It matters to the woman who sobbed in my office having just learned that her husband beat her children while she was at work. And I could say, "You will be safe."
It matters to the woman who met with me, and the prosecutor, and the victim's advocate because we all believed her husband would try to kill her when he got out of jail. And I could say, "We will get you a security system." And the prosecutor could say, "The police will watch." And the advocate said, "You can stay with us."
It matters to the daughter who told her mother after she got an order for protection, "Safe never felt so good before."
It matters to woman who showed me the brake cables her mechanic gave her, before we went to court to get her custody of her kids.
It matters to the woman who moved three times just to stay safe, who learning her mother-in-law had changed the address at the bank so that her statements were sent to her ex-husband, now has a "safe at home" address.
It matters to the wife, the "mail order bride", who told her English as a second language tutor, "He hits me." And it mattered to his second "mail order bride" as well.
It matters to the woman who sat in the office at the women's shelter with her knees up to her chest, her arms wrapped around knees, shaking as I said, "We will get you custody of your kids."
It matters to the 16 year old girl, brought here from South America at age 12, who was sexually abused from her first night in the country as I tell her, "I can help you."
It matters to the woman who told me, "You gave me my voice. You gave me my dignity back. Do you know what it is like to not have dignity."
It matters to me.
VAWA helps Legal Aid represent victims of domestic violence and sexual assault. It helps prosecutor's develop new systems to hold abusers accountable. It helps shelters keep victims safe so that the system has time to work. The word unconscionable is used frequently, but not always accurately. But I choose it purposefully when I say, "Failing to pass VAWA is unconscionable."