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Battering Men and Their Male Therapists: The Different and the Similar

Article in Journal of Family Violence · July 2012

DOI: 10.1007/s10896-012-9433-5

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J Fam Viol (2012) 27:465–476
DOI 10.1007/s10896-012-9433-5
ORIGINAL ARTICLE
Battering Men and Their Male Therapists: The Different
and the Similar
Benjamin Bailey & Zvi Eisikovits & Eli Buchbinder
Published online: 1 April 2012
# Springer Science+Business Media, LLC 2012
Abstract This paper describes the process of change in
attitudes of male social workers’ towards themselves and
towards their clients who are male perpetrators of partner
violence (PV). The process reveals a reconstruction of the
therapist’s beliefs concerning key elements in their work
related being, such as masculinity, aggression, perception
of their clients and their own male identities. The sample
includes 15 male social workers that worked with battering
men in social services. Data collection was performed
through semi-structured interviews. The therapists’ process
of questioning the popular and accepted demonization of
violent men clarifies what differentiates them from their
clients, but also opens an authentic pathway to examining
similarities they share as men, without the need to be polit-
ically correct or to conform. The implications for practi-
tioners working in batterers’ intervention programs are
addressed.
Keywords Male social workers . Batterers . Partner
violence . Masculinity . Gender identity
Most of the clinical literature on the effect of therapy fo-
cused on clients rather than their therapists (Farber 1983;
Iliffe and Steed 2000), and the literature on partner violence
(PV) is no exception (e.g. O’Leary and Woodin 2009;
Whitaker and Lutzker 2009). In the field of PV, the lives
of therapists and clients are broadly assumed to represent
very different worlds, with little in common. This assump-
tion is in line with the traditional concept of clear and
B. Bailey (*) : Z. Eisikovits : E. Buchbinder
School of Social Work, Center for the Study of Society,
University of Haifa,
Haifa 31905, Israel
e-mail: bailey@soc.haifa.ac.il
defined separation between work and private life which is
still deeply rooted in the psychotherapeutic world (Zur and
Lazarus 2002). Therapists are socialized to keep work and
private life separate, and despite the recognition of the perme-
ability of boundaries between words, lives, and behaviors of
therapists and clients (e.g., transference, counter-transference
[Robbins 1999] and spillover [Loscocco and Roschelle
1991]), permeability is usually perceived as contaminating
and unprofessional.
However, a number of current qualitative studies suggest
that mutual influences between work and private life among
PV therapists is intense (e.g. Bailey et al. 2011; Goldblatt et
al. 2009; Pessach 2007), and have both negative and posi-
tive effects. Despite the fact that PV is inherently gendered,
the complexities of gender in the client/therapist interaction,
has not been addressed to the best of our knowledge.
PV has been socially constructed as a predominantly mas-
culine deviance, whereby males use their power and control
gained through socialization to dominate women (Graham-
Kevan 2007; Hamel 2007; Russell 1995; Wilkinson and
Hamerschlag 2005). Some clinical support of this state of
affairs has frequently entered the public and professional
discourse. Only in the last decade has doubt and controversy
been introduced concerning the relationship between gender
and the perpetration of intimate partner violence (Archer
2000; Dutton and Corvo 2006; Frieze 2005). It is becoming
increasingly clear that this phenomenon is complex and needs
to be examined in the context of multiple risk factors on
various ecological levels such as family, community and
personality variables, along the well established gender related
variables (Whitaker and Lutzker 2009).
Only limited literature exists about the impact of working
with perpetrators on therapists (e.g. Iliffe and Steed 2000;
Tyagi 2006). The lack is particularly conspicuous when
assessing the effects of therapeutic interaction between male
466
therapists and male perpetrators. In a recent study, (Bailey et
al. 2011) we described the process in which male PV thera-
pists reflect on their role and their masculinity, and come to
acknowledge the link between masculinity and aggression,
which is still different from their clients’ aggression and
violence. Such renegotiation makes continued therapeutic
contact possible.
We conceptualize intervention in general, and with do-
mestic violence in particular, as an ongoing process of
negotiation and reality construction between the worker
and the client. It is shaped by personal and sociopolitical
contexts in which both parties live (Gergen 1994). As such,
the mutual influences that create the inter-subjective nature
of the professional-therapeutic encounter are important for
understanding the nature of this encounter (Anderson and
Goolishian 1992). This is especially evident when gender
identities and roles are involved, as in intimate partner
violence intervention, in which the therapist’s attitudes, in
both the personal and professional spheres, affect the pro-
cess (Bograd 1991; Goldner 1988).
Both battering men and their male therapists share the
gender facet of identity—of being a man. Their belonging to
the same social category enables us to view the similar and
the different between them as associated with the same
gender. From a social constructionist perspective, the reflex-
ive self of every human is bound to categorize, classify or
name itself in relation to other social categories or classifi-
cations (Stets and Burke 2000). People come to see them-
selves as members of one category by behaving according to
its attributed stereotypes, be they related to gender, social
status, profession, etc. (Stets and Burke 2000). When male
therapists begin their work with battering men, such a com-
parison is likely to occur around their common ground as
men. Both sub-groups were exposed to the common mas-
culine ideals and messages that encourage and pressurize
men to be emotionally restrained, assertive, competitive,
aggressive and independent (Kiersky and Blazina 2006).
By contrast, women are socialized to be emotionally expres-
sive, containing and nourishing (Hearn and Morgan 1990;
Kaftal 1991; Lewis 1978; Mintz and O’neil 1990).
