As a reader hired to ride herd on North County, I was drawn to a stray headline last week:
“Oceanside has highest domestic violence rate.”
Frankly, I wasn't shocked by the statistical superlative in bold type.
Though it has dramatically improved its image in recent years, Oceanside remains home to a relatively heavy concentration of young military families.
As we all know, the pressure of war can lead to hasty proposals of marriage. The results can be rocky.
So it's intuitive: The strains of debt, long tours and infidelity, real or imagined, can lead to ugly domestic scenes that end in violence – or the credible threat of it.
As the San Diego Union-Tribune news story quickly pointed out, however, Oceanside's gold medal in domestic violence is, once you drill into the numbers, undeserved.
An apples-to-apples-plus-oranges problem led to this badge of shame for the county's northernmost city.
Oceanside, unlike the county's other 17 cities, has included “verbal fights” in its reporting of domestic violence.
Last year, Oceanside police reported 2,405 cases of domestic violence, said Sgt. Aaron Doyle. Of that total, 1,144 of the incidents were noisy quarrels that did not result in an arrest.
By the state penal code's definition, inflamed arguments amount to couples behaving badly, not prosecutable domestic violence, Doyle said.
To be fair, then, almost half of Oceanside's documented cases of domestic violence should be erased from the score card tallied by the San Diego Association of Governments.
Once the adjustment is made, Oceanside's domestic discord appears to be pretty much in line with those of cities of comparable demographics – Chula Vista, National City and Escondido.
After more than three decades of matrimonial bliss – as well as the odd hiss – I'm convinced that all couples, save the spiritually enlightened or the brain-dead, fight.
Granted, not everyone is as hatefully histrionic as, say, George and Martha when they square off in Edward Albee's classic play, “Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?”:
MARTHA: I looked at you tonight and you weren't there. . . . And I'm gonna howl it out, and I'm not gonna give a damn what I do, and I'm gonna make the biggest god-damn explosion you've ever heard.
GEORGE: Try and I'll beat you at your own game.
MARTHA: Is that a threat, George? Huh?
GEORGE: It's a threat, Martha.
MARTHA: You're gonna get it, baby.
GEORGE: Be careful Martha. I'll rip you to pieces.
MARTHA: You're not man enough. You haven't the guts.
GEORGE: Total war.
MARTHA: Total.
Well, George and Martha have their issues, illuminated by alcohol. Still, in a twisted way, they love and need each other.
Yes, they commit unspeakable acts of psychic violence against each other, but are they criminals?
And how would a police officer summoned by concerned neighbors decide who's the victim, who's the aggressor? Their emotional sadomasochism appears mutual.
In reality, arguing is as much a part of married life as taking out the trash. The key is to keep all the physical weapons – guns and knives, hands and feet – under lock and key.
“My husband and I have never considered divorce . . . murder sometimes, but never divorce,” psychologist Joyce Brothers pointedly joked years ago.
In domestic warfare, violence may be contemplated, but it's morally and legally out of bounds.
“I first learned the concepts of nonviolence in my marriage,” Gandhi once observed.
Forty years ago, advice columnist Ann Landers offered this positive spin on matrimonial combat:
“All married couples should learn the art of battle as they should learn the art of making love. Good battle is objective and honest – never vicious or cruel. Good battle is healthy and constructive, and bringing to a marriage the principle of equal partnership.”
I asked Sgt. Doyle the question eating at me:
In your experience, have verbal fights – the ear-splitting disputes that trigger 911 calls from neighbors – been harbingers of subsequent physical violence at the same address?
“Very rarely,” Doyle said.
While fighting so loud and scary that it draws police is obviously not a good sign for the prospects of a marriage – and sometimes leads to violence – it's not necessarily a precursor to overt violence.
Many times, it's just two people releasing their inner Georges and Marthas.
We can feel sorry for the combatants, but we can't lock them up. They're just going to have to work it out, or separate.
In gated communities of McMansions, the shouting is muffled by ample space. The insults and threats go largely unheard by neighbors. The police rarely knock on doors.
In Oceanside neighborhoods, where young families under financial and emotional pressure live closer together, the sound carries.
Logan Jenkins: (760) 737-7555; logan.jenkins@uniontrib.com.
