Pandemic has made fleeing domestic violence more complicated in Twin Cities, state

A 47-year-old woman found herself stuck in a Bloomington hotel room with her boyfriend last March as Minnesotans were sheltering in place due to the COVID-19 pandemic. After four months, she couldn't put up with his physical and verbal abuse any longer.

"He was just there all the time, just me and him. All the time. It felt like forever," said the woman, who asked that her name not be used. "I was with him and I was stuck. I really didn't have anywhere to go."

Her experience being stuck in place with her abuser is exactly the scenario that state officials and advocates expressed concerns about early on in the pandemic. They also feared people would believe leaving would violate the stay-at-home order and that abusive relationships could be magnified by the stress of the pandemic.

Data on police reports, requests for shelter and crisis hotline calls during the lockdown period and the weeks that followed paint a mixed picture, according to a Star Tribune analysis.

Calls, chats, texts and e-mails to the Day One statewide crisis line were up 21% during the first month of the stay-at-home order compared to the same time last year. Requests for shelter were low during the first three weeks, then spiked after news reports about the concerns that advocates and state officials raised.

Meanwhile, reports to Minneapolis Police were down by 26%, but the incidents that were reported tended to be more violent.

The volume of police reports returned to near-normal levels after the first month, then dropped again when George Floyd was killed by police on Memorial Day and civil unrest engulfed large areas of the city. Calls to the hotline spiked again that week, as well.

Becky Smith said she was "gravely concerned" when she heard that Minnesota would start a lockdown on March 28. The Violence Free Minnesota communications director worried that domestic violence victims would incorrectly assume programs to help them would be closed.

Many callers to the Day One statewide crisis line in late March and early April told hotline workers that they were unsure if services were available, said Colleen Schmitt, director of programs at the Cornerstone advocacy service, which oversees the hotline. Requests for shelter were also down 20% during that time.

But about a month into it, they saw a spike in people seeking shelter, possibly due to news stories clarifying that shelters were open.

Domestic violence, which ranges from psychological abuse, to verbal abuse, to rape and other physical violence, is underreported under normal circumstances. Over half of victims never seek help because they feel uncertain about reporting someone close to them — often an intimate partner — to authorities, Smith said. They may also have financial constraints, fear for their safety or feel they don't have the autonomy to leave the relationship.

At least 21 people in Minnesota died between January and early September as a result of confirmed intimate partner violence, matching the total deaths last year, according to data tracked by Violence Free Minnesota.

The Star Tribune's analysis of Minneapolis Police reports shows the largest dip in reported domestic violence incidents occurred the week of Floyd's death. This coincided with an overall decline in all incidents that police responded to.

Minneapolis Police did not respond to requests for comment.

The drop in calls may reflect fears by people of color to come forward, said Jude Foster, a senior coordinator with the Minnesota Coalition Against Sexual Assault. Floyd's death was "the tipping point" for people of color to demand change in the legal system and to start seeking alternative solutions, Foster said.

The woman who left her abuser in the hotel room said that she was pretty much "in limbo during the whole pandemic already." She was unemployed and her abuser's job slowed down due to the pandemic. This left her "feeling smothered," she said. She thought of leaving a dozen times before finally succeeding. Her life was in shambles because he was in control of their finances, where they lived and who they were friends with.

The day she left, she patiently waited until her boyfriend left the room, then searched online and found a crisis hotline. Within one hour, a women's advocacy group sent her a ride-share that brought her to a shelter.

"There's a lot of conflicting feelings of sadness and guilt, but I'm optimistic for the future," she said.

Salma Loum is an intern with the Star Tribune's data team through the Rebele Journalism Internship program at Stanford University.