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Some thirty years ago, in the face of strong opposition, including from the National Organization for Women (NOW), Congress amended the Federal Rules of Evidence to add Rules 413–15. A significant number of states have followed. Contrary to the “cardinal” rule of precluding admission of prior bad acts evidence to prove a person’s propensity to commit such an act, Rules 413 to 415 explicitly permit admission of evidence of prior sexual assault (413 and 415) and child molestation (414 and 415) for the propensity inference.
This chapter uses machine learning techniques to analyze the language of police complaints filed. It uncovers gendered patterns in both the type and content of reported crimes. The chapter finds comparable cases registered by men and women, and shows that gender disparities in outcomes persist even when the content of what is being reported is similar.
This essay offers an ecocritical reading of decolonial love. It traces how, in Díaz’s fiction, people introject (post)colonial violence, redeploying its misogynist, masculinist, and sometimes violently hypersexual and racialized dynamics in their most intimate relationships. Díaz shows the connection between this kind of toxicity and the historical and economic forces that are laying waste to the planet.
Survival sex is prevalent in conflict-affected settings, yet humanitarian actors’ understanding of the structural inequalities driving such exchanges remains limited. Stigma and discriminatory attitudes among practitioners continue to shape humanitarian responses, resulting in the exclusion of those engaged in survival sex from assistance and protection. This article examines how prevailing narratives have reduced survival sex to dichotomous categories of sex work or sexual violence, overlooking the systemic dimensions of what is best described as a coping mechanism. After defining survival sex, it analyzes the root causes of the phenomenon through wider scholarship on transactional sex. Based on secondary sources and the author’s operational experience addressing gendered harm in humanitarian settings, the article examines how survival sex impacts individuals, families and communities. The author concludes by providing recommendations for how humanitarian actors can enhance protection for persons engaged in survival sex through broader stigma reduction efforts.
Under Democratic control, with sugar and cotton no longer kings and limited public investment, a new generation of economically diminished but politically powerful planters and smallholders implemented Jim Crow in this majority Black region. Angola Penitentiary and convict leasing schemes, segregated public accommodations, minstrel shows, and lynchings recreated white supremacy. Sexual violence inflicted lasting harm and, when it resulted in childbirth, literally remade Black families. Virgil Harrell’s second wife, my great- great-grandmother Martha, experienced this kind of violation, one that led to the birth of my great-grandmother Ruth. African Americans had good reason to leave, but many chose to stay. They created families and communities that, while not always harmonious, offered sustenance and healing. People like Martha and Virge Harrell sought sanctuary in their families, communities, and institutions. Some accumulated property and joined regional and national networks. They reclaimed their vulnerable bodies in ecstatic worship in their own churches, in athletic competitions at the parish fair, and in the raunchy, jook-joint blues.
Sexual violence in psychiatric in-patient care has received increasing attention following persistent evidence of sexual violence and harassment on wards. However, patients’ subjective experiences remain under-examined, limiting the evidence base to inform safeguarding, gender-sensitive design and trauma-informed practice.
Aims
To synthesise qualitative evidence on patients’ experiences of sexual violence and perceived risk within psychiatric in-patient settings.
Method
We conducted a systematic review and qualitative synthesis following Preferred Reporting Items for Systematic reviews and Meta-Analyses guidelines (PROSPERO registration no. CRD42024595945). MEDLINE, Embase and PsycINFO were searched from inception to October 2024, supplemented by reference list screening and citation tracking. Inclusion criteria were peer-reviewed qualitative studies reporting patients’ first-hand accounts of sexual violence or perceived sexual safety in psychiatric in-patient care. The quality of the included studies was assessed using the Critical Appraisal Skills Programme checklist, and data were analysed by thematic synthesis.
Results
Six studies published between 1998 and 2025 met the inclusion criteria, with most focusing on female patients in mixed-gender wards. Three overarching themes were developed: (a) ‘a culture of permissiveness and dismissal’ – patients downplayed harassment and abuse and staff routinely dismissed concerns; (b) ‘everyday fear, hypervigilance and resistance’ – the constant threat of harm generated chronic distress, with safeguarding responsibility shifted onto the patients; and (c) ‘gendered power dynamics in open or mixed-gender spaces’ – open ward layouts, inadequate boundaries and legal detention compounded vulnerability to harm.
Conclusions
Sexual violence in psychiatric in-patient care is enabled by ward cultures that normalise harm, weak safeguarding and gendered power imbalances. Urgent action is needed to implement trauma-informed, gender-sensitive practices and secure spatial boundaries and consistent incident responses, alongside policies that enable safe disclosure and accountability.
In July 1866 Rachel Robins and Virgil Harrell married. After centuries of commoditized kinship, my grandmother’s grandfather celebrated citizenship by claiming kin. But emancipated people had a freedom vision that exceeded liberal ideology. As in other post-emancipation societies, many wanted land to become smallholders. They elected John Gair and other Black politicians. At great personal cost, they organized, voted, and armed to defend themselves against vigilante forces. But this couple and others learned the limits of liberal inclusion. Emancipation and enfranchisement set a new stage for an old conflict between people who believed in the power of democracy and those committed to white power over all else.
