Threads 2016

University College Feminists ‘Threads’: An Undergraduate Journal

Summer 2016 / Issue 3

Thr eads : An Under gr aduat e J our nal

Editors, Threads:

Published by:

Ridley Soudack, (Combined Honours in Social University College Feminists, Durham University © 2016 Sciences, University College, Durham University) Articles may be quoted, downloaded or printed freely for academic or not-for-profit purposes Virut Hemnilrat (St Chad’s College, Durham provided that due acknowledgement is made to University) authors or copyright holders and to Threads.

For enquiries and further information please contact universitycollegefeminists@gmail.com

Threads: The essays featured in Threads were presented at University College Feminists’ second annual undergraduate conference on 14th June, 2016 at University College, Durham.

Founded by University College Feminists, Threads is a peer-reviewed, interdisciplinary journal that celebrates the work of undergraduates exploring feminist, gender and queer theory in their university work.

University College Feminists: University College Feminists is a collegiate society based at University College, Durham University. Recently featured in international publications, it is the first society of its kind in the university and provides a platform for feminist discussion for individuals from all colleges. Established in 2012, the society welcomes speakers on a regular basis and engages in feminist activism within Durham University and further afield.

President: Madeleine Gough Vice President: Virut Hemnilrat Secretary: Jen Cannon Treasurers: Ridley Soudack 3

Cont ent s :

Georgia Cashman

Emily Duthie

Abby Carrington

How did issues of gender impact male and female artists in France in the period 1870-1900?

Sapphic Sisterhood and the Lesbian Left: The Establishment of a Mancunian Lesbian Community, 1977-1987

“Oh, you play football, you must be a lesbian then…” An exploration into the experiences of female footballers regarding issues of gender, the lesbian label and stigma, stereotyping and homophobia.

64

32 17 15

37 95 97

Jasmine Simms

Ginny Weasley and the Chamber of Sexuality

153 78 155

Sebastian Mar

Deconstruction and Subversion of the ‘male gaze’ in Alfred Hitchcock’s ‘Vertigo’ (1958) and Lars von Trier’s ‘Nymphomaniac’ (2013).

104 168 166

Celia Durkan

Domestic Violence as a Human Rights Violation: International and Regional Norms

Aaron Bell

Meg Kneafsey

From a cultural theory perspective, does economics at an undergraduate level exhibit androcentric values in its practice and methods? To what extent is the culture of “modernism” a factor?

How useful is the concept of emotional labour for understanding gendered inequalities in domestic unpaid labour?

178 122 180

127 226 228

239 241 173

Najeehah HajiAbdul-Hamid

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall: Investigating the Motivations for Skin Whitening of Singaporean Women.

183 255 257

Miriam Brittenden

To what extent did attitudes towards marital violence in the English household change c.1600-1900?

192 296 298

Samantha Brooks

Can postmodernism help us understand contemporary feminism?

213 313 315

Anna Southam

The role of critical mass in UK boardrooms: Do more female directors enhance firm performance?

230 321 323

Christye McKinney

Was a real man the strong and silent type in Victorian England?

263 387 389

Naoise Murphy

‘The book has somehow to be adapted to the body’ (Virginia Woolf): Gender and the Body in Shakespeare’s As You Like It.

403 274 401

4

Edi t or s ' not e

Ridley Soudack is a third year student at University College, Durham University, graduating with a degree in and international Relations sociology

Virut Hemnilrat is a third year student at University College, Durham University, graduating with a degree in politics, philosophy, and economics.

The title of this journal comes from an image from Dr Ruth Lewis in her keynote speech at

our inaugural conference in 2014. She described feminism as a tapestry, a more fitting image than the usual idea of ‘waves’, which implies discord. We hope that the essays collected here contribute some ‘threads’ to the rich tapestry of feminist study and continue the work of ‘teaching to transgress’ that forms the basis of University College Feminists.

2015/2016 has been a year in which globalizing information and transport technologies have

continued to shrink temporal and geographical boundaries. Simultanoeusly, we have

witnessed the rise of virulent regressive nationalist movements across North America and

Western Europe. In such a shifting climate, it becomes increasingly important to discuss issues of feminism intersectionally across disciplines. We believe that the voices of young people will become crucially important in years to come, and it is vital that we continue to come together to engage in critical thought and discussion, developing and our knowledge.

We would like to thank our wonderful undergraduate speakers and all who attended and took part in our discussions and events throughout the year. We would also like to thank all those

who submitted papers and engaged in discussion on our facebook page.

We hope you enjoy the third issue of ‘Threads’ and we look forward to building on this year’s

success with many more events and campaigns in the next academic year.

5

How di d i s s ues of gender i mpact m al e and f em al e ar t i s t s i n Fr ance i n t he per i od 1870- 1900?

Georgia Cashman is a second year History student at University College, Durham University. This paper was prepared for the ‘Introduction to Modern Art’ module taught by Dr. Anthony Parton.

Abstract This essay was of particular interest to me as the impressionists have always been defined as male even though female painters participated in every exhibition. This essay aims to look into the problems that women faced approaching fin de siècle. It has also aimed to discover the gendered roles, and how that has been embodied in contemporary artwork.

Throughout the essay it was shown that gender affected both male and female artists in a variety of ways. Women were restricted to the domestic and their artwork expressed their entrapment. This was achieved through restricted pictorial space, physical and metaphorical barriers. This was in contrast to their male counterparts who depicted the Parisian scenes of modernity. These men were free to explore Paris as flaneurs. Women of the lower echelons in Paris were not bound to social convention and chaperones like their bourgeois counterparts. Thus they were often depicted amongst the flaneurs. This essay explores the restrictions imposed upon women entering the art world. Finally the essay explored the depiction of the female gender in artwork to analyse that women were depicted through the male gaze. In contrast female artists tried to defy the gaze by depicting women either exerting their own gaze to scrutinise the viewer or by actively using their own gaze in an intelligent manner. Moreover the class of woman depicted how she would be subjected the gaze with working class women experiencing an overtly sexualised gaze.

The essay concludes that gender impacted male and female artists in a variety of ways; their subject manner, their entrance into the art world, and their depiction of women. However, this was not the only factor, which did so. Class also played a large role in all of these categories, as modernity was very different for working class and bourgeois women.

6

This essay will define gender as the socially constructed masculine and feminine stereotypes. Gender often interlinks with the biological definitions of sex, however, they are different concepts. Gender has played a key role in influencing artwork throughout history, including the period of 1870-1900. Male and female artists engaged with a very different image of France due to the disparity in what was deemed suitably feminine and masculine.

During the aforementioned period, French cities were engulfed in modernity (for example, the Eiffel tower was completed in 1889).1 Modernity was enshrined in the bustling streets and liberal attitudes, which Parisian men were free to explore. In contrast, women were plagued by conservative attitudes and were restricted in the activities they could partake in. This essay will demonstrate how gender affected many aspects of artists’ work, not simply subject matter. Gender was reflected in the objectification of female subjects by male artists and viewers. Mary Cassatt tried to defeat this trope and claimed “women should be someone, not something”.2 All aspects of work were infiltrated by gendered differences, yet many have overemphasised the impact this had on female artists during the period. Gender was not the sole barrier for women; many were successful artists and some women infiltrated the male sphere. Consequently, this essay will argue that gender impacted both male and female artists since it heavily dictated their subject matter as well as their depiction of women, however it yielded its greatest impact when in conjunction with class issues.

During the second half of the nineteenth century it was assumed that men and women should operate within separate spheres. This was often associated with the view that a woman should be the ‘angel in the house’.3 Female artists were restricted to painting domestic and middle class leisure scenes, whilst their male counterparts painted Paris’s busy cafés and streets. The public sphere was a place where women could lose 1 Diane

Favero, et al., ‘Paris II Urban Development’, Oxford Art Online, <http:// www.oxfordartonline.com/subscriber/article/grove/art/T065354pg2? type=article&goto=P&_start=141&pos=149> [accessed on 25 February 2016] 2 Susan

Fillin Yeh, ‘Mary Cassatt’s Images of Women’, Art Journal, 35 (1976), p.363

3 Coventry

Patmore, The Angel in the House (London 1891) <http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ 4099/4099-h/4099-h.htm> [accessed 1 March 2016] This poem first published in 1854 was an idealised account of Patmore’s courtship of his first wife, whom he believed to be the perfect woman. The term ‘angel in the house’ reflects the belief that woman and men are naturally predisposed to excel in a specific aspect of society. These tended to be split into the private and public spheres of contemporary life. This poem was popular in Victorian Britain and was often cited to affirm separate spheres.

7

their virtue and men could lose themselves in the crowd, distant from the demands of respectability.4 It has been argued that these social cues prevented women from fully experiencing modernity. Berthe Morisot has commented on the social entrapment of women in her 1872 work View of Paris From the Trocadero (Fig1.). The painting depicts two bourgeois women in the domestic quarters of Paris, whilst being ‘fenced off’ both physically and metaphorically from the city centre.5 Morisot painted modernity from her own confined sphere, and therefore, demonstrated the female experience of contemporary Paris.6 The fence symbolises how women were confined within the feminine sphere, as it distances them from the landscape of the city. Morisot puts the viewer in the place of the female, and forces them to experience a dislocation from the intangible world beyond the feminine sphere.7 The women’s nonchalant attitude suggests that the women have accepted their fate, whereas the young girl looks out to the city. This lone child creates a sense of isolation, as she seems engrossed in the world beyond her gendered barrier.

Fig1. : Berthe Morisot, View of Paris from the Trocadero (1872), oil on canvas, Santa Barbara Museum of Art 4 Griselda

Pollock, Modernity and the Spaces of Femininity. In Vision and Difference, (London, 1988), p.69 5 The

idea of women being ‘fenced’ is a common trope which Morisot has used in her other works, see On the Balcony (1871-2) for another example of this imagery.

6 Tamar

Garb, ‘Gender and Representation’ in, Nigel Blake, Briony Fer, Francis Franscina, Tamar Garb and Charles Harrison(Eds.) Modernity and Modernism, French Painting in the Nineteenth Century, (London 1993), p.273 7 Pollock,

Modernity and the Spaces of Femininity, p.63

8

However, separate spheres were not simply achieved on gender lines. Many of the haunts, which men frequented, were occupied by working class women.8 Therefore, separation of male and female spheres was an exclusively bourgeois concept. Nevertheless, even if encounters are structured within class relations, they are defined within the power relations of gender. The working class women depicted in male artwork are portrayed as submissive objects. Morisot’s reflection of Paris was as a bourgeois woman herself, hence she painted her personal experience of the period, one of female confinement.

Gendered spheres were enshrined in the concept of the flâneur, which has no feminine equivalent. The flâneur was the embodiment of urban fin de siècle, he is a man who strolls around, observes and contemplates society. In Le Figaro, the poet Baudelaire depicts a flâneur’s journey.9 Within Le Figaro, women are represented according to their location. Respectable women are chaperoned and dressed modestly, whilst women in places for sexual consumption offer their bodies, and exhibit sexualised anatomy.10 Like Morisot’s barrier in View of Paris from the Trocadero, much of Baudelaire’s map of modern Paris was unavailable to bourgeois women. The male impressionists’ view of modern Paris mirrored that of a flâneur.11 Corner of a Café Concert by Edouard Manet (Fig2.) is

Fig2.: Edouard Manet, Corner of a Café Concert (1878-1880), oil on canvas, The National Gallery

one example of this. The painting shows a lone male sat at a bar, surrounded by people, 8 The

cafés and bars that men attended were filled with working class women who worked there as dancers, barmaids and courtesans. These women were depicted differently to the bourgeois women who could not enter these establishments, often in a sexual manner. Their jobs were to entertain men and even in artwork that was their main role.

9 The

flâneur visits the bourgeois women in the theatre boxes, the elegant families in public gardens initially, yet goes to the lowlier world afterwards where he encounters dancers, mistresses in cafés and prostitutes.

10 Pollock,

Modernity and the Spaces of Femininity, pp.72-73

11 Impressionists

painted day to day life rather than allegorical, religious or political scenes.

Therefore, they often depicted people in cafés, the theatre or at work in the city.

9

observing the dancer on stage. Manet creates a sense of chaos within the painting through the crowded scene. Moreover, the heavy brushstrokes, especially on the waitress, create movement in the painting. The busy atmosphere is perpetuated by the fragmentation of the painting. Fragmentation is created by the painting’s abrupt ending, which occurs because Manet deliberately halved another painting to create it.12 Manet’s work showcases the veracity of life that was available to male artists and the cafés where artists would partake in theoretical and intellectual debates.13 Male artists were able exercise their vices with no inhibitions, therefore, their view of Paris was far more telling than their female counterparts. Manet and Morisot’s depictions of their spheres showcases the distinction between the freedoms of men and women in the nineteenth century.

Issues of gender restricted women in their pursuit of being artists, as they were resigned to amateur painting. There were no female representatives on the Salon Jury until 1898 and no female students in École des Beaux-Arts until 1897.14 Traditional routes for artistic training were not available to women. Hence, they only received lessons if they could afford private tuition at schools such as Academie Julien, or had relations with a male artist.15 Ergo, the woman that were successful during the late nineteenth century tended to be related to, or close friends of successful male artists. This is illustrated by Morisot, who befriended Édouard Manet and eventually married his brother Eugène in 1874. Manet painted several portraits of Morisot and inducted her into the impressionist group, which helped launch her career.16 Katy Deepwell has argued that “women’s position had always initially been defined in relation to a… male circle of friends”, and Morisot was archetypal of that stereotype.17 Moreover, women were inhibited from exhibiting their work, since the Salon favoured academic artwork. Therefore, women often veered towards impressionist exhibitions because pieces were not chosen by a board. Impressionism was

12 Jonathan

Jones, ‘Corner of a Café-Concert, Edouard Manet (c1878-80)’, (2002) <http:// www.theguardian.com/culture/2002/sep/28/art> [accessed on 27 February 2016] 13 Whitney 14 Tamar

Chadwick, Women, Art and Society (London 1996), p.38

Garb, ‘Gender and Representation’, p.235

15 The

Academie Julien trained men and women on an equal basis, albeit separately. This meant women had access to basic training such as nude life drawing, which was unavailable to them even when they were permitted access to public art academies.

16 Sylvie

Blin, ‘Berthe Morisot’ (2012), <http://www.thearttribune.com/Berthe-Morisot.html> [accessed on 27 February 2016] 17 Katy

Deepwell, ‘Introduction’, in Katy Deepwell (Ed.), Women Artists and Modernism (Manchester 1998), p.5

10

popular with female artists, as it was linked to qualities intrinsic to women. Thus art critic’s such as Théodor de Wyzewa associated it with the feminine style.18 Consequently, gender stereotypes inhibited women from entering the art world and influenced their artistic style.

Notwithstanding, painters were often hindered by class, evident in the fact that female painters were solely bourgeoisie. Women from the lower echelons in society struggled to attain training due to its cost, and therefore, failed to exhibit their work. Despite this, class was not as great an issue for men, Pissarro was working class yet prospered as an artist.19 Though class contributed to painters’ achievements, it was not the preeminent in doing so.

Gender played a large role in impeding access to the art world, and only in exceptional cases were women able to bypass discrimination.

One way in which gender impacted both male and female artists was the concept of the (male) ‘gaze’. The gaze is when women are depicted from a masculine point of view.20 This means that male and female viewers alike must assume the position of the heterosexual male in order to gain pleasure in the image.21 The gaze is a prominent feature of the female nude, to sexualise the painting. One clear example of the gaze is in Degas’ series of bathers, such as After the bath, women with a towel (Fig3.).

Degas employs a voyeuristic quality to the

Fig3.: Edgar Degas, After the bath, woman with a towel (1893-1897),pastel on wove paper, Harvard Art Museum

painting, as the scene is an intimate encounter in a private interior. The painter invites the viewer to secretly observe the subject, as she is absorbed in the act of drying herself and therefore, unaware that she is being watched. The female in the painting is there to be looked at for erotic pleasure, thus 18 Tamar

Garb, ‘Gender and Representation’, p.283

19 Camille

Pissarro helped his family in the import/ export business before going to Academie Suisse to pursue his career in artwork. He was renowned for depicting the working class rather than the bourgeoisie in his paintings.

20 Laura 21 Penny

Mulvey, ‘Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema’,Screen, 16, (1975) Huntsman, Thinking about art (London 2016), p.237

11

scopophilia is achieved in the piece.22 The visual artwork in After the bath, woman with a towel provides this sexual pleasure through the sensuality of the woman’s body. The artist uses pastels to create smooth lines and blurred contours, which create a soft texture to the skin, reminiscent of the female body. Art historians have claimed that an artist’s brush and hands act almost like a penis when creating scpopophiliac art, as painting is a sexualised touch.23 Ultimately, the unidentifiable woman is rendered powerless as Degas asserts his sexual will over her.24 The masculine gender imposes their power over the feminine through the depiction of women. Artwork mirrored reality where there was no female erotica, therefore, women could not subject men to their own gaze.25 This reaffirms the aforementioned point on separate spheres, as women were not expected to have sexual needs like that of men.

In contrast to Degas’ sexualised paintings of women, female artists tried to regain the power of the gaze and become empowered through their artwork. Morisot once stated “I do not think any man would ever treat a woman as his equal”, which confirms the masculine dominance stereotype.26 Cassatt tried to regain feminine power in her depiction of women by showcasing intelligence in her subjects. One example is Woman Reading in Garden (Fig4.), which depicts a young woman engaged in a newspaper. The lines of the woman’s arms and her line of sight draw your attention to the newspaper. This emphasises that she is an intellectual person, not

Fig4.: Mary Cassatt, Woman Reading in Garden (1880), oil on canvas, Art Institute of Chicago

22 Scopophilia

is a term coined by Freud in which a person derives sexual pleasure from looking, especially at erotic objects and pictures. This is achieved through subjecting the object to the (male) gaze.

23 Tamar

Garb, ‘Gender and Representation’, p.228

24 Chadwick,

Women, Art and Society, p.280

25 Linda

Nochlin, ‘Eroticism and Female Imagery in Nineteenth Century Art’ in Linda Nochlin (Ed.), Women, Art and Power and Other Essays (London 1994), p.139 26 Kathryn

Hughes, ‘Berthe Morisot: The Forgotten Impressionist’, (2010) <http:// www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/art/8186673/Berthe-Morisot-the-forgotten-Impressionist.html> [accessed on 25 February 2016]

12

just a lustful object. Furthermore, the woman is modestly dressed, and there are no attempts to draw attention to her body for sexual pleasure. Cassatt’s painting suggests an intimacy like that in Degas’ work due to the crowded pictorial space. This is achieved through the encroaching flowers in the background and the fact that the painting bleeds out of the frame. Yet, unlike Degas, Cassatt created a warm and inviting intimacy, rather than one associated with perversion. However, Degas painted nudes of proletariat women, whereas bourgeois women sat for Cassatt. Therefore, gender is not the sole reason for the disparity in the representation of these women. Still, male and female artists represented women differently in their artwork. Men tended to portray their female subjects in a sexual manner, exerting control over them, whereas female artists wanted their subjects to be more than simply objects of male desire.

The extent to which gender impacted both male and female artists is often overexaggerated. Although one cannot deny that there were few female artists, those that were successful received a lot of attention. This is evident in the fact that Paul Durand Ruel bought 400 Cassatt paintings, more than he purchased from many male artists.27 Moreover, female artists were not the only ones who struggled to be exhibited, many male artists were rejected from the salon. Though it was easier for men to gain recognition, it was not as simple as applying to an academy.28 Famous male artists often had to support their families before pursuing art, for example, at his father’s request, Manet initially sought a career in the navy.29 The impact of gender was not overwhelming for all female artists, as many remained successful. In addition, prohibition to the art world was not only due to gender, many men struggled, and the majority of successful women were bourgeois. This suggests class divides were also important when it came to nineteenth century artists.

In conclusion, issues of gender impacted both male and female artists during the period 1870-1900. The Parisian crowds helped men escape moral judgement, whilst they frequented morally questionable locations. In contrast women were confined to their 27 Griselda

Pollock, ‘The National Gallery is Erasing Women from the History of Art’ (2015),<http:// theconversation.com/the-national-gallery-is-erasing-women-from-the-history-of-art-42505> [accessed on 25 February 2016] Paul Durand Ruel is praised as the man that ‘made the impressionists’ and bought thousands of their paintings. He did a lot for female artists, showcasing all four female impressionists, and he did not favour male artists. For example, he bought twice the amount of Cassatt paintings as he did those by Manet.

28 John

Rewald, Studies in Impressionism (Tokyo 2010), pp.72-3

29 ‘Edouard

Manet and his Paintings’ (2010), <http://www.manet.org> [accessed on 26 February

2016]

13

domestic sphere, or could only venture into public spaces with a chaperone. The subjects of female artists could not be morally questionable. Additionally, gender meant similar subjects were painted differently. In a period dominated by men, female artists were becoming assertive, and painting subjects which represented the feminine sex as more than an object for male pleasure. Ultimately, gender was not the sole issue that affected artists during the period; gender issues ran parallel to class issues. Bourgeois women entered the art world and separate spheres did not apply to all women. Proletariat women worked in the brothels and bars, which middle class men resided in. Moreover, sensuous portraits tended to be of actresses or prostitutes posing for artists, whilst middle class women were depicted modestly. Therefore, it is far too simplistic to state gender was the only issue that impacted artists during the period. Consequently this essay has argued that issues of gender heavily impacted the nature and success of artistsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; work, yet it was not their sole influence.

14

Bibliography Blake, Nigel, Fer, Briony, Franscina, Francis, Garb, Tamar and Harrison, Charles(Eds.), Modernity and Modernism, French Painting in the Nineteenth Century, (London 1993) Blin, Sylvie ‘Berthe Morisot’, (2012), <http://www.thearttribune.com/Berthe-Morisot.html> [accessed on 27 February 2016] Chadwick, Whitney Women, Art and Society (London 1996) D’Souza, Aruna and McDonough, Tom, The invisible flaneuse? Gender, public, and visual culture in nineteenth-century Paris (Manchester 2008) Deepwell, Katy(Ed.) Women Artists and Modernism (Manchester 1998) ‘Edouard Manet and his Paintings’, (2010), <http://www.manet.org> [accessed on 26 February 2016] Favero, Diane, et al., ’Paris II Urban Development’, Oxford Art Online, <http:// www.oxfordartonline.com/subscriber/article/grove/art/T065354pg2? type=article&goto=P&_start=141&pos=149> [accessed on 25 February 2016] Fillin Yeh,Susan, ‘Mary Cassatt’s Images of Women’, Art Journal, 35 (1976), pp.359-363 Hughes, Kathryn, ’Berthe Morisot: The Forgotten Impressionist’, (2010) <http:// www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/art/8186673/Berthe-Morisot-the-forgotten-Impressionist.html> [accessed on 25 February 2016] Huntsman,Penny, Thinking About Art (London 2016) ‘Impressionism, Art of Impressionists’ (2016), <http://www.impressionism.org> [accessed 1st March 2016] Jones, Jonathon, ‘Corner of a Café-Concert, Edouard Manet (c1878-80)’, (2002) <http:// www.theguardian.com/culture/2002/sep/28/art> [accessed on 27 February 2016] Museum of Modern Art, ‘The Body in Art’, <http://www.moma.org/learn/moma_learning/ themes/investigating-identity/the-body-in-art> [accessed on 1 March 2016] Museum of Modern Art, ‘What is Modern Art’, <http://www.moma.org/learn/moma_learning/ themes/what-is-modern-art> [accessed on 1 March 2016] Mulvey, Laura ‘Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema’,Screen, 16, (1975), pp.6-18 Nochlin, Linda(Ed) , Women, Art and Power and Other Essays London 1994 Patmore, Coventry The Angel in the House (London 1891) <http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ 4099/4099-h/4099-h.htm> [accessed 1 March 2016] Pollock, Griselda, Modernity and the Spaces of Femininity. In Vision and Difference, (London 1988)

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Pollock,Griselda â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;The National Gallery is Erasing Women from the History of Artâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;, (2015),<http://theconversation.com/the-national-gallery-is-erasing-women-from-the-historyof-art-42505> [accessed on 25 February 2016] Rewald, John, Studies in Impressionism (Tokyo 2010) Turner, Jane(Ed.), From Monet to Cezanne Late 19th century artists French Artists (London 2000)

16

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Emily Duthie is a third year History student at Collingwood College, Durham University. This paper was prepared as a dissertation under the guidance of Dr. Andre Keil.

Abstract As the hosts of an annual international Pride Festival, Manchester’s LGBT community has undoubtedly become an important and celebrated part of Mancunian heritage. This study explores the process by which the ‘L’ of this community were able to establish themselves into a cohesive political group in the late 1970s and 1980s. The case study of the lesbian publication Lesbian Express provides insights into methods of grassroots organisation. Attempting to generate shared identities by grappling with contemporary issues – specifically within women’s liberation, gay liberation, and New Left movements – the Lesbian Express demonstrates how lesbian women were not easily subsumed into such distinct movements. In the context of a conservative backlash from Mrs. Thatcher and the New Right, collective identities were politically valuable. Manchester City Council – labelled as one of a number of ‘municipal socialist’ local authorities in the 1980s – was one of the only councils (including the Ken Livingstone’s Greater London Council) to dedicate a sub-committee and two paid workers exclusively to the lesbian community. Analysing the Sub-Committee’s minutes and the private papers of lesbian councillor Margaret Roff, it highlights the uneasy relationship between minority or ‘identity’ politics and the Labour Party as an institution focused on electoral success.

Ultimately, this dissertation seeks to demonstrate some of the ways in which marginalised people have gained strength through communal action and that these smaller ways are no less important to document.

17

INTRODUCTION ‘A Woman Needs a Man Like a Fish Needs a Bicycle’1 The publication, Lesbian Express (LE), reports the story of women graffitiing on a railway bridge in Longsight, Manchester. Whilst writing slogans like the above, one woman, Terry, was arrested and taken into custody for questioning.

According to the article, the threatening behaviour of the police turned to ridicule when they realised Terry had in fact painted ‘Lesbian Liberation’ not ‘Lebanese Liberation’ and was therefore a lesbian, not an urban guerrilla.2 The amusing tale of Terry’s rebellion in many ways reflects an unfortunate trend within the scholarship of late twentieth century social movements and wider historiography. Just as an act of vandalism by a lesbian was belittled by the police at Longsight, the activism of gay women has rarely received serious consideration in studies of this period. Scholarship focused on official campaigns and national conferences, for instance, or radical ideologies and flamboyant methods, has created a perception of ‘hierarchies of activism’, implicitly

1

‘A Woman Needs a Man?’, Lesbian Express, August 1978, p. 15.

2

Ibid.

18

devaluing relentless efforts of activists on a smaller scale.

3

Moreover, as more lesbians interacted at this micro-level, they are consistently featured as a footnote rather than as a key group, dismissed as inconsequential actors in liberation struggles.4 This dissertation will demonstrate that Mancunian lesbians made essential contributions to social progress in their city – for both women and the gay community. By ‘reclaiming’ these hitherto ignored narratives, I hope to celebrate actors who have facilitated progression to the tolerant and vibrant society of Manchester - and indeed Britain – today. Whilst iconic political campaigns may have represented the ‘dynamite’ of social change, quotidian efforts were vital in eroding the multifaceted sources of oppression.

Sapphic Histories LGBT (lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans) studies have only recently gained credible attention within academia. Finding its origins in the social movements examined in this dissertation, LGBT

3

A recent paper at the LGBT History Conference highlighted this danger in LGBT studies generally: Andrew King, ‘The Quiet Activism of Everyday Queer Lives’, Unpublished paper presented at: 3rd LGBT History Conference, 27-29 February 2016, University of Manchester.

3

A number of scholars have explicitly identified this limitation. See Stephen Brooke, Sexual Politics: Sexuality, Family Planning, and the British Left from the 1880s to the Present Day (Oxford, 2011), pp. 228-229; Adam Lent, ‘The transformation of gay and lesbian politics in Britain’, The British Journal of Politics and International Relations, Vol. 5, No. 1 (February, 2003), pp. 24-33, 25; Lucy Robinson, Gay men and the Left in post-war Britain: How the personal got political (Manchester, 2007), pp. 6-7.

19

history has played an important role in forming LGBT identities and buttressing political objectives. From the 1970s, a desire to uncover ‘hidden’ female homosexual relationships and desires emerged.

5

Ranging from the antiquity to the Victorian age,

academic excavations have looked to unearth lesbian heroines and communities from a past dominated by heteronormative assumptions. 6 The central dispute between scholars of these Sapphic studies may be simplified as ‘continuity’ versus ‘alterity’. On the one hand, continuist accounts maintained the model of a ‘lesbian continuum’, drawing vertical links between lesbians of the past and contemporaries.7 The first to implicitly forward a narrative of continuity was Lillian Faderman, who traced the endurance of female ‘romantic friendships’ from the sixteenth to the nineteenth century.8 This trend reflected an increased political imperative to validate lesbian identities. Often consciously, earlier lesbian scholars searched for historical roots, aiming to establish shared

5

Lillian Faderman, ‘Who Hid Lesbian History?’, Frontiers: A Journal of Women Studies, Vol. 4, No. 3 (1979), pp. 74-76.

6

For example, see Bernadatte Brooten, Love Between Women: Early Christian Responses to Female Eroticism (Chicago, 1996); Helena Whitbread (ed.), I Know My Own Heart: The Diaries of Anne Lister (London, 1988).

7

See Brooten, Love Between Women; Terry Castle, The Apparitional Lesbian: Female Homosexuality and Modern Culture (New York, 1993).

8

Lillian Faderman, Surpassing the Love of Men: Romantic Friendship and Love between Women, from the Renaissance to the Present (New York, 1981).

20

identities to support their challenges to the social structure. ‘On the most basic level’ wrote Frances Doughty ‘we need biographies of lesbians […] to give us back our history, our foremothers, and our role models’.

9

Even recent lesbian

histories have maintained a focus on issues perceived to be relevant ‘across time’, as the medievalist Carolyn Dinshaw has described.10 In doing so, however, some studies may be guilty of projecting a model predetermined by political agenda. As academics of lesbian and gay studies were often protagonists in the political struggle, they were inevitably motivated by aims to depict an enduring homosexual identity.11 Thus the model was open to criticisms of ‘essentialism’, anachronistically implying an unchanging sexuality.12 In opposition, scholars have emphasised historical contrast.

Michel Foucault and Jeffrey Weeks forwarded a principle of ‘social constructionism’ in the late 1970s, identifying the heterogeneous nature of erotic behaviours. 13 Many forms of

9

Frances Doughty, ‘Lesbian Biography, Biography of Lesbians’, Frontiers: A Journal of Women Studies, Vol. 4, No. 3 (1979), p. 76. Also see Adrienne Rich, ‘Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence’, Signs, Vol. 5, No. 4 (1980), pp. 631-660.

10

Carolyn Dinshaw, Getting Medieval: Sexualities and Communities, Preand Post-Modern (Durham, NC, 1999), p. 3. Also see Louise Fradenberg and Carla Freccero, Premodern Sexualities (London, 1996), p. xix.

11

See Sally Munt, ‘The Personal, Experience and the Self’, in C. K. Creekmur and Alexander Doty (eds), Out in Culture: Gay, Lesbian, and Queer Essays on Popular Culture (London, 1995), pp. 186-97.

12

Martha Vicinus, ‘The History of Lesbian History’, Feminist Studies, Vol. 38, No. 3 (2012), pp. 566-596, 568-569.

13

Michel Foucault, History of Sexuality, Vol. 1, An Introduction (Harmondsworth, 1978); Jeffrey Weeks, ‘Capitalism and the Organisation

21

sexuality, they argued, were distinct from contemporary classification. The essence of this theory was that sexuality was a social construct. Foucault, who identified the concept as a late eighteenth century invention to police physical desires, was joined by Weeks who concurred that the aim for gay activists should be liberation from categorization and the ‘ideology of sexuality’.14 ‘Queer theory’ would have a direct impact on gay activists; as the notion of an identity based on sexual orientation was doubted, the very concepts around which gay and lesbian communities united themselves were questioned.15 Perhaps unsurprisingly, debates over the definition of ‘lesbian’ have troubled historiography. Some scholars suggested that historical enquiry had failed to recognise the multiplicity of emotions and behaviours of a specifically female sexuality. The view that lesbianism could only be verified with evidence of sexual consummation was denounced and contrasted with a plethora of social manifestations constituting ‘proof’ of homosexuality.16 Blanche Wiesen Cook, for instance, argued in

of Sex’, in Gay Left Collective (ed.), (London, 1980), pp. 11-20.

14

Homosexuality, Power and Politics

Ibid., pp. 19-20.

15

It should be noted that, although he maintained sexual identities were historical inventions, Weeks went on to defend the centrality of gay and lesbian identities as sources of solidarity. See Jeffrey Weeks, ‘History, desire and identities’, in R. G. Parker and J. H. Gagnon (eds), Conceiving sexuality: Approaches to Sex Research in a Postmodern World (New York, 1995), pp. 33-50, 43.

16

Martha Vicinus, ‘Lesbian history: all theory and no facts or all facts and no theory?’, Radical History Review, Vol. 60 (1994), p. 57-74, 57.

22

1979 that lesbianism materialised itself in different forms within different contexts, thus contemporary notions ignored ‘the variety and intensity of women's emotional and erotic experiences’.17 However, such definitions were weakened by ambiguity and were ultimately criticised for draining sexuality from lesbians’ lives.18 Within our period, the identification of ‘lesbians’ is sometimes equally indefinite. Although women were declaring their sexualities as a means of liberation, a similar difficulty arises in wishing to maintain the ‘erotic’ as a central basis of collective identities for Mancunian lesbians.

Radical feminist thought in the 1970s culminated in the theory of ‘political lesbianism’.

19

Giving a revolutionary logic to

lesbianism, ‘separatists’ argued that all relationships with men were obstacles to true liberation. The women in our case study of the LE engaged in separatist debates, and, although it would be impossible to ascertain the personal sexuality of each contributor, overall it seems that lesbianism was inherently related to erotic desire. For the purposes of this study then, ‘lesbian’ shall be defined as a woman whose sexual identity

17

Blanche Wiesen Cook, ‘The Historical Denial of Lesbianism’, Radical History Review, Vol. 20 (1979), pp. 60-65, 60.

18

Martha Vicinus, ‘"They Wonder to Which Sex I Belong": The Historical Roots of the Modern Lesbian Identity’, Feminist Studies, Vol. 18, No. 3 (1992), pp. 467-497, 471.

19

For a contemporary account of separatism see Janet Dixon, ‘Separatism: a look back at anger’ in Bob Cant and Susan Hemmings (eds), Radical Records: Thirty Years of Lesbian and Gay History, 1957-1987 (London, 1988), pp. 69-84.

23

was based around same-sex relationships that transcended bounds of friendship.

Artificial Separation By casting lesbianism as a political strategy, scholars have often

been

guilty

synonymously.

20

of

using

‘lesbian’

and

‘feminist’

A stereotype of the bra-burning, divisive,

‘lavender menace’ has undermined genuine contributions by lesbian activists to liberation struggles.

21

At the same time,

existing histories have often centred on artificial distinctions between

movements.

Lesbian

groups

in

Manchester

demonstrate how divisions between the women’s liberation movement (WLM), gay liberation movement (GLM) and Leftwing reformists become restrictive categories of analysis, as they regularly sat on the intersections of these defined campaigns.22 The term’s WLM and GLM are used generally here. The former denotes the various actors and activities emerging in the late sixties that highlighted and fought against the oppression of women, and the latter, those that focused on the oppression of homosexuals.

20

See Chesire Calhoun, Feminism, the Family, and the Politics of the Closet: Lesbian and Gay Displacement (New York, 2000), p. 26.

21

The phrase 'lavender menace' comes from an incident in 1970 when American lesbians of the GLF disrupted a WLM conference wearing t-shirts saying ‘lavender menace’. Since then it has been used as shorthand for the moment when lesbians demanded recognition for their struggles in the WLM.

24

Considerable advances away from binary distinctions have been made regarding movements in the U.S. Kimberly Springer’s Living for the Revolution, for instance, examines the convergence of the civil rights movement and feminism.

Contrary to dominant historiographies of second-wave feminism, her study demonstrates how black feminist groups organised themselves in defence of black and women’s rights through their own initiatives, rather than merely in reaction to racism within the white-dominated women’s movement.

23

Similarly, it will be shown that lesbians in Manchester were united by a desire for genuine representation as women and homosexuals, rather than simply as reactionary separatists.

Lucy Robinson has also suggested the ‘blurring of divisions’ between the political Left and homosexual politics in post-war Britain. Although she sets her study’s parameters to the male organisations in London, her attempts to show how each movement ‘simultaneously influenced’ each other provide useful advancements in analysis.24 Queer Up North Indeed, academic focus has rarely been drawn away from the metropole. As a consequence, important dynamics on a locallevel have been ignored.

23

Kimberley Springer, Living for the Revolution: Black Feminist Organisations 1968-1980 (Durham, NC, 2005).

24

Robinson, Gay men and the Left, p. 1.

25

The setting of our study - the northern ex-industrial city of Manchester - has a rich heritage of protest and reform.25 An ever-transient, diverse population has generated an oxymoronic stability as well as helping to establish the city as a ‘youth capital’ - dubbed ‘Madchester’ in the late 1980s.26 Hosting an annual international Pride Festival, the LGBT community in Manchester has undoubtedly become an important and celebrated part of Mancunian heritage. This dissertation attempts to explore the process by which the ‘L’ of this community established themselves, evolving from an isolated few who sought the refuge of the big city to a sizeable and cohesive political community that were recognised and supported by local government.

Geographies of sexuality have highlighted the tendency for homosexuals to gravitate towards cities to escape the conservatism of small rural communities.

27

Arguing that

lesbians and gay men create distinct social, political and cultural environments, analysis has demonstrated how sexual

25

Manchester’s central role in the Industrial Revolution, for instance, signalled changes that were revolutionary in both pace and scale leading to widespread discontent and protest. See Eric J. Hewitt, Capital of Discontent: Protest and Crime in Manchester’s Industrial Revolution (New York, 2014).

26

Ian Taylor et al., A Tale of Two Cities: Global change, local feeling and everyday life in the North of England. A study in Manchester and Sheffield (London, 1996), p. 264.

27

Allan Horsfall presents this view of Manchester. See Allan Horsfall, ‘Battling for Wolfenden’, in Cant and Hemmings (eds), Radical Records, pp. 15-33, 17.

26

subcultures and social movements have tended to be more institutionally established in urban areas.28 The ‘Gay Village’ within Manchester is often perceived, as a ‘gay Mecca’, as David Bell has termed.29 Whilst the iconic Rembrandt Pub is reputed to have been a gay spot since pre-war days, venues such as Napoleon’s Club became the centre of Manchester’s vibrant gay club culture in the 1970s. 30 The visibility of gay women in such cultures has been questioned, however.

In a controversial sociological study, Manuel Castells contended that lesbians did not acquire a geographical foundation for their political objectives, in contrast to communities of homosexual males. Because they were ‘more radical in their struggle’ than gay men, lesbians focused on a revolution of values as opposed to achieving spatial authority.31 Reactions to Castells have maintained that geographical communities of lesbian women did exist.32 Often in the form of

28

Manuel Castells, The city and the grassroots (Berkeley, 1983); Barbara Weightman, ‘Commentary: towards a geography of the gay community’, Journal of Cultural Geography, Vol. 1, No. 2 (1981), pp. 106-112; Lawrence Knopp, ‘Sexuality and Urban Space: a framework for analysis’ in David Bell and Gill Valentine (eds), Mapping Desire: Geographies of Sexualities (London, 1995), pp. 136-148.

29

David Bell, ‘Insignificant Others: Lesbian and Gay Geographies’, Area, Vol. 23, No. 4 (1991), pp. 323-329, 323.

30

Sebastian Buckle, The Way Out: A History of Homosexuality in Modern Britain (London, 2015), p. 150; Taylor et al., A Tale of Two Cities, p. 183.

31

Castells, The city, p. 140.

32

For example, see Linda Peake, ‘” Race” and Sexuality: challenging the patriarchal structuring of urban social space’, Environment and Planning D: Society and Space, Vol. 11, No. 6 (1993), pp. 415-432; Gill Valentine, ‘Out and about: geographies of lesbian landscapes’, International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, Vol. 19, No. 1 (1995), pp. 96-112. Also see Sy Adler and Johanna Brenner, ‘Gender and Space: lesbians and gay men in

27

clusters of lesbian households or alternative cultural bases such as bookshops and cafes rather than commercial bars, they were usually only visible to those ‘in the know’.

The sources in our study suggest that a defined location was important to the identities of Mancunian lesbians and their political strategies. A distinction between the concepts of ‘space’ and ‘place’ will be made. Although both reflect the notion of an identifiable community, the term ‘space’ will be used to denote a more abstract or conceptual arena.

Publications, for instance, provided a political ‘space’ for communication and representation of ideas for lesbians.33 In contrast, geographical ‘places’ provided tangible evidence of a social community and safe-sites, demonstrated by the importance of Manchester’s Women Centre and persistent calls for a Lesbian Centre. Contrary to Castell’s logic, seizing these spaces and places was a political necessity for lesbians in our study. With the freedom to be themselves without fear of hostility from a male or heterosexual majority, a sense of community and confidence has evolved.

the city’, International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, Vol. 16, No. 1 (1992), pp. 24-32; Tamar Rothenberg, ‘”And she told two friends”: lesbians creating urban social space’ in David Bell and Gill Valentine (eds), Mapping Desire: geographies of sexualities (London, 1995), pp. 165-81.

33

The LE collective explicitly states their desire for ‘a big enough space [for] ourselves’ to ‘express ideas, and put forward political views’ in ‘What About a Lesbian Newsletter’, LE, November 1977, p. 2.

28

Interpretative Frameworks This dissertation will present the evolution of Mancunian lesbian activism through a lens of social movement theory.

Social movements have been broadly defined as collective forms of protest targeted at transforming politics or society.

Importantly, recent scholars have made a distinction between ‘old’ social movements of the industrial period - focusing on socio-economic issues - and ‘new’ social movements concerned with ‘post-material’, symbolic aims or ‘identity politics’.34 Verta Taylor, for instance, has applied new social movement theory to the WLM. Her analysis, highlighting the existence of submerged networks that were ‘heavily cultural’ and concerned with ‘contested identities’ is supported by the groups in this study.35 The creation of a community with a collective identity through the LE and other grassroots activities allowed the development of lesbian groups as confident political actors, demonstrated by the Lesbian Sub-Committee (LSC) on Manchester City Council (MCC). Because of this focus on collective experience, the

34

For more on new social movement theory see Alberto Melucci, ‘The new social movements: A theoretical approach’, Social Science Information, Vol. 19, No. 2 (1980), pp. 199-226; Jürgen Habermas,‘New Social Movements’, Telos, Vol. 49 (1981), pp. 32-37.

