At the Intersection of Private and Political Conflict Zones: Policing Domestic Violence in the Arab Community in Israel.

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research-article2014

IJOXXX10.1177/0306624X14532602International Journal of Offender Therapy and Comparative CriminologyErez et al.

Article

At the Intersection of Private and Political Conflict Zones: Policing Domestic Violence in the Arab Community in Israel

International Journal of Offender Therapy and Comparative Criminology 2015, Vol. 59(9) 930–963 © The Author(s) 2014 Reprints and permissions: sagepub.com/journalsPermissions.nav DOI: 10.1177/0306624X14532602 ijo.sagepub.com

Edna Erez1, Peter R. Ibarra1, and Oren M. Gur1

Abstract This article addresses the challenges posed by state intervention in a multicultural society characterized by intense political conflict, juxtaposing the voices of batterers, victims, community members, and the officials who are involved in policing domestic violence (DV) in the Arab community in Israel. A meta-analysis of interview-based data excerpts appearing in published studies shows how the response to DV in the Arab community, though consistent with Israeli law and policy, creates a sense of paralysis for the police and frustration for the parties to the violence as well as the affected communities. The cultural, social, and political forces that underlie the dynamics, tensions, and pressures experienced by the various parties are analyzed in the context of everyday life amid concerns about the Israeli–Arab conflict. The implications for policing DV in minority communities, and for police–community relations in political conflict zones, are highlighted. Keywords policing minority communities, domestic violence, conflict zones, Arab community, Israel

Introduction The police response to domestic violence (DV) has been a subject of scholarly inquiry for more than three decades in the United States and other countries, including Israel. 1University

of Illinois at Chicago, USA

Corresponding Author: Edna Erez, Department of Criminology, Law and Justice, University of Illinois at Chicago, MC 141, 1007 W. Harrison St., Chicago, IL 60607, USA. Email: [email protected]

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Researchers interested in police responses to DV found perfunctory law enforcement and minimal application of police arrest powers (e.g., Black, 1980; Sherman, 1992; see review in Erez, 2002), questioned the efficacy and unanticipated effects of remedies established to address inadequate police practices in DV cases (e.g., Ferraro, 1989; Miller, 1989), and studied the impact of multicultural and global forces on law enforcement of DV cases (e.g., Okin, 1998, 1999). Investigators have also highlighted the salience of race/ethnicity, minority–majority intergroup relations, immigration status, and nationality in how DV is policed (e.g., Erez, Adelman, & Gregory, 2009), as well as factors related to political conflict rooted in the legacy of colonialism and foreign occupation (e.g., Snajdr, 2007). In the Israeli context, researchers examined the impact of regional hostilities on police work and citizens’ attitudes toward the police (e.g., Jonathan, 2010; Weisburd, Hasisi, Jonathan, & Aviv, 2010) and police views of and experiences with DV in the Arab minority community (Adelman, Erez, & Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 2003; Erez & Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 2004; ShalhoubKevorkian & Erez, 2002). The adoption of community policing in the 1990s in many countries, including Israel, has raised another set of considerations, particularly the question of how the “community” in community-policing practices is constructed (Ibarra, 2003) and how gender-based power differentials shape the mobilization of community policing in reference to violence against women (e.g., Shalhoub-Kevorkian & Erez, 2002). A common theme in the literature is that DV has historically been “under-policed” and not accorded the level of “seriousness” received by other crimes of violence (Barlow & Barlow, 2000). Under-policing of the Israeli–Arab community, particularly in DV cases, has been attributed to racism and occasional outbursts of hostility by the Jewish majority toward the Arab minority (e.g., Elbedour, Abu-Bader, Onwuegbuzie, AbuRabia, & El-Aassam, 2006; Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 2004). In response to recent deaths of Arab women (so-called “honor killings”) in majority Israeli–Arab towns like Lod and Ramle, Arab community leaders accused the police of negligence and feigned powerlessness.1 At the same time, Israeli police have been accused of over-policing the Arab community (relative to the Jewish population), both in general and in connection with violence against women, intervening when it is either unnecessary or unjustified (cf. Gopher & Ben-Porat, 2013). Israel is an ideal setting for researching how social and cultural differences inform police responses to DV among minorities, and how private and political conflicts intersect to shape police responses. Israel has a sizable Arab minority population (about 17%)2 that is distinct from the Jewish majority in cultural attributes, language, and politics, but only about 2% of Israel’s police force is of Arab background (Weitzer & Hasisi, 2008). The Arab community differs from the Jewish majority in its collectivist tradition (in contrast to the individualistic orientation of the Jewish sector), the relative status of women compared with men, and the two groups’ divergent approaches to DV and divulging abuse to authorities.3 The persistent threat to Israeli national security also factors into the organization of policing, as counterterrorism is integral to the police portfolio in Israel (Weisburd et al., 2010). Israel has been described as “a deeply-divided society” (Hasisi, 2008). Israeli Arabs have high rates of poverty, live mostly in segregated villages and towns, and report


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experiences of prejudice and institutional discrimination (e.g., Ratner & Fishman, 1998; Sa’ar, 2007). The long political conflict between Israel and the Palestinians, with whom Israeli Arabs share a sociocultural background and often have familial ties, has deeply colored mutual perceptions between Israeli Arabs and Israeli Jews, and affected the policing of the former. Israeli Jews have occasionally questioned the loyalty of Israeli Arabs to the state, suspecting them of being a “fifth column.” At the same time, Israeli Arabs have criticized various governmental decisions while remaining suspicious of the objectives of many Israeli laws, policies, and actions, attributing intent to cause the Arab community harm (e.g., Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 1999, 2000). Most pertinent to the present study, the 1991 Law for the Prevention of Family Violence (LPFV)4 that governs police responses to DV cases in Israel (Makias, 1995; Report of the Committee on Family Violence, 1995, hereafter the Report) has been criticized by members of the Arab community in Israel as being not only ineffective (Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 2000) but also undermining community harmony and constructing its members as backward and violent (Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 1999). Prior research has either partially examined the various influences on policing DV in the Arab community in Israel, or studied them in isolation, failing to show how the multiple factors described above can be combined into a cohesive analysis. Adopting an integrative approach, this article presents a meta-analysis from published accounts that cumulatively capture trajectories of DV cases in the Israeli–Arab community, including the reactions to Arab victims of DV who come to police attention. DV cases in the Israeli–Arab community are anchored in milieus in which shared understandings construct both the meanings of, and range of acceptable responses to, DV. Measures that DV victims commonly pursue in Western countries (e.g., revealing the abuse to nonfamily members, calling the police for help) are viewed unfavorably in the Israeli–Arab context by members of the victim’s family and community, with ramifications for the victims’ social standing, perceived loyalty, and sense of personal identity (e.g., Haj-Yahia, 1995, 2010). The police are pivotal in shaping the victim’s plight because their involvement with a DV case can result in her marginalization. The current study situates DV, its dynamics, and Israeli police responses to DV, in the context of shared understandings among Israeli Arabs about the meanings of (Jewish) state intervention into household affairs at a time of prolonged Israeli– Palestinian conflict, and hence at the intersection of “private” and “political” conflict zones. As the political conflict has acquired increased salience in the everyday lives of Israeli Arabs, the meanings of battered Arab women’s efforts to seek help from the Israeli police, and the interpretation of Israeli police intervention itself, have become problematized, calling for an analysis of the cultural, social, and political forces at work. These factors result in onerous repercussions for battered Arab women who seek help, as well as complex dilemmas for the police officers who would intervene. By threading together first-person accounts appearing in previously published work, the problem of policing DV in the Israeli–Arab community is considered holistically, showing how it effectively involves a choice between arresting an alleged abuser at the cost of amplifying the victim’s estrangement from her family and community, versus preserving the woman’s position in the community and household at the cost of enabling her continued abuse. Challenging prior attributions of “under-policing” DV


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to racism, discrimination, or state patriarchal oppression (e.g., Sa’ar, 2007; ShalhoubKevorkian, 2004), this rereading highlights the complex interaction between gender violence and policing in multicultural realms (Okin, 1998, 1999). The article proceeds as follows: First, research on how police respond to DV is examined, including work focused on majority policing of DV in minority sectors. The relevant Israeli law addressing policing of DV is reviewed, as is the literature on how Israeli–Arab communities view and respond to DV. Next, a meta-analysis of prior interview-based studies encompassing the perspectives of diverse members of the community, including police, offers a composite portrait of the policing of DV among Israeli Arabs. The article concludes with a summary of the findings and broader implications for policing DV in a multicultural society.

