of the punishment doled out. Jessica’s use of the word “already” is significant, as it highlights the swiftness of both authorities in their response, but also of the larger criminal justice system in terms of the judicial process within the United States. Importantly, in her conceptualization of intervention, the victim is not required to initiate engagement to receive assistance. Instead, the community initiates the engagement with the institution based on the belief that authorities will respond. This understanding of the situation represents both a community agreement and cooperative stance toward law enforcement intervention.

Ultimately, effective intervention in IPV within the United States is understood as involvement by law enforcement, as it enacts the laws and doles out the punishment. When asked about how members of the community would react upon seeing IPV, Elena stated that they would call the police because “[t]he police are the ones that stop everything.” When followed with a question about whether the police were also an option in Mexico, she responded by saying, “Not where I lived.” This view of Mexican authorities contrasts with her suggestions that law enforcement is the solution toward ending IPV in the United States. Following this belief, she expects individuals in the United States to feel a sense of security in contacting law enforcement for help, as the violence is guaranteed to cease. This confidence in law enforcement within the United States, however, meant that participants did not consider nor describe other methods of IPV intervention in the United States. Such a narrow definition of effective intervention reinforces the constructed supremacy of formal agents of social control, the law, and punishment in situations of IPV. The difference between responses in Mexico and those within the United States, as described by participants, was not solely in law enforcement’s acknowledgment of IPV in the United States. It was the additional level of security and trust in the law enforcement institution which shaped participants’ understanding that law enforcement’s quickness and responsiveness effectively terminates violence in IPV situations. Ultimately, the perceptions participants had of law enforcement, law, and punishment represent their conceptualization of the legal system following immigration.

Araceli, who had lived for 24 years in Mexico before migrating to the United States, where she had lived for 25 years at the time of her interview, conceptualized the difference between the legal systems by contending that

[Men] know that over here [in the United States], the police [do] not play around. If you do something here, it doesn’t matter if you go to China. From over there, they will find you. Here, you do something, they look. Here it is not like Mexico where [the perpetrator] did it and leaves.

For Araceli, once law enforcement identified a perpetrator, punishment was applied regardless of the strategies employed to evade authorities and the punishment assigned. Through her reference to outcomes in Mexico, Araceli notes the distinct difference in contexts, expressing an idealization of law enforcement in the United States compared with Mexico.

Such narrow definitions of what constitutes appropriate intervention are made possible because, as immigrants noted, reasons for intervention by formal agents of social control are more numerous in the United States than they are in Mexico. As a result, Elena said that a perpetrator in the United States “wouldn’t act the same way, [hitting], since he would think about it more.” The threat of law enforcement intervention is enough to stop men’s use of violence. Enacting violence against women in the United States is viewed as a high risk, eliciting at least hesitation among men who continue to use violence.

Similarly, Patricia believed that “[in] some instances of IPV, the man has more fear that he will go to jail.” In her own case of sexual enslavement on arrival in the United States, her perpetrator was not stopped by his fear of imprisonment, yet Patricia still contended that intervention by law enforcement elicits fear among perpetrators. This perception encouraged participants to view the prevalence of IPV in the United States as effectively lowered because of the constructed fear of law enforcement, law, and punishment of perpetrators.

Although the vast majority of participants discussed perceptions of law enforcement, law, and punishment in the terms discussed above, there were two anomalies in our data. Two women who reported previous IPV and law enforcement experiences in the United States reiterated the identified patterns of certain, swift, and negative punishment, but they framed these features as increasing IPV’s prevalence. Laura presents this perspective as she explained that the supremacy of law in U.S. society and the reliance on law enforcement by citizens, she believed, created more issues for victims of IPV than actual solutions. She stated,

The woman remains silent because of the law. You live with more fear because here you live day by day, the rent and the bills. Here, if a woman receives a beating, you cannot call the police because right there and then . . . jail. And then the payment if you are going to bail him out. There are more problems with the law.

Unlike other participants, Laura talked about the process more intimately, as seen through her reference of bail, reflecting a deeper knowledge of the U.S. criminal justice system. She highlighted how the reliance on imprisonment, along with larger gender inequalities, generated further limitations on women’s lives, specifically exacerbating immigrant women’s financial limitations. Therefore, imprisonment without further support, in her mind, does not liberate women from violence, but instead perpetuates the reliance on the victims’ perpetrators.

