“Why I Stayed in That Relationship”: Barriers to Indigenous Women’s Ability to Leave Violent Relationships

Abstract

Indigenous women in the United States are among the most vulnerable to intimate partner violence (IPV), which has reached endemic levels. The purpose of this qualitative inquiry was to understand contextual factors and barriers to becoming liberated from violence. Reconstructive analysis of data from a critical ethnography with a sample of 231 women across two tribes who described IPV relationships identified the following themes: controlling relationships, losing sense of priorities, using children, socioeconomic stress, family pressures, and restricting relationships. Results revealed these tactics, which parallel those used in the patriarchal colonialism of historical oppression, impeded women’s liberation from relationships.

Questions about women remaining in abusive relationships, though pervasive, place focus on women rather than the sociostructural context of historical oppression that gives rise to pandemic rates of intersecting structural violence against women (Pedersen et al., 2013; Smye et al., 2020; Weaver, 2009). Weaver (2009) stated, “The root causes of violence against Native women are firmly grounded in society” (p. 1558). Due to intersecting structural violence in the forms of postcolonial racism, sexism, and classism (Brassard et al., 2015; Pedersen et al., 2013; Smye et al., 2020), Indigenous women are particularly susceptible to intimate partner violence (IPV) in the United States (National Institute of Justice, 2016). Over 80% of such women experience IPV (National Institute of Justice, 2016). IPV includes physical and sexual violence, psychological harm, and stalking by a current or former partner (Centers for Disease Control and Prevention [CDC], 2018). IPV rates are high for Indigenous males and females, with more than four in five experiencing such violence (National Institute of Justice, 2016). Violence against Indigenous women tends to be more severe than for men (Smye et al., 2020) and more severe than for non-Indigenous women (Williams et al., 2019).

The consequences of IPV are profound, and IPV is associated with extensive mental health problems, disabilities, including posttraumatic stress disorder, anxiety, depression, and alcohol and other drug (AOD) abuse (Evans-Campbell et al., 2006; National Coalition Against Domestic Violence [NCADV], 2020a; Tutty et al., 2020). The psychosocial consequences of IPV on Indigenous women, children, and families are insidious (Burnette & Cannon, 2014). In fact, a systematic review identifying the consequences of violence for Indigenous women in Canada described them as (a) ruptured familial connections (including postseparation IPV; revictimization by families, state and social systems, and legal systems); (b) emptiness, shame, hopelessness, resignation, dispiritedness, along with harmful substance use and sexual coping; (c) unmet and unheard needs for help, resulting in reduced help seeking; and (d) resilience drawn from children, culture, and spiritual healing (Williams et al., 2019).

Within Western societies, leaving abusive relationships is seen as a solution to violence with the formal supports of law enforcement, crisis services, housing, and counseling (Smye et al., 2020). Still, the primary responsibility to address IPV falls on women (Smye et al., 2020). However, women who leave IPV often still experience violence from their abuser, the state, and a patriarchal society that chronically under-values and undermines their freedoms (Pedersen et al., 2013; Smye et al., 2020). Postseparation IPV has been found to be higher for Indigenous women than non-Indigenous groups, indicating that simply “leaving” is seldom a feasible or sufficient solution (Pedersen et al., 2013; Riel et al., 2014; Smye et al., 2020; Williams et al., 2019).

Structural violence against Indigenous women occurs throughout the heterogenous 574 sovereign tribes in the United States, and unlike violence against non-Indigenous women, it is inextricably connected to the context of colonial historical oppression (Bureau of Indian Affairs, 2020; Burnette & Figley, 2017; Pedersen et al., 2013; Williams et al., 2019; Willmon-Haque & BigFoot, 2008). Historical oppression encompasses both past and contemporary forms of structural oppression (Burnette & Figley, 2017). The U.S. federal government is engaged in a trust relationship with tribes to provide for their health and welfare (Bureau of Indian Affairs, 2020). The elevated rates of violence indicate contemporary oppression and a breakdown of this trust agreement.

The purpose of this qualitative inquiry is to understand the contextual factors and barriers to Indigenous women’s liberation from violence. Given the gap in understanding (Buel, 2013; NCADV, 2020b), we use the liberatory Indigenous-based framework of historical oppression, resilience, and transcendence (FHORT), a critical feminist framework developed to understand the contextual features and the reported barriers to leaving IPV relationships (Burnette & Figley, 2017). The FHORT is particularly well suited to understanding women’s IPV experiences, as it integrates how structural oppression coupled with the internalized oppression of patriarchal and devaluing beliefs may exacerbate IPV and limit women’s choices. The FHORT is an ecological framework that martials critical theory and focuses on the continued effects of settler colonization in Indigenous women’s daily lives (Burnette & Figley, 2017). It is feminist in that it focuses on how settler colonization is gendered, particularly through the rearrangement of matrilineal to patriarchal social structures (Burnette, 2015d; Smye et al., 2020; Tutty et al., 2020; Williams et al., 2019; Willmon-Haque & BigFoot, 2008).

The FHORT and Violence Against Indigenous Women

The FHORT was developed by exploring violence against Indigenous women and associated disparities with Indigenous communities in the Southeast region of the United States (Burnette & Figley, 2017). The FHORT is an ecological and intersectional framework that considers the legacy of structural violence in the forms of patriarchal colonialism, racism, discrimination, and violence in its many forms that have been perpetuated into current times (Brassard et al., 2015). Structural violence is maintained and exacerbated by chronic and cumulative risks, including internalized sexism, IPV, violence by societal and state institutions, and trauma (Burnette & Figley, 2017). The FHORT examines the interactions of ecological risk and protective factors (Tutty et al., 2020); risk factors exacerbate negative outcomes, and protective factors buffer against IPV (Burnette & Figley, 2017). Though the scope of this inquiry is on limiting factors related to IPV, it is also essential to recognize how these women continue to transcend, resist, become liberated, and are resilient, despite experiencing structural violence (Burnette & Figley, 2017).