As for the relationship between masculinity, aggression
and violence, some clarifications are appropriate. It is a
commonly held belief that violence is more closely tied to
masculine than to feminine socialization (Demause 2007;
Hearn 1998; Pope and Englar-Carlson 2001). In spite of the
lack of clarity concerning the exact location of where ag-
gression ends and violence begins (Archer 1994; Baron and
Richardson 1994; Berkowitz 1993), or whether they are on
the same continuum at all, it is widely agreed that violence
is deviant, unacceptable behavior (Anderson and Bushman
2002). Many researchers emphasize the correlation between
masculinity and violence, where violent behavior is a com-
mon strategy for males, both children and adults, to solidify
J Fam Viol (2012) 27:465–476
and exhibit their manhood (Anderson and Umberson 2001;
Hearn 1998). Pope and Englar-Carlson (2001) analyze vio-
lence as a façade and a result of men’s emotional discon-
nection, an extreme form of the acceptable emotion of
anger: “Violence is the final step in a sequence that begins
with this emotional disconnection” (p.368).
The treatment encounter can be viewed as the arena for a
range of social issues that are played out (Englar-Carlson
2006; Rabinowitz and Cochran 2002). It is therefore imper-
ative that male therapists be aware of the fact that their
concepts of gender and masculinity are inevitably present
in and influenced by the therapeutic process (Freudenberger
1990; Glicken 2005). This becomes evident in the contra-
dictory pressures that male therapists experience in the
therapy regarding their gender roles. Kaplan (1979) attemp-
ted to describe the therapist's role as having two major
dimensions: the authority and the empathic-facilitative.
While assuming therapists of both genders desire to posses
both these qualities, she sees the challenge of male thera-
pists in tempering their inclination to be authoritative and
developing their capacity for empathy, and vice-versa with
female therapist. Harvey and Hansen (1999) dealt with the
way gender concepts of male therapists are portrayed in
their professional and personal lives and found that the
majority of them tended to behave androgynously, efficient-
ly balancing a combination of masculine and feminine
attributes (Petry and Thomas 1986). These complexities
are dramatized by the therapeutic encounter in PV where
male therapists walk a fine line between the need to pass as
capable of understanding and empathizing, while being
masculine enough to not be conceived as too feminine and
soft in their client’s eyes.
This paper presents qualitative findings concerning male
worker-client relationships in PV, and aims to widen the
understanding of the interpersonal dynamics taking place
between male therapists and clients in this field. The article
illuminates the interface of work and private life among
male social workers who work with battering men, by
analyzing the differences and similarities between them as
they appear in their encounters. As such, the paper describes
the changing attitudes male therapists hold towards their
clients and their own masculine identity, as a result of a
comparative discourse taking place between them. This is a
lengthy process of soul-searching, which if successful, leads
to a strengthening of their commitment to their unique
professional position (role) as male therapists with batterers
of PV.
Method
The qualitative perspective underlying this paper views the
human world as constructed from multi-subjective realities
J Fam Viol (2012) 27:465–476
(Mcleod 2001; Van Manen 2001; Weiss 1994). Therefore,
its main purpose is to gain in-depth understanding of par-
ticipants’ experienced meanings (McLeod 2001; Shkedi
2005). The sample was composed of 15 male social workers
who worked with battering men in Violence Prevention
Centers in Israel. Following permission to perform the study
by the Ministry of Welfare, we obtained the names of most
male treatment personnel in the country. The study was
described as an attempt to learn how work with battering
men is reflected in the professional and private lives of their
male therapists, and most gave their consent to participate in
the study. The variance of the sample in terms of work
experience with battering men ranged from two to 20 years
(M08); their age ranged from 31 to 55, and except for one
bachelor, all men were married and fathers to children. Out
of 250 social workers working in PV in Israel nearly 10%
are men; thus the present sample includes about 50%–65%
of this population nationwide (Nachshon-Glik 2010, person-
al communication).
Data collection was performed through semi-structured
interviews (Rubin and Rubin 2005; Weiss 1994) in Hebrew
—the language of the interviewees. The interview guide was
based on professional literature and the researchers' clinical
experience as PV therapists and supervisors. The main
themes that the interview guide was based on were: (a) the
experience and professional exposure of the worker; (e.g.,
for how long are you involved in PV work? What kind of
work do you do specifically?); (b) role of masculinity in
treatment, (e.g., topics of masculinity brought to treatment,
emotional reactions to these topics, and how they are influ-
enced by the worker); (c) models of masculinity for the
social workers, (e.g., definitions of masculinity, key figures
influencing their perceptions of masculinity); and (d) how
the interviewees construct their work experience with batter-
ing men in the context of their personal, interpersonal and
professional lives? (e.g., in what ways does such work
resonate in their private life? If and in what ways does such
work transformed your conception of men? Of women?).
Pretest of the interview guide was preformed and correc-
tions were made. Eventually, each interview lasted between
60 and 90 min, was tape-recorded and transcribed verbatim.
The quotes used for the paper were translated into English
by two of the authors who are bi-lingual. The interviews
were performed by one of the authors, who was an experi-
enced PV therapist (11 year.) and who presented himself as
such. None of the interviewees had close relationships to the
researchers.
Content analysis was performed in three phases. Phase
one involved the three members of the research team repeat-
edly reading the transcripts independently, aiming to
achieve in-depth acquaintance with the text (Kvale 1996).
