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This chapter critically engages Assata: An Autobiography by former Black Liberation Army operative and political exile Assata Shakur. The argument examines how Shakur develops psychologically and politically as both a Black revolutionary and a Black revolutionary woman. The chapter offers close readings of the political messages shared throughout Assata then contextualizes Shakur’s frameworks by turning to her experiences as a runaway teen in the Village in New York City. Her story – from childhood until her time being held as a political prisoner – compels attention to how blackness and gender collide and at times collapse. This chapter illustrates how her political communiqué “To My People,” broadcast by Shakur while incarcerated, was informed by the lessons on Black gender and sexual vulnerability she learned from Miss Shirley, a transgender woman who was her surrogate caregiver during her time living in the Village.
Conflict-related sexual violence and the rights of female victims have received scholarly attention, but the same cannot be said of post-conflict rejection and re-victimization of the victims and the violation of their rights. This article examines the rejection and re-victimization of the returnee victims / survivors of Nigeria’s Boko Haram’s sexual terrorism. It discusses how this violates their fundamental human rights as contained in various UN conventions and other legal frameworks. Relying on a legal-doctrinal approach, it examines these violations and the difficulty in enforcing such rights. Findings reveal that these human rights violations continue through the rejection and re-victimization of victims / survivors by family and community members. Despite these obvious rights violations, it has been difficult to seek legal redress for enforcing such rights due to the absence of political will on the part of the government.
What kind of weapon is sex? Scholarship on the Lebanese Civil War (1975-90) has broadened the “war story” by foregrounding women’s perspectives as fighters and by adding complexity to militiamen’s narratives. Yet, while gendering the analysis, scholarship has not examined the role that sexual relations and sexual practices played in the war. Meanwhile, Lebanese Civil War–era cultural production, including films, novels and popular magazines, display sexual transactions and sexual violence as if they were common instances in the war. In this article, I engage an intertextual ethnographic reading of sex and sexual violence, combining the civil war’s cultural archive with oral histories that I conducted with former militiamen and militia women across Lebanon’s political spectrum, and with cis- and trans-women who had transactional sex with militia members, as well as urban participatory mapping and interviews with other participants in the war. Mapping the sex economy and sexual relations in the war reveals the central roles that sex played both as a traffic in and of itself, and as a tool of political governance of civilians, through a traffic in women. I argue that militias used sex and the threat of it for multiple purposes: as a form of mobility that enabled other goods to circulate more smoothly; as a tool of intra-sectarian extraction and coercion and as a weapon of patriarchal governance that kept civilians in their designated neighborhoods. While sex enabled cross-sectarian connections, the violent use of sex thus also reinforced sectarian social boundaries. My findings build on scholarship that has foregrounded the political economy of the war and on intersectional feminist analyses of political governance in Lebanon. The article is indebted to this scholarship as well as to ongoing civil society efforts to document sexual violence in the war.
Chapter VI explores the means through which imperial impositions and military occupation deliberately narrate, interact with, and affect internal dynamics of patriarchy in colonised Palestine – relating this to both articulations and expressions of violence against women within this context. Moving beyond the “essentialising cultural logics” that render patriarchal violence as a ‘static’ and ‘fixed’ component of ‘Palestinian culture’, this chapter thus joins with the pursuit of many Palestinian feminists to examine the complex “interplay between a colonial politics of exclusion and a localised culture of control” as it is narrated and deployed in relation to violence against Palestinian women (Shalhoub-Kervorkian and Daher-Nashif 2013, 298). Yet, I caution against centralising Israel’s military occupation as causal or ‘explanatory’ of internal dynamics of violence, arguing that making this link uncritically risks positioning Palestinian women’s bodies as discursive and material sites upon which an internal patriarchal order ‘in crisis’ can be normatively reclaimed.
Chapters V explores the sexual politics of Israel’s colonial regime, serving to undo the all-too-common misconception that sexual violence is “extremely limited” in this context. Emphasising the obfuscation of dynamics of race and coloniality, I start with exploration of hegemonic analyses of conflict-related sexual violence, and the related depiction of Israeli militarism as devoid of sexual violence. I then analyse the eroticisation of the Israeli military and colonial ‘conquest’, and the fetishization of the bodies that undertake it – entangling colonial domination with notions and physiological sensations of erotic pleasure. Finally, I discuss the policing of militarised hierarchies through the logic of sexual violence, trickling from those ‘on top’ to inferior soldiers – by age, gender, and class – to the occupied Palestinian body. I thus argue that sexualised violence pervades the entire structure of Israeli settler colonialism, fusing military activity and colonisation with hetero-masculinised notions of domination, virility, pleasure, and control.
