Joe Biden Should Stop Bragging About the Violence Against Women Act

In South Auckland, epicenter of New Zealand's high rates of domestic violence, police respond to calls for help but instantly call in Te Taanga Manawa, a Māori-led team of multiple, culturally appropriate social-services agencies to guide families toward fixing the root of their problems. In the past, police may have made referrals to services agencies. But the Māori's distrust and the time lag in getting offers of help meant that families often rejected it, having papered over their conflict for a time. Now, nearly all accept the help offered while the crisis is still hot.

Since April 2019, Olympia’s Crisis Response Unit has sent civilian first-responders instead of police officers to hundreds of “quality of life” calls such as a mental health crisis or problems related to addiction or homelessness. Providing services while doing outreach on the streets, following up on previous calls, or dispatched by 911 operators or police, these responders connect people with the services they need to be safe and healthy, freeing police to handle more serious calls and avoiding police interactions that can lead to violence or needless jail stays.

The Calm Hotline takes calls from men in Bogotá, Colombia, in an effort to address the root causes of domestic violence: a culture of machismo. Four psychologists take emergency calls – about 700 calls came in the service's first month – and works to refer the callers to an eight-week "gender transformation program" that will attempt to change men's toxic attitudes that can lead to violence. The program is patterned on a counseling hotline in the Colombian city of Barrancabermeja that was associated with a steep decline in domestic violence.

A mobile app called App-Elles was used 5,400 times during the early months of the pandemic by either the survivors of gender-based violence or witnesses and helpers trying to connect the survivors to assistance. Created by French singer Diariata N'Diaye, the app lets users designate three "protectors" chosen in advance to receive alerts. Once alerted, they can summon help via text message or other discreet means of contacting women who are trapped at home with their abusers. The app is among other examples of digital survivor-aid services developed for women during the pandemic.

The LEAD program (Law Enforcement Assisted Diversion), which was launched in Seattle in 2011 and is used in such cities as Atlanta, Los Angeles, Portland, Philadelphia, and Baltimore, provides intensive case management and services to people who come in contact with police and qualify to have their low-level cases bypass the criminal justice system. LEAD has been shown to lower recidivism by half and to make it more likely that people with drug and mental health, and other problems can find housing and jobs more easily. But this critical analysis argues that the police should not serve as gatekeepers.

Kansas City’s Police Department has created a Crisis Intervention Unit with the goal of broadening their outreach and engagement with individuals with mental illnesses. Rather than send them through the criminal justice system, officers involved in this unit instead help them access the care, support, and treatment they need.

The case of Gabby Petito illustrates how decades-old laws meant to make police take domestic violence more seriously can backfire on the people who most need protection. Mandatory-arrest laws require police responding to a domestic-violence complaint to determine who is the primary aggressor, as a prelude to an arrest. In Petito's case, as in many, Moab, Utah, police deemed her the aggressor based on a cursory investigation, and possibly based on ingrained biases against women. This does nothing to get at the root of the problem and get people the help they need.

More than 2,700 police departments in the U.S. have crisis intervention teams aimed at responding to mental health crises with fewer arrests and less violence, but the death of Daniel Prude in Rochester police custody offers clear lessons in the shortcomings and misuse of the CIT model. A lack of adequate mental health services across the country, coupled with superficial training of the police, too often means a police response to a crisis will not de-escalate the situation or lead to meaningful help for the person in crisis. A recent study found CITs have not shown they will lower violence.

To avoid unnecessary arrests and reduce police-public friction, Denver's STAR program (Support Team Assistance Response) sends a mental health professional and a paramedic to some mental-health-related 911 calls instead of sending police. In the first three months of the pilot program, the STAR team – covering only certain areas of the city during weekdays – handled 350 calls without needing police backup. STAR builds on a 4-year-old program pairing Denver police with mental health professionals. That program handled 2,223 calls in 2019 and is expanding.

Tuscon police use a combination of training and expanded resources to resolve mental health crises by putting people in the hands of mental health professionals, an approach that in 2019 diverted nearly 4,400 cases away from arrests and jail. All police officers take a required 12-hour mental health first aid class, and most go through another 40-hour crisis intervention training. A specialized team gets more extensive training to handle court-ordered interventions, emphasizing patience and humane treatment. A 24/7 Crisis Response Center serves as an intake desk to decide what help people in crisis need.