This article includes topics such as domestic violence, stalking, physical violence, and identity-based discrimination and harassment.
On a Wednesday in early September, Oregon City Brewing Company’s assistant brewer, Jess Hardie, was preparing to make an IPA that held special significance. She pulled on her boots, turned on a playlist of “oldies low-rider music,” and took a deep breath.
This was the first beer she would brew alone at her new job, but it was special in another way: It would also be dedicated to the memory of her mother, Gloria. In 2001, when Hardie was 16 years old, Gloria was killed by her boyfriend, who had been abusing her for years.
Hardie’s tribute brew day and beer are part of One In Four, a cause-based collaboration beer initiative launched by Milwaukee’s Third Space Brewing. Similar to Sierra Nevada Brewing Co.’s Resilience or Weathered Souls Brewing Co.’s Black Is Beautiful initiatives, its goal is rooted in a social cause: to raise awareness of domestic violence and fund programs for survivors. Third Space’s lead brewer, Matt Cisz, designed the initiative last year to honor his niece, 27-year-old Karissa Peronto, whose ex-boyfriend shot her in her Ashwaubenon, Wisconsin home in a 2021 murder-suicide. The beer’s title references the statistic that one in four women in the U.S. (and one in seven men) experiences severe domestic violence, such as beating or strangulation, during their lifetime.
Most of the participating breweries plan to release their beers in October for National Domestic Violence Awareness Month, but businesses can participate in One In Four year-round. Money raised is intended to go to The National Coalition Against Domestic Violence (NCADV) or a local domestic violence program of a brewery’s choosing.
Hardie says she was mostly able to focus on the brewing process while making her IPA, but also had space during quiet moments to reflect on her mother’s life. That’s slightly ironic, because Hardie describes her mom as anything but quiet.
“My mom Gloria was a spitfire. She had this laugh that we called more of a cackle,” Hardie recalled. “You could always find Mom in a crowd as long as she was laughing.”
That magnetic joy—combined with her excellent preparation of carne asada—made Gloria the center of a huge group of family and friends, Hardie remembers. Her mom’s unfailing support and enthusiasm for anything Hardie wanted to do, even joining her all-male high school wrestling team, still inspires her.
“Her big influence was to take chances, to ask, ‘Why not?’” Hardie says. “Be the loudest in the room. Take chances. Change careers. If you have the opportunity, do it.”
Hardie had memories of her mom’s enthusiasm in mind as she finished her first solo brew day at Oregon City. At the end of her shift, she uncapped a marker and wrote “One In Four—Gloria” on the tank with the IPA fermenting inside.
“She would have got a kick out of it,” Hardie says. “When you think about domestic violence, it’s something that leaves you so powerless and helpless as a kid. Being able to do something, anything, in her honor to make a difference is so big.”
This is the common thread among many of the breweries that have committed to participate in the collaboration: Domestic violence has hurt someone in their company or close community.
But how, then, to explain the relatively low number of breweries that have signed on to One In Four? With roughly 9,100 operating breweries in the country and craft breweries employing around 17,000 workers alone, domestic violence would statistically be expected to directly impact about 4,250 people from this segment of beer.
However, only about 50 breweries have signed on to participate since 2021, in contrast to the roughly 1,400 who brewed Resilience in support of wildfire relief, approximately 1,200 that brewed Black Is Beautiful in support of racial justice, or the near 850 who brewed All Together in support of hospitality workers during COVID. Brave Noise, a collaborative initiative that required participating breweries to create codes of conduct and work to combat gender-based discrimination, signed on 275 breweries, less than 25% of what other initiatives attracted. Those gaps have caused some observers to ask: Are collaboration beers that aim to combat gender-based discrimination and violence too taboo to touch?
Ash Eliot, co-creator of Brave Noise, thinks so. She initially expected an outpouring of brewery participation similar to what other initiatives received, but says that she revised expectations after more than a year of promoting the project.
“There’s showing up and there's showing face. With Brave Noise, it required doing work. It requested businesses be accountable, transparent, and have conversations that most likely weren’t part of the daily dialogue from owners or executive staff,” Eliot says. “The response only further spotlights that the industry is led and influenced by the male majority and [is] still catering to a cis male audience. … This is not a one-and-done type of collaboration. This is a daily commitment.”