35

Verta Taylor and Marieke Van Willigen, ‘Women’s self-help and the reconstruction of gender: The postpartum support and breast cancer movements’, Mobilization: An International Journal, Vol. 1, No. 2 (1996), pp. 123-42, 128.

29

evidence used here contrasts with a proclivity in existing historiography for ‘personalised’ narratives.

There are, perhaps, obvious reasons for this preference. In order to understand the political climate post-1945, the historian must recognise ‘the changing ways in which people have experienced their lives as political’.36 With the rise of politics based on identities and the individual, to ignore the voices of actors within social movements would be to ignore the very instigators of change. Indeed, with a subject matter as ‘intimate’ as sexuality, personal accounts are arguably the most important form of source. Oral studies, for instance, have allowed actors to convey their own histories, providing insights into lesbian consciousness and subjectivity.

37

Equally, the first-hand

contributions of activists-turned-scholars have enriched the ‘personal turn’ with an understanding of the passion and energy that was so essential to social movements.38

36

Robinson, Gay men and the Left, p. 8.

37

See Hall Carpenter Archive – Lesbian Oral History Group, Inventing Ourselves: Lesbian Life Stories (London, 1991); Jonathon Green, All Dressed Up: The Sixties and Counterculture (London, 1999); Helene Curtis and Mimi Sanderson, The unsung Sixties: memoirs of social innovation (London, 2004); Michelene Wandor (ed.), Once a Feminist: stories from a generation (London, 1990); Amanda Sebestyen (ed.), ’68, ’78, ’88: from women’s liberation to feminism (Bridport, 1988).

38

For example Anna Coote and Beatrix Campbell, Sweet Freedom: the struggle for women’s liberation (Oxford, 1982); Sheila Rowbotham, The Past is Before us: feminism in action since the 1960s (Harmondsworth, 1989); Lynne Segal, Making Trouble: life and politics (London, 2007); Sue O’Sullivan, ‘Passionate Beginnings: ideological politics, 1969–1972’, Feminist Review, Vol. 11, No. 1 (1982), pp. 70–86; Beatrix Campbell, ‘A Feminist Sexual Politics: now you see it, now you don’t’, Feminist Review, Vol. 5, No. 1 (1980), pp. 1–18; Jill Radford, ‘History of the Women’s Liberation Movement in Britain: a reflective personal history’, in Gabrielle

30

Limitations to historical accounts dominated by subjectivity are inevitable, however. Jeska Rees has importantly discerned a distortion in historiography of the WLM, of instance, specifically the domination of socialist feminist voices.

39

Viewing this past through memoirs and autobiography has meant the accounts of alternative ‘feminisms’ are dismissed, often reflecting the lofty idealism that anchored social movements. Interpreting lesbian activists through a social movement framework, though on a micro-political scale, thus gives a more nuanced awareness of how and why activists collectively organised.

As with much archival research, sources can be incomplete, even sporadic. Issues of the LE were donated from a personal collection and consequently, material was disorderly. There is no evidence to suggest why the newsletter stopped after September 1982, for instance, or even if this was the last issue.

Sadly, our evidence for the LSC also ends in late 1987 when Margaret Roff tragically passed away, though her papers provide a more formal source.40

Griffin et al. (eds), Stirring It: challenges for feminism (London, 1994), pp.

40 -58.

39

Jeska Rees, ‘A Look Back in Anger: the Women’s Liberation Movement in 1978’, Women’s History Review, Vol. 19, No. 3 (2010), p. 337-356, 338.

40

‘Twin riddle in death of lesbian rights fighter’, Manchester Evening News, 20 October 1987.

31

This formality arguably constitutes its greatest weakness.

Whereas the LE was concerned with internal representation, allowing lesbians to freely express themselves through anecdotal essays and poems, in public sources there was conceivably a desire to project a ‘sanitised’ and respectable image that could drain important issues of sexuality and ‘consciousness-raising’.

I argue, however, that this contrast reflects the genuine progression

made

by

the

lesbian

community.

Professionalization signalled that activists were a cohesive, confident group, significant enough to be recognised by the local authority and sophisticated enough to uphold their collective interests.

The early phases in the emergence of a defined Mancunian lesbian community saw them grapple with established ideologies with hesitation, in order to generate collective values and objectives. The first chapter will focus on this initial stage through the case study of a lesbian periodical. The LE was a monthly publication, run by a collective of lesbians, for lesbians, in and around Manchester from 1977 to 1982. Mutual examination through debates in the magazine represented a vital process of ‘consciousness-raising’ whereby lesbians gained strength in recognising they were not ‘abnormal’ or alone, creating an ‘imagined community’. Concerns regarding

32

‘intellectual elitism’ reflected both political uncertainty and the need for concrete proof of a movement, evidence for which can be seen in features and adverts in the magazine.

Generating a politicised group identity then enabled lesbian communities to become confident and outward-looking, working

with

both

institutional

structures

and

other

marginalised groups. Chapter two examines the LSC and the papers of Manchester’s lesbian councillor, Margaret Roff, as manifestations of the community’s cohesion and sophistication.

The creation of the LSC and a Lesbian Working Party (LWP)

by MCC in 1984 was significant. As one of the only local authorities to dedicate a sub-committee and two paid workers exclusively to lesbians (including the Greater London Council (GLC), hailed as one of the most progressive) lesbian activists working with MCC demonstrated their strength as a political community. As a Labour-controlled authority, MCC’s Equal Opportunities (EO) policy also highlights the difficult relationship between activists and the mainstream party.

Importantly, historians of social movements should be wary of viewing activists outside of their milieu. David Morton Rayside has

cautioned

against

romanticising

movements

by

highlighting the existence of an ‘opportunity structure’.41 In

41

David Morton Rayside, On the Fringe: Gays and Lesbians in Politics (New York, 1998), p. 9.

33

their evolution to mainstream politics, activists work within this structure, which is shaped, for instance, by patterns of party opposition and cohesion, cultural forces or the mainstream media.42 Hence, each chapter will also outline a backdrop for our case studies. Changes in wider social movements, for instance,

or

developments

in

mainstream

ideologies

undoubtedly shaped the nature of lesbian activism.

Ultimately, this project will demonstrate that new interpretative lenses are necessary to comprehend this area of history. A focus on â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;iconicâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; activism and national campaigns risks devaluing the quotidian efforts that progressively eroded oppression

for

marginalised groups. Marking and commemorating these histories gives visibility to the LGBT community today.

42

Ibid., p. 10.

34

CHAPTER 1 – EMERGENCE AND COALESCENCE Political Origins The emergence of lesbian activism can be traced back to a number of origins. In a broader sense, the foundations for their liberation politics had begun in the 1960s. The student movement, civil rights movement and anti-Vietnam war protests alongside the British New Left had placed all positions of authority and power relations under scrutiny. Furthermore, the onset of the hippy, ‘free love’ culture loosened social codes that had regulated female sexuality. This atmosphere had a twofold effect. Firstly, an almost-obligatory promiscuity often reduced, rather than liberated, the free choice of women who were exploited by expectant men.

43

Secondly, women were

increasingly sensitized to nuanced oppression. Their secondary status - either performing menial tasks in campaigns, or, as objects used exclusively for male pleasure in sex - was gradually realised.

Indeed, socialism had espoused new ideas regarding the place of women in society. Notably, in 1966, the New Left Review published an article entitled ‘The Longest Revolution’. Written

43

Arthur Marwick, The Sixties (Oxford, 1998), p. 680.

35

by Juliet Mitchell, it endeavoured to establish sexual equality as an important topic of discussion within socialist philosophy. She identified

four

structures

of

exploitation:

production,

reproduction, sexuality and socialisation. Contrary to the widespread acceptance of the role of woman as housewife and mother, Mitchell contended that the family was a place of violence and misery for women rather than of harmony and contentment.

44

Similarly, Sheila Rowbotham forwarded a

Marxist-Feminist position in her influential pamphlet Women’s Liberation and the New Politics. Asserting that the Left needed to examine women’s exploitation in cultural as well as economic terms, Rowbotham identified two systems of subordination: capitalism and patriarchy.45 Though socialist women began to pose questions that had previously been left unsaid, their points often remained unheard.

Radical theorists generally perceived ideas of sexual equality as a distraction from the ‘real fight’ against capitalism. When Rowbotham proposed a conference exclusively dedicated to women’s history at a History Workshop Group meeting, she was met with ridicule from male attendees.

46

Consequently, a

women’s conference was called at Ruskin College, Oxford in

44

Juliet Mitchell, ‘Women: The Longest Revolution’, New Left Review, No. 40 (1966), pp. 11-37.

45

Sheila Rowbotham, Women’s Liberation and the New Politics (London, 1969).

46

See Sheila Rowbotham’s description in Wandor (ed.), Once a Feminist, p.

29.

36

1970. In a way, the development of feminist thought had been provoked, rather than assisted, by the established Left.

The Left had a similarly ambiguous relationship with the GLM. Although the Labour Party, for instance, had instigated legal reform concerning homosexuality in attempts to ‘modernise’, there were significant limitations to potential alliances. Much like the WLM, homosexual agendas confronted traditional planks of socialist thought. The working-class family and traditional motherhood - central to Labour’s beliefs – were directly challenged by the single woman and homosexual.

Furthermore, ‘flamboyant’ homosexuality and ‘women’s issues’, as they were perceived, clashed with the rugged masculinity of the Labour working-class man. Marxist ideas took hostility further, perceiving homosexuality as a ‘bourgeois deviation’. As another symptom of elite degeneracy, the issue would become obsolete after the revolution.47 In Britain, the triumphs of ‘civilised society’ legislation in 1967 - decriminalising homosexuality, abortion and contraception appeared increasingly limited to activists. With the formation of the Gay Liberation Front in 1970, the GLM radicalised, rejecting assimilationist objectives for the celebration of difference

and

47

Horsfall describes reasons for this view. See Horsfall, ‘Battling for Wolfenden’, in Cant and Hemmings (eds), Radical Records, p. 15; also see Robinson, Gay men and the Left, p. 1; Brooke, Sexual Politics, p. 228.

37

‘gay pride’.

48

The organisation was short-lived however,

dismantling just two years later. In contrast, Manchester’s North Western Homosexual Law Reform Committee, renamed the Campaign for Homosexual Equality (CHE) in 1969, had maintained its calls for further reform.49 In 1975, a bill presented to Parliament by CHE proposed equalising the age of consent, extending the law to Scotland and Northern Ireland, and the acceptance of homosexuals into the military.

50

Sadly, CHE’s

objectives remained unrealised.

At the same time, a vibrant gay subculture was coming to fruition. Punk, a descendant of sixties counter-culture, became a focal point for the growing numbers of unemployed youth in both the working- and middle-classes. The punk anthem ‘Glad to be Gay’, for instance, reflected a move towards selfexpression for the gay community.

51

Moreover, androgynous

personas such as David Bowie, encouraged sexual ambiguity, experimentation and pansexuality.52 In this atmosphere of heightened sensitivity and radical philosophies, the lesbians in our case study increasingly

48

Stephen M. Engel, The Unfinished Revolution: social movement theory and the gay and lesbian movement (Cambridge, 2001), p. 81.

49

Ibid.

50

Ibid., p. 84.

51

Robinson has highlighted the role of Punk in the gay community. See Robinson, Gay men and the Left, pp. 104-106.

52

David Ensminger, Visual Vitriol: The Subcultures of the Punk Generation (Jackson, 2011), p. 164.

38

recognised the need for self-organisation, as the next section will discuss.

Claiming a Space On a basic level, the very existence of the LE newsletter suggests that a significant gap was perceived within the political scene of contemporary Manchester. ‘Quite a lot of lesbians’, the first editorial states, ‘would like to see a newsletter concerning particularly lesbians’.53 Frustrated with having to share space ‘on other people’s papers and pamphlets’, the editorial team identified an absence of genuine representation.54 Furthermore, they reflected the importance placed on print culture by social movements.

New Left publications such as Black Dwarf or the feminist Spare Rib, for instance, were used to educate and socialise people into movements. With the ability to circulate news, ideas and strategies not ‘strained through a mainstream filter’, publications were essential means of politicising the disaffected.55 As one reader of the LE argued, the newsletter made lesbians ‘aware of

53

‘What About a Lesbian Newsletter’, LE, November 1977, p. 2.

54

Ibid.

55

Abe Peck, ‘Foreword’, in Ken Wachsberger (ed.), Voices From the Underground: Insider histories of the Vietnam era underground press (Tempe, AZ, 1993), p. xix. For the importance of feminist print see Agatha Beins, ‘A Revolution in Ephemera: Feminist Newsletters and Newspapers of the 1970s’ in Cecilia Konchar Farr and Jaime Harker (eds), This Book is an Action: Feminist Print Culture and Activist Aesthetics (Urbana, 2015), pp.

46-65.

39

thoughts, needs and ideas not being generally talked about in the media’. 56 For lesbian women in particular, a newsletter provided a space to counteract misrepresentation in the mainstream press and represent themselves on their own terms. Conventional narratives of ‘sexual deviance’ ranged from depictions of lesbians as ‘butch’ inverts to the hypersexual lesbian of heterosexual pornography.57 Moreover, the label ‘lesbian’ was regularly cast to discredit feminist activism, representing legitimate political objectives as manifestations of sexual perversion.58 By producing their own publication, lesbians could challenge the rhetoric of ‘deviance’ with defiance.

Significantly, the implicit objectives of the LE editorial collective were not concerned with projecting radical opposition externally. Instead, objectives were focused on consciousnessraising: establishing a shared understanding of what it meant to be a lesbian. As the opening text of their first issue stated: ‘this a struggle to educate ourselves’.59

56

Margaret, ‘Letter’, LE, August-September 1981, p. 19.

57

Larry Gross, ‘The Past and the Future of GLBT Studies’, Journal of Communication, Vol. 55, No. 3 (2005), pp. 508-528, 518.

58

Tamsin Wilton, Lesbian Studies: setting an agenda (London, 1995), p. 93.

59

Editorial, LE, November 1977, p. 2.

40

Assembling and printing five hundred copies of a monthly newsletter clearly involved tedious labour, displayed through the LEâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s transparency regarding

the

publication process. cartoon

60

A

of

the

editorial collective featured

on

the

front page of its Figure 1 LE Front Cover Illustration, March 1979, p. 1.

thirteenth

issue

[fig. 1] presented the quotidian efforts that went towards the newsletter. Whilst two of the women pictured wearily rest their head on their hands, another daydreams about a holiday in the sun. Evidently the work was tiresome, but nonetheless necessary. Furthermore, in an office littered with mugs, mops and other paraphernalia, the chaos humanized the editors and reduced the distance between reader and creator. In a similar way, many features were written in the first person, interspersed with handwritten text and hand drawn cartoons.

Whilst the unprofessional format indicated the honourable purposes of the LE rather than as a commercial venture, it also lessened the distance between reader and author. Embracing

60

â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Editorialâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;, LE, May-June 1981, p. 2.

41

principles of a participatory democracy, there were also consistent calls for readers to ‘send in ideas, poems [… ] anything that you might think might be interesting’.61 Sincerity and encouragement fostered a sense of community, allowing the newsletter to become a basis for social and political networks.

Thus the LE created a continuous conversation between lesbians, enabling them to share their experiences and opinions and, significantly, locate others with similar experiences.

62

This

served an enhanced function for women at the intersections of the GLM and WLM because of the deeply personal way in which these movements were experienced. Encountering and analysing new territories in wider society and their own lives, an ‘imagined community’ underpinned this process by informing lesbians ‘you are not alone’.

The newsletter also existed as a kind of spatiotemporal map.

Through the regular ‘Groups, Events and Meetings’ page, LE informed lesbians of locatable places of political activity.

Editorials routinely featured appeals for information: ‘We’d like more events to be sent in to us – we keep missing out important ones’.63 Importance was also given to the local community of lesbians: ‘We’d like this to be a local [original emphasis] 61

‘Editorial’, LE, March-April 1978, p. 2.

62

Buckle’s analysis of Arena Three magazine supports this as he demonstrates it as a site of common identity building. See Buckle, The Way Out, p. 41.

63

‘Editorial’, LE, May 1978, p. 2.

42

newsletter – so whatever you’re doing…tell us’.64 Hence, the periodical was also a vehicle for collective organisation, directing women towards tangible evidence of a political community.

Forming Ideologies An essential function of print was as a forum for political development. With precedents set by the New Left, WLM and the GLM, Mancunian lesbians contributing to the periodical grappled with philosophies in order to generate their own interpretative framework to define and realise their interests.

Explicit identification with established political theories is relatively absent in the LE. A report on the North-West Socialist Feminist Conference of 1977, for instance, represented a general hesitancy.

65

Approving of the ‘lack of sectarianism’ at the

conference, the article suggested a mix of political groups allowed the conference to ‘discuss things like socialist feminist theory in a constructive way, with no impatience or pointscoring.’ Although titled a ‘Socialist Feminist’ conference, it seems conventional political forums were neither comfortable nor productive for lesbians in our study. Correspondingly, a review of a film produced by the ‘Red Sisters Collective’

64

Ibid.

65

Hilary Brown and Helen Garner, ‘Women and Socialism’, LE, November 1977, p. 4.

43

commented how the ‘last section, dealing with trade unions’ turned ‘observation’ into ‘preaching and [became] the film’s main weakness.’66 Descriptions of ‘socialist sermonising’ and factional ‘pointscoring’ suggest an unease with Left theories. In an earlier stage of organising themselves and generating shared ideas, lesbian politics lacked confidence in existing contexts. Moreover, as women were consistently neglected or ridiculed by socialists, the idea that subordination only existed between social classes was increasingly suspected, as Rowbotham had identified. Indeed, contributors to the LE firmly established that the problem was their treatment by men. As one woman explained ‘men in left groups shove us aside until ‘after the revolution’ or just let us get on with ‘women’s issues’’.

67

Similarly, many felt they were

unable to express ideas ‘not necessarily formulated well enough’ in fear of being ‘patronised by men’.

68

It was not simply a

socialist forum that alienated women, it was a male one.

As with any emerging social movement, Mancunian lesbians had to make the decision of what to adopt and reject from their origin movements. Espousing socialist theories of power relationships and oppressive social structure, lesbians interrogated

their

66

‘Take It Like a Man, Ma’am, a film by the Red Sisters Collective’, LE, January-February 1979, p. 6.

67

Jill Barnett, ‘On Separatism’, LE, February 1978, p. 4.

68

‘Editorial’, LE, May-June 1981, p. 2; Jill Barnett, ‘On Separatism’, LE, February 1978, p. 4.

44

secondary positions as women and homosexuals within the New Left, as well as in society. In the LE, Hilary and Moira for instance, modified Left concepts to develop boundaries around their gender as opposed to class: ‘Because we believe that it is women who are important we cannot accept that the struggle for Women’s Liberation is just part of a struggle for socialist society. Of course there are other kinds of oppression…but it is the patriarchy…that is fundamental’, they argued.69 Thus it appears that lesbians in our case study felt genderspecific groups corresponded with conceptions of their identity.

The editors described their relationship with a local WLM newsletter,

Manchester

Women’s

Paper,

as

having

‘complimentary roles’, for example, demonstrating print’s value for communication between grassroots movements.70 Patterns of concepts and terminology also buttressed this connection with the WLM. A rhetoric of ‘sisterhood’, for instance, appears heavily in our case study. This concept was a foundational tradition of feminism, signifying all women as part of a shared identity, intrinsically related through gender as ‘sisters’. Direct addresses of ‘dear sisters’ created the sense of a continuous conversation between all women and again, closed the distance between reader and author. They were also pertinent as calls to

69

Hilary and Moira, ‘Radical Feminism’, LE, November-December 1980, p.

4.

70

‘Editorial’, LE, June-July 1978, p. 2.

45

action. ‘Dear Sisters’, began one piece, ‘Help is needed now by feminists in Belfast’.

71

Evidently, the rhetoric of sisterhood

appealed to contributors as a politically galvanizing concept.

The relationship between lesbians and feminism was mutually beneficial for a number of reasons. The rhetoric of sisterhood and ‘pro-woman’ outlook conceivably helped women to understand themselves as women who desired other women rather than as ‘pseudo-men’, as conventional opinions suggested.

72

Women as ‘truthful, sensitive’ and ‘intelligent’,

‘glowed’ and ‘grew’ in their independence from men.

73

Whilst

straight women were prompted to question sexual norms by lesbians, the courage of heterosexual feminists permitted and encouraged gay women to be ‘out’ and proud.

The ‘sisterhood’ principle provided interesting understandings of mainstream politics for lesbians. For instance, when Labour MP, Maureen Colquhoun, was dismissed because she was a lesbian, the LE represented it as an assault against ‘all women’.

According to the article, the Labour Party’s actions were an ‘attack on the ways that all women are struggling to defend and win emotional, legal and financial independence, as married

71

‘Help needed for incest victim’, LE, December 1977, p. 3.

72

Wilton, Lesbian Studies, p. 100.

73

Joanna Russ, ‘The New Misandry’, LE, December 1977, p. 5; Jackie Abendstern, ‘Poem’, LE, November 1977, p. 4.

46

women, single women, mothers, prostitutes’.74 The rhetoric of sisterhood was implicit here, but served to undermine the sexuality of Colquhoun as the central source of discrimination.

Stating that the ‘private lives of women in a position to influence others…have always been subject to particular scrutiny’, the author obscured the fact that it was Colquhoun’s lesbianism that presented the most direct assault on her original ‘good family image’ that had gained her the seat.75 Indeed, ‘sisterhood’ was consistently criticised by activists and scholars as an ideal that veiled internal inequalities of the WLM. In contrast to this first account of the Labour Party’s actions, a later article titled ‘Glad to be Gay – But Not in Parliament’ reoriented focus to homosexuality.76 The author now identified the cause as ‘ignorance and prejudice about lesbians’ rather than simply the treatment of women. In fact, Colquhoun, who had proved instrumental in Labour’s pro-abortion campaign, would later comment that the same ‘sisters’ who had united with her to defend abortion had shown her little sympathy after the dismissal.77

74

‘Lesbian M.P. Sacked’, LE, December 1977, p. 1.

75

Ibid. According to LE’s article, this was the justification given by the local party for her deselection.

76

‘Glad to be Gay – But Not in Parliament’, LE, January-February 1978, p.

5.

77

Brooke, Sexual Politics, p. 234.

47

Tensions over the place of lesbianism within the WLM were exacerbated in the later 1970s in debates regarding separatism.

Separatist feminist ideologies were varied, but generally premised on the notion that becoming entirely independent from men was vital to liberation.

Consequently, conflicts between ‘political’ and ‘personal’ perceptions of lesbianism surfaced, occupying an intertextual conversation throughout the LE. Indeed, distinctions between ‘lesbians’ and political ‘separatists’ were often difficult to make as one gay woman clearly observed: ‘both political adeas [sic] and personal experiences and feelings are involved and, myself, I find it very hard to separate them’.78 In the article, ‘The New Misandry’, another contributor presented lesbianism as the logical consequence of ‘consciousness-raising’ in the WLM. ‘To accept misandry’, Joanna Russ argued, ‘is to perceive what dreadful messes are made of our lives’ by men.

79

Again,

building on the logic of socialism, lesbianism was redefined as women’s equivalent to class consciousness. Based on the utopian idea that sexuality was changeable at will, the view had no doubt been engendered by optimistic visions of revolutionary change and the overestimation of undifferentiating personal and political spheres in this period.

78

Hilary Saltburn, ‘Letters’, LE, August-September 1981, p. 10.

79

Russ, ‘The New Misandry’, p. 4.

48

Perhaps inevitably, separatism had the effect of alienating a number of women - both gay and straight - in the WLM, as discussions in the LE revealed. The practical implications of feminist separatism appeared in Manchester with regards to the Women’s Centre, Nelson Street, for instance. As a focal point for WLM groups throughout the city, homosexual and heterosexual women were invited into a discussion in the LE regarding mixed sex meetings at the centre. Jill Barnett, a heterosexual woman, articulated the hostility she felt from lesbian separatists. Barnett described an ‘unspoken criticism of women like myself. We aren’t REAL feminists’, she complained, ‘it is made out to be some kind of weakness[…]to include men in our lives’.

80

Supporting this view, Hilary

Saltburn’s letter informed that her heterosexual friends often felt ‘intimidated/ apologetic/ a second class feminist’ around lesbians.81 One critic even parodied Leninist concepts: ‘are we to wait for the last man-jack of them [men] to change entirely’, she asked, ‘before we welcome the vanguard who have changed sufficiently…? I hope not.’82 In the same way that lesbians articulated an unease with ‘intellectual elitism’ in the Left, women in the WLM were intimidated by separatists such as Russ, who suggested

80

Barnett, ‘On Separatism’, p. 4.

81

Saltburn, ‘Letters’, p. 11.

82

Maudie Taylor, ‘Still Talking About Men’, LE, December 1981, p. 5.

49

heterosexuals were ‘blind’ to not hate men and ‘afraid of male backlash’.83 Just as ‘women’s issues’ detracted from socialist revolutionary efforts against capitalism, women continuing relationships with men were ‘wasting energies’ in the struggle against the patriarchy.84 The notion of being ‘more feminist’ or ‘more socialist’ became a persistent theme, again suggesting apprehension of existing ideologies.

A number of heterosexual women also argued women should unite over ‘the important things in life…regardless of sexuality’.

Rendering sexuality as something irrelevant to the WLM, this logic seemed to repress a basic component of the feminist struggle: sexual liberation. ‘Multiple times I’ve been told it’s more constructive to conceal my sexuality’, one lesbian recalled, ‘when talking about feminism to “ordinary” women’. The concept of ‘ordinary women’, painted lesbians as ‘abnormal’ and revealed the contradictions of a universal sisterhood.85 Just as feminism had encouraged women to come out of the closet with ‘pro-woman’ principles, separatist debates had pressured them to retreat back in.

As new concepts such as separatism emerged to unsettle the base lesbians had formed in the WLM, they were impelled to look for

83

Russ, ‘The New Misandry’, p. 4.

84

Saltburn, ‘On Separatism’, p. 4.

85

Linda, ‘Letters’, LE, August-September 1981, p. 8.

50

more distinct political identities. A concern from some contributors to dispel ‘simplistic accusations’ from straight women who believed ‘all lesbians were heterosexual-hating separatists’ emerged in the magazine.86 For many, lesbianism was an unchangeable reality before feminist philosophies had given it political justifications. Whilst Russ - generally an exception in our case study - presented a sexuality motivated by hate, for many, the wellspring of lesbianism was necessarily love.

Women-only places such as the Women’s Centre were therefore important because they needed them, rather than choosing them out of some endeavour to appear more ‘enlightened’ than heterosexual women. As another observer pointed out, although all women were vulnerable to the threatening behaviour of men, it was ‘directed with a particular venom at women who make their lack of need for men so clear.’87 As we shall see, sexuality was affirmed in the LE primarily through cultural mediums.

Because emotions could not be rationally explained, this facet of identity was difficult to convey through the format of a formal essay.

86

Josephine, ‘Letters’, LE, August-September 1981, p. 11.

87

F. T., ‘Letters’, LE, August-September 1981, p. 8. This reflects Ettorre’s contention that lesbian identity was innately a threatening counter-identity in E.M. Ettorre, Lesbians, Women and Society (London, 1980), p. 38.

51

The politics of lesbians in this study were evidently in continuous progression throughout the LE’s existence. As a community, their ideas did not fit comfortably within narrowly defined campaigns of the New Left and WLM but within each they found precedents for their own foundation and reflection.

The newsletter collective explicitly stated the need for their movement to be ‘open to change…not forced into a position where…we make the mistake of defending ourselves “come what may”’.88 Although criticisms of New Left ideology were frequent, theories of social structure and a rhetoric of freedom and tyranny, power and oppression, became important for lesbians to question their own secondary status within society and indeed within earlier political movements. The WLM also provided concepts of ‘sisterhood’ and woman-loving that helped lesbians make sense of their identities but could equally leave them alienated in veiling essential sexualities. The next section will discuss the ways in which these developing philosophies were translated into strategies.

A Locatable Movement Whilst the LE tended to emphasise collective action locally, Mancunian lesbians also interacted with the WLM on a wider scale.89 The National Women’s Liberation Conference of 1978,

88

‘Editorial’, LE, June 1979, p. 2.

89

This reflects Anna Enke’s assertion that social movements were ‘deeply embedded in the local while simultaneously influenced by connections across

52

for instance, was presented as an important form of collective action. Importantly, the LE recognised that national changes would have inevitable consequences in the grassroots movement and that political isolation was unviable. As one editorial proclaimed: ‘National Conference is with us again! Love it or hate it you can’t ignore it.’90 As a movement that had firmly established itself to a point where they could mobilise on a national scale, the WLM provided a concrete political community with which lesbians could ally themselves. Another attendee commented that the national conference was a ‘tangible expression of our [women’s] political autonomy’.91 Having a sizeable and locatable political presence was evidently important to Mancunian lesbians. An ‘imagined community’ created through print was not enough to sustain a social movement. However, there were doubts about how practical this form of collective action actually was.

Firstly, the structure of meetings seemed as - if not more important than the actual content. A desire for ‘democratic’ and collectivist action created what was termed a ‘structureless tyranny’.92 The recurring question, remarked one article, was

region and nation’. See Anna Enke, Finding the Movement: Sexuality and Contested Space, Feminism and Activism (Durham, NC, 2007), p. 12.

90

‘Editorial’, LE, April 1978, p. 2.

91

Helen Garner, ‘National Conference’, LE, May 1978, p. 7.

92

Ibid. This problem was also famously emphasised by Jo Freeman, founder of a women’s liberation group in Chicago, 1967. See Jo Freeman, ‘The

53

‘how do we structure the day so as not to waste time without letting [it] become rigid or oppressive?’93 Indeed, a typical issue was that structure was likened to hierarchy, which feminists fervently opposed. In fact, the concept of a ‘non-hierarchical’ meeting was inevitably idealistic. Women with confidence in articulating their ideas – most likely middle-class and university educated – could lead and direct debate, whilst less assertive women remained passive observers. In some cases, this could cause alienation and accusations of intellectual elitism.

Similarly, strong personalities or ‘radicals’ could command activity. An incident on a ‘Reclaim the Night’ march, for instance, demonstrated how ‘a small group’ was able ‘to make and change decisions’, redirecting the demonstration to a pub where a lesbian had recently been assaulted to instigate violent protest.94 Furthermore, there were important distinctions made between discussions and decisions. Whilst conferences were important means of pointing out ‘the extent to which we are oppressed’, noted one woman, they ‘do not lessen oppression’.

95

Theory

versus practice debates again echoed the concern for ‘intellectual

Tyranny of Structurelessness’, International Socialist Review, Vol. 41, No. 3 (2013), pp. 231-246.

93

Hilary Brown, ‘Report’, LE, June-July 1978, p. 9.

94

Moira Hill, ‘Manchester “Reclaim The Night” March’, LE, June 1979, p.

7.

95

Norma, ‘Feminist Conference’, LE, June –July 1978, p. 8.

54

elitism’ in lesbian politics and indicated that activism needed tangible effects ‘on the ground’ to be truly effective and not isolate or disengage women from a lower educational background.

One local initiative, ‘Lesbian Link’ (LL), exemplified forms of activism that could move beyond abstract theory. Running a phone line providing ‘information, befriending and advice’ for gay women, activists stated that ‘many of the women who ring suffer from the geographical isolation of living in outer Manchester’. Reflecting the importance of a conceivable community, they noted ‘some [callers] never want to be met – they just like to know that there is someone who shares a similar experience.’96 In a similar way to the LE, sharing experiences generated strength in solidarity for lesbians, allowing even those who were unable or reluctant to participate to gain personal strength from shared narratives of marginalisation.

Notably, the service operated from Manchester’s Gay Centre rather than the Women’s Centre and began life as a service for all homosexuals. Although this could be suggestive of the lesbian initiative feeling more secure within an all-gay rather than all-woman context, their remarks to the LE contradicted this. According to an article, they had elected to focus their energies exclusively on lesbians and attempted to find new

96

Olivia Butler, ‘Lesbian Link’, LE, March 1979, p. 10.

55

premises for the service. ‘They finally gave up on that idea’ it stated, and settled for the basement of the Gay Centre.97 LL plainly indicated that gay men ‘could not cope with lesbians’ and that they hoped the service could ‘develop into an information service for women’s liberation.’98 A discomfort with gay male activists reflected important distinctions in objectives and strategies in the GLM. Gay men had already established a commercial scene in Manchester, or as the LE referred to them ‘the so-called gay bars’ from which lesbians were often excluded.

99

Furthermore, their focus was placed on legal

discrimination, particularly in defence against Manchester’s notoriously anti-gay police force, headed by chief constable James Anderton.100 LL also indicates how activism could be shaped by the negotiation of resources, such as finance or labour power. Whilst the voluntary group may not have bonded with the male gay community, they were forced to share premises with them because of a lack of alternatives. One article reported that the council had awarded the Gay Centre a grant of £6200. Not

97

‘Lesbian Link’, LE, October-November 1978, p. 7.

98

Butler, ‘Lesbian Link’, p. 10.

99

‘Editorial’, LE, November 1977, p. 2.

100

Philip Jenkins, Intimate Enemies: Moral Panics in Contemporary Great Britain (New York, 1992), p. 40.

56

recognised by local authorities as a separate community, lesbian activists were forced into an uncomfortable compromise.101 Whilst the production of the LE had been stimulated by a desire for a private theoretical ‘space’, lesbian activism also centred around gaining a tangible ‘place’ beyond a vague ‘imagined community’. This was identified in the LE as the Women’s Centre. Importantly, it provided a women-only, safe place for lesbians to ‘talk, socialise, organise, everything without the oppression of men’s company’, as Jill Barnett argued.102 In this statement, she gave quotidian activities a political quality.

Reflecting the notion of ‘the personal is political’, it emphasised the necessity of politicised places for everyday existence where lesbians could be open without the fear of rejection or hostility from men. Moreover, Barnett used the phrase ‘our territory’ to describe the centre, evoking concepts of power and making a clear distinction between a political ‘us’ (women) and ‘them’ (men).103 The importance of this defined geographical position for Mancunian lesbians was confirmed when the centre’s security was threatened. Announcing that ‘the Women’s Centre has reached a crisis point’, LE aligned the centre’s survival directly

101

‘Lesbian Link’, LE, October-November 1978, p. 7.

102

Barnett, ‘On Separatism’, p. 3.

103

Ibid.

57

with the newsletter’s wellbeing claiming ‘the Newsletter has started up’ as a direct result of its facilities.104 The aesthetic presentation of this article further affiliated the LE collective and the Women’s Centre. In contrast to the usual mishmash of handwriting, font and formatting, the announcement was placed directly adjacent to the ‘Editorial’, mirroring its size and title font.

105

If the LE collective represented the ‘imagined’

community of Mancunian lesbians, it was visually and theoretically linked with the Centre’s wellbeing as a locatable base. Permanent places such as this, conceived as ‘safe’ by lesbians, were important in uniting activists and allowing the development of political confidence.

Interpretations of the ‘Reclaim the Night’ campaign further emphasised the importance of politicised sites and a tangible community. Processing through the streets of Manchester, ‘200300 women’ fought ‘against male domination of the night’ with ‘banners, placards and torches’.

106

Spatial domination was

emphasised by one report: ‘row upon row of smiling, chanting women…I felt really strong’.

107

Although this presence was

ephemeral compared to the Women’s Centre, it was exactly this

104

‘Women’s Centre’, LE, April-May 1978, p. 2.

105

For more on spatial intertextuality see Beins, ‘A Revolution in Ephemera’ in Farr and Harker, This Book is an Action, p. 61.

106

‘Reclaim the Night’, LE, November 1977, p. 3.

107

‘Some thoughts on the Manchester Women’s Movement’, LE, JanuaryFebruary 1979, p. 3.

58

transience that gave the demonstration strength. By temporarily interrupting the established order of the city (‘the police looked perturbed’, LE recounts), the march was a carnivalesque display of strength from the women’s movement.

108

The successes

identified by lesbian women however, were not related to the outward effects. Instead they highlighted the ‘great feelings of sisterhood’ and the ability to disregard ‘sexist and threatening comments by passing men’.109 Lesbian political activism therefore seemed most powerful when it contributed to internal transformation. By perceiving themselves as part of a movement, ‘imagined’ and tangible, Mancunian lesbians gained strength through solidarity. This was buttressed by dominating a politicised space. The formation of a common identity was essential for social movements, and as the next section will examine, creating an alternative culture was an important means of marking the boundaries of these identities.

Affirming Sexuality Cultural activities were unquestionably a politically galvanising force for Mancunian lesbians; the editors of the LE consistently requested ‘poems, pictures, short stories…etc.’ mainstream culture was

dominated

108

‘Reclaim the Night’, p. 3.

109

Ibid.

110

‘Editorial’, LE, April-May 1978, p.2.

110

. As

by heteronormative

59

narratives, lesbianism was often rendered invisible. If it was evident, homosexual identities were depicted as ‘shameful’ and ‘other’. Counteracting these attitudes by representing lesbianism as something ‘natural’ and ‘beautiful’, culture informed women that the guilt bestowed upon was unjustified.

Creativity also signified freedom. Within the LE lesbians possessed the liberty to express their experiences of sexuality and oppression that society forbade in other spaces.

Certainly, cultural mediums featured in the LE conveyed emotions with an intensity that straightforward essays could not.

The language used in appeals reflects this force. Poems and stories did not have to be perfectly written, the editors assured, ‘just what you feel.’111 ‘It’s a great shame that all those thoughts, feelings, put into words, will not be shared by anyone’, another contributor lamented.112 Though this approach was not distinct from other political counter-cultures, it was through cultural mediums that lesbians most forcefully affirmed a fundamental element of their identities: their sexuality.

Indeed, sex recurrently saturated the featured poems. ‘Two women | kiss, | and I watch | dumbfounded,’ begins one poem, ‘and I know that this | is beauty; | this reciprocity; | these tongues

111

‘What about a lesbian newsletter’, LE, November 1977, p.2.

112

Anna O’Connor, ‘Poems’, LE, March 1978, p. 7.

60

and parted mouths’.113 The use of gentle rhythm combined with the idea of ‘reciprocity’ notably reflected concepts of women as ‘sensitive, intelligent’ and ‘woman identified’. As the poem centred on the author’s ‘coming-out’ process, it implicitly associated her transformation with feminist philosophies. Di Williams’s poem ‘No easy solutions’ reinforced this connection with ‘woman-identified’ concepts. Raw emotive lines such as ‘Only in a moment’s burst do we touch | The dark flame flickers | Wide open hurts and we close again’ culminated in a final release in the exclamation ‘I love these women and I need them’.114 Emotions such as these were not easily quantifiable or logically explained, expressed by the lines ‘One cannot explain it. | It does not stand economic scrutiny’.

115

Because the root of their

oppression was so deeply personal, art and poetry were essential forms of catharsis for lesbians. Moreover, in a period which saw the concept of sexuality still emerging and changing, poems allowed women to share understandings of lesbianism without having to formulate political theories or arguments. The desire for alternative outputs further reflected anti-intellectual sentiments. As texts that any lesbian could comprehend, poems invited all readers, regardless of educational background,

113

Hannah, ‘The Kiss’, LE, February 1978, p. 2.

114

Di Williams, ‘No easy solutions’, LE, March-April 1980, p. 6.

115

Ibid.

into

61

the ‘imagined community’. Indeed, one letter, discussing the need for poetry, explicitly stated they were ‘not into poetry which isn’t easy to understand’. Poetry should be made to ‘communicate rather than mystify’, they explained.

116

By

sharing innately personal emotions, communal bonds were further solidified.

As a group that had long been taught to conceal their identity from public view, forming a visible movement of lesbians was never going to be a straightforward process. However, through safeguarded spaces such as the LE and places like the Women’s Centre, a collective identity blossomed, allowing Mancunian lesbians to expand their movement outward, as the next chapter will explore.

116

‘Poems’, LE, March-April 1978, p. 7.

62

CHAPTER 2 – WORKING WITH THE STATE Conservative Backlash and ‘Municipal Socialism’ The mid-1980s signalled a turning point for lesbian activists in Manchester. Hitherto, as demonstrated by the LE, involvement with mainstream politics and formal hierarchies had been treated with suspicion. By January 1985 however, a formal subcommittee exclusively representing lesbians on MCC had been set up alongside an open working party as part of the council’s EO policy.117 In the wider backdrop, the WLM and GLM had appeared to politically stagnate. As the last flickers of sixties counter-culture faded, so too did utopian objectives of radical social change and separatism. The foundations of the WLM, based on intrinsically personal experience, had eventually triggered its fragmentation.

Differences across race, class and sexuality, for instance, were realised and the concept of universal sisterhood abandoned.

Sections of the GLM, on the other hand, were becoming increasingly apolitical. The AIDS epidemic for instance had medicalised the homosexual cause, forcing work to combat the ‘gay disease’ and focus on health provisions.118 Furthermore, a growing commercial scene – dubbed the ‘pink pound’ – offered

117

Manchester Central Library (MCL) GB127.M746/BOX1, Lesbian Working Party Minutes, 13 Jan 1985.

118

Mike Homfray, Provincial Queens: The Gay and Lesbian Community in the North-West (Oxford, 2007), pp. 64-65.

63

an alternative focus for homosexual men away from political involvement.119 Alongside these developments, a new common enemy had emerged in the form of Mrs Thatcher and the New Right. As they mounted assaults against British coalminers, traditional elements of the labour movement, including trades councils, trade unions and Labour Party branches would find unexpected allies in ethnic minorities, gay and lesbian communities, and women’s groups.120 Lesbianism was particularly at odds with Thatcherite morality.

The New Right called for a restoration of ‘family values’ as a necessary precursor to social stability, and celebrated the traditional and ‘natural’ role of woman as mother and housewife.

The 1986 Education Act, for instance, which required sex education in schools to uphold the principles of ‘normal family life’ would, by the end of the decade, develop into an explicit assault on homosexuality in the form of Section 28 of the Local Government Bill.