In each reading, the authors were involved in a dialogue
between their professional and research experiences and
467
their reading of the text of transcribed interviews. Phase
two was performed independently also, in which each au-
thor developed his initial codes and generated a thematic
coding framework for analyzing the interviews. More spe-
cifically, these were performed by a) Open coding: (Strauss
and Corbin 1998). In this step, each author read the inter-
view and coded the data line by line. Notes were made
throughout the text to identify initial units of meaning (cat-
egories) that emerged from the data (e.g., “negative emotion
in the relationships with batterers;” “perceived positive
impacts of working with batterers”). b) Axial coding:
(Strauss and Corbin 1998). In this second step, relationships
between categories previously identified were recognized,
contextualized and organized (e.g., “parallels between one’s
own attitudes toward masculine identity and the profession-
al relationship”). The three researchers compiled a joint list
of units of meaning from their separate lists, and reached
approximately 85% agreement regarding the categories that
emerged from the data. Disagreement and discrepancies in
coding and the developing conception were resolved
through discussion, as well as joint review of and reflection
on the original statements. In the few cases where this could
not be achieved, the units were eliminated from the study
(e.g. the PV work has mostly negative influence). This
phase ended when the organization of the different units of
meaning that the interviewees attached to their work expe-
rience reached saturation.
Phase three included the gathering of the different units
of meaning through focusing, comparing, integrating and
synthesizing, thus reorganizing the data into broad themes
that compose the conceptual skeleton of this study's findings
(McLeod 2001; Shkedi 2005; Van Manen 2001). These
themes capture and integrate the essence of male social
workers' experience with batterers.
Validity and Trustworthiness
In qualitative research, various aspects of the data collected
in the analysis are mutually complementary, creating a rich
description (Lieblich et al. 1998; Van Manen 2001). The aim
of qualitative research is to achieve “credibility” (Lincoln
and Guba 1985) without claiming that a complete version of
truth has been attained (Hammersley 1995; Schofield 1993).
The depth and breadth of the interviews enabled the
researchers to claim a comprehensive, authentic understand-
ing of the experiences and meanings of the male social
workers interviewed. To achieve authenticity, strategies in-
cluded a prolonged engagement through interviewing which
enabled reflection and in depth familiarity with the data
(Finlay 2002; Yeh and Inman 2007). This was performed
by helping each other to achieve reflexive subjectivity,
which enabled recognition that being a researcher is one
way of being part of the world under investigation. As such,
468
the social workers that we interviewed reacted to our pres-
ence, as we acted toward their presence, even if they were
not present at the analysis and writing stages. One way of
achieving validity is to include extensive quotes from the
interviews, (i.e. grounding), which adds additional credibil-
ity to the analysis (Maxwell 2005).
Ethical Considerations
The study was conducted according to the rules of the
University Ethics Committee. Following a thorough expla-
nation of the aims and the procedures of the research, all
participants signed informed consent forms. The interview-
ees were assured that their interviews would be handled
anonymously and confidentially. Data analysis procedures
across rather than within interviews enhanced our ability to
keep the content anonymous.
Results
The major themes addressed in the findings were those that
recurred in more than 75% of the interviews performed.
Special attention was give to avoid homogenization of the
findings. Rather, we attempted to show the dynamic
changes over time within the various themes such as the
development and changes taking place in masculinity of the
workers, the changes in their perception of their clients, and
similarities and differences between them. These reiterated
the complexities between manhood, aggression and vio-
lence and their interplay in the worker’s perception. Contin-
ua between rough masculinity and a negotiated softened
one, between macho manhood and androgynous one, be-
tween assertive power orientation and intellectual presence
through writing and creativity—were all intertwined with a
continuum ranging from total rejection of violence to ac-
ceptance of non-violent aggression, as inevitable part of
masculine being. Entering the field: from doubt and alien-
ation to empathy and rapprochement. “When I first started
this job, I had this picture of these men as all being of the
criminal type, but the more I learned about them and their
lives, I realized that we share many similarities.” (No.12)
Prior to any encounter with battering men, two troubling
preconceptions create tension and restlessness in the male
therapist's mind. To begin with, as a normative person, the
therapist is not indifferent to the deviant, demonized images
held by the general public regarding male batterers. Second,
the male therapists interviewed for this study entered a
professional territory dominated by feminist views (Healey
et al. 1998), which define PV as a gender-based phenome-
non with clear-cut positions as to who is the victim and who
is the perpetrator. From a feminist perspective, physical
aggression along with emotional, economic, sexual or
J Fam Viol (2012) 27:465–476
verbal aggression, are all seen as violent strategies used by
men to intimidate and subjugate women (Mankowski et al.
2002; Schechter 1982). In light of such a broad definition of
violence, drawing the boundaries between psychological
abuse and ordinary couple power struggles is not obvious
at all times (Greene and Bogo 2002).
The following quotes reveal some of the fear experienced
by interviewees who were novices in the field and the distance
they envisioned between themselves and their clients:
I mainly remember feelings of fear, being afraid. Sur-
prisingly, this fear grew stronger with our professional
orientation towards this work, when we were taught
some of the basic terms in the world of PV and about
the batterer's profile… (No. 11) In the beginning, I had
this fear that the violence that formally existed in the
couple dynamics would penetrate the therapeutic set-
ting and would somehow be directed towards me.
Today, this fear has entirely dissolved. I understood
that in 80–90% of the cases, their violence is directed
towards people with whom they have strong intimate
ties… That is true for most batterers. (No. 7)
Both of these interviewees mentioned initial feelings of
fear that arose from perceiving the man as an unpredictable,
“threatening other.” The first interviewee saw his fear as
resulting from a combination of folk beliefs (Bruner 1990)
about perpetrators, amplified by feminist views at the basis
of the professional ideologies to which he was socialized on
the job. According to this view, couple violence is a preva-
lent expression of a patriarchal social arrangement, whereby
men use physical, emotional, economic, sexual or verbal
aggression as violent strategies to intimidate and subjugate
women. The second interviewee presented the misconcep-
tion that violence might spill over from the intimate envi-
ronment to the therapeutic setting. This view stems from a
medical epidemiological view, and with accumulated expe-
rience, is rejected by the therapist.