Research on Policing DV In the United States, where the under-policing of DV was first documented, research on police responses to DV addressed the effectiveness of various forms of police intervention on the reduction of DV recidivism (e.g., Dunford, Huizinga, & Elliot, 1990; Pate & Hamilton, 1992; Sherman & Berk, 1984), leading many U.S. jurisdictions to adopt mandatory or presumptive arrest policies (Sherman, 1992). Subsequent research, however, showed that neither of these arrest policies eliminated police discretion in DV incidents, and jurisdictions with these policies did not consistently produce high arrest rates for DV cases (e.g., Ferraro, 1989). Inquiry informed by the “situational” perspective addressed legal and extralegal factors that contribute to variations in police handling of domestic disturbances, including officer characteristics (e.g., gender, race, education, marital stress), citizen and event variables (e.g., suspect’s race, demeanor, and prior record; victim’s preference; extent of injury; victim/suspect relationship; weapon used; strength of evidence), and organizational and community factors (e.g., pro-arrest policies, degree of urbanization). Predominantly used by criminologists and sociolegal theorists, such research examined how exogenous factors influenced officers’ decisions about whether and when to exercise arrest powers (e.g., Black, 1971). Feminist criminologists and others, building on the situational perspective, developed the police cultural or attitudinal perspective, seeking to identify aspects of police culture that lead to arrest avoidance and result in perfunctory law enforcement during domestic disturbances (Buzawa & Buzawa, 2003; Edwards, 1989; Hanmer, 1989). Police nonarrest responses were now seen as reflecting the normative values police officers acquire through socialization on the force—the perception that DV cases are dangerous to attending officers, that DV cases are not “real” police work, or anticipation that victims would eventually withdraw their complaints—or by lack of training in DV dynamics and how to approach the violence (Edwards, 1989; Ferraro, 1989; Hanmer, 1989; Homant & Kennedy, 1985; Manning, 1978; Stanko, 1989). Researchers have also identified how a minority group’s presumed cultural attributes can become the basis for failing to intervene or ignoring presumptive or mandatory arrest policies. Thus, Ferraro (1989) documented police rationalizing


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nonintervention with minority groups in Arizona because arrest seemed less effective with abusers who are poor, uneducated, non-English speaking, members of a “deviant” group (primarily “Mexicans”), involved with crime and violence, chronically unemployed, or living in rundown dwellings in unconventional households/ families. Officers considered a “normal” wife beater as “situationally deviant,” his DV a response to stressors (e.g., divorce filings), whereas battering among minority citizens was viewed as routine for “these kind of men,” making arrest a waste of the officer’s time (Ferraro, 1989). Similarly, “ethnicizing” the subject of DV by focusing on traditional culture as a primary cause of abuse led Kazakh police officers to consider DV a major challenge for intervention, which officers ultimately perceive as futile, particularly in rural areas (Snajdr, 2007). Research in Israel has documented that some police officers view Arabs as having a different “mentality” (Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 2004, p. 182) or as “primitive” (Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 2004, passim) in their approach to violence against women (i.e., backward, not Western or “modern”), presumably justifying police nonintervention in DV cases reported from Arab sectors (Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 2004). This line of research suggests that DV occurring in minority communities cross-nationally may be at risk of being constructed as a “non-problem” or as something that merits minimal police involvement. With the push toward police “cultural sensitivity” or “multicultural policing” (Erez, Finckenauer, & Ibarra, 2003), a new rationale for failure to intervene has emerged where respect for the integrity of cultural traditions entails police deference to local standards for handling domestic disputes, even if it means that a formal response is set aside. “Sensitivity” to cultural context and “partnerships” with community “stakeholders,” however, can have devastating effects for women in patriarchal societies where tolerance of violence against women is high (Okin, 1998, 1999). In such circumstances, resisting a husband’s will is a form of female deviance, and the extended family—with the backing of community elders—exercises strong pressure to handle family disturbances informally (e.g., Shalhoub-Kevorkian & Erez, 2002). Thus, as the current study suggests, cultural sensitivity may present a dilemma for police, as it can effectively translate into accommodating DV at the expense of women who would seek police assistance.

Formation of Legislative and Policy Responses to DV in Israel The crafting of policy and legislative responses to the policing of DV in Israel paralleled developments in the United States and other Western countries. In the late 1980s, a governmental task force—the Committee on Family Violence (CFV)—was established to address the issue, and solicited input from the community. Representatives of women’s and community organizations, human rights groups, and criminal justice and social agencies voiced their views before the CFV.5 The recommended changes in law and criminal justice policy were issued in the CFV’s Report (Report of the Committee


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on Family Violence, 1995) and became the basis of the LPFV passed by the Knesset (Israeli Parliament) in 1991 (Makias, 1995). In reviewing factors that play a role in the police response to DV, the CFV (Report of the Committee on Family Violence, 1995) echoed findings from other Western countries, but with additional concerns peculiar to Israel and its legal, social, and welfare systems—although it did not delve into differences between Israel’s Jewish and Arab sectors. The Report (1995) noted slow police response time, police preferences for conflict management over case investigation, and police officer distrust of female complainants lacking visible injuries or in the midst of divorce proceedings. The Report also documented how representatives from the Israel National Police accounted for problematic police responses to DV calls. Police described, for instance, abused women reluctant to have their partner arrested or willing to allow him to enter the home in violation of no-contact orders; concerns that intervention can pressure women to recant or refuse to testify in court; and circumstances raising doubts about the victim’s credibility (e.g., delayed complaints of abuse). Based on the Report’s recommendation, the ensuing LPFV included procedural and definitional changes concerning DV and a coordinated approach to enhancing the safety of abused complainants. Instead of seeking “peace in the home” (shlom bayit), police were now to focus on the criminality involved in DV incidents by enforcing the law, which, based on research overseas (e.g., Sherman & Berk, 1984), meant a presumptive arrest policy, including brief detention of the alleged abuser. It also urged effective investigation and prosecution of DV cases undertaken with the needs of abused women in mind (crisis intervention and priority handling of DV calls, sensitive investigation, referrals to victim services). The LPFV addresses DV in its various dimensions—physical, sexual, and “mental” abuse (Report of the Committee on Family Violence, 1995), the latter including verbal threats—any of which are grounds for police intervention. In addition to alleged victims, family members, social workers, prosecutors, and other legal actors are empowered to seek protection orders against a violent household member. These orders (in force up to a year) prohibit the controlled party from contacting, harassing or entering the protected party’s dwelling, and imposes other relevant restrictions on transactions pertaining to shared finances and property. While supporters of battered women in the Jewish community have welcomed and celebrated the law (Makias, 1995), the Arab community’s response has been critical and reproachful, condemning the law for both the practicality of its enforcement in the Arab sector (Kandalaft & Rohana, 1997)6 and underlying intentions (ShalhoubKevorkian, 1999, 2000). The basis of this disapproval is grounded in the politics of majority–minority relations between Israeli Jews and Arabs, and in various sociocultural and practical considerations, as discussed below.

The Arab Community in Israel and the Status of Women Arab society is diverse, comprising groups differing by religious background (Christians, Muslims, and Druze), place of residence (urban, rural, or nomadic), and


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other dimensions relevant to social organization and family lifestyle. Despite a transformation in social and cultural patterns that have occurred over the last few decades, including the emergence of proponents of liberal and feminist views on gender equality (e.g., Abu Rabia, 2011; Abu-Rabia-Queder, 2008; Sa’ar, 2007), elements that have long influenced the status and role of Arab women remain predominant (e.g., Barakat, 1985; Haj-Yahia, 1995). The Israeli–Arab community is a collectivist society, marked by “connectivity, which privileges the social body over individual autonomy” (Baxter, 2007, p. 741). It is characterized by interdependent family relationships, unequal and clearly defined gender roles, and a value system that privileges the welfare and reputation of the nuclear/extended family over the personal needs and wants of its individual members. The patriarchal structure of Arab society places women and children in a dependent position, under paternalistic subordination (Hasan, 2005): Men are expected to monitor, control, protect, and sanction their female blood relatives, and husbands are expected to control their wives (e.g., Dwairy, 1998). Women are considered subservient to men and expected to obey them (as well as female elders). Defiance by an Arab woman of a male authority figure’s demands, expectations, or wishes is a grave offense and subject to discipline (corporal or otherwise; Hasan, 2005). Women are expected to marry and bear children, and married women to maintain the household and satisfy the husband’s needs (Dwairy, 1998). The heightened importance of family honor emerges from the exalted position of the family and is enacted largely by individual family members abiding by gendered roles. For Arab men, conceptions of honor are expressed through courage, religiosity, hospitality, and providing for their families (Baxter, 2007). For Arab women, honor centers on following gendered normative orientations, including acknowledgment of men’s and women’s asymmetrical social positions, obedience to male authority, and the preservation of a chaste reputation (Baxter, 2007; Hasan, 2002). A woman exhibiting inappropriate or immodest behavior, or deviating from gendered scripts of social relations, brings shame and dishonor on all her kin (Hasan, 2002). Social harmony and family integrity take precedence over conflict and confrontation. Disputes may be referred to family elders who offer experience and wisdom to resolve them (Barakat, 1985). Events that may tarnish the family reputation, including revelations about domestic abuse, are kept confidential to save family members (including children) from disgrace (Haj-Yahia, 2002). A major barrier to revealing DV is the notion that women ought to suffer in silence, described by Abu-Baker (2005) as the “Mansoura,” or tight-lipped woman. A husband’s manhood may be sullied if accused of beating his wife, for having to resort to such abuse implies difficulty establishing his authority over her (Haj-Yahia, 1995, 2010). Research on DV in Arab society in Israel has documented severe physical abuse, including beatings, burnings, and disfigurement (e.g., Cwikel, Lev-Wiesel, & Al-Krenawi, 2003; Haj-Yahia, 2010). In addition to violence perpetrated by the husband, threats and abuse may also emanate from the husband’s family of origin (i.e., the in-laws; see Kandalaft & Rohana, 1997). In Arab society, divorce and DV are commonly perceived as reflecting a woman’s failure and inability to manage her private life, including keeping her husband happy (Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 1997b). This belief,


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and the implicit license given to the husband to resort to physical measures to discipline the wife,7 or worse yet, to divorce her—a most disgraceful and consequential outcome for a woman (Adelman, 2000)—prevails among both lay people and many professionals in the religious, legal and medical fields (e.g., Haj-Yahia, 2010). The patriarchal Arab family structure, characterized by asymmetrical gender roles and power divisions, together with a collectivist ideology that directs individual members to comply with the extended family’s dictates, has far-reaching implications for Arab women and their range of options in general, and in relation to DV in particular. The sociocultural context also poses a variety of challenges and dilemmas for Israeli police officers dispatched to intervene in domestic disturbances, often placing them in a no-win situation.

