#172 Court-enabled Abuse: Detroit’s Story

The Hague Mothers Campaign is part of the FiLiA Legacy Project

This is the first in a series of podcasts about the international Hague Convention, legislation intended to ensure the safe return of children who have been illegally taken across international borders by fathers. In 70% of cases it is now used against mothers, many of whom are fleeing violent and abusive relationships. This podcasts provides an overview of the law, and, through one woman's story the impact on mothers and their children. The Hague Convention is a feminist issue.

Detroit is a victim of The Hague Convention. When we met – online and by chance – she was camping out with her son in the US, living hand to mouth.

Over many months she told me her story, sending emails from her phone – writing in a tent, from her truck, in a forest, a Walmart car-park, an RV parked up by a lake.

I now call this extraordinary woman my sister. She has helped me understand the on the ground suffering of women and children caught up in The Hague Convention and its total lack of compassion for mothers, or indeed for the children, it is supposed to protect. 

This is the first part of her story.

Listen Here (Transcript below):

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 Transcript:

When I was pregnant with Rosie, I was in his country. He’d insisted. He beat me up so badly at seven months, I went into labour. Alone. I kept thinking it would calm down, it’s just tightenings. It's fine. Then one knocked me on to all fours.

I crawled past the broken elevator down the stairs, out the gate, into the gutter. It was December and cold. An old man on a bicycle paused and stared.

Help me I shouted. I'm having a baby. Right now.                                   

He hailed a taxi. Ambulances are loath to take foreigners and are slow. A taxi would be quick. Two local men bundled me into the back seat. The middle-aged taxi driver asked if the at least 80-year- old man was the father. I didn’t laugh.

No. No he isn’t.

I tried to not have the baby on the back seat. It was too early. I was too hurt. The men kept glancing back in horror. We pulled into a hospital, the not-father told me he hadn't been a good person to foreigners but that he was glad to make amends. He got a wheelchair, paid for the cab and left.

Rosie appeared later that night.

They tried to stop the labor with drugs that made me feel like I was dying. They were killing us both. They told me she was in distress. They had to get her out right now. Emergency C section, not enough painkillers. It hurt like hell.

They showed me a blue, silent, girl baby then took her away. She’s suffering was all they would tell me. When you can walk you can see her.

I was alone, confused, barely speaking the language. I made myself get up, one leg off the bed. Other leg. I was in the worst pain of my life. My legs were elephantine. Bent double I hauled myself forward, dripping blood through the thin, backless gown. No-one helped. I dragged myself down the corridor. I had to get to Rosie.

I found her in intensive care attached to machines. They wouldn't let me touch her. Told me to wait. I pushed the nurse aside and launched myself towards my baby. I was distraught. Then I collapsed. My blood pressure. A clot. Blackness.

Rosie was the last thing I remember saying.

_____

I looked over at my sleeping son. Rosie was fiddling with her hair, shadowing me. Always shadowing me.

My world had just caved in. The phone had rung. The police. He’s out of jail was the gist of it.

I’d been pressured in to giving evidence against him. Strong-armed into pressing charges. As usual my children and my right to care for them were used as leverage to get me to do what the system wanted me to do. Which, to be frank, mostly appeared to be go hang myself from the nearest light- fitting, or at least lose what was left of my mind and self respect. Process over people. Time and time again. Fuck fuck fuck.

What's wrong Ma? 
Nothing. It’s fine darling.


The phone rang again.
How are you, D? said Mister Charming’s voice. I see you and kids soon. We go nice restaurant. I let him talk.
 Fuck.

We’d had over a year back home. My home. A house and the beginnings of a life. I heard a howl come from somewhere inside me. Somewhere so distant it did not sound like me. My next clear memory is official people taking the kids in a separate car, while cops take me to court.

The Hague Convention. Simple, context-free, utterly implacable.

Did you or did you not take the children away from their habitual residence without permission of their father?

He was hitting me. Beating me up. Raping me.
This court is not concerned with the availability of justice. Did you or did you not...?

There was muttering about a further court date. Children to stay with me in the interim. I remember the waiting room my children were sitting in. I remember the woman's disapproval, her lack of empathy. She told me she would see me in a few day’s time at my house.

Time. I had to buy time.

I had all of our passports. I could be back in his country within a day. Back to him. With them. At least then I could protect them. I couldn’t do that from jail.

Money blinds everyone. No-one denies he hit me, not even him. He says he has changed. I don't believe him, other people do. Important people like judges and social services. My opinion just doesn't seem to matter much. The punches and the kickings, the premature birth, the rapes and STDs, the financial abuse. Suck my cock and I'll buy baby milk. Be nice, Detroit, and I'll buy them shoes.

My body. Not my own. Not worth a damn to anyone, but me.

_____

I ran a reasonably democratic ship in those days. I summoned my troops, got them to stand to attention. Rosie was hopping from leg to leg, overjoyed she was finally being let in on the big secret. Her hair never seemed to stay neat. Her clothes refused to stay tucked. Knees were scuffed from playtime recklessness. She was like a small squishy puppy. And she was mine, as I was hers. My second-in-command, as she saw it.