121

Historically, men had always permitted

themselves the freedom to step outside the confines of the

119

See Stephen Quilley, ‘Constructing Manchester's 'New Urban Village': Gay Space in the Entrepreneurial City’ in Gordon Brent Ingram et al. (eds), Queers in Space: Communities, Public Spaces, Sites of Resistance (Seattle, 1997), pp. 275-294.

120

For instance, in groups such as Women Against Pit Closures and Lesbians and Gays Support the Miners. See Diarmaid Kelliher, ‘Solidarity and Sexuality: Lesbians and Gays Support the Miners 1984-5’, History Workshop Journal, Vol. 77, No. 1 (2014), pp. 240-162, 240.

121

Rayside, On the Fringe, p. 23.

64

family. Lesbians, as women, single mothers and homosexuals, therefore distinctively challenged social control through the household unit.122 MCC’s EO policy, adopted in May 1984, in fact highlighted the ‘double oppression’ experienced by lesbians.

123

In an

atmosphere of conservative intolerance, this radical stance reflected an important development in local government. A number of Labour-controlled metropolitan authorities, including MCC and the GLC developed as sites of ‘municipal socialism’ in the 1980s, embracing EO principles.

124

In the former, the

Labour regime of the previous decade had adopted a paternalistic approach and narrow perception of democracy. As the Thatcher government stepped up cuts targeted at local government provision, a divide between the Left and the traditional Rightwing Labour administration culminated in the expulsion of thirteen councillors in 1980, who formed an informal opposition. 125 Significantly, in their anti-cuts campaign, the

122

Ann Tobin, ‘Lesbianism and the Labour Party: The GLC Experience’, Feminist Review, Vol. 34, No. 1 (1990), pp. 56-66, 65.

123

MCL GB127.M746/BOX1, MCC Equal Opportunities Policy, May 1984, p. 25.

124

For more on this concept see Stewart Lansley et al., Councils in Conflict: The Rise and Fall of the Municipal Left (London, 1989); Hilary Wainwright, Labour: A Tale of Two Parties (London, 1987).

125

Wainwright, Labour, p. 120.

65

MCC’s Left formed a rainbow alliance with local feminist, lesbian and gay men’s groups.126 Gaining a firm majority in 1984, the MCC’s Left was now influenced by these alliances. Furthermore, in 1986 a motion supporting full gay and lesbian equality was passed at the Labour Party Conference.

127

To some observers, the Labour Party’s

adoption of ‘equal rights’ was tokenistic. Municipal socialists, for instance, sought to rebel against central government through empty promises and superficial policies.

128

Dedication to

minority rights was sometimes problematic in some EO policies, but such narratives have falsely undermined lesbian political agency in Manchester.

Rather than tactical pawns to be played by Labour and the municipal Left, Mancunian lesbians asserted themselves with political sophistication and confidence. The development of a cohesive lesbian community coincided with changes in the mainstream Left, making an alliance feasible.

‘Intimate Citizenship’ Developments in group objectives reflected this political confidence. Rather than constructing identities against societal norms, Mancunian lesbians now focused on identity affirmation

126

Recounted by Graham Stringer, leader of the MCC’s Left campaign in Lansley, Councils in Conflict, p. 14.

127

Engel, The Unfinished Revolution, p. 91.

128

Davina Cooper, Sexing the City: Lesbian and Gay Politics Within the Activist State (London, 1994), p. ***

66

and the establishment of ‘intimate citizenship’.129 Commanding recognition, respect and support from the state and civil society for their personal identities, they no longer needed to radically reject them. Highlighting discrimination of lesbians in public provisions - such as council housing, job discrimination, education, and custody rights – our community plainly defied conservative sentiments that had tolerated homosexuality only in private.

In housing, for instance, it was agreed that discrimination against lesbians should be treated ‘in the same way as racial harassment’ and it was proposed that Estate Management Officers be given awareness training on sexual orientation.130 The analogy made with race was an important reflection of demands for ‘intimate’ rights. Whereas race was perceived as a public and political fact, sexuality had hitherto been considered an entirely personal matter. 131 By demanding recognition for this in council housing, lesbian women communicated the legitimacy of their sexuality in a more outward, public sense. With communal strength,

129

Intimate citizenship is a term coined by Kenneth Plummer. See Kenneth Plummer, Intimate Citizenship: Private Discussions and Public Dialogues (London, 2003).

130

MCL GB127.M746/BOX1, LWP EO for Lesbians in Manchester: Proposals, 14 October 1984. Housing is frequently cited as a particular difficulty for lesbians, see Bell, ‘Insignificant Others’, pp. 323-329; Deborah Wolf, The Lesbian Community (Berkeley, 1979); Jayne Egerton, ‘Out but not down: lesbians’ experience of housing’, Feminist Review, No. 36 (1990), pp.

75-88.

131

Ahmed Farooqui has commented how her race and sexuality were treated distinctively when she first joined a trade union. See Gerry Ahrens et al., ‘Irrespective of race, sex, sexuality’ in Cant and Hemmings (eds), Radical Records, pp. 128-141, 134.

67

objectives were no longer insular, as they necessarily had been before.

However, collective aims were perhaps never fully represented in the context of a council structure. As formal bodies, radicalism conceivably would have been watered down by self-censorship, in contrast to the vibrant debates of the LE. As they were now reliant on an institutional body, the LSC and LWP may have limited proposals to those where they could predict a positive, or at least broadly sympathetic, response from the council, in order to retain a degree of influence.

Certainly, members of the MCC did not always demonstrate full commitment to EO values. The Chief Planning Officer, for instance, firmly dismissed the need for research into Manchesterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s gay and lesbian community. In a report requested by the EO committee, research conducted in 1950s America was presented. â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;There seems no reason to doubt that the generality of the figures should apply to Britain in the 1980sâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;, the report contended.

132

Whether this was pure laziness or a result of

ignorance, it demonstrated that support for the rainbow alliance was not universal.

In the context of rigid bureaucracy and internal resistance, it is easy to see why lesbians may have subdued their agenda.

132

MCL GB127.M746/BOX1, MCC Planning Officer Report - Lesbians and Gay Men: Basic Facts, 28 February 1985.

68

Although they had been given a seat at the table by the New Leftled council, activists inevitably came up against ingrained prejudices, prompting low expectations. However, the LSC was not so easily disregarded, and alongside the Gay Menâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s SubCommittee (GSC), they upheld their requests for appropriate research from the Planning Officer, resulting in a further, more thorough, report.133 Again, Mancunian lesbians had commanded recognition for their issues despite their relative infancy within the MCC. The strength of their campaign was equally emphasised by important continuities. As political organisation in the LE had shown, communality and democratic participation were important foundations for lesbian politics. The maintenance of these principles was striking in such a necessarily hierarchical structure as local government.

Emphasis was placed on the LSCâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s accountability to the lesbian community. Lesbians from local voluntary groups were nominated to the Sub-Committee by the LWP, for example, and LWP meetings formed an important stream of communication with the wider community.

134

Indeed, activists frequently

discussed the publication of LWP meetings so that as many women as possible were aware of the LSC and could shape its

133

MCL GB127.M746/BOX 1, MCC Planning Officer and Town Clerk Report - Lesbians and Gay Men: Further Information, 17 July 1985.

134

MCL GB127.M746/BOX1, LSC Minutes, 5 February 1987.

69

agenda. Adverts in the local mainstream and lesbian press were pushed and open days held at the town hall encouraged close associations.135 Notably, LWP meetings regularly attracted more attendees than its equivalent, the Women’s Steering Group, despite obviously constituting a smaller constituency.

136

Although this may in part have reflected the success of publicity, the participation of local lesbians also revealed a definable community who were politically motivated. Moreover, high turnout suggests a considerable number of lesbians supported interaction with the council. A common danger of walking the tightrope between movement to mainstream politics was that institutional bodies could become unrepresentative and alienate the wider community, but broader support for the LSC was consistently demonstrated.137 The structure of LWP meetings also evinced a representative programme. An early LWP meeting agreed that ‘in order to ensure that each woman had an opportunity to talk about her experiences the meeting should split into small groups’.138 Focus was still on issues that affected each woman individualistically, hence emphasis on the personal was still essential. This

135

was,

MCL GB127.M746/BOX1, LSC Minutes, 3 July 1985.

136

Minutes frequently highlighted poor attendance at their meetings. MCL GB127.M746/BOX 1, Women’s Steering Group Minutes, July 1984- June 1985.

137

Rayside has highlighted the alienating consequences of entering mainstream politics. See Rayside, On the Fringe, p. 4.

138

MCL GB127.M746/BOX1, LWP Minutes, 13 January 1985.

70

however, translated in a way that would allow genuine advancements, combatting the discussions versus decisions debate that had burdened earlier organisation. Correspondingly, the LSC resolved to have a chairperson elected for each meeting, accepting the importance of structure but again emphasising collective decision-making.139 Community support could play an important role in enforcing MCC’s EO policy and holding departments to account. For example, the policy stated that ‘all firms which get Council funding’ would be required to comply with anti-discrimination guidelines.140 Demonstrating that MCC could not get away with tokenism, lesbian community groups appealed to the LSC in order to lobby the council with regards to its advertisements in City Life magazine.141 According to one letter, the publication featured ‘racist, sexist and anti-lesbian attitudes’ and therefore the MCC should withdraw their business, which constituted 33% of its advertising revenue.142 Led by Councillor Margaret Roff, the LSC successfully ended the council’s association with the magazine until they brought their editorial policy in line with EO

139

MCL GB127.M746/BOX 1, LSC, Minutes, 19 January 1985.

140

MCL GB127. M746/BOX1, MCC EO Policy, May 1984, p. 17.

141

The LSC received letters from Green Door Bakery, Lesbian Zone Collective, Withington Women’s Project, Black Women Workers Group, for instance. MCL GB127.M746/BOX1.

142

MCL GB127.M746/BOX1, Letter from Withington Women’s Project to LSC (no date); Letter from Chris Paul (City Life) to Margaret Roff, 23 April 1985, p. 1.

71

guidelines.143 The campaign against City Life demonstrates that lesbian groups, who looked to the LSC for action, saw the committee as an effective and representative body.

An Important Separation Lesbians in MCC had also strongly asserted themselves in comparison to other local authorities. In the GLC for instance, the gay and lesbian community had only come as far as establishing a Gay Working Party, and were never granted full committee status or officers to solely represent them by the council.

144

In contrast, lesbian activists in Manchester

successfully proposed and achieved full sub-committee status, along with the disabled, women’s and gay men’s subcommittees associated with the EO policy.145 The political sophistication of lesbian activists was further evinced by the pure fact that they pushed the council for a subcommittee and two workers dedicated exclusively to the lesbian community. Originally, the council had proposed the establishment of a joint committee as in other ‘municipal socialist’ bodies, where lesbians were subsumed into either a women’s or mixed gay organisation. 146 As discussions in the LE

143

MCL GB127. M746/BOX1, LSC Minutes, 29 May 1985.

144

Femi Otitoju, ‘The should we, shouldn’t we? Debate’ in Cant and Hemmings (eds), Radical Records, pp. 136-141, 139.

145

MCL GB127.M746/BOX1, LSC Minutes, 29 January 1985.

146

MCL GB127.M901 EO Committee Minutes, 1 August 1984, p. 241. The uncomfortable situation for lesbians in the GLC is described by Ann Tobin.

See Tobin, ‘Lesbianism and the Labour Party’, p. 58.

72

demonstrated, lesbian issues were not always easily or even willingly supported by these communities and maturity was demonstrated by the LSC’s ability to stand alone, upholding their issues as separate but important. ‘Discrimination against Lesbians begins with the assumption that Lesbians and Gay men suffer the same oppression’, they confidently avowed.147 Furthermore, they asserted that the word ‘Lesbians’ should be emphasised in adverts for the LWP: instead of ‘all women welcome’, adverts should read ‘all lesbians [original emphasis] welcome’ with a ‘distinct lesbian symbol’.

148

A desire to

forefront their sexuality over gender was clearly evident.

In their successful secession from these groups, the LSC attracted petitions of help from other localities. The Bradford Lesbian Group, for instance, writing that their council’s ‘EO for Women Programme’ had shown ‘no thought’ for lesbians living in Bradford, pleaded with the LSC for ‘information that could be of assistance e.g. funding, publicity and strategies for increasing awareness’.149 Arguably, MCC had no choice but to represent some semblance of amelioration to the city’s lesbian groups. The council’s leader, Graham Stringer, had commented how such ‘issues would have

147

MCL GB127.M746/BOX1, EO for Lesbians in Manchester: Proposals, 14 October 1984.

148

MCL GB127.M746/BOX1, LWP Minutes, 11 November 1984.

149

MCL GB127.M746/BOX1, Letter from Bradford Lesbian Group to LSC, 29 March 1985.

73

dropped from most agendas’ if minority groups hadn’t allied themselves with the Left in their opposition to cuts.

150

Furthermore, if they constituted a substantial section of the community, a separate lesbian committee merely boosted the council’s appearance as a champion of tolerance and pluralism, in opposition to the New Right.

If this was true, it was certainly not entirely negative. Indeed, it demonstrated that the lesbian community had evolved from being all but invisible to state authorities (who had overlooked them in allocating grants to the Gay Centre, for instance) to a place where the community was not only tangible, but officially recognised. In allying themselves with the outlawed councillors in their time in opposition, they also displayed an awareness that spending cuts would no doubt affect their community.

A separate committee also bridged important gaps within representation. Though policy analysts would argue that uniting lesbians and gay men under a single category of ‘homosexuality’ would mean a larger constituency, and thus a more intense political imperative, there were very real and important differences to be provided for. This was highlighted, for instance, in discussions surrounding AIDS. Finding that very little information had been given to lesbians about the virus (apart from being told they were a low risk group), the LSC

150

Lansley, Councils in Conflict, p. 14.

74

stressed the urgent need for an information leaflet specifically relating to lesbians and the disease.151 The 1980s AIDS epidemic has regularly been depicted as a unifying force for the lesbian and gay community, however, the LSC’s reorientation to the welfare

of

considerations.

gay 152

women

highlighted

some

necessary

As medical attention concentrated on gay

men, lesbians were rendered invisible within contemporary AIDS discourse. Labelling them a ‘low-risk’ group ignored the complexity of lesbian lives and sexual practices, and was therefore potentially damaging.153 Although there was agreement between all EO committees on this topic, the LSC and GSC sometimes directly clashed, as in the GSC’s application for a council funded ‘Lesbian and Gay Festival’ in January 1986.154 The LSC reported that ‘the LWP had been angered by the proposal to hold a Lesbian and Gay Festival which did not contain any lesbian events and over which there had been no consultation’ with the LWP, LSC or LL.155 Evidently, the GSC had adopted the title of ‘Lesbian and Gay Festival’ in order to buttress their grant application as an inclusive event. But, the LSC firmly upheld their interests and

151

MCL GB127.M746/BOX1, Lesbians and Aids Report, 19 March 1987.

152

For instance, see Homfray, Provincial Queens, pp. 64-65.

153

Diane Richardson, Rethinking Sexuality (London, 2000), pp. 141-42.

154

MCL GB127.M746/BOX1, Report: Manchester Lesbian and Gay Festival (no date given).

155

MCL GB127.M746/BOX1, LSC Minutes, 16 October 1985.

75

requested that the grant application should only be accepted if it was made clear that the event was exclusively a ‘Gay Men’s Festival’.156 Other reasons for the LSC’s rejection of the plans also highlighted an interesting contradictory effect of identity-based politics. They argued, for instance, that International Women’s Week and Women Live were to be held around the same time, so the proposed festival would ‘detract from those events’.157 Furthermore, the GSC had failed to consult the EO officer for disabled people regarding access to the venue.158 By drawing attention to how the proposal would affect other minority groups, they performed an important bridge of communication, further demonstrating their ability to move beyond insular issues.

Unfortunately, gay committees such as the GSC and mixed gay organisations perhaps had a tendency to be dominated by issues of white, middle-class, able-bodied men.159 In their revision of the Labour Campaign for Lesbian and Gay Rights (LCLGR) manifesto, the LSC highlighted this bias. For example, in response to the proposal that the crime of buggery should be abolished, the LSC commented this would hold implications for other legislation. What would the consequences be, for instance,

156

Ibid.

157

Ibid.

158

Ibid.

159

Davina Cooper stresses this bias in the GLC’s mixed Gay Working Party.

See Cooper, Sexing the City, p. 25.

76

for women who were subjected to buggery by force? Further, as marital rape was currently not a crime, legalising buggery would also mean it would be permitted in marriage, they argued.160 In highlighting these issues - especially those which did not directly affect lesbians, such as marital rape - the LSC demonstrated they were capable of a broader, reflective perspective.

Meetings for MCC’s LWP certainly emphasised accessibility for intersectional lesbians. Members ensured meetings were wheelchair accessible, crèches were available, alternative travel was provided for those without a car, and that meetings were on the weekend in daytime.161 The LSC also frequently liaised with intersectional groups such as Kings and Queens (a group for deaf lesbians and gay men) and the Black Lesbian group.

162

Importantly, considerations for these groups highlighted political maturity. Earlier experiences in the WLM had seen fragmentation when ‘hierarchies of oppression’ had been created between, for instance, social class and gender. Mancunian lesbians now recognised that marginalisation was multi-faceted and all were equally valid obstacles to equality.

160

MCL GB127.M746/BOX1, LSC Report on LCLGR Manifesto, 19 March 1987.

161

MCL GB127.M746/BOX1, Bus routes to Colony Community Centre, 12 May 1985.

162

MCL GB127.M746/BOX1, LSC Minutes, 29 January 1985.

77

The Inevitable Demise?

Sadly, the influence of the LSC and LWP was ephemeral. After the third victory for the Conservatives in 1987, the experiment in local socialism in Manchester was brought to an end amidst electoral and financial constraints.163 Their fate gives rise to two important questions. First, could the rigid composition and limited power of local government ever allow for considerable attainments for marginalised peoples?

And would a mainstream political party ever become the voice of minority groups?

On a basic level, the structure of local council did not easily accommodate EO policies.

164

Indeed, sub-committees were

often consulted after policy decisions had been made rather than during the decision-making process, so review comments rarely affected change.

165

Furthermore, if EO sub-committees were

involved in generating independent programmes, their proposals were passed around departments for approval in a drawn-out process and, little consideration was given in meetings to check whether they had been implemented. 166 Perhaps those less

163

MCL GB127.M746/BOX2, Rusholme Ward Labour Party Press Release, (no date).

164

Quilley has argued that policy innovations were nearly always ‘organised out’ by council structure. See Quilley, ‘Constructing Manchester’, p. 282.

165

For example, the LWP’s comments that EO policy leaflets written by MCC should explicitly mention discrimination against lesbians were made after they had been distributed: MCL GB127. M746/BOX1, LWP Minutes, 13 October 1985.

166

The application for a grant for a local drama group was, for instance, passed around between Town Clerk and Cultural Services Department. MCL

78

experienced in the mechanisms of local government naively assumed initiatives would automatically be enforced, or implementation seemed a rather tedious topic for meetings, in relation to the development of new schemes.

New Left councils were also inherently flawed. Whilst councillors endeavoured to increase spending, extend council provision, and forward ‘consumer-driven’ strategies, central government had an ideological commitment to centralisation, reducing

resources

available

to

municipal

bodies.

167

Consequently, whilst intentions may have been respectable, there was often a dearth in finance to fully implement the ideas of minority activists. This was exemplified by the LSC’s consistent (but ultimately futile) efforts to establish a community centre exclusively for lesbians.168 Informed that their budget was twenty thousand pounds, it was certainly insufficient to provide ‘the facilities required’ that the LWP estimated to the value of one hundred thousand pounds.169 Because they had tied themselves to a mainstream party, rainbow alliances could also constitute easy targets for the opposition. In Norman Tebbit’s list of ‘loony left’ local councils in 1985, MCC

GB127.M746/BOX1, Report: Grant for Lesbian Theatre Group, 19 March 1987. Cooper supports the notion that committees rarely enforced proposals in Sexing the City, p. 94. Also see Rayside, On the Fringe, p. 2.

167

Lansley et al., Councils in Conflict, p. 1.

168

A Working Party was even set up to exclusively work towards a Lesbian Centre: MCL GB127.M746/BOX1, LWP Minutes, 12 May 1985.

169

MCL GB127. M746/BOX1, LWP Minutes, 9 December 1984.

79

was awarded top spot.

170

By depicting this ‘loony left’ as a

symbol for the ‘other’, right-wing forces were able to exploit the perceived fears of a large section of voters.

171

Whether the

‘other’ constituted homosexuals or minority races, by entrusting power (real or imagined) to these groups and allowing them to demand a larger share of social resources, the Labour Party represented a threat to traditional rights. Tensions between Manchester’s police force and MCC also illustrate strong opposition. Religious moralist, Chief Constable Anderton, had infamously remarked that AIDS patients were ‘swirling around in a cesspit of their own making’.172 Significantly, after calls for him to be reprimanded, the PM herself defended Anderton’s position.173 As the prospect of a third Thatcher term loomed, Labour grew increasingly silent with regards to their ‘equal rights’ policies.

The manifesto of May 1987 stated the Party would only attempt to prevent the discrimination of gays and lesbians.174 Roff wrote an impassioned letter to the Party Secretary Larry Whitty, expressing her frustration:

170

Wainwright, Labour, p. 312.

171

James Curran et al., Culture Wars: The Media and the British Left (Edinburgh, 2005), p. 209.

172

Brooke, Sexual Politics, p. 227.

173

For more on Thatcher’s involvement see Eliza Filby, God and Mrs Thatcher: The Battle For Britain’s Soul (London, 2015), ch. 6.

174

Engel, The Unfinished Revolution, p. 91.

80

This cyclical spectacle [of] selling out principles […] as a General Election approaches […] is galling to those of us who have, at great personal cost, tried to implement party policy at a local level […] What can you say to me to persuade me that I should not, after 22 years, resign from this sexist, racist, homophobic and disablist party? 175

The reality was, very little. Though the rise of ‘identity politics’ had pressured the Party to move away from a strict emphasis on ‘working-class values’, support for this strategy was limited to around twenty Labour-controlled councils and one or two trade unions,

especially

the

Government Officers.

176

National

Association

of

Local

Furthermore, as Labour had never

really understood ‘the reality of discrimination and how it operates’, as Roff pointed out, they would never be able to explain, let alone justify, their policies in response to Tory jibes.177 With the backdrop of conservative hostility on all sides, the significance of lesbian activism is amplified. The ‘personal cost’ that Roff mentioned perhaps referred to her nomination in 1985 to be Lord Mayor.

178

Subjected to thinly veiled homophobic

attacks by the papers and Tory opposition, she withdrew her bid a few months after, although the recent death of her parents was

175

MCL GB127.M746/BOX2, Letter from Margaret Roff to Larry Whitty (no date).

176

Tobin, ‘Lesbianism and the Labour Party’, p. 57.

177

MCL GB127.M746/BOX2, Letter from Margaret Roff to Larry Whitty.

178

‘Lesbian rights campaigner to be Lord Mayor’, Manchester Evening News, 19 November 1985.

81

cited.179 Though Roff’s experience of conservative attacks had prompted her to abandon her bid for Lord Mayor, she had not retreated to an inward-looking, defensive position. The LSC, led

by Roff, confidently maintained demands for recognition until external opposition became took powerful.

The progress made by activists should not be evaluated through a narrow lens of legislative or political success. As the LE demonstrated, social and cultural outcomes were equally valuable to the lesbian community. Outreach work, such as providing lesbians and gay books at local libraries lesbian open days, eliminated the ignorance and isolation that contributed to perceptions of ‘otherness’, promoted by the Right.180 Success in changing cultural values is undoubtedly demonstrated by the progressively important Gay Village in Manchester.

Rather than invisible and awkwardly isolated, Mancunian lesbians had progressed to a place where they were not only recognised and accepted by the general population, but actually celebrated as an important part of the city’s heritage.

179

‘Lord Mayor bid dropped’, Manchester Evening News, 23 December 1985.

180

MCL GB127. M746/BOX1, LWP Minutes, 25 January 1985.

82

CONCLUSIONS At Manchester’s Pride Festival last year, council workers handed out flags featuring the Mancunian worker bee (an emblem of the city’s industrial past) adorned with the LGBT rainbow colours [fig.2].181 As the streets filled

with

vibrant

banners and equally vibrant people, there was

no

doubt

the

LGBT community had become integral to the

Figure 2 MCC, Pride Festival flag, 23 August 2015.

city’s identity.

This study has traced the emergence of one section of this community, unfortunately overlooked by much of the existing scholarship. The actions of lesbian groups undoubtedly demonstrate the origins of such a palpable sense of belonging in Manchester.

The LE presented its contributors in an ongoing process of identity-building

as

group

boundaries

were consistently

181

For information regarding the worker bee symbol see ‘The rise of the “greatest village in England”’, Manchester Evening News (3 November 2012) (available at http://www.manchestereveningnews.co.uk/news/greatermanchester-news/the-rise-of-the-greatest-village-in-england-696295) [accessed 8 March 2016].

83

redrawn. Sharing experiences of their marginalised identity, lesbians became increasingly secure in their community which was strengthened by safeguarded places of organisation.

Collective identities were politically valuable, allowing them to work within the institutional structure of local government without relinquishing an emphasis on democratic participation in the wider community.

We must be mindful, however, of Rayside’s cautions with regards to analysing social movements. Lesbian activism did not exist in a vacuum and was undoubtedly shaped by external forces. If separatist doctrines hadn’t emerged within the wider WLM, would lesbian contributors in the LE have been prompted to redraw boundaries of their identity around their sexuality? The LSC would certainly have never existed if the Labour Party, particularly in ‘municipal socialist’ authorities, had never recognised identity politics through ‘equal rights’ policies.

Nevertheless, this should not devalue the progress of activists in our study. MCC did not found a politically motivated, coherent community of lesbians with their EO policies. Indeed, if such a community had not already been established, surely the perceived needs of lesbians would easily have been subsumed into a women’s or mixed homosexual committee, as in the GLC? Manchester was clearly fertile ground for activism to sprout. Its geographical status as a multi-cultural city meant there was a substantial ‘politicizeable’ constituency of lesbians, and thus a

84

broadly sympathetic, or at least not entirely hostile, local authority. But, the buds of political organisation were cultivated by activists themselves, maturing into a sophisticated and proud community through grassroots action.

This study does not claim to be a comprehensive examination of lesbian social activism in Manchester. It should be noted that engagement with mainstream politics did not supplant other forms of activism. The LSC co-existed with a plethora of political, social and cultural organisations, such as LL, supporting the lesbian community in different ways. This network of groups, however, found a focal point in the LSC as it strove

to

represent

the

community

through

regular

communication with the LWP. Furthermore, investigation into the ‘B’ and ‘T’ of the LGBT community is still required. Perhaps women interacting with the LE and LSC may not have identified as ‘lesbian’: individuals who found sexual fulfilment with both sexes, for instance, or were not cisgender. The oppression faced by such actors and the ways in which they were affected by movements is undoubtedly varied and complex. It is essential, therefore, to avoid ‘reifying’ the lesbian community in our study. We should recognise that lines of race or class also cut across as important facets of identity. Again, further research into the ways in which individuals experience intersectionality is vital.

85

The groups under examination here only begin to represent the complex way in which marginalisation is configured. As both women and homosexuals, Mancunian lesbians have illustrated what we should view as ‘layers of oppression’. Indeed, as lesbians developed into sophisticated political actors, they gained an increasingly nuanced understanding of oppression, as the LSC has evinced. Feminist philosophies highlighted the ways in which lesbians were subordinated due to their gender.

When their sexuality was dismissed or even harnessed as a political strategy, however, they were prompted to recognise that notions of patriarchy were too simplistic.

Unfortunately, this study has been limited to the year prior to perhaps one of the greatest attacks on the LGBT community in our period: Section 28. Manchester provided an essential base of activism against this legislation; an anti-clause march in 1988, for instance, attracted over 20,000 participants.182 Arguably this limit is not entirely a weakness. The legislation was undoubtedly momentous, signalling a backwards step for civilised society as well as the LGBT community. Similarly, the rallying cries of activists were essential for both highlighting the injustice of legislation and causing its eventual defeat. However, our end point highlights an important issue. Focus on this kind of ‘iconic activism’ can actually serve to undermine or

182

Engel, The Unfinished Revolution, p. 93.

86

overshadow the smaller ways in which activists have transformed their own, and their community’s lives.

Councillor Roff, an instrumental actor in the Mancunian lesbian cause, was killed in a tragic accident one year prior to the amendment of the Local Government Act. Accounts focused on ‘dynamite’ campaigns of social movements unjustly overlook important actors like Roff, who eroded the oppression of marginalised groups through persistent quotidian campaigning.

Section 28 is one of the clearest illustrations that social progress is not irreversible. Cognisant of this truth, it is imperative that the histories of marginalised peoples are remembered. The ways in which individuals have gained strength through communal action in these smaller ways are no less important to document, if only to send the message to others that ‘it’s okay to be who you are. These people were, and they are worth remembering.’

Word Count: 12,079.

87

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“ O h, you pl ay f oot bal l , you mus t be a l es bi an t hen…” An expl or at i on i nt o t he exper i ences of f em al e f oot bal l er s r egar di ng i s s ues of gender , t he l es bi an l abel and s t i gm a, s t er eot ypi ng and hom ophobi a.

Abby Carrington is a third year Sport, Exercise and Physical Activity student at Trevelyan College, Durham University. This paper was prepared as a dissertation under the guidance of Dr. Iain Lindsey.

Abstract Lesbianism has commonly been associated with sporting environments, particularly women’s football. Female athletes often reject and challenge ‘typical’ gender-roles, and therefore their sexuality is often questioned.

When female athletes do not conform to the gender stereotype they are labelled by society as ‘deviant’, which often leads to homophobia. Previous literature suggests that homophobia is still a current problem in women’s sport, however, little research has been conducted on female athlete experiences of homophobia in women’s football. This study explores the experiences of female footballers in regards to gender, lesbianism, labelling, stereotyping and homophobia. In-depth interviews were conducted, and transcribed, with six female footballers from a top sporting university in the UK. The athlete’s responses were categorised into relevant themes using a coding technique. The study found that the relationship between sport and sexuality is extremely diverse and complex. Additionally, the study highlighted the problem of internalised homophobia amongst female footballers themselves, and how this type of homophobia can cause more damage to the sport than homophobia that is present outside of the sport. The results conclude that homophobia is still prevalent in women’s football, in the UK, and that not enough is done to attempt to tackle this issue. The study offers recommendations for future research regarding sport and sexuality, and recommendations for future platforms or organisations that may attempt to tackle homophobia in women’s football.

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*Throughout the study football and soccer will be used interchangeably due to some of the literature having been sourced from outside the UK.

Introduction

This study examines the manner in which forms of devaluation and stigmatisation impact female footballers, of all sexual orientations, and how this affects their experiences within their sport.

Though Cox and Thompson (2001) state that women in football have received little attention in previous literature, this study aims to provide insight on women's experiences in football, paying specific attention to gender, lesbianism, labelling, stereotyping and homophobia.

HOMOPHOBIA IN SPORT

Stonewall (2013), a UK-based organisation who aim to combat homophobia in various societal contexts, offer a definition of homophobia; ‘the irrational hatred, intolerance, and fear of lesbian, gay, and bisexual people’. Homophobia is evident in all various aspects of life, however, it appears to be more dominant within the sporting culture. It has been proven that homophobia exists in women’s football (Griffin, 1998) and has an effect on the experiences that female athletes have within the sport. Prevalent evidence from the Out For Sport survey (2012) discovered that almost 80% of people had experienced some form of homophobia in sport, regardless of their sexuality.

The survey additionally suggested that this may be a contributing factor to why girls choose to discontinue participation in sport, particularly sports like football that portray masculine behaviours and are more likely to be associated with the lesbian label and stigma.

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THE CURRENT PROBLEM OF HOMOPHOBIA IN WOMEN’S FOOTBALL

In 2009, an incident occurred involving the Nigerian national women’s football team, where it was unearthed that their team’s head coach had ‘cleansed’ the national team of lesbians (Longman, 2011). It was reported that the coach, Eucharia Uche, had singlehandedly kicked players off the team, without any discussion, if she believed they were homosexual, despite their abilities. This provides evidence of stigmatization: Uche based her decisions on ‘assumptions' that certain players were lesbians, justifying her decisions by stating that she thought that homosexuality was ‘dirty’ and ‘morally wrong’. This type of discrimination is defined as ‘institutionalised homophobia’.

Clarke et al (2010:262) offer the definition of institutionalised homophobia, ‘a social institution that regulates behaviour and practices of those involved, promoting heterosexuality’. Griffin (1998) previously highlighted the issue of institutionalised homophobia in the USA. Griffin’s (1998) research found that athletic coaches in the USA openly admitted they would not permit lesbians or lesbian activity within their teams. Mennesson and Clement (2003, cited by Caudwell, 2006) found similar evidence of institutionalised homophobia within a French football team. The team were ‘encouraging’ their athletes to become more ‘feminine’ by forcing them to engage in heterosexual relationships. The club even enforced policies that ensured female athletes would show up to club events with a ‘boyfriend’, sometimes which the club would pay for in the form of male escorts.

They also made wearing ‘feminine’ clothing, such as skirts and dresses, compulsory. Some clubs claim this type of discrimination was put in place to encourage athletes, Hillier et al (2005) found that homophobic taunts are commonly used in sport to ‘motivate’ athletes and Griffin (1994) suggests that some coaches use anti-gay comments to shame and even to punish athletes. This type of behaviour reinforces the issue of homophobia in sport and only contributes to the overall problem of discrimination against female athletes. These institutions are forcing an ‘ideal’ model of a female athlete who is heterosexual and feminine upon athletes who may not want to behave 97

this way. Many athletes are forced to conform to this ideal due to their passion for their sport, this conformity can result in poor formation of personal identity.

The aforementioned research highlights the problem of homophobia that is prevalent in women’s football and therefore reinforces the idea that action needs to be taken in order to combat this issue and that all sports teams, not just Football clubs, should be aiming to create an open environment where their athletes feel safe and comfortable in order to facilitate performance.

TACKLING THE ISSUE OF HOMOPHOBIA IN FOOTBALL

Measures have previously been put in place, in the UK, to try and tackle homophobia in football. In 2013, an anti-homophobia organisation Stonewall launched its ‘Rainbow Laces’ Campaign which aimed to raise awareness regarding homophobia in Football. The campaign was later criticised for enforcing the very stereotypes that they were aiming to abolish. Disappointingly, the campaign was only aimed at men’s football and despite the improvement seen, more still needs to be done regarding tackling the issue of labelling, stigma and homophobia that is present in women’s football. Organisations must explore women’s experiences in football in order to tailor specific campaigns to their needs. By gaining insight from the source of where the problem lies, the programme will, in theory, be much more direct and beneficial.

THE LESBIAN STIGMA

The lesbian stigma and stereotype has been one of the main reasons why homophobia in women’s football occurs. The negativity associated with the ‘lesbian label’ reinforces the assumption that

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female athletes who are, or may be, lesbian are ‘bad’ people and that they should not be accepted in society and especially should not be allowed to participate in sport. This type of prejudice is how homophobia is reinforced and homophobic environments are facilitated.

Since women have been involved in sport they have been labelled ‘deviant’. Previous research suggests that this is due to the challenge that women present against traditional gender roles (Anthrop & Allison, 1983; Sage & Loudermilk, 1979). This gender-role conflict is what reinforces the masculine and feminine stereotypes that surround sport. Cox and Thompson (2001) found that female footballers were assumed to be lesbian because of their choice to play a traditional male team sport. This is the stigma that seems to dominate society’s ideologies based on women’s football. Consequently, resulting in females avoiding football all together, or choosing to opt out of the sport, to prevent being associated with this stigma or the fear of experiencing homophobic abuse.

A quote by White and Young (1999:178) highlights the current problem in the literature regarding female athletic experiences:

‘although the links between gender, sexuality, and sport are increasingly being addressed in the critical sport literature, relatively little has been written about female athletes’ actual experiences’.

This study aims to focus upon female athletes’ experiences regarding sexuality in women’s football and how this information can be utilised to inform future strategies that may be put into place to combat homophobia in women’s football. The present study examines the manner in which such forms of devaluation and stigmatisation of lesbianism in women’s football impact female 99

footballers, of all sexual orientations, and how this effects their experiences within the sport. It will look at issues relating to gender roles, labelling and homophobia within womenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s football.

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Literature Review

Early research by Griffin (1998:149) suggests that ‘sport and lesbians have always gone together’, and continues to explore this common theme through time. However, the quote could also suggest that, with lesbianism in sport being common, lesbians do not face particular problems and hold a comfortable space in the sporting world, which is not always the case. Homophobia is proven to be the prime issue that lesbian athletes face in sport (Caudwell, 2006; Lenskyj, 1987). However, it is not the only problem they face. They battle a range of other issues such as labelling, stigmatisation and stereotypes. White and Young (1999:174) found that the problem of homophobia against lesbians in sport is becoming more evident in mainstream sports literature. They also added that homophobia against lesbians in sport is a ‘persuasive problem’, suggesting that the issue is progressive, and that sport may facilitate the problem.

Previous research highlights key themes that are prevalent amongst lesbian athletes’ experiences in sport. The literature suggests that homophobia (both external and internal, as well as institutionalised), labelling, stigma, over-femininity, are just a few key themes that arise (Coakley and Pike, 2009; Caudwell, 2007; Blinde and Taub, 1992b). A common problem found in the review of literature regarding homophobia in women's sports was internalised homophobia. Clarke et al (2010:262) defined internalised homophobia as 'negative feelings towards oneself as a lesbian or gay man resulting from having internalised the negative attitudes of others and of the wider society towards homosexuality’. Cox and Thompson (2001) found that internal discrimination can come from female athletes themselves, facilitating the production of internalised homophobia.

Despite the majority of research illustrating that sport is an environment associated with homophobia, sport can also be a ‘safe haven’ for lesbian athletes. White and Young (1999) state that 101

lesbians see sport as a safe place and sometimes even a contact point. This creates a contrasting argument from previous literature that usually portray all lesbian athletes experiences as debilitative.

GENDER AND WOMEN IN SPORT

Women in sport face many challenges, of which is gender equity is one. Society has been ‘trained’ to think of sports in terms of ‘genderedness’ (Wilde, 2006). Through the media and ‘word of mouth’ in society, sports have been structured and moulded into gender stereotypes. This links in with the ‘simple binary classification model’ which is based on that presumption that every human should be either a heterosexual female or heterosexual male (Coakley and Pike, 2009). However, the simple binary classification model does not construct an equal space for individuals that are neither heterosexual male or female. This can be identified as a ‘grey area’, as there are no specific categories for other individuals who do not identify with the current categories or for those with alternate sexual preferences. Coakley and Pike (2009) claim that the expectations of these two categories are what outline society’s definitions and views on gender, masculinity and femininity.

For example, women are supposed to be the homemakers and men are the dominant sex. Dominant social views and constructions suggest that women should act ‘feminine’ and therefore they must fulfil the socially constructed ideal that women would be sexually attracted to their male counterparts. This is referred to as heterosexism. Traditional gender roles are constantly being redefined, especially in recent years. Thus, awareness of heterosexism and homophobia is beginning to emerge (Townley, 2006:324).

Critical feminist theory suggests that sports are gendered activities, that their meanings are based on the experiences of men and are celebratory of dominant forms of masculinity (Coakley and Pike, 102

2009). Based on this theory, sport is seen as a playground for men, women should not be included, and if they are, should not receive the same benefits as men. McKay et al (2000) suggests that gender shapes differences in how men and women experience homophobia. On the other hand, gender is not the only factor that plays a part in how individuals experience homophobia, sexuality or sexual orientation can also contribute (Griffin, 1998).

Lesbian athletes face an even broader spectrum of difficulties, especially if they are actively involved in a sport that is traditionally viewed as ‘masculine’, as suggested by Scraton et al (2005).

Definitions of masculinity and femininity are extremely unclear when it comes to sport. Sports that require strength and power are often associated with the male gender, rather than the female.

Therefore when a female athlete participates in this type of sport, they risk the potential to be seen as ‘masculine’ or less feminine, according to societal views. Despite this being a substantial literature base, it is extremely difficult to classify sports as either masculine or feminine. One individual’s perception of masculinity and femininity could be completely different to another’s.

With sport often being gender stereotyped, women who participate in more ‘masculine’ sports often experience more conflict, such as gender and sexual discrimination from outsiders and even teammates, than women who participate in more gender-appropriate sports (Guillet et al, 2000; Krane and Barber, 2003; Williams et al, 1985). Fallon and Jome (2007:315) found that sources of conflict include ‘uncharacteristic attempts to bolster femininity by wearing makeup, jewellery, or feminine clothing’. Earlier research by Sage and Loudermilk (1979) support this with findings from their study comparing the gender-role conflict of female collegiate athletes who participated in ‘masculine’ and ‘feminine' sports. They found that women involved in ‘masculine’ sports experienced greater gender-role conflict (45.1%) than women in ‘feminine’ sports (34.2%). This research highlights the internalisation of the stigma that sports are gendered activities as previously 103

mentioned by Wilde (2006) and the athletes poor ability to form true self-identity. Fallon and Jome (2007) suggest the results from a similar study by Anthrop and Allison (1983) show that women perceive more gender-role conflict than they actually experience and therefore they may not internalise the conflict they perceive. Disch and Kane (2000:127) propose that when women violate the traditional gender-role they are often assumed as homosexual, Fallon and Jome (2007:172) define this as ‘sexually suspect’. This is a challenge that most female athletes are faced with when they participate in sport, particularly ‘masculine’ sports.

Although the links between gender, femininity/masculinity and sport have long since been established and explored, the link between gender, sport and sexuality remains unsolved. Townley (2003:322) suggests that gender and sexuality, in any setting, and especially in sport, are interchangeably linked. This is particularly the case amongst collegiate level athletes (Townley, 1993).

SEXUALITY IN WOMEN’S SPORT

Caudwell (2006:55) states that ‘the sport arena is one which is distinctively sexed, which is often found to result in homophobia’. Lesbian athletes are categorised as ‘deviant’ in regards to gender ideology that is based on the simple binary classification model. Since they do not fit into either the male or female gender categories, they are classed as ‘out of bounds’. In turn, ‘deviant’ sexuality is the main mechanism which enforces gender roles (Townley, 2006:322). If athletes perceive themselves as deviant then they may try and fit themselves into a specific gender category in order to meet society’s standards. When female athletes engage in this type of behaviour it is often in the form of apologetic actions or over-femininity. Rohrbaugh (1979, cited by Weese, 2008) claims that if women believe they are more likely to be perceived as masculine, then they will engage in 104

feminine behaviours in order to defend their gender. This links with work by Davis-Delano (2014) who found that many female athletes engage in ‘apologetic behaviour’ in order to disassociate themselves from lesbianism and to encourage themselves are being seen as ‘feminine’ and more importantly, heterosexual.