Method The current study draws on data derived from all refereed English-language articles on the subject of DV in the Israeli–Arab community during the two decades since the passage of the LPFV in 1991.8 Several strategies were used to locate articles on these topics: First, a keyword search was conducted using terms pertaining to the policing of DV among minority communities, both in times of peace and conflict.9 Second, we reviewed bibliographies of located articles to find additional resources. Third, we conducted forward searches of the acquired references to obtain additional literature that cited previously located studies. These searches were completed in June of 2011. All articles included in the study utilized qualitative (interview-based) data conveying the experiences and perspectives of Arab victims, batterers, and those versed in handling and observing responses to DV cases in Arab communities (i.e., official justice and service professionals as well as Arab community leaders, such as village elders and religious figures). Israeli–Arab scholars conducted the interviews as solo authors, or in collaboration with other Arab or Jewish researchers. Police officers included in the samples tended to be Jewish, but the perspectives of Arab police officers were also represented. Quotes (i.e., first-person interview excerpts) from 10 of the articles relevant to the topic of interest were included in a master file that became the data set for the present analysis. Prior qualitative research on this topic stands to benefit from consolidation; the disparate strands of experience previously documented by investigators can be brought together to show a “cumulative” (Yick, 2008, p. 1290) and interlocking logic regarding the meanings of DV in this community, fitting together like “pieces in a jigsaw puzzle” (Paterson, Thorne, Canam, & Jillings, 2001, as cited in Yick, 2008, p. 1290). Adopting a meta-analytic strategy, this study seeks to construct a kind of “meta-ethnography” (Noblit & Hare, 1988) from extant qualitative research efforts that give prominence to preserving the voices of key participants at scenes in which DV and its policing in the Israeli–Arab community are on display. The present effort is based on interview excerpts that the original authors offered to illustrate points of view, so as to show the experiential dimensions—including social interaction practices, ways of making sense, situational exigencies, and constraining boundaries—that shape the


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dynamics and policing of DV in the Israeli–Arab community. By drawing connections between “little islands of knowledge” (Glaser & Strauss, 1971, p. 181, quoted in Yick, 2008, p. 1290), the goal of the current meta-analysis is to integrate isolated qualitative findings to render a holistic depiction of the phenomenon and advance its analysis. Having incorporated disparate voices and perspectives, we seek to make “a whole into something more than the parts alone imply” (Noblit & Hare, 1988, p. 28; Yick, 2008, p. 1293). As shown in the appendix, the 10 articles included 137 quotes,10 all of which were considered in developing the analytical framework. Themes of interest were extracted regarding context, processes, and outcomes related to policing DV in the Israeli–Arab community. Next, from the cumulative data set of 137 excerpts we selected more than one third of the quotes to incorporate into the present article. Selection of quoted materials was based on two criteria: the substantive relevance to the subtopics addressed in the article and the richness of description. The resulting juxtaposition of first-person accounts reveals the interlocking cultural, social, political, and occupational tensions and pressures that the police and Arab community encounter and navigate. Processes and interactions that generate Israeli Arabs’ accounts of discrimination, marginalization and, paradoxically, both over- and under-policing, are analyzed, as are sources of police claims about being apprehensive and frustrated in trying to enforce the law while avoiding friction with the community and minimizing harm to victims.

Analysis Cultural Milieu, DV, and Police Intervention Despite efforts by progressive and feminist Arabs to challenge expressions of subordination of women in the culture (e.g., Sa’ar, 2007), including DV (Hajjar, 2004), the governing cultural code underlying wife abuse seems to put the onus on the victim of DV rather than the perpetrator. In the following quote, for example, a “social control representative” observes that DV is an understandable outcome emerging from the husband’s role in the family, and hence women should accept it (and presumably not take it personally): Men should not beat their wives. Men, however, have many responsibilities within and outside the household. Therefore, women should be understanding of their husbands and absorb their anger and aggression. It is not the end of the world if a man beats his wife. (Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 1997b, p. 5)

The notion seems to be that men have reasons for abusing women that may be incomprehensible, but which women should nevertheless not question. While DV is unacceptable, abused wives have no private or public recourse, and thus should work to prevent its occurrence in the first place by adopting a generally submissive stance in the household. As one female educator noted,


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It is forbidden for men to batter their wives. If it occurs, it becomes difficult for all parties (wife, husband, and social control agent) to deal with the situation. Women have no backing; they do not have either the legal or social systems which can defend and protect them. Family members are not allowed to intervene if violence occurs. In addition, women cannot allow themselves to cause harm to their family, especially their children. They need to accept reality, and obey social rules. (Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 1997b, p. 6)

Lacking public or private recourse in the event of abuse, women can expect little support upon divulging the matter to others, a social reality in direct conflict with the spirit of the LPFV, which attempts to marshal the power of the state on behalf of victims of DV. Indeed, reactions of Arab leaders and professionals (e.g., Haj-Yahia, 2010; Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 1999) to the LPFV highlighted how the law directs justice officials and community professionals to implement measures that fail to acknowledge the Arab cultural code and social structure that organize the meaning of DV. The critique of the new policies as more reflective of the values, lifestyles, and prerogatives of the Jewish majority connoted the LPFV was culturally insensitive at best and racist at worst.11 Presumptive arrest policies are meant to limit discretion exercised by police in DV situations: DV should be treated like any other assault and not minimized because of local exigencies, organizational concerns, prevailing cultural standards, and victim/ family pleas for leniency. Consequently, the LPFV seemingly encouraged a less flexible or particularistic approach to policing DV. The legislation’s enactment by the Knesset (the Israeli legislative body) likely accounts for the alternatively guarded and antagonistic responses toward the LPFV among Arab community leaders and professionals (e.g., Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 1999). The dearth of social services that were provided to support victims who seek assistance via the law was also viewed as a serious deficiency (Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 1999) and cited in conspiratorial fashion: the absence of resources evincing that the law was intended to upend the community rather than meaningfully assist it. An Arab “social control” professional who participated in a group discussion voiced this perspective. This is not a law against family violence . . . It is a clever strategy to create social panic and confusion . . . No community intervention programs were planned . . . No innovative projects were initiated to address the uniqueness of our society . . . no new service or trained service providers. The few certified providers available were trained according to Western traditions. (Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 1999, p. 206)

Contrasted to “Western traditions” are Arab traditions, such as the Sulha system. These traditions—enabling family, clergy, village elders or community dignitaries to intervene and mediate between parties in a conflicted relationship (Haj-Yahia, 2003)— were subverted by the LPFV, which mandated state intervention and ostensibly promoted a more legalistic and universalistic approach to DV. An Arab clergyman stated, People used to care for and support family members, particularly women, children and the elderly. In the past, violations against women were regarded as serious matters of honor (sharaf). Today, a woman can be battered to the point of requiring hospitalization


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without her family ever being informed. The hospital staff is not legally obligated to inform her family. Women [victims] also prefer to report to the police or call a social worker instead of asking their families for help. Marginalization of family members [particularly fathers and brothers] and the clergy led women/victims to believe that the law and the formal system are the answer. I must tell you that women who came to me and asked for my help not only received it, but they also received the support and respect of their family and society. (Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 1999, p. 198)

In this view, not only were resources in support of the new legislation withheld but old traditions that might have effectively responded to the problem of family violence were also allowed to atrophy. Underlying much of this criticism is a generalized sense that the LPFV does not recognize the family as a sacrosanct institution, with associated constraints on its members, including restrictions on whether and how to divulge information about domestic problems to those beyond the family of origin (e.g., extended kin, friends, neighbors, and community-based social service providers), let alone representatives of the state (i.e., the police). Women who would compromise a family secret by seeking help cannot be guaranteed a sympathetic ear, even if those possible sources of support are fairly close relatives. As a battered Arab woman recalled, My experience of asking the help of outsiders was very painful. I went to my uncle believing he will help me. I ended up running from his son, who heard that I’m battered, and he tried to take advantage of me. A battered woman is perceived as an address for harassment. All what [sic] a woman has is her social respect and reputation, and to lose this too is too hard. (Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 1997a, p. 12)

A theme common in these discussions centers on the idea of the proper role of the woman in the home as wife and mother, and how adopting the role of victimwho-seeks-help beyond the home betrays it. A social worker at the Ministry of Labor and Social Affairs stated, When we, as professionals, wish to intervene in cases of wife abuse, we are always faced with the question, “Whose interests take precedence—those of the wife or the children?” We should always remember that if the victim has female children, she is obligated all the more to keep the family unified and intact. If abuse and problems in a family are made public, female children are damaged in terms of their reputation and eligibility as potential brides. Again, this law [i.e., the LPFV] did not consider the cultural uniqueness and power of the family in Arab culture. The family’s interest (maslahat al-usra) is much more important than the interests of the woman (maslahat al-mar’a). It is still believed that the interests of children are an inherent part of the mother’s responsibility to preserve family unity. Children of separated or divorced parents are stigmatized. (ShalhoubKevorkian, 1999, p. 199)