Reconstruction of Victimhood in IPV

Contrasting perceptions of responses by law enforcement to IPV in the United States as compared with Mexico catalyzed new definitions of victimhood in our participants following their migration experience. Notably, as was the case with their constructions and definitions of agents of social control, law, and punishment, participants’ construction of victimhood in IPV within the United States also drew heavily on their understanding of victimhood in Mexico.

Martha, an undocumented woman, described the United States in terms of the ways law enforcement intervention, or even the threat of such, empowered women: “If men already have a bad record, then they fear the police. If they have anger against their wife, they start to solve it with communication, like, ‘Why do you hit me? Why do you beat me?’” Martha viewed punishment in the United States as effectively challenging men’s power to use violence. This conceptualization goes as far as providing women with a forum to voice their opposition against violence in their intimate relationships. This suggests that immigrants view punishment not only as a source of retribution for offenders but also as a potential source of empowerment through which victims are able to challenge the gender hierarchy that exists within their relationships.

This stands in sharp contrast to the circumstances that Martha described of Mexico. She explained that “in Mexico, [men] beat up women, even kill them. There is no calling the police when they are mistreating you. No, not in Mexico. In Mexico, there is nothing. That is why women suffer a lot.” Martha explained women’s suffering in Mexico results from a lack of availability of institutional interventions. In the United States, however, participants believed victims were readily supported by law enforcement and therefore held the power to challenge the gender dynamics and the violence within their relationship. Of note, immigrants across legal statuses held this belief.

Carolina, a permanent resident, further elaborated on the ways law enforcement enables the challenge of a gender hierarchy within intimate relationships, stating,

[In the United States], [police] give more attention to the woman because if I go make a report that my husband is beating me, [police are] going to help me. Over there, [police] do not help you. [In the United States], yes, they do help you in many ways.

Carolina constructs law enforcement as a victim-focused institution in the United States, suggesting that this affords victims of IPV numerous options. Participants, like Carolina, contend that institutions such as the criminal justice system in the United States do not follow a gender hierarchy based on male dominance. Rather, they attend to the needs of women who self-identify as victims of IPV and assist them to liberate themselves from violence. Thus, law enforcement is constructed as understanding the complexities of women’s vulnerability in IPV. Interestingly, Carolina maintains these beliefs despite her own failed attempt to prosecute the abuse of her daughter in the United States (due to the statute of limitations). Following this incident, she expressed feeling that the U.S. criminal justice system could also be equally as corrupt at times as the Mexican criminal justice system. On the contrary, she repeatedly referenced Mexican law enforcement as one of no assistance in comparison with the United States’ multiplicative sources of assistance. Ultimately, Carolina suggested that when a woman reports IPV in the United States, further forms of social support open up, which place her in an empowered position within her intimate relationship.

Because the United States was perceived as providing generous assistance to victims of IPV, participants placed heavier responsibility for engaging in help-seeking behaviors on victims. As Ana explained,

[In the United States], you look for help. If you don’t have it, it’s because you don’t want help. Because, the help is here. There are many centers, churches, the dioceses; there are many programs for domestic violence and workshops. There is so much help. . . . So there is no excuse to be suffering.

Like Carolina, Ana noted the myriad programs available for victims of IPV, which leads her to generalize that all women have access to these resources. But she also notes the specific expectation that victims engage in help-seeking behaviors involving a third-party institution, something uncommon in Mexico, both because of societal norms forbidding such behavior and because of a lack of available intervening institutions. She reflected on this, describing Mexico’s support as one of “never, no intervention.” Thus, in the United States, when a victim does not engage with these institutions, it signals an acceptance toward IPV or, in Ana’s words, the acceptance of “suffering.” Participants contended that a true victim of IPV would actively look to resolve the circumstances using intervening institutions to flee or end the violence. Although the same behavior, remaining in an IPV relationship, was described of women in Mexico, the participants’ conceptualization of victimhood in the United States shifted in that it no longer afforded victims the classification status of “pure victim” as it would have done in Mexico.

Not only were victims judged on whether or not they were accessing law enforcement, but participants also included a consideration of whether they chose to do so at the “right” time or within the “right” set of circumstances. In analyzing the entirety of our interviews, we found that participants seemingly shared a constructed scale of what type of violence merited intervention. Xochitl explained this scale of violence when speaking of what violent behaviors were permissible in the United States. She stated,

Well, he can assault you verbally, but when it comes to hitting you, touching you, or something, no.

Interviewer:

Why is there that difference [between the way a husband acts in Mexico and the way he acts in the United States]?