Previous research by White and Young (1999:172) and Caudwell (2006:51) claim that heterosexism reinforces heterosexuality as the ‘norm’. Aitchison (2007:95) proposes that ‘heterosexism serves as an obstacle for lesbian athletes’ in pursuit of the personal growth, creativity and self-expression that are fostered within a sporting environment. Heterosexism proposes that heterosexuality and opposite-sex relationships are the norm and are therefore superior (Aitchison, 2007). This is falsely based on the fact that, until recent years due to increased awareness of the LGBT community, heterosexual was the only category to exist.

Due to this societal ‘norm’, lesbian athletes are more likely to either conform to fit in with the ‘norm’ or rebel in order to stand out. If they do not 'come out' then they are classed as in the ‘closet’. The ‘closet’ is where homosexual or bisexual individuals ‘hide’ in order to disguise their true identity (Griffin, 1998). Female athletes who may be interested in pursuing a sexual relationship with another woman may hide this from her teammates in order to remain seen as ‘feminine’ or to remain part of the group. People in the ‘closet’ often fear rejection and exclusion, particularly within the sporting context. The silencing of lesbians in sport has some disconcerting consequences, such as poor identity formation (Krane and Barber, 2003:336) and reinforces the stereotypes surrounding lesbian athletes.

Griffin (1987) draws upon the conclusion that there is conflict between athleticism and femininity, which results in the assumption that most female athletes are lesbian. Consequently, lesbian athletes 105

encounter prejudice and heterosexual athletes deal with the stigmatisation and labelling they are faced with. Such stigmatisation results in the devaluation of female athletes.

LESBIAN STIGMA AND STEREOTYPES

In addition to the ‘masculine’ stereotype, female athletes may also be labelled as lesbian and stigmatised as a result of their participation in contact sports. Goffman (1986) was the first to define social stigma as ‘the social process of labelling a particular pathological state as deviant’.

Lesbianism is a prominent social stigma in women’s football. Most female players have been associated with this stigma by being labelled in some way, often starting out as being called a ‘tomboy’ developing into more aggressive terminology as they age, such as, ’butch, dyke or lesbian’ (Cox and Thompson, 2001).

Anderson (1988) suggests that women are more prone to being stigmatised. Schur (1984) came to a similar conclusion, stating that women who engage in ‘non-traditional gender’ behaviours are more likely to be subjected to social stigmatisation. Women who engage in sports are often seen as violating gender norms, as previously stated by Coakley and Pike (2009), Disch and Kane (1996), and Williams et al (1985). Bline and Taub (1992:521) state that this type of stigmatisation restricts women’s roles and potential in certain areas of their lives. In relation to sport, this stigmatisation restricts women from participating. However, despite previous research, the lesbian stigma has failed to be adequately theorised (Sartore and Cunningham, 2009:299), and Elling and Janssons (2009) suggest that this stigma and stereotypes do not fit all female athletes.

Based on this social stigma of lesbianism, stereotypes are created. Caudwell (2007) emphasises that lesbian stereotypes are based on two extremities: female masculinity is either celebrated, or used in 106

attempt to devalue women’s football. Davis-Delano et al (2009) found three common negative stereotypes, reported by the participants of their study who were women athletes at the collegiate level, one of which is that ‘female athletes are lesbians’. Hargreaves (2000) claim that this type of stereotype is what enforces the fear of the ‘lesbian label’ amongst female athletes.

HOMOPHOBIA

Homophobia is ‘a generalised fear or intolerance of lesbians, gay men and bisexual people’ (Griffin, 1998). Homophobia is extremely prevalent in sport, especially in football. The Out For Sport Survey (2012), a UK-based survey, found that 79% of respondents believe that there is a problem with homophobia in sport. 62% of respondents had witnessed or experienced some form of homophobia within a sporting context and 73% believe homophobia is a barrier to sport participation. Only an astonishing 5% of respondents, from the Out For Sport Survey (2012), believed that enough was being done to tackle the problem of homophobia in sport. These statistics are significantly high, suggesting there is a serious problem with homophobia in sport, particularly in the UK. This may be one of the reasons that people, especially female athletes, decide to quit sport or avoid it all together. Coakley and Pike (2009:277) support this theory, they state that ‘homophobia is a powerful factor that has discouraged women and girls from playing certain sports or making sports an important part of their lives’.

As well as homophobia from peers and teammates, female athletes experience homophobic abuse from additional sources such as parents, teachers or even coaches. Coakley and Pike (2009) found that some parents deter their daughters from seeking to participate in sports as they believe they may become lesbian or will be prayed on by lesbian teammates and coaches. Not only does it prevent female athletes from participating in sport , but it also creates a stigma that their daughters 107

may then carry with them throughout their lives and pass on, resulting in an endless homophobic cycle (Lenskyj, 1987).

Despite the negative association of women in sport with homophobia and gender-role conflict, Theberge (2000) offers a more positive outlook which suggests that women’s achievements in sport challenge certain ideas and beliefs, and encourage people to think differently about masculinity, femininity and gender relations.

Homophobia is seen in many sports, in regards to all genders, and at many different ages. However, college/university sports seem to be an extremely homophobic environment (Morrow & Gill, 2003), at an age where young individuals are susceptible to influence.

HOMOPHOBIA IN WOMEN’S FOOTBALL

Anderson (2011) concludes that ‘football has the largest female participation rates of any team sport in the United Kingdom with 1.38 million women of all ages regularly playing’. Increased participation rates in women’s football, leaves room for more potential homophobia.

Caudwell (2007:184) states that footballing spaces are overwhelmingly dominated by men and masculinity. Scraton et al (2005) support this by arguing that football in England is gendered as masculine. The fact that football is portrayed as a ‘masculine’ sport, gives society the opportunity to frown upon women who decide to participate within the sport. Women who play football often encounter the assumption that they are homosexual due to the fact they participate in this specific sport (Cox and Thompson, 2001). They are seen to be challenging the male dominated football spaces within the sporting context; they are deviants.

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Homophobia can stem from early beliefs in society’s older generation. Coakley and Pike (2009) and Cox and Thompson (2001) collected similar evidence from a female football player’s mother who said she did not want her daughter to play football because she had heard they are all ‘a bunch of dykes’ and she feared that this may influence her daughter to become ‘one of them’. These comments are what create such a hostile environment within the sporting culture and sporting teams.

Caudwell (2007) found that direct assault was the most brutal form of homophobia experienced by female footballer players in the UK. Although this is only seen in extreme cases, it still highlights the problem that female footballers face and how it can not only jeopardise their career, but also their safety.

Homophobia does not only take place in the form of physical abuse, but also mental abuse.

Homophobic slurs, such as labels like ‘dyke’, ‘butch’, ‘lesbo’ (Blinde and Taub, 1992a) are used to isolate and discriminate against female athletes. These taunts are the most common form of homophobia and individuals who use them do not often realise they are being homophobic and the damage they are causing.

On the other hand, sport is not only seen as a negative platform that facilitates homophobia, but in contrast, provides a ‘safe haven’ for lesbian athletes within their sporting culture. William Bullingham et al (1985, cited by Hargreaves and Anderson, 2014) looked at overcoming the problem of homohysteria and concluded that ‘football provided a space to socialise with ‘likeminded’ people and to create ‘support networks’, in which lesbian identities were normalised.

Some went as far as to refer to their football club as an ‘extended family’ in which they felt 109

unconditionally accepted’. As previously stated by White and Young (1999:175), lesbians see sport as a safe place and sometimes even a contact point. Finding like-minded people, who have similar interests, can provide lesbian athletes with a sense of belonging. Therefore, promoting positive identity formation and resulting in other various health benefits that are both mental and physical, such as improved self-esteem and self-confidence (Cahn, 1993 and Sartore and Cunningham, 2009).

Overall, suggesting that although homophobia is problem in sporting contexts, sporting contexts are also used as a platform for athletes to congregate and unite together. Fink et al (2012) found that there is a growing culture of acceptance regarding sexuality in university level sports teams.

LABELLING

Along with stereotypes, comes labelling. Blinde and Taub (1992b) states that this labelling is often usually based on women who violate gender norm categories, such as sexual orientation and preference. Labelling can result in various negative consequences, such as poor team cohesion, tension and isolation among lesbian athletes (Cox and Thompson, 2001).

The ‘lesbian label’ is not only one that is feared by lesbians themselves, but also heterosexual women (Hargreaves, 2000). Lenskyj (1987) found that homophobia in women’s sports can make heterosexual women feel obligated to prove their femininity and heterosexuality in order to disassociate themselves from the ‘lesbian label’. Townley (2006:322) highlights that ‘for adolescents, being a lesbian is worse than any form of heterosexuality they may exhibit. Not only lesbians experience homophobia, so do heterosexual women. Despite this research, Griffin (1998) found that lesbian women’s experiences in sport differ substantially in comparison to heterosexual female athlete experiences. This may be due to the sensitive nature of homophobia, where lesbian athletes may internalise abuse more than heterosexual athletes.

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Previous research by Blinde and Taub (1992b:524) found that the majority of their female athletic respondents stated that labelling female athletes as lesbian was increasingly common, especially amongst collegiate level athletes. They also illustrate how women are the target of false lesbian labelling due to the association of athleticism and masculinity. This highlights the prevalent problem of stigmatisation and labelling that occurs within women’s sports, especially at a university/collegiate level. This stigmatisation and labelling may be based on the assumption that participation in high level sport is beyond what ‘ordinary’ or ‘normal’ women do (Blinde and Taub, 1992b:527).

White and Young (1999) highlight the fact that sport scholars have recently started to examine homophobia, and how heterosexism can construct and constrain female athlete’s sexualities, and how family, peers, coaches and the media can force women to adopt a heterosexual appearance or behaviour to avoid the lesbian label.

Blinde and Taub (1992b:527) found that ‘both lesbian and non-lesbian athletes adopt strategies to manage the lesbian stigma and label’. These strategies include wearing makeup, jewellery, or feminine clothing (Krane, 2001 and Fallon and Jome, 2007). The strategies are used by the athlete to disassociate and distance themselves from the lesbian label. By engaging in ‘feminine’ behaviours, female athletes believe they are oppressing a heterosexual image to outsiders (Worthen, 2014). Anderson (2011:278) defines this as ‘apologetic behaviour’ and suggests that it occurs because women are participating in a male domain and want to prove their personal and sexual identities. Consequently, this type of behaviour can consequently result in creating a hostile environment, especially in teams where players may be ‘in the closet’ or are already open about their sexuality.

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Overall, the research highlights various areas of discrimination that occur not only in sport, but more specifically, in womenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s football. There is vast research regarding the problems that are caused by homophobia, labelling, stereotyping, however, none of the research explores how these problems directly affect female athletes.

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Methodology

RESEARCH DESIGN

The study took a qualitative approach to facilitate the collection of in-depth information. Inductive and exploratory-based research was conducted throughout the study. The study explores the experiences of female athletes playing university level football, therefore a qualitative data collection method was deemed most appropriate. David and Sutton (2011:107) offer the explanation that ‘qualitative research tends to be associated with inductive and exploratory research because the kind of depths in which qualitative methods allow the researcher to explore issues’. The study is underpinned by key principles of a phenomenological approach to research, which is concerned with understanding the experiences of individuals in relation to the phenomenon being explored (e.g, women’s experiences of homophobia in football).

One-to-one, in-depth, structured interviews were utilised for the purpose of the study. In-depth interviews were considered to be the most appropriate method of data collection, with regards to the research questions. Interviews are considered the best data collection method when researching a sensitive topic (Long, 2007). They provide the opportunity to build rapport with the participants in order to gain trust, which may lead to greater insight and increasingly in-depth responses (opinions and personal experiences). The interviews allowed further understanding and insight into women’s experiences of gender issues, lesbianism, labelling and stereotypes and homophobia in football.

Structured interviews were selected for the purpose of the study in order to maintain a higher level of reliability, as previously stated by David and Sutton (2011). A pilot interview was conducted to test the equipment that was used for the study as a precaution and additionally facilitate putting

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interviewing skills into practice. It included a draft set of interview questions that were then revised and used in the final interviews for the research project.

INTERVIEW GUIDE

A similar study by Delano (2014) used semi-structured interviews to research women’s same sexrelationships in sport. This provides evidence that interviews can provide in-depth information on sensitive topics. Due to this study looking at the experiences of women in sport (including homophobia), from the supporting evidence, interviews prove to be a useful method when looking at a sensitive topic.

The interviews were all structured, with follow-on questions to facilitate clarification and elaboration. Patton’s (2002) qualitative interviewing structure was used to frame the questions used in the interview guide. This gave a broad range of questions that required various types of answers.

Questions in the interviews were structured around the four themes that were established before data collection took place. The interview guide was set up to facilitate questions regarding four key themes that the study focuses upon: (1) Sport and Gender Identity (e.g, Do you believe your gender had an influence on the sport you play?), (2) Sexuality and Sport (e.g, What stereotypes do you associate with women’s football?), (3) Homophobia (e.g, In your opinion, does homophobia exist in women’s football?), and (4) Sexuality and the Study (e.g. Do you believe your sexual orientation affects your experiences of homophobia in women’s football?). Socio-demographic questions (name, age, sport and level of sport currently playing) were additionally included at the beginning of the interview to facilitate building rapport with the client and to gain additional background information. Follow-up questions were utilised in the interview guide to prompt the interviewee.

Long (2007) expresses that the follow-up approach is vital when aiming to collect rich information.

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The interview guide provided a framework to work alongside throughout conducting the interviews.

All of the interviews were recorded using a recording device and put onto a laptop computer for further transcription and for the coding process to be completed.

SAMPLING/PARTICIPANTS

A sample was taken from a top sporting university in the UK. After obtaining ethic approval from the university, six participants were selected from the universityâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s womenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s football first team. A purposive sample was used to select participants from the team, based on their appropriateness for the research topic area. An email was sent out to the team members which asked for volunteers to participate in the study after reading a short rationale on the aims and objectives of the research project. The participants were asked to provide contact details if they were interested and then were contacted if they were chosen. A small random sample of six participants was then taken in order to collect more in-depth information, and due to time restrictions of the study. David and Sutton (2011) suggest that a smaller sample is more appropriate for exploratory analysis, and due to the short length of the research period, this sample size was deemed more appropriate and feasible. A homogeneity sample was completed because the group of subjects all had similar characteristics (same sex, similar age, same sport) and the goal of the research was to understand and describe a particular group in depth.

PROCEDURE

The participants were given a standardised information sheet stating the aims and objectives of the study, along with ethical approval from the university and a consent form (must be signed by interviewee in order to go ahead with the interview), which are all included in the appendices. It 115

was clarified before the interview took place that the participant could withdraw from the study at any given time. A set date and time was arranged to conduct each interview. The interviews took place at the university library at times that were most suitable for each participant.

DATA ANALYSIS

After the interviews were completed they were transcribed using a computer and the original recording device. Coding was then used to analyse the qualitative data that was collected from the interviews. Coding allows information to be sorted into categories (Long, 2007) such as themes or topics, therefore key information in these themes/topics were highlighted for discussion. Deductive coding was conducted in this study as the list of themes were comprised before data was collected.

The data was coded into higher themes, such as gender, homophobia and lesbianism, and lower themes that presented themselves in the data that was collected, such as cultural difference and the environment. A colour coding framework was used to assign quotes to their designated theme in order to allow analysis to be performed quickly and easily. After the data was coded, specific key points were highlighted to be included in the discussion section of the study.

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Results and Discussion Section After examining the responses from the athletes, six higher themes were highlighted; (a) gender, (b) lesbianism and stereotyping, (c) labelling, (d) lesbian stigma, (d) sexuality, (e) homophobia in women’s football. Lower themes were additionally highlighted, these were (a) environment and (b) cultural differences.

GENDER

A prominent theme that was highlighted when looking at the athlete’s responses was gender issues.

One of these issues was how the female athletes were introduced to their sport. In football, most girls have played since they were extremely young, Adams et al (2005) suggest that this is due to the encouragement of fathers or siblings. The following statements all support Adams et al ’s statement:

“My sister played soccer and I wanted to be like her.” - Allison.

“My brother and sister both played football, so I did too.” - Rhian.

“My Dad used to play football with me in the back garden.” - Stephanie.

It highlights the importance of male role models when becoming involved in football. Supporting Scraton et al’s (1999) previous statement that male approval and encouragement is important when young girls are aiming to gain entry into the informal male football culture.

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Anderson and Billingham (2015:361) previously suggested that ‘it is important to consider how gendered identities, activities, and sensibilities inform sexual identities and experiences in sport’.

After participants of this study were asked whether they believed their gender had an influence on the sport they play, they all answered no. One participant said ‘I think soccer is a gender neutral sport. I grew up where both males and females were equally involved in the sport’. Another participant supported this statement by explaining how ‘football has always been male dominated sport but that didn't affect my participation’. Both statements highlighting the insignificance of their gender and the role it played in their choice of sport.

Critical feminist theory previously stated that sports are gendered activities, that their meanings are based on the experiences of men and are celebratory of dominant forms of masculinity. Young (1990, cited by Guillet et al, 2000:359) suggest that ‘as a consequence of this gender-role conflict, and to avoid compromising their femininity, some girls may drop out of sports and physical activity’. However, the evidence collected in this study suggests that this may not be the case.

Participants had mixed views on whether they thought their sport was a gendered activity.

“It’s very male dominated, especially when I started playing and I still think it is now but less so.” - Rhian.

“Yes. Football is an extremely male-dominated sport, especially in the UK. When I was little, the first team I played for was boys team because there was no provision at all for girls who wanted to play football.” - Stephanie.

“Sometimes, not all the time. Coz’ like, in England it is mainly male dominated but like in the states (US) it’s constantly growing as a female orientated sport.” - Ashley.

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“I’d say in the UK that it is definitely male-dominated and I have noticed this more and more the longer I’ve been here. But I think in the US it’s a very feminine sport, well, as far as I can tell and I have played in the US for over 16 years.” - Megan.

The statements made by participants offer a range of views on the basis that sport is a typically male dominated sport, some were certain it is and others believed that cultural differences play a role in whether the sport is seen as predominantly male. Despite mixed opinions on whether football was a male-dominated sport, all six participants answered yes when asked whether they thought football was a masculine sport. This supports Wilde’s (2006) theory that suggests society has been trained to think of sports in terms of ‘genderedness’. It highlights the conformity of looking at sports in terms of who plays them rather than on the sport itself. This causes society to define people who do not follow society’s unwritten rules, as deviant. Fallon and Jome (2007) found that female athletes are assumed deviant because of their violation of traditional gender role behaviour, this results in female athletes being labelled as homosexual. As stated by Townley (2006), deviance is the main mechanism that enforces gender roles, especially when associated with sexuality.

LESBIANISM AND STEREOTYPES

A common theme that presented itself in the data collected, were the stereotypes that are associated with women’s football. It has been noted in previous research that women’s football has been stereotypically branded as a lesbian sport. Davis-Delano et al (2009) found three common negative stereotypes, reported by the participants of their study who were women athletes at the collegiate level, one of which is that ‘female athletes are lesbians’. Furthermore, Cox and Thompson (2000:15) stated ‘the mythological construction of the lesbian athlete is still embedded in women’s 119

soccer’. This was reinforced by a quote from one of the participants in this study, Rhian, who said that ‘outsiders see football as a lesbian culture’. Another participant, Stephanie, agreed; ‘I definitely associate lesbians with football’. Stephanie’s comment highlights how internal stereotyping occurs, even though she is part of the women’s footballing culture and stresses that she wants to combat the issue of homophobia, she internalises the stereotypes that others have formed about female footballers and this only goes on to reinforce these stereotypes and stigma. This highlights the unnoticed production of internalised homophobia. This is supported by Weese (2008:8) who suggests that ‘the sports arena has historically associated lesbianism to female athletes and this claim has been supported by female athletes themselves’. The problem of internalising stereotypes and stigma, regarding lesbianism, is one of the factors that should be addressed when looking at homophobia in women’s football.

Another participant went on to discuss the problem of stereotyping and explained how the butch stereotype is one of the main stereotypes attached to women’s football:

“I’d say the butch stereotype is a big one. It’s actually really unfair because I know a lot of girls who aren't gay but that stereotype gets attached to them because they play football.” - Megan.

As Cox and Thompson (2001) previously found, most female players have experienced or have come across the ‘butch’ stereotype at some point throughout their athletic journey. Stereotypical representations of lesbians in women’s football do not usually fit female athletes, as previously suggested by Elling and Janssens (2009). These stereotypes are what reinforce the stigma behind lesbianism and women’s football. They not only directly affect lesbian players, but indirectly affect heterosexual players who do not enjoy the association and assumptions that are made between their 120

sexuality and the sport they choose to play. Davis-Delano (2014) found that negative stereotypes negatively impact performance, therefore the issue of stereotypes needs to be addressed, especially at such a high level of performance as university level sport.

LABELLING

The issue of labelling presented itself in the findings. Theberge (2000) suggested that the lesbian label is used in order to disempower women, especially those who play sport. The words ‘butch’, ‘dyke’ and ‘lesbian’ were highlighted in the study on multiple occasions. Cox and Thompson (2001) conducted a study regarding lesbian experiences in soccer and found that girls were often called ‘butch’, a term which seriously offended these women. Particular labels were identified by one participant:

“….butch and dyke are the main ones. I have heard these labels used so many times, mostly by people who aren't actually involved in the sport. So, like, parents, spectators who are mostly men. I just don't get men with the whole lesbian thing because they all claim to love it when you're in the club but then as soon as it is in a masculine setting, like playing football, they are all of a sudden all against lesbianism.” - Megan.

This quote highlights the significant impact that outsiders have on the issue of labelling, something that needs to be addressed when looking to combat homophobia. Allegations or labels aimed at female athletes are what result in high dropout rates amongst women who play ‘masculine’ sports (Lenskyj, 1987 and Griffin, 1998). Megan addresses how lesbianism is accepted in a ‘normal’ environment, but not a sporting one. There is currently no previously literature that addresses the

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problem of lesbianism within the sporting context and in other aspects of everyday life, this area needs to be further researched.

Additionally, another participant in the study stated: “I think the lesbian label comes with playing football. Like, if you play football, you have to be gay and you are this massive dyke running around after all the girls…” Beth.

Griffin (1998) proposed that once an athlete is labelled a lesbian, even if they are not, they will be faced with a range of discrimination. This type of discrimination and prejudice is what reinforces the lesbian stigma associated with women’s football and, in turn, leads to homophobia. Both Griffin (1998) and Hargreaves (2000) argued that both heterosexual and homosexual athletes fear being labelled as lesbian. Heterosexual women in teams become defensive due to the paranoia of being associated with lesbians and to avoid the lesbian label, while lesbians become defensive trying to disguise their true sexual identity. The aforementioned quote suggests issues of internalised homophobia, further highlighting the issue. So long as the lesbian label and stigma are perceived as negative, then true sexual identity rejection, internalised homophobia and the silencing of homosexuality in sport will continue.

STIGMA

The stigma associated with women’s football was highlighted in the results of the study. Hargreaves and Anderson (2014:265) suggest that the lesbian label and stereotypes are an effective way for society to ‘trivialise, marginalise and stigmatise’ female athletes and women’s sports. Griffin (1998, cited by Hargreaves and Anderson, 2014:269) went on to state that ‘women who are athletic, strong 122

and tough are stigmatised as unfeminine/not sexy at best and lesbian at worst’. All of the participants in this study said that they believed there is an associated lesbian stigma that surrounds women’s football. One participant went on to explain:

“Ever since I have played football there has always been that stigma that surrounds it.

The amount of times I have had someone say to me ‘oh, you play football, you must be a lesbian then’. I struggled a long time with this stigma because I wanted to prove it wrong, therefore, in turn, I struggled with my sexuality.” - Stephanie.

This quote demonstrates the challenge that the stigma sets for female footballers. Not only are they stigmatised as masculine, as previously stated by Cox and Thompson (2001:11) who proposed ‘the contradiction of the female body possessing traits assumed to be masculine has stigmatised those individual women who play soccer’, but also as lesbians. Cox and Thompson (2001:278) offer the explanation that ‘female footballers were assumed to be lesbian because of their choice to play a traditional male team sport’. As stated by the participant, this stigma is what forced her to struggle with her sexuality. The participant went on to say:

“Because people assumed I was a lesbian, I decided that I would try and be super girly and express my interest in guys so that people would be like ‘oh, maybe not all girls in women’s football are gay’. I think this associated stigma is the reason that my sexuality suffered for so long because I was ashamed that I was just reinforcing these stereotypes and stigma and I didn't want to, I wanted to prove them wrong but I couldn’t.” Stephanie.

It portrays how the stigma forces female footballers to try and challenge the stigma themselves, which results in poor formation of personal and sexual identity. It shows examples of how girls in 123

sport often try to engage in ‘over-feminine’ behaviours to prove their heterosexual identity, as previously suggested by Davis-Delano (2014). Sexual identity is often called into question when female athletes participate in competitive sports (Anderson and Billingham, 2015), and when sexual identity is questioned then silencing often occurs. Silencing is a form of hegemonic oppression (Anderson, 2002) and can be the result of homohysteria and can create hostility amongst athletes especially when athletes feel that they do not want to discuss their sexuality.

Adversely, Anderson and Billingham (2015:658) go on to suggest that there is a ‘stronger culture of being open about homosexuality in women’s sport’. One participant explained how football is an accepting culture. When discussing homosexuality, she said: “I think within football teams people are extremely accepting, particularly in teams that I have played in. However, I think when it comes to outsiders it is not accepting at all.” Stephanie.

Another participant went on to support this: “…within the actual teams, yes, but from the outside I don't think so.” - Rhian.

This leads to the conclusion that women’s football can be an accepting environment in regards to sexuality, however, only within the culture of the sport. The results highlight the problem of homophobia outside of the women’s football teams, for example homophobic abuse coming from spectators and parents.

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SEXUALITY

Previous literature by Scraton et al (1999) highlighted the complex relationship between sexuality and the involvement within a traditionally masculine sport, such as football. It is evident that lesbian athletes may experience sport differently to heterosexual athletes. Multiple participants in this study explained how this proves to be the case in women’s football:

“I think I may have experienced things differently due to being bisexual.” - Stephanie.

“I think lesbian athletes can have a tougher time on teams that are mainly straight because sometimes straight people find it hard to relate to lesbians. Plus, I think straight athletes may give lesbians a hard time if they are the minority in the team, like, make fun of them in the locker room or whatever. I think my experiences have been different because I’m gay.” - Megan.

“I think it’s harder for female athletes that suffer with coming to terms with their sexual orientation, just like I did. I think this is because there is a, like, pressure that is put on you to kind’a not be a lesbian, even though in most teams there will always be a lesbian who everyone is super comfortable with.” - Beth.

The responses suggest that a range of sexualities experience football in various different ways.

Although some participants commented on how they thought their sexuality had affected their experiences in the sport, they did not go on to explain why. This is an area that could benefit from further research.

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Cox and Thompson (2000) found that many of their participants reported their sexuality being questioned when they mentioned that they played football/soccer to outsiders, suggesting that when the heterosexual line is crossed then sexual orientation is brought up in discussion. Anderson (2011:277) additionally suggests that ‘women playing male-dominated sports, such as football, face confrontation and questioning about their involvement’. Multiple participants in this study supported Anderson’s claim:

“The amount of times I have had someone say to me ‘oh, you play football, you must be a lesbian then’.” - Stephanie.

“There’s also this thing where if you're a good athlete then you must be gay, and it’s just so stupid.” - Megan.

The above quotes support previous work by Hargreaves and Anderson (2014:7) who suggest that a ‘female athlete’s sexuality is commonly given precedence over her sporting ability’. Society’s homophobic ideologies create the hostile environment that surrounds women’s sports, and demonstrate how people favour discussing a female athlete’s sexuality over her ability. While the above quotes do not indicate the demographics of those who perpetuate such views, Hargreaves and Anderson (2014) go on to say that female athletes, who compete in competitive team sports, not only found that their sexuality was questioned by men, but also by other women.

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HOMOPHOBIA

In previous studies, there is no discussion into what exactly participants perceived homophobia to be. Therefore, this study aimed to seek what female soccer athletes believed homophobic abuse was. This is important because the problem of homophobia cannot be tackled without understanding what athletes class as homophobic abuse. Participants highlighted that homophobia comes in various forms, such as physical and psychological.

“People being alienated from certain groups because of the way that they are perceived.

People turning their backs on gay athletes. I would also associate homophobic language and physical abuse with homophobia.” - Allison.

“Verbal, physical, mental, not being given the same opportunities as others. Even, like, passive things, like, ‘oh, that’s gay’.” - Rhian.

“Anything that is said or done in a derogative manner towards someone’s sexuality or sexual preference. This could be physical abuse towards the person, mental abuse or even verbal abuse.” - Stephanie.

The responses show that female soccer athletes believe that homophobia can be carried out through verbal abuse such as language, physical abuse such as violence and mental abuse such as alienation from a group. The results demonstrate how homophobia in women’s football can present itself in various ways. Overt ways were presented in the evidence in the form of labelling and more explicit experiences of discrimination were reported. However, covert ways also presented themselves. For example, internalised homophobia was highlighted amongst many participants in the study.

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Internalised homophobia can be extremely hard to distinguish, as participants may never openly admit they have internalised society’s views on homosexuality. However, many of the participants responses to the questions asked in this study showed clear signs of internalised homophobia. As previously stated earlier, one participant said ‘I definitely associate lesbians with football’. This is a prime example of internalised homophobia. The respondent demonstrates how, without knowledge, she has internalised the stigma that lesbians are affiliated with women’s football. This finding supports a previous suggestion by Cox and Thompson (2000) who found that there is evidence to suggest that female athletes themselves reinforce homophobia. The evidence from the study suggests that the problem of homophobia lies outside of the culture and comes from people who know nothing about the culture of women’s football, such as spectators and parents, but also that homophobia can come from within the football culture from the athletes themselves in the form of internalised homophobia.

Griffin (1998, cited by Hargreaves and Anderson, 2014:462) previously suggested that ‘women have mostly been discouraged from participating in athletics due to underlying fears that many sporting women are lesbians and heterosexual females may possibly turn gay due to sports participation’. One participant explained how she had seen this happen, not to herself, but to another athlete on her team:

“One parent, whose daughter I played with, said ‘I hate that she (his daughter) plays football because she is going to turn out like one of those lesbians.” - Rhian.

Lenskyj (1987) reported how common it is for parents to punish their daughters if they reject the feminine stereotype by opting to engage in particular types of sports, specifically ‘masculine’ ones.

This may be an influencing factor in the decline in female participation in adolescent years. It is an 128

example of how homophobia goes unnoticed and female athletes may not class this type of discrimination as homophobia because it is coming from their parents. Even worse, they may think it is acceptable and begin to internalise these homophobic views. More needs to be done in regards to promoting awareness of forms of homophobia that go unnoticed, otherwise it leaves room for homophobia to grow within the sporting culture of women’s football.

Furthermore, a study by Cox and Thompson (2000:15) found that: ‘many players recalled how their introduction to soccer included warnings about lesbianism, one player in the study was told that the team she was going to join were “all a bunch of dykes”.’

Griffin (1998) mentioned that whilst straight players are concerned with the fact that lesbian players may be looking at them in a sexual manner, lesbian players are as equally concerned that the straight players think they are looking at them in this way. This type of behaviour is what causes hostility in the locker room, further increasing the opportunity for homophobia to arise. One participant in this study suggested that ‘locker rooms should be sectioned off’. When confronted on whether she thought this would cause further hostility, she explained that she thought it would but there ‘aren't really any other options’. Again, clearly demonstrating the issue of internalised homophobia.

In addition to internal forms of homophobia, the study highlighted many forms of external types of homophobia. A study by Drury (2011, cited by Hargreaves and Anderson, 2014:312) found that:

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‘many women have experienced homophobia from individuals outside their footballing communities as a result of the widespread discursive association between women’s football and lesbian identity.’

This was portrayed in the data collected by the study, one participant explained how she had experienced homophobia on a night out:

“I was in a chippy after we had been out, I was with a teammate who is also gay. Some man came in and started flirting with her and she told him she wasn't interested but he wouldn't leave her alone so I just said ‘mate, come on, she's not interested just leave it’ and then I went outside and I was stood there and the guy came up to me and threw his chips at me. I was like ‘what the fuck are you doing?’, so I threw my chips back at him and then he punched me.” - Rhian.

This statement supports previous work by Caudwell (2007) who suggested that direct assault was the most brutal form of homophobia that can be experienced. Another participant explained a detailed account of a similar experience of violent homophobic abuse:

“I was once out on a night out with my football team. We were at the local pub where we would go to sometimes after a game to celebrate with a victory pint, and we sat down next to a group of both boys and girls who were obviously the same age as us. A girl from the group asked what our acronym on our tracksuits meant, so one of my teammates explained that it was the name of our football club. The girl in the group then proceeded to shout names at us, things like ‘dyke’, ‘lesbian’, ‘rug munchers’, ‘pussy lickers’ and a whole range of other stuff. It was actually some of the most disgusting 130

things I had ever heard in my life and they were being directed at me. I was extremely offended by it, regardless of my sexuality. The girl then started to throw things at us, which ended with a pint glass. In the end, we decided to leave which is upsetting because we should have had no reason to. We should have been able to enjoy a pint just as much as the next person, but because of the sport we play we became the victims or extreme homophobic abuse.” - Stephanie.

Stephanie’s experience highlights and demonstrates the stigma that is attached to women’s football, as previously suggested by Weese (2008), once her team had disclosed their participation in football they became the victims of both physical and verbal homophobic abuse People often only assume that homophobia is carried out through the form of homophobic discourse. However, as shown in this study, there are extreme cases of physical homophobic abuse. This is usually when homophobia is most easily recognized. However, frequently very little is done to challenge it (Caudwell, 2007).

When asked whether anything was done to tackle the incident that took place, both participants said that nothing was done and that bystanders acknowledged the incident but failed to show any intent to help the athletes that were undergoing the abuse. The problem of homophobia not only needs to be tackled by individuals in the game, but also outside of the game. Spectators, parents, peers need to acknowledge their influence on the issue and realise the impact they could have on kicking the issue of homophobia out of football.

ENVIRONMENT

Acceptance within sporting teams could be the main facilitator of same sex relationships within women’s football. Cahn (1993) found that lesbian athletes described sport as a vital part of their search for sexual identity and lesbian companionship. They described sport as a ‘home’ that helped 131

them come to terms with their feelings and sexual identity. Additionally suggesting that their sport facilitated them acting on feelings that they may not have, had they been in different environments.

As previously stated by Griffin (1998) and White and Young (1999), sport has been viewed as a ‘safe haven’ or ‘safe place’ for lesbians. One participant supported this theory:

“I think football provides a safe environment for lesbian athletes, gives them more opportunities to meet likeminded people and maybe even other lesbians that they may start relationships with. There are so many relationships formed within women’s football teams, I have seen it happen so often.” - Stephanie.

Participants also briefly mentioned how accepting the women’s football environment was of all types of sexuality. Fink et al (2012) conducted research on female undergraduate sports teams and found that there is growing culture of acceptance regarding sexuality. Various participants commented on how they thought this was true:

“Absolutely. You’re in an environment where everyone loves what they are doing and they chose to be there. Therefore, when you share the same interest on the pitch, nothing else matters. We are not there to judge people on their sexuality, we are there to play soccer.” - Ashley.

“I think football can be an environment where lesbian athletes feel safe. I think because it’s so common for football players to be gay then it gives them a place they can be themselves and not worry about being discriminated against.” - Megan.

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“I think within football teams people are extremely accepting, particularly in teams that I have played in.” - Stephanie.

This offers the explanation that because everyone on the football/soccer team shares the same interest when it comes to sport, it offers an environment that not only accepts, but facilitates players of various sexualities. By offering an open and accepting environment, football presents itself as an appealing sport to people of all different sexual preferences, and so it should. Despite the evidence from the study showing that the environment is accepting, that does not mean that this is the case in all areas of women’s football. The study only takes into account women’s football at the university level in the UK, therefore further research needs to be conducted regarding the accepting culture of women’s football as a whole. As one participant stated:

“We should be teaching girls to accept one another not to judge each other because of our sexuality. We should be trying to create a safe and equal environment for all girls who participate in women's football.” - Stephanie.

CULTURAL DIFFERENCES: FOOTBALL VS. SOCCER (UK VS. US).

The study highlighted the issue of cultural differences when looking at women’s football/soccer.

American and British participants viewed football and soccer very differently in some aspects. For example, two American participants commented:

“…..in England it is mainly male dominated but like in the states (USA) it’s constantly growing as a female orientated sport.” - Ashley.

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“I’d say, in the UK, football is definitely male-dominated and I have noticed this more and more the longer I’ve been here. But I think in the US it’s a very feminine sport, well, as far as I can tell and I have played in the US for over 16 years.” - Megan.

One British participant confirmed the same point made by the previous American participant:

“Football is an extremely male-dominated sport, especially in the UK.” - Stephanie.

Not only did participants highlight the different cultural views on whether football was perceived as masculine but also on whether they believed a lesbian stigma was attached to it. One American participant said:

“From my experience in the states, no but in the UK, yes, there is definitely an associated lesbian stigma.” - Ashley.

Another American participant added the response:

“Oh, for sure. There is this whole association with playing football and being a lesbian.

I think this is much worse in the UK than in the US. I think players in the UK are much more masculine than players in the US, and there is nothing wrong with that, they own it. But I think that is where the stereotype comes from, ya know. I think it’s different in the US because players portray themselves as much more feminine, like everyone has long hair and wear make-up to the games, they all talk about their boyfriends in the locker room and stuff. It’s just very different.” - Megan.

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These statements highlight the different cultural views on how football/soccer is perceived by society in the US and the UK. It highlights how football is seen as a ‘masculine’ sport in the UK, and a ‘feminine’ sport in the US, offering extremely different cultural perceptions of the sport. This is an extremely interesting result and could be further researched to confirm whether cultural differences do play a role in how differently a sport is viewed, particularly regarding the notions of masculinity and femininity. Thorough research into the previous literature found no study that assessed the cultural differences, in women’s football/soccer, or that affect female athlete’s experiences in football/soccer.

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Points to Consider It is assumed that participants gave accurate opinions and accounts of experiences throughout the study. Despite the study’s best effort to collect accurate and reliable information, this is not always the case, especially when researching sensitive and emotive topics such as lesbianism and homophobia.

Due to the purposive participant sample taken from the University’s first team for the purpose of the study, American participants were included. American athletes are part of the University’s scholarship programme that allows athletes from the US to study in the UK alongside playing football. They make up the majority of the University’s women’s football first team. Although the UK and the US are similar in many ways, they are culturally very different. Therefore, the American participants’ experiences may have been different in comparison to those of the British participants. Consequently, these cultural differences and experiences may have affected the data that was collected. Additionally, when the American participants were interviewed, there was sometimes a language barrier and particular questions had to be rephrased in order for them to understand. Terminology was changed to combat this problem and although the questions were rephrased the content of the question was not changed in any way.

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Conclusion From the study it is evident that gender plays a significant role in women’s soccer. Not only in the form of gender roles, as previously suggested by Fallon and Jome (2007), but also in the form of male role models (Scraton et al, 1999). Indicating that it is important to consider gendered identities when looking at female athletes in women’s football, and how these identities are formed.

In alignment with previous work by Davis-Delano et al (2009), the study found evidence to suggest that negative stereotypes remain in women’s football, which in turn, leads to homophobia. These stereotypes do not only directly affect lesbian athletes but also indirectly affect heterosexual athletes. In addition to stereotypes, the study highlighted the problem of labelling in women’s football. Labelling was one of the most common types of homophobic discourse that was mentioned by the participants in the study. It was concluded that this type of discrimination occurs frequently both within the football culture, and outside of it. Labelling was mostly found to be associated with outsiders such as spectators and parents, and therefore it is an area that needs to be addressed by future homophobia tackling platforms and organisations. By stopping outsiders from using labels, it discourages athletes using the labels themselves and aiming them at one another.

The study discovered that the stigma of lesbianism surrounding women’s football results in female athletes trying to prove their heterosexuality, even if that is not true to their sexual identity. This results in poor personal, and sexual, identity formation. Consequently, the stigma reinforces silencing and homohysteria. Poor identity formation highlights the importance of the need to tackle homophobia in women’s football. The evidence suggests that homophobia and homophobic abuse is extremely complex and can stem from a number of sources of discrimination, such as labelling, stigma, silencing and stereotyping. When addressing homophobia in the future, these multiple

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factors need to be tackled. A multilayered approach will need to be constructed in order to combat all aspects of homophobia in, and out of, the game.

Despite areas of homophobia and discrimination being highlighted in the study, it was concluded that women’s football proves to be an accepting environment for athletes of all sexual orientations.

The evidence found in the study proves Griffin’s (1998) theory that sport is seen as a ‘safe haven’ for lesbian athletes. However, the evidence collected suggests that this is only the case within the women’s football culture, and not outside of it. Again, this is a specific area that needs to be addressed in future practice when looking at combatting homophobia. Furthermore, participants went on to explain how their sexuality was called into question when they mentioned they play soccer/football to outsiders, this constitutes the lesbian stigma that surrounds women’s football. It was suggested that some heterosexual or ‘closet’ athletes engage in apologetic and feminine behaviours to deflect the lesbian stereotype and stigma, as previously mentioned by Davis-Delano (2014), this contributes to the silencing of homosexuality in women’s football. The problem of the lesbian stigma that surrounds women’s football was mainly found to come from outsiders, as previously stated before, this stigma is what adds to the problem of homophobia and needs to be tackled.

The study found the relationship between sexuality and playing a traditionally masculine sport is proven to be extremely complex and diverse. It is a relationship that needs to be addressed more thoroughly in future research. The study discovered that most research solely focuses on the experiences of lesbians in football/soccer and so other sexualities such as bisexuality are disregarded. It is hard to provide conclusions on ‘sexuality’ and women’s football when studies only address lesbian athlete experiences. Additionally, the study found that lesbian athletes and

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heterosexual athletes experience women’s football differently, however, participants did not go on to explain why.