As the lynchpin of the family and home, the woman is expected to maintain a stoic attitude toward her abuse and bear her suffering in silence. According to a religious leader (from the West Bank),12


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Women are supposed to tolerate violence; they should be clever and know how to manage their families. If there is any kind of violence practiced on them, they should ask themselves why and not seek the help of external parties. (Shalhoub-Kevorkian and Baker, 1997, p. 46)

Revealing one’s abuse instead of tolerating it will transform oneself into an object of gossip, denigration, and diminished status. An Arab woman expressed the point concisely: If a man beats his wife . . . and it happens in almost every family, the woman’s role is to tolerate the situation and keep it a secret . . . As the proverb says, “beyond my door knob lays my ridicule.” (Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 1997a, p. 11)

Social workers and other service professionals remind women of the dire consequences that can result from resorting to the police for relief from abuse. A social worker stated that her office warns women that . . . resorting to the law may cause them to pay a very high price socially. It might affect their reputation because people may accuse them of violating social norms by going to the police. It might also cause them to lose the social support they could have gained had they opted to seek assistance through acceptable social channels. (Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 2000, p. 57)

Compounding the pressure on women to keep silent is the protracted conflict between Arabs and Jews, hostility that represents another barrier for battered women who would seek outside assistance. Doing so “plays into the hands” of the adversary; one physician commented, When a woman resorts to legal measures against her own husband, she is telling the Jews that we are backward, violent, and pathological . . . this is exactly what they want to hear. (Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 1999, p. 203)

The doctor’s sentiment was echoed by an “informal social control agent,” who explained, Publicizing private issues such as violence against women bears deeply on how Jews perceive us. First we need to strengthen ourselves and show them that we are a powerful society. We should not hang our dirty laundry in front of them. We are known as having strong family ties. Why should we resort to an Israeli law or police to solve our problems? It will only contribute to their statistics and to their perception of us as violent individuals in a violent society. Then they will use it to discriminate against us further. (ShalhoubKevorkian, 1999, p. 203)

The broader conflict between Israel and the Arab world exacerbates the problem for Arab women seeking help, for not only does such a woman betray the culture, she actively provides fuel for a campaign that turns Arab against Arab. In the words of a social worker,


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[The law] was meant to bring about more hardships and disputes between intimates. This is the policy of Israelis; they always follow the policy of “divide and rule.” They encourage women who feel they have been abused to resort to the law and take their husbands to court. Sometimes the reported violence is a first occurrence, or is not critical. [The Israelis] teach women to call the police even if their husbands curse them. This vague and broad definition of violence has inflated the egos of women and made men more stubborn and harsh. (Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 1999, pp. 202-203)

The allusion here is to Western (and Israeli) feminism and the implication is that the LPFV essentially amounts to a feminism-based subversion of the Arab family.

Victims’ Initial Encounters With the Police An Arab victim of DV who contemplates notifying authorities need not imagine what will happen if she contacts the police, for doing so is commonly viewed as a massive betrayal. Although physical retribution looms as a potential threat, the primary risk a complaining woman faces is social marginalization: becoming an object of gossip, being excluded from family functions, facing divorce (and suffering attendant shames), having one’s children (especially daughters) suffer a life of social isolation, or losing one’s children to the husband’s family. Women will have seen other abused women from their community face these consequences, or have heard stories about such women who sought police assistance, and consider those cases as cautionary tales. A social worker describes a victim of repeated abuse who refused to notify the police because of the repercussions she had previously observed: I remember one case in which a woman was hospitalized for the second or third time with third-degree burns. She repeatedly refused to call the police and file a complaint against her husband. She admitted to me that he was the one who burned her legs, but she preferred not to talk about [the abuse] publicly. When I asked her why, she explained to me that her sister-in-law had been abused by her husband and filed a complaint against him with the police. Ever since, people in the village have been spreading lies about her. They questioned her honor (ta’anu bi-sharafha), and she was not even accepted at home by her own children . . . she angered the whole village by causing her husband to be imprisoned. Now she lives in another village with her brother’s family as a servant; she cannot even see her own children . . . (Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 1999, p. 200)

Though there are no studies that have measured DV reporting rates among Israeli Arabs, qualitative studies on DV in the Arab community suggest that such reporting is uncommon. The question is, when might someone resort to bringing the police into what is ordinarily treated as a guarded family matter? A middle-aged Arab woman suggests that going to the police may be less shameful if the more traditional option of direct mediation with the son-in-law has been sincerely attempted (by the victim’s parents), and if the violence is no longer a secret to outsiders: Clearly, involving the police in cases of family violence is not desirable in our society. Personally, I don’t think it is respectable to go to the police—either for the wife or for the


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family. But if I am convinced that we have done everything we can to prevent our sonin-law from beating our daughter and he continues to do so—and particularly if the neighbors know about it—I would recommend that she go to the police. Perhaps they can deter him and punish him. Obviously we would never let her go to the police alone. Her father and brothers would accompany her. (Haj-Yahia, 2000, pp. 247-248)

When the abuse is especially lengthy and severe, a woman may decide to contact the police regardless of her family’s consent, as in this case: Interviewer: Did you call the police right away? Woman: No, first I called my parents and told them what had happened. My father asked me what I wanted to do, and I told him that I couldn’t take the situation any longer. He hits me time and time again . . . I can’t go on living like this. Interviewer: Did you threaten to call the police every time he hit you? Woman: No, not every time. I always thought that he would change and would become a good person . . . He always used to hit me and go directly to my parents to complain about me, and my parents would condemn my behavior. He used to convince them to take his side against me, so there was no use in calling the police. But this time it was serious, and I decided to go to the police, whatever the outcome. (Eisikovits, Buchbinder, & Bshara, 2008, p. 116)

In the above exchange, the woman felt the abuse had become sufficiently severe that her parents’ wishes would not determine whether she notified the police, though she still acted in accordance with tradition by offering them advance notice of her plans to file the complaint. The importance of how the woman’s relatives feel about the abuse should not be understated. They can hasten or hinder police involvement, notwithstanding her initial impulse to report or conceal the incident. One victim states, I was afraid to go to the police. I was worried about how it would affect him. But my brothers put pressure on me. I didn’t want to do it, but my older brother was terribly angry. When I got there and he saw what I looked like, he was furious. He insisted that I complain and not keep quiet any longer. (Eisikovits et al., 2008, p. 118)

Hospital personnel provide an alternative pathway to police intervention. When injuries are sufficiently severe, medical staff may make the decision to notify authorities independently of the victim’s preferences. This victim is determined to contact the police, despite her father’s reluctance, but hospital personnel ultimately notify authorities: I called my parents and told my father that I wasn’t willing to suffer any more. He asked me what I intended to do. I told him that I had bad pains in my back and my head, and couldn’t stand it any longer. He had hit me and I was going to the hospital. And then my


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father asked me to wait for him to come, so he could take me to the hospital. I asked him not to come because I wanted to call the police right away. Daddy asked me not to blow the whole thing up, and that I should consult my uncle (his brother) before calling the police. I answered that I wanted to escalate the issue . . . after a few minutes my father and uncle came and took me to the hospital. While I was being examined, my mother and my uncle’s wife arrived. The physician called the police and asked them to investigate the matter immediately. (Eisikovits et al., 2008, p. 117)

Decisions to notify the police are typically collective in nature, mediated through a series of interactions and infused by a shifting balance of considerations. The benefits and repercussions that might flow thereby are of a personal, familial, communal, and political nature. Collective decision making does not inure the victim from being blamed by others for police intervention, but victims who bypass this process can find themselves in a difficult situation. They are apt to be without the buffers that family members or other support systems otherwise provide (cf. Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 1999, pp. 178-179). Naïve victims, or those at their wit’s end and acting out of desperation, typify this category. Acting alone and unaccompanied, the following victim’s reaction to being in the police station is striking in its phenomenological contours: As an Arab woman, going to the Jewish police station to file a complaint was the harshest thing I ever experienced in my life. I do not speak very good Hebrew although I understand very well, and the police officers could not understand me. They all looked at the way I look. You know I am a young woman and entering a male zone like the police station embarrassed me, so I couldn’t say anything, and only kept crying. I did not want them to feel sorry for me, but wanted them to help me. That was the first time I wished I were not born a woman. (Shalhoub-Kevorkian & Erez, 2002, p. 128)

Stage fright together with a sense of severe isolation and alienation from one’s own identity can be experienced by such lone complainers, so foreign does the task at hand feel, and so estranged do the audience and setting for the action seem. Complaining to an Israeli police officer about one’s husband when one is an Arab woman can seem like the mark of ultimate betrayal, on all accounts—personal, cultural, national.13 The sense of being beyond the boundaries of permissible experience crystallizes a profound absurdity in the entire enterprise: I had a hard time entering the police station. I felt different. I felt like a different person, like someone strange. What’s this? A woman prosecuting her husband . . . ? Now when I think about what I did and how I acted, I feel as though I did something unacceptable. How can a woman have her husband locked up? It is strange to us. Our society disapproves of it and I, myself, have difficulty accepting it. In spite of everything, that is what happened. (Eisikovits et al., 2008, p. 117)