Though Indigenous and non-Indigenous women experience barriers to transcending violent relationships, intersecting oppressions affect Indigenous women in poignant ways. Among the general population, obstacles to leaving abusive relationships can include (a) family-related factors (e.g., fear of more severe violence on self and family, pressure to stay from family or friends, fear of losing child custody), (b) socioeconomic factors (e.g., economic, educational, and housing barriers), (c) cultural and community factors (e.g., familial, religious, or cultural pressures to stay, belief that a two-parent family is ideal despite abuse, being socialized into roles where women are responsible for making relationships work, normalization of violence, and social isolation), (d) systemic factors (e.g., ineffectual law enforcement and criminal justice response), and (e) relational or individual factors (e.g., attachment to the abuser, shame, and disability status) among others (Buel, 2013; NCADV, 2020b). Along with these barriers, Indigenous women experience resilience, along with the added complexities of (a) fear of biased police and child welfare systems, (b) structural and cumulative violence through colonial historical oppression and exposure to complex trauma across the life course, and (c) potentially losing important connection to land and supports if they leave their communities (Smye et al., 2020).

Indeed, violence against Indigenous women is distinct from other women and occurs within the context of historical oppression, to which the focus now turns (Burnette, 2015a, 2015b, 2015c, 2015d). Historical oppression within the FHORT expands upon Paolo Freire’s concept of dehumanization, which are efforts to inhibit freedom and liberation through domination, oppression, and injustice (Freire, 1996). Control through the restriction of choice for women in violent relationships is one mechanism of dehumanization (Burnette, 2015a; Freire, 1996). Unlike other non-Indigenous communities, prior to colonial historical oppression, women in the focal tribes and many Indigenous communities lived in matrilineal social arrangements where women enjoyed power, status, and respect (Burnette, 2015d; Weaver, 2009; Willmon-Haque & BigFoot, 2008). Through the imposition of patriarchal colonialism (Guerrero, 2003), roles were reversed through gendered policies, impairing Indigenous women’s safety (Burnette, 2015; Weaver, 2009). Chronically experiencing an oppressive situation, women may cope with the unjust situation of IPV through resignation (Burnette, 2015a; Freire, 1996). Moreover, after experiencing IPV, people may internalize the oppressor, adopting the worldview and devaluation of themselves shown by the perpetrator (Freire, 1996; Weaver, 2009).

Many Indigenous women witness IPV in their upbringing, which could normalize violence (Burnette & Cannon, 2014; Burnette & Renner, 2017). Qualitative research with 29 Indigenous women indicated that, parallel to the FHORT, violence was normalized in their communities, and partners used dehumanizing tactics congruent with those used in colonization (Burnette, 2015c). These coercive control tactics included domination, emotional abuse, threats and manipulation, the use of children as tools of manipulation, controlling resources, and severe physical violence, which impaired their ability to leave abusive relationships (Burnette, 2015a). This inquiry explores IPV experiences from 231 Indigenous women, youth, elders, and professionals in focus groups, family, and individual interviews. The overarching research question was, what are the contextual factors and barriers to Indigenous women’s liberation from violence?

Methods

Research Design

Qualitative data for this article are a part of a broader critical ethnography (n = 436) to understand ecological risk and protective factors related to IPV, and also associated problems included substance abuse, health, and mental problems (McKinley et al., 2019). This article focuses on themes specific to a sample of 231 women (elders, adults, youth, and professionals) who reported experiences related to IPV and associated with barriers to leaving abusive relationships. This critical ethnography focused on understanding the lived experiences of IPV among Indigenous peoples in the southeast region of the United States. With the advantage of holistically illuminating how structural oppression becomes internalized and embodied (Quantz, 1992), critical ethnographies use critical theory to investigate power differentials, particularly among colonized and marginalized groups (Carspecken, 1996). Critical ethnographies are noted for rigor and triangulate data (Carspecken, 1996; Hardcastle et al., 2006; Levinson et al., 2015). We integrated this method with protocols for ethical and culturally relevant research with Indigenous people (Burnette et al., 2014; McKinley et al., 2019). Data were drawn from a sample (N = 436) across two southeastern tribes and included focus group, family, and individual interviews, and participants across the lifespan: elders (age: 56 or older), adults (age: 24–55), and young people (age: 11–23), along with professionals working with IPV survivors.

Setting

The identifying names and information from the two southeastern tribes are kept con-fidential, protecting community identity, and congruent with best practices (Burnette et al., 2014; McKinley et al., 2019). They include the federally recognized Inland Tribe and the state-recognized Coastal Tribe. The Inland Tribe is located further from the Gulf Coast and has tribal schools, a hospital and medical care, IPV and family services, as well as law enforcement and justice services. The Coastal Tribe is located nearer the Gulf Coast and has more limited services for employment, healthcare, and education.

Reflexivity

To explicate reflexivity, or her self-reflection, critical analysis, and transparency about motivations, positions, and perspectives (McKinley et al., 2019; Carspecken, 1996), the first author, a Caucasian woman, aims for culturally relevant, helpful, and ethical research that joins in solidarity with the Indigenous communities. As such, throughout this research she integrated practices from the “Toolkit for Ethical and Culturally Sensitive Research” (Burnette et al., 2014; McKinley et al., 2019), developed with and from Indigenous and non-Indigenous scholars on the topic. Having worked with Indigenous people for over a decade, she is “committed long-term;” she “advocates” for tribes in social justice and in research; she is immersed, “spends time in the communities” in ethnographic work where she has resided with tribal communities; and “reinforces cultural strengths” through “appropriate methodology” and enabling “self-determination” in honoring the voices and choices of the women in this work.