Previous research frequently mentioned that the issue of institutionalised homophobia was present in women’s football. The study found no evidence to support this theory that institutionalised homophobia still occurs in women’s football. None of the athletes that were interviewed mentioned institutionalised homophobia and none reported any homophobic abuse from staff or coaches.

Overall, more needs to be done in order to promote awareness of forms of homophobia that go unnoticed, such as internalised homophobia, parental homophobia and institutionalised homophobia. Future platforms that aim to tackle homophobia in women’s football need to not only focus on abuse that occurs within the game, but also outside of it. As this study suggested, homophobia can come in various forms and many, unfortunately, go unnoticed. As previously stated

by White and Young (1999:176) ‘this vicious circle of invisibility and homophobia in female sports needs to be interrupted on a number of levels, both individual and institutional, before social change can be effected’.

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Appendix APPENDIX A: PARTICIPANT INFORMATION SHEET Title of Project: An investigation into the experiences of Female Athletes regarding Homophobia and the Lesbian stigma, Labelling associated with Women’s Football/Soccer.

Principal Investigators: Abby Carrington.

Contact Details: Email- abby.carrington@dur.ac.uk Information to Potential Participants: 1. What is the purpose of the project?

• The aim of the project is to gather data regarding athletes’ experiences in Women’s Football/ Soccer that are associated/related to the topic of homophobia and lesbianism.

2. Why have I been selected to take part?

• You have been selected to take part in the study due to your current student and sporting status.

3. What will I have to do?

• You are required to participate in a formal interview. This will take place at the Bill Bryson Library, at a time of your choosing, and it should not take any longer than 30 minutes. In addition, you are required to sign a consent form if you choose to take part in the study.

• Due to coaching at the club I know a majority of the players, not personally but on a general level.

Therefore, participants have been asked to refrain from answering the interview questions with examples of situations that may have happened within the club (DUWAFC) or with certain individuals in the club. If the you think the example is relevant then you should state the use of different names or the use of ‘Player A/Player B’, be given for the individuals that were involved.

If at any given point, within the interview, a recognisable name, or context, is used then the interview shall be terminated.

4. What are the exclusion criteria (i.e are there any reasons why I should not take part)?

• You cannot take part in this study if you are not from the selected University or play sport/have played sport to University/College(American) level standard.

5. Will my participation involve any physical discomfort?

• No, you will not endure any physical discomfort at any point in the study.

6. Will my participation involve any psychological discomfort?

• No, you shouldn't encounter any psychological discomfort. However, sensitive topics may arise that may require personal experiences to be discussed. In the event that you do feel uncomfortable, you can withdraw from the project at any time.

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7. How will my confidentiality be assured?

•

Your signed consent form will be kept separate from your data and a pseudonym will be applied ensure your data is anonymised and your name is not disclosed within the thesis.

Additionally, Durham University will be referred to as a ‘university in the North of England’ in the thesis. Any records of your data will be destroyed after the completion of the study and until that date will be kept under a password protected network. Any data you provide will be treated in accordance with the Data Protection Act 1998.

8. Who will have access to the information I provide?

• Any information collected as part of this study will only be available to the investigators that were identified at the beginning of this study and, in anonymised form, to tutors at the University of Durham. The project’s results may be published, however, the information will not be linked personally to anyone that took part in the study.

9. What will the data I provide be used for?

• The data you provide will be use to try and answer the research questions set at the beginning of the project.

10. Has this study received appropriate ethical clearance?

• Yes, the study has been approved by the School of Applied Social Sciences at Durham University.

If you require confirmation of this, please contact the investigators with the contact information given at the beginning of this form.

11. Will I receive any financial rewards for taking part?

• No, there will be no financial rewards given for being involved in this study.

12. Can I withdraw from the project?

• Yes. If you decide you would like to withdraw from this study at any point, then contact the investigators who will facilitate your withdrawal. You may also withdraw your information and data from the study up to two weeks after it has been collected. Just contact the investigators and they will withdraw the information.

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APPENDIX B: PARTICIPANT CONSENT FORM Title of Project: An investigation into the experiences of Female Athletes regarding Homophobia and the Lesbian stigma, Labelling associated with Womenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Football.

Name of Researcher: Please initial box 1.

I confirm that I have read and understand the information sheet for the above project.

2.

I have had the opportunity to consider the information and ask any questions.

3.

I understand that my participation is voluntary and that I am free to withdraw at any time without giving any reason.

4.

I understand that the interview will be audio recorded and that the recordings will be stored securely and destroyed on completion.

5.

I understand that my data will only be accessed by those working on the project and I agree that my data will be archived on a password-protected computer.

6.

I understand that my data will be anonymised prior to publication.

7.

I agree to the publication of verbatim quotes in the dissertation thesis and any subsequent publication.

9.

I am willing to be contacted in the future regarding this project/ future projects.

10. I agree to take part in the above project.

Name of Participant

Signature

Date

Name of Researcher

Signature

Date

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APPENDIX C: INTERVIEW INFORMATION SHEET The following interview will include questions regarding your views and experiences of Homophobia in womenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s football.

Participants are asked to refrain from referring to particular individuals, clubs, competitions or locations in answering interview questions that relate to their own experiences. Instead, if you think the example is relevant then you should either avoid naming or use a false or imaginary name to refer to any such individuals, clubs, competitions or locations. If at any given point, within the interview, a recognisable name or location is used then the interview shall be terminated.

Given that you are from a relatively well connected group of footballers, there may be a danger that they will be able to guess or find out who will or have been interviewed. Therefore, in order to protect your own anonymity, you are asked to refrain from discussing the study with fellow teammates.

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APPENDIX D: INTERVIEW PLAN (Some Questions will be follow on questions).

Section 1: Demographic Questions (to create rapport with participant).

What is your name?

How old are you?

What is your main sport? Has it always been your main sport? (Experiences may be clouded if participant has been involved in other sports).

How long have you played this sport?

How did you get into this sport? What were your influences?

At what level do you currently play this sport? (Should be at BUCS level due to participant selection).

Section 2: Sport and Gender, Masculinity and Femininity.

Do you believe your gender had an influence on the sport you play?

Do you believe your sport is a gendered activity? (Do you think it is traditionally male dominated/ orientated?) If so, why do you think this is the case?

How do you feel female athletes in Women’s Football are treated in comparison to male athletes in Men’s Football?

Do you believe male and female athletes have equal opportunities in Women’s Football?

Section 3: Sexuality in Sport.

Do you associate any stereotypes with Women’s Football? E.g lesbianism.

Do you associate any labels with Women’s Football? E.g ‘dyke’ ‘butch’.

Do you think there is an associated lesbian stigma that surrounds sport? If so, why?

How do you think different sexual preferences effect experiences in Women’s Football?

Is Women’s Football an accepting environment for homosexual/bisexual athletes?

Do you feel as though your sporting environment facilitates or debilitates your sporting experiences?

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Do you think lesbian athletes experience football differently to heterosexual athletes? If so, how?

Section 4: Homophobia.

What do you class as homophobic abuse? (Language, psychological, physical abuse?).

Do you think homophobia exists in Women’s Football? If so, do you think this is a problem?

Follow on question: How do you think Women’s Football should combat this issue?

Have you ever experienced homophobic abuse from a peer? If so, please explain….

Have you ever experienced homophobic abuse from a coach/staff member? If so, please explain….

Have you ever experienced homophobic abuse from a parent? (your own or a peer’s parent). If so, please explain….

Have you ever experienced homophobic abuse from a sporting spectator? If so, please explain…

Have you ever seen another athlete experience homophobic abuse? If so, explain the incident….

Follow on question: Did you do anything about it? If yes/no, why?

Have you experienced homophobic abuse outside of your sporting context? For example, travelling with your team, socialising with your team members?

Section 5: Sexuality and the Study.

(Remind participant, at this point, that they do not have to answer these questions and that they may withdraw from the study).

Do you think your sexuality itself has affected your response to these questions?

Do you think your sexuality effects your experiences in Women’s Football? If so, why/how?

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APPENDIX E: TRANSCRIPT EXTRACT

Do you associate any stereotypes with Women’s Football? E.g lesbianism.

‘Me personally, I don’t but other people do. Outsiders see it as a lesbian culture.’ - Rhian.

‘In a way, yes but it’s like a good stereotype. It’s like we’re (women) more athletic and dedicated to what we do, rather than being non-athletic girls who can’t even kick a ball. That’s how I feel.’ Ashley.

‘I would like to say that I don't personally associate any stereotypes with women’s football, but I definitely do. I would say that I definitely associate lesbians with football. It is such a masculine sport and therefore sometimes there will be a girl on a team who looks extremely manly and you'll go to your teammate ‘oh look, she's deffo a lesbo!’. I don't mean it derogatory way, it’s just a kind of statement that you make. Plus, people probably do the exact thing with our team.’ - Stephanie.

‘Yes. I’d say the butch stereotype is a big one. It’s actually really unfair because I know a lot of girls who aren't gay but that stereotype gets attached to them because they play football.’ - Megan.

Do you think there is an associated lesbian stigma that surrounds sport? If so, why?

‘Yes but I do think it is getting better. I think people are realising that we aren't all lesbians. The stigma is there because it is a traditionally male-dominated sport and I guess it is seen as masculine.’ - Rhian.

‘The short time I have been here (UK) I gathered that there is that kind of stigma—stereotype with lesbians playing football.’ - Allison.

‘From my experience in the states, no but in the UK, yes, definitely.’ - Ashley.

Have you ever experienced homophobic abuse from a peer? If so, please explain….

‘No. Honestly, I don't think I actually have. And like I said earlier with the whole ‘that’s so gay thing’ I should probably take it a bit more seriously but I don't and also I feel that the girls that I have played with have always been at least on friendly terms and if not, best friends with myself so I know that they wouldn't say anything in a derogatory way.’ - Rhian.

‘Yes. Sometimes I would wear my hair up in a pony tail and in a braid, and in the states (US) that is a very dykish way to wear your hair. So my sister would be like ‘oh, Allison, you look like a dyke!’

- Allison.

Coding Key: Red- Homophobia.

Orange- Stereotypes and Labelling.

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Yellow- External sources of discrimination.

Green- Cultural Differences.

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G i nny W eas l ey and t he C ham ber of Sexual i t y

Jasmine Simms is a second year Education and English student at Trevelyan College, Durham University. This paper was prepared for the ‘Harry Potter and the Age of Illusion’ module taught by Dr. Martin Richardson.

Abstract This paper offers a feminist psychoanalytic reading of J.K. Rowling’s novel Harry Potter and the Chamber of Sexuality. Employing a mixture of Freudian and feminist critical modes, it constructs Ginny Weasley as the heroine of this story - the story of her sexual awakening. Making comparisons with a variety of famous literary texts, as well as with my own experiences, and numerous folktales and cultural narratives of girlhood, the essay is conversational (almost to the point of confessionalism) in its style. It builds up to a discussion of Ginny’s agency within the narrative, arguing she may either be seen as ‘victim’ or ‘vandal’. This argument is then placed in the context of pre-existing feminist conversations around ‘girlhood’, concluding that Ginny Weasley’s marginalisation in the narrative represents the experiences of many adolescent girls in our culture, and even in feminist discourses, emphasising female sexual awakening and ‘coming of age’ as something which happens in secret.

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From this point forth, we shall be leaving the firm foundation of fact and journeying together through the murky marshes of memory into thickets of wildest guesswork. From here on in, Harry, I may be as woefully wrong as Humphrey Belcher, who believed the time was ripe for a cheese cauldron (Rowling, 2005, 187).

By the power of her extraordinary imagination, J.K. Rowling has gifted our present age with no less than seven books documenting the magical world. Over the years this has been extended through interviews, additional publications, and of course Pottermore, to include a wealth of legitimated post-script information about the magical world and its characters (though the question of what counts as 'legitimate', as we will see later, is always uncertain ground). Beyond this, Warner Bros have even supplied eight film adaptations. By the standards of any empiricist or positivist critic, what we have here surely constitutes an ample supply of material, or 'evidence', to edify any reader. Much like our own muggle reality, the textual 'facts' of Rowling's magical reality are rich, varied and satisfyingly complex. The stories seem to defy any single genre. As such, they stand apart from categorical notions of 'Children's Literature'. The fact that I write this essay for a university module dedicated to the Harry Potter series, is perhaps the greatest testimony of all to this phenomena. J.K. Rowling has created an entire world, complete with its own reality; its own (magical) laws and constructs to distinguish empirically between what is true (or “real”), and what is merely possible.

Yet, much like in our own world, there is a great deal in the Harry Potter stories to challenge the Western Empirical monopoly on 'truth'. We must not forget perhaps the most subversive line from all seven books: “of course this is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that means it's not real?” (Rowling, 2007, 579).

Dumbledore delivers this blow towards the end of the last book. Its significance is huge.

In this single, transcendental moment, we (the reader) are now invited to adopt the same “hermeneutics of suspicion”1 which we have come to expect from thinkers such as Dumbledore; to question, as critics (and perhaps cynics), what counts as “real” in this magical reality, or even indeed our own reality. Which brings me to the premise of this essay. For now, following in the steps of Dumbledore, I too find myself straying (whether wisely or unwisely) from the “firm foundations” of what is positivistically perceived as “real” in the magical world. Which in this context is to say, of what can be 'proven' by virtue of being written in the text, or even (more questionably) by Rowling's postscript admissions (for example, the revelation that Dumbledore is a celibate gay man).

Why do I find myself doing this? Perhaps it is because, like Dumbledore who must reinterpret (with Harry's assistance) his own memories of encountering Tom Riddle, I too have unresolved questions in my own life story. These are questions arising from my own experiences of 'girl culture' and adolescent female sexuality, as much as they are questions about Ginny, Myrtle, and other marginal teenage girl characters from the books – characters for whom Rowling has given us only limited contextual information. Of course, for my generation, these questions are inevitably intertwined. I grew up with Hermione, Ginny, Myrtle, at the same time I was them. For the 'Potter Generation', the relationship between the dual constructs of 'magical' and 'muggle' is, in this sense, dialogic (Bakhtin, 1975). For myself and many like me, these two worlds continue throughout my life to exist as symbiotic, sometimes indistinguishable, realities.

1

A concept I shall unpack later.

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This work which Dumbledore does with Harry, and which I shall attempt now, of “journeying together through the murky marshes of memory into thickets of wildest guesswork”, I believe has been done (and continues to be done) already, extensively, in the field of 'Harry Potter Studies' through the medium of fan fiction. Fan fiction is a genre dominated by adolescent female writers – the Ginny Weasleys of our own world. Writing within the framework of J.K. Rowling's magical reality, but at the same time outside of it (by devising their own plots), fan fiction writers construct a reality often perceived as having questionable “legitimacy” (Flegel and Roth, 2014). The problem of “legitimacy” in this context concerns not only legality (although copywright infringement is part of the history of fan fiction more generally, J.K. Rowling has always adopted a relaxed and even encouraging attitude towards its existence in relation to her own books), but is the part of the broader problem I identified earlier: of what counts as “real” in a magical reality (Waters, 2004). This is the fertile yet uncertain ground occupied by fan fiction, amidst the “thickets of wildest guesswork”. And it is here where I suggest that Ginny Weasley and the Chamber of Sexuality might be found.

The work done by Dumbledore in Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince (reinterpreting his own memories), and perhaps also by fan fiction writers (reinterpreting the original stories), shares an important similarity with another paradigm that I wish to discuss. This is the psychoanalytic paradigm, particularly in the Freudian tradition. For Freud, all dreams are composed of the manifest content repressed by the ego, which takes the form of latent content (dream-thoughts) in our unconscious. Freud's central discovery was that by psychoanalytically interpreting the latter – by reading the symbolism inherent in “dream-thoughts” - repressed memories, thoughts and feelings can all be accessed (Freud, 1900, 814-818). Thus, the psychoanalytic interpretation of dreams is a form of fan fiction in its own right. It is a reinterpretation; a story based on a dream (which is also a kind of story). Indeed, herein lies another similarity with fan fiction, as many have questioned its legitimacy on this basis. Most notably, Bakthin characterised psychoanalysis as a “work of fiction” - though we need not concern ourselves with this here, in an essay on a story (never written) based upon a story. This is a part of the essentially parasitic nature of literature – feeding on the stories before it, and in doing so becoming host to future stories (Miller, 1977). As I hope to show, this parasitic nature applies as well to Ginny Weasley and the Chamber of Sexuality as it does to any other story.

Sexuality, and sexual identity in particular, is often assumed to derive (in some sense) from the unconscious mind. This is particularly the case in the Freudian framework, where the drives of the unconscious (the 'id') are manifestly sexual. But I would argue it is also taken for granted, albeit in less extreme forms, in much of the cultural discourse we have around sexuality. Rather than being something that is planted consciously in us, delivered to us (as though by stork, or perhaps owl?) at the critical age, sexuality is more usually understood as something lying dormant in us – something which most of us will eventually (presumably) become conscious of. It is according to this cultural understanding, that the expression 'sexual awakening' can be used.2 For example, for Harry in Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, sexuality is “the monster in his chest”, awoken by his sudden attraction to Ginny (Rowling, 2005, 270).

I have established an explicitly Freudian framework to my argument here. Yet few have been charged so readily by so many with the accusation of being (as Dumbledore would 2

Disclaimer: Ginny Weasley is seemingly presented as heterosexual. Consequently, my use of 'sexual awakening' in this essay is technically limited to female heterosexual sexual awakenings, though it may overlap with other genders and/or sexualities (certainly my own, which is bisexual).

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say) “woefully wrong”, as Sigmund Freud and his theory of psychoanalysis. For example, consider the philosopher Todd Dufresne's damning summary of Freud: that “arguably no other notable figure in history was so fantastically wrong about nearly every important thing he had to say” (Dufresne, 2004). Tempting as this summary may be in our present age (especially after a quick wikipedia search of “penis envy”), we should acknowledge the “nearly”, here. And that, like Belcher with his cheese cauldron, Freud's ideas (and their reception) also have something to do with their “time”. Indeed, many of the most influential critiques of Freud, in the field of psychoanalysis and beyond, have come from feminists, writing from the perspective of more contemporary understandings of gender and sexuality. For feminist psychoanalytic theorists such as Mitchell, for example, Freud's discoveries (irrespective of how Freud himself may have understood them) are more usefully understood as a diagnosis of patriarchy, than as a symptom of it (Mitchell, 1974).

Think of this essay as psychoanalytic feminist fan fiction if you wish. But from this point forward I must ask you to forget that Harry Potter is the hero of these books, and most particularly, of the second book in the series, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (Rowling, 1998). In its place, I present to you: Ginny Weasley and the Chamber of Sexuality. The book which J.K.Rowling didn't write, but which I write about now. In this we find the 'coming of age' story of Ginny Weasley; a “distinctively female bildungsroman”, perhaps of the sort which Gilbert and Gubar famously uncovered (Gilbert and Gubar, 1979, 339). In their seminal text The Madwoman in the Attic, these feminist literary critics of the 1970's focused on finding the repressed content in female narratives; the text beneath text. For this, Gilbert and Gubar were writing in the tradition, established by Marx and Freud amongst others, of the “hermeneutics of suspicion”. Just as Dumbledore, being suspicious of his own memories, resolved to reinterpret them, so these feminists critics reinterpreted the female literary canon. Their project was, like Dumbledore's, inherently suspicious; committed to “the search for a deep truth buried beneath layer upon layer of social and cultural sediment” (Donaldson, 1988). Through this process, they exposed the female literary canon as “in some sense palimpsestic, works whose surface designs conceal or obscure deeper, less accessible (and less socially acceptable) levels of meaning” (Gilbert and Gubar, 1979, 73). The (distinctively female) story of the id, repressed by the ego.

Perhaps the most famous chapter from Madwomen in the Attic, is the one containing Gilbert and Gubar's analysis of Charlotte Brontë's Jane Eyre (Brontë, 1847). This is also the chapter from which their book takes its title. Jane Eyre's repressed (sexual) self (in Freudian terms, the 'id') is manifested as the 'madwoman' Bertha, the prisoner in the attic.

Like Ginny Weasley, Bertha's story is not told explicitly in Brontë's writing, but is uncovered through feminist psychoanalytic criticism. Her story was even retold in Jean Rhys' modern novella, Wide Sargasso Sea (Rhys, 1982). Indeed, what Rhys achieved with Wide Sargasso Sea, is also perhaps what a great deal of Harry Potter fan fiction has achieved over the last decade. That is, the retelling of the Harry Potter stories from the perspective of marginal characters, most often written by adolescent girls, who themselves identify with the marginality of the characters from whose perspective they write. What I attempt here, however, is something more like the former: an excavation of Ginny Weasley's story, rather than a complete (literary) reconstruction. Truth as revealed in a process of “unconcealment” (Heidegger, 1927).

Most psychoanalytic literary criticism, of which Gilbert and Gubar's feminist analysis of Jane Eyre is an example, begins by identifying 'doubling' in the central character(s).

These 'doubles' respectively represent the conscious 'ego', and the repressed 158

(unconscious) 'id'. Most famously, this can be seen in characters such as Dr Jeckyll and Mr Hyde, Frankenstein and his Monster, and of course Jane Eyre and Bertha Mason (Stevenson, 1886; Brontë, 1847). Similarly, a more simplistic psychoanalytic reading of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets might interpret the monster in the Chamber of Secrets as being Ginny's 'double', the unconscious Other. In this reading, Ginny's sexual self is literally the beast in the Chamber of Secrets; a beast once dormant, but now awakened by a combination of the presence of Harry (her crush) in the same castle, and by her timely possession of a diary into which she “opened her heart and spilled all her secrets” (Rowling, 1998, 228). Yet I stated earlier that for Freud, the evidence of our sexual desires, usually unconscious (repressed by the ego), is most clearly manifested in our dreams. It is significant, then, that almost everything we know of Ginny's experiences in Harry Potter and the Chamber and Secrets, of being possessed by Lord Voldemort (or more accurately, by his memories), is presented as being like a dream (I will return to this). The beast is not only external to Ginny; she is possessed by it. Like the beast in Harry's chest, it is inside of her, repressed for the most part, but present. When the beast awakens, the beast in Ginny's consciousness (her sexuality, or sexual self, the id) is awoken.

As such, it is my argument here that both ego and id can be identified in the singular character of 'Ginny Weasley', in Ginny Weasley and the Chamber of Sexuality. The doubling in this case, then, is more subtly achieved than in any of the classic examples (given above) from the literary canon. Whilst retaining the outwards identity of 'Ginny Weasley', Ginny seems to take on two distinct personalities during her story. The first Ginny (Ginny A), found in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, represents the ego.

This is the Ginny we meet in Chapter Three, too self-consciously mortified by the mere presence (in her own house!) of her crush, Harry, to even speak in front of him; the Ginny who takes advice and comfort from elder brother Percy; who feels shame, embarrassment, the stigma of her gender and impoverished family, etc. Meanwhile, Ginny B, the 'id', is the Ginny possessed by Lord Voldemort. This is the Ginny of the palimpsest text, whose story is retold (or uncovered) in Ginny Weasley and the Chamber of Sexuality. She does things which Ginny A appears to have no memory of doing or even intending to do. Which is to say, she does them unconsciously. Ginny's entire experience of being possessed by Tom Riddle is, in this sense, like a dream.

Given this, I propose then that we read Ginny B's experiences much like we would a dream, as psychoanalysts. In practice, Freudian dream analysis focuses on symbolism. As such, we perhaps ought to first turn our attention to the biggest and most obvious symbol in the story: the beast itself. The beast takes the form of a basilisk. In the Freudian tradition, snakes symbolise sexual libido. Ginny B's encounter with the basilisk, then, might symbolise a sexual encounter, where the basilisk is in essence an extension of Tom Riddle (also Voldemort, the air of Salazar Slytherin, who is patriarchy personified).

Ginny is not the first woman in literary history to be seduced by a snake. The story of Eve, the first woman, who was seduced by the devil (disguised as a snake) in the Book of Genesis, has inspired centuries of literary recreations and interpretations, often highlighting the sexual implications of her transgression. In Christian theology, sexuality (along with pain, death, etc.) is one of the defining characteristics of our postlapsarian existence. That is to say: Eve brought sex into the world through eating the forbidden fruit. Hers was not only the first 'sexual awakening', but also the defining one. Yet, like Ginny who is “hoodwinked by Lord Voldemort”, Eve is usually portrayed as having been manipulated by the devil into eating the apple (Rowling, 1998, 243). This is the case in 'Book IX' of Milton's famous epic poem, Paradise Lost, in which Eve's transgression 159

(brought about through Satan's easy manipulation of her) is a direct consequence of the weakness afforded to her by her gender. “O much deceived, much failing, hapless Eve … where danger or dishonour lurks/ Safest and seemliest by her husband stays/ Who guards her” (Milton, 1667; 1967, 1970). She strays from Adam and thus the inherent weakness of her gender, exacerbated by isolation, is exploited by the Serpent.

Towards the end of the story, whilst rescuing Ginny B (thus restoring her to Ginny A), Harry blinds the basilisk with a sword. This moment in the story has particular Freudian significance. In The Interperatation of Dreams, Freud draws on the myth of Oepedius as told in Sophocles' drama Oepediux Rex. In this the protagonist, after unknowingly killing his father and having sex with his mother, blinds himself upon learning what he has done.

For Freud, the use of blindness as punishment for sexual transgression is symbolic of castration (Freud, 1900, 814-818). As such, Harry's battle with the basilisk is key to reinterpreting Ginny's own encounter with the basilisk as a sexual encounter.

Voldemort/Tom Riddle (manifested as the snake) is punished according to established (male, patriarchal) systems of justice, for his sexual transgression with Ginny.

Conversely, as victim of her own uncontrollable id (Ginny B), the weakness of her gender, Ginny A is not punished. She is rescued.

By reading these symbols, we learn that Ginny's encounter with Voldemort/the basilisk in Ginny Weasley and the Chamber of Sexuality, symbolises her sexual awakening. Like Jane Eyre's, Ginny's story can be read as a “distinctly female bildungsroman” - in other words, a 'coming of age' tale. This is also consistent with her actual age. At eleven years old, Ginny is around the point of menarche, biologically as well as culturally leaving 'girlhood', although not yet a 'woman'. Her identity at this time is fragile and liminal.

Referring to folk tales where girls (not unlike Ginny) “eat poisoned apples or prick their fingers with poisoned needles and fall asleep for a hundred years”, Pipher writes that “something dramatic happens to girls in early adolescence … [t]hey crash and burn in a social and developmental Bermuda Triangle” (Pipher, 1994, 19).3 'Coming of age' for girls in this sense is not so much an identity, as it is a crisis of identity.

Suffering from this crisis of identity, rooted in the stigma of her age and gender, Ginny initially finds comfort through writing in a diary – seeking, perhaps, to become author of her own identity, to 'come of age'. This use of writing as a method of self-definition is an especially popular idea in our current, highly individualised era. Many modern day bildungsroman novels are written as a series of diary or journal entries. Particularly interesting is the commonality of this literary trend in Young Adult fiction where the narrator is female, and where the books are marketed at adolescent female girls. Many of the immensely popular Jaqueline Wilson novels take this form - The Story of Tracy Beaker being perhaps the most famous example. For many years, Wilson “remain[ed] second only to her friend J.K. Rowling in the book-sales stakes” (Waddilove, 2012, 76).

Both writers are concerned in their stories with the crisis of identity experienced by adolescents, particularly from the age of about 11 years old (the age of Ginny Weasley).

“Ultimately Wilson’s work can be interpreted as modern bildungsroman … offering both entertainment and challenge to young readers in their search for identity” (Waddilove, 2012, 77).

As well as being associated with the bildungsroman genre, and culturally with (especially female) adolescent 'coming of age', journaling has a long history of association (both literary and “real”) with so-called “female hysteria”. Although existing still as a 3

Quoted in Girls: Feminine Adolescence in Popular Culture and Cultural Theory (Driscoll, 2002, 25).

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colloquialism, this was once a common medical diagnosis in England and beyond, responsible for the institutionalisation of countless women in the nineteenth century in particular. In Gilman's famous short story The Yellow Wallpaper, we are given insight into this particular phenomena through the diary entries of one woman diagnosed with a “slight hysterical tendency” (Gilman, 1892, 2). Though seemingly “sane” upon diagnosis, she is driven less so by her oppressive husband, who is also her doctor, towards psychosis, and then ultimately suicide.

There are a number of similarities with Ginny here. Both characters are drawn to journaling out of frustration, being lonely and isolated. Both characters experience something which they identify (or come to identify) in themselves as mental illness.

Ginny Weasley writes in her diary, “I think I'm going mad...” (Rowling, 1998, 229). The stigma attached to the act of journaling, for both characters, is also distinctly feminised.

Riddle's dismissal of Ginny's experiences, labeling them “the silly little troubles of an eleven year old girl”, is gendered in so far as it represents a cultural (patriarchal) tendency to trivialise or doubt the stories girls tell about themselves, more so than with their male counterparts' (Rowling, 1998, 228). As Driscoll writes, “the principle characteristic of [the modern] girl was her failure at a dominant model of individual subjectivity” (Driscoll, 2002, 58). This means, put simply, that we are inclined to take girls' narration of their own experiences less seriously. Harry himself is barely any older than Ginny. Yet would we dismiss Harry's concerns as “silly little troubles”? Harry is often treated as an unreliable narrator by his friends and other people, most notably in the fifth book Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (Rowling, 2003). Although this treatment is often unfair, J.K. Rowling does construct Harry as a psychologically complex character. He is prone to ordinary human self-deception, paranoia and poor judgement – perhaps even rather more than the average human sometimes, due to the “horrors in [his] past” (Rowling, 1999, 140). Yet, as hero of his own story, Harry is, as Dumbedore tells Lupin and Kingsley, “the best hope we have. Trust him” (Rowling, 2007, 65). And so we do. It is clear that to be treated as a reliable narrator, or at least given the benefit of the doubt, we must first be the hero in our stories – a luxury which is offered more readily to boys than to girls. “This exclusion of the girl from what is understood as 'subjectivity' [is] her relegation to the known about rather than the knowing” (Driscoll, 2002, 27). Journaling affords girls subjectivity – the power to be knowing (even if what they 'know' is false), which is to say, to be hero.

In addition to all this, I also wonder if there is not something dream-like about journaling.

To quote de Beauvoir, “what an odd thing a diary is: the things you omit are more important than those you put in” (de Beauvoir, 1967). The same insight also applies to dreams. What we have (our 'evidence') in dreams is never an entire reality, but merely a set of symbols, translated from the manifest content to the latent content. So much is left out in this process that everything in a dream becomes significant by virtue of being there. There is no world outside of the dream-thoughts, just as Ginny B ceases to exist when she is not possessed by Voldemort. The same is true of journaling. Both are in the business of symbolism; of saying things by not saying them. Ginny Weasley says so little in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, yet in Ginny Weasley and the Chamber of Sexuality (the repressed, unconscious, dream-thoughts of the former) I have managed to uncover these seven thousand words and barely scratched surface. What matters to the suspicious reader (as to the psychoanalyst) is not what Ginny does say, but rather what she does not say.

Another parallel between journaling and dream states can be found in the lack of autonomy both Ginny and the narrator of The Yellow Wallpaper seem to have, as writers.

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Just as we do not choose to dream, or control what we dream, these characters seem to struggle to control when, whether or even what they write. The narrator in Gilman's story tells us, “I don't know why I should write this, I don't want to.

I don't feel able.

And I know John would think it absurd” (Gilman, 1892, 11).

Similarly, Ginny tries to dispose of the diary when she realises the toxic effect it is having on her, though she eventually returns to it when the threat of having her sexuality exposed to Harry by Tom Riddle becomes apparent.4 In both cases, the woman's (or girl's) relationship to their diary either represents, or is overseen by, a form of patriarchal control; a powerful judgement on themselves as females, sexual beings, and writers. I wrote earlier that in the Bildungsroman genre, journalling is often portrayed as a method of self-definition – a way of achieving agency. Yet there appears to be little agency here for the narrator in Gilman's story, who does not “want to” or “feel able” to write; nor for Ginny, who is possessed through the act of writing. Gilbert and Gubar's analysis of women writers, as subtly subverting patriarchal control through the agency of their female characters, is certainly compelling, and for its time especially so. But the question of female literary agency, especially for adolescent girls (as we will see later), is far more complicated than it may first appear.

In both Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets and The Yellow Wallpaper, journalling is presented as a possible source of the female characters' 'madness' or 'hysteria'. In The Yellow Wallpaper, John disapproves of his wife's writing for this reason. He warns that “imaginative power and habit of story-making … is sure to lead to all manner of excited fancies”. In short, he seems to blame her creative faculties for exacerbating (or even causing) her 'hysteria' – something which the narrator seems to internalise, as she later writes, “this paper looks to me as if it knew what a vicious influence it had” (Gilman, 1892, 7). The two experiences of “hysteria” in these texts also seem to come to similar conclusions. The narrator in The Yellow Wallpaper commits suicide under (we assume) the influence of her delusions, whilst Ginny B psychically takes herself to her own death.

Indeed, in Ginny Weasley and the Chamber of Sexuality, Ginny's near death experience with Voldemort could be interpreted as an attempted suicide. In the 'coming of age' story of Ginny Weasley, these are but he desperate actions of an unhappy adolescent girl, struggling to make sense of her own sexuality and experiences as merely a character in somebody else's (Harry's) story. This is a story that would not be out of place in a typical muggle secondary school. It would go something like this: she suffers from bullying, isolation and depression. At numerous points in the book she tries to tell people (even Harry) that something is wrong, but is not heard, and in any case struggles to speak at all.

This is the “loss of voice” experienced by girls during puberty/menarche (Gilligan, 1982).

In a desperate bid for agency, perhaps, Ginny attempts to go the way of many tragic heroes, through suicide. But she is unsuccessful even in this.

I suggested in my introduction to this essay that the Harry Potter books seem not to belong solely to the genre of 'Children's Literature'. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, with its constant references to blood, seems as much gothic horror as it is 4

For an interesting present-day parallel to this experience, consider the phenomena of sexting in adolescent social groups. There are many recorded cases of girls taking explicit photos of themselves which they send to male peers – an attempt at sexual agency or self-definition (being both the photographer and the model), perhaps – only to have the threat of exposure used against them as a method of manipulation and control. Such happened to a girl in my drama class.

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boarding school fiction, or heroic quest. Indeed, I would argue that the books can be seen as subverting the entire notion of 'literary genres'. The same is also true of Ginny Weasley and the Chamber of Sexuality. I have already considered how Ginny's story seems to fall into the bildungsroman genre, and particularly in its feminist revisions which (crucially) interpret 'coming of age' as involving sexual awakening. Yet the story could equally be read as a fable, or cautionary tale. For example, take the European folk tale Little Red Riding Hood, first published by Charles Perrault in 1697. Perrault intended his version as a cautionary tale, with the wolf who lurks in the forest symbolising the dangerous men who prey on (read: sexually exploit) girls and young women. Seemingly concerned that his readers may not have picked up on this implicit symbolism, Perrault even explains his meaning plainly at the end of the published tale (Perrault, 1697). Like Ginny and Tom Riddle, or Eve and the Serpent, Red Riding Hood is deceived by the wolf into doing his bidding – something which ultimately results in her death, though in later revisions of the tale she is rescued by the woodcutter (Harry?).

Upon being revived and returned to safety, Ginny A in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets receives mixed reactions from the patriarchal figures in her life. She is more or less ignored by Harry, as is typical, yet she is not ignored by everyone at this point in the story. Although positioned clearly as a victim by Dumblordore, who declares “older and wiser wizards than she have been hoodwinked by Lord Voldemort”, Ginny is met with shocked disapproval from her father (Rowling, 1998, 243). Upon learning how she has been communicating with Tom Riddle through the diary, he exclaims “Ginny … Haven't I taught you anything? What have I always told you? Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain” (Rowling, 1998, 242). We are reminded here of the “astonished” response Eve is met with by Adam, “patriarch of mankind”, upon returning to him after eating the forbidden fruit (Milton, 1667; 1906, 1980).

Given all this, there appears to be a strong case for blaming Ginny's naivety, at least in part, for her eventual decent into mortal peril. As Tom Riddle tells Harry, “I suppose the real reason Ginny Weasley's like this is because she opened her heart and spilled all her secrets to an invisible stranger” (Rowling, 1998, 228). The moral of the tale is clear: Ginny trusted the wolf in the forest, and paid the price for doing so. The “invisible” aspect of this unknown forest may be significant also. A disingenuous object such as the Riddle's diary, which seems to speak to us despite our inability to see “where it keeps its brain”, suggests many parallels with modern technology, and especially computers (Ratnabalasuriar, 2012, 26-34). Indeed Ginny's experiences with Tom Riddle, who she speaks with, becomes emotionally dependent on and believes herself to know as a friend, though he turns out in person to be something else entirely (Lord Voldemort), seems emblematic of what I will call the modern Internet Chat Room Fable – a curious subset of the Stranger Danger Genre, and a cultural by-product of our unquestionably heightened paranoia in this technological age, where so much is “unknown”. We are surrounded by forests. I remember picking a book off the shelves of my secondary school library (alas I cannot remember the title), aged perhaps twelve or thirteen, which was a strong example of this particular narrative form. It told the story of an isolated adolescent girl, just discovering her sexuality, who befriends a man in an internet chat room. Unfortunately the man is not what he claims to be, and by making the unwise decision to meet him, our protagonist finds a similar (though less fatal and more explicitly sexual) sticky end to that met by Red Riding Hood.

This is a fable which seems almost to have been written for school libraries. Did it prevent me, reading it at probably the intended age (and in a similarly isolated situation to 163

the protagonist, hence my being in the library in the first place), from befriending sinister men on internet chat rooms? Who knows. Although it's true I never did so. Either way, such is seemingly the fate met by Ginny Weasley, who “is portrayed as stupid and foolish” for allowing it to become so (Prinzi, 2009, 260). This being the fate of Ginny, it must also have been the fate of Myrtle, who we might recall was bullied and friendless at the time of her encounter with the basilisk – hiding not in the library, but the girls' bathroom (another regular spot from my own school memories). Indeed the portrayal of Ginny as author of her own demise - “the stupid little girl”, as she is called by Lucious (Rowling, 1998, 247) – reminds me of the many Enid Blyton stories I read as a child.

Explicitly moralistic (and often brutal) though they may be, I believe part of the attraction of these stories is that they often seem to present children as authors of their own destinies – as tragic heroes and heroines in their own childish right.

In writing and publishing the tale of Little Red Riding Hood, Perrault was the first to introduce the specifically 'red' aspect to the tale. The symbolic relevance of this has been a subject of continual reinterpretation for centuries. The colour red has long been associated in literature with sin and blood. Particularly relevant here, I feel, are those readings of Little Red Riding Hood which interpret the colour red as being indicative of menstruation, and perhaps even sexual awakening (through loss of virginity) (Du Coudray, 2003). I indicated earlier that, as is often assumed of Little Red Riding Hood, Ginny Weasley is also likely to be around the point of menarche in her story. As such, the thematic references to the colour red, and especially to blood, throughout Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, may actually symbolise menstruation in Ginny Weasley and the Chamber of Sexuality. Ginny lacks a red hood, but does have “flaming red hair” (Rowling, 1998, 226). Although in the book, Ginny B uses paint to daub the messages on the wall, in the film adaption they even have her painting in blood. It is also significant that the Chamber of Secrets (and Sexuality) is located in a girls’ bathroom. Bathrooms are the site of stigma for many adolescent girls going through menarche. This particular bathroom is usually avoided due to it being haunted by the intolerably 'girlish' Myrle, emphasising the stigma of menstruation (and sexual awakening), as something which happens in secret.

Similarly, many modern interpretations of Jane Eyre have emphasised how her experience of being locked in the “red room” near the beginning of the novel, may symbolise her beginning to menstruate – initiating her 'coming of age' (Gavin, 2001). In our own world, menarche is undoubtedly a chapter in most adolescent girl's 'coming of age' story. The melodramatic intensity adopted by Myrtle when discussing her death in the bathroom, always reminds me comically of the scare stories passed between girls I knew at that age, on the cusp of menarche, of girls suddenly getting their period and dying from excessive bleeding. These too had something of the Cautionary Tale quality about them, although in this case the moral (if there is one) is highly ambivalent. What were we supposed to do? Menstruation is not usually a choice. Although it could, according to some Biblical interpretations, be configured as a punishment for the actions of the first woman, Eve. Earlier, when exploring Ginny B's experiences through the lens of Freudian dream analysis, I emphasised how Ginny is positioned as victim in encountering her own sexuality. However, this is not necessarily the whole story. Certainly Ginny A did not choose to dream, to become Ginny B. However, she did choose to write in the diary. This indicates a so far unresolved (perhaps unresolvable?) question at the core of Ginny Weasley and the Chamber of Sexuality, around the positioning of Ginny as agent. We might observe that Ginny B commits multiple transgressions throughout the story, even 164

discounting those carried out by the basilisk under her direction. She commits various acts of vandalism, painting on walls, flooding bathrooms, even murdering roosters. Do these actions make Ginny Weasley a vandal, or a victim?

I mentioned Eve earlier, in relation to Ginny, who is ambivalently perceived in literary and cultural narratives as the bringer of sin into the world. I concluded (I hope) that the question of Eve's agency in her transgression will always be uncertain, open to continual reinterpretations. Meanwhile, I might add to this, the question of to what extent adolescent girls can be positioned as agents in their own 'sexual awakenings' continues to trouble feminists. I have shown here that Ginny's encounter with Voldemort in the Chamber of Sexuality symbolises her sexual awakening, involving (from a feminist perspective) an encounter with patriarchy, which seeks to control and define her. The problem remains that this experience is not exactly a positive one. Indeed, I believe this epitomises a major problem facing feminist theorists now, as much as it is facing adolescent girls and the people who care about them. For all the emphasis placed (particularly in third wave feminisms) on sex-positivity, agency and the subjective experiences of the individual, we risk forgetting that not all 'sexual awakenings' are in themselves empowering, nor empowered.