The discomfort experienced by such victims can be exacerbated from the other direction by Israeli police officers who invoke the Arab–Israeli conflict while responding to an Arab victim’s complaint, imbuing the ordeal with compounded national freight.14 One victim recounts,


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While I was waiting for the police to listen to me . . . I learned that there was a confrontation between the Jewish police forces and Arabs in Um Al Fahem. One of the police officers who heard the news while I was waiting told me that we should be ashamed to attack police officers . . . he said “here you are, you came to get our help, and your people are attacking our forces. Is that right? Ze Lo Beseder” (in Hebrew: this is not right). I felt that it is not enough that I need to carry the burden of my husband’s abuse, now I need to listen to their accusation and hatred against us. (Shalhoub-Kevorkian & Erez, 2002, p. 128)

A victim can be demoralized by what police officers at the station tell her directly, and also by what she overhears them saying. Inadvertent eavesdropping can provide a devastating glimpse into an otherwise disguised reality, one that can lead a victim to question the very possibility of ever escaping abuse, as this woman attests: Both my husband and my uncle went with the village Mukhtar (clan leader) to the police and agreed with them that every time I run away from home and ask the police’s help, the police will call them and return me by force to them. I first did not know that, so I trusted the police . . . and was so sure that they will feel sorry for me and will help me. When I ran away from home for the third time, after my husband swore that he would kill me, I noticed that the police officer left me waiting outside without even asking me why I am there. When I went to his office hoping to talk to him, I heard him talking on the phone with the Mukhtar, asking him to come and take me. I felt so bad, alone, all I wanted is to commit suicide . . . so I ran away from the police station . . . I cried my eyes out . . . but my legs walked back towards my village knowing that it is better to be buried in my village’s earth, than to be buried in a stranger’s earth. (Shalhoub-Kevorkian & Erez, 2002, p. 129, emphasis added)

The victim’s formative encounters with the police can be fraught with doubt, trepidation, and despair. The sense that she is deviating from powerful cultural scripts colors the journey, one whose end point seems both distant and less than ideal.15 The stationed police can play a role in ensuring the victim’s return to the site of violence, as an Israeli police officer explains: I am an experienced police officer and I know that by ignoring her actual physical abuse today, I will help her to live tomorrow. You need to understand . . . their culture allows men [to] kill women on the basis of family honor. When she comes and asks my help I explain to her that she might be killed, and that it is better to go back home and [we] won’t inform anybody about her visit to the police. She belongs to Arab mentality, and they know nothing about respecting women—first the mentality should be changed and only then we could work according to Israeli norms of Kvod Ha’adam Ve Heroto (the law regarding a person’s dignity and liberty). (Shalhoub-Kevorkian & Erez, 2002, p. 123)

The officer’s reasoning for directing the victim back to her home is informed by an understanding of the cultural milieu from which the woman comes and to which she will return, and how it varies from Israeli Jewish culture. Police officers on sector assignments also organize their responses to DV dispatches, in part, by whether the victims are from Jewish or Arab families, which the next section details.


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Police Officers’ Experiences Responding to DV in the Arab Community Police responses to DV calls in Arab areas are shaped by general work rules and practices, and overlaid with exigencies arising from managing an unpredictable space, sensitive family situations, safety and liability issues, and the state’s “intrusion” into the “internal affairs” of the Arab community. Each aspect can influence how police conduct themselves during an encounter with citizens. The officer’s state of mind en route to a DV case. The collectivist and patrilocal nature of Arab culture organizes the social space that officers enter when they respond to DV calls at residents’ dwellings. Officers assume that they will deal not just with an alleged victim and abuser but also the latter’s relatives and maybe those of the former. Accordingly, the police anticipate a larger cast of players as they “rehearse” and fashion an intervention in an Israeli Arab household than when they approach a Jewish Israeli household. However, differences among Jewish and Arab households are not strictly related to the number/types of players present at the scene but also to whether and how police presence can be accommodated in domestic social order without subverting it. Consequently, officers on DV calls in the Arab community are often mindful of the meaning of their presence and make accommodations to the domestic order such that their intervention is diluted. Officers en route to an incident prepare themselves mentally for what is likely to occur when they arrive at a scene (Fyfe, 1989, p. 595), and in Israel this preparation seems to be attuned to, inter alia, the ethnicity of the members who reside at the destination. Officers’ ability to maintain situational control is important to their sense of professional competence, and Israeli officers make distinctions about the amount of resistance they can expect to encounter from Jewish and Arab households (ShalhoubKevorkian & Erez, 2002) because of their occupational interest in anticipating the situational dynamics with which they will have to contend. As one officer states, In the Arab sector, there is problem with the family. They usually intervene and insist on entering a confrontation with the police and do all kind of shows. In the Jewish sector, as far as I know, there are no problems like that, (such as) that the family will block the road, disrupt, get wild and will hide the husband or run away with him . . . (Shalhoub-Kevorkian & Erez, 2002, p. 122)

Such expressions of open defiance and unwillingness to recognize the officer’s authority to intervene in “private matters” illustrate for officers that family members are not constructively engaging the process that the officer is required to initiate; to the contrary, they are openly obstructing it. One officer states, “With the Arabs, they have their own rules and they do not listen to us at all. But still the police have to address these issues as best as they can” (Shalhoub-Kevorkian & Erez, 2002, p. 123). Even when family members appear to engage the process, police officers anticipate that such engagement may surreptitiously be obstructing it, by what police refer to as “show” or “games”—various forms of manipulation, such as making up stories,


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providing misinformation, feigning feelings, simulating helpfulness, and generally leading them on. As one officer states, “There are many cases in the Arab sector in which the extended family attempts to dictate to the police how to behave, but we always overcome these obstructions and these family games” (Shalhoub-Kevorkian & Erez, 2002, p. 122). Aside from various kinds of stratagems that the officer might have to reckon with, the officer en route also imagines the remote but nonetheless tangible possibility that he or she might be venturing into an unsafe environment. Since the second Intifada, reports of officers slain for “nationalistic reasons” (meni’im leumiyim) have circulated widely, so the idea of being ambushed is not far-fetched. The issue of safety always applies to police officers who dare to intervene in private conflict, and this holds regardless of whether the intervening officer is a Jew or an Arab. One officer expressed it as follows: I am not sure whether it will be safe to enter their villages . . . maybe it is an ambush . . . it happened to some police officers . . . they were Arab police officers and they ended up being beaten. (Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 2004, p. 185)

When officers anticipate that a situation portends endangerment, they are likelier to be in tactical mode upon entering (Herbert, 1997), which implies they will appear tense and unapproachable: The operational imperatives that the situation be controlled and that the officer’s bodily integrity be safeguarded will override concerns that the officer display a personable demeanor, as much as this might still be desired and attempted. Whether resistance is overt or covert, and the officer’s life imperiled or not, police en route anticipate intervention will require much effort. The problem of effort is salient in that research on Israeli police officers has revealed skeptical attitudes about the efficacy of enforcing the LPFV in the Arab community (Erez & ShalhoubKevorkian, 2004; Shalhoub-Kevorkian & Erez, 2002). Skepticism is rooted in officers’ experiences with abused women who retract complaints, or who succumb to pressure to recant in deference to traditions emphasizing family honor and the sanctity of family privacy. In addition, officers understand that the Arab community often resents the presence of police in sharply felt ways (Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 2004). Thus, this skepticism is born out of experience with policing DV generally, and intervening in the Arab community in particular, and is sustained through a constellation of professional concerns about the wisdom of intervention in the Arab sector, about officer safety, and a sense of indignation over the disrespect police receive for enforcing the law. Handling DV calls in the Arab community. DV incidents occur in the midst of other crimes requiring police attention, including terrorist incidents, and therefore the Israeli police are required to exercise triage.16 Indeed, Israeli police officers perceive that incidents threatening national security outrank and take precedence over DV, as this officer can attest:


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When we learn that a suicide bomber is planning to attack or that we need to prevent a terrorist attack, we stop thinking or functioning. I can tell you this because it happened to me two weeks ago when I learned that someone was planning to blow himself up in the area where my parents live . . . so you think I was able to work, help raped women, or address other issues . . . all I had on my mind was preventing such a terrorist attack from happening . . . I needed to make sure that my parents were safe. (Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 2004, p. 184)

Officers with extensive experience working DV cases in the Arab sector come to understand that the community responds to such incidents regardless of whether police officially intervene. Consequently, when national security issues loom large, intensive official involvement with the Arab community on a DV case seems like misspent effort: Some [Arab] women come to the police to file a complaint . . . but it is all a game . . . a show . . . the woman makes me feel so angry . . . for she is doing a disservice to the Arab sector . . . Arab society offers [a] million ways of helping abused women . . . the police should take care of more important crimes . . . mainly problems of internal security. (Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 2004, pp. 179-180)

Thus, although the LPFV is fairly straightforward in terms of presumptive arrest policies, referrals for services, and the availability of protection orders, it is not uniformly enforced. Research suggests that the less common approach is for the police to adopt a formal-legal orientation in applying the law. The more common approach acknowledges the cultural and social forces that prevail in the Arab community, such that the intervention is at least partly mediated by local standards and exigencies. Officers taking the formal approach emphasize that parties to the case are the subjects whose statements are most pertinent, and that the views, advice, and preferences of family members or other outsiders are generally immaterial to enforcement of the law. For instance, I am not interested in what the parents . . . said, it is none of their business. This is a police matter, and it should proceed according to the law, and . . . it should be addressed . . . without any external intervention. (Shalhoub-Kevorkian & Erez, 2002, p. 124)

