Casey Gwinn, J.D.

We have never talked, laughed, or enjoyed a meal together.  A year ago I didn’t even know her name. She lived nowhere near me. If we had ever passed on the street, nothing would have caused our lives to connect. I have never heard the sound of her voice to this very day. But she has changed my life. I think about her constantly. I visit her a couple times a week. She reminds me why we all do what we do in trying to stop domestic violence in America and around the world. Her name is Rose.

On March 29, 2008, Rose was with a friend in Las Vegas, Nevada. Her life was finally calming down after months of trying to find peace and stability in the wake of a violent marriage. She had left her husband, taken her four children with her, and started to get her life back. She was working in a real estate office during the day and at a club at night, and was paying the bills and providing for her children. After years of verbal, emotional, and physical abuse, she finally had hope for a better life. That hope was shattered on March 29 when her husband Charles, who had been stalking her for weeks, shot Rose and her friend Tony outside the club where she worked. Tony was killed instantly when Charles Garner charged them and opened fire. Rose was hit twice. One bullet entered her neck on one side and exited on the other. The second bullet lodged in the left lobe of her brain. Police and medical personnel arrived within minutes and managed to keep Rose alive. Charles was later arrested and goes on trial for murder in Las Vegas in March 2009. That bloody night in Las Vegas, her children lost their father and their mother in the cross-fire of family violence.

Rose was left in a vegetative state with no apparent cognitive function. Her parents, who own a small bakery in San Diego, and her brother, a federal agent exhausted their savings trying to visit her in Las Vegas and get her all the necessary care. Finally, in July 2008, Rose was transferred from Las Vegas back to a local San Diego hospital.  I met Rose in September. I learned of her journey and came and sat at her bedside one sunny afternoon and saw pictures of a beautiful young woman on the bulletin board along with notes from her children begging her to get better. But in the bed was a contorted, almost unrecognizable, Rose. She was unable to move. Her eyes appeared to move only randomly and I could see little or no facial expression. She captivated me. A beautiful, young courageous woman now trapped in her broken body in an anonymous hospital bed surrounded by people she does not know with tubes and wires connected to her arms and legs – another casualty in the war on women in the United States of America.

I have been visiting Rose for months now. During the holidays, my daughter, Karianne, a music major at Seattle Pacific University came and sang a song to Rose. I watched tears stream down Rose’s cheeks as Karianne sang. Days later, Rose squeezed my hand. The nurses said they think it was an involuntary movement, but I believe Rose is still in there.  She is alive and longing to once again hold her children, laugh with friends, and pursue her dreams. Rose is trapped in that hospital bed but I believe her spirit is still there determined to survive and overcome.  I have not seen much change in recent months, but I still keep visiting. I sing to her, read to her, and sometimes just sit and hold her hand. I need the encouragement of being with her and the inspiration she provides. Rose helps me keep my perspective in life. And she reminds me why we all do what we do in this country to try to stop family violence.

Rose did not feel safe going to her local service providers.  She did not know where to start. The “system” was so intimidating to her.  She never obtained a restraining order. She did not even call the police. She wrote to Charles days before he shot her (in an email) that she did not seek an order, because she didn’t want to damage his career or cause him harm in any way. She was afraid of him, but did not know how to plan for her safety.  She never realized just how much danger she was in as he stalked her, threatened her, and planned the shooting.  Rose needed a stronger community around her.  She needed more friends and neighbors to “get involved.”  She needed a much more visible place she could go for help and support while still trying to live her life and raise her children. She is a strong reminder to me often that we are not done yet in this work. We have so much more to do.

My passion these days, after almost 25 years in the domestic violence movement, is how we create such communities all over the country and around the world.  How do we bring together all the agencies doing good work?  How do we create “communities” where all the service providers are co-located and victims and their children can easily access everything they need in one place instead of facing a maze of agencies and locations as they come forward and ask for help. In San Diego, we started the San Diego Family Justice Center in 2002, a “one stop shop” approach to services with 27 agencies bringing staff to one place to provide services and support for victims of family violence and their children. The Center changed our world and has now been credited with a 60% drop in domestic violence murders in the City since it opened. Today, there are over 45 family justice centers in the United States with national leadership coming from our National Family Justice Center Alliance. And we have many new Centers being planned. 

But in the face of the Family Justice Center vision, I see agencies still creating silos, still competing against each other for a small piece of a smaller and smaller pie.  I see turf issues, personality conflicts, and ego battles still creating barriers among government and non-profit agencies. I see systems that don’t want to change the way they do business because it is “inconvenient” for them or they say “we have always done it this way.” Sometimes it makes me mad how resistant to change so many of us are, how determined we are not to embrace new ways to come together to meet the needs of those we serve. Other times I am just sad that we still have such disconnected systems, agencies, and programs when the power we could have together is so obvious. But then I think of Rose. I think of the tears streaming down Rose’s cheeks as Karianne sang the song she wrote, “You Are Loved.”  And I make up my mind again not to give up, not to get discouraged, and not to stop reaching out to anyone who will listen. Let’s keep moving forward together. Let’s keep building bridges among private agencies, shelters, police departments, prosecutor’s offices, hospitals, schools, churches and synagogues, and every other organization or person who will join the dream to create more caring communities across this country and around the world where victims are welcomed, where all their needs are met, where egos and turf are set aside, and where family violence is finally stopped. Rose deserves that much from us.

(Rose Garner prior to shooting in March 29, 2008)

Casey Gwinn serves as the President of the National Family Justice Center Alliance and the CEO of the YWCA of San Diego County.  The YWCA operates the largest and oldest domestic violence shelter in central San Diego. Casey served as a domestic violence prosecutor for 20 years including eight years as the elected City Attorney in San Diego. Today, he works side by side with NFJCA CEO Gael Strack and a national team of staff, faculty, and advisors as part of the rapidly developing the Family Justice Center movement. He can be reached at: casey@nfjca.org.