Yet the alternative interpretation here, as put forward by Dumbledore, positioning Ginny Weasley as a victim in her 'ordeal' and entirely without agency, is also problematic from a feminist perspective. It seems to conform to the 'damsel in distress' genre - which is best understood perhaps not as a genre so much as a dominant cultural narrative in our own world. The pervasiveness of this narrative (of helpless women and girls, rescued by men) is often criticised due to how it seems to disempower women and girls. Yet there is plenty, even besides that which I have discussed already, to be found in Ginny's story which supports this reading. For example, as Harry is quick to point out towards the end of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, it is Lucius (an agent of Voldemort, and thus of patriarchy, who's name sounds suspiciously like 'Lucifer'...) who gives Ginny the diary in the first place. We might also observe that Ginny is presumably only able to instruct the basilisk to carry out the acts of violence, culminating in the opening on the Chamber Secrets, by speaking parseltongue - an ability which is nor her own, but made possible through Voldemort's possession of her. Ginny's entire encounter with the basilisk (her sexual awakening), in this sense, is mediated by patriarchy.

Having presented both 'sides', it is my opinion that any 'feminist reading' of Ginny Weasley and the Chamber of Sexuality which seeks to define her as either having or not having agency, will ultimately fail to satisfy. Perhaps this is because so much feminist theory to date has focused on womanhood, rather than on girlhood, which is the liminal 'coming of age' status Ginny occupies (Driscoll, 2002). Then again, it may simply be because Ginny's story is not a satisfying story. Even if she is an agent, her final act (as Ginny B) of attempted suicide, still fails even to achieve its heroic aim. What, then, does this say for agency? What can this mean for the future of adolescent girls, under patriarchy? It seems only to show that these problems, and indeed Ginny herself, are more complex than they may have first appeared. Ginny Weasley and the Chamber of Sexuality, by continuing to confine Ginny's story within the realm of literary representation and criticism, as I have done, seems doomed to failure in this regard. Such is the marginalisation of the figure of the adolescent girl, that in Ginny Weasley and the Chamber of Sexuality, we have found ourselves faced with only two dichotomised choices in how to interpret the protagonist. Ginny Weasley is either victim or vandal.

Even in her own story, she cannot be hero.

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To conclude, I would like to draw your attention back to my opening quotation: From this point forth, we shall be leaving the firm foundation of fact and journeying together through the murky marshes of memory into thickets of wildest guesswork. From here on in, Harry, I may be as woefully wrong as Humphrey Belcher, who believed the time was ripe for a cheese cauldron (HBP, chapter 10).

The set of possibilities which I have presented here in Ginny Weasley and the Chamber of Sexuality, I might call my very own cheese cauldron. It serves no obvious purpose. I cannot presume that others will recognise the parallels I have drawn, between Ginny's encounter with Tom Riddle and (largely anecdotal) female adolescent experiences of 'coming of age' as involving 'sexual awakening'; between Voldemort and patriarchy.

Frustratingly, given what I have implied about the marginalisation of girls' own voices in cultural discourses, I also cannot simply hear the story as narrated by Ginny herself. It is no coincidence that Harry eventually realises (with help from Hermione) that in order to rescue Ginny he must first hear the story directly from Myrtle. Or that again, in Harry Potter and the Deathley Hallows, after some guidance from an angry Luna (“you listen to me right now Harry Potter!”)5, Harry realises that in order to defeat Voldemort he must first hear from the ghost Helena Ravenclaw – a character whose story bears similarities to 'snow white', another folk tale of girlhood.

Such fables convey a simple moral: that we must be prepared to hear the experiences of women and girls, historical and present, before we will be able to dismantle patriarchal systems of oppression. Yet, in our muggle reality, such a task is rarely simple in practice.

For us, the Muse – the ghost which haunts the bathroom, the madwoman in the attic does not speak first, but rather back to us. We must, on occasion (as writers, for example) be prepared to imagine the experiences of the Other, of the mysterious Ginny B. On these occasions, what comes first is a necessary act of creative guesswork; our “leap of faith” as writers and readers (Kierkegaard, 1843). Those who long for a less oppressive world, to better understand the Other, cannot submit to solipsism. The diary is always blank until we (believers in the palimpsest text) willingly make the first mark.

As with Belchey's ingenious cheese cauldron, I rather suspect the time is not ripe for Ginny Weasley and the Chamber of Sexuality. If it were, perhaps J.K.Rowling would have written it. Or perhaps, if the time were really ripe, I would not have felt the need to pretend someone has. Either way, I will not conclude by seeking to convince you that this work of feminist psychoanalytic fan fiction is a true or fair commentary on what Rowling has written; it is not. All things considered, this is only another possible story; another prophesy taken (perhaps prematurely) from the shelves of the Department of Mysteries.

After all, in our own world there are no Seers. Who can say what is true, authentic or legitimate? My final defense for Ginny Weasley and the Chamber of Sexuality is only that, though it was never written, it could have been. “Her skeleton will lie in the chamber for ever”, warned the writing on the wall (Rowling, 1998, 217). But there is no saying whether Ginny Weasley ever truly came out of the chamber of secrets. We have not yet dug deep enough to find out.

Bibliography:

5

This appears in the film adaptation but not the book.

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Donaldson, Laura E. “Review: The Miranda Complex: Colonialism and the Question of Feminist Reading” (1988), Diacritics 18/3 65-77.

Driscoll, Catherine Girls: Feminine Adolescence in Popular Culture and Cultural Theory (2002), New York: Columbia University Press.

Du Coudray, Chantal Bourgault “The Cycle of the Werewolf: Romantic Ecologies of Selfhood in Popular Fantasy” (2003), Australian Feminist Studies, 18/40 57-72.

Dufresne, Todd (2004), article available here: http://articles.latimes.com/2004/feb/18/opinion/oe-dufresne18 Flegel, Monica and Roth, Jenny “Legitimacy, Validity, and Writing for Free: Fan Fiction, Gender, and the Limits of (Unpaid) Creative Labour” (2015), The Journal of Popular Culture 34/6, 1092-1108.

Freud, Sigmund “The Interpretation of Dreams” (1900), The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism (2010), 814-818.

Gavin, Adrianne E. “Apparition and Apprehension: Supernatural mystery and emergent womanhood in Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights and novels by Margeret Mahy” (2001), Mystery in Children's Literature 131-148.

Gilbert, Sandra M. & Gubar, Susan The Madwoman in the Attic: The Woman Writer and the Nineteenth-Century Literary Imagination (1979), New Haven: Yale University Press.

Gilligan, Carol In a Different Voice: Psychological theory and women's development (1982), Harvard University Press (1990).

Gilman, Charlotte Perkins The Yellow Wall-Paper (1892), Penguin Little Black Classics (2015).

Heiddegger, Martin Being and Time (1927), Wiley-Blackwell (1978).

Kierkegaard, Søren Fear and Trembling (1843), Penguin Great Ideas (2005).

Mitchell, Juliet Psychoanalysis and Feminism: A radical reassessment of Freudian psychoanalysis (1974), Basic Books (2000).

Perrault, Charles The Tales of Mother Goose (1697), Dodo Press (2008).

Pipher, Mary Reviving Ophelia: Saving the Selves of Adolescent Girls (1994), Riverhead Books (2005).

Prinzi, Travis Harry Potter and Imagination: The way between two worlds (2009), Zozima Press.

Ratnabalasuiar, Sher “The Social Shaping of Technology in the Wizarding World” (2012) The Sociology of Harry Potter, Zozima Press, 26-34.

Rhys, Jean Wide Sargasso Sea (1966), New York: Norton (1982).

Rowling, J.K. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (1998), London: Bloomsbury.

Rowling, J.K. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Askaban (1999), London: Bloomsbury.

Rowling, J.K. Harry Potter and the Order of the Pheonix (2003), London: Bloomsbury.

Rowling, J.K. Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince (2005), London: Bloomsbury.

Rowling, J.K. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (2007), London: Bloomsbury.

Stevenson, Robert Louis Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde (1886), Wordsworth Classics (1993).

Miller, J. Hillis “The Critic as Host” (1977), Critical Enquiry, 3/3 439-447.

Milton, John “Paradise Lost” (1667), The Norton Anthology of English Literature Volume 1 (2000), 1817-2044.

Waddilove, Kay “'So good, it's exhilarating!': The Jacqueline Wilson Phenomenon” (2012) A Journal of International Children's Literature, 50/3 75-78.

Waters, Darren (2004), article available here: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/3753001.stm

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Sebastian Mar is a third year English and Psychology student at University College, Durham

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Abstract

The 'male gaze' is a term coined by the feminist film critic Laura Mulvey in relation to the misogynist conceptions and perceptions of female characters on mainstream Hollywood film and beyond. In this paper, I discuss Alfred Hitchcock's 'Vertigo' (1958) and Lars von Trier's 'Nymphomaniac' (2013), showing how both commercial and independent film can reveal the structures of the 'male gaze' and subsequently subvert it, leaving the viewer convinced of its morally and politically dubious nature. Although a thorough discussion of the relationship between screen and real life politics is out of the scope of this study, some preliminary conclusions will be made on how the cinematic subversion of the 'male gaze' could affect the perception and treatment of real life women.

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This essay is going to discuss the perception of women in cinema through the lens of the ‘male gaze’. Firstly, the term ‘male gaze’ is going to be explained and discussed with the use of feminist film theory, in particular Laura Mulvey’s work. Then the essay is going to move forward to the discussion of Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo (1958) and Lars von Trier’s Nymphomaniac (2013). These films have been picked for this discussion for their valuable quality of challenging and making apparent the status quo of the ‘male gaze’, unlike the films where ‘patriarchal ideology [is] simply assumed and therefore virtually invisible.’1 In our analysis of these films we will see that, whilst Vertigo criticises the ‘male gaze’ from within the system which endorses it, Nymphomaniac, an independent film, assumes the ‘male gaze’ in the viewer but combats its power by manipulating the viewer’s perception of the film. This essay will conclude that the endorsement of the ‘male gaze’ can result in violent physical action against women on and off the screen, whilst making the real nature of the ‘male gaze’ apparent can result in the transformation of the real world political reality.

The term ‘male gaze’ was coined by Laura Mulvey in her influential essay ‘Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema’, published in 1975. In this essay, Mulvey argues that mainstream Hollywood cinema, ‘exemplified at its best by Hollywood in the 1930s, 1940s, and 1950s’, 2 is driven by commercial needs and is created by men and predominately for men ‘in a world ordered by sexual imbalance.’3 It is therefore heavily focused on entertaining the male viewer, mainly by providing him with two pleasures that lie in scopophilia.4 One of these pleasures is narcissistic: the male viewer projects himself onto the male protagonist, while his ego is ‘reinforced’ by the

1 Judith, Mayne, ‘Feminist Film Theory and Criticism, Signs, 11/1 (1985), p. 86.

2 Laura, Mulvey, ‘Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema’, in Issues in Feminist Film Criticism, Patricia

Erens, ed. (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1990), p. 29.

3 Mulvey, p. 33.

4 Mulvey, p. 30.

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identification with the typically very likable and admirable hero.5 This is why the male protagonist prompts action in film and is allowed to exist as a complex multidimensional character. Women characters, by contrast, exist as a source of aesthetic and sexual pleasure: ‘the determining male gaze projects its fantasy onto the female figure, which is styled accordingly.’6 Because the pleasure is derived from observing women’s beauty and sex appeal, rather than from watching what they do, unlike male protagonists, they are not given the power to act. Instead of being shown ‘in landscape’, like men, women characters are often presented in close-ups which freeze rather than move forward the plot. 7 Although Mulvey herself does not provide us with this conclusion, we can easily see how the ‘male gaze’, which registers men as active subjects and women as passive objects, can be easily transferred from film to real life and reinforce these stereotypes there, thereby causing actual damage to real women.

Since the first publication of Mulvey’s essay, certain changes and additions to Mulvey’s rather stern evaluation of mainstream Hollywood cinema have been proposed by feminist film theorists. In particular, Mulvey’s claim that the main reason for female sexualisation in film is ‘her lack of penis, [which implies] a threat of castration and hence unpleasure’8 has been heavily commented on. Here, the problem in Mulvey’s analysis lies in the fact that, analysing female characters as ‘castrated men’ who make the male viewer anxious and therefore demand sexualisation which would distract the viewers from their ‘castrated’ nature, Mulvey completely ignores the fact that simply not all female characters, even in mainstream Hollywood, are like that. Tania Modleski, for example, notes that some female characters may be heavily sexualised not because ‘they automatically connote castration, but because they don’t, and so the project of

5 Mulvey, p. 32.

6 Mulvey, p. 33.

7 ibid

.

8 Mulvey, p. 35.

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narrative cinema is precisely to “castrate” the woman whose strength and perceived wholeness arouses dread in the male.’9 Moving forwards now to our discussion of Vertigo and Nymphomaniac, we will see that this is a very accurate analysis.

Vertigo was filmed and produced in the USA, released in 1958 and distributed by ‘Paramount Pictures’ - in short, it came out right from the heart of the mainstream commercial Hollywood. We therefore need to bear in mind that Vertigo, which, as we will see, is a deconstruction of the ‘male gaze’, goes through this deconstruction from within the system which is aimed at capitalising on that very gaze. This is perhaps why in the first part of the film the tactics aimed at attracting the male viewers are unashamedly used. In the first part of Vertigo, the viewer, together with Scottie, a retired policeman suffering from acrophobia, follows around and watches an enchanting and mysterious Madeleine, who, as Scottie is told by Madeleine’s husband, is haunted by her great-grandmother, a ‘madwoman’ deceased from suicide.

Madeleine’s image can be said to belong to the tradition of the ‘female mystique’ figures celebrated in the patriarchal culture (such as The Sleeping Beauty, Ophelia, The Lady of Shalott, and Catherine Earnshaw, to name a few). What Madeleine shares with these women is that she is beautiful (so much that the viewer cannot help enjoying creeping on her just as much as Scottie does), mysteriously doomed, in her case by madness (Madeleine jumps into the San Francisco Bay holding flowers like a modern Ophelia), and, most importantly, soon dead. Slavoj Žižek comments with regards to Vertigo that, from the point of view of male libidinal economy, ‘the only good woman is the dead woman.’10 And so Madeleine seems to be a kind of a ghost even before she actually dies: she hardly speaks, she does not do anything apart from ‘wandering’

9 Tania, Modleski, ‘Hitchcock, Feminism, and the Patriarchal Unconscious’, in Issues in Feminist Film

Criticism, Patricia Erens, ed. (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1990), p. 59.

10 The Pervert’s Guide to Cinema, dir. by Sophie Fiennes, written and presented by Slavoj Žižek (UK, 2006).

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around San Francisco area, her gaze is directed at nothing in particular. Thus, for both the viewer and Scottie, Madeleine is the perfect woman to be gazed at: she is beautiful, passive and a kind of nothingness on which any sort of personal fantasy can be projected. Moreover, with her mysteriousness and suicidal tendencies she provides Scottie with a puzzle to solve and a life to save, so that Scottie’s ego, shattered by his acrophobia and retirement, can be mended and reinforced (as well as the viewer’s, via his identification with Scottie). Thus, the first part of Vertigo simultaneously draws attention to ‘the male gaze’ by having Scottie parallel the experience of the film’s viewer (of this film in particular, and many other Hollywood films in general), and seemingly endorses it as a valid way of representing women on film/perceiving women in real life.

Hitchcock would not be the auteur he was, however, if he did not lull his viewers into safety and comfort in the first part of the film only to violently shake them out of it in the latter part. Two-thirds into the film, we get a flashback to the moment of Madeleine’s death, where we learn that the Madeleine Scottie and we knew was a mere mystification impersonated by a woman called Judy, and created by the real Madeleine’s husband in order to fool Scottie into serving as a witness to Madeleine’s ‘suicide’ (in reality a homicide by the husband). The flashback is revealed as Judy’s memory after Scottie, by then gone absolutely mad with his obsession over the dead Madeleine, sees her by chance and follows her to her hotel room. And, because from this point of the film onwards, we are privy to the truth that Scottie is not aware of, the film no longer unravels from Scottie’s point of view, but instead shift’s to Judy’s and stays with her right to the end of the film.11 Thus the same scrutinizing look which was directed at Madeleine in the first part of the film is now directed at Scottie and his

11 Marian E., Keane, ‘A Closer Look at Scopophilia: Mulvey, Hitchcock, and Vertigo’, in A Hitchcock Reader, Marshall, Deutelbaum, and Leland, Poague, eds., 2nd ed. (Chichester: Blackwell, 2009), p. 237.

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actions. This is when the structure of the ‘male gaze’, both within the film and without, becomes apparent. We suddenly realise that it is only because of Madeleine’s husband’s mystification, and Scottie’s ardent desire to believe in it, that there ever was the Madeleine we saw. Moreover, we the viewers cannot help but compare our perception of Madeleine to Scottie’s perception of her, which is outright creepy: as Mulvey notices, ‘he falls in love with a woman he follows and spies on without speaking to.’12 Thus, Hitchcock practically shames the viewers of Vertigo into realising the disturbing nature of the ‘male gaze’ which they have been previously enjoying, and since no-one would like to go on identifying himself with a creep, this may even serve as a way of making the viewers abandon this way of perceiving women, both on and off the screen.

However, it is only by observing Judy sacrificing her identity that we realise what the physical consequences of perceiving women through the ‘male gaze’ are. Scottie, who is not aware that Madeleine and Judy are the same person, but is beguiled by Judy’s external resemblance to Madeleine, wants Judy to turn into an exact copy of Madeleine and abandon her own identity. He makes this clear by refusing to touch or kiss Judy when she looks as herself. Judy feels hopeless: she is in love with Scottie the way he is in love with Madeleine, but Scottie does not want her, an independent being. Speaking in Modleski’s terms, he only wants the ‘castrated’ ghost that Madeleine were; and so Judy lets him make her wear the clothes that Madeleine wore and dye her hair into the colour of Madeleine’s hair, so that he can finally accept her. (One of course may wonder why she chooses to abandon her identity in favour of love. Although we do not really know, it is likely that she simply has no better alternative: should Judy fall in love with a different man in the society where men perceive women as blank canvases on which

12 Mulvey, p. 37.

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any sort of sexual fantasy can be projected, she will most likely have to abandon or adjust her identity anyway.) In his comments on Vertigo, Žižek notices that ‘a fantasy can only be realized through violence:’13 and we see that the price that has to be paid for Scottie’s refusal to perceive the real woman in Judy is the total destruction of Judy’s identity.

But is not just Judy’s identity that is doomed to death. When Judy is magically transformed into Madeleine and the ghost comes alive, Scottie finally kisses her; in the final shot of this scene, we see Judy-Madeleine lying in his arms, motionless with her eyes closed, as if she were dead. This shot foreshadows the tragic ending of the film.

Scottie finally discovers that Judy and Madeleine are the same person, and punishes Judy for his frustration over being robbed of his fantasy woman by taking her to the bell tower where the ‘suicide’ occurred and making her perform Madeleine for the last time ‘so that [they] both can be free of the ghosts of the past.’ During their final kiss at the top of the bell tower, a ghostly figure appears in the shadow behind their backs, and Judy leaps out of the bell tower the way Madeleine did. Keane interprets this figure as a vision of ‘the spectre of a life endured without acknowledgement, [Judy’s] fate if she lives on with this man.’14 Judy’s fall then, in the light of this interpretation, seems to signify her refusal to go on living perceived as anyone but herself. But Judy’s death is also a kind of verdict on the consequences of the ‘male gaze’ personified by Scottie. We conclude from Judy dying that Scottie’s fantasy is not one that can be sustained eternally: once Judy’s identity is completely destroyed by Scottie’s initial passive perception turning into active violence, Judy loses herself, and because of her loss is unable to go on living, which in turn makes Scottie lose the possibility of going on

13 The Pervert’s Guide to Cinema, dir. by Sophie Fiennes, written and presented by Slavoj Žižek (UK, 2006).

14 Keane, p. 246.

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having his fantasy realised. Thus, Vertigo deconstructs and reveals the disturbing nature of the ‘male gaze’, thereby showing that the inevitable consequence of passive perception of women as fantasy objects is active violence committed against them, which at any case results in the inability to sustain the fantasy eternally.

Lars von Trier’s Nymphomaniac (2013), unlike Vertigo, is not a commercial film.

Produced partly by ‘Zentropa’, von Trier’s own production company, it is an independent film which, unlike Vertigo, does not need to entice or entertain the viewer the way Hitchcock’s film was probably in part obliged to. In fact, the very length of the director’s cut of the film – 326 minutes of total running time – shows that the director was not prepared to compromise his vision for the sake of the viewer’s comfort.

Because of this, Nymphomaniac approaches the issue of the ‘male gaze’ in a radically different way. Instead of playing around with it like Vertigo does, it anticipates it in the viewer but then attacks it violently, actively refusing to conform to the viewer’s expectations. Since Nymphomaniac is largely a story of the sexual odyssey of a selfproclaimed nymphomaniac, it is best to examine the film’s relationship to the ‘male gaze’ by looking at the way female sexuality is portrayed in the film.

The ‘male gaze’, to reiterate, seeks for a strong male character to identify with, and for a beautiful passive woman on whom personal sexual fantasies can be projected. Since the ‘male gaze’ sexualizes the woman even outside of directly sexual contexts, where sexual situations are concerned, absolutely no deviation from the woman’s role as a satisfier of the viewer’s sexual fantasies can be allowed. In this respect, the epitome of the ‘male gaze’ is the first-person point of view pornography, which is shot in such a manner that the male ‘protagonist’ and the viewer absolutely coincide: it appears as if it is the viewer who is performing the sexual act to the woman on screen. The woman 175

in these films, then, quite literally serves no other purpose apart from satisfying the viewer - and this is exactly the kind of secret desire that Nymphomaniac anticipates.

Nymphomaniac has multiple narratives: its main story is wrapped up by the conversation between the narrator, Joe, and her listener. The main story of Nymphomaniac is the story of Joe’s life-long sexual odyssey, which she is telling to a lonesome bachelor Seligman, who found her beaten up and lying on the ground and took her to his home. Seligman, as a listener to Joe’s story, is a kind of a double to the viewer off screen, which is why his reactions to Joe’s story make the viewers aware of their own reactions. When Joe notes that it is strange that her ‘dirty stories’ seem only to excite Seligman in an intellectual way (he notes that the number of sexual thrusts in Joe’s first sexual encounter is a Fibonacci number), Seligman’s reply that it is because he is asexual makes the viewers check and become aware of their own reaction to the ‘dirty stories’ in the film. Naturally, since most viewers of Nymphomaniac, unlike Seligman, are probably not asexual, Seligman’s response shows the film’s awareness of the viewers’ sexual feelings towards the content of the film. Thus, because the viewers’ secret desire has been ‘found out’ and made explicit, they no longer feel they have a right to it, just like how, by watching Vertigo, they become aware of the creepy nature of their ‘male gaze’ and therefore become ashamed of it. Thus, by making the viewers aware of their secret desire to strip Joe off her identity, to ‘castrate’ her so that the sex appeal of her stories can be comfortably enjoyed, the film actively controls the viewers’ perception of the film and prevents them from conducting their ‘male gaze’ onto its female protagonist and her story.

What effect then does this exercise of control have on the viewers’ perception of sex in Nymphomaniac? Film critic Roger Ebert describes the highly realistic and graphic sex scenes in the film as ‘boring, bored, silly, embarrassing. You look at some of it and 176

think, "What on earth is the point?" None of it is erotic.’15 Although real sex was filmed for the film with the use of substitute porn actors, it does not excite the viewers; on the contrary, Ebert’s reaction to the sex scenes seems to be bordering between annoyance and sheer repulsion. Disallowed to saturate the sex scenes in the film with their own sexual desires, the viewers watch the confident, multi-dimensional Joe claim her sexuality as her own, in confident acts (she seeks men to have sex with, they do not seek her), and in the way she narrates her story (Charlotte Gainsborough, who plays Joe, narrates Joe’s story in a very cold, logical, detached manner, which turns her story into ‘something told – interpreted, enhanced, varied, recast‘16 - in short, something over which control is exercised.) Joe cannot be perceived as anyone but an active conductor of her sex life, a direct opposite to the passivity that is expected of her by the ‘male gaze’. Combined with the previously discussed control of the viewers’ perception of the film, this makes the viewers annoyed or perhaps some even repelled by the sexual content which is in no way designed to satisfy them, which in turn makes them detach from it and withdraw any kind of sexual expectations they might have of the film. This is, arguably, the film’s ultimate goal: to make the viewers abandon their ‘male gaze’ and perceive Joe not as a canvas for sexual fantasies, but as an independent human being and a true protagonist, whose sexual life belongs only to herself and not to her listeners or viewers. By manipulating the viewer’s perception of the film, Nymphomaniac both makes an argument in favour of allowing women to reclaim their sexuality and actively helps them do it by forcing the viewers of the film to learn to perceive Joe’s sexuality not through their own lenses, but on Joe’s personal terms.

15 Roger Ebert’s Reviews, last accessed 13 May 2016, <www.rogerebert.com/reviews/nymphomaniac-

vol-i-2014>.

16 David, Denby, ‘The Story of Joe: Nymphomaniac’, in The New Yorker Online, last accessed 13 May 2016, <www.newyorker.com/magazine/2014/03/24/the-story-of-joe>.

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This essay has discussed the perception of women through the ‘male gaze’ and the action which can follow it. It has been argued that the ‘male gaze’, when unchallenged, is capable of causing harm to the off-screen women. However, making the viewers aware of their morally dubious expectations of the women on screen, Vertigo and Nymphomaniac challenge the status quo of the ‘male gaze’ and, arguably, acquire the power to transform real world political reality by making the viewers reconsider their perceptions of the real women as well.

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Bibliography:

• Denby, David, ‘The Story of Joe: Nymphomaniac’, in The New Yorker Online, last accessed 13 May 2016, <www.newyorker.com/magazine/2014/03/24/thestory-of-joe>.

• Keane, Marian E., ‘A Closer Look at Scopophilia: Mulvey, Hitchcock, and Vertigo’, in A Hitchcock Reader, Marshall, Deutelbaum, and Leland, Poague, eds., 2nd ed.

(Chichester: Blackwell, 2009).

• Mayne, Judith, ‘Feminist Film Theory and Criticism, Signs, 11/1 (1985), 81-100.

• Modleski, Tania, ‘Hitchcock, Feminism, and the Patriarchal Unconscious’, in Issues in Feminist Film Criticism, Patricia Erens, ed. (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1990).

• Mulvey, Laura, ‘Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema’, in Issues in Feminist Film Criticism, Patricia Erens, ed. (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1990).

• Nymphomaniac, dir. by Lars von Trier (Denmark, 2013).

• The Pervert’s Guide to Cinema, dir. by Sophie Fiennes, written and presented by Slavoj Žižek (UK, 2006).

• Roger Ebert’s Reviews, last accessed 13 May 2016, <www.rogerebert.com/reviews/nymphomaniac-vol-i-2014>.

• Vertigo, dir. by Alfred Hitchcock (USA, 1958).

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Celia Durkan is a second year Law student at University College, Durham University. This paper was prepared as a dissertation under the guidance of Dr. Ben Warwick.

Abstract Domestic violence is a global issue for women. Considered a private issue between individuals for many years, its conceptualisation as a human rights violation has allowed it to be addressed through both law and policy. This dissertation looks at the general absence of women specific issues in human rights discourse, focusing on violence against women and domestic violence. It evaluates the efforts both at the international and regional levels to combat domestic violence through a human rights lens, concluding that while there have been significant movements in this area, the current frameworks are insufficient.

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List of Abbreviations AU CAT CEDAW CEJIL CIDT CSW DEVAW ECHR ECtHR ECOSOC FGM GREVIO IACHR ICCPR ICESCR ILC IWRAW MESECVI NGO OAS OAU OHCHR SRVAW UDHR UK UN UNCHR UNDP UNESCO UNGA UNHRC UNSG VAW WHO

African Union Convention Against Torture and Other Cruel, Inhuman or Degrading Treatment or Punishment Convention on the Elimination of all Forms of Discrimination Against Women The Centre for Justice and International Law Cruel, inhuman, or degrading treatment CoE Council of Europe Commission on the Status of Women Declaration on the Elimination of Violence Against Women European Convention on Human Rights European Court of Human Rights UN Economic and Social Council Female genital mutilation Group of Experts on Action against Violence against Women and Domestic Violence Inter-American Commission on Human Rights International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights International Law Commission International Womenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Rights Action Watch Follow-up Mechanism to the Belem do Para Convention Non-governmental organisation Organisation of American States Organisation of African Unity UN Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights Special Rapporteur on Violence Against Women, its Causes and Consequences Universal Declaration of Human Rights United Kingdom United Nations United Nations Commission on Human Rights United Nations Development Programme United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organisation United Nations General Assembly United Nations Human Rights Council United Nations Secretary General Violence against women World Health Organisation

181

Introduction

Violence against women (VAW) continues to be a global issue that kills, tortures and maims, affecting approximately one third of women.1 This dissertation focuses on one specific form of VAW; domestic violence. It is the most prevalent, yet relatively hidden form of violence experienced by women.2 Considered a private matter, it has long been wrongly isolated from human rights discourse3 and it continues to be largely unaddressed by a number of countries.4

The recognition of domestic violence as a human rights violation has been critical in efforts to combat the problem,5 reframing it as a collective problem that society as a whole must address.6 However, this conceptualisation has not been easily realised, in part because attitudes towards women are deeply entrenched and effective strategies to address domestic violence have been slow in being defined.7

The definition of domestic violence used will include acts perpetrated by intimate partners, and other family members and manifested through physical, sexual, psychological and/or economic abuse,8 reflecting the plethora of forms that domestic violence takes.9 The present analysis of domestic violence will be limited to violence perpetrated by men against women. This is not to ignore the fact

1 WHO,

‘Global and regional estimates of violence against women: Prevalence and health effects of intimate partner violence and non-partner sexual violence’ (2013) 2.

2 Report

of the Secretary-General, ‘In-depth Study on All Forms of Violence against Women’ (2006) UN Doc A/61/122 paras 112-113.

3 Dorothy

Thomas and Michele Beasley, ‘Domestic Violence as a Human Rights Issue’ (1993) 15(1) HRQ 36, 40.

4 eg

The Russian Federation. CEDAW, ‘Concluding observations on the eighth periodic report of the Russian Federation’ (20 November 2015) CEDAW/C/RUS/CO/8 para 22.

5 Jutta

Joachim, Agenda Setting, the UN, and NGOs: Gender Violence and Reproductive Rights (Georgetown University Press 2007) 1.

6 Paolo

Garcia Rey, ‘Domestic Violence as a Human Rights Violation’ (American Civil Liberties Union Speak Freely Blog, 14 March 2011) <https://www.aclu.org/blog/speakeasy/domestic-violencehuman-rights-violation> accessed 10 February 2016.

7

‘Domestic Violence Against Women and Girls’ (2000) 6 UNICEF Innocenti Digest 1.

8 ibid

2.

9

Michael Johnson, ‘Conflict and Control: Gender Symmetry and Asymmetry in Domestic Violence’ (2006) 12(11) Violence Against Women 1003, 1012.

182

that women can be violent or to neglect male victims, but instead to recognise domestic violence suffered by women as a distinct phenomenon and a form of gender-based violence, rooted in the subordinate role women have traditionally held in private and public life.10

Chapter I will explain the resistance to accept women-specific issues as human rights violations by the international community and the particular hurdles regarding domestic violence, including State responsibility and the public/private dichotomy. It will then examine conceptualisations of domestic violence by which it may be incorporated into international human rights law and will argue that the most pragmatic approach to combat domestic violence is to conceptualise it as a form of discrimination against women. The practical application of these conceptualisations will be examined further in later chapters with reference to existing norms.

Chapter II will discuss norms pertaining to VAW and domestic violence at the international level.

International law and policy on domestic violence has largely been developed by the work of the UN through treaties, resolutions and human rights conferences. It will be argued that while this work has had a significant impact on the recognition of domestic violence as a human rights violation and the responsibility of states to prevent it, the lack of a single, legally binding international instrument specifically addressing domestic violence means that these efforts are insufficient.

Chapter III examines the Istanbul Convention,11 the Maputo Protocol12 and the Belém do Pará Convention;13 three regional instruments developed to address VAW. It will look at how the norms from the international level are echoed and developed at the regional level, and whether any of these developments could be used to inform the approach at the international level.

10 Charlotte

Bunch, ‘Women’s Rights as Human Rights: Towards a Re-Vision of Human Rights’ in Bert Lockwood (ed), Women’s Rights: A Human Rights Quarterly Reader (John Hopkins University Press 2006) 62.

11

Convention on Preventing and Combating Violence against Women and Domestic Violence (2014) CETS No 210.

12 Protocol

to the African Charter on Human and People's Rights on the Rights of Women in Africa (2005) AHG/Res 240 (XXXI).

13

Convention on the Prevention, Punishment and Eradication of Violence against Women (1994) 33 ILM 1535.

183

While there has been an impressive advancement in the recognition of the seriousness of domestic violence, particularly evident by the creation of numerous legal instruments, policy documents and mechanisms to combat VAW in the last 30 years, domestic violence remains universal and widespread. The main weakness of these norms is in relation to implementation, with the lack of full acceptance and incorporation at the national level.14 Until this ‘normative gap’15 is filled with a binding norm, domestic violence will continue to be inadequately addressed.

14 Dubravka

Šimonović, ‘Statement at the Sixtieth Session of the Commission on the Status of Women’ (14 March 2016) <http://www.ohchr.org/EN/NewsEvents/Pages/DisplayNews.aspx?

NewsID=18524&LangID=E> accessed 27 March 2016.

15

Rashida Manjoo, ‘Special guest contribution: Violence against women as a barrier to the realisation of human rights and the effective exercise of citizenship’ [2016] Feminist Review 11, 23.

184

Chapter I: Domestic Violence as a Human Rights Violation

Introduction

At the time universal human rights were framed, men were the dominant political actors of the time,16 and as a result they reflected the male experience17 and did not take account of issues peculiar to women.18 Domestic violence, was seen as a ‘private’ matter outside the scope of international human rights law.19 This chapter examines the difficulties involved in developing the traditional understanding of human rights to include those specific to women and analyses ways in which protection from domestic violence could be included in international human rights law.

1.

Women’s Rights and International Human Rights Law

1.1 ‘Universal’ Human Rights

By definition, human rights are rights that apply to all humans; representing universal and indivisible obligations owed to individuals.20 This principle of universality is set out in the primary source of global human rights standards,21 the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR).22 The concept of universality developed largely from the idea that the individual has rights to autonomy and freedom

Charlotte Bunch, ‘Transforming Human Rights from a Feminist Perspective’ in Julie Peters and Andrea Wolper (eds) Women's Rights, Human Rights: International Feminist Perspectives (Routledge 1995) 12.

16

Marsha Freeman and Arvonne Fraser, ‘Women's Human Rights: Making the Theory a Reality’ in Louis Henkin and John Hargrove (eds) Human Rights: An Agenda for the Next Century (The American Society of International Law 1994) 104.

17

18

OHCHR, Women’s Rights are Human Rights (2014) HR/PUB/14/2, 25.

Lee Hasselbacher, ‘State Obligations Regarding Domestic Violence: The European Court of Human Rights, Due Diligence, And International Legal Minimums of Protection’ (2010) 8 Nw J In’l Hum Rts 190, 191.

19

20

Jack Donnelly, ‘The Relative Universality of Human Rights’ (2007) 29(2) HRQ 281, 282.

Hurst Hannum, ‘The Status of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights in National and International Law’ (1995) 25(1) Ga J Int’l & Comp L 287, 290.

21

22

Universal Declaration of Human Rights, UNGA Res 217 A(III) (10 December 1948).

185

from limitations imposed on them by the State.23 It assumes a universal human subject on whom is bestowed inalienable rights.24 Universal human rights are therefore assumed to be gender-neutral so as to be universally inclusive.25

This gender-neutral approach has been criticised for assuming a male-orientated subject.26 UN Member States intended the UDHR to promote formal equality based on the early feminist argument that women ought to be treated like men, with exceptions made only where necessary to accommodate biological differences.27 Formal equality is not enough to protect women, as ‘equality is not freedom to be treated without regard to sex, but freedom from systematic subordination because of sex’.28 If human rights are to be ‘gender-blind' with no regard to gender, they will continue to privilege men over women.29

The Committee on the Status of Women (CSW)30 has taken additional measures in order to secure substantive equality. The response has been twofold; an approach of gender-mainstreaming31 has been adopted in relation to all activities in order to ensure gender perspectives are included in all matters, and a number of women-specific instruments, such as CEDAW,32 have been adopted.33 Through these 23

Thomas (n 3) 38.

24

Robin Redhead, Exercising Human Rights: Gender, Agency and Practice (Routledge 2014) 15.

25

ibid 27.

Catharine MacKinnon, Feminism Unmodified: Discourses on Life and Law (Harvard University Press 1987).

26

Margareth Etienne, ‘Addressing Gender-Based Violence in an International Context’ (1995) 18 Harv Women's LJ 139, 147.

27

Hilary Charlesworth, Christine Chinkin and Shelley Wright, ‘Feminist Approaches to International Law’ (1991) 85(4) AJIL 613, 632.

28

Eva Brems, ‘Enemies or Allies? Feminism and Cultural Relativism as Dissident Voices in Human Rights Discourse’ (2007) 19(1) HRQ 136, 154 29

The principal intergovernmental body exclusively dedicated to promote, report on and monitor issues relating to the rights of women.

30

31

ECOSOC, Agreed Conclusions 1997/2.

Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women (adopted 18 December 1979, entered into force 3 September 1981) 1249 UNTS 13.

32

Ivana Radacic, ‘Feminism and human rights: the inclusive approach to interpreting international human rights law’ (2008) 14 UCL Juris Rev 238, 238.

33

186

measures, the experiences of women can be added to traditional approaches to human rights and take better account of women’s lives.34

Domestic violence was one of the issues that was instrumental in gathering widespread international attention to the idea that women’s rights are human rights.35 It came to prominence as a result of grass-roots work of women's organisations around the world who argued that it was not an individual incident, but deeply rooted in structural relationships of inequality between women and men.36

2.

Violence Against Women and Domestic Violence

2.1 Gender-Based Violence

Gender-based violence is used to describe a number of violent practices which affect women disproportionately or are used specifically against women, including rape, forced marriage, female genital mutilation (FGM) and domestic violence.37 The continued persistence of

gender-based

violence stems from power structures heavily weighted in favour of men and used to reinforce the subordination and inferiority of women.38 Despite the apparent gender-neutrality of the term domestic violence, it is a gendered crime committed predominantly by men against women.39 Worldwide, it

is

estimated that one third of women experience physical or sexual violence, mostly by an intimate partner.40 Even though men and those in same-sex relationships can be victims, ‘the overwhelming

34

Bunch (n 10) 58.

Argonne Fraser, ‘Becoming Human: The Origins and Development of Women’s Human Rights’ in Bert Lockwood (ed), Women’s Rights: A Human Rights Quarterly Reader (John Hopkins University Press 2006) 52.

35

36

UNSG (n 2) ii.

UNGA, Declaration on the Elimination of Violence against Women (20 December 1993) A/RES/ 48/104.

37

Rhonda Copelon, ‘Recognising the Egregious in the Everyday: Domestic Violence as Torture’ (1994) 25 Colum Hum Rts L Rev 291, 292.

38

Radhika Coomaraswamy and Lisa Kois, ‘Violence Against Women’ in Kelly Askin and Dorean Koenig (eds), Women and International Human Rights Law Volume I: Introduction to Women’s Human Rights Issues (Transnational Publications 1998) 178, 185.

39

40

WHO (n 1) 2.

187

burden of partner violence is borne by women at the hands of men’.41 Domestic violence experienced by women differs from other domestic violence in terms of nature, frequency, intention, intensity, physical injury and emotional impact.42

2.2 The Public/Private Dichotomy

The separation of public and private matters demarcates areas appropriate for legal regulation from those which come under the sphere of personal autonomy.43 Traditionally, international human rights law has drawn this distinction, leaving seemingly private matters like domestic violence largely unregulated.44 This distinction disadvantages women,45 as historically they have predominantly occupied the private spheres of domesticity and motherhood.46 The dichotomy was one of the significant hurdles to the recognition of domestic violence as a human rights violation.47 By defining domestic violence as a private issue between individuals in the home it was left outside of the purview of human rights.48 The idea of ‘non-interference’ in the private and family sphere has been attacked by those who argue that the deliberate policy of selective non-interference is not politically neutral.49 The

41

WHO, ‘World Report on Violence and Health’ (2002) 89.

Russell Dobash and Rebecca Dobash, ‘Women’s Violence to Men in Intimate Relationships’ (2004) 44 Brit J Criminol 324, 343.

42

Hilary Charlesworth, ‘The Public/Private Distinction and the Right to Development in International Law’ [1999] Aust YBIL 190, 192.

43

44

ibid 191.

Celina Romany, ‘State Responsibility Goes Private: A Feminist Critique of the Public/Private Distinction in International Human Rights Law’ in Rebecca Cook (ed) Human Rights of Women: National and International Perspectives (University Pennsylvania Press 1994) 85.

45

Susan Moller Okin, ‘Gender, the Public and the Private’ in Feminism and Politics in (ed) Anne Phillips, Feminism and Politics (OUP 1998) 118.

46

Cheryl Thomas, ‘Domestic Violence’ in Kelly Askin and Dorean Koenig (eds), Women and International Human Rights Law Volume I: Introduction to Women’s Human Rights Issues, (Transnational Publications 1998) 242.

47

48

ibid.

49

FE Olsen, ‘The Myth of State Intervention in the Family’ (1985) 18 U Mich J L Reform 835, 835.

188

argument that domestic violence within the home should be left unregulated ignores the fact that other forms of violence within the home such as murder are addressed by the state.50

2.3 State Responsibility

State responsibility refers to the instances where a State is held liable for violation of its international obligations.51 The ILC Draft Articles on State Responsibility for Internationally Wrongful Acts52 contain rules on attribution of State responsibility under international law and they provide that a State is responsible for actions and omissions that are attributable to the State and breach an international obligation.53 Jurisprudence from a regional court, the Inter-American Court of Justice, expanded

this

obligation to show that States have a responsibility to protect their citizens even against acts of private individuals.54 In Velasquez Rodriguez v Honduras, the State was held responsible for failing to address disappearances of individuals committed by non-state actors. This idea of a duty to exercise due diligence was then adopted by a series of instruments addressing VAW.55

Domestic violence was seen as having no State or structural component, but international responsibility of a State is not incurred through the act of the abusive partner, but through the lack of ‘due diligence’ to prevent the abuse or to take appropriate measures to address it. The inaction and and negligence of states with regard to VAW, such as widespread denial of its frequency and harm, and

Riane Eisler, ‘Preventing Violence Against Women: Four Strategies' in Mariam Kurtz and Lester Kurtz (eds) Women, War, and Violence: Topography, Resistance and Hope (Praeger 2015) 384.

