Former Superior City Councilor Guilty Of Domestic Abuse
Graham Garfield Pleaded 'No Contest' To All Charges
SUPERIOR, Wis. – Former Superior city councilor Graham Garfield has been found guilty of three counts of domestic abuse involving his former fiance.
The sentencing comes a little over a year after the 27-year-old got intoxicated in his home and threatened his then-finance by pointing a loaded handgun at her.
As part of a plea agreement, Garfield is sentenced to 30 days in jail and four years of probation — two of which will be unsupervised.
He is also ordered to pay $2,350.91 in restitution, and Garfield’s driver’s license is suspended for six months after driving away from the scene with a blood alcohol level over the legal limit.
If Garfield successfully completes probation, the felony domestic abuse charge involving a weapon would be reduced to a misdemeanor charge.
The victim, Kara Schmidt, was not physically injured but is suffering from the psychological and emotional effects, as indicated in the victim impact statement.
Schmidt released the following statement to FOX 21 on Monday:
“I am disappointed that my attacker will not face the full consequences for his crimes against me on April 20th 2017, but am extremely relieved to receive the closure needed to move forward with my life. I wish comfort to Mr. Garfield’s family and the community of Superior, as we all take the time necessary to heal. I encourage anyone who may be facing violence at the hands of an intimate partner to reach out to CASDA, the police department, or other resources for assistance.”
Below is the full victim impact statement:
Your Honor,
As a victim, this is a moment I have been emotionally preparing for, so these words are fourteen months and five days in the making (431 days). It is incredibly important to express them today in order to bring closure and move forward with my life, and I really cannot express how thankful I am to address your court today.
Graham Garfield was once the person I trusted most in the entire world. After nearly four years of planning our lives together, only ten days after we booked tickets for a honeymoon in Italy, and less than five months before our wedding day, he took our relationship for granted and nearly ended my life on Thursday, April 20th, 2017. His name doesn’t get to take up any space in my life anymore, so I will be referring to him as “attacker” or “abuser” for the rest of my statement.
It’s difficult for me to recall the day in question. I’ve learned over the last fourteen months that traumatic memory isn’t stored like regular memory. I do not have a narrative, a beginning, middle, and end, but fragments of the day like shards of glass. If it weren’t for the police report taken immediately following the crime, I would still be finding them, like stepping on shards of glass and reliving the trauma one moment at a time. Because of this, like the traumatic memories and like the impact of this crime, my statement might also be fragmented. I have done my best to piece it all together and create some fluidity.
I came home from work on April 20th with the intention of sharing a drink with the love of my life, having a nice dinner together, probably watching some Parks and Recreation on Netflix, and heading to bed early. Instead, I ended up being harassed physically, verbally, and emotionally and ultimately had my life threatened. It changed my life forever. In a final act of manipulation, my attacker abandoned me, leaving in the only vehicle that I could drive and took with him the keys to the one I couldn’t. In the middle of the greatest crisis of my life, I was still expected to think clearly enough to make a plan to give an official statement to the police. Officer Jarecki, one of my classmates from college, was the officer who ended up escorting me to the station. One would think that a familiar face in the chaos would be comforting, but I was beyond humiliated. His kind offer of a Diet Coke shattered me- I was the president of our student body, I was the leader, I was used to being the one to help others. How did I get here? I was completely numb. I got home, I crawled into bed, cried to my best friend on the phone, called the sick line to excuse my attacker from work, and held onto my dog- my only comfort for months to come.
The next morning, the reality of my nightmare really first set in when a beloved city councilor’s mug shot was shared on the “Superior People Page” on facebook. Instantly the rumors were spreading through the community and news stories were generating. Having been active members of the community, the most horrific and vulnerable thing I ever experienced was served on a platter for the entire community to pick apart and speculate on. I asked Mayor Paine to take my attacker’s contact information off the city website so that no one would come to my home. Hours before the bail hearing, a reporter from KBJR was knocking on my door anyway, prying me for statements and filming the front of my apartment. To make it all the more worse, I had to inform his parents what he did and handle countless calls from concerned family members and friends, none of which I was emotionally prepared to do. I was in a race against breaking news, trying to inform the people who needed to know, pushing through the physical and mental reactions of shock. My hands still shake when I remember that day, recalling the sheer exhaustion, uncertainty, and complete terror I was feeling in waves.
