Parsing out the Why Behind Sexual Violence

(Trigger warning: This post contains content on sexual violence. Please care for yourself well—like good friends and healthy meals and spaces to grieve and beautiful poetry— if you decide to read this post and it triggers stories in your own life. Don't be alone in your own pain; let others, whom you trust, hear your stories and care well for you.)

Today, I am mid-process in a research paper trying to parse out the intellectual history of rape in the U.S. context. I am trying to figure out how male sexual violence against women has been conceptualized historically, in order to figure out why it still exists at such high rates. The U.S., in contrast to other cultures and places, is called "rape-prone" by anthropologists who study these things. Certain male academics in the sciences are spouting their answer for why: rape exists because it is part of evolutionary, biological patterns, and that's that.

Needless to say, I don't agree with them. And their argument sounds a lot like the arguments for racism in the 1800s that came from a similar rather twisted Darwinian claim.

Nor, though, do I have answers yet to replace these male academics who seem to understand rape so well. But this I do know: In the American context, we have profound levels of collective dissociation around rape. This dissociation is as old and deep as the beginning of the nation, in which it was perfectly legal for masters to rape slave women as much as they wanted to, and then keep the children of those rapes (their own children) in chattel slavery. In the history of my country, fathers were legally permitted to own and sell their children as slaves. I can't get over this thought. If there is one thought this semester that I am stuck on, in the midst of all that I have learned my first semester at Yale, it is this one.

As I research rape, what is very apparent is that you can't talk about rape without also talking about the history of racism, class, economics, and homophobia. It is all interconnected, in the midst of the shifting background of American sexual discourse. Patterns of rape are tied to specific contexts and the intersection of many systems of dominations.

So, what's the context today in American society that creates such atrociously high rates of rape, rape that usually is perpetrated not by strangers but by fathers, friends, boyfriends...men whom a woman is supposed to be able to trust? The trauma of being terrorized by someone you know is a much different experience than being terrorized by a stranger. Both experiences, of course, leave the world feeling unsafe and leave the survivor with profound levels of pain. But what I am concerned about in my own research is that until we stop conceiving of a rapist only as that man in a ski mask who jumps out of the bush, we won't be able to name the experiences that most women have of rape—that the sexual violence is occurring in the context of relational structures that are supposed to be safe.

There is something happening in the U.S. context that is contributing to a culture in which a man can force himself into a women and his actions don't seem really like an anomaly—or are not even named as sexual violence— but rather his actions are normalized and just viewed as an extension of all the messages we already hear about masculinity: that a "man" is aggressive, not in control of his actions once he is aroused; that he is just living out a biological, evolutionary drive; that a woman's body exists to serve a man's wishes. (And whether or not we say women's bodies exist to serve men, our high rates of rape in the U.S. communicate this cultural belief.)

All these messages, continually repeated about masculinity and sex, are rubbish. Patriarchal myths. And I have heard them in Christian contexts, too, if a bit disguised in Christian language about "serving" one's husband.

Some men rape their friends, girlfriends, and wives because they feel perfectly entitled to women's bodies—because their privileges as men within this patriarchy leave them somehow removed from any imaginative, empathic capacity for what it feels like to be forcibly penetrated. Or maybe they can imagine, and don't really care. Or maybe they can imagine, and at some sick level, they enjoy the level of harm they are perpetrating. I don't know.

I just know that it must stop. Whatever we are doing in this culture to perpetrate myths about masculinity—the messages we give men that somehow give them the "right" to assume dominance of women's bodies—these messages themselves must be named as violent.

Specifically, I would ask that if you are a man reading this post, recognize that you have a tremendously important role in stopping male violence against women. If you choose not to be a cultural bystander, but rather choose to speak out in situations in which you hear these myths being perpetuated, you will be standing for justice. If you pay attention, you'll hear the myths in music, movies, frats, locker rooms, dinnertime conversations, biology books, class lectures, and sermons. The messages saturate the air we all breathe.