50

Sarah Joseph and Adam Fletcher, ‘Scope of Application in International Human Rights Law’ in Daniel Moeckli, International Human Rights Law (OUP 2013) 119.

51

52

(2001) UN GAOR 56th Session Supp No 10 UN Doc A/56/10.

53

ibid Art 2.

54

Velasquez Rodriguez v Honduras IACHR (Ser C) No 4 (1988) para 172.

DEVAW (n 37) Article 4(c); Beijing Platform for Action, adopted at the Fourth World Conference on Women (27 October 1995) UN Doc A/CONF.177/20 para 124(b).

55

189

failure to prosecute male perpetrators of violence56 makes what would otherwise by a private action a ‘constructive act of the state’.57

If domestic violence is able to overcome the public/private dichotomy, and is worthy of state responsibility, then it is next necessary to examine the ways in which domestic violence could be conceptualised as a human rights violation.

3.

Conceptualisation of Domestic Violence

3.1 Discrimination

Conceptualising domestic violence as discrimination has been praised as a ‘conceptual breakthrough’.58 It has allowed domestic violence to be considered ‘part of a systemic and political problem, requiring a systemic, political solution’59 and recognises that domestic violence is genderbased and a method of coercive control and subordination.60 The right to freedom from discrimination is recognised in the UDHR and other international instruments such as the ICCPR61 and ICESCR.62

Alice Edwards highlights three criticisms in relation to using discrimination to tackle VAW.63 The first is that the understanding of discrimination and inequality is complex, being regularly interpreted as

56

Coomaraswamy (n 39) 179.

Kenneth Roth, ‘Domestic Violence as an International Human Rights Issue’ in Rebecca Cook (ed) Human Rights of Women: National and International Perspectives (University of Pennsylvania Press 1994) 330.

57

Sally Goldfarb, ‘Applying the discrimination model to violence against women: some reflections on theory and practice’ (2002-2003) 11 Am UJ Gender Soc Pol’y & L 251, 254.

58

59

ibid.

60

Elizabeth Schneider, Battered Women and Feminist Lawmaking (Yale University Press 2000) 5.

International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (adopted 16 December 1966, entered into force 23 March 1976) 999 UNTS 171.

61

International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (adopted 16 December 1966, entered into force 3 January 1976) 993 UNTS 3.

62

63

Alice Edwards, Violence Against Women Under International Human Rights Law (CUP 2011) 97.

190

permitting unequal treatment based on ‘reasonable and objective criteria,’64 failing to take account of gendered perspectives.65 Secondly, she argues that the prohibition of discrimination is limited as it

is

rhetorically weaker than that of violence and is viewed less seriously by society and the justice system.66 Finally, the conceptualisation of VAW as sex discrimination results in the unequal treatment of men and women under international law, especially as violence that disproportionately affects men is not defined as sex discrimination.67 The victim is only protected to the extent that they can prove the harm they have suffered is discriminatory or otherwise fits within another provision of international law. This creates additional criteria for victims of domestic violence to fulfil in order to avail fully of protection under discrimination-based international human rights law.

3.2 Torture

Domestic violence could also be characterised as a form of torture or cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment (CIDT). The Committee Against Torture, the body which monitors the implementation of the Convention Against Torture (CAT),68 has cited the failure of States parties’ to prevent and protect victims of domestic violence as a violation of CAT,69 and has condemned the prevalence of

domestic

violence in its Concluding Observations.70 In a similar way to other forms of torture, domestic violence can have serious consequences including physical injury, illness, psychological symptoms and death71 and Dworkin uses the terminology of torture to discuss VAW, describing the home as a

64

UNHRC ‘General Comment 18’ (1994) UN Doc HRI/GEN/1/Rev.1 para 13.

65

Edwards (n 63).

66

ibid.

67

ibid 82.

Convention Against Torture and Other Cruel, Inhuman or Degrading Treatment or Punishment (adopted 10 December 1984, entered into force 26 June 1987) 1465 UNTS 85.

68

69

CAT ‘General Comment 2’ (2007) UN Doc CAT/C/GC/2/CRP.1/Rev.4.

CAT ‘Concluding Observations of the Committee against Torture: Nepal’ (15 December 2005) CAT/C/NPL/CO/2.

70

71

UNCHR ‘Report of the Special Rapporteur on Torture’ (2008) UN Doc A/HRC/7/3 14.

191

prison for women.72 Bonita Meyersfeld73 and Rhonda Copelon74 also argue that domestic violence is a form of torture. One advantage of this approach is that interpreting an existing human right norm to include the experiences of women lends a level of credibility to the claim that domestic violence should be considered a human rights violation.75 The prohibition of torture is non-derogable and recognised as a peremptory norm of international law, and the link between VAW and torture is therefore politically important.76

However, the treatment in question must reach the high standard of ‘severe pain or suffering’ that has been set to consider actions as torture.77 Domestic violence occurs in many forms, and to conceptualise all domestic violence as torture may not provide adequate protection for women who suffer from violence which does not reach the required threshold. It may also ignore the gender-based nature of the harm, and potentially cause it to fall into obscurity as the focus remains on ‘real' torture.78 Again, it subjects women to an additional layer of analysis, requiring them to prove the domestic violence has taken place and then that the domestic violence is severe enough to amount to torture.79 It may be more easily arguable that it amounts to the lower standard of severity; CIDT.80 For example, fear of further assaults can be sufficiently severe as to cause suffering and

anxiety

amounting to inhuman treatment.81

72

Andrea Dworkin, Life and Death (The Free Press 1997) 151.

73

‘Reconceptualising Domestic Violence in International Law’ (2003) 67 Alb L Rev 371, 377.

74

Copelon (n 38) 295.

75

Edwards (n 63) 198.

Felice Gaer ‘Rape as a Form of Torture: The Experience of the Committee Against Torture’ (2012) 15 CUNY Law Review 293, 307.

76

77

CAT Article 1(1).

Clare McGlynn, ‘Rape as ‘Torture’? Catharine Mackinnon and Questions of Feminist Strategy’ (2008) 16(1) Fem Leg Stud 71, 81.

78

79

Edwards (n 63).

80

CAT Article 16(1).

81

Eremia v Republic of Moldova (2014) 58 EHRR 2.

192

3.3 Gender-mainstreaming

One technique used by the UN in dealing with gender inequality is gender-mainstreaming. Almost all UN bodies and agencies have endorsed it.82 It involves dealing with issues of gender inequality in a way that is not specialised, but instead ensures that gender perspectives are taken into account and are central to all activities. Including gendered perspectives in mainstream institutions could mean that women’s rights are no longer classified as ‘special’ or ‘particular’ and outside of the realm of universal human rights.83 Domestic violence could therefore be fully integrated in the human rights canon.

However, gender mainstreaming arguably detracts attention from the gendered nature of the international system and allows mainstream bodies to ‘tame and de-radicalise claims to equality’.84 It may risk gender-specific matters such as domestic violence being completely ignored or overlooked,85 as they were previously. Laura Reanda has criticised the creation of specialised machinery to deal with specific women’s rights as resulting in the ‘ghettoisation’ of these issues; with structures dealing with women and their concerns being endowed with less power and resources than mainstream human rights structures.86 It is true that initial efforts to create specialised regimes for women, such as CEDAW, were less empowered in comparison to other treaties, for example lacking an individual complaints procedure.87 While CEDAW may be in a peripheral position, this position could actually

82 Including

the UN Development Programme (‘Gender Equality Strategy 2014-2017’ (2014)) and UNESCO (‘Gender Mainstreaming Implementation Framework for 2002-2007’ (2003)).

Christine Ainetter, ‘International Human Rights Law: The Relevance of Gender’ in Wolfgang Benedek, Esther Kisaakye and Gerd Oberleitner (eds), The Human Rights of Women: International Instruments and African Experiences (Zed Books 2002) 23-24.

83

Hilary Charlesworth, ‘Not Waving but Drowning: Gender Mainstreaming and Human Rights in the United Nations’ (2005) 18(1) Harv Hum Rts J 1, 2.

84

85

ibid 1.

86

‘Human Rights and Women’s Rights: The United Nations Approach’ (1981) 3(2) HRQ 1, 12.

Marijke De Pauw, ‘Women’s rights: from bad to worse? Assessing the evolution of incompatible reservations to the CEDAW Convention’ (2013) 29(77) Utrecht Journal of International and European Law 51, 51.

87

193

be an advantage; allowing CEDAW to exercise its ‘radical potential’88 to enact change. The UN recognises that the approach of gender mainstreaming needs to be complemented by specialist regimes in areas where there are ‘glaring instances of persistent discrimination of women and inequality between women and men’.89

3.4 As a Separate Human Rights Violation

Arguments have also been put forward to expand and enlarge the interpretation of international human rights law to recognise that due to its systemic and pervasive nature, gender-based violence should be considered as a human rights violation in itself. Conceptualising freedom from domestic violence as a fundamental human right might encourage the international community to take more tangible steps to address the issue.90 Considering domestic violence as a stand alone human rights violation may be the direction that international human rights law will go in, and Bonita Meyersfeld argues that there is evidence such a norm is in the process of maturing into a universally binding principle of international law.91

Conclusion

There are a number of benefits to using the human rights system to deal with domestic violence. In particular, it employs a pre-existing system to bring pressure on States to tackle domestic violence while also raising women’s issues in mainstream human rights institutions.92 In terms of conceptualisation, ideally the best approach would be an explicit provision prohibiting domestic violence. However, Charlesworth has highlighted resistance to such a proposal, with some states Loveday Hodson, ‘Women’s Rights and the Periphery: CEDAW’s Optional Protocol’ (2014) 25(2) EJIL 561, 566 88

UN Office of the Special Adviser on Gender Issues, ‘Supporting Gender Mainstreaming’ (2001) < http://www.un.org/womenwatch/osagi/pdf/ > accessed 13 April 2016.

89

Rhonda Copelon, ‘Intimate Terror: Understanding Domestic Violence as Torture’ in Rebecca Cook (ed) Human Rights of Women: National and International Perspectives (University of Pennsylvania Press 1994) 144.

90

91

Bonita Meyersfeld, Domestic Violence and International Law (Hart 2010) 3.

92

Thomas (n 3) 1148.

194

arguing that expanding the scope of human rights too broadly would ‘water down’ traditional human rights.93 The human rights framework may be ‘a flexible and responsive system’,94 but perhaps this is too radical a step to take. The conceptualisation of torture does not tackle the wider problem of the systemic nature of domestic violence, and risks reinforcing the idea that women’s issues can be dealt with as only

an add-on to the current human rights standard.95 Perhaps then in the interim, the best

approach would be dealing with domestic violence through a combination of gender-mainstreaming and discrimination. There are strong criticisms of the discrimination approach, but perhaps it is the most ‘pragmatic response to a gap in the law’.96 It has been the primary conceptualisation used at the international level to address domestic violence, as will be discussed in the next chapter.

Hilary Charlesworth, ‘Worlds Apart: Public/Private Distinctions in International Law’ in Jurante Motiejunaite (ed), Women’s Rights: The Public/Private Dichotomy (International Debate Education Association 2005) 134.

93

Sally Engle Merry, ‘Gender Violence’ in David Forsythe (ed) Encyclopaedia of Human Rights Volume 5 (OUP 2009) 287.

94

95

Edwards (n 63) 101.

Alice Edwards, ‘Violence against Women as Sex Discrimination: Judging the Jurisprudence of the United Nations Human Rights Treaty Bodies’ (2008) 18(1) Texas Journal of Women and the Law 46, 47.

96

195

Chapter II: International Norms Pertaining to Domestic Violence

Introduction

This chapter will provide an overview of the development of international awareness and action on domestic violence and then analyse the current UN framework for dealing with the issue. There will be a focus on CEDAW97 as the only core UN treaty with a specific focus on women, and the jurisprudence of its Committee through the Optional Protocol to CEDAW. It will look at other norms including DEVAW and the Special Rapporteur on Violence Against Women, its Causes and Consequences (SRVAW). While these sources recognise that VAW is a human rights violation,98 the international approach is limited and continues to operate ‘more in rhetoric than in reality’.99 This is partly a problem of implementation and a reluctance on the part of states to fulfil their international obligations.100

1. Women’s Human Rights at the International Level

1.1 UN Campaign for Women’s Rights

International consciousness relating to VAW was raised during the UN International Decade for Women between 1975 and 1985 with World Conferences on Women in Mexico, Copenhagen and Nairobi.101 In 1985, the UNGA adopted a resolution recognising that ‘abuse and battery in the family are critical problems that have serious physical and psychological effects on individual family

97 (n

32).

98 Sally

Goldfarb, ‘Ending Violence Against Women: Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg Symposium on International Women’s Rights’ (2012) 34 Women’s Rts L Rep 113, 123.

99

Rhonda Copelon, ‘International Human Rights Dimensions of Intimate Violence: Another Strand in the Dialectic of Feminist Lawmaking’ (2003) 11 Am U J Gender Soc Pol'y & L 865, 875.

100 Roberta

Guerrina and Marysia Zalewski, ‘Negotiating Difference/Negotiating Rights: The Challenges and Opportunities of Women’s Human Rights’ (2007) 33 Review of International Studies 5, 5.

101

Barbara Stark, ‘Domestic Violence and International Law: Good-bye Earl’ (2001) 47 Loy L Rev 255, 263.

196

members’.102 The resolution took a gender-neutral approach,103 and recommendations were made to conduct research into the issue not from a human rights but a criminological perspective, reinforcing the perception that domestic violence was a private act.104

The 1993 World Human Rights Conference in Vienna demonstrated a shift in thinking with regard to VAW. Women’s rights were declared ‘an inalienable, integral and indivisible part of universal human rights’.105 The 1995 World Conference on Women in Beijing showed a strong commitment at the international level to combat VAW by establishing a Platform for Action and Declaration which cemented the global resolve to ‘ensure the full enjoyment by women and the girl child of all human rights and fundamental freedoms’ and ‘[p]revent and eliminate all forms of violence against women and girls’.106 VAW was identified as one of twelve areas of critical concern and a list of concrete actions was developed to be taken by governments, the UN and NGOs.107 Both conferences in Vienna and Beijing demonstrate the growing recognition of VAW as gender-based and a manifestation of historically unequal power relations between men and women that must be addressed.108

1.2 The International Bill of Rights

The UN human rights system aims to promote and protect the enjoyment of women’s human rights in two ways: through the principles of non-discrimination and equality in mainstream human rights treaties and through the gender-specific CEDAW.109 Looking at the former, domestic violence could

102 UNGA 103 ibid

Res 40/36 (29 November 1985) UN Doc A/RES/40/36.

para 9.

104 Christine

Chinkin, ‘Violence Against Women’ in Marsha Freeman, Christine Chinkin and Beate Rudolf (eds) The UN Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women: A Commentary (OUP 2012) 445.

105 World

Conference on Human Rights, Vienna (1933) U.N. Doc. A/CONF.157/24.

106 Beijing 107

Declaration UN Doc A/CONF.177/20 paras 23 and 29.

Beijing Platform for Action (n 55).

108 Kumaralingam

Amirthalingam, ‘Women’s Rights, International Norms and Domestic Violence: Asian Perspectives’ (2005) 27(2) HRQ 683, 704.

109

Fleur van Leeuwen, Women’s Rights are Human Rights: The Practice of the UN Human Rights Committee and the Committee on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (Intersentia, 2010) 4.

197

conceivably be addressed through the international bill of rights; comprising the UDHR, ICCPR and ICESCR. These instruments were drafted to be gender-neutral and a symmetric prohibition of discrimination on the grounds of sex is an established principle of anti-discrimination law.110 In reality they reflect a masculine notion of human rights protection which does not effectively address issues affecting women in a meaningful way.111

2. CEDAW

2.1 Gender-Specific Approach

CEDAW was drafted to be gender-specific and asymmetric in its protection of rights in order to fully address the pervasive discrimination experienced by women.112 As its title suggests, the right to nondiscrimination is central to CEDAW,113 guiding its overarching purpose and informing each of the obligations contained in the Convention.114 By recognising women’s specific experiences

of

discrimination, it specifies the conditions for achieving gender-based equality in ways that other human rights treaties do not.115

110 Christine

Chinkin, ‘Violence against Women: The International Legal Response’ (1995) 3(2) Gender and Development 23, 23.

111 Jennifer

Ulrich, ‘Confronting Gender-Based Violence with International Instruments: Is a Solution to the Pandemic Within Reach?’ (2000) 7(2) Ind J Global Legal Studies 629, 640 112 Anne

Hellum and Henriette Sinding Aasen, Women’s Human Rights: CEDAW in International, Regional and National Law (CUP 2015) 2.

113

Alda Facio, ‘Equity or Equality for Women? Understanding CEDAW's Equality Principles’ IWRAW Asia Pacific Occasional Paper Series No 14 (2009) 9.

114 Simone

Cusack and Lisa Pusey, ‘CEDAW and The Rights to Non-Discrimination and Equality’ (2013) 14 Melbourne Journal of International Law 54, 57.

115

Niamh Reilly, Women’s Human Rights: Seeking Gender Justice in a Globalising Age (Polity Press 2009) 45

198

Despite this marked shift in approach, the underlying concept of discrimination is still derived from an androcentric model,116 which is to say that men and their experiences are the point of reference.117 In the text of CEDAW there are frequent references to ‘equal rights,’ and being ‘on equal terms with men’.118 The Convention seemingly failed to offer protection to women from gender-specific harms for which a male parallel is typically non-existent.119 This fault has been partially remedied by the CEDAW Committee which has adopted a substantive standard of equality, focusing on equality of result.120 The Convention embodies more than just an empty recitation of gender equality and instead mandates that States take definitive action in order to bring about an end to discrimination against women.121

2.2 Inclusion of Domestic Violence

CEDAW does not explicitly address VAW.122 This omission can be explained by a number of factors.

At the time CEDAW was being drafted in the 1970s, VAW and domestic violence were not considered important human rights issues.123 There was also uncertainty over the extent to which a State was responsible for the conduct of private actors.124 As VAW came to be identified as a human rights violation, the CEDAW Committee's approach was to conceptualise it as discrimination and then

find

116 Andrew

Byrnes, ‘The Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women’ in Wolfgang Benedek, Esther Kisaakye, Gerd Oberleitner (eds) The Human Rights of Women: International Instruments and African Experiences (Zed Books 2002) 126 117 Jo

Southard, ‘Protection of Women’s Human Rights under the Convention on the Elimination of All forms of Discrimination against Women’ (2006) 8(1) Pace Int'l L Rev 1, 10.

118 Preamble; 119 Etienne

Article 7; Article 8; Article 10.

(n 27) 147.

120 Mary

Treuthart, ‘No Woman, No Cry: Ending the War on Women Worldwide and the International Violence Against Women Act’ (2015) 33 B U Int'l L J 73, 121.

121 Ulrich 122

(n 111) 642.

Treuthart (n 120) 85.

123 Andrew

Byrnes and Eleanor Bath, ‘Violence against Women, the Obligation of Due Diligence, and the Optional Protocol to the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women: Recent Developments’ (2008) 8 HRLR 517, 518.

124

Christine Venter, International Women’s Rights, Equality and Justice (Carolina Academic Press 2012) 144.

199

ways to justify the Committee’s jurisdiction through other provisions of CEDAW.125 This ‘creative interpretation’126 of the Convention was implemented through two General Recommendations.127 CEDAW’s General Recommendations are designed to elaborate on the obligations of States when they are not mentioned or sufficiently explained. The first, General Recommendation No.12, noted States’ obligation to protect women from violence under various articles of the Convention, and requested States to include information on VAW and the measures adopted to confront it in their periodic reports to the Committee.128

General Recommendation No.19 explicitly notes that gender-based violence is discrimination within the meaning of CEDAW and a hindrance to women’s enjoyment of fundamental rights

and

freedoms.129 It is significant because it defines gender-based VAW in ‘a holistic way that encompasse[s] all its diverse forms and sites’,130 placing it firmly within the human rights framework.131 The General Recommendation also made clear that States were required to act with due diligence and could be responsible for private acts of violence, following Velasquez v Honduras.132 The work of the Committee has reinforced this conceptualisation of domestic violence as discrimination and rejected the idea that it can adequately be addressed in gender-neutral language.133

125 Rashida

Manjoo and Daniela Nadj, ‘Bridging the Divide: An Interview with Professor Rashida Manjoo, UN Special Rapporteur on Violence Against Women’ (2015) 23 Fem Leg Stud 329, 343.

126 Quince

Hopkins, ‘Rescripting Relationships: Towards a Nuanced Theory of Intimate Violence as Sex Discrimination’ (2001) 9 Va J Soc Pol'y & L 411, 435.

127 CEDAW

‘General Recommendation No 12’ (1989) UN Doc A/44/38; CEDAW ‘General Recommendation No 19’ (1994) UN Doc HRI/GEN/1/Rev.1.

128 General

Recommendation No 12.

129 Chinkin

(n 104) 447.

130 ibid.

131

Rebecca Cook, ‘State Responsibility for Violation of Women's Human Rights’ (1994) 7 Harv Hum Rts J 125, 175.

132 (n

54).

133

CEDAW ‘Concluding Observations on the report of the Netherlands’ (2 February 2007) CEDAW/ C/NLD/CO/4 para 19.

200

Despite these conceptual steps forward, CEDAW’s approach to domestic violence is limited in terms of enforceability. Like much of international human rights law, CEDAW is law without sanctions.134 It lacks ‘official teeth’135 without which it struggles to force an unwilling State to comply with its provisions. Ronagh McQuigg argues that a number of States are only fulfilling some of the Committee’s recommendations in relation to domestic violence.136 If CEDAW’s potential is to be realised, the Committee must be granted additional resources and either develop more persuasive approaches or be granted more authority in order to initiate substantive change.137

2.3 Optional Protocol138

One way in which CEDAW’s approach to domestic violence has been strengthened is through the adoption of the Optional Protocol.139 Human rights treaties are often followed by Optional Protocols which may either address a substantive issue not covered by the treaty or provide for procedures in relation to it. The Optional Protocol to CEDAW contains a communications procedure allowing individual women or groups of women the right to complain to the CEDAW Committee about violations of rights contained in the Convention.140 The Committee can then conduct investigations and issue urgent requests for a government to take action. This procedure has considerable merit as a method of generating awareness and prompting a State to rethink its policies and laws.141 However, it has been criticised for being infrequently used and not leading to a ‘breakthrough’ in advancing

134 Sally

Engle Merry, ‘Constructing a Global Law: Violence Against Women and the Human Rights System’ (2003) 28(4) L & Soc Inquiry 941, 943.

135 Ronagh

McQuigg, ‘The Responses of States to the Comments of the CEDAW Committee on Domestic Violence’ (2007) 11(4) The International Journal of Human Rights 461, 474 136 ibid

461.

137 Ulrich

(n 111) 647.

138 Optional

Protocol to CEDAW (adopted 6 Oct 1999 entered into force 22 December 2000) 2131

UNTS 83.

139

Dubravka Šimonović, ‘International framework on violence against women with focus on the CEDAW’ (2012) UN Doc EGM/PVAWG/EP.7.

140 (n 141

138) Article 1.

Rhona Smith, Textbook on International Human Rights (OUP 2012) 670.

201

women's rights.142 There is also an inquiry procedure, enabling the Committee to conduct investigations into grave or systematic abuses.143 Both procedures are relied upon to secure State compliance with CEDAW.144 Ratified by 106 States, the Optional Protocol brings CEDAW into line with other human rights instruments such as CAT which has its own individual complaints mechanism.145

The Committee has made public decisions in a number of individual communications and completed one inquiry procedure.146 Of the admissible individual communications, domestic violence has been a principal theme of the jurisprudence. The Committee has set a high standard of legislative protection and practical implementation required of States to combat domestic violence, with a ‘broad model’ including legislation, awareness-raising, education and capacity building being insufficient to satisfy the requirement of due diligence.147

Domestic violence was the subject matter of the first merits opinion of the Committee; AT v Hungary.148 AT claimed that her former partner had subjected her to domestic violence for over

four

years. She was unable to apply for a restraining order as they were unavailable in Hungary, and she was also unable to seek refuge in a woman’s shelter as none were equipped to take in her disabled child. The Committee concluded that Hungary, in failing to provide adequate shelter and restraining orders, had failed to adequately protect AT’s rights.149 It recalled General Recommendation No.19 and explained that gender-based violence may breach specific provisions of the Convention if a State fails 142 Jim

Murdoch, ‘The Optional Protocol to the United Nations Convention for the Elimination of all forms of Discrimination against women: The experience of the UK’ (Ministry of Justice (UK) 2008) 1.

143 (n

138) Article 8(2).

144 Hodson 145

(n 88) 563.

CAT Article 22.

146 ‘Report

on Mexico produced by the Committee on the Elimination of Discrimination against Women under Article 8 of the Optional Protocol of the Convention, and reply from the Government of Mexico’ (27 January 2005) CEDAW/C/2005/OP.8/MEXICO. 147

Angela González Carreño v Spain (2014) Communication No. 47/20 12, UN Doc. CEDAW/C/58/ D/47/2012 para 9.9.

148 (2005) 149

Communication No. 2/2003, UN Doc. CEDAW/C/32/D/2/2003

ibid para 9.4.

202

to act with due diligence to prevent violations of rights or to investigate and punish acts of violation.150 It requested immediate measures to be taken by the State party with regard to AT and also made recommendations of a general character.151 Two years later, the Committee again adopted a gendered approach towards State responsibility in two cases where the women subjected to abuse had been murdered by their husbands,152 highlighting the danger of ‘traditional attitudes by which women are regarded as subordinate to men’ which contribute to VAW.153

Flinterman describes the Optional Protocol as a ‘strong framework’154 that has, at least in respect of admissibility, been used ‘cautiously’.155 In cases such as Kayhan v Turkey (a case not involving domestic violence), the communication was declared inadmissible because the author had not raised the issue of sex discrimination at the domestic level.156 Facio has argued that it was

‘quite

disconcerting’ for the Committee to base its admissibility decision on an argument not even raised by the State party157 and is illustrative of the strict interpretation of admissibility. Flinterman enjoins the Committee to be more ‘creative and assertive’ if it wishes to realise its potential.158 Relatively few individual complaints have been filed under the Optional Protocol, in part because many women are not in a position to bring a complaint due to illiteracy, fear of retribution, poverty or economic dependency.159 Even when a violation is found, the Committee has not always recommended specific

150 ibid

para 9.2.

151 ibid

at I. and II.

152 Yildrim

(deceased) v Austria Communication No 6/2005 (2007) CEDAW/C/39/D/6/2005; Goecke (deceased) v Austria Communication No 5/2005 (2007) CEDAW/C/39/D/5/2005.

153 Yildrim

ibid para 12.2.

154 Cees

Flinterman, ‘Strengthening Women’s Human Rights Through Individual Complaints’ in Hanna Schöpp-Schilling (ed) The Circle of Empowerment: Twenty-Five Years of the UN Committee on the Elimination of Discrimination Against Women (The Feminist Press 2007) 290.

155 ibid

292.

156 Communication

No. 8/2005 (2006) CEDAW/C/34/D/8/2005.

157

Alda Facio, ‘The Optional Protocol as a Mechanism for Implementing Women’s Human Rights: An Analysis of the First Five Cases Under the Communications Procedure of OP-CEDAW’ IWRAW Asia Pacific Occasional Papers Series No 12 (2008) 40.

158 Flinterman

(n 154) 297.

159

Heidi Gilchrist, ‘The Optional Protocol to the Women’s Convention: An Argument for Ratification’ (2001) 39 Colum J Transnat’l L 763, 769.

203

redress for the woman concerned, but has instead made general recommendations to the State for reform, and in many States the decisions of treaty bodies have no formal legal status meaning the successful complainant may be able to rely directly on the decision of the Committee to make or reopen a case under domestic law. This was the case in Goecke, where the Austrian Supreme Court held that recommendations of the CEDAW Committee were not relevant to the domestic court’s decision in the context of a civil claim for compensation.160

2.4 Further Instruments: DEVAW and the SRVAW

DEVAW161 was the first international human rights instrument to deal exclusively with VAW, a groundbreaking document that became the basis for many other parallel processes.162 DEVAW provides a ‘comprehensive framework on violence against women in terms of definition, scope, obligations of the State, and the role of the UN’163 and contains the first internationally agreed upon definition of VAW.164 As a UNGA Declaration, its enforcement value is minimal, and it is merely declaratory of UN policy.165 DEVAW does not recognise VAW or domestic violence as a violation of human rights explicitly, following General Recommendation No.19’s conceptualisation of VAW as discrimination. This approach requires women to prove not only are they a victim of domestic violence, but also discrimination.166

The SRVAW was established in 1994 and is entrusted with the task of analysing and documenting VAW and holding governments accountable for violations.167 With regard to domestic violence, 160 Goecke

(n 152) para 2.

161 DEVAW 162 (n

the

(n 37).

7) 3.

163 UNHRC,

‘Report by Special Rapporteur on Violence against Women, its Causes and Consequences: 15 years of the United Nations SRVAW, its causes and consequences’ (27 May 2009) UN Doc A/HRC/11/6/Add.5, 4.

164 DEVAW 165

(n 37) Article 1.

Nigel White, The Law of International Organisations (Juris Publishing 2005) 98.

166 Dianne

Otto, ‘Lost in Translation: Re-scripting the Sexed Subjects of International Human Rights Law’ in Anne Orford (ed) International Law and its Others (CUP 2006) 346.

167

UNCHR Res 45 (1994) UN Doc E/CN.4/ReS/1994/45 paras 6-7.

204

role of the SRVAW has been to expand the concept of State responsibility to include private actors, the protection of women in diverse family forms, the provision of effective victim support and the obligation to address root causes of domestic violence.168 Rapporteurs play an essential role in monitoring offences; they are effective in bringing abuses to the attention of their committee and their proximity to the problem allows them to make recommendations as well as complaints.169 Through analysis, recommendations and country visits, the SRVAW has raised awareness of the causes and consequences of VAW and has further elaborated an understanding of international standards in this area.

Conclusion

Conceptualising domestic violence as a form of discrimination allows women to use international norms to assert their rights170 and hold accountable those responsible for the systematic ignorance of widespread deaths and injuries from domestic violence.171 It has also encouraged other committees to take up VAW within an inequality paradigm.172 This growing momentum has compelled a better understanding of VAW, and positive steps have been taken with some regions developing their own instruments on VAW, examples of which will be discussed in the next chapter.

One weakness of the current framework at the international level is that a number of current norms emanate from soft law developments of the UN,173 and hold only persuasive value. The lack of specific legally binding norms raises questions about State responsibility to protect women from domestic violence. This ‘normative gap’ has been highlighted by Rashida Manjoo, former SRVAW.174

168 (n

163) 10.

169 ibid

1.

170 Andrea

Vesa, ‘International and Regional Standards for Protecting Victims of Domestic Violence’ (2011) 12(2) Journal of Gender, Social Policy & the Law 309, 310.

171 Thomas

(n 47) 239.

172

ICESCR ‘General Comment No 16’ (2005) UN Doc E/C.12/2005/4; UNHRC ‘Concluding Observations: Mauritius’ (27 April 2005) CCPR/CO/83/MUS. 173 eg 174

DEVAW.

Manjoo (n 125) 346.

205

While conceptualising domestic violence as discrimination may have filled this gap to an extent,175 perhaps an Optional Protocol on VAW, or a separate convention would be more

effective.176 Manjoo

identifies a lack of political will to create a new instrument, as well as arguments focusing on the negative effect of an increasing proliferation of treaties, cost implications and the potentially detrimental impact of a new treaty for CEDAW.177 Her successor, Dubravka Šimonović, seems to suggest that the current conceptualisation of violence as discrimination is sufficient, and that development of current instruments is the preferable course of action.178 If the CEDAW Committee had less restrictions on admissibility, or had more funding and was able to hear more cases in a timely manner, then it may be more effective in holding states to account.

175 Edwards

(n 96) 1.

176

UNHRC ‘Thematic Report of the Special Rapporteur on Violence, its Causes and Consequences: Addendum to the Human Right Council: Submission received from Professor Jackie Jones and Dr Noelle Quenivet’ (12 June 2015). A/HRC/29/27/Add.5 177 Manjoo

(n 125) 343.

178

Dubravka Šimonović, ‘Violence Against Women: The Evolution and Synergy of the CEDAW and Istanbul Conventions’ (2014) 36(3) HRQ 590, 601.

206

Chapter III: Regional Norms Pertaining to Domestic Violence

Introduction

Domestic violence has been addressed by a number of regional instruments which were developed based on regional concerns and lessons learned from the international system.179 Unfortunately, regions such as Asia and the Middle East have yet to adopt binding texts to combat VAW which is a source of concern. This chapter will address three regional instruments from the Inter-American, African and European human rights systems, assessing the norms compared to the international level and highlighting progressive aspects which could provide guidance on areas where international human rights law norms could be strengthened or elaborated.

1.

Inter-American Norms

The Inter-American human rights system functions within the framework of the Organisation of American States (OAS). A legally binding American Convention on Human Rights180 entered into force in 1978. It requires rights and freedoms in the Convention be afforded to all

without

discrimination on the basis of sex181 and guarantees equal protection of the law.182 Within the Americas, VAW has been singled out as a particular problem.183 The OAS subsequently adopted an additional Convention to broaden the scope of protected human rights, specifically addressing VAW. The Inter-American Convention on the Prevention, Punishment and Eradication of

Violence Against

179 Burns

Weston, ‘Regional Human Rights Regimes: A Comparison and Appraisal’(1987) 20(4) Vand J Transnational Law 585, 589.

180 (1969) 181

OAS Treaty Series No 36, 1144 UNTS 123.

ibid Article 1.

182 ibid

Article 24.

183

Anthony Ewing, ‘Establishing State Responsibility for Private Acts of Violence against Women under the American Convention Human Rights’ (1995) 26 Colum Hum Rts L Rev 751, 758.

207

Women (Belém do Pará Convention)184 was the first human rights treaty covering VAW as its central theme and is the most ratified instrument in the Inter-American system.185

The Convention establishes a detailed definition of VAW186 and recognises that such violence is a manifestation of historically unequal power relationships between men and women, and that women have the right to be free from discrimination.187 The express prohibition of VAW,188 requires States to ‘agree to pursue, by all appropriate means and without delay, policies to prevent, punish and eradicate such violence’.189 States have a number of positive obligations imposed on them, including reporting duties190 and ensuring appropriate penal legislation.191 Many States have ratified the treaty despite its relatively strong monitoring mechanisms that allow any individual or group to lodge petitions with the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights (IACHR) about State violations of their duties to protect women.192

The Convention was first applied in Maria da Penha Maia Fernandes v Brazil.193 Brazil was found to have failed to act with due diligence to prevent, punish and eradicate domestic violence. Maria da Penha had survived two attempted murders by her husband and been left paraplegic since 1983. The State was held responsible for failing to convict or punish her husband despite repeated complaints over 17 years. The case demonstrates the potential of international human rights mechanisms to effect

184 (n

13).

185 Ratified 186 (n

by 32 of 34 OAS members.

13) Article 1.

187 ibid

Preamble and Article 6B.

188 ibid

Article 3.

189 ibid

Article 7.

190 ibid

Chapter VI.

191

ibid Article 8.

192 Darren

Hawkins and Melissa Hume, ‘Human Rights and Domestic Violence’ (2002) 117(2) PSQ

231, 231.

193

(2001) Case 12.051, Report No. 54/01.

208

change at the national level,194 with Brazil approving new legislation on domestic

violence,195

punishing da Penha's ex-husband and awarding her symbolic reparations.196 In 2011, the IACHR in Jessica Lenahan (Gonzales) v United States held that the US had systematically violated its international and regional obligations to protect individuals from domestic violence.197 Lenahan had been abused by her former husband, and obtained a restraining order against him. It was claimed the police failed to respond in an adequate manner when she alerted them that her former husband had violated the restraining order, abducting and later killing their three daughters. The IACHR held that the authorities had failed to act with due diligence to protect Lenahan and her daughters in breach of the Convention, reaffirming that failure to protect victims of domestic violence is a human rights violation,198 and demonstrating how regional human rights systems can be utilised to promote justice where domestic means fail.

There are two main branches of mechanisms to ensure State Parties fulfil their obligations under the Convention; mechanisms found in the Convention itself, and an additional follow-up mechanism MESECVI.199 Both have had significant difficulties in completing their mandate. The former includes a requirement for States to create periodic reports on their progress in adopting measures to prevent and prohibit VAW,200 allowing States to request Advisory Opinions from the Inter-American Court regarding the interpretation of the Convention,201 and allowing the IACHR to receive and transmit complaints of a State Party’s violation of their obligations.202 However, limited funding has meant that

194 Paula

Spieler, ‘The Maria da Penha Case and the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights: Contributions to the Debate on Domestic Violence Against Women in Brazil’ (2011) 18(1) Ind J Global Legal Studies 121, 143.

195 Penal

Code of Brazil, Decree Law 2848 of December 7, 1940; amended by Law 11340.

196 Spieler

(n 194) 137.

197 (2011)

Case 12.626 Report No 80/11.

198 Ronagh

McQuigg, ‘Domestic Violence and the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights: Jessica Lenahan (Gonzales) v United States’ (2012) 12 HRLR 122, 134.

199 Mechanism

to Follow Up on Implementation of the Convention on the Prevention, Punishment, and Eradication of Violence Against Women AG/RES. 2371 (XXXVIII-O/08).

200

(n 13) Article 10

201 ibid 202

Article 11.

ibid Article 12.

209

while State reports are received, the impact and follow-up of these reports and independent evaluation is limited.203 The Advisory Opinions mechanism has yet to be used,204 and the system of complaints has resolved few cases, and few that directly make use of the standards established in the Convention.205 MESECVI is an independent, consensus-based system which is limited to evaluating the progress of implementation through country and hemispheric reports. The strengths of the InterAmerican approach to domestic violence lie in the broad definition of VAW as a human rights issue and the detailing of the duties of States to prevent and punish violations in both private and public spheres,206 rather than in its approach to implementation mechanisms.

2.

African Norms

The Organisation of African Unity (OAU) (replaced by the African Union (AU) in 2002) was created in 1963. The OAU Charter made no reference to human rights, as the main issues on the agenda were ending colonialism and asserting the right to self-determination of African States.207 The African human rights system was created through the adoption of the African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights in 1981.208 Specific references to women are included in the African Charter, with Article 18(3) obliging States to eliminate all discrimination against women. Some have argued that additionally, through Article 60 African Charter, a duty is imposed on Member States to abide by international human rights standards on women’s rights,209 which in practice has used very liberally in order to bring the Charter into line with international practices, particularly of the UN.210 203 Centre

for Justice and International Law, ‘Position Paper No 2: Evaluation of the Statute of the Mechanism to Follow-up on the Implementation of the Convention of Belem do Para’ (2006) 12.

204 UNHRC,

‘Report of the Special Rapporteur on violence against women, its causes and consequences, Rashida Manjoo’ (2015) UN Doc A/HRC/29/27 para 56.

205 (n

203) 13.

206 Mary

Meyer, ‘Negotiating International Norms: The Inter-American Commission of Women and the Convention on Violence Against Women’ (1998) 24 Aggressive Behaviour 135, 144.

207 Manisuli

Ssenyonjo, The African Regional Human Rights System: 30 Years After the African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights (Martinus Nijhoff Publishers 2011) 5.

208

(adopted 27 June 1981, entered into force 21 October 1986) 21 ILM 58.

209 Frans

Viljoen, International Human Rights Law in Africa (OUP, 2007) 253.

210

Takele Soboka Bulto, The Extraterritorial Application of the Human Right to Water in Africa (CUP 2008) 81.

210

Despite the existence of the Charter and the extensive ratification of CEDAW by African states, it became clear that gender-specific issues and discrimination were not being seriously considered.211 In response, a further normative text was adopted; the Protocol to the African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights on the Rights of Women in Africa (the Maputo Protocol).212 Described by some as the ‘most progressive instrument on women’s rights’,213 the Protocol goes beyond CEDAW by addressing VAW directly, defining it as ‘all acts perpetrated against women which cause or could cause them physical, sexual, psychological, and economic harm, including the threat to take such acts’.214

The Protocol shows a thorough understanding of the problem, addressing violence as it affects girls and women in their many guises, including during times of conflict.215 Indeed so comprehensive is the coverage of the Protocol, that it covers a number of issues that have been not featured in any other international or regional norms, such as creating an obligation for States to eliminate harmful practices such as FGM,216 and characterising pornography as an issue of discrimination

and

oppression of women.217 It takes ‘a more nuanced approach to culture and tradition,’218 appealing to women who value equality as well as membership in a cultural community.219

Despite the existence of the African Charter and the Maputo Protocol, African states have been criticised for their human rights record generally, but also for their treatment of women’s human rights

211 Fareda 212 (n

12).

213 Smith 214 (n

217

(n 136) 537.

12) Article 1.

215 Banda 216 (n

Banda, Women, Law and Human Rights: An African Perspective (Hart 2005) 67.

(n 211) 164.

12) Article 5.

ibid Article 13(m).

218 Johanna

Bond, ‘CEDAW in Sub-Saharan Africa: Lessons in Implementation’ [2014] Mich St L Rev 241, 262.

219

ibid 263.

211

specifically.220 Suffering from similar challenges to the Inter-American system such as resource constraints, the African system has been perceived as ineffective in carrying out its mandate, including the promotional, protective and accountability aspects, regarding the human rights of women.221 Adopting a Protocol, rather than a separate treaty with its own monitoring body, was a minimalist approach to address inadequacies of the Charter.222 The Protocol has been accused of being ‘unAfrican’ and for simply reflecting the provisions of CEDAW.223 If it is considered by many as a foreign concept, its effectiveness will be undermined.224 It has been criticised on the basis that the aspirational provisions are too ambitious and create legal obligations that States cannot meet,225 and that the language is too specific and narrow, deterring States from ratifying the instrument.226 As such, the Protocol risks becoming ‘yet another addition to the existing body of human rights instruments meant rather for academic discourse than for practical enforcement’.227

3.

European Norms

3.1 Istanbul Convention

In 2004, the pan-European campaign to combat domestic violence against women was initiated,228 and in 2008 the Council of Europe Task Force to Combat Violence against Women, including

220 Christof

Heyns, ‘The African regional human rights system: in need of reform? (2001) 1(2) AHRLJ 155, 156.