I fielded constant questions from friends and family for weeks. I still do, if I run into someone I haven’t seen in a long time. After all, the crimes against me were in the news from Bemidji to the Twin Cities to LaCrosse. What kind of gun was it? A .22 revolver. Was it loaded? The police found it that way. Did you know? He told me he didn’t keep it loaded, so either it was and he lied OR he loaded it to point it at me. What were your thoughts? I can’t remember in the moment… but he when he took me out to deer camp he said you only point a gun at something you intend to shoot.
That’s right, he had told me himself that you only point a gun at something you intend to shoot. My sister and her husband had even heard him say that. As far as I could tell, he planned on shooting me.
Because of the nature of my job managing a Caribou Coffee, and the unanticipated reality of living off a single income, I was unable to take the time I needed to heal. Saturday, less than two days after I was facing the barrel of a loaded gun, I found myself on a weekend shift in Canal Park crying hysterically at the motivational phrase on a customer’s shirt while I tried to take her order. In the following weeks I worked with little relief, just a day off here, and afternoon off there. I found myself throwing my energy into work as a form of “survival mode” even when it drove me to exhaustion.
When I wasn’t at work, I was stuck in our apartment that was still filled with his things, not only burdened with the unwanted responsibility of having to pack up all his things but additionally bearing the emotional labor of reliving memories with every item packed. I spent hours distrusting and questioning memories, wondering what was real and when I would wake up from the nightmare I was living. I had to personally contact each vendor to cancel my wedding, swallowing cost after deposit after cost while having to explain over and over again that the love of my life was millimeters from murdering me. I still have a wedding dress that I have been unable to return or sell. I further had to absorb extra costs, unable to cancel contracts that were made in his name, such as a cable bill in order to maintain internet access. When I wanted to make changes to my cell phone in September, I was unable to since I was not the account holder- despite the fact that he had cancelled his line in May. I found out in December that I had been penalized for this, and once again was blocked from making changes. And despite hours on hold with the airline, I could not get a refund or name change on his plane ticket for our intended honeymoon to Italy. And remember that part at the beginning when he took one car and the keys to the other? I ended up without a vehicle and had to spend my only financial cushion on the down payment of another car. I lost thousands of dollars directly because of these crimes, which was another layer of stress on my grief, exhaustion, and trauma.
When I look back on the summer of 2017, I was a zombie. It’s a blur, I hardly remember anything at all. I had a quarterly review with my boss in late July in which I was under such emotional duress that I could hardly concentrate enough to put sentences together- I am lucky that we worked closely and she knew I was going through a lot, or it could have been seriously detrimental to my career.
Back to April 2017. When community members of the Feminist Justice League heard that he refused to step down from leadership despite public outcry and a call from the mayor, they formed a petition to encourage the Superior city council to remove my attacker from his seat of representing District 6. This was not in my honor, it was because the community’s trust had been broken. Yet my attacker told friends that I was the one organizing the petition, as if in my grief I had the chance to put my thoughts together enough for a petition. I was not capable of organizing people in the mental state he left me in. I was disconnected from all of my friends, who were treating this like a normal breakup, like they didn’t want to “choose sides” because he was “such a nice guy”. Here’s the thing: nice guys don’t point loaded guns at their fiancés. After two different mutual friends mentioned that my abuser said that the only reason I was empowered anyway was because CASDA had brainwashed me… That was my sign that when people don’t choose sides, they really do choose the side of the abuser. What I was experiencing was some weird combination of death and divorce, and I not only did I feel completely alone- I was. My only support system was three hours away. Late one night on a visit to the family cabin, I heard my mom sobbing to my aunt, worried that I would take my own life.
I knew better than to let myself get bad enough to contemplate suicide, so in the face of the cost of medical bills and prescriptions, I found help. My therapist said that I was experiencing symptoms of PTSD along with major depression brought on by this specific event. Despite the eventual support of my therapist and a good dose of antidepressants, I endured panic attacks at the sight of a mail truck for months. When I needed to do business at the post office, I had to drive across the bridge to Duluth and conduct my business there. The panic I felt for never knowing if I would run into the mailman who threatened my life drove me to move to the Twin Cities. A no-contact order is nice and all, but it didn’t give me a peace of mind when I had to avoid every mail route in town. I thought moving to the Twin Cities would change everything. It did, but not in the way I expected.