Xochitl:

Because here the police do something.

Xochitl identified a broad range of violent behaviors, yet interestingly, only physical violence merited punishment on the scale she described. Such a scale is a result of the participants’ conceptualization of authorities, law, and punishment toward violence as they apply a bifocal lens. This scale resulted in the belief that although other forms of violence existed apart from physical violence, police paid the greatest attention to physical violence. Stephanie stated, “The police come, and they make the report. How ugly. [. . .] Maybe if it is a lot of aggression, obviously, yes, run and call the police.” Stephanie explained that physical aggression is the defining threshold for law enforcement to intervene. However, she also acknowledged law enforcement as the last resort intervention. She identified this intervention as “ugly,” which signals shame for women who utilize these resources, as it indicates they are unable to solve issues in their own relationships. Ultimately, women are held accountable to be the primary peacekeepers and to seek resources proportional to the severity of violence they are facing.

It is important to note that at the moment of contact with law enforcement, victims were understood as holding a position of control in their relationships. This contradicts the idea of the powerless, pure victim in Mexico. As a result, participants viewed women who contacted law enforcement with suspicion, despite being expected to involve police in their relationships. Jessica’s predominant concern around law enforcement involvement in the United States was that “people will call the police to try to take advantage . . . to end up benefitting themselves.” She suggested that individuals contact police because they are cognizant of the system and the benefits they reap from law enforcement identifying them as IPV victims. Hence, law is also an exploitable system of privilege and punishment.

Andrea, a 43-year-old woman who had lived in the United States for 27 years, further elaborated on this idea:

Sometimes women abuse [the criminal justice system] with any insignificant little thing. There are women who sometimes take advantage of poor men. They have any problem with their relationship, and they will threaten the men with calling the police, “I’m going to do this to you.” I think that sometimes they exaggerate to feel, I don’t know, to feel more protected, to feel superior to those men.

Like Stephanie, Andrea used a scale of violence to judge when women are expected to seek law enforcement intervention. Problematic in this understanding of victimhood, however, is that women who utilize law enforcement under those appropriate boundaries are stigmatized as power hungry. Law enforcement empowers women to make threats, using law enforcement to address any issues in the relationship. Hence, these “empowered” women contradict ideas of the helpless victim and, instead, are vilified. In fact, for Andrea, the new victims of United States law enforcement are the male perpetrators who are robbed of power in intimate relationships.

Andrea’s views of victims in the United States are juxtaposed with the way she views victims in Mexico. She recalled that in Mexico, “most of the time, the women endured a lot. [Women] were very submissive. [They] were very submissive and preferred having him hit her than for anyone to intervene.” The two contexts treat IPV intervention quite differently. In contrast to the United States, intervention in Mexico is not welcomed, placing women in a state of continuous victimization. Unlike participants’ perceptions of victims in the United States, female victims in Mexico were not emboldened with power. Instead, they retained their label and categorization as victims at the cost of repeated violence. In the United States, a victim label is denied because intervention grants women power. Because of this perceived empowerment, staying in IPV relationships is viewed as being complicit.

With these expectations of IPV victims, Stephanie offered words of caution when it came to law enforcement intervention:

If you have domestic violence at home, [the police] do come. It’s just that you need to think about it very well. You can’t declare a false statement because maybe the husband yelled at you, and you said that he did something more. Here you cannot lie as much as in Mexico. Because it is a big step, because here the law isn’t a game.

Law enforcement’s perceived supremacy and extreme effectiveness means women must be meticulous in how they present their IPV situations, suggesting that achieving victim status in the United States is much more complex and difficult compared with Mexico. The reconstruction of victimhood through a migratory experience ultimately creates a new norm emphasizing a victim’s responsibility in solving the IPV she experiences.

Discussion

As a result of the large-scale and extended pattern of immigration from Mexico to the United States (Fry, 2006; Gonzalez-Barrera & Lopez, 2013), Mexican immigrants represent a significant perspective on IPV. The responses in this study present a previously unexplored perspective, the construction of punishment and victimhood surrounding IPV. Departing from previous sampling methods (victims of IPV or service providers), almost all participants in this study have not been directly involved with either IPV or law enforcement during their lifetime. In doing so, we were able to explore how Mexican immigrant women’s understanding of agents of formal social control, the implementation of law, and the nature of punishment fueled a victim discourse that included specific expectations of IPV victims and their treatment at the hands of law enforcement without directly experiencing IPV themselves. As such, the results both support some findings of existing research (Correia, 2010; Krishnan, Hilbert, & VanLeeuwen, 2011) and depart from others (Davis & Mateu-Gelabert, 2000; Martell, 2002).