Data Collection

An Institutional Review Board and tribal councils approved study activities, and recruitment for this study primarily included posting fliers online and recruitment in-person, working with agency heads and cultural insiders, and word of mouth (Burnette et al., 2014; McKinley et al., 2019). Participants had the option of being interviewed by tribal interviewers for cultural sensitivity; however, participant preferences were for the PI to collect data due to the tight-knit nature of the communities and concerns related to confidentiality (Burnette et al., 2014; McKinley et al., 2019). Among the 231 participants, 138 engaged in individually focused interviews, 121 engaged in focus group interviews, and 79 participants engaged in family-focused interviews. Families and individuals received gift cards ($60 and $20, respectively) to a chosen department store for their time and participation. Semistructured interview guides were developed from research questions reviewed by cultural insiders; the first author conducted a relational, life history interview approach as recommended for research with Indigenous peoples (Burnette et al., 2014; Carspecken, 1996; McKinley et al., 2019). Such guides were developed with a fifth-grade comprehension level for maximum understanding. Examples of interview questions included: “Some people have experienced violence and hard times. How do you think experiences of violence in your childhood/adulthood have affected you? What made things harder at that time (societal [e.g., historical oppression], community [e.g., social norms], familial [e.g., intergenerational exposure to violence], and individual level factors [e.g., employment status])? What helped you get through this challenge?” Table 1 presents participant demographics.

Table 1.

Participant Demographics.

Participant demographics	Qualitative (n = 231), %
Inland tribe	116 (50.2%)
Coastal tribe	115 (49.8%)
Age (21–80 years)	M = 46.24 SD (17.46)
Number married (n = 166)	77 (46.4%)
Number of children (range = 0–14)	M = 3.24 SD (2.21)
Education (n = 205)
Less than high school	228 (23.3%)
High school or equivalent	208 (21.3%)
Some college/vocational degree	149 (24.3%)
Associate’s	287 (11.2%)
Bachelor’s degree or higher	44 (19.9%)
Number of times interviewed	M = 1.33 SD (0.56)
Interview participants	138 (59.7%)
Focus group participants	121 (52.4%)
Family interviews	79 (34.2%)
Category of participant
Elder (56+)	74 (32.0%)
Adult (24–55)	91 (39.4%)
Young adult (18–23)	25 (10.8%)
Professional	41 (17.7%)

Note. M indicates mean. Sample sizes are indicated in respective columns for variables with missing data. Many participants’ marital status was unknown (n = 65), particularly if they only participated in focus groups, where this demographic question was not asked.

Data Analysis

Team-based qualitative analysis methods for ethnographic data were conducted by the first author and tribal and nontribal research assistants (Guest & MacQueen, 2008). After data were professionally transcribed, they were analyzed in separate files for each tribe using NVivo qualitative data analysis software. The research team followed reconstructive analysis, a thematic analysis approach, where transcripts are listened to and read more than two times. Line-by-line coding next occurred, after which a hierarchical structure of overarching codes and subcodes was created. Coding schemes were collaboratively arrived at to uncover both implicit and explicit interpretive meanings of the data. Cohen’s kappa coefficients (McHugh, 2012), which were very high (90 or higher) on all occasions, assured interrater reliability. This article focuses on the reports of the contextual factors and barriers related to being free of IPV experiences. Unifying themes across participants and tribes are reported, noting the tribe and category (focus group, family, or professional) of participants for reference. Participants from an individual interview do not specify a category.

This inductive approach prioritizes participants’ voices; thus, although semistructured interview topics are covered, the data reflect what participants prioritized. Salient themes are indicated by the interpretive analysis and by the frequency coded and across how many participants. Themes related to barriers to leaving IPV relationships appeared across approximately half of participants. In total, 120 of the 231 participants—approximately 56%—reported related themes. Although not specifically asked about in the research question, we chose the topic of barriers to leaving IPV relationships because it emerged as a highly recurrent theme. Themes related to IPV occurred across 56 (approximately 48%) of the total sources from Tribe A, including 40 individually focused interviews, nine focus groups, and seven family interviews. Themes occurred across 64 sources (approximately 56%) from Tribe B, including 46 individually focused interviews, three focus groups, and 15 family interviews.

Rigor

The first author member checked results with all participants who could be reached by distributing the results summary and interview transcripts, providing an opportunity to make any additions or changes to interpretations and transcripts. No participants disagreed with findings; rather, they elaborated and added to interpretations. Results were reported to the tribal communities more than 10 times in the form of community meetings and dialogue groups, trainings, and presentations to agencies, tribal councils, and tribal committees. The first author debriefed weekly throughout data collection and analysis with the research team. Almost one-third (29%) of participants (n = 67) engaged in two or more forms of interviews, though they are only counted as one source so as not to impact the frequency in results. Being interviewed multiple times enhances the rigor of this method and enables the triangulation of data.

Results

Results were derived from a sample of women who shared experiences of IPV. Violence often became progressively worse. The progression of abuse was often described as first being emotional, and then developing into physical abuse, as explained by this professional in a focus group from the Inland Tribe who stated, “Mostly the controlling part … That’s where a lot of arguments come-stem from, that’s maybe male trying to control female. … There’s emotional abuse already there. … Then [they] start with the physical abuse.”

Barriers to leaving IPV relationships included: (a) “It was just control”: Witnessing Controlling Behavior in Upbringing; (b) “Indian love”: “Controlling and Real Abusive” Adult Relationships (including the subthemes of “He didn’t want me to be around my family”: Restricting Relationships, and “He’s still like that”: Postseparation Violence); (c) “I lost all my focus”: IPV Undermining Parenting and Priorities; (d) “He kind of set me up”: Using Children as Tools of Manipulation; (e) “Because lack of education, there’s no job. When there’s no job, there’s no house”: Socioeconomic Stress; and (f) “It’s a family issue,” “Just forget it and move on”: Pressures to Stay. The focus now turns to these themes.

“It Was Just Control”: Witnessing Controlling Behavior in Upbringing

A key theme throughout relationships, particularly those with IPV, was that of control. Participants tended to describe witnessing controlling behaviors from their father to their mother, which normalized and set the stage for this pattern continuing into their own adult relationships. Themes related to witnessing IPV and controlling behavior in their upbringing occurred across approximately 68% (n = 81) of participants. A Coastal Tribe professional described awareness of her father’s controlling behavior: “My dad was a very hard man to get to know. Now, he loved his family … but [was] very controlling. As I became an adult … you see your parents’ relationship for what it was … and I could see where he was very controlling in some ways.” Another Coastal tribal member from a family interview identified a similar dynamic: “It was just control. They [parental relationship] was [sic] all based on control. … The older I get, I guess, the wiser you get … I mean even my daddy, he’ll call her [mother] … He needs a ride to go to town, he won’t ask … ‘You need to bring me to town this day.’” As this participant described her demands by her father, she stated this continued into her adulthood and was considered normative. This belief was similarly reiterated by a Coastal tribal member who described her father’s control over household tasks:

My dad was not a drinker. My dad, he was a fusser. … But he was … a perfectionist in the way that he wanted the house, and that can be … controlling. For instance, if he came home and there was [sic] dishes in the sink, he didn’t like that. … After he died … after the funeral—because we had wooden floors that had to be shined and polished and stuff—and she [mother] said, “We are getting rid of these floors,” and she … just put linoleum all through the house because she didn’t want to see any more wooden floors.

