When Is It Okay To Hit A Woman?
In truth, the answer to this question is, if you're a man, never.1 Abuse isn't funny, and it's one of the worst things a man can do to a woman.
However, we all know there are times in which we would love to hit a woman, and even situations in which we feel we would be justified in doing so.2
At my college graduation, my twenty nine-year-old cousin, who we'll call Warren Christopher, came down for the celebration. Warren is in the Navy, and had spent the last two years fighting in either Afghanistan or Iraq. He told us interesting stories about what it was like to be in the shit while it was all going down. He said the worst thing about it is the heat and the facilities. There was no proper place to go to the bathroom, and they ended up building a little shed that surrounded a hole in the ground that they could shit into. When it got full, they burned it, which he said created the worst smell you could imagine--kind of like burning human shit. On certain days, the temperature would be up to 115 degrees farenheit in the shade, he told me--imagine that kind of heat and wearing a full uniform. Terrible. I asked him if he'd ever killed anyone. Yes, he said, that's part of the job. He'd never been seriously injured in combat, but the conditions he lived in and worked in alone made him long to be home with his friends and his wife and new son.
One of the good and bad things about being in the military is that you're always at work. It's bad because, well, you're always at work. It's good because you're getting paid, and you're not out spending money when you get off. When you get home, you've got a nice little bankroll for yourself. Warren didn't have the luxury of being able to save all of it--he was paying for a house back home in Mississippi as well as expenses for his son, Warren Jr. The rest of it, however, was being saved.
During one of his down-times, my cousin made a call to his wife and son in Mississippi. He had recently received his bank statement, and it seemed that there was an enormous amount of money missing--some $40,000. The only other person with access to the account was his wife. Had something happened? Had they been robbed? Did someone steal their account information?
"I think someone stole my identity," his wife told him.
This was alarming, but it was some consolation. At least the money could be traced. He sought council from his superiors, and they gave him advice and contact information to assist him in retrieving his hard-earned money. After some searching, the bank told him there was no indication of foul play, and every purchase had been approved and appeared legitimate. He made another phone call back home.
This time, his wife's tone and story had changed. After some pressure, she finally admitted, little by little, the events that led to her spending nearly all of the money my cousin had saved up and earned risking his life over for the previous two years.
She had a decent job when he left, but she didn't like it, she said, and decided to quit. A decision to take a leave of absence eventually turned into a decision to live off the money her husband made working. Her sister came in town, and didn't have a place to stay. Amber decided to help her out and loan (read: give) her some money to get a new place. This turned into full-time support once her sister decided not to get a job either. In addition to being generous, Amber was also quite lonely (which, if you ask me, was at least part of the cause of her generosity). She assuaged some of her loneliness by, you guessed it, spending money. After getting a hold of the bank records, Warren found out that there were daily ATM withdraws that averaged about $300 a day, and were spent on shopping for clothes, going out to eat, and other various frivolities. Amber tried to rationalize it by naming most of the costs as "things for the baby," or "things we needed for the house." Warren would have none of it though. He was furious, and understandably, had a hard time concentrating on his duties at work. Again, he visited his superiors, who referred him to the chaplain. Apparently, the chaplain had seen this type of thing before, and his advice was to simply block it out of your consciousness until you get home. There's nothing you can do about it in Saddam-ville anyway.
Warren took his advice, and attempted to put it out of his mind for the rest of the time he was serving in Iraq. When he got home, he talked things over with Amber, and they ended up going through with a divorce (they had been "separated" when he left3).
I interrupted him at this point of the story.
"What the hell is wrong with her?" I said. "I mean seriously, what was she thinking? She's spending money that her husband earned risking his life fighting for his country for, she lies about it, and then she doesn't really have to take responsibility for it!"
"I don't think it was a rational decision," he said.
"No shit it wasn't a rational decision! I mean, think about it: your husband has been trained to kill, and you're ready to spend $40K on getting your damn nails done? There's definitely something wrong."
He sighed.
"How mad were you? I mean, I don't believe in domestic violence, but it seems to me that $40,000 is worth one good punch.4"
"Believe me, if I was within punching distance when I first found out what had been going on, I might have done something I would have regretted later. Luckily though, I had time to think about it and calm down."
(Beat)
"Jesus, I could've killed her."
- - - - - -
And that's how my cousin's wife narrowly averted being murdered after spending nearly all of his money.
All this is said only to make a simple point: there is absolutely no excuse for hitting a woman. If my cousin, who is in fact a killing machine, can pause and think long enough to realize that one, good, solid punch to the face won't get his money back, then that should be enough of an example for other men. That punch won't make her un-cheat on you, won't stop her from making that goddamn meatloaf every goddamn night, and it certainly won't make her more adventurous in bed. There are other methods of handling relationship difficulties--and if I could think of any examples right now, they would be the ones that I would suggest.
My cousin made a sacrifice--not only did he give up the brief and inexact justice of giving his wife a good punch, he made an example for tolerance and peaceful resolution that all men can look to when contemplating taking out their blood-thirsty rage towards their life partners.
Thanks, Warren. Non sibi sed patriae.
1Which begs the question, "What if the woman is Colette Guimond? Answer: If you find yourself in a situation in which you must fight Colette Guimond or another female body builder, then yes, you should probably fight (or run) with all your strength, because otherwise you'll be killed.
2Really, we wouldn't be though. Unless it's Colette Guimond.
3I asked Warren whether or not he considered the possibility that she did it because she was mad at him. He said he had, but it didn't seem like that was the case here.