Cisz has likewise been surprised by the lower levels of brewery participation in One In Four. But he also tries to see any brewery that signs on as a “win,” as one more brewery publicly pledging to donate money and vocally support the cause of eradicating domestic violence.
“When I initially started planning this, I was like, ‘We’ll easily get 200 breweries on board.’ With all the other collaboration beers going on, I thought we’d easily get there,” Cisz says. “It’s been anything but easy. But when I think about 50 different communities that are going to have conversations around this beer, that’s a start.”
Bill and Lynn Peronto, Karissa’s parents, last year gave Cisz their blessing to launch One In Four. They feel it’s a way to create positive change out of tragedy, and to honor Karissa’s spirit of unfailing service, which she exhibited through a career in nursing and as a volunteer with her church.
“The things that were most important to Karissa were God, her faith, her family, and people,” Bill says. “She loved serving people and loved people in general.”
Her family and friends remember Karissa as a vibrant, active person inspired by her faith to always come to the aid of people in need, even when it wasn’t convenient for her.
“She’s a person that’s hard to find. She’s one of those people that you can always go to and will put things down right away to help someone else first,” says Jill Seidl, a former co-worker and close friend of Karissa’s. When she remembers Karissa, Seidl thinks of a sunflower festival they attended last summer, and recalls Karissa standing amidst the yellow flowers, beaming. “I think of her almost every day.”
In high school and college, Karissa took Spanish classes, and she saw those pay off when she went to Houston on a church mission trip to assist flooding victims in 2019. She was able to act as an interpreter, and easily laughed at herself in instances when her translation skills faltered. When other nursing students busily ticked off the required duties on their rounds at Woodside Lutheran Home, a Green Bay nursing and rehabilitation facility, her parents recall Karissa taking extra time to patiently spoon-feed a resident who had trouble eating.
“I’m hoping that people, through seeing how she lived her life, can use her as an example of how to live theirs,” Bill says of One In Four. “She cared about people.”
The Perontos began to learn more about domestic violence as their concerns about Karissa’s relationship grew, but they admit that for most of their lives, they didn’t believe the issue would affect them. At first, they didn’t suspect anything was amiss when their daughter began dating a man she knew as Bryan Rodriguez. They say Karissa was initially happy in the relationship, and was glad that her new boyfriend professed to share her Christian faith. But the man was lying to Karissa and her family: His last name was actually Morales, a fact he may have concealed because it could expose his criminal record, which, according to the Green Bay Press-Gazette, included three counts of felony child abuse for sexually assaulting a girl in her mid-teens.
His behavior grew increasingly controlling over time, an escalating pattern that is common in domestic violence situations. Morales tried to prevent Karissa from spending time with family and friends, which upset her and the people who loved her.
“We told her, ‘We don’t know him very well so beware, and watch for the red flags,’” Lynn says. “She said, ‘I’m a smart cookie and there are a few things I’m keeping my eye on.’”
Eventually, in September 2021, his controlling behavior prompted Karissa to end the relationship, and according to a police investigation cited by the Green Bay Press-Gazette, Morales became “out of control, emotionally.” Despite Karissa’s subsequent attempts to sever contact, Morales called her multiple times daily and began stalking her. On the morning of Oct. 21, 2021, Lynn had called police, concerned for her daughter’s safety. Seventeen minutes later, she and a public safety officer had just arrived at Karissa’s home and were standing by her garage when Morales fatally shot Karissa inside.
The death of their oldest child has spurred the Perontos into an advocacy role they never expected. They’ve used their pain to advocate for greater awareness of the lethality of domestic violence and for better police training around this issue. Bill says police departments often don’t regard intimate partner violence as a serious threat, an issue that’s come up in coverage of the topic.
Their hope for One In Four is that it sparks conversations about the realities and pervasiveness of domestic violence among people who wouldn’t otherwise talk about it.
“Maybe it’s a different way of creating awareness. Rather than just shelters doing fundraisers and talks, maybe people who are together will get more engaged in trying to prevent something like this,” Bill says.
