By Edgar Sandoval
On a scorching night in July, Jesse Falcon was under the influence of cocaine, marijuana, and alcohol to the point that he later claimed he barely remembered the violent outburst that occurred.
Believing that his girlfriend was flirting with another man during a gathering at their apartment complex in San Antonio, he started attacking the man. When his girlfriend attempted to step in, he pushed her with such force that it left her arm bruised.
Falcon, aged 21, did recall one aspect of that night: “I was full of rage,” he remarked.
Cases like that of Falcon’s are all too common for court officials in San Antonio, a city long afflicted by high domestic violence rates. “They exit jail feeling angrier and more resentful, and the cycle of trauma persists,” remarked Rosie Speedlin Gonzalez, a family violence judge in the city.
Gonzalez oversees a court that employs a different strategy: offering abusers an opportunity for transformation.
First-time offenders like Falcon can evade becoming just another statistic in the ongoing pattern of men — and an increasing number of women — incarcerated for harming family members if they gain acceptance into a family violence diversion initiative managed by Gonzalez’s court, known as Reflejo.
The issue is not specific to San Antonio, a city with a majority Latino population in South Texas. The whole country experienced a historic surge in domestic violence incidents during the pandemic as lockdown measures, unemployment, and increased alcohol use forced individuals into high-stress situations at home.
Various cities have attempted to tackle this issue, and domestic violence rates in some areas are once again on the decline. San Antonio is one of the cities that have increased the number of detectives assigned to investigate domestic violence cases. Additionally, they are conducting “lethality assessments,” where officers inquire about a victim’s situation to determine if they face a risk of severe harm or even death if immediate intervention does not take place.
The new court is among a select few nationwide that provide both incentives and accountability for offenders, with the goal of assisting them in managing violent tendencies before they escalate.
In return for having their charges expunged, individuals appearing in Gonzalez’s court must engage in a rigorous program that includes frequent court visits, counseling, addiction treatment, and random testing for drugs and alcohol.
Recently, Falcon and a group of men who had all faced arrest for assaulting a partner or household member convened in the judge’s chambers. Falcon soon found himself responding to challenging questions. A monitoring device he had to wear revealed alcohol in his system, breaching the program’s regulations, potentially leading to his return to jail.
“Reflect on your actions; it will make a significant difference,” Gonzalez advised, giving him a fierce glance. “You’re still young. I aspire to see you achieve great things.”
This year, Bexar County, encompassing the area around San Antonio, recorded nine family violence homicides, surpassing the totals from the previous three years, as reported by the county sheriff’s office. San Antonio has also witnessed a concerning rise in domestic violence incidents.
In 2019, the rising case numbers led to a large turnout of individuals, predominantly women, at a town hall meeting where they recounted instances of choking, beatings, and regular episodes of violence, mainly carried out by male family members.
A judge mandated the formation of a domestic violence commission to assist in addressing the issue.
Abusers often originate from low-income neighborhoods and frequently mask their childhood trauma through substance abuse, noted John Vacca, who leads a class called Pathways to Healing, which is required for participants in Gonzalez’s program.
For Gonzalez, who collaborates closely with Vacca, the concept of a court like Reflejo appeared to be a matter of common sense. Even prior to her election as judge in 2018, she expressed frustration while functioning as a lawyer and social worker, noticing a continual cycle of individuals being rearrested for assaulting loved ones.
“Many commit offenses again without an understanding of why,” she stated. “They do not comprehend the origins of these emotions.”
When she began advocating for a program focused on abusers rather than victims, she encountered opposition. One politician told her, “Helping a violent offender is a political liability,” Gonzalez recounted.
Legislation to establish the court, drafted with support from the judge’s wife, Stacy Speedlin Gonzalez, a scholar who has candidly shared her experiences with abuse and domestic violence, was backed by two local lawmakers and signed into law by Governor Greg Abbott, a Republican, in 2019. The court officially commenced operations the following year.
Since then, the court has successfully completed the program for 35 offenders, with only one individual having been rearrested. Rosie Speedlin Gonzalez indicated that she was aware of only two similar courts in existence: one in Ohio and another in Florida.
Determining the program’s effectiveness in making a difference in families is challenging. Women whose partners participated in the Reflejo court declined interviews regarding their experiences.
Not everyone endorses its methods, either. Marta Pelaez, who heads Family Violence Prevention Services, an organization providing shelter and addressing family violence, expressed skepticism regarding the potential for an abuser to mend deeply rooted violent behavior in a brief time frame. Genuine transformation, she argued, requires years, if not a lifetime, of treatment.
“I am highly cautious of anything claiming to have a 90% success rate,” Pelaez said, criticizing the court’s claims of success. “Dramatic shifts in attitude are implausible in such a short span. It typically would necessitate many years for genuine change.”
Nonetheless, Falcon expressed confidence that without the Reflejo court, he would still be abusing substances and making detrimental choices. Over the last year, he has learned to manage his emotions and adhere to rules. “Initially, it was difficult to maintain a positive outlook,” Falcon stated. “However, I’m grateful to have remained focused. I understand that they genuinely want the best for us.”
At times, some participants in the program struggle.
Deonte Hawkins, 23, a friend of Falcon’s also enrolled in the program, was recently detained after missing several required substance abuse meetings.
For that particular hearing, Gonzalez summoned Hawkins’ wife to sit beside him. She wept openly as the judge sought to engage him.
“Provide us some clarity, as we are at a loss,” the judge implored Hawkins. “We aim to support you. Do you truly wish to harm her in that manner? You love her, don’t you?”
Hawkins bowed his head. His wife wiped her tears and observed as court officers placed handcuffs on him and escorted him away. Later, Gonzalez mentioned that Hawkins was improving and had resumed compliance.
Exiting the courtroom that day, Falcon reflected on his desire not to find himself in his friend’s predicament. He indicated he had secured a good job as a barista in a coffee shop and, while not contemplating starting a family soon, he remained open to it in the future. Firstly, he acknowledged, he needed to focus on his own growth.
“My perspective on life has evolved,” he remarked. “I’ve learned how to handle situations now. I’m a changed individual.”