However, in a working environment where men are seen as
a suspect category, the interviewees carry the burden of proof
that they are of a different kind. The following interviewee casts
doubt as to whether he can be a man without being abusive:
There was a period that… because of the battering
men and so on… I felt ashamed of being a man,
because being a man means being violent. Such an
image does exist. And you keep on asking yourself:
'Am I that kind of man? Am I like them? Am I not?
What do we have in common? And if I am like them,
am I also violent?
The interviewee later stated,
In staff meetings and during supervision I had, espe-
cially in places where I was the only male therapist, I
J Fam Viol (2012) 27:465–476
used to disclose myself for some group episodes, and
the reaction was very often: ‘OK, these are men, that’s
men’s talk’ and it used to drive me crazy! It was very
easy to project everything onto me:’ That’s men, that’s
how men are. (No. 1)
It can be seen from these quotes that initially, the male
therapists were highly preoccupied with identification and
differentiation. Their feelings of doubt and anxiety signaled
their loss of security about their social and public identity.
This interviewee reported his treatment as a member of a
suspect class, carrying the male gender's entire aggression
baggage. His sense of shame underscored his immersion
into and acceptance of professional conceptualizations that
equate masculinity with aggression. As part of his apologet-
ic position as a man in a female dominant environment, he
reflected and screened the possibility of being violent mere-
ly due to the fact that he was a man. Like Sisyphus, he
carried on his back all the stereotypes attributed to men in a
hostile environment, where he experienced himself as the
minority.
Under these conditions, the men live with the constant
dilemma as to how violent they are as men. The dilemma is
further acerbated by the tendency to utilize a broad defini-
tion of PV in their field of practice. Such definitions tended
to stretch the boundaries of violence beyond the physical
and include a whole spectrum of behaviors, which are less
noticeable, yet carry abusive qualities. This further fuels
their doubts about being violent in their own intimate rela-
tionships. One interviewee described this as follows:
It tortures you, because the whole time there is this
issue of testing in what way you are different and in
what way similar to the men you work with. I think
that the personal and the professional dance together;
very much so, in therapy in general, but in the field of
intimate violence in particular. You have this constant
inner dialogue with yourself and your couplehood
relationship. This constant ping pong in the discourse:
'How am I as a father? How am I as a partner? Am I
also violent? What makes me different from these
men? (No.3)
The more deeply the social worker delves when dealing
with the professional, the more deeply he inevitably looks
into the personal. The more the personal and the profession-
al intertwine, the more tormenting the interpenetration of the
two seems to become. Once workers envision themselves in
intimate roles (as fathers and husbands), they tend to be-
come increasingly concerned about the possibility of having
qualities similar to their clients. At times, interviewees'
doubts culminated in categorizing unrelated negative expe-
riences and feelings as violence, and signaling that if one
becomes concerned enough, anything can be defined as
469
such. The taken-for-granted base of secure separation be-
tween work and personal identity is shattered.
In my own therapy, I dealt a lot with myself as a male
therapist, as with other unresolved issues like the
relationship with my father. But mainly, with the great
fear…it seemed to me, and I really tried to check
whether I also … maybe I was also an abusive male
in the relationship that I was having at the time…
naturally, I am concerned for myself with the more
sophisticated violence, the violence of alienation, the
violence of detachment. (No. 8)
The above quote brings the self-doubt one step further,
by placing it in a biographical context and extending it to
one’s life history and intimate relationships in childhood.
This adds an additional dimension of time and a longitudinal
perspective, which makes the self-doubt even more extreme
and at times, disproportionate.
Renegotiating Aggression
As overwhelming and shaking as the phase of entering the
field was for the interviewees, their reflective processes lead
them to a compromise of relativity. Through their acquaintance
with the PV phenomenon, they learned that reality is more
complex and less dichotomous than ideology or theory. As to
doubts concerning their own violence, they came to realize that
not every expression of a charged emotional state is necessarily
an abusive act or a door to PV. Concurrently, they experienced
a humanization process of the batterers, while freeing them-
selves from their initial preconceptions and attempts to keep
themselves distant. They gradually came to realize and accept
that they were both different than and similar to their clients.
The following interviewee shared this newly adopted
attitude towards his own aggressive behaviors, pointing to
the parameter of the violent behavior context:
Under the simplest definition, we all behave violently.
We all do it. We have all cursed, overturned, spilled,
thrown stuff, on the road, in the family, between
brothers, with parents, between children. Under the
broad definition—we all act violently. The question
is, do we create an environment of fear, of terror, of
intimidation? That's the difference. (No.5)
Alongside attempts to “universalize” aggression, this in-
terviewee did draw the line between what he believed to be
bearable and unbearable violence, which he defined as over-
whelming, covering the entire ecology, all-encompassing.
He maintained that such violence leading to terror and
expectation of further violence makes for the qualitative
difference between the two.
The differentiating line between acts of aggression and
acts of abuse and violence is briefly expressed in the
470
following quote, which talks about self as a case in point:
“If, let’s say, that I expressed some kind of aggression, or I
was angry, let’s say, it’s still difficult for me to tell you,
because I think that aggression is legitimate. The question is,
to what degree?” (No. 3)
This interviewee acknowledges the prevalent existence of
aggression and feelings of anger, yet gives it a certain degree
of legitimacy. He who initially expressed guilt for not serv-
ing as an ideal role model now judges his actions by degrees
of severity and appears to be at peace with his occasional
expressions of aggression and anger.
