Rape crisis centers, which provide supportive services to survivors of sexual assault, are commonly lauded as one of the most successful and lasting transformations achieved by second-wave feminism (Bevacqua Reference Bevacqua2000; Martin Reference Martin2005; Schmitt and Martin Reference Schmitt, Martin, Renzetti and Edleson2007). But the advocates who work in these centers overwhelmingly reject the use of the word “feminist” to describe themselves or the work of their agencies (Campbell, Baker, and Mazurak Reference Campbell, Baker and Mazurak1998; Corrigan Reference Corrigan2013; Maier Reference Maier2008). Here, I describe this puzzling disconnect between feminist consciousness and feminist practice and offer a theory of why the incorporation of feminist analysis could enrich the provision of services on the ground.
Between 2005 and 2008, I interviewed more than 150 advocates at roughly 100 rape crisis centers across 6 states about policy and community responses to rape in the United States (Corrigan Reference Corrigan2013). Though a handful of the advocates described themselves as staunch feminists or at least said the characterization was accurate or acceptable, there were a variety of reasons why the majority said they did not think of themselves or their work as feminist. For some advocates, it was strategic. In their communities, individuals and organizations were penalized (such as being refused funding, access to such community partners as law enforcement and medical providers, and even speaking engagements) if they openly identified as feminist. Others articulated principled objections to feminism rooted in the belief that feminism primarily represented the interests of professional white women. More than a few cited their perceptions of feminism as harsh and adversarial, much like the political processes that discourage young people, especially people of color and white women, from pursuing public office (see Shames, this volume). And perhaps the largest group was simply confused by my question: working from a social service and helping perspective, they simply did not see any relationship between sexual violence and struggles for gender equality.
The conflicted place of feminism in anti-rape work isn't new; it has been discussed by advocates and documented by researchers since at least the early 1980s (Andersen and Renzetti Reference Andersen and Renzetti1980; Bevacqua Reference Bevacqua2000; Gornick, Burt, and Pittman Reference Gornick, Burt and Pittman1985). Yet scholars writing about rape crisis centers have often ignored these conflicts and simply assumed that agencies are feminist organizations because of descriptive characteristics, such as their origins in second-wave feminism or their work with and for women (Martin Reference Martin1990). But I argue that if we ignore what advocates tell us about the complicated ways that feminism impacts their work, we miss a much-needed opportunity for critical reflection about the achievements, obstacles, and ongoing challenges that face women's movements.
My research did not suggest that rejecting feminism inherently crippled the rape crisis centers I studied. Some of the advocates who impressed me the most, and whose programs were engaged in the simultaneously exciting and exhausting work of community transformation, were among those who did not identify themselves as feminist. As a self-identified feminist, it was somewhat vexing to come to the conclusion that advocating feminism may not be necessary to develop powerful, thoughtful, and effective community responses to sexual assault. Important and transformative work is being done by and for women, even if feminism is not described as an explicit element of that work.
Given that, I suggest that the central question of this symposium—whether or not “we” still need a women's movement in the United States—might be turned around to ask whether the women's movement still needs “us” if “we” are feminists? To be clear, my call is not to capitulate to the consensus among my interview participants that feminism is not valuable in their work, but to take that as a call to reflect on and begin to articulate more clearly what a feminist perspective offers to grassroots individuals and organizations that confront and seek to prevent sexual violence.
I do believe that the loss of an explicitly feminist perspective is a problem for movements that challenge violence against women. For example, few of the interview participants mentioned structural analyses about gendered violence, including race, class, and other types of power inequalities (see Hancock, this volume) that decrease political power and increase vulnerability to sexual assault. In most cases, psychological approaches focused on individual pathology and individual healing were the preferred frame for responding to sexual abuse. Lacking a sense of how and why larger social structures are related to gendered violence, many advocates were unable to conceptualize or capitalize on policy opportunities. Their focus on individual care and healing, as well as the enormous amount of work they are asked to do with very little funding, made it difficult to for them to envision how and why policy interventions (and not simply those directed at gendered violence, but a broad range of economic, social, and political issues) might reduce gendered violence. When they did discuss policy responses, few advocates had a critical perspective on the state as a source of inequality as well as a venue for redress (see McDonagh, this volume). Advocates weren't shy about criticizing government policies they thought were ineffective or misguided. But they were not always skeptical about the state's interests in responding to sexual violence, a skepticism that second-wave feminist ideology inculcated in anti-rape activists (BenDor Reference BenDor, Walker and Brodsky1976; Connell and Wilson Reference Connell and Wilson1974).
Finally, while shunning feminism may be a viable strategy to function effectively in a hostile local climate, it saps the intellectual and political vitality of the movement. Rape care programs in many communities are also politically marginal organizations, lacking connections and allies to help them identify and resolve the enormous obstacles they face. As a result of the (sometimes self-chosen and occasionally externally-imposed) isolation of rape care programs, advocates lack access to feminist networks within and outside the state (see Banaszak, this volume; Reference Banaszak, Meyer, Jenness and Ingram2005). As a result, though centers across the country confront similar problems (such as a lack of legal resources or problems with law enforcement), every center deals with them as a one-off local issue. Without national connections, programs are not able to share their successful interventions or to get assistance with persistent problems.
Ironically, like many of the abused individuals these programs assist, rape crisis centers see each problem they face as new, unique, specific, and personal, rather than as illustrative of broader patterns. Indeed, during my research process I often thought that rape care programs might be ripe for some feminist consciousness-raising. This should not mean insisting on some kind of orthodoxy about what feminism means; diverse beliefs and causes are pursued in the name of feminism (see Schreiber, this volume). Rather, taking seriously advocates' criticisms of feminism as they understand it might challenge academic feminists not only to think about what tools are needed to make real strides in struggles against gender inequality, but also to help build the intellectual and material resources needed to create powerful political transformations.