You see, I had spent nearly six years networking and working within the Democratic Party of Wisconsin. By moving to the Twin Cities, I had to leave Wisconsin. I had connections all over Wisconsin to do the work that I loved- work that was my passion and the entire basis for my undergraduate degree- and I had to give it all up in order save myself the constant panic attacks. Despite references, despite years of experience on campaigns, my worst fears were confirmed when the DFL, Minnesota’s Democratic Party, wouldn’t offer me more than an unpaid internship. Specifically due to my location, six years of professional development, networking, and community organizing amounted to something worth nothing more than an unpaid internship. I was devastated.
But it didn’t end.
In October, I had a panic attack on a haunted hayride this fall when a zombie farmer pretended to shoot at my friends and I with a fake sawed-off shotgun. Fourteen months later, nightmares still happen. I dream that he will show up to finish what he didn’t complete before. I can’t fall asleep without a comedy show on, desperately hoping that the humor will have some kind of effect on my dreams. And even after therapy and medication, I still feel my stomach drop at the sight of a mail truck- in a completely different state. I constantly count down the time until I get to see my dog again, the only thing that I can count on for comfort. Pleasant days off have often been interrupted by calls from the DAs office and Victim Witness regarding plea deals and updates, as they merely tried to do their job in advocating for me. Every time I felt like I was making progress, a call would send me spiraling back into depression and fear of my attacker walking free. Even now, four hundred and thirty one days later, I am still discovering the way this crime has hurt me.
To my understanding, the main motivation to reduce the felony charge of first-degree recklessly endangering safety with use of a dangerous weapon was in interest of my attacker keeping his job. Do you know what this reckless endangerment with a dangerous weapon was? Attempted murder. A loaded gun was pointed at my chest at point blank range. I had to pick up and move away from a place I love, change my job, and alter my life completely based off of his careless and dangerous actions. After this day is done, I will receive little justice from the system that is intended to serve and protect the public. While I am grateful that I have been spared the trauma of testifying to a jury or even dismissal, I cannot help but be disappointed that our system allows my attacker to bargain down what he did. The most dangerous and serious charge of all is only read in. If only I could bargain down the impact this has had on my life! It appears that he was not remorseful then, blaming his actions on intoxication instead of understanding that domestic violence is a systemic problem related to the exertion of power and control, and it does not appear has he learned from his actions or shown remorse now. This plea bargain has been described to me as “lawyer baseball” in order to make sure that my attacker gets a little jail time and doesn’t get his hands on a gun again, and has forgotten that from the start my only request was that the felony charge stick to my attacker. He has done nothing to demonstrate that he deserves a break. In the words of Mayor Paine just days after my attack, “it is important that we do not minimize the severity of this situation nor attempt to simply move on.” I feel that this bargain is exactly that- minimization of the severity and an attempt to simply move on.
Even though I have worked hard to heal, the process it took to get here has beat me down as if with fists. Instead of my attacker taking ownership for his actions, he continued to control and keep me bound by his every attempt to manipulate the system and drag this out. Despite his gaslighting and attempt to wear me down, I have always stood tall and gotten back up each time I was left disappointed by news from the DAs office.
I would like to take a moment to thank some people who have stood by me and supported me through all of the muck and mire that I had to trudge through to get here today. Officers Rude and Jarecki for their empathy and for treating me with pure understanding and kindness when I was so fragile. CASDA for being a support to the community and offering me guidance. Folks from the District Attorney’s office and specifically Jen from Victim Witness. My best friend Jennifer for talking me through my first steps on the phone that night, and Mayor Paine for offering me support and continued friendship from the start. Eve Utyro and Erin Forrest for being great examples and knowing exactly what I needed. My entire family, especially my mom, for being there through everything, for knowing that even if I’m tough and strong I still need my people around me. And finally to my dog, Watson, who has taken on a new level of responsibility as my brightest light in my darkest times. If the courtroom allowed dogs, he would be here with me now.
Finally, I stand here today asking for justice, not just for me, but for any other woman who has been in this same situation. For anyone who has lost her life to domestic or gun violence and did not have the chance to stand here. I want to be a living example to prove to them that survivors prevail. That no woman deserves a life of domestic violence at the hands of an intimate partner. That men who attack the people they claim to love will be held accountable. I want them not to be afraid to speak up; I want them to know that their voice will matter and that when they speak out against injustice that someone will listen and come to their aid.