The following quotes are examples of additional differ-
entiating characteristics identified between the male thera-
pists and their clients:
In general, my abilities to verbalize myself, my abili-
ties to realize what I am going through, my abilities to
control myself, were much higher than those of most
of my clients. … They simply have weaker egos,
maybe more intense; my feeling was not that I am
beyond some kind of fence, but rather that I am on the
same scale as them, at a different stage, a different
point, maybe. (No. 1) I see myself confronting the
same issues as he confronts (…) maybe at a different
volume, maybe on different levels of sophistication,
maybe in more hidden ways…my solutions are differ-
ent from his. Maybe they are less destructive, less
damaging, over-aware, to avoid throwing it at my
wife. And sometimes, it does happen. (No. 8)
The differentiation made by these workers between them-
selves and the battering men was subtle, and focused on
inner, emotional qualities that they possessed, as opposed to
the client. They saw themselves and the battering men as
belonging to the same masculine emotional and behavioral
homeland. They both ranged on the same “scale,” but on
different points, as what distinguished between them were
some inner qualities and better developed skills: the same
world, different locations. The personal characteristics were
exhibited both in the ways aggression was administered and
contained at the desired level. This left the impression of
control and sophistication, which balanced the bare exis-
tence of aggression. The final lines were meant to domesti-
cate aggression (make it conceivable), yet considering it
antisocial and undesirable.
Another aspect of differentiating between acceptable
expressions of aggression and the battering men's unaccept-
able expressions was based on the awareness and unaware-
ness of being aggressive, and the ability and inability to
control its volume. The following interviewee brought this
example:
I double-check myself more. I am more aware of how
I talk, of body language. If it happens that I feel angry
J Fam Viol (2012) 27:465–476
energy towards my wife, then it's probably after I have
run the whole process. I probably want to do it, I
probably want to talk to her that way. But I am aware
of the impact of body language. Here, I must pay
attention to all these things, how it isn't coming from
a position of entitlement, but rather of negotiation…
When I ask myself: ‘Why am I treating her like that?’
it’s probably because I feel like hurting her at that
moment. It’s not due to lack of control or lack of
awareness. (No. 9)
This interviewee described the self-awareness and anger-
management skills that he had developed. By recognizing
his conscious choice, he took responsibility, and by so
doing, attenuated the sense of danger. He further reported
a sense of simultaneity in consciousness arising from his
ability to be conscious both about the conflict and about the
position he took vis-à-vis its object. Such simultaneity fur-
ther distanced the interviewee from his clients, and helped
attenuate the aggression.
The male therapists interviewed here recognized their
aggression and attempted to illustrate why these were not
translated into violence. The differences that the interview-
ees seemed to construct evolved around context, more de-
veloped intra-psychic qualities and interpersonal skills.
They were able to identify a series of subtle personal situ-
ational and contextual variables, which made the difference.
However, the decisive difference was in the music—the lack
of coercion, fear and terror in their relationships, excluding
them from the batterer category. These different attributes
were the buffer zone between them and their clients, a
compromise that allowed them to engage their professional
mandate with conviction.
From Fear to Empathy: Humanizing the Batterer
The change in the interviewees' preconceptions of batterers
and their gradual humanization was a testimony to their
growing process from a unidimensional to a more complex
view, reflecting the contrasts and paradoxes of the human
situations inherent in their work. The following quote is a
case in point:
When I look at them today, they don't frighten me as
much as they used to; I often see them as very weak
people, helpless, in great distress. I can see their dis-
tress clearly; their wounds, most of them are wounded.
I can understand where it's all coming from and it's
very easy to be empathic to them, which at the begin-
ning, wasn't easy at all. (No. 4)
With accumulating experience and growing acquaintance
with the batterers, this interviewee discovered a very differ-
ent reality than the one he had imagined. He discovered the
J Fam Viol (2012) 27:465–476
weakness in violence and the helplessness in the need to
control. Understanding the batterers in their complexity
humanized the clients and enabled a more compassionate
and empathic feeling, which broadened the emotional spec-
trum towards them. The following quote is an example of
such emotional transformation:
The encounter with battering men was one that started
with zero empathy, but today, my encounter with them
is very empathic. I love them and it's perfectly OK.
Once, I was very harsh and judgmental towards them,
but today, I am much less so. I understand where they
are coming from and I have nothing to say about their
emotional deficiencies as men. I have a problem with
the accountability they do or don't assume for their
lives; I have a lot to say about that. I don’t have the
need to point out their constant need to demonstrate
their power. I used to think that it was pathetic, but
today I understand where it's coming from. I can see
how we (society) brought them into this position, so
why should we be surprised? (No. 6)
This interviewee moved from a position of harsh, judg-
mental criticism and emotional detachment to a much soft-
ened position that went as far as feelings of closeness that
arose from a compassionate position towards his clients.
The need to reflect and state normatively that such feeling
is “perfectly OK” sounds like a justification for his empathic
position towards perpetrators of PV. His feelings of empathy
allowed him to separate between his clients’ violent acts and
their emotional distress, which he identified as typical of
men in general. He used the feminist argument of the need
to use power and control as an outcome of the socialization
process, to substantiate these emotional difficulties. Being a
man who had undergone the same process, he identified
with the emotional deficiencies, but denounced their self-
management and their escalation into violent behavior. Both
the individual and the social roots of violence become
relevant for him.
