(IPS) feature

Maria Teresa Carlson, a former beauty queen turned movie star, wanted to bear a child each year. It was not just because she adored babies - she saw pregnancy as her only defense against an abusive husband.

''The abuse did not necessarily stop when she got pregnant, but they were lessened,'' explains rights activist and lawyer Evelyn Ursua.

She recalled this story after reports on Nov 23 that Carlson, 38, had killed herself by jumping from the 23rd floor of her condominium unit in an upper-class residential neighbourhood in Manila.

Ursua had spent a few hours with Carlson in 1996, the day that she was rescued by a women's group after she decided to leave her politician-husband, Rodolfo Farinas.

She was nine months pregnant then. But because she had insisted on giving birth at the same hospital where she delivered her other children, Farinas was able to find her. ''By the time a (special police) team arrived to protect her, she and Farinas had reportedly reconciled,'' Ursua says.

Shocked but not surprised

Five years later, activist Rowena Legaspi of the Women's Legal Education, Advocacy and Defence Foundation (Women's Lead), says she was ''shocked, but not surprised'' to hear of Carlson's tragic end.

Carlson had lived 12 of her 38 years under ''horrible, brutal and unimaginable'' conditions, according to accounts by women activists and journalists who had managed to interview her in the past.

At the time of her death, Carlson had been cut off by Farinas from their children, who were in his hometown of Ilocos Norte province, while she had been sent to live in Manila.

Carlson's death has brought attention to the largely-ignored and often misunderstood problem of domestic violence, as well as how women are viewed in society.

''We are a society that values image above everything. We are taught not to discuss what goes on inside the four walls of our homes,'' explains poet and writer Marra Llanot.

Carlson's death also underscores what activists have long been saying - that the poor do not have a monopoly over domestic violence, which cuts across social barriers.

Ruthless politician

Carlson was 26 when in 1989 she lived in with Farinas, who had a reputation for womanising and being a ruthless politician.

To many star-struck folks, their 1992 marriage was a modern fairy tale. She was a trophy wife who would be an asset to his political campaigns; he promised security and a life of luxury.

That illusion was shattered when Carlson's ''escape'' was reported in 1996. As it turned out, Carlson had been the mystery caller since 1993 of an anti-domestic violence hotline set up by a women's NGO, Kalakasan (Strength). She would reveal her identity only two years later.

Her accounts of abuse were horrifying, activists say. ''She said Farinas would give her drugs before they had sex and he would tie her up,'' recalled Legaspi. ''He would then light cigarettes and use her body as an ashtray.''

But before she turned to the hotline, Carlson had apparently cried for help from journalists, including two who had interviewed her in Farinas' home in the 1980s.

One recalled that Carlson showed her body, which bore deep, red welts. Sometimes, she had said, he would use a hot iron on her.

The other reporter recalled talking to Carlson with Farinas nearby, cleaning his gun. She had asked Carlson whether she was happy and she had replied, ''I can't ask for anything more,'' as she slipped a tiny note into the reporter's hands. When the journalist opened it later, the note had read, ''Please help me, he's beating me up.''

Heavily guarded

Ursua says she has asked herself countless times, ''Did we do enough for Maria Teresa?'' She said it had been extremely difficult to get near Carlson ever since she went back to Farinas. ''She was heavily guarded. When she was with us, we also couldn't hold her against her will."

Ursua remembers hoping then that Carlson would somehow manage to survive. It is always worse, she says, for battered women who escape and return to their abusive partners. ''You either kill, get killed, or takeyour own life.''

There are no official statistics on how many Filipinos suffer in the hands of a spouse or partner. Legaspi says her NGO, Women's Lead, gets at least 10 domestic-violence related calls everyday.

Kalakasan, for its part, says that its studies have established that six out of 10 battered women have been abused for more than five years, some for more than 20 years. Ursua adds she that has had at least four clients who were grandmothers aged 60 or more - one was 75 years old.

Legal impediments

Carol Rodriguez Bello of the women's NGO Isis International says legal impediments as well as Farinas' stature were stacked heavily against Carlson.

Farinas was a former governor and later representative of the northern province of Ilocos Norte, and remains a powerful figure there.

The only recourse a victim of domestic violence has is to file a physical injuries case, which carries a light sentence. She can also file for nullity of marriage or legal separation. However, Ursua says, for most women this is not an option.

Carlson, for instance, had grown financially and emotionally dependent on Farinas. Ursua recalls, ''She felt she had limited options; she had nowhere to go. She looked to me like a glass that was about to break. She had become a mouse of a woman. She had no self-esteem. She didn't think she could go back to show business because she had become heavy.''

Without financial independence, Carlson had also been worried about losing her children since the law favours a father more than a mother when it comes to custody issues.

''We are taught to keep the family intact, no matter what,'' Lanot says, and this can force women into thinking they must stay in abusive situations. Legaspi and Ursua add that more often than not, parents are the ones who urge their battered children to go back to their abusive husbands ''for the sake of the children and the family name''.

Activists are now mulling over whether to file charges against Farinas. They are asking the Commission on Human Rights to investigate Carlson's death.

''We need a law that addresses the peculiarities of domestic violence,''says Ursua. Had there been a law that prevented her husband from coming near Carlson shortly after her escape, she could have been helped, Ursua says.