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When a police photo of Rihanna’s battered face was leaked in 2009, I was outraged. I criticized the media for disseminating it and refused to link to the image, because I found it “a sickening violation of Rihanna’s privacy.” I ended that column on Salon.com by hoping the image would “spark a national conversation about domestic violence,” but also by asking, “Shouldn’t Rihanna get to decide whether she becomes the literal poster child for the cause?”

I was so sure at the time that the answer was yes. But with the emergence of a video of former Ravens running back Ray Rice punching now-wife Janay Rice in the face, I’m not so clear.

What is clear is that the victim in this latest case doesn’t want to be a poster child. She doesn’t want the video circulated, either. Earlier this week, Janay Rice took to Instagram to write, “No one knows the pain that the media & unwanted options from the public has caused my family,” she wrote. “To make us relive a moment in our lives that we regret everyday is a horrible thing.” She continued, “If your intentions were to hurt us, embarrass us, make us feel alone, take all happiness away, you’ve succeeded on so many levels.”

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For several days, I had avoided the video precisely because it did seem a violation against her — potentially even a form of revictimization. I thought this was a vulnerable, terrifying moment that I had no right to see. Besides, I had already seen the horror of the incident through stills from the video clip, showing Ray Rice’s cocked fist moments before making impact. To watch the full video would be to witness one of the biggest taboos in my feminist universe, and something I had never seen before: a man hitting a woman. It was so deeply wrong as to seem unwatchable.

It was only once I started hearing reports of sports fans criticizing Ray Rice’s NFL suspension, and even blaming his wife for provoking the attack, that my curiosity grew. Were they right? Had she attacked him first? Just what had happened in that elevator? So, I clicked play.

Surprisingly, after I watched the video, I was glad that I had. Don’t get me wrong: It left me sick to my stomach for quite some time. My mind still can’t wrap itself around the ease with which he knocked her out in one deft punch, and his seeming detachment while dragging her limp body out of the elevator. These are deeply disturbing images that I wish didn’t exist in the world — but they do exist, and they’re important.

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That video shows the ugly reality of domestic violence and tells us more about the issue than the Rihanna photo ever could. In the news and even in public awareness campaigns, the conversation around domestic abuse centers on the bruised and battered faces of women, often leaving the perpetrators anonymous. Rarely are they more than shadowy figures whom we can dismiss as villains instead seeing them for who they are — our own friends, brothers, and fathers. With the release of the Ray Rice video, it’s the abuser that is revealed ​as monstrous, rather than the victim’s grotesquely bruised face. We see that these kinds of abusers aren’t nameless, faceless villains, but rather the kinds of guys we like, the guys we hang out with and cheer on the field.

And rarely do we see the crime itself. Even in cases when a perpetrator’s identity is known, like Chris Brown, static images leave room for excuses. The situation remains a “he said/she said.” When all we see is the aftermath of domestic violence, we’re left to piece together a story of what preceded it — and when the perpetrator is someone we like or idolize, we concoct stories that keeps our image of him in tact.  As the NFL’s change of heart — increasing Rice’s punishment after the full video was released — showed us, seeing the abuse in action makes it more real. It forces us to question our image of the abuser and it forces us to take action.

At least, that should be the case. Perhaps the most important aspect of the Ray Rice video is that it revealed the extreme degree of abuse against women that some people can witness and still excuse. It shows the level of tolerance our culture harbors for violence. The video is not an ambiguous clip: Man and woman argue. Woman walks toward man. Man knocks woman out. We’re all working with the same facts, and still we see people explaining away the violence. Plenty of viewers still find a way to blame the victim. That is the kind of environment that creates and enables abuse, and shedding light on that is a good thing.

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My heart hurts for Janay Rice, and I sympathize with humiliation she must feel. But the perpetrator here is Ray Rice, not the media. The crime was the abuse, not the disclosure of it. That’s not to say that the media has no responsibility. Journalists must treat these cases with gentle hands and professionalism. In this case, there was plenty of room for more sensitive and less salacious coverage. Images of a woman being knocked out in an elevator shouldn’t be paired with mocking advice to “take the stairs.”​ Still, airing this video has brought a new and important dimension to the national discussion of domestic violence that could sway the conversation. It’s unfortunate when any victim becomes an unwitting martyr for a cause. But our society has turned a blind eye to the perpetrators of domestic violence for too long. For decades, we’ve been putting faces to the victims of this crime. It’s past time to put a face to the criminals.

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