Victimhood is a difficult situation for men, but can serve
as a bridge to empathy:
I can also see victimhood in men; I see their vulnera-
bility, where it comes from, the weight of their back-
ground, their life experiences, how often they never
know anything else. I work also with sex victims and
there, it's very evident how women allow themselves
to talk about their wounds, while men do not. A man
who was sexually abused by another man—how
shameful it is, the need to hide the blow to his identity
is so deep. Abused men often feel accused for being
victimized, as their inability to resist is viewed with
doubt. Women speak of their victimhood as an expla-
nation, while men apologize for it. (No. 12)
471
Sharing distress is not seen as part of the male culture and
this is particularly true for emotional distress among male, as
such a situation would transform them into double suspects
for both feeling and sharing. Men victims tend to perceive
themselves as suspects and as such, feel the need to apologize
and account for their status, while women perceive their
victimhood as a legitimate explanation for their situation. This
is further reiterated by women’s willingness to blame them-
selves for the violence (Cascardi and O’Leary 1992) and
attempt to protect their partners for being legally accountable
for their crimes (O’Sullivan et al. 2007).
Once animosity arising from victimhood is overcome,
and empathy is the dominant emotion, the male therapists
are able to see themselves and the men under their care as
belonging to the same social category with similar charac-
teristics, socialization patterns and emotional experiences.
Once this is achieved, the sameness is no longer feared.
Style of Masculinity
An additional motif of comparison between the male thera-
pists and their clients was their respective masculinity styles.
The following quotes are cases in point:
I conceive my manhood as very different from theirs.
There is a sense of a big gap. The stereotypical man is
still very common in our society and this is where the
batterers are. They exhibit a lot of machoism, full of
covert and overt power struggles, in tone, in facial
expressions, in body language. They invest in a façade
of control, signaling who is up and who is down in the
group's hierarchy. (No.11)
Another man stated:
In my encounter with batterers, they reported seeing
my masculinity as different than theirs: a different way
of thinking, of talking, of feeling. They conceive it to
be more like a women's language, more sensitive, and
my masculinity preoccupies them a lot, asking how it
works in my private life. (No. 13)
The first interviewee shared his interpretation of the
batterers' dominant masculine style. He referred to machis-
mo as reflected in behavior and in atmosphere, the messages
in the room and the overall sense that it is hard to break
through. He spoke of a group dynamic where the macho
façade creates a competitive environment, common among
men, and counter to therapeutic goals of intimacy-building
and self-disclosure. The second interviewee told of his mas-
culinity, which was more androgynous in nature, exhibiting
qualities commonly perceived as feminine in the macho
world. The batterers responded to it with curiosity, treating
it as a different culture, which they found difficult to
understand.
472
Another interviewee spoke of his androgynously oriented
identity:
I conceive my masculinity as flexible. My personality
is not so polarized between masculine and feminine
roles. It's not exactly in line with how I was raised, but
this is who I grew up to be, and also because of my
professional training and this specific work. It's an
ongoing dialogue between being a man under the
acceptable codes, which is also important to me, and
being a different man who breaks conventions. (No.3)
This interviewee did not refer to his upbringing and profes-
sional education as overlapping, but still as the two influential
systems that determined his masculine identity as formed in the
present. He grew up in a traditional environment, but matured
through his personal and professional socialization in the ex-
panded masculine identity that he was reflecting at that present
time. Part of this expansion was the acquisition of some
qualities viewed as feminine, a direction that was enhanced
only by the training and social mandate as PV therapist.
The next interviewee adds detail to codes of shaping identity:
My phrasing of my identity and what I think it is to be
a man is more complex and very different from what I
believed in ten years ago. What does it mean to be a
man? I can tell you of parts in me that are more
stereotypical of men and parts that are not. I think
it's an individual definition for every man, and it's
not a constant definition, not for me. (No. 6)
It is obvious from the above that under the influence of
his work, the interviewee’s masculine identity was consid-
erably changed. As he seemed drawn to a more integrated
identity, including traits of both genders, he moved to sug-
gest a more flexible, unstable identity model, multi-layered,
ever emerging and changing.
Discovery of Similarities
Once the interviewees' boundary work around violent behav-
ior was accomplished, in differentiating between themselves
and their clients, they were open to exploring their similarities.
Some of the similarities they shared were related to suppress-
ing emotions, lack of emotional openness, hiding of weak-
ness, or tendency to perform rather than to be.
What tied them together overall was their emotional
position in relation to being a man in the world, and their
relationship with women. When the discourse did not center
on violence, the similarities were more visible and allowed
out of the closet. The following interviewee provided a peek
into his private life:
Work and private life often mix, in my head and
thoughts at least…after heated arguments, when both
J Fam Viol (2012) 27:465–476
of us are already calmer, she might say things that I
have no idea where she gets them from, like: ‘You are
stubborn for no reason, just to prove that you are a
man.’ I can’t say that it doesn’t remind me of situa-
tions I hear of at work. (No. 2)
This interviewee told of a marital argument in which his
wife accused him of performing a stubborn move, for the
sake of reaffirming his masculinity. This reminded him of
events described by his batterer clients at work. Since his
wife was the main speaker in the dialogue described, it is
unclear from the narrative whether the comparison stemmed
from his own or from his wife’s perception. However, the
very blurring of the voices implicating his wife is reminis-
cent of his clients, as most partners in IPV blame their
partners for the escalation in violent conflicts. The inter-
viewee further hinted that any man who keeps to his argu-
ments in a conflict is a target accused of stubbornness for the
sake of exhibiting his manhood.
