2010 Accomplishments Addendum

I don't know how to state this without perhaps sounding a little odd, but sometimes I have a sixth sense, which ranges from something as inconsequential as having a correct feeling that I will run into someone in particular in the grocery store to things as significant as knowing when people have died.

For instance, one December night in 1993, I was writing out Christmas cards. I came to my friend, Martie, in the list and thought, "I should call her." It was a bone deep sense of "I should call her," not a casual thought. I tried to shake it off. "I'll just write the card and call after the holidays."

"NO!" said the Voice inside my head, "Call her NOW."

Again, I tried to ignore it. "I'm really busy trying to get these cards written. I'll just catch her up with what's been going on in a note in the card."

But I couldn't overcome the Voice, and, compelled by it, I picked up the  phone and dialed. When she heard it was me she said, "I've been meaning to call you. I've been diagnosed with breast cancer." Seven months later she was gone. But because I picked up the phone and called her that night, I was able to travel to spend two weeks helping to care for her, time that I cherish to this day.

The Voice doesn't speak to me quite as often as it used to -- there was the the time driving home to Bennington across New York's Route 7 that I thought, "Hmm, there could be deer in the road on a night like this," and eased back on the accelerator. Around the next curve standing statue still in the road was a doe, staring at my headlights. I've learned there's no going around them -- they'll run wherever you steer, so I stood on the brakes and screeched to a halt, about two inches from her unflinching gaze. After a minute of us playing staredown, she flicked her tail, turned her head and bounded off into the woods.

How does this all relate to my 2010 accomplishments list? There was one I left off, because I hadn't heard the final news. Last year I wrote about the struggle I endured to get out of an abusive marriage and how that struggle led me to become part of the battle to get New York State to become the last state in the Union to pass a no-fault divorce law. As of the time of the writing of that post, the law had passed the Assembly and Senate, and was on the governor's desk waiting for a signature. I never heard whether or not the governor actually signed it, and I can't seem to get in touch with any of the people I worked with on this effort.

I got involved in either 2007 or 2008 -- I don't even remember the year -- because of a small article in the newspaper -- I don't remember which paper either. But I read that there was going to be a hearing to discuss introducing no-fault legislation, and the committee was looking for people to speak. That was one of those the Voice speaking to me moments. "You need to do this." There were steps to go through to be allowed to speak. I checked each one off with single-minded determination. This was my chance. This was to be my 10 minutes to make a difference. There was no question in my mind. I was not being driven by my own volition; I was compelled to go to that hearing by a force of the universe I don't totally understand. But it was clearly the Voice telling me, "Go."

I wrote and rehearsed my presentation -- which can be read by following the link above -- and, when it was my turn, I stood up in front of the committee of stone-faced judges and lawyers and an unfriendly audience and told my story, legs shaking the entire time. When I was done, no one on the panel had any questions for me. I assumed I had underwhelmed them, as they'd been asking questions of previous speakers. The next speaker, a man, used me as an example of all that would be wrong with changing the law -- that women could just walk away if they decided to -- leaving the man with no recourse -- never mind the abuse I had detailed in my presentation. The sense in the room was that this no-fault thing was going nowhere. I left feeling that I had done what I could, and if nothing came of it, at least I'd had the chance to say what I felt needed saying.

Many months later -- possibly even almost a year later -- I received a phone call. It was a lawyer from the New York State Women's Bar Association. They were having another hearing in New York City, and would I be willing to do my presentation again? Judge Judy was to be the celebrity guest speaker, and members of the media would be there. The state would pay my expenses. Mostly judges and attorneys would be speaking, but they wanted a couple of people on the litigant side to speak, and they remembered my "compelling testimony" from that hearing. What do you know -- those stone-faced judges did hear me. Remembering how scary it was to speak the first time, and knowing I would be the little person in a room full of Very Important People, I summoned up my courage. "Yes," I said, "Yes, I will be happy to participate." The Voice that had spoken the day I saw the notice in the paper had propelled me down a path, and there was no stopping.



After the session was over, lawyers, judges, members of the media, and congressmen approached me."Would I be willing to speak to the legislature, should the opportunity ever arise?" they asked. Would I be willing? The opportunity couldn't come quickly enough, as far as I was concerned.

The following spring, I was asked to appear on Fox's national morning news program. A camera crew came to my house and interviewed me, and the next day I flew to New York to appear live on the show. This thing the Voice had set into motion was gathering steam.

A few months later, Sean and I traveled to Albany, where, with the NYS Women's Bar Association, we lobbied key senators and assembly persons, then participated in a luncheon for them and their staffers. I had been asked to speak at the luncheon. I felt that we were getting closer and closer to our destination. I'd heard the opposition's opening line when I appeared on the Fox morning news program, so speaking ahead of them, I seized the chance to rebut it before they even had a chance to present it:

"I want to preface my remarks today by addressing the assertion that we need fault-based divorce because when a man wants out of a marriage, the woman needs a bargaining chip that says, 'If you want to leave me, you need to take care of the children and you need to take care of me.' There are already laws in place that address these issues -- equitable distribution, child support guidelines, and allowances for awarding of spousal maintenance as deemed necessary or fair by the courts. I contend that what fault-based divorce provides is not a bargaining chip, but a blackmail chip, chaining one spouse to another indefinitely as long as he or she is being unreasonable and vindictive. When women need to leave an abusive marriage, we don't need a bargaining chip; we need a 'get out of jail free' card."

That was the last of my speaking engagements. The political scene in Albany blew up with a scandal involving the governor, and no-fault divorce was the last thing on anyone's mind as the election season swung around. But, riding in on the coattails of an Obama victory, the Senate finally gained a slim Democratic majority. This was our time. Last summer both the Senate and Assembly passed the no-fault divorce bill, and on August 14, 2010, Governor Paterson signed it into law.

The Voice had spoken to me and I had followed its directive. "Go to that hearing. Tell your story. Be heard." When I stood, legs shaking uncontrollably, in front of that panel, I could only hope that my 10 minutes would make a difference. Apparently the Voice knew with certainty it would, because in 2010, indeed, we changed the world. No woman--or man--in New York State will ever have to endure what I lived through in order to obtain a divorce to be free of an abusive marriage. That is something that will last in perpetuity. So I think, although I am a bit late in doing so, I will add it to my list. of accomplishments.