This final chapter investigates what Pepys’s famously frank and comprehensive diary does not say – and how readers have dealt, or failed to deal, with those omissions. The focus is on a selection of the people mentioned in Pepys’s papers whose lives are barely mentioned in official documents or who went otherwise unrecorded: his wife Elizabeth, women and girls in whom he had a sexual interest, and certain of the Black people who worked for him or lived near him. Pepys’s diary and his other surviving records contain valuable information on their lives – information which shows Pepys to have been a sexual predator and an enslaver. For a range of reasons, these are aspects of his life missing from his popular reputation. Getting the most from the diary, and using it to explore the lives of others, requires understanding and countering influential traditions about Pepys and how his diary should be read.
Despite symbolic boundaries between civil and criminal law, sociolegal scholars note their conceptual and operational overlap, or hybridity. Values (e.g., restoration vs. punishment) and practices (e.g., monetary compensation vs. incarceration) thought distinct to each manifest in both, and contact with one legal system can generate involvement with the other. Scholars typically attribute hybridity’s emergence to top-down mechanisms like legislation. This article presents interviews with sexual violence plaintiffs’ attorneys who describe their efforts to improve case outcomes by incorporating criminal legal artifacts like police reports, police evidence and criminal convictions into civil litigation and inserting civil legal artifacts, including costly evidence, victim support and monetary compensation, into criminal prosecutions. Building on organizational theories of boundary work, this article argues that attorneys, in taking purposive action to win their cases, blur distinctions between civil and criminal law from the bottom-up, a distinct mechanism through which civil-criminal hybridity emerges.
While sexual violence is receiving increasing attention in terms of international humanitarian and criminal law, and on the world political scene, this does not apply to all aspects of such crimes. Sexual acts on dead bodies are a common practice in times of armed conflict, constituting an affront to universal moral values that exacerbates the violence, domination and humiliation which motivates such abuses. However, such crimes have rarely been prosecuted under international criminal law, and where they have, perpetrators have been charged with umbrella offences or in connection with the protection of human dignity rather than with sexual offences. To explain this tendency, the present article takes stock of the legal treatment of sexual violence on dead bodies, examining the legal, philosophical and moral concepts that apply, with a view to obtaining recognition of such acts as sexual offences.
Only little empirical evidence exists on mental health in LGBTIQ+ refugees. In the present study, trauma exposure, experiences of sexual violence and current treatment needs for physical and mental health were investigated in association with symptoms of anxiety, depression, post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and somatic symptom burden in LGBTIQ+ asylum-seekers resettled in Germany and seeking psychosocial support.
Methods
Data was collected in cooperation with a counselling centre for LGBTIQ+ asylum-seekers between Mai 2018 and March 2024, with a total of 120 completed questionnaires of adult clients. The questionnaire (11 different languages) included sociodemographic and flight-related questions as well as standardized instruments for assessing PTSD (PCL-5), depression (PHQ-9), somatic symptom burden (SSS-8), and anxiety (HSCL-25). Prevalence rates were calculated according to the cut-off scores of each questionnaire. Four logistic regression analyses were conducted to test for potential associations between being screened positive for anxiety, depression, somatic symptom burden or PTSD and the number of traumatic events, experiences of sexual violence as well as current treatment needs for physical and mental health.
Results
The great majority, 74.2% (95% CI: 66–82) of the respondents, screened positive for at least one of the mental disorders investigated, with 45% (95% CI: 36–54) suffering from somatic symptom burden, 44.2% (95% CI: 35–53) from depression, 58.3% (95% CI: 50–67) from PTSD, and 62.5% (95% CI: 54–71) from anxiety; 69.5% participants reported having been exposed to sexual violence. Current treatment needs for physical health problems were reported by 47% and for mental health problems by 56.7%. Participants with experiences of sexual violence were more likely to be screened positive for depression (OR: 6.787, 95% CI: 1.45–31.65) and PTSD (OR: 6.121, 95% CI: 1.34–27.95).
Conclusions
The study provides initial insights on mental health and associated factors in a highly burdened and hard-to-reach population. The findings are important for healthcare systems and political authorities in terms of assuring better protection and healthcare for LGBTIQ+ refugees and asylum-seekers.