Another officer makes a similar statement: In my opinion, in each case and it does not make a difference what kind, I would not let the family intervene, especially in the Arab sector, as this is a closed and united community. The family jumps in every incident and sometimes they make our job difficult and they cause us delays in meeting our duties . . . (Shalhoub-Kevorkian & Erez, 2002, p. 122)

The absolutist practice described by these officers may conform to the law, but more experienced officers are likelier to take a “cultural” approach in responding to DV. The latter recognize that this approach may not follow the letter of the law, but


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they are well aware Israeli police presence can be problematic and Arab communities have particular institutions and customs that mediate and filter the effectiveness of law enforcement practice. Thus, their approach represents a balancing act in lieu of what otherwise would be a serious impasse. One officer put it as follows: The handling of cases by the police is not always correct; although this is not a general rule but rather specific to the case, or the specific officers handling it. In the Arab sector our work is restricted and if at the end there is a possibility for resolving the problem within the family, then many of us would say “go ahead.” (Erez & Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 2004, p. 143)

Officers who might take a formal-legal approach in other contexts believe that alterations in practice are required in the Arab community. The relevance of ethnicity can assert itself in the style of policing that is adopted, even when facts are otherwise identical. In this case, if we had a Jewish woman I would enforce the law without any hesitation or without taking into account secondary considerations. However, since we are dealing here with an Arab woman it is somewhat difficult and problematic . . . [I]n this community there is a large impact of the family honor issue. (Shalhoub-Kevorkian & Erez, 2002, p. 123)

Israeli officers on patrol typically have both Jewish and Arab neighborhoods as part of their sector assignments. Consequently, they develop territorial and occupational knowledge about what policing styles are workable in different communities that emerges out of, and is confirmed by, experiences that officers have in some communities, but not others. For example, although retractions by victims are common in both communities, often for similar reasons, such as economic dependency, officers also observe that the retractions can be influenced by different considerations. In the Jewish community, officers note that complaints by victims are motivated by legal strategies stemming from ongoing divorce proceedings (Buchbinder & Eisikovits, 2004, p. 453)—an abuse complaint might “strengthen her (civil) case”—but which will be retracted once the divorce has been finalized and child custody settled (Erez & Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 2004, p. 144). By contrast, officers note that retractions by Arab women stem from social pressures: When we are dealing with the Arab sector, after the complaint has been lodged there is an increased activity of community dignitaries who get involved and then the woman commits herself to retract the complaint. (Shalhoub-Kevorkian & Erez, 2002, p. 122)

The social reality that is mobilized once a complaint is lodged in the Arab sector leads officers to believe that their effectiveness hinges on considering the social relations that prevail in the woman’s community, because it pressures victims to return to the fold. The notion that family/village elder intervention will occur is assumed by the husband as well: An Arab husband accused of DV stated his expectations regarding the tenability of his wife’s complaint as follows:


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Interviewee: I was sure she would cancel her complaint as usual, and that we would go back to how it used to be. Interviewer: Did you really think your wife would cancel her complaint? Interviewee: That’s exactly what I thought. That she would go back after a few hours and cancel the complaint. She would stay with her parents for a couple of months and eventually we’d send some respectable people to their house, she would come home and all would be well (Eisikovits et al., 2008, p. 122).

Many experienced officers believe that treating the incident as strictly a law enforcement matter, while ignoring the social forces that impinge on the woman, could ultimately backfire and imperil her even more than did the original abuse. As one officer puts it, I can attest to the fact that the police indirectly can cause complication and even murder. These concerns—family matters or issues between couples—are very sensitive and sometime[s] the police [would] rather not intervene so that things do not get worse. I do not take off responsibility from the police but I am trying to clarify that sometimes intervention by an authoritative body like the police (which people do not like so much) can bring about negative implications on the life of that family. (Shalhoub-Kevorkian & Erez, 2002, p. 121-122)

Another officer commented, These issues are very sensitive and if they are not major problems, it is better to avoid intervention in family affairs so that the situation will not get worse. I am not absolving the police of its responsibility to act; I just note that sometimes-official intervention may have negative effects on the family’s continued life. (Erez & Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 2004, p. 145)

These officers advocate a position that suggests minimal, cursory involvement when the abuse is mild, and culturally or socially sensitive involvement when the abuse is more serious. Perfunctory involvement and passing the buck to family or village elders, however, can result in a readiness to discredit victims of repeat abuse, as suggested by one officer: “If the family stated that they take care of it and she still complains too many times she is perhaps lying” (Shalhoub-Kevorkian & Erez, 2002, p. 123).17 At the same time, such policing can come across as indifferent to Arab victims of abuse, as described by one woman: I was screaming from the inside, but never dared to tell my feelings to the police officer who came to our house. He was looking at me as if I am a dirty bad woman. He told me several times that we Arab women should behave according to our traditions. He even said that the house does not look like a house of an Arab woman . . . He forgot that my husband threw the food on the floor, broke all the food that I prepared for the children for breakfast. He forgot the storm my husband created, and all he remembered was that I


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pushed him (I defended my daughter) and made him fall on the floor. He forgot to look at my face and see the bruises on my hand . . . all he saw was that I pushed him . . . I will never ever call the police . . . even if my husband will kill me. (Shalhoub-Kevorkian & Erez, 2002, p. 127)

Officers who adopt a “culturalist” approach to policing DV in the Arab community recognize that the permanent force of the cultural system overwhelms the temporary presence of the police and that victims of abuse ought to be mindful of this distinction. As one officer explains, By nature, Arab society forces us to abide by its cultural codes, particularly its social norms and values, and not by our law. Police need to take into consideration not only the victim’s needs and hardships, but also the pressure on the police by society. It is clear that if a woman seeks the help of the police, she, being an Arab, may pay a high price. We, as police officers, should explain to women who file a complaint against their husbands that their families are going to oppose our intervention, and that they will lose the one and only thing Arab women have—family support. Police intervention is considered to be an invasion not only of family privacy, but also a violation of men’s pride and women’s honor. (Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 1999, p. 202)

Police reluctance to intervene further rests on the realization that, first, “she is one, they are many,” that is, that the victim is going to be outnumbered by family members who will pressure her to renege, and she is likely to remain in her patrilocal residence and in the only community she knows. The police also understand that the prospect of a permanent separation (or divorce) from her husband entails a bleak future for her and her children, as described in the following section.

Aftermath of Police Intervention The social reality that is occasioned by a police intervention ramifies long after the police depart the scene, particularly in those rare cases when the abuser is removed from the residence. The household’s private affairs become known about beyond the extended family; inferences are drawn about the moral order of the household and character of the principals that are deeply embarrassing and humiliating. The resultant social reality is not the object of police response, nor is it properly viewed as the task of any other professionals; hence, it is a burden shouldered by the principals alone, along with their family members. Blame will be cast: on the wife for bringing the police into the inner sanctums of the family, on the wife’s family for not persuading the woman to resolve the problem through alternative means, and on the police for running roughshod over important understandings and rules of engagement. The husband’s reaction to the intervention. The husband’s response to police involvement in the situation, especially when it is prompted by the wife’s complaint or is sealed with her consent (because of her refusal to recant), is one of incredulity. One accused husband said,


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It’s unusual to go to the police. It is a devious act. The very idea that my wife called the police means that she didn’t conform to our society’s accepted, correct way of doing things. Such behavior is foreign to our society. It’s hard for me to understand that my wife should assume the norms of others . . . . (Eisikovits et al., 2008, p. 119)

This man views his wife as a virtual stranger, a foreigner, not the woman he married. Not only is this an act of cultural betrayal, it is also personally injurious, as another Arab husband conveys: Interviewer: How did you feel when you found out that your wife had called the police? Interviewee: I felt that a circle that used to hold the family together had collapsed. Just imagine that she would call the police every time we had a problem! Beforehand, the family and relatives intervened, and it was OK. But once she had called the police, it was as if she had broken through a barrier and violated the norms. The problem is that every home has private and intimate secrets and my wife gave our secrets away. She violated the code. Today there are no secrets in our home. Everyone knows everything about what happens there. When she called the police this time, I felt hurt . . . I am a good-hearted and forgiving person. If this had happened to someone else, he wouldn’t have stayed with his wife. (Eisikovits et al., 2008, p. 120)

The husband alludes to a series of injuries he suffered because of his wife’s complaint, including being personally betrayed by her and having his family’s embarrassing secrets revealed to the community. Based on research that examines why victims seek assistance from the police—instead of taking refuge with the family of origin—it is likely that either or both of the following occurred: the abuse became more severe and/ or the family of origin countenanced her making a complaint to the police. However, there is no recognition in this man’s statement that his own conduct might have prompted his wife’s actions; instead he views himself as the aggrieved party, the one who has had wrong done to him, and who is now in the position to be magnanimous. Even when the husband can forgive the wife for her misdeed, others may still be found to be blameworthy. Chief among these parties are members of the victim’s family: Interviewee: I tell you, honestly, maybe I can forgive my wife, but I can never forgive her family. Interviewer: Why not? Interviewee: Because before letting my wife take such a step, her family should have sat down and listened to both sides, not just to her side. I mean, in her family they should have listened to what I have to say, and know that there was plenty of questionable behavior on her side, too. (Eisikovits et al., 2008, p. 121)