One of the most critical details about domestic violence that the Perontos want others to know is that, generally, a person’s safety risk increases when that person is trying to leave an abusive relationship. This was true for Karissa: It was after she broke up with her boyfriend that he began stalking her, and ultimately became lethally violent. She had taken numerous safety measures: asking coworkers to escort her to her car after shifts, contacting her local domestic violence shelter, and having regularly scheduled check-ins with loved ones.
“This is a way she can reach people” even after she’s gone, Lynn says of One In Four.
Domestic violence has typically been seen as a women’s topic, a family matter, or a special-interest issue, says Anne DePrince, a distinguished university professor of psychology at the University of Denver and the school’s associate vice provost of public good strategy and research. That, and the still-taboo nature of domestic violence, may explain why fewer breweries have rallied around One In Four versus other cause-based beer initiatives that focus on natural disasters or systemic racism.
“In my experience, people do have a strong sense of, ‘This is my issue or not my issue.’ For people who say, ‘This is my issue,’ it’s typically because they have a direct experience [of domestic violence] themselves or in their family,” DePrince says. “We haven’t as a country recognized that we all pay a cost for domestic violence.”
Breweries have in the past been enthusiastic supporters of causes that don’t directly touch them. Wildfires, for example, aren’t a tangible threat to all U.S. states. And given that almost 94% of craft brewery owners are white, according to data from national trade group the Brewers Association, racial justice is also a cause that could exist at an arm’s length for the majority of beer industry workers. But roughly 20 times as many breweries brewed beers in support of wildfire relief and racial justice as have brewed One In Four, an indication that beer makers and drinkers can be mobilized in support of nationally critical issues.
Media coverage and national consciousness of these issues partially explains the gap. When Sierra Nevada launched Resilience, footage of the Camp Fire’s destructive flames engulfing homes and businesses had made national news for weeks. (The Camp Fire was the costliest disaster worldwide in 2018.) When Weathered Souls created Black Is Beautiful, the murder of George Floyd was a topic of national conversation, sparking protests and activism across the country. Brewery owners and drinkers alike had a timely, newsworthy event to reference when discussing these causes.
Domestic violence is rarely in the national spotlight, and when it is, the situation is often fraught and messy. Take the most recent nationally-recognized example: the defamation case actor Johnny Depp brought against his ex-wife, actor Amber Heard, which was litigated earlier this year. (Heard had, in a 2018 op-ed in The Washington Post, referred to herself as a survivor of domestic violence, which prompted Depp to sue her for defamation.) The case put the issue of spousal abuse into national headlines, but most discourse didn’t focus on how to support survivors. Instead, outlets covered rumors that Heard had fabricated aspects of her testimony, and TikTok and YouTube accounts scrutinized—generally harshly—her every gesture. Some coverage attempted to focus the attention on the misconceptions around domestic violence, but the case was almost entirely covered as an interpersonal and “nasty” dispute.
“Domestic violence is still seen as a taboo topic, despite how far we’ve come in the #MeToo movement,” DePrince says. “This idea that this is taboo could be affecting people’s interest in aligning with the [One In Four] initiative.”
Interpersonal violence, for as often as it takes place, isn’t commonly part of broader conversations about issues that threaten people all over. When it is, attention tends to focus on individuals involved—not the systemic nature of the problem.
“Focused on what any woman did or didn’t do, we miss the bigger picture: that the causes and consequences of violence against women are interconnected with the great public issues of our time—healthcare and gun violence, education access and immigration policies, economic security and legal reforms,” DePrince writes in her new book, “Every 90 Seconds: Our Common Cause Ending Violence Against Women.” “We’ll also have to set aside some of the things we tell ourselves—that the problem is too big or is someone else’s—to discover that we each have the potential to act in ways that connect to our intersecting self-interests and talents.”
Missing this framing makes domestic violence a topic that people can’t see as “their problem” until it touches someone they know. This was true of Mike Doble, owner of The Explorium Brewpub, which has two locations in Wisconsin. In May, a 21-year-old woman named Victoria Aviles who worked as a line cook at the brewpub was killed in a domestic violence-related murder. Doble says a man has been charged with her murder, but there seems to be have been no news coverage of the murder or his arrest.