Current prevalence of disability in Bangladesh stands at 7.14%. Due to various misconceptions, stigma, and lack of policies, they are more vulnerable to violence and abuse from perpetrators. However, there is a paucity of research on the prevalence of emotional, physical, and sexual violence in the country. To address this knowledge gap, the current study aims to estimate the prevalence and explore the experiences of emotional abuse, physical, and sexual violence of persons with disabilities with their coping strategies. This study adopted a mixed-method sequential design comprising qualitative and quantitative components. A total of 5000 persons with disabilities were interviewed during the survey, and mini-ethnographic case studies were conducted with 51 purposively selected persons with disabilities from all eight administrative divisions of Bangladesh. Descriptive and bivariate statistical analysis was performed for quantitative data. Qualitative data were analysed through thematic analysis. The study concludes that the lifetime prevalence of emotional, physical, and sexual abuse is 68.9%, 26.6%, and 11.5%, respectively. Male participants were more prone to experience sexual abuse than females for both lifetimes (male: 12.7% & female: 10.3%) and within the last 12 months before the survey (male: 6.6% & female: 5.1%). Neighbours and close family members were found to be perpetrators of emotional and physical violence, whereas immediate family members were the perpetrators of sexual violence. Even though participants shared several coping mechanisms, equal to or less than 0.5% sought help from a counsellor to cope with the trauma. Results from the study correspond to the earlier studies with implications for future research and urgent policy reform. Although women are more vulnerable to experiencing different forms of violence, men with disabilities are no different. However, this remains unseen and unheard. To reduce the prevalence of violence against this marginalised group, a coordinated and collaborative approach is required targeting nationwide sensitisation, easy access to help-seeking centres, and adequate policy implementation.
This paper analyzes the animating potential of narrative in Medoruma Shun's Me no oku no mori (In the Woods of Memory, 2009). The novel's narrative structure embodies both the constant circulation of traumatic memories, particularly surrounding sexual violence, and the inevitable gaps in such memories. The text draws the reader in turn into its spiral of telling and re-telling, shifting the burden of narrating history onto countless new witnesses. Moreover, the act of narrating this violent past necessarily entails the acknowledgment of one's own complicity in its violent reverberations in the present.
In this article, translated and abridged (with an introduction) by Caroline Norma, Morita advances a view of the “comfort women” system not simply as an isolated war crime, but as an extreme symptom of institutionalised, pervasive and persistent violence against women that extends to peacetime as well as wartime. Norma argues that Morita’s paper, first published in 1999, prefigures a “feminist turn” in interpretation of the comfort women system that has more recently been embraced by Yoshimi Yoshiaki, Kim Puja and other scholars and activists. Both Norma and Morita argue that the comfort women system can only be understood in the context of ingrained societal attitudes towards women, and that it is therefore closely related to phenomena such as pornography and the commercial sex industry. For both scholars, campaigning for recognition of wrongs committed against comfort women in the past is thus intimately linked to efforts to abolish institutionalised violence and discrimination against women in the present.
In this transcription of a webinar from October 2023, speakers Kevin Blackburn (Nanyang Technological University, Singapore), Katharine McGregor (University of Melbourne, Australia), and Sachiyo Tsukamoto (University of Newcastle, Australia) talk about their new books on the “comfort women.”
Raising awareness about the extent of sexual violence in Japan and the damage inflicted on individuals is essential to change the status quo. This article draws on quantitative and qualitative data to reveal the reality of sexual violence and victimization, which has been poorly understood and largely ignored in Japanese society. The quantitative data is drawn from a landmark 2022 survey of sexual victims conducted by NHK that collected over 38,000 responses. Raising awareness about the harm caused by sexual violence is necessary, but not enough. It is a scourge that is symptomatic of Japan's patriarchal social system where attitudes, norms, values, and practices render many people marginal and vulnerable to abuse. This includes the social norms of “masculinity” and “femininity,” the education system, the labor market structure, and a tax and social security system based on a division of labor that reinforces a strict division of gender roles. Due to the harmful consequences of widespread sexual violence on people and the economy, it is incumbent on the government to offer more support for relevant services, especially civil society organizations that have been playing a key role in helping victims. In this pivotal transition from ignoring to addressing sexual violence, it is also essential to engage the police and judicial officials in ways that enhance sensitivity towards victims, and to take actions that increase accountability.
This chapter explores the complex interplay between love, desire, responsibility, and violence in intimate relationships, focussing on Sierra Leone. It emphasises the need to examine the acceptance of violence without excusing it, advocating for a local, phenomenological perspective. It highlights gendered expectations and experiences of violence, acknowledging the impact of historical, sociocultural, political, economic, and legal factors on agency. In Freetown, violence is not seen as separate from love but can co-exist within relationships. Within a moral economy of relationships, careful distinctions are made between acceptable forms of violence to protect and sustain relationships and unacceptable forms that rupture and destroy. External observers frequently misconstrue these dynamics, perceiving them as excessively violent and uncritical. Considering embedded agency and intersectional factors is crucial when addressing relationship violence and developing effective policies. Intimate violence is a multifaceted, dynamic phenomenon that necessitates nuanced understanding of meaning-making and experience.