Contrasting Correia’s (2010) contention that immigrants from home countries where police were untrustworthy or authoritarian would perceive police similarly in their host countries when considering IPV, and Abrego’s suggestion that age at time of migration, and thus years spent in one’s home country, affected perceptions of law enforcement, participants in this study perceived contacting law enforcement as the appropriate intervention and the most likely source of assistance in the United States. Within our sample, intervention by law enforcement, the formal agent of social control in IPV cases, was seen as a normative intervention. Likewise, it was also seen as predictable, swift, and acceptable for law enforcement officers to apply negative sanctions to the perpetrator. Participants in the present study were adamant about law enforcement’s effectiveness in lowering IPV prevalence within the United States. Ultimately, constructing formal agents of social control, law, and punishment in this way fueled participants’ beliefs that IPV’s prevalence in the United States, in comparison with Mexico, was much lower. Holding this belief translated into a problematic understanding of victimhood based on IPV norms specifically intended for women experiencing IPV.

As was the case with their redefinition of agents of social control, law, and punishment, participants employed a bifocal lens in their reconstruction of victimhood in IPV. Specifically, they constructed victims of IPV in Mexico as legitimate and pure. In part, this was explained by the multiple levels of victimization (and revictimization) individuals experienced—by their partners through use of male privilege, by their families who normalized IPV, and through the structural limitations, including the institution of law enforcement and the criminal justice system, which failed to support women. Such context, participants acknowledged, severely limited women’s ability to end IPV. Remaining in abusive relationships, therefore, was not stigmatized because participants considered the broader institutional and structural constraints.

In contrast, the United States was perceived as providing women with agency and choices, consistent with beliefs surrounding the emancipatory nature of migration (Hirsch, 1999), enabling individuals experiencing IPV to end the violence. The increased attention by law enforcement and the accompanying resources for victims, discussed previously, placed women in an empowered position in our respondents’ views. Consequently, participants identified an individual as a victim in the United States when they (a) took responsibility for contacting a third-party intervention, specifically law enforcement, and (b) contacted outside intervention when the severity of violence merited it. However, women concurrently faced stigma over (a) contacting law enforcement outside permissible acts of violence and (b) suspicion of using law enforcement for ulterior motives. Ultimately, these discourses, whether in Mexico or the United States, were restrictive and introduced challenges for IPV victims. Such limiting discourses also lend themselves to a victim blaming perspective, where women’s failure to conform to social norms, specifically engaging and interacting with law enforcement, enables the stigmatization of women. These women are viewed as complicit in abusive relationships while possibly facing negligible forms of IPV, unworthy of intervention or of a victimhood label. The narrow definition of IPV victimhood presented by participants problematized who could achieve the status of victim and thereby receive services and benefits afforded to those holding this status. In a similar vein, it narrowly favored one form of intervention, law enforcement, because of its supposed effectiveness, leaving women with no socially approved alternatives.

Because of their perceptions of law enforcement and the law as related to punishment for IPV as well as the reconstructed definition of victimhood, we found that participants largely expressed an expected willingness in themselves, and of victims more generally, to contact authorities as a source of intervention in the United States. This was largely based on their assumption that police would be sensitive to their immigrant position and status along with being an effective IPV intervention. These findings differ from previous research that includes samples of IPV victims and/or employees situated in antiviolence services who tend to be in contact with law enforcement. For instance, Ammar, Orloff, Dutton, and Aguilar-Hass (2005) found that Latina women suffering from IPV failed to contact police in most cases. In addition, their respondents claimed police responses lacked cultural sensitivity, which ultimately led to low arrest rates. Similarly, previous research examining help-seeking behaviors of Latina immigrants to the United States found a variety of factors preventing this group from contacting law enforcement for assistance in minimizing, ending, or fleeing IPV (Reina et al., 2014). Regardless of legal status, participants believed any victim could regularly access outside resources when facing IPV as a modality for self-empowerment. Pitts (2014) finds that Latina women in the United States, however, disproportionately do not access law enforcement resources when faced with IPV. This suggests Mexican immigrants’ employment of a bifocal lens in their construction of victimhood in IPV may lead to women being less readily recognized as victims by themselves or their peers.