This mother changed the flooring in her house to rid herself of its association with her controlling husband and his demands about cleanliness in the household.

“Indian Love”: “Controlling and Real Abusive” Adult Relationships

This pattern of control continued into women’s adult relationships. Participants identified patriarchal patterns where men were expected to be dominant, and women were to be submissive to the needs and desires of men. Control inherently limits the freedom of the target, constraining women’s ability to self-determine and navigate their own life. Themes related to control occurred across approximately 63% (n = 75) who reported IPV experiences. A Coastal tribal member in a family interview specifically described and identified the behaviors of her partner as controlling: “He was controlling.” Another Coastal tribal participant also described an ex-partner who, postseparation, still tried to control her: “He was controlling my life. He would control my life and still tries to control my life right now.” An Inland tribal speaker also described her partner’s questioning of her actions as controlling:

He controlled me. … “Where I was going [sic] to be? Who I was with? Are you going to be with your Mom? Until what time? What time you coming home? Ah, you said you were going to cook, so are you going to cook or hide? Hurry up and cook and get things done before I come back. Ah,” he said, “You were going to wash clothes, while I was gone!”

Like women’s exposure to controlling behavior growing up, this partner exerted control over every aspect of her life in addition to restricting with whom and when she could go out. An Inland woman identified her partner’s behavior as controlling upon reflection:

Very controlling. … It was like even if I went to the grocery store, he’d say, “Be back in 15 min.” I couldn’t listen to the kind of radio I wanted to … hear. … You have to cook in the morning, “It’s time to get up, go cook.” … It was a kind of change. It was something that I wasn’t used to; but I thought that was love, because I … never knew what love was … I never dated, so I thought this was normal.

The absence of healthy relationships modeled to her during her childhood contributed to limited awareness. Another Inland tribal member described a relationship that was “controlling and real abusive.” A Coastal tribal member described the relationship’s restrictive nature:

This last one [partner] I was with, I couldn’t hardly go nowhere [sic]. I was stuck in the house. He wouldn’t let me work in the beginning. At the beginning, I did work but then I lost my house and stuff because he wanted to move in together and I turned around and let everything go, and everything went on him. The only time that I could get out of the house was when he comes back from home [sic]… he didn’t beat me down or nothing [sic] all the time. It was just, either do what he say [sic] or [else].

Indeed, controlling daily life was a prominent theme expressed by some participants. Women frequently reported feeling like they were expected to stay in relationships, regardless of whether they were healthy or not. In fact, some described IPV in relationships as “Indian love.” A professional from the Inland Tribe working with IPV survivors noted that abusive relationships were often viewed as the norm, making it especially difficult for partners to leave, “It’s what you call [tribal name omitted] love or “Indian love.” … Well, it goes with all Indians, you know? … They’ll get into it … they’ll go to court. … After court, they’ll … reconcile. … it goes on and on, that … that sequence….It keeps going on and on.” Indeed, the individual barriers to leaving IPV relationships could be cumulative and individualized to the situation. The focus now turns to these barriers to leaving IPV relationships.

“He Didn’t Want Me to Be Around My Family”: Restricting Relationships

The control extended to family or romantic relationships. This controlling behavior sometimes entailed partners demanding women limit their interactions with others, as described by this Coastal tribal member:

Me and [name omitted] use[d] to go to counseling when I would tell him I wanted a divorce. It didn’t help because … He was controlling. … He didn’t want me to be around my family. He said I did too much for them, but that’s all I had was my family. I was always going to do for them. Take care of my brothers and my sisters and stuff. I always did that.

For an elder in the Coastal Tribe in a family interview, the controlling behavior surrounding access to loved ones seemed to get worse as their relationship progressed:

He was all right at first, then he started getting kind of controllable [sic]. I couldn’t go at mom’s house, I couldn’t … He wouldn’t let me at my mama’s house, but it was okay to hang around with his family. … They didn’t have anybody in their family that would drive a car. … I would drive them all over. … I was never home because I was always running errands with them. He’d get really upset because I wasn’t there.

Another from the Coastal Tribe identified similar behaviors in a previous relationship, “I had a fiancée before that. He got to be too controlling. It was like, ‘You could go do stuff with your friends, but I can’t go with my friends? Even if we set it to be on the same night?’ Yeah, and it didn’t get that way until after the ring had come.” Thus, restricting relationships, particularly with women’s support systems, was common.

“He’s Still Like That”: Postseparation Violence

Despite relationships eventually ending in many cases, violence and intimidation continued to be used even after the relationship itself had ended, as described by this Coastal tribal woman: “He’s still like that.” She described a life-threatening incident: “I came back home and when I walked in the apartment, I knew he was in there. I could just feel it and it was dark … and I was like I’m about to die. I just knew it … he was squatting on my cabinet in the kitchen with the gun in his hand.” Though the participant was ultimately able to escape, she also described how unsupportive she found the police to be: “They [the police] never did nothing down here. … Down here they said that he had to put his hands on me. I was like, he’s not going to do that, he’s going to shoot me. He’s never going to put his hands on me. They never did anything.”

Indeed, violence could intensify after a woman left the abuser. Other participants also reported violence escalating when they attempted to leave the relationship, as explained by this Coastal tribal member, “It was all right until I tried to get away from him. He was really controlling. I told this to one of my friends right now, I think if I would’ve stayed in [state name] I would be dead. He would’ve killed me…. Yeah, he never beat me up or nothing, but he pulled a gun. He tried to kidnap me, I ended up jumping out of the car.” This woman was willing to risk jumping out of a moving vehicle to escape her abuser. Even when women left IPV relationships, these speakers described a continued threat of violence.

