In The Name Of The Fathers

While Britain is now considering reforms to the family justice system, other European countries have gone much further. German custody legislation was amended in 1998 to give the children of separated couples the right to be in touch with both parents as well as their siblings and grandparents. And in Cochem-Zell, an association of towns and villages in western Germany, the Youth Welfare Office came up with a model that sees to it that divorces end in consensual shared custody. The initiative, called the Cochem Way, was devised by social workers and backed by lawyers and judges. It requires both parents to agree on how to divide responsibility for the kids so that one can't deny the other access. "The parents find themselves in a network of lawyers, judges, social workers, all of whom tell them the same thing: You are both responsible for your child," says social worker Manfred Lengowski, co-author of the Cochem Way. "Faced with this network, the parents don't have a choice." Parents who unreasonably resist a settlement are required to see court-appointed counselors, and legal proceedings are frozen until both sides have agreed to shared custody. "We simply do not let parents escape their responsibilities," says Lengowski. When the authorities suspect there is a danger of violence or abuse, contact between parent and child — if it is granted at all — only occurs under supervision and if it is deemed to be in the interest of the child.

Elvira Steffes, 35, spent two-and-a-half years denying the father of her twins access to them (he disputed that he was the biological father). After his paternity was proven, they were both nudged along the Cochem Way, attending counseling sessions until she agreed to allow him access. "If it had not been for the Cochem Way, I would never have let the father be in touch with the children," Steffes says. Now, he sees the kids once or twice a month. "I know I have done my children a lot of good by agreeing to this process," says Steffes. "They know where they come from and where they belong."

In France, divorced dads have had some success changing the law, but complain that the realities haven't changed. In 2002, the efforts of the national SOS Papa chapter led to an amendment to the civil code that encouraged alternating residency. The code now states that all children have the right to be raised by both a mother and a father under a principle of "co-parenting." But an October 2003 study by the Ministry of Justice showed that in 75% of custody disputes, judges deny alternating residency. That's why Jean-Louis Touchot, president of the French SOS Papa, still has a sign reading objective: alternating residency on the wall of his modest Paris office. A thickset man with the smooth demeanor of a veteran campaigner, Touchot is visibly saddened by his limited progress. The fight to change the civil code has consumed all of his spare time and most of his energies since his 1994 separation from his wife severely reduced his access to their daughter. "We helped change the letter of the law," he says, "but in practice things haven't changed too much." Even if the National Assembly amends the code again, it will come too late for Touchot. His daughter is 18, and with only limited access to her father for the past 10 years, she's grown distant from him. "She can live wherever she wants," he says, quietly. "Mostly, she lives with her mom."

That's a fate Xavier Savidan is determined to avoid. Since his divorce in 2002, the Parisian dentist can only see his kids every other Wednesday and alternating weekends, so he has to work hard to build a relationship with his two children. He is in a bright mood on a recent Wednesday as he watches them play in the leafy backyard of his home. They amuse themselves on a swing set, stopping only to run over to him, dangle from his legs and giggle. But Savidan, 40, worries that as the kids grow older, these occasional visits, which already seem like far too little time, will be insufficient. So he plans to petition again next year for joint custody. He knows his ex-wife will oppose it, and fears the fight may get ugly. During the divorce, she accused him of alcoholism and violence against her, charges the judge threw out. His great fear is that his ex-wife, who has Spanish roots, will move to Spain someday. If that happens, he says, "I'm prepared to uproot myself, sell my house and the practice and go there to be near the kids." Should the law prevent a woman from shutting out her spouse — or even living where she wants to live? Or should it preserve her freedom at the expense of her ex-husband's relationship with his children? In the torturous world of divorce, custody and visitation, Solomon and Superman might both throw up their hands.