THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, October 8, 1995 TAG: 9510080033
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: ELIZABETH SIMPSON
LENGTH: Medium: 63 lines
So now the trial is over.
The analysis has been done and redone. The legal experts trotted out. The verdict considered from every angle - race, gender, wealth - until we're all so confused we don't know what to make of it.
As a nation, we must accept that O.J. Simpson is not guilty of murder. The jury said so; it's a done deal, whether we celebrate or mourn the decision.
Still, in this month designated as National Domestic Violence Awareness Month, we should remember Nicole Brown.
For a moment, forget the race card. The blood samples. Forget the splatter experts. Forget the remarks of Mark Fuhrman. Forget how the verdict polarized a nation.
Forget, if you will, if you can, the killing itself.
And think for a moment about Nicole, alive. The bruised face. The sobbing pleas to a dispatcher. The broken-down door.
Nicole Brown is an unlikely poster child for domestic-violence prevention. This glamourous high-living woman seemed to have it all. Only later we learned she changed her clothes at O.J.'s request.
The undisputed events that occurred before her death are chilling reminders of the pain and tragedy thousands of women suffer every day:
She kept Polaroid pictures of herself in a safety deposit box, like an insurance policy she was never able to use. The pictures showed her face marked with scrapes and bruises and an imprint of a hand on the left side of her neck. Along with the pictures was a letter written by O.J.: ``Let me start by expressing to you how wrong I was to hurt you.''
Let's remember the fearful tone of her voice in the 911 call, pleading for police protection in October 1993. ``My ex-husband has just broken into my house and he's ranting and raving outside in the front yard.'' Remember the irate screaming in the background. Remember how the dispatcher asked whether this had happened before, and Nicole's response: ``Many times.''
Remember the testimony from a police officer who found Nicole in the bushes outside her house dressed in a bra and muddy sweat pants. ``She collapsed into me,'' the detective said. ``She was wet. She was shivering. She was cold. I could feel her bones, and she was real cold, and she was beat up.'' She had a cut lip, bruises on her cheek and forehead, a hand imprint on her throat.
Nicole's story made headlines, but the details are all too common among women whose stories will never be told: The love-hate relationships that leave victims feeling trapped. The wearing down of self-esteem. The collection of evidence that's stashed away where no one can see.
Four million American women were physically abused by husbands or boyfriends in the last year, according to the Family Violence Prevention Fund. In 1992, more than one in four female homicide victims were known to have been killed by their husbands, according to the U.S. Department of Justice.
A fitting memorial to Nicole, a woman who unwittingly turned a private battle into a public crusade, would be for the rest of us to take action:
Write lawmakers about laws protecting victims of domestic abuse. Press for workplace education programs on domestic abuse. Raise funds for shelters. Urge doctors to ask female patients about abuse.
We cannot forget that for every Nicole whose story makes it into the glare of the spotlight, there are thousands who suffer silently, whose stories will never be told. by CNB