“I Lost All My Focus”: IPV Undermining Parenting and Priorities

IPV could undermine women’s priorities and lead to feelings of learned helplessness, posing a barrier to leaving. Themes focusing on the interrelationships of IPV, parenting, and impaired sense of self and well-being occurred across approximately 46% (n = 55) who reported IPV experiences, as described by this Inland tribal IPV professional:

When a woman does get abused, she kind of … loses her … sense of herself and her … sense of direction. And therefore, she can’t lead the kid, because she can’t lead herself either. … And a lot of situations … where they’re lost themselves, “I don’t know what to do.” … The abuser could be the breadwinner, and she feels like she can’t live without him … because she doesn’t have a job herself. … On the other hand, the kid[s] … they’re just wandering …and then the mom is like, as long as they’re fed, as long as you know the lights are on, as long as … there’s [a] home … they’re okay, they’re taken care of. They’re not looking at the emotional needs of the child, but they’re looking at themselves, at that moment. And this is where … we needed to start … working with them individually, and not try to work with them as a family. Because if we can get the woman stable and get her mind in the right situation, then we can get to the kid. … A lot of times, when … when they talk, they find their way out themselves. … Like they find themselves again. … So, if you can fix the mind, then you can fix everything else.

Thus, when IPV survivors find their voice, they often can reconnect with themselves and find a path forward. A professional in the Inland Tribe working with IPV survivors and who had also survived IPV described how being in an abusive relationship negatively impacted her parenting:

I lost all my focus … it did affect my parenting. … Because it took time away from her [daughter]. … I was thinking about me, I wasn’t so much … thinking about her all the time … but I was like, “How am I going to take care of her?” You know, because him and I [sic] together, we had jobs, and taking away a paycheck from the family, it does a lot, and that was always on my mind. … Back then, he was a police officer, so I was thinking, I can’t do that [leave], you know.

This speaker described IPV consuming her attention. Indeed, her partner’s position as a police officer, knowledge of the challenges of single-parenthood—including difficulties with finances—posed barriers to leaving this relationship. Professionals from a focus group in the Inland Tribe suggested that barriers to leaving IPV relationships were individualized and, thus, required individually tailored supports:

I’ve always thought that maybe the victim needed to be counseled as well. … We don’t know what she’s thinking, and I believe if she gets counseled, then it would kinda get to the root, to why she can’t leave. If it’s financial … if she has nowhere to go … if it was for the kids. … Maybe have some kind of a counseling for her to make her understand that … everything’s gonna be okay. … I’ve been told before … if you’re a [tribal name omitted] woman, you’re supposed to … stay in a marriage. I’ve heard a couple of them say that … “He’s my husband. I’m supposed to stay here” … to me, it makes it feel like they don’t have any other options but to deal with it.

Here, individually tailored counseling was suggested as a useful way to address IPV risk factors.

“He Kind of Set Me Up”: Using Children as Tools of Manipulation

Having children with abusive partners made it more difficult for women to extricate themselves from violent relationships. Themes related to such manipulative tactics were reported by approximately 37% (n = 42) of women reporting IPV experiences. An Inland tribal member described staying with her abusive partner for three years. For this woman, early pregnancy and childbirth may have been one contextual factor for staying, “I ended up getting pregnant 6 months after I started dating him. So, me and him [sic] dated until, I think my son was 2. … He was more the controlling type, and if I didn’t do what he wanted, then he would hit me. … I hear people say, ‘I don’t know why they go back if they get beat up.’ I really don’t know why, I used to go back, when I think back.”

This speaker’s statement helps to emphasize the difficulty many women described in leaving their abusive partners, particularly when they shared children with the abuser. Moreover, pregnancy and the birth of children could be a trigger for IPV itself. A Coastal tribal member described her relationship with her four children’s dad, “He was abusive.” She went on to add that the abuse began with the birth of her first child: “When I found out I was pregnant with my little boy. … He was drinking. That’s the first time he put his hands on me. Then it got worse. And it [IPV] just stayed.” She stated that the abuse caused physical damage resulting in a disability, stating, “I’m deaf in one ear.” She stayed to try to salvage the family: “I went back with him. … Trying to keep it [the children] with their mom and their dad.” This belief that two-parent households are better for children despite abuse and wariness of having a “broken” family left women feeling that they had a responsibility to try to make it work. Despite experiencing infidelity, this woman stated, “I still stayed. I never did anything. Tried to make it [work]. After the baby, after the, last one, I think he was like 3 years old, I finally decided it was enough. I didn’t want him [child] to go through that. They [the kids] never really saw it [IPV]. … I just tried to block my face so I wouldn’t get a black eye. Didn’t want anybody seeing me.”

She explained that her partner was an “alcoholic” and shared, “He’s in jail right now.” Both he and her previous partner had drinking problems. This same woman went on to describe the combination of economic and housing insecurity that followed her leaving. She remembered, “I just took my kids and I left. I finally had a place of my own. Every time he’d get mad, he’d kick us out. Then my kids would want to go back home so I’d go back home. … Finally, when I did have money. I just bought me a place of my own. A home for us.” This woman described the IPV causing her to be out of work and on IPV-related disability from injuries: “My back and my neck. I had neck surgery.” Thus, IPV caused an inability to work, which would have provided more mobility to attain housing and economic resources; this physical disability exacerbated the barriers to leaving her abusive partner sooner.

Partners used manipulation, threats, and intimidation related to taking children in custody battles as tactics to control women. A practitioner from a focus group in the Inland Tribe noted how male partners threaten their partners with taking away their children:

I know that I’ve seen in … one case where … the … the perpetrator … he beats on the victim. But then … when the victim tries to discipline the child … they’re going to turn around and say … “You’re abusing my child.” … Yeah. And that’s what the victim’s afraid of … they don’t want their child taken … they don’t want Social Service to come and pick up their kid.

Though the male may be the primary abuser in the home, they use the threat of taking children away to further control and manipulate their partners.