“There is a little bit of guilt,” Doble says. “It opened my eyes that this is going on and it’s going on with my staff and maybe I can help.”
Doble says it was only after Aviles’ death that he became aware she was being abused, though he believes others on staff who were closer to her had offered support. When Doble heard about One In Four from Cisz, he was eager to participate. He hopes that brewing One In Four, and donating at least $2,000 each to NCADV and a local women’s shelter, will be an outward sign that domestic violence is a community problem.
“I personally had got a little cynical, especially in the last year when [hiring and retaining] labor has been so tough, I … stopped even learning the names of a lot of my people in the kitchen because it’s been such a revolving door,” Doble says. “It’s re-energized me that I need to know the people working for me, and what their issues are, and try to help them if I can.”
Using the lens of community organizing, DePrince’s research has illuminated how shared interest in a problem is the catalyst for cultural and social change. The goal is for all of society to recognize the shared interest in ending gender-based violence in all of its forms.
For example, domestic violence hinders careers, hurts businesses, and increases healthcare costs:
People who are abused often skip or call out from work due to injuries or their abuser’s controlling behavior.
The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) estimated in 2003—the most recent year for which it has released such data—that this results in 8 million days of lost work, the equivalent of 32,000 full-time jobs.
In that same report, the CDC found the national costs of intimate partner rape, physical assault, and stalking in excess of $5.8 billion each year, nearly $4.1 billion of which are healthcare costs.
A 2020 review of community studies estimated 10-20% of children in the U.S. every year are exposed to domestic violence, which is associated with increased risk for psychological, social, emotional, and health problems.
Additionally, domestic violence rates are higher among people who are Black, Native American, and/or have disabilities.
“There’s a lot to be excited about when industries like the brewing industry see that they have an interest in this issue, and say, ‘This matters to all of us,’” DePrince says. “It’s really important that in male-dominated spaces, and spaces that connect people of all genders, that we’re talking about this issue.”
Awareness of the problem is merely a first step. As DePrince puts it in her book: “Knowledge does not correct injustice in and of itself.”
DePrince says that once people realize the pervasiveness of domestic violence, they should consult national and local resources like the NCADV for information about how to support survivors.
Misconceptions about domestic violence are still common, including assumptions that victims’ own actions provoke abuse, that abuse must be physically damaging in order to constitute domestic violence, or that victims should “just leave” abusive relationships. This is all compounded when current levels of funding don’t meet survivors’ needs for shelters, long-term counseling, healthcare, and economic support.
“I’m not aware of any place in the country that says they can meet the demand for victim services,” DePrince says.
The 2021 Domestic Violence Counts Report—an annual, national “point in time” survey conducted by the National Network to End Domestic Violence—found that on Nov. 9, 2021, about 12% of adult and child victims’ requests for services couldn’t be met because agencies lacked adequate resources. Approximately 64% of those requests were for emergency shelter or housing.
Hardie, the assistant brewer at Oregon City Brewing, wishes she’d had better resources and community support when she was a child. In sixth grade, she told a teacher about the abuse her mother was experiencing. When a family friend picked her up from school that day, he told her to stay quiet about the abuse.
“He said, ‘Mija, you can’t say these things. You tell people, then they’re going to take you and your brother and sister away, and then how are you going to protect them?’” Hardie recalls.
She’s glad that people today have more resources to learn about domestic violence, and that there are more survivor support services to donate time and money to than what she had at age 16.
“It’s not just hotlines; it’s websites and text lines and all that,” she says. “I really respect what the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence has been doing. They have so many helplines and support systems and guides to warning signs and guides for what to do if you think domestic violence is happening near you.”
For breweries who are on the fence about participating in One In Four, Hardie understands there are many cause-related beers and initiatives competing for businesses’ resources. But she emphasizes that many other collaborations have already received so much attention and money, whereas this one is still working to gain momentum. She’s sharing the details of her family’s experience with domestic violence with the goal of humanizing what can seem like a distant, statistical problem.
“Hey, you know me! This happened to me,” Hardie says. “Sometimes people have a picture in their head of what a victim or survivor looks like, but you know more people that have been affected than you think you do.”
Words by Kate Bernot