No One Deserves to be Abused

By T.D. Jackson
Special to American Forces Press Service

Sept. 29, 2009 - Some time ago a co-worker of mine came to work with what I thought was a black eye. I noticed it as I was talking to her, and when it registered, my eyes sort of slid away from her face and began looking everywhere but at her. I thought, "I am not going there," and I went on with my day without giving it too much thought. Because I wasn't sure, I didn't feel the need to say something, but the sad part is that if it had been a more obvious black eye, I know I wouldn't have said a thing; I would have been too scared.

Just as I learned in the suicide prevention training we've had here over the past few months, I should have asked those painful but caring questions: "Are you OK?" And in this case, "Did somebody hit you?"

October is National Domestic Violence Awareness Month. One in every four women will experience Domestic Violence in her lifetime, and women 20 to 24 are at the greatest risk. Here's one you probably knew: Most cases of Domestic Violence are never reported to the police. And one to blow your mind: Men are victims, too. More than 834,000 men report being domestically assaulted annually.

People who are abused often feel as though no one will believe them, or they think they have nowhere to go for help. At Camp Atterbury or at any other military installation, God knows (pun intended) you can call the chaplain at any time. Behavioral Health, too.

Even though this was some time ago, every now and then I still wonder, "What if somebody did hit her? What if she needed to talk, but everyone – for different reasons – was afraid to talk about it?" As a leader, I failed her, but this anecdote is my grasp at redemption.

My former co-worker probably never will set her sights on this article, but if someone did put hands on her, I would tell her I'm sorry -- sorry it happened to her, and sorry I was a chicken. If I had weighed the cost of embarrassment against the cost of caring, I wouldn't be writing this now.

I'm hoping maybe she didn't have a black eye. She may have – as I have on many occasions – caught a pitch with her face during softball practice. She may have – as I have on many occasions – stood a little too close to the top cabinet door as it swung open. For all I know, she could have gotten popped by a feisty rugrat. I don't know, and I never will.

But what I do know is that although I cannot concern myself with every detail of a person's life, I can be aware of changes in behavior, moods and certainly appearance. I was in a leadership position, and along with that title comes responsibility. It is my responsibility to make sure my people are OK at work and at home. The mark of a good leader is the ability to listen, and, my friend, although I am late, I am all ears.

(T.D. Jackson works in the Camp Atterbury public affairs office.)