4If this were a just world, I think that any impartial judge would grant this.
However, we all know there are times in which we would love to hit a woman, and even situations in which we feel we would be justified in doing so.2
At my college graduation, my twenty nine-year-old cousin, who we'll call Warren Christopher, came down for the celebration. Warren is in the Navy, and had spent the last two years fighting in either Afghanistan or Iraq. He told us interesting stories about what it was like to be in the shit while it was all going down. He said the worst thing about it is the heat and the facilities. There was no proper place to go to the bathroom, and they ended up building a little shed that surrounded a hole in the ground that they could shit into. When it got full, they burned it, which he said created the worst smell you could imagine--kind of like burning human shit. On certain days, the temperature would be up to 115 degrees farenheit in the shade, he told me--imagine that kind of heat and wearing a full uniform. Terrible. I asked him if he'd ever killed anyone. Yes, he said, that's part of the job. He'd never been seriously injured in combat, but the conditions he lived in and worked in alone made him long to be home with his friends and his wife and new son.
One of the good and bad things about being in the military is that you're always at work. It's bad because, well, you're always at work. It's good because you're getting paid, and you're not out spending money when you get off. When you get home, you've got a nice little bankroll for yourself. Warren didn't have the luxury of being able to save all of it--he was paying for a house back home in Mississippi as well as expenses for his son, Warren Jr. The rest of it, however, was being saved.
During one of his down-times, my cousin made a call to his wife and son in Mississippi. He had recently received his bank statement, and it seemed that there was an enormous amount of money missing--some $40,000. The only other person with access to the account was his wife. Had something happened? Had they been robbed? Did someone steal their account information?
"I think someone stole my identity," his wife told him.
This was alarming, but it was some consolation. At least the money could be traced. He sought council from his superiors, and they gave him advice and contact information to assist him in retrieving his hard-earned money. After some searching, the bank told him there was no indication of foul play, and every purchase had been approved and appeared legitimate. He made another phone call back home.
This time, his wife's tone and story had changed. After some pressure, she finally admitted, little by little, the events that led to her spending nearly all of the money my cousin had saved up and earned risking his life over for the previous two years.
She had a decent job when he left, but she didn't like it, she said, and decided to quit. A decision to take a leave of absence eventually turned into a decision to live off the money her husband made working. Her sister came in town, and didn't have a place to stay. Amber decided to help her out and loan (read: give) her some money to get a new place. This turned into full-time support once her sister decided not to get a job either. In addition to being generous, Amber was also quite lonely (which, if you ask me, was at least part of the cause of her generosity). She assuaged some of her loneliness by, you guessed it, spending money. After getting a hold of the bank records, Warren found out that there were daily ATM withdraws that averaged about $300 a day, and were spent on shopping for clothes, going out to eat, and other various frivolities. Amber tried to rationalize it by naming most of the costs as "things for the baby," or "things we needed for the house." Warren would have none of it though. He was furious, and understandably, had a hard time concentrating on his duties at work. Again, he visited his superiors, who referred him to the chaplain. Apparently, the chaplain had seen this type of thing before, and his advice was to simply block it out of your consciousness until you get home. There's nothing you can do about it in Saddam-ville anyway.
Warren took his advice, and attempted to put it out of his mind for the rest of the time he was serving in Iraq. When he got home, he talked things over with Amber, and they ended up going through with a divorce (they had been "separated" when he left3).
I interrupted him at this point of the story.
"What the hell is wrong with her?" I said. "I mean seriously, what was she thinking? She's spending money that her husband earned risking his life fighting for his country for, she lies about it, and then she doesn't really have to take responsibility for it!"
"I don't think it was a rational decision," he said.
"No shit it wasn't a rational decision! I mean, think about it: your husband has been trained to kill, and you're ready to spend $40K on getting your damn nails done? There's definitely something wrong."
He sighed.
"How mad were you? I mean, I don't believe in domestic violence, but it seems to me that $40,000 is worth one good punch.4"
"Believe me, if I was within punching distance when I first found out what had been going on, I might have done something I would have regretted later. Luckily though, I had time to think about it and calm down."
(Beat)
"Jesus, I could've killed her."
And that's how my cousin's wife narrowly averted being murdered after spending nearly all of his money.
All this is said only to make a simple point: there is absolutely no excuse for hitting a woman. If my cousin, who is in fact a killing machine, can pause and think long enough to realize that one, good, solid punch to the face won't get his money back, then that should be enough of an example for other men. That punch won't make her un-cheat on you, won't stop her from making that goddamn meatloaf every goddamn night, and it certainly won't make her more adventurous in bed. There are other methods of handling relationship difficulties--and if I could think of any examples right now, they would be the ones that I would suggest.
My cousin made a sacrifice--not only did he give up the brief and inexact justice of giving his wife a good punch, he made an example for tolerance and peaceful resolution that all men can look to when contemplating taking out their blood-thirsty rage towards their life partners.
Thanks, Warren. Non sibi sed patriae.
1Which begs the question, "What if the woman is Colette Guimond? Answer: If you find yourself in a situation in which you must fight Colette Guimond or another female body builder, then yes, you should probably fight (or run) with all your strength, because otherwise you'll be killed.
2Really, we wouldn't be though. Unless it's Colette Guimond.
3I asked Warren whether or not he considered the possibility that she did it because she was mad at him. He said he had, but it didn't seem like that was the case here.
4If this were a just world, I think that any impartial judge would grant this.
posted by Chris Cusack at 7:10 PM
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