The next interviewee speaks of his growing awareness of
the nature of the machismo style of masculine performance,
while simultaneously recognizing his own similarity to this
style of performance:
I developed an understanding of how defensive the
rough, machismo masculinity is. I have seen it in
groups, how men began the group and what happened
to them as the process proceeded. What happened
when men were willing to leave that aside, how it is
all related to anxieties, to some deep pain, some kind
of longing—different elements that accumulate into
this rough and aggressive image. I can identify similar
behaviors in myself and I am more aware of them
today. (No. 1)
This interviewee described his professional understand-
ing of men’s machoism as expressive of emotional needs
and deficiencies that take the form of false virility and self-
confidence. He mentioned the safe setting required by men
to reach a more authentic position to substitute their false
appearance. Identifying the machismo nuances in his own
behavior despite his awareness of their limitations brought
additional support for the depth of gender-role socialization.
The next interviewee addresses the issue of intimacy in
the context of manhood:
Even the seating arrangements at the beginning of my
work with batterers symbolized my attitude towards
them, as if I was coming to teach the ‘natives,’ these
violent men, how to behave properly in a relationship.
Retrospectively, I see a lot of self-righteousness in my
initial approach. Today, I realize that I have serious
issues with intimacy, with couplehood, with being a
family man. It’s hard for me as a man. I think back to
my decision to start therapy. It was very unnatural for
J Fam Viol (2012) 27:465–476
me—‘to be assisted by some one? Me? ’- The mascu-
line archetypes affect me just as much. It is easy for
me to criticize their extreme behavioral expressions,
but I identify strongly with the themes they raise. All
the themes are very similar. (No. 8)
This interviewee talks of his initial paternalistic approach
towards his clients, feeling and presenting himself as a man
who was all-knowing, as being different and always above
and in control of the issues he judged his clients of con-
fronting so poorly. After twelve years, the time perspective
acquired enabled him to speak of himself with more mod-
esty and to recognize the difficulties of becoming authentic
and disposing of the fictitious image of masculine self-
sustainability.
The next interviewee further reiterates the masculine
requirements of competence, this time through occupying
space and exhibiting presence:
As a man, I see categorical similarities between us:
The deficiency of emotional expression, issues of
power and presence. I am often occupied with my
need to prove my space and presence. It’s a matter of
self-esteem for men, this issue of power and presence
in the wide sense. Violent men do it through aggres-
sive behavior. Others do it through their career, anoth-
er through writing a book. Each man exhibits his
presence in his own way. (No. 6)
This interviewee related to men’s systematic encourage-
ment to exhibit their public assertive selves by being active
and noticeable, in other words, “having presence.” He pre-
sented the need to exhibit power and presence as a general
prerequisite for males. Women, by contrast, are traditionally
socialized to lower their public presence and “voice,” but
encouraged to express themselves fully through emotion,
intimacy and relational richness (). This interviewee be-
lieved that men could make themselves noticed in both
constructive and destructive ways.
The growing erosion of masculine and feminine role
uniqueness is an additional source of emotional
identification:
It upsets me when I am put in a box and labeled:
‘you’re a feminist, or you’re a chauvinist.’ I don’t
buy this. I do indeed like my rough masculine sides
and I do make distinctions between what is masculine
and what is feminine. It’s important for me to leave
myself some unique place as a man, I want to keep
some of the traditional gender roles, and it suits both
of us. I feel I can express softness, but I can also
express authority and decisiveness. If we should face
some crisis in the future, it’s clear to me that I have to
be dominant and lead the family through it, just as it’s
clear to me that in other circumstances, my wife would
473
lead. (No. 5) After so many years as a therapist, I am
too understanding, too therapeutic, too aware, and
have lost my instinctual spontaneity. The place of
bursting masculinity is much of what it means to be
a man, in my view. This is where I feel I pay a price. I
became too feminine, even my wife will probably tell
you that I am too feminine in many areas. Masculinity
is a quality and after years of working with men, I feel
that the man inside me needs a wake-up call. My
instincts are hidden. I was acculturated, I am a
“trained” man, and I am so considerate that I aban-
doned the savage that is inside of me. I function within
the rubrics taught by the profession. (No.8)
Both interviewees stressed their identification with sym-
bolic masculine qualities and wished to hold to them as part
of their male identity and self-esteem. They both expressed
some measure of loathness toward the winds of time, feeling
that the blending of the masculine and the feminine was
eroding their uniqueness as men. The first refused to accept
the flattening of gender differences and implied that some
roles cannot be switched. The way he expressed his liking
for his rough masculine sides sounds somewhat defensive,
as if he was making an unpopular statement, which is true in
the sphere of PV. While the first interviewee resisted the
new paradigm, the second interviewee sounded like he had
surrendered a long time ago. He had gone too far and felt
feminine in too many ways, and had relinquished parts of
his true self. The hesitant tone underlying these interview-
ees' feelings toward the trend of equalizing the genders is a
tone often heard by batterers.
The ambivalent position towards the modern gender con-
ception is eloquently folded into the next quote about how
the interviewee was raising his young son at home:
I plan to pass on anti-violent values to my six-year-old
son, although for the time being, I am trying to direct
him towards a more traditional male character that in a
way, contradicts my professional world. When he does
something risky or very physical, I will say ‘Oooh!
You are such a man!’ and my wife freaks out when she
hears me say this…(smiles). But I believe that as he
grows up and matures, I will pass on values of being a
gentle, kindhearted, generous and emotional man.
