Therasa Zito manages the domestic violence court advocacy program (DVCAP) of the Jane Addams Hull House Association. Jose More/Chicago News Cooperative
For any first-time visitor, Cook County’s Domestic Violence Courthouse — with its unmarked hallways and frequently abandoned information desk — presents a navigational challenge. For an abuse victim, who may be terrified and injured, the blank walls and empty corridors are just the first bewildering step in a long, convoluted and impersonal process.
Many who seek protection from an abuser come to this West Loop building and muddle through alone, but a few are assigned court advocates — largely by luck of the draw — who translate legal jargon and literally stand up for victims during court proceedings. Now, as Springfield’s budget cuts threaten human services statewide, those advocacy programs are at risk.
“Can you imagine, if you were in trauma, trying to figure this out?” said Therasa Zito, who manages the Domestic Violence Court Advocacy Program of the Jane Addams Hull House Association. “It’s totally overwhelming.”
Ms. Zito was talking about the crowded room on the first floor of the courthouse where victims file their first round of paperwork, but her words could just as easily describe the maze of domestic-violence law and the legal system in place to deal with such issues.
In 2009, there were 18,248 reports of domestic violence filed in Cook County, down slightly from 2008, according to the county clerk’s office. Those numbers represent a fraction of actual cases, because most victims do not report abuse. For those who do seek legal help, advocates can make the process more bearable.
When Danena Sanders, 21, arrived at the courthouse in May with her broken jaw wired shut, an advocate helped her fill out a form for an order of protection, told her what to expect during court and helped her learn to eat through a straw. Advocates’ other duties might include speaking with lawyers or judges who can seem intimidating, or finding a client a new home or a child-friendly shelter.
“She made things much easier,” Ms. Sanders said. “The situation is still there, and you have to get through it. But someone’s there, paying attention and taking notes.”
As Ms. Sanders talked about her ordeal, her voice broke. “Going through it, you’re confused and scared,” she said.
She said there were girls younger than her who were walking into the courthouse alone. “What are they supposed to do?” she asked.
Ms. Sanders’s advocate, Sue, said: “A lot of people we work with are on the verge of giving up. Without us, they might do just that.” (Hull House requested that advocates be identified only by their first names in the news media.)
The Hull House advocacy program was founded in 1984, the first of its kind in the Chicago area. Independent of the court system and financed by five grants, the largest of which is from the Illinois Department of Human Services, the program currently employs seven advocates, down from nine a few years ago.
Those advocates are able to work with only about 1 percent of cases, said Ms. Zito, who manages the court advocacy program. In 2009, the group served 1,487 clients on a budget of $450,000. Ms. Zito said the financing had not kept up with inflation or day-to-day costs.
Terri Johnson, vice president of public policy and advocacy at Hull House, is keeping a wary eye on state budget cuts. “Domestic violence funding is very vulnerable,” Ms. Johnson said. “We’re not sure how this is going to shake out.”
While every victim’s story is different, an advocate’s goal is almost always the same. “At the very least,” Ms. Zito said, “we want clients to walk out of here with an order of protection.”
Having the order on file, she said, will help them next time. “And, unfortunately,” she added, “there is almost always a next time.”
Orders of protection establish a Maginot Line against abusers: They sound daunting, but they are easy to circumvent. So advocates also give their clients grimly sensible advice like “keep a full tank of gas in your car” and “have a bag packed with essentials.”
The long-term fate of the advocacy program rests in the state legislature. In the meantime, “we’re just going to ride it until the wheels fall off,” Ms. Zito said. “I know our staff does good work. And it’s hard work.”