"Somewhere in Indian country tonight there is a little boy huddled with his little sister in a bedroom closet hoping against hope that the man who just came into the house at three a.m. will just quietly go to bed. They know the odds are against it though. He had picked a fight with their mother as soon as he got home from work. He already had alcohol on his breath. Even though their mother had not taken the bait, they heard him rage on until he finally said he couldn’t stand being there anymore and stormed out the door. As usual he made hurtful remarks about how she “held it over his head” that she made more money than he did just because she had a college degree even though he had to work 10 times as hard as she. He said his mother never had a college degree and she stayed home and made a good house for them and she knew better than to “mouth off” to their dad, even if he spent their last dollar at the bar.

They heard the pots and pans being slammed around and knew what would come next. He stomped down the hall, slammed open the bedroom door and screamed, “Get out of bed you useless b—ch and make me something to eat!” She complied even while complaining that she had to go to work in the morning. He hit her behind the head with his closed fist even before she got to the kitchen, sending her sprawling facedown into the top of the kitchen table, bloodying her nose. Grabbing her by the hair, he dragged her to the stove as she struggled to loosen his grip. The demand for food forgotten now, his rage overcoming his hunger, he held her by the throat and punched her in the face, showering her nightgown and his shirt with red splatters from her now profusely bleeding nose. He punched her in the stomach and let her drop to the floor. He screamed, “Look at the f—ng mess you made; you got blood all over my shirt.” He emptied a plastic bowl of its contents of apples and oranges and put some water in it. He set it in front of her spread legs as she sobbed and gasped, trying to catch her breath. “Quit bleeding on the floor, clean it up,” he screamed. As she began to apply water to her nose and mouth in a useless attempt to stop the flow of blood, he doubled his fist and from a stooped position over her delivered two blows to her already bruising lips and nose. The last thing she saw as darkness took over were her two little kids screaming in the doorway for their daddy to stop. She desperately wanted to stay conscious to protect them but could not."

Get the Story:
Harold Monteau: Domestic Violence: Too Pretty a Name for It (Indian Country Today 7/15)

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Ray Cook: Taking a stand to put end to violence in Indian Country (7/15)