Although migration has been described as a catalyst for role renegotiation (Hondagneu-Sotelo, 2003), some of these resultant changes reinforce traditional gender roles (Hondagneu-Sotelo, 1994; Menjivar, 2000), whereas others enable women’s empowerment (Hirsch, 1999). Likewise, while seemingly more available in the United States, IPV services and resources actually become more challenging to acquire for Mexican immigrant women who experience IPV because of the problematic understanding of who can be recognized as a victim and when this recognition is afforded. Although these resources may appear to be welcome, even when a victim is recognized by law enforcement, women may still face stigma for not responsibly accessing these resources according to the victimhood discourse, delegitimizing their victim label.

Noteworthy, participants from this study drew confidence from their beliefs in the perception that local law enforcement was a different institution than immigration enforcement. But given the changing political landscape in the United States since the time of data collection, like the rhetoric surrounding undocumented migration, the proliferation of visible detention and deportation in media coverage, and changing policies toward immigration, confidence in law enforcement may have deteriorated, or even been eliminated, especially for those who are undocumented. Willingness to contact law enforcement may have declined in such a context. Given that a sensitive law enforcement was central to their understandings of IPV victims and accompanying norms, with no other intervention imagined, it is possible that women are now facing a more isolating and resource-deprived context. Further research in this current context is needed to establish how the definitions and norms surrounding IPV are being affected, particularly across documentation status.

Theoretically, it is quite clear the participants employed a bifocal lens not only for purposes of self-reflection, as previous studies suggest (Correia, 2010; Culver, 2004; Menjivar & Bejarano, 2004), but also more broadly to conceptualizations of the experiences of others, and categorizations of others and of situations they may not have experienced themselves, such as IPV. This even includes using a bifocal lens as the basis for reformulating social norms. This study, therefore, suggests an extension of the literature on uses of a bifocal lens by immigrant populations. Using a bifocal lens as a theoretical concept can allow researchers to capture how immigrants use experiences both in their home countries and in their countries of residency to arrive at new ways of conceptualizing social phenomena.

This study fulfills its goal of examining the perceptions of Mexican immigrant women to the United States regarding IPV, but, as a result of the sample, the findings have limited generalizability. This introduces questions about whether other immigrant populations hold similar perceptions of law enforcement, law, and punishment within the United States and the implications this has in their integration experiences. Furthermore, Mexican immigrants, as opposed to those who do not migrate, tend to be positively selected from their home country in terms of education (Feliciano, 2008). Feliciano (2008) finds this particularly true of female Mexican immigrants who, with higher education levels, may migrate to the United States for additional educational or labor opportunities. Considering this higher educational attainment level, the attitudes toward IPV of Mexican immigrants, both prior to and after migration, may not reflect Mexicans more broadly. Ultimately, the sample represented in this article is not a random sample of the Mexican population as a whole. Furthermore, variations within this population may exist, such as differences between males and females, which is beyond the scope of this article to address. Still, the findings are important to consider in terms of potential applicability to other immigrant populations given the seriousness of IPV.

Importantly, although this study examines the specific perceptions and conceptualizations of Mexican immigrants to the United States around law enforcement, law, punishment, and victimhood in IPV, the implications of the findings extend beyond the specific crime of IPV. In particular, the false sense of security in law enforcement suggested by the findings means immigrants may rely on a source that often runs counter to their expectations when seeking help. Such a disjuncture between expectations found in this study and lived experiences consistently found in previous research perhaps points to future vulnerabilities once contact between Mexican immigrants and law enforcement is made (Reina et al., 2014; Pitts, 2014). In other words, Mexican immigrants may expect to rely on law enforcement for safety and assistance, but once contact is made, the reality of law enforcement services turns them away from future use of services. This may further influence normative reporting decisions—those made based on personal beliefs or attitudes about the value of contacting authorities for assistance—Mexican immigrants make after experiencing crime victimization and may place Mexican immigrants in more vulnerable positions to other experiences of hardship and violence with little or no knowledge of or access to alternative resources.

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.

Author Biographies

Blanca Ramirez, PhD, is a student at the University of Southern California in the Department of Sociology. Her major interests include gender and immigration, immigrant families, and violence.

Devon Thacker Thomas, PhD, is an assistant professor at California State University, Fullerton, in the Department of Sociology. She received her PhD in sociology from the University of Colorado Boulder in 2013. Her major research interests include gender and victimization; law enforcement and the criminal justice system; and corrections, penology, and re-entry.

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