I can't walk into a coffee shop or my gym at Yale without hearing the myths blaring from the music. I often am left wondering why I have to live as a woman in this culture penetrated by those messages in so many public spaces. I mean, I go to rowing practice for self-care and health, and then have to put up with music that is utter misogyny. And I can't ignore this harm anymore. I can't dissociate from it. What it would feel like for a man in that room to stand up and say, "This music is totally unacceptable." I don't ask for a man's participation in this because his role is to "protect" women in some paternalistic way. I ask for it because until men partner with women—until men see male violence against women as a male problem, not just something for women's studies class to care about–we can only get so far in this conversation. But until we take seriously the harm and stop collectively dissociating, the messages about masculinity will go on blaring, unchecked and unengaged.

New Post Up at 72/27

Just because I tend to post only about once a month at my intergenerational blog, I thought I would let my readers of this blog know when new ones go up on my other blog. That said, check out today's new entry over there if you like.

A Murdered Yale Student: Grief and Questions

Trigger warning: This post contains very difficult content.

Last Tuesday, Annie Le, a young female graduate student at Yale, was last seen by surveillance cameras walking into a university lab at 10 a.m. What is likely her body (though still unidentified) was found Sunday in the wall of the basement of the building, the same day she was to be married. The police at the point are disclosing few details.

What we do know about the case implies a horrific act of violence against a young woman. While the details of the case have not and cannot be disclosed, I believe that the information is only going to get more horrific—that in the next developments in this story we will be learning about elements of sadistic sexual violence, which is all too often part of the script of a murdered woman.

And I am left wondering how and if this type of violence should be understood as a different type of violence than that which is all too familiar in New Haven? I just moved to New Haven last month, and I have quickly discovered that it is a city, like many others, with high rates of crime, gang-related violence, and a social milieu struggling with racism, classism, and marginalization. When young African American men are shot on New Haven streets, how do the news outlets cover their stories? Are they dismissed? Are there lives given just as much value and attention?

Those questions are important to ask, and we need to ask them. At the same time, it is necessary to parse out another set of questions: Can we give ourselves permission to ask how Annie Le’s murder is a different kind of violence than the street violence or gang-violence in New Haven, though no more or less tragic? Can we give ourselves permission to ask how this murder is a cultural mirror for a particular gendered script of violence?

It needs to be said at this point in my discussion that far more men than women are killed in homicides (and far more men commit them, too), and so our attention and compassion should certainly not just be focused on women-as-victims. And yet, at the same time, the violence done to women by men in our culture is often is of a different kind—and needs to be understand that way—if we are going to make progress in preventing such horror.

In the background of Annie Le’s story is an insidious cultural script dedicated to upholding violence toward women that is knit with sadism and misogyny. The script lurks deep in our cultural psyche, though somehow we must dismiss it over and over again. We have popular video games that give the player points for raping and murdering a woman. We have certain kinds of widespread pornography built on making violence toward women erotic. We have the Twilight series, the recent bestselling vampire books whose script is built on whether the helpless Bella will be murdered by the man with whom she is in love, should he get “carried away” in his sexual passion for her. And we have our seemingly “harmless” crime shows every night on television that entertain us with their ubiquitous storyline—another woman raped and murdered. Another act of violence toward women to increase the ratings.

There is a part of me that shudders that Annie Le’s story—splashed all over the headlines— is becoming another form of T.V. entertainment. Another Law and Order show, only this episode is all the more titillating because it’s real.

Amidst the profound grief of this week’s tragedy in New Haven, the question becomes: will we continue to see such violence toward a woman as the act of a lone sociopath—or will we have the courage to ask how this violence is part of a much larger cultural and gendered script, a script in which we are all a part?

And what is at stake for us if we start to ask that question?

Marital Rape, and Further Thoughts On a Rape-Prone Culture

I remember being shocked when I first read Marie Fortune's book Sexual Violence and I learned that marital rape has only recently been made a crime in all 50 U.S. states. I was in my early teens (1993) when the last state finally conceded that a husband does not have legal rights to force sex on his wife.