Dear Pete was busy holding her hand, in awe of his bigger bouncier sister. Ok, crew. We have a situation. I need to ask you what you would like to do. Stay with you, Ma. Yeah, stay with you.
The only way to do that is to go back to Daddy.

Rosie finally got the picture. Put her arms around me. We all cried. I told them I’d try and get away with them again. Promised I would try and make it as safe as I could. Just stick together. A tribe. A crew. My little soldiers.

Ok, let’s get packed. Don't forget Fuzzy Bear. No, the hamster can't come Rosie.

I called a friend who assured me running to Europe would not be sensible. My friend was a drunk. A kind, sweet drunk. Men had beaten her, used her. She had lost custody of her daughter to her foreign-born husband and not seen her for years.

She clutched my arm, fingers digging in. He will kill you, Detroit.
Maybe.
She clutched my arm harder. He’s going to at least beat you up real bad. I shrugged. Can you take a hamster? He is very cute.


We had a long flight ahead. He had gone back to his country, his family. It was going to be much easier to abuse me there. This was not a place where domestic crime went punished. Women were only valued for their fuckability. Their youth. Over twenty-five and a woman was not fit for purpose. I was way past twenty-five. Plus I was shiningly white.

Usually a huge plus, an unfair benefit. Not so much there. Losing racial privilege for that amount of time is an experience. I was quietened immediately. I became less loud, less assured. More careful.

I married the man. I ended up being married to a culture that I was totally enfeebled by, that I would never be accepted into. The culture of the country allowed him and his fists free reign. Even the law did. How helpless I was out there, how uncomprehending of the magnitude of that decision. I barely spoke the language to start with. I was utterly dependent on him.

_____

Framing things to small people just requires spin. Advertising. Hey, shall we go do some exploring when we get there?

The taxi driver asked where we were going.
To visit the kid’s family, just a two-week vacation.

Mister Charming had happily sent money to pay for the flights. He was going to be waiting at the other end for us, with the car.

I started to talk about how much fun flying was. Telling the kids stories of when I had visited before. Historical figures. Exciting things to do. Spin it, Detroit. Happy smiling kids, let's just get there.

I suspect people thought us odd. Getting Rosie from A to B required her consent. She would otherwise drop to the floor screaming, jerking, unmovable. Once she decided to do this, there was no consoling her. Either you waited for her storm to calm or picked her up kicking and biting.

We're walking down the line, I sang, We're walking down the line, walking down the line and my feet are flying, thinking about my troubled mind... Rosie sang along. She loved to sing.

Pete had a koala backpack on with a surreptitious leash. He toddled on enjoying his freedom, attached to his Ma, looking back and grinning. We were together. A crew.

Plane takes off. Plane lands. Tourist visas accepted. The kids stared open mouthed. That girl there looks just like me! Rosie announced. She was right. Her doppelganger zoomed past. High cheekbones, beautiful mid brown skin. Almond eyes. Long dark hair.

Make it work, I told myself. Make it as positive as you can for them. Wow! Great!
He's going to kill you, Detroit. Or at least beat you up real bad. Fabulous! Yes! Come on, Crew, let's find Daddy.

Faces fell.
It's going to be fine. Daddy wants us here. Rosie looked hard at me. Frowned. 

Daddy walked round the corner, smelling expensive in nice clothes. Looking fit and handsome. I shrank. I felt like running screaming help me help me. I smiled. Forced myself to kiss him on the cheek. My skin crawled. My stomach howled danger danger. He scooped up Pete, squeezed a scowling Rosie and took his family home.

Mister Charming had won the war. And I was utterly lost.

_____

The children were pushing alien-looking food around plates. Rosie suddenly screamed. Fuzzy Bear!
Fuzzy. Fuck.

How could I do it. Lose track of Rosie’s lifeline. Fuzzy was her absolute anchor. Now he was gone. The plane we decided. He had been left on the plane, probably was off exploring deepest darkest Peru. I span frantic tales of what Fuzzy was doing. I plotted a new friend’s arrival. Keep her calm. Please please stay calm. Noise meant Mister Charming would get upset. I had to stop him from exploding. Babies crying, screaming children, were considered my fault. And it was expected that I did not allow any disturbance from those children. Rosie made that difficult.

Pete was not looking hopeful, cold fermented milk drink, rice, strange sauce-covered meat. He was doing his best to eat some of it. Pete was not allowed to be difficult. He just knew not to. Instinctively cut me a break and heroically pushed forkfuls of strange food into his mouth. Rosie was, even then, given all the leeway. All my attention was on her.

And now on Mister C... He reached across and grabbed my neck as I leant over to help Rosie. An onlooker might have assumed affection. I tried not to flinch.

The evening was wearing on. I was desperate for sleep.

Are you going to be nice later? he asked. He was going to enjoy his victory.

Waiting for the fist, the push, the kick, the dick is worse than it happening. Get it over with, survive it, he will rest and go to work. You get to live for the twelve hours he is gone. I knew I would pay for him going to jail. For leaving him, taking the kids. At the time I had no idea just how much.

I put two tired children into a single bed. Said a quick prayer, kissed them, and went to the living room.

Stripped wood floors, floor to ceiling windows. City view. I stood there.

Waiting.