The chapter creates the context for the rest of the study by outlining the 2nd and 3rd Ukrainian Fronts’ operations in Europe from August 1944 to May 1945. It also discusses the troops’ undisciplined and criminal conduct, including acts of robberies, assaults, murders, excessive alcohol consumption, and desertion and straggling. It pays particular attention to the issue of rape. The Red Army personnel committed hundreds of thousands of rapes in Romania during the exploitation phase of the Iassi–Kishinev Offensive. The same soldiers behaved with more restraint in “neutral” Bulgaria and “allied” Yugoslavia. In Hungary, the extremely brutal and protracted combat led to an escalation in violence against civilians, which reached its zenith in Austria. The chapter estimates that there were around 150,000 deserters and stragglers, who greatly contributed to the violence against civilians.
The chapter argues that the Red Army’s troops prized sexual activity as one of the defining characteristics of strong manhood. They tended to consider all women – Soviet civilians, their female comrades, and European women – as potential sexual partners. Although many Soviet soldiers and officers viewed all women in this way, how much violence they were willing to employ to obtain sex, and what they could get away with, varied considerably between different groups of women. The most vulnerable to attacks were women from “enemy” countries, which explains the mass nature of sexual violence in Romania, Hungary, and Austria. The chapter also discusses the soldiers’ absurd and untrue stories of foreign women as depraved seductresses, which had the goal of justifying the violence. It also discusses sexual relations between Soviet soldiers and European civilians that were transactional and free of outright violence.
In recent decades, biblical and early Christian studies have become more keenly aware and critical of how ancient Mediterranean literature perpetuates patriarchal stereotypes about women, incites gendered violence, and often participates in a culture of blaming women for the perpetuation of such stereotypes and violence. This article examines how the soul is gendered and made a victim of sexual violence in a Nag Hammadi text known as the Exegesis on the Soul (Exeg. Soul). After introducing Exeg. Soul and Nag Hammadi Codex II, I examine how the text participates in victim blaming and in conversation with recent advances in classical and biblical scholarship, as well as key differences between Exeg. Soul and other texts in Codex II regarding their characterization of sexual violence. I argue that despite its usefulness in encouraging ascetics to resist desires and repent like the soul portrayed in the text, Exeg. Soul offers a less forgiving portrayal of divine intervention (or lack thereof) in moments of sexual violence and risks the revictimization of survivors.
Chapter 5 moves to Veracruz and the inaugural moments of General Winfield Scott’s 1847 Mexico City campaign. It uses neglected court-martial records to show how the army’s newly formed rescuer-identity shaped General Winfield Scott’s new military commissions. The commissions radically expanded the scope of military justice to encompass not only soldiers but all persons in occupied territory, and this instrument of martial power endures today. Yet, the first capital case tried by military commission – in which the army hanged Isaac Kirk, a Black man from Tennessee, for allegedly raping Maria Antonia Gallegas, a Mexican woman – has remained until now completely unstudied. A close reading of the case file, including the previously uncited testimonies of Gallegas and several enlisted men, lays bare the race and gender dynamics at the heart of army culture and produces new insights into how Scott managed to put his military commission system into effect without foundation in law.
For nearly three decades, the Democratic Republic of the Congo has endured armed conflict that has devastated its population, leaving a staggering number of survivors of sexual violence. This article draws on over a decade of clinical, academic and field experience to explore the psychosocial and public health challenges of caring for these survivors. Despite the high prevalence of post-traumatic disorders – often severe and complex – the mental health system remains gravely under-resourced. The article examines gaps in mental health services, highlights the clinical intricacies of trauma resulting from rape (including complex PTSD and dissociation) and critiques the uncritical export of Western therapeutic models to African contexts. Emphasizing the need for culturally grounded, integrative care, the author advocates for community-based, trauma-informed, inclusive and context-sensitive approaches that bridge clinical science and local healing traditions. This holistic vision is essential for restoring dignity and mental health to survivors and for building a resilient public health infrastructure in the DRC.
The Revolutionary War was simultaneously a time of increased emphasis on marriage and family, as well as individual rejection of the marital monopoly on sex. Some individuals broke common sexual mores by engaging in fornication or extramarital affairs. Others sought more freedom, such as when the enslaved ran away from their masters and reconfigured their families on their own terms, or when abused wives fought for more safety. However, race, gender, and wealth all affected the extent to which a person’s sexuality was judged and criminalized. The imperial crisis and Revolutionary War offered opportunities to those who wished to break sexual taboos and a continued sense of the importance of loyalty to marriage and family ideals to others. By the end of the war, the elaboration of new divorce laws in some states and the reduction in criminal trials for fornication created more options for sexual freedoms.
Rooted in the lives of eleven enslaved individuals – African, African American, and Native American – this essay demonstrates that slavery in the eighteenth-century Americas was characterized by a wide range of laws, economies, cultures, and demographies. Rather than centering the meta-structures of Atlantic slavery, which are well known and often over-emphasized, the chapter focuses on the varied human experiences within colonial systems that sought to dehumanize and control enslaved people. The enslaved lived meaningful lives that were constrained, but never defined, by their legal and social status as slaves. Their biographies offer valuable insights into slavery in the mid eighteenth century.
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.
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.
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.