Marriage, of course, has not traditionally been an institution that has afforded a woman rights to her own property—even the property of her own body. I am thankful to live in a historical moment that is beginning to understand that rape exists in marriage, and we need to call it rape. As long as coercive sex and rape within marriage is considered a husband's legal right, we are not living in a society that believes in the equality between men and women.

Here's a disturbing excerpt on the history of rape within marriage. The complete story, written by Caroline Johnston Polisi and originally published in Women's E News, is here.

The so-called "marital rape exemption" has been embedded in the sexual assault laws of our country since its founding. In its most drastic form, the exemption means that a husband, by definition, cannot legally rape his wife. The theory goes that by accepting the marital contract, a woman has tacitly consented to sexual intercourse any time her husband demands it.

The concept dates back to 18th century common law, and was articulated by English jurist Matthew Hale as follows: "The husband cannot be guilty of rape . . . for by their mutual matrimonial consent and contract, the wife [has] given up herself in this kind unto her husband, which she cannot retract."

Over 200 years later, American lawmakers were not ready to do away with the marital rape exemption, as shown by the Model Penal Code. Drafted in the 1950s, the code states that: "Marriage . . . while not amounting to a legal waiver of the woman's right to say 'no,' does imply a kind of generalized consent that distinguishes some versions of the crime of rape from parallel behavior by a husband. . . . Retaining the spousal exclusion avoids this unwarranted intrusion of the penal law into the life of the family."

States embraced the Mode Penal Code's endorsement of the marital rape exemption. In North Carolina, for example, until 1993, the penal code's definition of rape noted that a person could not be convicted of the crime of rape "if the victim is the person's legal spouse at the time of the commission of the alleged rape."

Victim's rights advocates, lawyers and politicians fought tirelessly to reverse these laws across the country.

It feels relevant for me to share that one of the most difficult aspects of my work is helping people to have the lens to begin to simply see the existence of patriarchy and the harm it is perpetrating in our societies. There is an insidious assumption that equality between men and women has already been attained, and feminists are just whining/sensitive/demanding/and overacting. But then I look at the rape statistics in the U.S.—which are some of the highest in the industrialized world—and I must ask if there is not a better indicator of living in a patriarchal society? Sexual violence toward women is a cultural manifestation of deep seeded beliefs that a man somehow has the right to dominate a woman in the most horrific way. I don't think the prevalence of rape in our society is an anomaly—the cultural behavior is coming out of cultural values.

And so I want to ask if we are alarmed yet?

• Are we alarmed by the music videos that persist in portraying women as objects for a man's sexual pleasure? (If you haven't seen Dream Worlds 3, check out this trailer. The documentary is highly disturbing, but it is courageous to name what is real in the music industry.)

• Are we alarmed by the many television shows whose plots revolve around violence toward women? (Here's a disturbing article, which was published several years back in Entertainment Weekly, that explains why television shows are now not only creating plots that revolve around violence toward women, but are now making that violence sexy. We are eroticizing violence; this is an outrage.)

• Are we alarmed by advertisements that subtley or flagrantly portray women as objects, or women as sex receptacles, or women as passive receivers of male sexual pleasure and/or violence? The following are some links to ads and articles to explore these questions. Trigger warning: this stuff is highly disturbing.

The Huffington Post looks at sexist trends in advertising.

Feministing.com takes a look at an organ donation add.

And the absolute most disgusting add I have ever seen is this one by Duncan Quinn. Apparently a naked woman with a bloody head is effective for selling high-end, designer men's suits.

When we look at how U.S. culture deals with—or rather does not deal with— the objectification of women's bodies, then we need to start asking questions about what is feeding a culture that gives lip service to equality, but where 1:5-1:6 women are raped? (These rape statistics are even higher for minority women. Consider that 1 in 3 Native women are sexually assaulted in their lifetime.) Once you have made a body a cultural object, why would you be alarmed by violence toward that object? But if she is a human, then you are alarmed.