Nevertheless, not all husbands find it possible to forgive their wives:


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When under arrest, I was terribly anxious. I kept thinking that if I had been arrested for fighting with strangers I could accept it. But I’d been arrested because of my wife. I never imagined such a thing would happen. Being arrested for fighting with a stranger is natural and accepted and it can happen to anyone. But when my wife made them arrest me, I couldn’t accept it and I can’t forgive her for it. (Eisikovits et al., 2008, p. 122)

Victims who backslide, either by recanting or requesting that the husband not be arrested, however, offer a glimmer of hope to husbands that the wife has not completely betrayed him, as this husband states: My wife involved the police in our relationship and I felt that she had broken a major taboo. It took me a long time to put up with that. I am the kind of person who can get angry, but can also forget and forgive. What she said at the police station convinced me that there is hope for us staying together . . . when she asked them not to arrest me. It left space for making up and for correcting our relationship. (Eisikovits et al., 2008, p. 122)

While police intervention entails embarrassment and humiliation for the husband, divorce can offer him a way of starting over and erasing any vestiges of shame he may have endured because of the incident. The repercussions, and possible fixes, for the woman, however, are another matter entirely. Repercussions of police involvement on the victim and family of origin. From the viewpoint of the battered wife, the aftermath of police involvement in a domestic incident entails more than whether she will forgive, or be forgiven. Several considerations are set in motion once a victim involves outsiders, particularly the police, in the family’s “private” affairs. The stakes are high and the consequences potentially devastating to the victim and by extension her children. One set of repercussions stem from the ostracism, loneliness, and fear of violent reprisal encountered by women who complain to or cooperate with authorities. For example, so futile is her cause that this woman has come to view herself as superfluous to local society and a burden to everyone in her family who might help her: Death was always in my thoughts, for so many people, even my women friends kept reminding me that I might be killed easily. This problem of killing women on the basis of family honor turned my life into hell. Not only did I have to face my husband’s abuse, but also the fear of being killed . . . and let me tell you that no one would care if I die . . . the Jewish police would be happy to get rid of an Arab, and our community would be happy of get rid of a woman, even my social worker would be happy to get rid of my stories and complaints . . . Killing me would solve everybody’s problem. (Shalhoub-Kevorkian & Erez, 2002, p. 130)

A loss of faith in the police, and with it a deeper sense of helplessness and betrayal, can result from having been led to think that assistance was forthcoming, when only more of the same resulted, as this woman discovered:


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It took me so long to reach the police, for I thought that in our area the community police people, mainly the lady that came and introduced herself to my family [was] the only one that could save me. I hoped that after 24 years of fear and terror, I could stop the abuse . . . and he will stop hitting and degrading me. But I was mistaken[;] the lady that promised to help us, ended up collaborating with the head of his family and with the village Mukhtars (notables) and she imposed on me to go back to him. (Shalhoub-Kevorkian & Erez, 2002, p. 130, emphasis added)

Following this act of “collaboration,” this woman suffered in another way, losing her mother as her confidant and source of support, while the mother herself faced threats of divorce for having assisted her daughter: The feeling was so bad, for both me and my mom were punished for bringing shame and ridicule to the family. My father threatened my mother [with divorce], and I was unable to reach the only person who used to listen to my problems and support me—my mom. Do you think that I will ever believe in the police or welfare people or even believe my own family? (Shalhoub-Kevorkian & Erez, 2002, p. 130)

Temporarily living apart from an abuser following notification to authorities can be emotionally difficult for victims, as they may feel they have lost their social footing by virtue of the separation and are on the precipice of divorce. Consequently, the victim may long for reunification, as indicated in the account of a woman pressured by her brothers to report abuse to the police: My husband is a good man and I want him. I was afraid he would throw me out and divorce me. I can’t live without him. Who would take me in? Do you think my parents and brothers will help me for the rest of my life? My husband is the only person I’ve got. Throughout the whole period that I was with my parents, I felt that I had no one except my husband. (Eisikovits et al., 2008, p. 118)

Although reunification with the abusive partner is a less than ideal “resolution,” women who end up in a state of permanent separation from their abusive partners— because of the process that was triggered by police involvement—report still more suffering. Divorce is not a terminus, but rather a catalyst for an elaborate series of indignities and a drastically diminished set of horizons. A 29-year-old woman described why she regretted divorce and was now willing to tolerate being an abused wife: After my husband divorced me, I went to live with my brother’s family. His wife was treating me like a servant. I was serving my brother and his family, then I got in touch with my in[-]laws, and told them that I am willing to accept my husband’s battery, . . . to have my own house and preserve my dignity. I prefer to serve my kids and husband than to be humiliated by my brother, his wife, and kids. (Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 1997a, p. 15)

Divorce can place women at the mercy of whichever family member might be willing to take them in and creates conditions under which further abuse or exploitation


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can flourish. The repercussions may flow still more pervasively, however, as is vividly conveyed by this woman’s account: It is better to tolerate violence than to be divorced. I know from experience. My husband was very violent and a drug addict. One day he beat me so hard I left him and went to my parent’s house. I was 18 years old. Instead of trying to reproach me, he sent me my divorce papers and took my son from me. I feel I die a million deaths each day. My father is angry because I am divorced. I know that I am an added financial burden on my family . . . Everyone around us talks about me. I can’t work, put [on] make up, or go to weddings because family honor does not permit it. I feel I am dead. It is true that I should have stayed at home when he beat me . . . but I discovered that too late. My mother keeps saying “A man is a blessing in the home even though he may be not much.” Now I feel so bad; I miss my baby, and I am so angry at myself, I feel as if I am a criminal, I tried so many times to commit suicide, I hope I will die. (Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 1997a, p. 14)

Divorce represents a ruinous cataclysm in the life of this divorcée, prompting multifaceted repercussions that seem engulfing, ranging from a deep sense of shame and guilt, to the loss of her children, to multiple suicide attempts. She faced all of these hardships, and yet she did not notify the police, prompting one to wonder how she might have fared if she had.

Conclusion DV cases entail problematic and challenging circumstances, both for the parties involved and the police officers asked to sort through them. When DV occurs among a minority population (i.e., Israeli Arabs) in multicultural countries with protracted conflicts, but is policed by representatives of a majority population (i.e., Israeli Jews), its inherent complexity is compounded: Dynamics of majority–minority relations can become overlaid and intertwined with the meanings of the event itself. National security concerns color everyday life in Israel, further complicating dilemmas, increasing mutual suspicion, and amplifying fears among police responding to DV in Arab communities. As the present analysis shows, the seeming paradox of simultaneous underand over-policing needs to be understood in connection with the meanings of DV in the Arab community and local interpretations of (“Jewish”) state intervention. Attention to context also sheds light on the repercussions that police involvement has for the social fates of abused Arab women who seek assistance and legal protection consistent with the “Western” LPFV. Their attempts at resistance or help-seeking result in tarnished identities, and severely curtailed opportunities for them and their children. Juxtaposed, the situated perspectives expressed by participants during DV incidents that come to police attention can seem difficult to reconcile, but the varied definitions and meanings of violence, responsibility, and proper intervention are what the police must contend with and address, however imperfectly. Through an integration of previously published but isolated studies addressing the different constituents involved, this article has provided a comprehensive picture of


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the social, cultural and political forces that underlie and inform police responses to DV in the Israeli Arab community. Our rereading of the data offers an alternative interpretation for what has been conceived as problems of under- and over-policing, one mindful of the police calculus that is involved in taking particular courses of action, including the compromises and contingencies that shape police decision making and the practice of policing as craft (Willis, 2012). Outlining the dynamics in play when DV is policed in minority communities by (mostly) representatives of the majority population in conflict zones, we offer a model relevant to policing other forms of crime that would go beyond segmented or partial treatments of the issues, instead considering points of coalescence. The preceding analysis highlights five general themes or issues that work in concert and provide a framework for analyzing the impact of minority–majority relations on the policing of DV. First, and in line with conflict theory, the presence of a history of tense relationships between the minority and majority populations, one grounded in struggles over material and symbolic resources, colors views that both parties (the minority community; the police) have of one another. Mutual suspicions are supported through narratives expressive of character attributes and intentions that reinforce hostilities about the fairness and responsiveness of the majority police, and about minority citizens as deserving or undeserving recipients of policing. Second, to the extent that minority populations subject to policing by majority populations will have had a history of tense relations or violent conflict, the former are likely to develop, or attribute heightened significance to, informal ways for responding to troubles in their midst, practices that attempt to keep “dirty laundry” within the community and beyond the purview of the state. Third, as informal alternative mechanisms are in place, there will be ramifications that stem from invoking a police response rather than settling the matter through informal means, implying that the police are likely to be contacted only when the situation has become untenable or irresolvable through locally approved informal mechanisms. Fourth, the ensuing encounters between police and minority victims/ offenders at the scene are likely to be logistically difficult, tense, and unsatisfying to all parties. Fifth, the aftermath of the police–civilian encounter can continue to ramify in ways that the police may anticipate, but which will be ultimately suffered by the parties to the scene alone, especially the victim (i.e., retribution and/or isolation within the community). Calls for service involving DV in the Arab community in Israel often place the police in no-win situations. A major criticism of the LPFV leveled by the Arab community is that it does not acknowledge, or give proper weight and deference to, traditional ways of resolving family affairs (such as the Sulha). At the same time, police are criticized for not intervening sufficiently, or for consulting with family members and community dignitaries in decisions related to the victims. In short, police occupy a space—and pursue a mission—that is defined by contradictions that stem from conflicting demands and expectations. Understanding of this situation can be best advanced by a holistic analysis of all key constituents whose activities collectively define the meaning of policing in society, including its limits and possibilities.


