a worthy cause

Today I helped set up for a fundraiser for Chicago Abused Women's Coalition which was held at the Marriott on the Mag Mile. The event was called Visions of Chocolate, but unfortunately we didn't get to sample any as part of our work. A group of us was there from One Brick^* to help set up the silent auction.

Overall it truly was a great experience. It was an example though of how the details will bite you on the butt every time though. At one point we ran out of ribbon to tie the pens onto the bid sheets. Then we simply ran out of pens. Each time it completely caused the flow of work to just stop. Not good.

It was also a little awkward when a few of the women from the organization were bickering over where the jewelry table would go. At one point it felt like one of the women was trying to put the volunteers in the middle. It was especially odd as we were told from the beginning that we would have nothing to do with setting up the jewelry or art tables (which really was fine with us).

But despite the little bumps and the dreary weather, a group of about thirty of us managed to sort out the over one hundred items and display them for the auction. One of the last things we were asked to do was put out what they called "the silent witnesses". These were red cardboard cutouts representing women (and men) who had died as a result of domestic violence. On the chest of each life-size witness was his or her story. They were gut wrenching. I had to hold back tears.

The stories I read were about people ranging in age from 22 to 73. They were of all ethnic backgrounds and tax brackets. In many cases the victim was killed in front of minor children. In some cases the children were also killed. In some cases the murderer turns the weapon on him or herself. In a few instances it was noted that the murderer was caught and convicted. In many stories it was noted that the murderer acted because he or she believed that the victim was having or had had an affair.

I often suppress that my Mother was a battered wife. As far as I know my father only beat her when we weren't around. I had no idea until many years later.

In one instance my Mom called the police, and two officers arrived on the scene. When she explained what had happened, the officers politely told her she must have done something to provoke her husband, and that she should just not do whatever that was in the future. Things have thankfully changed over the years. But really this wasn't all that long ago.

When she left our father for good (in the middle of the night with both my sister and I in tow), it was because she feared for her life. My father had taken on a job as a night watchman, and word was that his work was going to give him a gun. She thought that if he ever got mad enough, he might just use it. And so we fled.

Normally I like to go out afterward with the group, but wasn't feeling up to it between the rain, and the issues this unexpectedly had brought up. I walked home in the rain, and arrived at my doorstep soaked through. Don't get me wrong, I am glad that I went. And I hope that somehow the small part I did helps someone not have to go through what our family did.

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^*Word is One Brick is coming to DC this summer. They are currently in SF, NYC, and Chicago. It's a great way to meet cool people and do good work without having to go through training or making a committment.

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