Ripped Apart
Divorced dads, domestic violence, and the systemic bias against men in King County family court.
By Nina Shapiro
Jim's first indication that his life was about to be turned upside down came the night he got home from work and was approached by an off-duty sheriff's deputy.
"I am," he replied.
The deputy then informed him that not only was he no longer welcome inside his own house, he wasn't allowed even to collect his things. The officer handed him a suitcase his wife had packed and a $3,000 check—also from his wife, who earned far more than he did.
"What are the grounds?" Jim asked.
"It's all in there," the deputy said, thrusting a sheaf of papers into his hand.
The papers informed him his wife was filing for divorce. Worse, she had requested, and been granted, a temporary protection order based on allegations of domestic violence. The order—issued at a hearing that took place without Jim—took effect immediately. It required him to vacate his house and refrain from "any contact whatsoever" with either his wife or his 3-year-old son.
But there's one thing she never claimed—that Jim had ever hit her or their son. Nor did she accuse Jim of threatening either of them.
Jim, an insurance agent periodically unemployed, had at times performed more child-care duties than his wife, according to a court-assigned social worker hired to assess each spouse's parenting skills.
Observing interactions between Jim and his son, and talking to friends, relatives, and neighbors, she called the bond between them "relatively strong, happy, interactive, comfortable, playful, and full of physical play and affection." Yet it would still take 15 months for Jim to be allowed to have normal visits with his son.
Had he been charged with domestic violence in criminal court, where guilt must be proved beyond a reasonable doubt and the standards of due process are high, this might not have happened. But Jim's fate was decided in a very different venue: family court.
It's a court like no other—a hugely busy and rancorous place where the most personal aspects of people's lives are not only on display, but judged and reshaped in proceedings that often last no longer than 20 minutes. Appointed commissioners, rather than elected judges, make many of the most crucial decisions. And the standard of evidence (known as "preponderance of the evidence") is the lowest allowed by law.