Indeed, another Coastal woman described a relationship with IPV that affected her children. This partner, she described, “cheated on [her] with 14 different girls.” She added. “ He was never around. … I stayed with him because my mom was still in my head. She wouldn’t let us grow up in a broken home. I guess I felt that same way because after [we had children], we got married and we got pregnant.” Having children and the idea that two-parent households are better, even with abuse, were reasons she stated she stayed. She also described how children were used as a tool of manipulation in violent incidents with her then ex-husband, a police officer who used his position of power to “set her up”:

This one time he came bringing [older daughter] to the house to get some school uniforms. As [older daughter] was walking, I met her outside. I said, “Where’s [younger daughter]?” She says, “Daddy won’t let you see her.” I’m like, “What?” She goes inside to get her stuff, and I’m walking … to see what was going on—why he wouldn’t let me see [daughter] … As I got closer [younger daughter] jumped out of her car seat. She was about 3. … She kept on trying to get out the car. … [Younger daughter] had tried climbing between his legs and he pushed her back with his foot. I pushed him, and then he pushed me back, and I fell on the ground. [Children] were screaming and crying. Next thing you know there was cops everywhere. He kind of set me up because he knows me, how I react when my kids [are threatened]. It didn’t make sense at the time but then I realized that nobody called the cops. … Apparently, he had put the 9–1-1 dispatcher on the phone the whole time and set me up like I was going to attack him.

She explained he did this “Just to try to get something on me for [sic] he could get custody of the kids.” Thus, her ex-partner’s manipulation and intimidation continued with the children being used to “set up” the mother. This manipulation persisted, as she described, “He called me that Sunday that he was supposed to bring the kids back and informed me that he wasn’t bringing them back. Then the next morning I got served the [custody] papers.” She recalled a time when she was prevented from seeing her children due to this incident and, again, was set up, “During the time where I didn’t see them, when he had custody of them … the kids came running. They got in the car … we just sat there in the car just holding each other, crying. …Next thing you know, cops all around me. to make the kids go back with him.”

This IPV relationship has affected her relationship with her children. She stated, “[Older daughter] is very, you meet her, she’s just the sweetest bubbly personality but whenever we’re, I guess you could say, behind closed doors she’s very disrespectful to me. I know that is all coming from things that her dad instilled in her.” She added, “Her dad was in her ear telling her stuff.” This woman’s daughter engaged in an interview as well and went on to describe, “Once the divorce had started, like they had a couple cases. … Well, my dad’s a cop, so he took that to the court. I remember … our dad kidnapping us, but he didn’t let us see our mom for a while. … Two little kids, girls, being away from their mom. … We were trying to get out [of the car].” She added that they were not used to being with their dad prior to this point. She acknowledged her father’s lack of involvement before their separation, “When they were together … he wasn’t really around because he … worked a lot.” When asked, “Was that hard for you when you were younger?” she replied, “Oh, very hard, that would be hard for any kid. I was to the point where I was like I don’t believe in love, and I don’t think it exists because I don’t want to be nothing [sic] like them. I was just like I’m never getting married. I’m never doing this and whatever.” The exposure to and being entangled in IPV during one’s upbringing was devastating for this speaker. Relatedly, a focus group participant from the Inland Tribe remarked upon how fathers devalue the mothers, teaching them that this was normal: “The children that I’ve worked with … a lot of them are daddy’s girls. So, the ones I’ve seen is they’re … going to be disrespectful to the mom because that’s how they see … their dad … treating their mother.”

“Because Lack of Education, There’s No Job. When There’s No Job, There’s No House”: Socioeconomic Stress

Cumulative disadvantage in the forms of economic, educational, and housing barriers could often prevent women from leaving IPV relationships. All participants reported some form of socioeconomic stress that added complexity to their IPV relationship. A professional in IPV services from the Inland Tribe described how women become trapped in abusive situations due to such barriers, “What we see at the shelter is a lot of our victims, they don’t have … education, and it’s hard to get on your feet without it. And because [of that] lack of education, there’s no job. When there’s no job, there’s no house. … That’s where a lot of it falls down. And then, a lot of it turns back home, because they saw the abuser as the … as their breadwinner.” A Coastal tribal woman described how economic factors complicated leaving an abusive partner, “One of the main reasons why I didn’t leave [earlier]… was because of him working in the oil industry. He had a good job, and he had a good income, but then I had enough.”

To further exacerbate this imbalance, both sexes tended to prioritize men’s employment over women’s employment. A Coastal tribal woman noted, though she had work experience, it was her husband who was expected to earn money: “I went to work for a little while, and that was it. I didn’t work long. My husband went to work.” A focus group participant from the Inland Tribe noted how economic imbalances could restrict the survivor’s ability to leave:

They’re (financially) dependent on the offenders, so they’re not really self-reliant. Some stay because the offender’s the one that makes the money. … I know there’s a lot of issue[s] with transportation or with childcare. … The ones that aren’t reliant on the offender, the offender’s reliant on them, meaning the victim is the one that brings in all the money; then he controls everything else. It’s hard for them to just go because … There’s no nighttime childcare. … Who else is going to watch their kids? It’s either that, or they quit.

A member of the Inland Tribe described how her partner took her paycheck when she was paid, “I was working at the time. … When I got paid, he would want to hold the money and like spend it all on him. … We have to buy this for the … baby … it was kinda getting me frustrated … he would like wanna hang out and … want me to clean the house.” For this speaker, her partner controlled their finances and expected her to continue to maintain their home and care for their child while she was also working. Restricting a woman’s education was another tactic used, as this participant from the Inland Tribe described a situation in her marriage, “I started taking night classes … which he didn’t like … I remember us taking a … class together. And I made better grades than he did. … But he didn’t like it. So, he discouraged me. … Then when I started taking classes off campus, he wouldn’t keep [take care of] the kids.”

This speaker’s partner discouraged her from taking classes and actively made it difficult for her to continue her education by refusing to help with childcare. An elder from the Coastal Tribe described how a boyfriend prohibited her from pursuing her education due to jealousy:

I was a pretty intelligent person, or so I thought. … I went the first day of 12th grade, and he said you cannot finish; you cannot go to school anymore. Because he thought that I was going to meet somebody or whatever, so then I did quit school. I went the first day of 12th, and then I got my GED. … I went to take the big test, and then I passed it. … I finished 12th in two days. That was a good thing, and that was an accomplishment for me. … I think I was, what, 18 or so, maybe even younger than that, 17. … I knew that I wanted to go to school; it wasn’t a good idea to follow his instructions.