Around 30% of women worldwide have been subjected to either physical or sexual intimate partner violence (IPV) in their lifetimes. In Europe, one in 20 women over the age of 15 has been raped. Meanwhile gross misogyny and sexual violence against women is becoming more normalised in society. When women have been victims of physical, sexual violence, emotional abuse or coercive control the impact on their mental health can be severe.The sense of shame can be overwhelming. Mental health problems are not an inevitable consequence of IPV but anxiety, depression, post-traumatic stress disorder, psychosis, self-harm, substance misuse and getting a diagnosis of borderline personality disorder (BPD) are all more common. Domestic violence can also result in suicide and is linked to murder-suicide and ‘honour’ killing. However, women who have killed abusive men have been repeatedly denied justice. Mental health services need training about IPV and sexual violence and to make strong links with organisations in the community. Each of us needs to ensure that we would know what we would do to help a friend, family member or colleague who is experiencing domestic violence or sexual assault.
This article explores the promises and pitfalls of the colonial archives for the study of seeing and knowing contemporary violence. As an ethnographic field and a site of decolonial struggles, the colonial archive is increasingly mobilised in scholarship that seeks to historicise and disrupt conventional, Western-centric knowledge production. While using the colonial archives might reproduce asymmetrical power relations, they also hold the potential to unsettle the ‘toxic imperial debris’ of our time. How can the colonial archives challenge the post-colonial politics of erasing imperial violence and contribute to decolonial futures? Drawing on research in the African Archives in Belgium and fieldwork in the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC), this paper complicates problematic portrayals of the post-colonial state in the DRC and Congolese women as always already violated or silenced. We argue that the logics of the African Archives reveal a set of destabilising state anxieties that reflect the duality and instability of colonial rule itself and that infuse contemporary (international) politics. This recounting of the violence contained in the archives both narrates the concrete, violent manifestations of our ‘global coloniality’ and works towards its own demise as part of a broader ‘anticolonial archive’.
This essay interrogates the queer history of slavery through close readings of nineteenth century literature. Specifically the texts Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl (1861) by Harriett Jacobs, Our Nig (1859) by Harriett E. Wilson, “The Heroic Slave” (1853) by Frederick Douglass, as well as the pro-slavery text, The Partisan Leader (1836) by Nathaniel Beverly Tucker are placed in conversation and tension to examine how cruelty against slaves and free Black people expose the vexed queer encounters of the antebellum period. Rather than thinking of queerness as solely same-sex sexual acts, this argument extends a theory of racial sexuation that considers violence extended by masters, mistresses, and non-slave owning whites as imbued by fantasies and desires about Blackness as sexually open, unruly gendered, and innately erotic. Lastly, in reading texts pertaining to the conditions of slaves and free Black people, this essay interrogates how the racial sexual relations that are present under slavery extend beyond the confines of the plantation.
During the two World Wars sexuality was fundamental to how both conflicts were planned, conducted, and experienced. The sexual body was an ever-present target of military policy as a potential polluter of the race, a danger to colonial order, sexual mores, or gender hierarchy; it was an object of intervention and mutilation, even annihilation. Nonetheless, war also offered opportunities for new, hitherto illicit sexual encounters. Individuals experienced sexuality in two opposing ways: as a source of immense suffering but also of erotic excitement and love. Changes in sexual attitudes, regulation, and practices must be understood through the filters of gender, class, race, sexual orientation, religion, and regional variations. Between 1918 and the `sexual revolution” of the 1960s a profound shift in sexual mores and attitudes took place in all bellicose nations. The millions of deaths on the battlefields, the suffering at home, the unprecedented mass movement within and between countries had sufficiently ruptured the social fabric to unleash a wide-spread liberalisation of sexuality. The steeply declining birthrate was the most dramatic expression of changing ideals. Yet, liberalisation was at best ambivalent as many traditional attitudes and regulations resurfaced and women and queer people struggled to fit back into a state-sanctioned `normal” life.
This chapter charts sexual violence over time and place, showing substantial shifts in thinking about sex as violence, rape as an assault on property, emerging ideas of consent, and changing attitudes towards the victim and the offender. It traces how sexual violence was defined and understood, in both society and law, from the classical world to today, examining case studies that include rape, sodomy and offences against children. It examines the structural impediments to the prevention of sexual violence, and the social and legal barriers to justice when a crime did occur. It highlights the fact that responses to sexual violence vary between individuals and communities, though survivors reveal that many forms of sex might be experienced as violent or traumatic, regardless of whether the acts were normalised or criminalised. Ideas of sexual violence are read through intersectional lenses, highlighting the idea that normative ideas of gender, sexual identity, race and class heightened the potential for sexual exploitation of marginalised groups. Limited, fragmented or unrepresentative sources make it challenging to trace sexual violence in history, but it is imperative to do so, as sexual crimes have had a substantial impact on the life experiences of individuals and their families and communities.