(No. 4)
The interviewee spoke of his dilemmas about the style of
masculinity to which he aspired for his son. His choice to
start with traditional socialization and to wait with the liberal
messages until the child is older reflects the complexity and
perceived risks involved in implementing such a progressive
approach. His choice implies that sending his boy into adult
life, based on a softer masculine model, worried him and
was a risk that he was not willing to take. The egalitarian,
474
progressive, more androgynous masculine identity, in which
he came to believe, seemed to suit the later stages of a man's
life, as if rough foundations would prepare him for life and
softer characteristics for the future.
Discussion
This paper described in detail the process of male social
workers' changing attitudes towards their clients who were
perpetrators of PV. The process was composed of decon-
struction and reconstruction of the therapist's beliefs and
opinions concerning key elements in their work, such as
masculinity, aggression, the nature of their clients and their
own identities as men. From a social constructionist per-
spective (Gergen 1994), the individual participated in mul-
tiple relationships with social problems and negotiated them
vis-à-vis the self. The self and the problems negotiated made
sense only in the context of specific relationships. Initially,
the therapists rejected and judged their client population
while adopting a defensive stance toward them. Thrown
into work with a male clientele that was publicly demonized
in a professional territory dominated by feminist views, the
therapists were fearful, insecure and consumed by contra-
dictory attitudes and emotions. As they familiarized them-
selves with the phenomena and the batterers, they became
less defensive and more empathic. Their descriptions of
such a state of affairs exposed underlying moral feelings
of shame and guilt, arising from the “accusatory voices”
(Eisikovits and Enosh 1997). They felt ashamed of being
part of the abusive gender, and guilty of being empathic
towards criminals, as part of a reflective mode that was part
of their occupational ideology.
Under such conditions, an existential crisis can be
expected that could lead to either self-growth with new
choices and creative responses, or to an overwhelming
regressive state (Groth 2008). The interviewees in this
study moved towards constructing a differentiating list
of personal and interpersonal attributes, which clearly
delineated the boundaries between them and their clients.
A central outcome of this process was the redefinition of
aggression and its distinction from violence, two terms
which, up to that point, were enmeshed and were the
cause of much of their anxiety. The renewed “domesticat-
ed” form of aggression was humanized and turned into a
legitimized characteristic under certain contextual condi-
tions. Once aggression was redefined as a normative
component of masculinity, and the boundaries between
them and their clients were established, the thought of
co-existing with them became livable. Above all, such a
shift seemed to better their occupational well-being.
To contextualize these changes, we must examine the
commonalities and differences between these men’s
J Fam Viol (2012) 27:465–476
masculine identity and that of their clients. This can be
achieved in light of the distinction between personal and
group-role identities (Stets and Burke 2000). Such double
belonging operates simultaneously and generates constant
tension between the need to belong to a ‘group’ and the
desire for personal uniqueness. Stets and Burke (2000)
defined a social group by common social identity, or what
they termed “social category.” The interviewed social work-
ers and their battering clients belonged to the same category,
and the research describes the process of their social identity
formation in contrast to the group of the battering men.
Constructing the personal identity in relation to a group
involved social comparison and self-categorization, process-
es that lead to identification of similarities (group-in) and
differences (group-out) between attitudes, beliefs, values,
behavioral norms, styles of speech, etc. (Stets and Burke
2000; Stryker and Burke 2000). This self-categorization
process was experienced as threatening and challenging to
their taken-for-granted masculine characteristics, which
composed their self-image.
The relationships with this group of belonging were more
complex than would appear: On the one hand, the social
workers interviewed experienced social identification with
their clients on the basis of masculinity as a group of
belonging, while on the other hand, they were expected to
condemn them for their violence, while having to prove that
they were men of a different kind. This contradiction needed
to be solved by some kind of compromise, which enabled
the men to continue working while acquiring a more bal-
anced sense of who they were. In the process, they became
less rigid and judgmental and presented a more balanced
view of themselves and their clients. The comparisons
added a dimension of authenticity to their relational selves
(Craig 2008), which emerged as a result of questioning the
popular and taken-for-granted demonization of violent men.
Once the social workers defined the differences, they
were open to the similarities between their own experiences
and those of their clients concerning masculinity, without
the need to be politically correct or conform. The emotional
turmoil of feeling shame, guilt, doubt and anxiety seemed to
become rewarding once the interviewees grew authentic and
were able to say: “I am a man who denounces male violence
and abuse toward women, but batterers are not “all-bad” and
in some ways we are even similar; I might be feminist and
androgynous, but I am also a man with aggressive sides to
my masculinity; this is how it is, and I can live with it.” This
can be perceived as a case of successful gender identity
adjustment (West and Zimmerman 1991).
In the context of batterer intervention programs, the
findings of this research can be seen as adding to the
challenge of improving intervention outcomes. Three ways
of understanding batterers’ interventions are relevant: (1)
batterers are reluctant to participate in intervention programs
J Fam Viol (2012) 27:465–476
and typically view their attendance as punishment (Gondolf
2002); (2) current batterer intervention programs have lim-
ited impact on reducing recidivism (Babcock et al. 2004);
and (3) the best predictive factors for successful intervention
are positive therapeutic bond (Dutton and Corvo 2006;
Sonkin 2005) and supportive counseling styles (Murphy
and Ting 2010). By realizing common masculine emotional
traits that correlate with aggression and frustration in het-
erosexual relationships, the findings offer male social work-
ers working with batterers a direction for engaging batterers
from a less accusing and self-righteous position than usual,
that seem to enhance favorable therapeutic effects. Under-
standing batterers’ psychic and emotional shortcomings in
intimate relations that are counter to their powerful appear-
ance does not contradict denouncing their violence and
holding them accountable for it.
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