It comes and goes and when it’s gone—or seems to be—it returns to essential anonymity. It’s that thing ‘we don’t discuss.’ But domestic violence, which is marked every October as Domestic Violence Prevention Month, is not a single month or, at least, shouldn’t be. And a lapel ribbon is not the solution to its ugliness. Domestic violence is an insidious disease that transcends economics, ethnicity, age, gender and borders.
It was proven once again when Lucille Ruibal Rivera was fatally shot November 18th in what Northglenn Police called a murder-suicide. Ruibal Rivera was a well known and respected healthcare advocate and Chicano artist whose photographic work was well known across the region. She was also vice chair of CHAC, the Chicano Humanities & Arts Council.
Dr. Renee Fajardo knew Ruibal Rivera well and worked closely with her at CHAC. She says she is still in shock over her death. “Really we did not have a clue that her partner was violent,” she said. “She had mentioned that she was breaking up with him,” said Fajardo. That was all she mentioned.
But in private conversations, Ruibal Rivera had confided to her that “He was trying to push her around,” but she was not going to let it continue.
Rivera was also very involved with health care issues, especially Latino health care and worked closely with Tepeyac Community Health Center, a community-based health center serving north Denver for more than 30 years.
“That was the kind of person she was,” Clinica Tepayec CEO and founder Jim Garcia told The Denver Post. “She was very adept at identifying a need within the community—and then not only committing herself to it but rallying others.”
Ruibal Rivera was celebrated on Friday night at The Denver Center for Performing Arts Studio Loft by about 250 people who knew her from her two passions, healthcare or the arts. She was described as “a remarkable women,” “a gift” and a “person who spread kindness.”
Colorado Congresswoman Diana DeGette and Denver Mayor Mike Johnston both sent letters praising Ruibal Rivera and offering condolences. DeGette asked that Ruibal Rivera be “remembered for her accomplishments and unwavering dedication.” Johnston called her death “a loss for all of Denver.”
Ruibal Rivera’s death was just one of four murder-suicides that occurred in a two-week period in the metro area in late November. Also, in Pueblo, 36-year-old Jess Grondahl was sentenced last week to 45 years in prison for the killing of the mother of his child. Grondahl followed Kaylie Marcum to a bar and fatally shot her. Sentencing came on the same day Marcum would have turned 25.
Retired Chief Judge Dennis Maes has seen his share of domestic violence defendants in his court over the last thirty years. And he has addressed their crime to defendants as he pronounced sentence. “You’re a coward…nothing more than a bully and terrorist,” he has told more than a few of them. “Honestly, I could never find a legitimate reason for them doing it.”
Maes, for whom the county’s judicial building is named, said in all his years on the bench, domestic violence offenders never got off easy. “I don’t think you ever poo-poo the crime.” He said long before he became an attorney and well before becoming a judge, his father lectured him about crossing the line with a woman in a very firm and not to be misunderstood way.
“He said, ‘I want you to know that if I hear of you ever laying a hand on any woman, I’m coming after you. You don’t abuse them, physically or mentally.’” He carried the lesson with him to the bench.
But too many others, mostly but not uniformly men, along with others who transcend culture and ethnicity, either have never learned or don’t care who they hurt. It’s also a problem that transcends geographics.
A 2021 UN report said, “five women and girls were killed every hour by a family member,” and that 45,000 women or girls were killed by a husband, partner or other relative in the same period.
In a 2022 Colorado Domestic Violence Fatality Review Board study, 94 domestic violence deaths were recorded. Thirty-nine were intimate partners and 22 were collateral victims, including six children and two peace officers. The state’s domestic violence toll in 2022 was 1.5 times higher than the average in the seven previous years of the study.
Published in October, the study made a list of 20 recom- mendations to curb this painful and tragic trend, including expanding risk assessment tools in organizations that work directly with domestic violence survivors; provide firearms relinquishment; and increase collaboration and partnership with Maternal Mortality Prevention Program, Child Mortality Review Board and the Office of Suicide Prevention.
Because domestic violence is so often only whispered or a victim’s deeply guarded secret, Fajardo wants everyone to know how special, giving and selfless Ruibal Rivera was.
When rent at CHAC’s 2nd and Santa Fe headquarters was reaching the point where closing shop was seriously considered, said Fajardo, “Lucille went without a salary for a year so we could make ends meet.”
The CHAC board has discussed making Ruibal Rivera’s death a driving force in its future. “Seventy percent of our board has experienced domestic violence,” she said. When one board member was going through a particularly difficult period, “Lucille was very supportive of her.”
CHAC, a keystone for bold and daring Latino art, will dedicate 2024 “to helping women who are experiencing domestic violence…we can no longer ignore this and need to address it.”
CHAC survived, said Fajardo, in no small part because of Ruibal Rivera. “That’s just the kind of woman she was. She was generous, hardworking and lovely to be around. She honored everyone.”
Fajardo said Ruibal Rivera believed that “we are a tapestry of women,” and said her friend, fellow board member and artist was one of its brightest threads. It’s now time, Fajardo said, to honor her. “She was a visionary.”