These women describe partners who try to control their education, employment, and finances and therefore create barriers to their ability to leave IPV relationships, while also demonstrating resilience and strength (e.g., eventually obtaining a GED).

“It’s a Family Issue,” “Just Forget It and Move On”: Pressures to Stay

Similarly, all participants indicated family risk factors related to their IPV situation. Internalized pressures to stay in IPV relationships were emphasized by speakers, as stated by an Inland Tribe focus group participant:

I’ve seen some families where they’re … encouraging … the victim to get out, but … they’re a victim themselves. … There’s a few cases where … they just kind of tell them to put up with it. … A lot of them think it’s just like a family issue, and they’ll deal with it … behind closed doors. … And not have to go to anybody for service or filing charges. And they don’t want to be kind of exposed. … They want the private, the family private … and reputation, basically … They just don’t talk about it. … They get to the point where they can’t take it anymore and … it really doesn’t matter what the families say, it’s just come out with it, you know? … Because not only do they not have their own family support, but then the family of the offender, you know, come[s] at them with threats. … So, they have a lot to deal with. And sometimes, the victim’s family don’t want to support the victim, because they keep turning [going] back to the abuser, you know? … The abuser could be the breadwinner of the family and they [victim] keep turning back, and the victim’s family no longer wants nothing [sic] to do with them.

Thus, women may not be supported by the family of the abuser, but their own families may also reject them for violating the norm of keeping abuse private and not talking about it outside the family. Alternatively, some women were rejected by their families because of their struggles in leaving their abusers. Another Inland tribal professional also described pressure to stay:

Some are pressured by family … other family members to [sic] say, “Hey, you know, he’s got a good job.” They’ll … put the guilty conscience on the victim. … They even go as far as threatening the victims, saying, “Hey, we’re gonna get you if you do” … and the victim kinda backs out. … That’s where … the frustration comes in, you know? You go all out to do things for the victim and … next thing … they won’t explain why. “Just I don’t wanna do it [press charges].”.. . And if they’d explain you know … [they could place] charges on family members for interfering … you know, basically being harassed … being threatened.

An Inland Tribal member in a family interview described her regret for the prolonged IPV:

Now that I look back … for me personally, [the hardest part] it’s wasting [sic] years. … I decided not to be like my mom or, you know, my aunt. My marriage is gonna last …. especially with God, things were gonna last forever. … When my oldest was probably like 18 months old … he [partner] had an affair with one of his coworkers … it was getting into like a domestic, domestic issue [IPV]. … He was drinking a lot more, couldn’t help me with the kids, so going with that for two years, doing it by myself … and then come to find out, that’s when he had another affair.

Women felt pressure to try to make it work and just take it, even when this included experiencing infidelity from undependable men, as described by a woman from the Inland Tribe, “Mostly [because] of the cheating [sic] … growing up with my aunt … even though my uncle had another woman … I guess he has other kids … my aunt, she stood by his side [partner’s] no matter what. … And she thought about the kids more than herself.” This woman feared her children having a blended family and stated, “Instead of being splitted [sic] apart,” she wanted to keep the family together, despite her partner cheating on her: “That’s what I was like telling him, I wanted like a family.” Despite her longing for an intact family, she could not change her partner’s cheating behavior. This speaker goes on to describe how leaving the relationship was made even more difficult for her because of the interrelationships between her and her partner’s family: “It’s hard to get away, it’s hard to get away from him.” Another young Inland tribal member described a similar expectation that she stay in her relationship no matter what, partly due to feeling the need to take care of her partner:

We do have our ups and downs, disagreements. Things can get pretty, almost physical. I don’t know. He doesn’t get to the point where he just hits me, hits me. Maybe push. But I still don’t like it because you still shouldn’t put your hands on girls. … But I think he does it because, he does it out of anger. I can’t really control it. I mean, I know some people see it [at] times, at times. I know my mom can see it. They tell me, “Hey, you know you deserve better than that.” I’m not trying to make excuses for him, but hey, you know, I care for him. I love him. Nobody’s going to be there for him. … If I give up now, who else is going to encourage him to do better? I mean, it took me eight years. Within those eight years, he really, you know, he hadn’t hit me. But I know there’d be times when he just puts his hands to where I don’t appreciate it. … But I mean … I want to be there for him.

This woman took responsibility for the well-being of her partner, despite the abuse. Family expectations and factors impacted women’s ability to leave relationships.

Discussion

According to the FHORT, domination and oppression occur through controlling partners (Burnette, 2015a; Freire, 1996); patriarchal control and prescription were prominent themes in the results. Growing up, women often witnessed and experienced such prescriptive norms about how homes were kept clean, not speaking about violence, staying in abusive relationships, and restricting with whom they had relationships. Controlling relationships was an insidious thread spoken about across participants and themes. Indigenous women are over four times as likely as non-Indigenous women to experience postseparation IPV, with higher partner coercive control being a primary driver of elevated rates of violence after the women left the relationships (Pedersen et al., 2013). Thus, the intensity of control in IPV relationships may be a particularly important red flag.

IPV was described as normative among the participants. As explained by the FHORT (Burnette & Figley, 2017), chronic IPV led many women to lose focus on goals and their families and caused a sense of learned helplessness, a key concept among IPV relationships that may mediate depression and posttraumatic stress disorder (Bargai et al., 2007). IPV also impaired parenting as women were consumed with the stress of the relationship. Moreover, fears about the economic and logistic challenges of single parenthood were barriers for some women (NCADV, 2020b). Indeed, Indigenous women often experience economic, legal, housing, health, child custody and child welfare problems, and revictimization by the legal system after leaving IPV relationships (Smye et al., 2020). In addition to being more likely to experience postseparation violence (Pedersen et al., 2013; Smye et al., 2020), leaving is complicated since Indigenous women are intertwined with deep familial and community relationships and supports (Riel et al., 2016).