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Erez et al. Appendix

Articles (N = 10) From Which Quotes Were Selected for the Present Study Sample size of original article

Authors of articles Eisikovits, Buchbinder, and Bshara (2008) Erez and Shalhoub-Kevorkian (2004)* Haj-Yahia (2000) Shalhoub-Kevorkian (1997a) Shalhoub-Kevorkian (1997b)**

32 66

Shalhoub-Kevorkian (1999)***

52

Shalhoub-Kevorkian (2000)***

52

Shalhoub-Kevorkian (2004)* Shalhoub-Kevorkian and Baker (1997)** Shalhoub-Kevorkian and Erez (2002)*

60 61

Persons interviewed

No. of quotes in original articlea

Quotes included in present analysisb

12c

10

20

Arab couples

60

Police officersd

6

2

291

Married Arab women Arab women Social control agents Social control agentse Social control agentse Police officersd Social control agents Police officersd and Arab women

8

1

8 5

4 2

24

8

10

1

22 8

3 1

34

17

60 and 70

aAs quotes vary in length, a word count may also be informative. Such an analysis is beyond the scope of the present study, and would be complicated, as all of the quotes have been translated from Arabic or Hebrew. bInstances where part of a quote was included are counted here. If parts of one original quote are used in two places (done on one occasion), it is counted here as one quote. cEisikovits et al. (2008) include their probes after initial statements, and resultant responses. Such interactions between interviewers and interviewees are counted as single quotes. dThe sample consisted of 7 officers of Arab descent and 53 who were Jewish. eSocial control agents include medical and mental health professionals, lawyers, educators, clergy, social conciliators, journalists, and representatives of women’s organizations. */**/***Same number of stars denotes that these articles are based on data from the same sample of interviewees.

Declaration of Conflicting Interests The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

Funding The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

Notes 1. For examples, see http://www.haaretz.com/print-edition/features/defending-police-honor1.395618, http://www.jpost.com/Israel/Arab-parents-in-Lod-protest-wave-of-honor-killings, http://


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www.liveleak.com/view?i=a32_1367103734, or http://www.ynet.co.il/articles/0,7340,L-4375716,00. html 2. Israeli Arabs are citizens of Israel. They include Bedouins, Druze, Muslims, and Christians of Arab descent who live within the Green Line boundaries, that is, the pre-1967 borders of the state of Israel. As citizens of Israel, they are under the jurisdiction of the Israel National Police. Two groups of Arabs—the Palestinians in East Jerusalem and the majority of Druze in the Golan Heights—are not citizens but are under the jurisdiction of Israel and its National Police. These Arabs are distinguished from those who reside in the Palestinian territories of the West Bank and Gaza. The latter are not under the jurisdiction of the Israel National Police. Arabs citizens of Israel comprise about 17% of the population; if the Druze of the Golan Heights and the Palestinians in East Jerusalem are counted, the percentage of persons under the jurisdiction of the Israel National Police who are Arab is 20%. Since the Six-Day War in 1967, some Israeli Arabs have begun to refer to themselves as Israeli Palestinians. In this article, we refer to Arab citizens of Israel as Israeli Arabs to distinguish them from the Arab Palestinians who are not Israeli citizens and are subject to the rule of the Palestinian Authority in the West Bank and Hamas in Gaza. 3. For instance, perceptions of the seriousness of intimate partner abuse and marital violence in Israel have been found to vary between Arab and Jewish respondents, with group differences in perceptions of seriousness of such crimes (Arabs judging them less serious than Jews) being statistically significant (Herzog, 2004, p. 895). 4. Depending on the translation from Hebrew to English, various acronyms are used to represent the same law. The same 1991 law is referred to as the “Prevention of Family Violence Law” (PFVL), the “Prevention of Violence in the Family Law” (PVFL; Levush, 2008), the Law Against Family Violence” (LAFV; Makias, 1995; Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 2000), and “The Prevention of Domestic Violence Act” (PDVA; Kandalaft & Rohana, 1997). We use the acronym LPFV throughout this paper in referring to the “Law for the Prevention of Family Violence,” translated from Hebrew, as it appears in http://www.knesset.gov.il/ review/data/heb/law/kns12_familyviolence.pdf 5. Representatives from the Israeli–Arab community are not mentioned in the Report as being among the groups who provided input to the Committee on Family Violence (CFV). Some scholars (e.g., Hajjar, 2004) argue that because the Israeli state sponsors and sanctions discrimination against Arabs, there is much resistance among Israeli Arabs to viewing the state as a legitimate or trustworthy source of relief or protection from DV. These sentiments toward the state and its agents presumably explain why women’s rights activists within the Arab sector “have resisted appeals from Jewish women’s rights activists to join forces in demanding the promulgation of secular civil family laws and remedies against abuse as an alternative to communal law because this would give the state more authority over the Arab community without addressing the problem of discrimination” (Hajjar, 2004, p. 21). 6. The report (Kandalaft & Rohana, 1997) notes that separating couples is complicated because Arab families tend to live in multifloored residential dwellings where the husband’s family of origin also resides. Having the husband move to his parents’ floor will do little to lessen the potential for continued abuse or intimidation; even if the husband relocates away from the building, his angry relatives remain for his wife to contend with. The report also notes that Arab women are unfamiliar with the law, have difficulty in communicating with police who do not speak Arabic, and have a more generalized anxiety about being in an unfamiliar “male-dominated” zone (e.g., the police station). Most egregiously, the report indicates that “many police officers” (p. 67) provide the wife with the restraining order to serve on her alleged batterer (presumably when they are unable to locate him themselves).


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7. “A stick is the only medicine for the snake, daughter, and wife” is among the proverbs expressed by “social control agents” who justified violence against women in one study, although other proverbs expressed disapproval of it (e.g., “only a non-man beats a woman”) (Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 1997b, p. 5). 8. Three articles were excluded: one (Buchbinder & Eisikovits, 2008) because it did not pertain to interactions between victims and alleged batterers, but rather between police and social workers, and a second (Shoham, 2000) and third (Buchbinder and Eisikovits, 2004) that focused, respectively, on the experiences of Jewish victims and batterers when interacting with police in cases of DV. Articles that did not contain qualitative data were reviewed as well, and many points they made appear in this article as part of the literature review or in support of various processes identified in the current study. 9. The following databases were accessed: Arts and Humanities Search (AHSearch), Criminal Justice Abstracts, Criminal Justice Periodical Index, Educational Resources Information Clearinghouse (ERIC), JSTOR, National Criminal Justice Reference Service (NCJRS) Abstracts, PsycARTICLES, Sociological Abstracts, Social Science Abstracts (SocialSciAbs), Social Science Citation Index, WorldCat.org, and WorldCat Dissertations and Theses. 10. Proverbs were not counted as quotes unless the statement was attributed to a specific person, rather than appearing as part of a general characterization of interview content (See Shalhoub-Kevorkian, supra note 7). 11. Differences in how Arabs and Jews view DV have been found to correlate with certain variables. Degree of religiosity is a key predictor for how both Arabs and Jews view DV; for example, in rating the seriousness of 14 crime scenarios, secular Muslim respondents ranked wife assault as the 9th most serious, while religious and very religious Muslims ranked it as the 13th most serious. A similar pattern is seen with Jewish respondents, where secular Jews rated wife assault as the 3rd most serious offense, while religious and very religious Jews rated it the 5th most serious (Herzog, 2003). Whereas gender was the strongest predictor for views of wife assault within Jewish populations, with women likelier to ascribe a more serious rating than men, in the Muslim population, gender was not a significant predictor, but age was, with older Muslim respondents significantly more likely to rate wife assault as less serious. 12. This is the lone excerpt used in this article that comes from outside of Israel’s existing borders. However, it is helpful in illustrating the belief system that underlies the construction of DV in the community. 13. In Israel, battered Jewish women who report the crime to police are embarrassed mostly on a personal level—in some cases because they chose to marry the man they are now reporting to police, others because they are uncomfortable with the sexual details of the relationship becoming known (Shoham, 2000). 14. Jewish women in Israel may also face gendered opposition in reporting abuse, with male police officers seeming to side with the husband and failing to understand the extent of their suffering (Shoham, 2000). 15. The journey can be distant both emotionally and physically, as some women may have to travel from a remote location to reach a police station. 16. Following the passage of the LPFV, Israeli officers (both Jewish and Arab) were surveyed to identify “the level of harm involved in various crimes and their priority ranking in terms of police response” (Erez & Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 2004, p. 131). “Assaults between intimate partners or for romantic reasons” were ranked higher than any other category of offense except for “crimes in the context of, or motivated by, national/political reasons.” On a scale of 1 to 5, with 1 being the most serious, the former scored 2.32 and the latter 1.37 (Erez & Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 2004).


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17. Shoham (2000) describes similar sentiments expressed in Israel about Jewish battered women who filed multiple complaints.

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