I dream of a world where the equality between men and women—which gets so much lip service—is actually translated into a society free of rape; a society where mutuality and respect are fundamental ethics to our sexuality; a society where a marriage contact is no longer a license for sexual coercion; a society where a woman's body is a human body.

My First Letter to Michelle Obama

Dear Michelle,

I am soon to begin my new graduate program at Yale Divinity School, and I’ve made a commitment with myself to write you a one-page letter once a month. In each letter, I plan to let you know what I am learning and why I think my education is preparing me to help co-create a world of greater justice, beauty, and equality. My specific research at Yale is focused on the intersection of feminist studies and religion—and why we need to put these two subjects in better dialogue as we work for a world of greater gender justice. I think that writing letters to you will give me a space to reflect each month about the necessity of my education connecting with knowledge and activism outside academia.

When I was doing interviews for potential grad schools, I was alarmed by an assumption I found lurking within higher education: if you want to be a serious scholar, you will have no time also to be an artist or a social activist. If you want to be a serious scholar, you will be writing books for 20 other serious scholars to critique. And if you want to be a serious scholar, you will simply have to let others do the praxis while you spend more time gazing at the theory in your navel.

Fortunately, this summer I started reading the words of womanist and mujerista theologians who named the essential value I had longed to be named: communities create social change, not experts in their ivory towers. Scholars and experts have their contributions, but they are not exempt from practicing mutuality and working within a community of diverse voices who value active participation in social change. Academic theory is certainly important, but it must be the kind of theory that compels a sense of urgency and creative imagination for the lived task of creating a more whole world. Theology is important, too, but only the kind of theology that is incarnate—the kind that is connected to hungry bodies and exploited earth and the Jesus who is amongst the "least of these." The kind of theology that is courageous to grieve the harm in the world and equally brave to celebrate beauty and claim hope beyond the brokenness.

Michelle, I leave in a month to start my program, and I am making a commitment with myself to stay connected to the words I just wrote here. As I am studying for my Master of Arts in Religion, with a concentration in women’s, gender, and sexuality studies, I will be asking myself what it means to be a participant in communities of change. I will be wondering whose voices are allowed at the table, and whose voices are still being marginalized. I will be looking at where power gets distributed within higher education. I will be questioning whether the theory espoused by academic feminists—theory that values mutuality, boldly critiques power systems, and gives lip service to the empowerment of the marginalized —actually gets practiced within academic walls. I will let you know.

Sincerely,

Kimberly B. George

All Podcasts are Up

Just a quick note that all 4 podcasts from the recent Faith, Women, Justice series I taught are now up. You can access them here. Each podcast is about 1.5 hours. The first podcast looks at why and how a women's rights movement emerged in the U.S.; the second  examines constructions of gender in the advertising industry; the third is a lecture on the role of women in the church, as well as the problem of domestic violence within churches; and the 4th is a recap of the entire series, as well as a time of personal sharing. 

87% is Not Good Enough

Did you know that the U.S. Congress is 87% men? The U.S. ranks 72nd in the world for representation of women in parliamentary bodies. 

And yet, research shows that women politicians tend to prioritize issues related to women, families, and children, as well as the needs of the poor. So, what happens to our democratic process when Washington is run primarily by privileged white men? What is not brought to the table? 

This NPR story on women in politics, which was recorded in May of 2008, is a fascinating round table discussion on these issues. I recommend listening to all 17 minutes of it and thinking through the different perspectives brought forward.

And just as a disclaimer, I don't think that we should be electing women for political positions just because they are women, nor do I think that a candidate should get so much attention for being a woman that we fail to look at the crux of the issue, namely, what are her qualifications for holding the office for which she runs? But, all of that said, it is a real problem that women—and particularly women of color—are not equally being represented in the U.S. Congress. What could be some of the reasons for these statistics? And why should we care?