Consistent with other IPV research, children were often used as a tool of manipulation, which added complexity to leaving partners who were also their children’s fathers (Burnette, 2015a). Being socialized into patriarchal gender roles, women often internalized responsibility and pressure to make the relationship work and keep the family together, in addition to pressure to not speak about the violence to outsiders (Buel, 2013; NCADV, 2020b; Smye et al., 2020). Likewise, feeling shame, in addition to educational, employment, and housing restrictions, meant many participants were dependent on partners, which inhibited their liberation from the violent situation (Buel, 2013; NCADV, 2020b). Feeling societal and family pressure to stay and keep the family together and social isolation all contributed to women’s obstacles to leaving (Buel, 2013; NCADV, 2020b; Smye et al., 2020). Pressure to stay contrasts with pre-colonial norms of violent partners being banished from homes and communities (Burnette, 2015a). Consistent with extant research (Pedersen et al., 2013; Smye et al., 2020), even if the relationship ended, the threat of violence did not.

Despite being problematic, “Why do women stay?” in abusive relationships pervades popular and professional conversations (Buel, 2013; NCADV, 2020b). National IPV agencies devote whole webpages to the topic (Buel, 2013; NCADV, 2020b). This article does not frame leaving IPV as a panacea solution but notes it as a recurrent theme put forth by the Indigenous women of this sample. As this methodology enables the self-determination and voices of Indigenous women to come through (Burnette et al., 2014; Carspecken, 1996; Hardcastle et al., 2006; Levinson et al., 2015; McKinley et al., 2019), the authors aim to unpack and unveil the many complexities that women experience when coping and seeking freedom or liberation from violence. The context of patriarchal social norms that impose and perpetuate violence is salient and internalized; this context is important to understand to provide supports, scaffolding, and structural rearrangement, enabling women to become liberated from structural and relational violence and to redress the oppressive social context.

This work complicates the perspective that focuses on “why women stay” and also unpacks the barriers to leaving, revealing the complexity of experiences of Indigenous women, who rest at the apex of postcolonial structural violence in its intersecting forms (e.g., racism, sexism, classism, and state violence; Pedersen et al., 2013). As extant research and results show, cumulative and intersecting forms of structural violence, in the forms of postcolonial historical oppression, sexism, racism, classism, trauma, and violence, place Indigenous women at the intersection of the devaluation and dehumanization of women, particularly women of color (Weaver, 2009). The context of historical oppression clearly reversed the woman-centered matrilineal roles, in effect, poisoning these Indigenous communities with the patriarchal gender norms that are risk factors for IPV (Moore et al., 2010). Historical oppression has also undermined roles for Indigenous men (Brassard et al., 2015), leading to their overrepresentation in criminal justice systems (Riel et al., 2016).

As this abuse was often witnessed at a young age and often continued into adulthood (Burnette & Figley, 2017), relationship skills that focus on differences between healthy and unhealthy relationships are needed for women and the family environment. Cumulative risk factors such as family, religious and community pressure to stay in IPV relationships, and pressure to “make it work” at the cost of safety exacerbated the challenges women face in leaving. It should be noted that women were restricted from leaving in large part because their abusive partners used severe control, coercion, threats, and intimidation, with the threat of violence persisting even if they left. Indeed, one woman was on disability because of the abuse she suffered. Moreover, several women noted that their partners’ positions, such as police officers and pastors who hold more social capital, made leaving them hard. Indeed, violence perpetration by police is receiving increasing attention; the rates of IPV perpetration by this group need to be evaluated (Goodmark, 2015).

Practitioners working with IPV must become aware of the numerous obstacles to liberation for women that fall along economic, familial, personal, and relational domains. Intervention programs that promote economic mobility and self-esteem and provide childcare and resources for families can help address these barriers so that women can make decisions based on safety and choice rather than economic and educational insecurity. Research documents inconsistent and often ineffectual responses from the law enforcement and criminal justice system regarding violence against Indigenous women (Burnette, 2015b). Until these systems can be consistently depended on and their credibility can be enhanced with survivors, it will be difficult for those experiencing IPV to trust such services. Women have difficulty leaving IPV relationships because abusers use tactics to keep them from leaving, tactics that parallel those used in patriarchal colonialism (Burnette, 2015a, 2015b). Individualized interventions can only go so far in societies that oppress women and devalue their health and safety. The sociostructural causes of this violence must be acknowledged and addressed.

In closing, the FHORT enables investigation of why IPV continues to be experienced by Indigenous women at such disproportionate rates. Answers to this question may be found in understanding the experiences, social context, and postcolonial and sexist structural oppression that coalesce and intersect to disproportionately affect Indigenous women (Smye et al., 2020; Weaver, 2009). Importantly, historically, in many Indigenous communities, violent partners were held accountable for their actions by being banished from the community, which included being stripped of important roles and status (Burnette, 2015c). Unlike today, where blame tends to focus on why survivors stay in violent relationships, Indigenous traditions placed responsibility on the perpetrator. Upon examination, the problem of violence against Indigenous women becomes less about women than it does about the structural causes and context that enable, allow, and perpetuate their abuse and devaluation (Weaver, 2009). The decolonization of the patriarchal gender norms that have undermined relationships is warranted.

Biographies

Catherine E. McKinley has been honored to work with Indigenous tribes in the southeast and cross-nationally for over 10 years on violence against women, resilience, culturally grounded research practices, women’s health, health equity, substance abuse prevention, and sex differences and to develop and test the culturally grounded intervention as the Principal Investigator of the “Chukka Auchaffi’ Natana: The Weaving Healthy Families (WHF)” program and has worked in collaboration with tribes to develop the Indigenous-based and ecological “Framework of Historical Oppression, Resilience, and Transcendence (FHORT).” See catmckinley.com for more information on this work.

Jessica L. Liddell is an Assistant Professor at the University of Montana School of Social Work. Her work focuses on pregnancy and childbirth, reproductive justice issues, community engagement, and making healthcare systems more equitable. Her recent research explores the sexual and reproductive health experiences among Native American women in the Gulf South.