221 SRVAW 222 ibid

(n 204) para 27.

para 13.

223 Danwood

Chirwa, ‘Reclaiming (Wo)manity: The Merits and Demerits of the African Protocol on Women’s Rights’ (2006) 53(1) NILR 63, 70.

224 ibid

70.

225

Martin Nsibirwa, ‘A brief analysis of the Draft Protocol to the African Charter on Human and Peoples' Rights on the Rights of Women’ (2001) 1 AHRLJ 40, 57 226

Indeed, while 45 of 53 AU Members have signed it, only 28 have formally ratified it.

227 Nsibirwa

(n 225) 57.

228

Council of Europe, ‘Recommendation 1681 (2004) Campaign to Combat Domestic Violence against Women in Europe’ (Oct 8 2004).

212

Domestic Violence called for a legally binding convention on domestic violence.229 The result was the European Convention on Preventing and Combating Violence Against Women and Domestic Violence (the Istanbul Convention).230 It provides a gendered framework on VAW, explicitly defining it as a violation of human rights and a form of discrimination against women231 building on CEDAW standards.232 Current SRVAW Dubravka Šimonović describes the Istanbul Convention as the first legally binding instrument in the world to provide for a comprehensive set of measures in this field.233 Notable features of the Convention include the detailing of best practices in combating VAW, with obligations on States extending beyond criminal justice responses to areas such as awareness raising234 and the provision of support measures.235

The Istanbul Convention is unique in that it combines gender-neutral and gender-specific approaches.

This has been a cause for concern in relation to domestic violence. The Convention clearly distinguishes domestic violence from VAW as evidenced from its title. VAW is recognised as genderspecific, but domestic violence is addressed as a gender-neutral phenomenon. Ronagh McQuigg highlights two purposes of separating the two issues: it emphasises the importance of tackling domestic violence as a specific and prevalent form of violence,236 and also acknowledges that men can also be victims and deserve to be equally protected.237 While the Convention does recognise that domestic violence disproportionately affects women,238 this gender-neutral conceptualisation is a departure from the Council of Europe’s earlier recognition of domestic violence as gender-based, and

229 Council

of Europe Task Force to Combat Violence against Women, including Domestic Violence (EG-TFV), Final Activity Report, (September 2008) 6, para 1.2.

230 (n

11).

231 ibid

Article 3.

232 Šimonović

(n 178) 590.

233 Šimonović

(n 139).

234 (n

11) Article 13.

235 eg

Article 23 (shelters) and Article 24 (telephone helplines).

236

Ronagh McQuigg, ‘What potential does the Council of Europe Convention on Violence Against Women hold as regards domestic violence?’ (2012) 16(7) IJHR 947, 948.

237 ibid.

238

(n 11) Preamble.

213

it creates ambiguity by contradicting accepted international understandings of gender-based violence.239 A gender-specific approach does not belittle the experiences of men suffering from domestic abuse, but recognises that the issues are different when looked at through a gendered lens.

Each State can decide to what extent it will apply the Convention to male victims.240 This causes some cause for concern in terms of resources and funding. The SRVAW has already criticised States that have adopted a gender-neutral approach such as the UK for disregarding the need for special measures which acknowledge that women are disproportionately victims in these scenarios.241 She argues that the shift from gender-specificity to gender-neutrality in response to VAW has been to the detriment of gender-specific initiatives and programmes.242 Gender-neutral services, or reallocation of funding to male services does not serve the gendered and specific needs of victims of domestic violence.243

The added value of Convention for the international legal framework is that for the first time, in a legally-binding instrument it provides definitions of VAW and domestic violence.244 It also established a specific monitoring mechanism for the implementation of the Convention

(GREVIO).245 However,

concerns have risen in relation to the reporting mechanism, similar to that of CEDAW, which has well known functional issues.246

239 General 240 (n

Recommendation No 19 (n 127).

11) Article 2(2).

241 UNHRC

‘Report of the Special Rapporteur on Violence Against Women: Mission to the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland’ (2014) UN Doc A/HRC/29/27/Add.2.

242 ibid

81.

243 Chief

Executive of Women’s Aid Polly Neate, ‘Domestic abuse could not be further from gender neutral. Wake up Britain’ The Telegraph (London, 11 June 2015) <http://www.telegraph.co.uk/ women/womens-life/11666990/Domestic-abuse-and-violence-is-not-gender-neutral.-Wake-upBritain.html> accessed 25 March 2016.

244

(n 11) Article 3(a)/(b).

245 ibid 246

Article 66.

McQuigg (n 236).

35

214

The Istanbul Convention is open to accession by any country in the world,247 providing a ‘comprehensive blueprint for an all-encompassing national response to violence against women and domestic violence’248 and recognising that VAW is a global issue requiring global action. However, the Convention may be a powerful standard but there needs to be a collective effort on behalf of States to implement its provisions.249 In terms of domestic violence specifically, the gender-neutral approach is conceptually a step-backward and against the tide of international opinion, including that of the European Court of Human Rights (ECtHR).

3.2 European Convention on Human Rights (ECHR)

Until 2007 domestic violence had not been directly addressed substantively by the ECtHR. Since then, the Court has directly addressed this issue in a series of cases and has built up a substantial body of jurisprudence.250 Violations of the ECHR were found in all of these cases, with the exception of the most recent decision on domestic violence; Rumor v Italy.251

In Opuz v Turkey,252 the complainant had been abused for many years, during which requests for police protection were denied. She was severely injured and her mother killed by her ex-husband. The Opuz case is the only domestic violence case in which the Court references numerous international and regional human rights instruments and emphasises the binding nature of CEDAW and the mutual applicability of international and regional standards.253 The ECtHR concluded that the discrimination

247 (n

11) Article 76.

248 OAS

and CoE, ‘Regional Tools to fight violence against women: The Belém do Pará and Istanbul Conventions’ (February 2014) <https://www.oas.org/en/mesecvi/docs/MESECVI-CoE-CSWPubEN.pdf> 90.

249 Liri

Kopaçi-Di Michele, ‘Legislation and Policies for Intersectoral Approach: International, Regional and National Frameworks’ (25 November 2013) <http://eige.europa.eu/sites/default/files/ documents/Plenary%202_01_Liri%20Kopaci-Di%20Michele.pdf>.

250 eg

Opuz v Turkey (2010) 50 EHRR 28; Bevacqua v Bulgaria App no 71127/01 (ECtHR, 12 June 2008); A v Croatia (2015) 60 EHRR 26.

251

[2014] ECHR 557.

252 (n 253

249).

Opuz (n 250) para 51.

215

under consideration was gender-based and ‘not based on the legislation per se but rather resulted from the general attitude of the local authorities, such as the manner in which the women were treated at police stations when they reported domestic violence and judicial passivity in providing effective protection to victims’.254 The Court explicitly recognised that domestic violence mainly affects women,255 which is difficult to reconcile with the gender neutral stance of the Istanbul Convention.

The ECHR is arguably the more favourable norm for victims to seek recourse to as under the Istanbul Convention there is no individual complaints mechanism.

Conclusion

Multiple regional bodies have incorporated issues of VAW and domestic violence into their work. For many women, the regional treaties are the only avenue available in terms of direct legal access.256 They are able to develop more quickly compared to the international system, and could thus be seen as more effective,257 and they also have the benefit of being better able to understand shared characteristics of the region.258 It could be argued that the proliferation of norms in this area may have the effect of marginalising the work of CEDAW, but each of the regional instruments examined here all recognise the importance of CEDAW as the global, legally binding instrument prohibiting discrimination and the significance of its work in recognising gender-based violence as a form of discrimination.259

254 ibid

para 192.

255 ibid

para 64.

256 UNHRC

‘Thematic Report of the Special Rapporteur on Violence, its Causes and Consequences: Addendum to the Human Right Council: Submission received from David Richards and Jillienne Haglund’ (12 June 2015). A/HRC/29/27/Add.5.

257

George Mugwanya, ‘Realising Universal Human Rights Norms Through Regional Human Rights Mechanisms: Reinvigorating the African System’ (1999) 10(1) Ind Int’l & Comp L Rev 35, 41.

258 Notably 259

in the African system as discussed in relation to culture/community.

Chinkin (n 104) 449.

216

Conclusion

Conceptualising domestic violence as a human rights violation sets it within the human rights framework; and subsequently provides access to tools and mechanisms that have been developed to hold States accountable at the international and regional level.260 It clarifies the responsibility of States and integrates the experiences of women into human rights norms.261 While mainly considered a form of discrimination, there has been a nuanced shift where various UN bodies have conceptualised domestic violence as torture,262 including the SRVAW who has equated it, depending on the severity and circumstances, with torture or CIDT under CAT and other human rights instruments.263 Discrimination has been more frequently cited in the jurisprudence relating to domestic violence264 and perhaps offers women a greater opportunity to seek redress for the abuse that they have suffered, as discrimination does not have the same severity threshold as torture.265

The increasing body of jurisprudence, particularly from the CEDAW Committee, European and InterAmerican human rights systems have set important precedents on the nature of State responsibility in dealing with VAW.266 However, there are a number of challenges that continue to impede efforts to eradicate VAW, such as a move towards gender neutrality and a lack of transformative remedies that address the root causes of domestic violence.267

260 (n

2) 13.

261 ibid

13.

262 ibid;

UNHRC, ‘Report of Special Rapporteur on Torture’ (2008) UN Doc A/HRC/7/3.

263 Dubravka

Šimonović, ‘Gender-based crimes through the lens of torture’ (6 March 2016) <http:// www.ohchr.org/en/NewsEvents/Pages/DisplayNews.aspx?NewsID=17152&LangID=E> accessed 1 April 2016.

264 eg 265

CAT Article 1(1).

266 eg 267

Opuz (n 250).

Maria de Penha v Brazil (n 230).

Manjoo (n 15) 22.

217

Implementation continues to be one of the biggest challenges in eradicating domestic violence, with an estimated 603 million women living in countries where it is not recognised as a crime.268 The agendas of international and regional organisations perform a ‘legitimisation function’ which can be persuasive in signalling to States what responses are appropriate to take to tackle an issue,269 which is why it is crucial that they continue to address domestic violence. Inconsistencies between global commitments and practice on the ground continue to exist in part because the norms addressing domestic violence are a combination of ‘soft’ law and some ‘hard’ but scattered rules of international human rights law.270 In order to achieve better State compliance these norms should be collated into a single binding international instrument.

It seems like the call for a binding norm on VAW may be coming closer to fruition. The current SRVAW has suggested creating more detailed guidance as the best way to reform the current system.271 There is a CEDAW Working Group which is looking at updating General Recommendation No.19, recently holding an Expert Group Meeting at the London School of Economics with a view to refining such a draft.272 It is yet to be seen how they will recommend the General Recommendation be updated. It is hoped that the gender-based nature of VAW and domestic violence will continue to be recognised, and the recommendation will not follow the gender-neutral approach of the Istanbul Convention. However, other aspects of the Istanbul Convention, particularly the detailed range of legal and other measures States are required to take to fulfil their obligations to prevent, protect and prosecute VAW is something that could be added to General Recommendation No.19. A progressive step forward would be for the Recommendation to conceptualise VAW including domestic violence as a stand alone human rights violation, but that may be overly optimistic. The ideal way to reform the current framework addressing domestic violence, as suggested by Rashida Manjoo, would be to create a binding international instrument on VAW, either by an Optional Protocol to CEDAW or a separate

268 UN 269

Women, ‘Progress of the World’s Women: In Pursuit of Justice’ (2011).

Joachim (n 5) 6.

270

Surya Subedi, ’Protection of women against domestic violence: the response of international law’ (1997) 6 EHRLR 587, 604.

271 Šimonovíc 272

(n 178) 601.

CEDAW, (63rd Session) ‘Summary Record’ (17 February 2016) UN Doc CEDAW/C/SR.1373.

218

Convention, ensuring State accountability for the protection of women and complete with a separate monitoring body.273 Such a norm would settle the matter that VAW is a human rights violation worthy of international attention, provide women and girls with a clear path to redress, and hopefully provide a catalyst for new developments at the national level to effectively eliminate domestic violence.

273

Manjoo (n 204) 64.

219

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• Dubravka Šimonović, ‘Statement at the Sixtieth Session of the Commission on the Status of Women’ (14 March 2016) <http://www.ohchr.org/EN/NewsEvents/Pages/DisplayNews.aspx?

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• Dubravka Šimonović, ‘International framework on violence against women with focus on the CEDAW’ (2012) UN Doc EGM/PVAWG/EP.7.

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• Facio A, ‘The Optional Protocol as a Mechanism for Implementing Women’s Human Rights: An Analysis of the First Five Cases Under the Communications Procedure of OP-CEDAW’ IWRAW Asia Pacific Occasional Papers Series No 12 (2008).

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Aaron Bell is a third year Economics student at St. Cuthbert’s Society, Durham University. This paper was prepared for the ‘Cultural Theory and Practice’ module undertaken at Aarhus University, Denmark.

Abstract The aim of this paper is to investigate whether the subject of Economics exhibits androcentric values. This is with respect to its core concepts (such as efficiency, hypothesis testing) as well as considering a few specific points (such as the incorporation of unpaid work into GDP measurements). The paper is in the form of a general literature review (including a description of the study of economics to those not familiar) as well as a critical discourse analysis.

The method itself is broadly considered a ‘cultural theory’ perspective. This focuses on the language and cultural framework that the study of economics exists in. The key component of this is a critical discourse analysis. This paper takes Edgeworth (1881) “An Essay on the Application of Mathematics to the Moral Sciences” to be a very much basic, yet insightful, example of the discourse that still exists in economics. This is the emphasis on scientific method in the form of ‘modernism’.

The paper finds that the study of economics may incorporate a number of androcentric biases. However, the issue is hugely complex (and occasionally overly theoretical).

Therefore, the conclusion and implication of the paper is that feminism within economics (including alternative methods of studying the economics that include discourse and culture analysis) should be considered as potential aspects of the undergraduate course. This would provide economists interested in progressing the more theoretical side of the discipline with the tools to better consider the nature of the assumptions that economics makes

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Part 1: Introduction The study and practice of ‘economics’ requires knowledge of a culturally shared academic discourse, which could be referred to as an ‘economic discourse’ (Samuels 1991, 516)1. The language of this ‘economic discourse’ is intended to be one of ‘positivist’ and ‘gender-neutral’ scientific inquiry, however, could be considered to be imbued with “hidden” (Harding 1995, 7) androcentric wording, claims and assumptions in its attempt to describe economic activity. There is much evidence for such a claim in undergraduate economics teaching, which emphasises mathematical modeling and modernist academic practice (Chakrabortty 2014).

This paper aims to highlight and examine the particular factor of scientific “modernism” as cultural concept (Barker, The SAGE Dictionary of Cultural Studies 2004, 123). The extent to which economics follows a modernist cultural practice is considered, and evaluated, as a theoretical grounding for an application of feminism to the subject. Taking a theory of ‘constructivist feminism’ formalised in (Ferber and Nelson 1993, 9) as a starting position, a literature review and evaluation will draw together a variety of ‘post-modern’ (or concepts not considered formal modernism) theories. Selected examples and discussion of androcentric values are used to illustrate points.

The core concepts of economics expressed in Edgeworth (1881) will be examined through a critical discourse analysis to highlight potential androcentric values within the subject. This book is chosen to encapsulate the most prominent concepts, although it is far from the last word in economic thought. The overall aim is to consider the study of economics from the novel perspective of cultural studies, with emphasis on the broader picture rather than technical and theoretical evaluation of the subject itself.

Part 2: The ‘Popular’ Culture of Economics with Respect to Gender The aim of this paper is not to discuss the philosophy of gender within economics, but to examine gender and economics from a cultural studies perspective. One aspect of this is the way in which gender intersects with economics in the public eye. Firstly, there is a significant imbalance in both the study and practice of

1

Also in (Avsar 2011)

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economics. ‘Male’ Nobel Prize Winners outnumber ‘Female’ winners 74 to 12 (The Telegraph 2015). Only since 2014 has there been a female chair of a major central bank, and as of 2014 the ECB governing council and the Bank of England’s Monetary Policy Committee featured no women (FT 2013). Within the private sector of finance and investment banking in the City of London district, less than 20% of senior positions were held by women (Jenkins and Agnew 2015)3. Finally, men study economics disproportionately at an undergraduate level (Ceci et al., 2014) and are less likely to drop out (Sandberg 2013).

To suggest that the discourse of economics creates a culture that promotes male dominance is to ignore the many other factors that exist in academic and professional environments (see references). However, it is important to consider the wider cultural context of a highly relevant academic discipline. It is not unreasonable to consider a link between taught theory and ‘real world’ practice.

Research suggests exposure to ‘economic reasoning’ (as practiced in the study of economics) actually encourages a specific ‘economic’ form of rationality. This is opposed to how individuals act who have not studied economics (who react in ways better predicted by psychology (Kahneman 2011; Kirchgassner 2005; Frank and Schulze 2000; Cipriani, Lubian and Zago 2009).

Part 3: Defining the subject of Economics from a Cultural Perspective4.

The study of Economics at an undergraduate level is primarily the study of ‘freemarket’ capitalism (Lewis 2011). It places the Industrial Revolution at the beginning of the current period of rapid economic growth and advancement, and its foundations lie in a number British writings5. The subject applies a number of modernist principles (McCloskey 1985, 139-155)6 to the study of scarce resources, development and exchange. This includes theory and analysis of an individual’s

2

Only physics has a smaller female to male ratio, although has existed for much longer.

Although alternative theories exist for gender imbalance in the workplace environment (Sandberg 2013) 4 A clear description of what ‘economics’ is and what ‘economics’ refers to in teaching practice, methods, and theory (as well as in this paper) can be found in (Nelson 1992, 106-107).

5 Adam Smith (An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations 1776), David Ricardo, John Stuart Mill and Edgeworth (An Essay on the Application of Mathematics to the Moral Sciences 1881) 6 Although (McCloskey 1985) discusses in Chapter 9 to what extent it even achieves this (flawed) aim in practice.

3

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decision in response to an economic problem (of exchange, or whether to work, and so on). This topic in particular was first explored by Edgeworth (1881).

For the purpose of this cultural studies analysis, two different ‘levels’ or discourses of economics are considered to be practiced (McCloskey 1985)7. First is the ‘assumptive model’. This level encapsulates the ‘modernist’ scientific approach. It consists usually of mathematically proofed theory in the manner of most modern scientific analysis (such as in the natural sciences) and ‘hypotheses’ that have not been proven false. It requires a number of generalised assumptions (depending on the question posed) made to highlight specific mechanisms in the economy or to explain the decision making of individuals (or firms), rather than to ‘realistically’ represent the economy (Friedman 1953). This level is mostly a pre-requisite for undergraduate economics.

The second level is the ‘interpretive’ level, in which the theorised mechanisms of the economy are applied to real world scenarios. The link is the medium of ‘Econometrics’, a staple of undergraduate statistics analysis. Hypothesis (or ideas) can be tested using real data to confirm or deny theory using statistical and mathematical reasoning. An alternative (yet similar) avenue is considered the ‘intuitive’ level (McCloskey 1985). Prominent in teaching, this approach explains in words economic phenomena that are also explainable mathematically, to aid comprehension.

The purpose of considering the two levels of economics is to focus this paper on considering the cultural implications of the ‘assumptive level’ and how this influences the ‘interpretive level’. It helps to better describe the processes taking place in the practice of economics. The focus is not the assumptions made themselves (within the logic of economics these make sense in themselves8) but the pursuit of scientific modernism within a social science from a postmodern and liberal feminist perspective. Given a basic description of economics as is taught, this paper can develop a cultural theory perspective.

Part 4: The Cultural Theory of Modernism and Postmodernism with Respect to Economics

7

(McCloskey 1985) describes two attitudes towards discourse in economics, one of which is the ‘modernist’ approach. The second is similar to the ‘interpretive’ level.

8 See (Friedman 1953)

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The rhetoric of economics is one of ‘modernist’ cultural principles9. Barker describes one (of three) experiences of modernism as “a philosophical position that asserts the possibility of universal knowledge” (The SAGE Dictionary of Cultural Studies 2004, 123). It stems from the period of rationality and enlightenment. To suggest economics is of a modernist form is to suggest it shares a cultural history with physics (such as Newton’s laws motion), a theme present in some undergraduate educational literature10. From a purely historical perspective, the 17th century links Newton’s Laws and Adam Smith’s Wealth of Nations. The most important concept is one of ‘universalism’. It might seem counter intuitive that ‘modernism’ as a culture is associated with both ‘science’ and ‘religion’ (crudely).

However, both seek a universalist answer when practiced in the modernist form (this is not to say all religion and all science is ‘modernism’) (McCloskey 1985, 141142).

Given an understanding of economics, and an understanding of modernism, the next stage is to make explicit the link. McCloskey (The Rhetoric of Economics 1985) develops a full account of economics as a modernist subject. The concept of ‘scientific positivism’ (Friedman 1953) indicates economics aims to study ‘what is’.

It’s hypothesis tests stem from Popper’s The Logic of Scientific Research (1959) principle of falsification. The thread of mathematics was an attempt to formalise work (in the vein, although not because of, Newton’s laws, or Einstein’s Theory of Relativity).

There are two strands of criticism regarding the modernist aims of economics considered in this paper. The first describes the flawed aim of modernism itself, both with respect to a social science and as an academic pursuit. The second comments on the gender issues within economics that arise from its modernist ideals, from a feminist perspective. Both theories can be tied together by a postmodern leaning from a cultural studies perspective. Although the purpose of this paper is to comment on the mostly unrecognised (or ignored) genderisms within economics from a cultural studies perspective, this requires consideration of modernism and post modernism to gain a more culturally bound analysis.

9

As coined in (McCloskey 1985) Undergraduate students are often presented with a ‘gravitational’ model of trade, that purports that trade quantity follows a gravitational pattern with respect to distance of studied country. It is difficult to understand the intuition why.

10

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The aims of modernism with respect to economics are addressed in McCloskey (1985). The argument purports that, from a cultural perspective, modernism separates science from the “unmeasurable” (McCloskey 1985, 142). Also tied in are Barker’s other strands of modernism “(i) the cultural experience of modernity [and] (ii) an artistic style associated with being modern” (Barker, The SAGE Dictionary of Cultural Studies 2004, 123). McClosky suggests modernism takes an “irrationalist” form to make the idea that modernist “arguments do not cross” (McCloskey 1985, 142). An acceptance of science or total rejection shares the common ground of “fact [and] definition” although differing in methods.

The first approach is to consider modernism from a Foucauldian perspective. It is therefore subject to the same criticisms of ‘enlightenment’, most pertinently with respect to knowledge as a form of oppression Adorno and Horkheimer (1979, in Barker (2012)). Foucault’s principles of knowledge (Barker, Cultural Studies: Theory and Practice 2012, 30) given is that: 1. Knowledge is not metaphysical, transcendental or universal.

2. Knowledge is a matter of perspective.

3. Knowledge is not pure or neutral.

4. Knowledge is itself implicated in regimes of power.

Each principle violates the claims of modernism from a cultural perspective. An economic model determined by a hypothesis test in practice could be considered universal. An example would be the concept in which a price of a good decreases, the quantity of a good demanded increases within a rational economic framework.

Ultimately, this is not to say that when price increases quantity of purchases doesn’t decrease. Nor to necessarily to not use this insight as a guide – it appeals to our intuition and seems usually true. It is to say that the discourse of economics (as it has been referred to) from a cultural theory perspective ‘hides’ the assumptions and values made in the claim that “when price increases the quantity of purchase decreases” because of the modernist principles shared by its practitioners.

The second approach in the critique of modernism is to consider the concept of ‘post-modernism’. Barker (The SAGE Dictionary of Cultural Studies 2004, 156-157) defines post-modernism as:

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“A philosophical movement that rejects ‘grand-narratives’ (that is, universal explanations of human history and activity) in favour of irony and forms of local knowledge” The rejection of ‘grand-narratives’ and the subsequent forms of local knowledge that can be amassed can be linked to recent publications within the discipline of economics. The book ‘Thinking Fast, and Slow’ (Kahneman 2011) combines much of the research in this field (known broadly as ‘behavioural economics’). Discussed is the concept of human heuristics and biases, that often lead to the misconception individuals have in which a single theory explains the world (using research and labels coined by Phillip Tetlock). The concept is applied to human prediction, explanatory power and decision making. To apply to economics itself, would be to suggest that ‘actors within the subject’ (economists) overemphasise the explanatory power of their theories due to their ‘completeness’. Therefore, Kahneman’s book could be interpreted as advocating a post-modern perspective on the subject of theory and prediction and sets a precedent for the application of the cultural theory of postmodernism to economics.

Criticisms of the use of post-modernism as a separate concept have been raised, however this discussion emphasises the departure from modernism. Postmodernity is considered by Gidden’s to be a form of ‘radical modernity’. Cited evidence is the lack of the emergence of a post-capitalist society and a world without nation states. And yet, the concept of post-capitalism is a clear tenant of economics discourse following the financial crisis (except within the subject of economics, in which assumptions are tweaked).

Part 5: Applying Cultural Theories of Feminism to Economics As indicated in the introduction, this section begins with the concept of ‘feminist constructivism’. This concept was formed in (Ferber and Nelson 1993, 9). It can be paraphrased in the set of principles: 1. “‘Gender’ is the social meaning given to biological differences between the sexes”

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2. General human characteristics are usually identified as ‘feminine’ or ‘masculine’. “Conflating biological [women] with constructions of ‘femininity’ (and men with ‘masculinity’)” is known as essentialism 3. Gender is often read as “pertaining to women”. This is the result of associations between ‘man’ and ‘human’ (e.g. ‘pre-historic man’).

4. Masculine ideals are often privileged.

5. Modern Western culture associates ideals of separation with masculinity and ideals of connection with femininity.

These claims are explored and applied to concepts of economics within (Ferber and Nelson 1993).

The ‘constructivist feminist’ critique of modernist economics broadly suggests that economics (as founded predominantly by men) exhibits overtly masculine characteristics that result in a modernist subject. This is at the expense of more ‘feminine’ methods that could yield more economic knowledge and better insights if utilised to the same degree. This is broadly suggested, as within most of cultural studies, writers subject to a bracket such as feminism, modernism, or postmodernism differ in their specific and individual views.

Two specific arguments consider objectivity (Harding 1995; Fonow and Cook 2005; McCloskey 1985; Ferber and Nelson 1993) within economics and what can be termed ‘rationality’ from the perspective of feminism (Edwards and Duncan 1996; Elson 1995; Grapard 1995; Ferber and Nelson 1993; McCloskey 198512).

For practicality, words associated with a more feminine or masculine set of characteristics are generalised. A semiotic analysis of what economists concern themselves with suggests a more ‘masculine’ centre than what sociologists concern themselves with. Nelson (Gender, Metaphor, and the Definition of Economics 1992, 109-110) suggests the concept of an autonomous agent concerned with individual activity, choice and competition is a distinct field from concepts in sociology such as collective, passivity, determinism, cooperative social relations (semiotically tied to feminism).

Harding (Can Feminist Thought Make Economics More Objective? 1995, 7) argues that in conventional study “no resources [exist] for detecting widespread cultural

12

References indicate selected literature covering the topics.

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assumptions, values, and interests”. This could be considered a direct result of modernism within economics (purporting a ‘God’s eye view’ as in Nicholson (1990)) which needs no such resources (Nelson (1993a; 1993b), in Harding (1995)) suggests one example of a direct and subsequent androcentric bias in economics is individual choice mechanics. These mechanics detach the material world and real persons from the object of study therefore removing feminine characteristics. The modernist method allows these criticisms to be side-lined. The implication is that undergraduate students of economics are not equipped to recognise and make value judgements (even that these values may not be androcentric – not everyone is a feminist). Therefore, from a feminist perspective, the study of economics perpetuates a masculine way of thinking, of which the study of individual choice is one example.

The way in which feminist thought can comment on, from a cultural perspective, the aim of objectivity within economics is the most relevant to the modernist argument developed previously.

The concept of ‘rationality’ discusses the masculine characteristics imbued within economics, particularly in the context of decision making. From a cultural perspective these characteristics are embodied (by economists) by the literature figure Robinson Crusoe. Grapard (Robinson Crusoe: The Quintessential Economic Man? 1995) argues that the story of Robinson Crusoe on a discourse level ignores female agency and mirrors the lack of inclusion of women in analysis (check quote).

It places the “Western individual male as the human norm and [places] Crusoe in stories that purport to be universal and gender neutral” (34). Although the article explores in great detail the problems of Friday as an exploited character in the place of non-Western individual males the key concern is the implications of the lack of female agency in the story. The only implication of Friday in the story of gender is the feminine attributes he has that attempt to combine both ‘nonmasculine’ and ‘non-Western European’ into a single ‘other’.

The final aspect is to tie together the postmodern developments, with the aims of liberal feminism and the practicality of constructivist feminism as a cohesive cultural theory.

Critical Discourse Analysis: Edgeworth’s (1881) “Mathematic Psychics”

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The foundation for ‘economic rationality’ is “Mathematic Psychics: An Essay on the Application of Mathematics to the Moral Sciences” (Edgeworth 1881). It’s principles still form the basis for modern economics (Sen 1977). A critical discourse analysis of the source work therefore provides a general context for the structures of economic thought.

Firstly, analysis is rooted in the public sphere. Subjects covered include “competition” (Edgeworth 1881, 17-19), “contract” (Edgeworth 1881, 20-30) and “market theory” (Edgeworth 1881, 37,39,42,46). Within the context of 1881, there was likely little need to clarify the public referred to the male sphere.

Demonstrated however, is the economic focus on the public sphere as the expense of the private.

An attempt to model a “private sphere”, Edgeworth mostly considers the welfare of ‘men’ as disconnected, utilitarian maximizers. Instead of modelling a private sphere, Edgeworth models the male ‘gateway’ to the private sphere: Private – ‘Male Welfare Maximiser’ – Public In this interpretation, the male who operates within the market himself divides his utility and time between his private sphere, or devoting more time to the public sphere to gain more resources (or his own leisure, which could have been considered separate to his private family).

Economic analysis of lone-motherhood indicates a link between economic discourse and social discourse in modern economic analysis. Edwards and Duncan (1996) indicates econometric analysis is often based on the ‘rational economic man’ assumption. However, without gendered distinctions, theory fails to take account for ‘gendered moral rationalities’. For example, single British fathers are more likely to take paid full-time work than female single parents (Edwards and Duncan 1996). Theory also distinguishes between the public (male) sphere and private sphere (more accepted as female), but fails to recognise how these spheres interact.

Further the concepts of science and measurement when applied to ‘utility’ and ‘happiness’ encapsulates a specific worldview – of absolute measurement, scientific objectivity that post-modernism tends to reject. “The science of quantity is not alien to the study of man… actions and effective desires can be numerically measured” (Edgeworth 1881, 1) as a premise semantically ties precision,

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measurement and objectivity to leisure, utility and happiness. It implies a universal and consistent measurement (or else lacks meaning) to actions and desires that is comparable (at least within individuals if not across). The analysis further suggests: “some conditions are accompanied with greater or less pleasure than others… [it is] necessary to realise that mathematical reasoning… is not linked to subjects where numerical data is obtainable” (Edgeworth 1881, 2). This effectively surmises the neoclassical (economic) position on measurement.

Further, the concept of utility implies a degree of ‘evolutionary’, ‘success oriented’ thinking. “For Economics investigates the arrangements between agents tending to his own maximum utility” (Edgeworth 1881, 6) suggests a public ‘playing field’ in which individual (male) agents compete to maximise their own welfare. “Utility… has three dimensions; a mass of utility, ‘lot of pleasure’ is greater than another when it has more intensity-time-number units” (Edgeworth 1881, 8) as a concept further indicates direct and comparable measurement between individual human experience in a world outside of the body (all calculations for formalised as a single genderless unit). Edgeworth makes a direct reference to evolution as an underpinning of economic analysis and decision making (with reference to more units of pleasure are greater than less. The implication is that only humans who took ‘more’ over ‘less’ survived).

Conclusion This cultural theory paper examined the causes of (perceived) androcentricism within the subject of economics, and found modernist principles to be a key factor.

These modernist principles stem from the period of enlightenment and scientific method. When applied to economics at an undergraduate level, it could be argued that economics exhibits a strong male bias which it doesn’t have the tools to fully recognise from a cultural studies perspective. Therefore, considered is the literature that promoted feminine characteristics within economics as the next step. This is in line with a more post-modern analysis of economics (and the broader study of society, progress and resources). A critical discourse analysis of Edgeworth (1881), which for simplicity was considered to encapsulate the modernist principles of economics, found a number of androcentric fields and bias.

The paper is not to argue that anything more that at an undergraduate level, greater consideration of these principles would be beneficial from a feminist perspective.

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How us ef ul i s t he concept of em ot i onal l abour f or under s t andi ng gender ed i nequal i t i es i n dom es t i c unpai d l abour ?

Meg Kneafsey is a third year Anthropology and Archaeology student at Hatfiled College, Durham University.

This paper was prepared for the ‘Anthropology of Care’ module.

Abstract A critical analysis of the concept of emotional labour as brought forward by Arlie Hochchild.

This paper considers how useful this concept is for understanding gendered inequalities in domestic unpaid labour. It explains what the inequalities are, the gendered management of emotions, the gendered expectations of care and how Hochschild’s work has contributed to our understanding. Throughout the paper, it is argued Hochschild’s concept of emotional labour is highly relevant to understanding these particular gendered inequalities. This is not simply because of the time disparities between genders spent on domestic unpaid labour but because emotional labour allows individuals to manage their feelings regarding gendered inequalities. Thus emotional labour is a way to support existing gender expectation and inequalities in society.

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Described as ‘the next feminist frontier’ (Hackman, 2015), emotional labour has been intrinsically linked with perceived gender inequalities both in paid and unpaid labour since its conception by sociologist Arlie Hochschild in ‘The Managed Heart’ (1985). Although initially applied to the workplace through its application of Marx’s theory of alienation, Hochschild later used the framework of emotional labour to analyse the inequalities found in domestic unpaid work (1989).

Emotional labour in the workplace ‘refers to the process by which worked are expected to manage their feelings in accordance with organisationally defined rules and guidelines’ (Wharton, 2009). However, emotional labour is not a concept limited to the workplace and can be found in a variety of non-paid settings. Hochschild applied her concept of emotional labour to domestic unpaid labour in ‘The Second Shift’ (1989). Domestic unpaid labour refers to ‘work’ enacted within the household and can range from housework to parenting.

Although not always defined as such, in many cases it can be considered care work, particularly parenting. Within marriages, one spouse undertaking housework can be perceived as the spouse ‘caring’ for their partner. Both paid and unpaid care work has been significantly linked to gender inequalities as it ‘is more likely to be the responsibility of women than men’ (Wharton, 2009:154).

This essay seeks to critique the usefulness of the concept of emotional labour when assessing and understanding these apparent inequalities. It will consider the concept and its relevance to contemporary gender inequalities and contexts, whilst drawing upon examples from the UK and the US. Throughout it will address the evidence for gender inequalities in domestic unpaid labour, the gendered management of emotions, and finally how this links with the gendered expectations of care. It will be demonstrated that although there is a relationship between emotional labour and many of the gender inequalities found in domestic unpaid labour, it is not an explanation for the found gender inequalities. Furthermore, viewing emotional labour as a concept in isolation would result in limited understanding. It is necessary to have an appreciation of existing gender inequalities that affect gender division of unpaid domestic labour. Ultimately the importance of emotional labour is to supplement

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our understanding of existing gender equalities. In this sense, it is an extremely useful concept that can be exceedingly revealing of the dynamics present in households with gendered divisions of labour.

The Inequality Traditionally, once married, women would stay at home tending to the housework and raising the children (Oakley, 1976). This work was supported by the man’s capacity as the ‘breadwinner’; furthering the impression of an equal contribution from both sexes towards the marriage and family through prescribed gender roles. However, alongside the progress in women’s rights, the number of housewives has seen a sharp decline as more women enter the paid workforce. In the UK alone, housewives have declined over the last 20 years from 2.91 million in 1993 to just over 2 million in 2013 (Peacock, 2013). This, alongside supporting evidence1, could suggest growing gender equality among heterosexual marriages.

However, an analysis of the household reveals persisting inequalities.

Hochschild, in ‘The Second Shift’ suggests that women, in heterosexual marriages where both spouses are employed, work an extra month per annum than their husbands as a result of unpaid domestic labour (1989). Although this research is somewhat dated, as conducted in the US in the 1980s, more recent studies suggest a continuing inequality (Winderbank, 2001). The Institute for Public Policy Research, for example, found that 8 out of 10 married women in the UK do more household chores than their husbands (McVeigh, 2012). Similar disparities are found in the US as demonstrated in Figure 12.

1 Government Equalities Office (2013) ‘Over 140 UK businesses commit to improving gender equality at work’ UK Government. Available from: www.gov.uk/government/news/over-140-uk-businesses-commit-to-improvinggender-equality-at-work [Accessed 2nd January 2016] 2

Bureau of Labour Statistics. (2014) American Time Use Suvery. US Department of Labour. Available from: http://www.bls.gov/news.release/pdf/atus.pdf [Accessed 2nd January 2016]

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Figure 1

Although there has been a closing gap in household division of labour (Figure 2), it is clear from the statistical evidence that women are doing more housework than their male counterparts; women who work in the UK spend 15 hours a week on average doing chores, while men spend only 5 (Durrant, 2009). Furthermore, this gap increases among married couples (see Figure 3). Although this could be interpretated as merely an inequality in the division of labour, Wharton (2009:155) argues that this is also a division of emotional work which primarily burdens the woman.

Parental labour is similarly found to be gendered in division. Hochschild (1989) suggests that most females are the ‘primary parent’ in marriages and thus will often take responsibility of the children in the case of divorce. Recent statistics show that at least 75% of British mothers have primary responsibility for childcare in the home (Family and Parenting Institute, 2012).

This documented phenomenon transcends class and ethnicity and is known as ‘the double burden’ (Morden, 1989:4). Much of the research has focused on the effects of this inequality and the difference in time spent on domestic unpaid labour (Vaananen et al, 2004).

244 Figure 3

Figure 2

However, the concept of emotional labour can be used to understand this inequality and demonstrate how it persists with limited recognition outside academic and statistical evidence.

Management of Feelings in Domestic Unpaid Labour Emotional labour is the ‘management of feeling in order to evoke a publicly observable…display’ which requires one to ‘suppress feeling in order to sustain the outward countenance that produces the proper state of mind in others’ (Hochschild, 1985:7).

Although emotional labour can be experienced by both genders, Hochschild argues that it is particularly prevalent among females.

The concept of women as ‘emotional managers’ poses its own difficulties. It can be argued that the difference between men and women’s time spent on emotional work is due to biological gender differences. There are also arguments that suggest that men and women have biological differences that result in a gendered division of domestic labour (Moir and Moir, 1998). From a psychological viewpoint, it has been claimed that women are ‘better’ at emotional empathy that their male counterparts and are able to foster empathy and chemistry (Goleman, 2011). Public opinion may also support this belief that women are better emotional managers, a view that is not academically supported (Hackman, 2015).

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Although the concept of emotional labour may aid our understanding of the strategies in place, it does not explain how women become the more adept emotion managers. Nancy Chodorow (1978) argues in ‘The Reproduction of Mothering’ is based on a “culture of motherhood”; as children grow, they are often cared for by their mother (or grow up within a society where the mother is the primary caregiver). This, Chodorow argues, leads to girls attempting to emulate their mother and her ‘responsibilities’, while boys correspondingly search for a spouse to ‘replace’ their mother. This neo-Freudian explanation suggests that, from a young age, girls are training to become emotional managers. As individuals are growing up unaware of their emotional conditioning, it can lead to a view that women are more adept at managing emotions and are therefore better carers. As discussed by Hackman (2015), it is a socially acceptable comment that ‘women are just better at this stuff [caring]’ due to a belief in biological gender differences. Thus there is an apparent belief within our culture that transcends not only Western societies but can be found throughout the world (Ambrosini and Stanghellini, 2012:277). From this, an expectation of care from the ‘nurturing mother’ narrative can persist throughout societies and into the realm of care both in domestic and work spheres.

Emotional labour is particularly effective in attempting to understand how an individual’s gender ideology, usually influenced by upbringing, contrasts with their gender equality beliefs. Hochschild uses emotional labour to conceptualise the various strategies married couples may use to force their conflicting ideologies to exist (1989). In ‘The Second Shift’, Hochschild followed and interviewed many married couples over several years in order to effectively observe the emotional labour used by both couples. Her book documents the patterns found across families through the investigation of significant case studies which she believes to be representative. A recurring theme is the use of emotional labour by both genders, not to carry out the household division of labour, but instead, emotion work is utilised to align one’s beliefs on gendered expectations of care with their spouses. This is often linked with a male expectation of care from the woman, even when that said male may profess (and believe themselves) to hold egalitarian beliefs about their marriage.

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Hochschild’s research of the Myerson family is revealing on how this requires a large amount of work by the woman, Ann, which puts a strain on the marriage. Ann uses emotional work to resolve her gender ideology of egalitarianism with her husband’s gendered expectation of the division of domestic labour, resulting in a dissonance from her emotions and a ‘flip-flop’ struggle (Hochschild, 1989:191).

Herein, lies an issue with emotional labour. Although it can appear, particularly from recent discussions (Zimmerman, 2015; Robertson, 2015) that emotional labour is linked to gender inequality because it is primarily experienced by women, Hochschild’s research demonstrates that men can also manage their emotions to enact strategies. One example discussed is that of the Delacorte family (Hochschild, 1989:59-74). Although both Frank and Carmen Delacorte adopt the more traditional view to prefer that Carmen was a housewife, their situation, Frank’s low-income, requires both spouses to work. Hochschild discovered that both spouses do not recognise the contribution to the housework that Frank does, sometimes more than the ‘egalitarian’ couples Hochschild follows, in order to identify with their beliefs that Carmen should do the housework. Furthermore, Carmen demonstrates strategical excuses such as illness that gives Frank a ‘reason’ to do the housework. This emotional labour by the Delacorte’s is necessary for them to resolve their current situation with their beliefs on gender roles (Hochschild, 1989:73). Although one example of a family’s emotion work, Hochschild suggests her interpretations are based on similar findings in other nuclear families where both parents worked.

Emotional labour is therefore particularly useful at exploring the strategies put into place through emotion work. It may mostly be experienced by women, however this is not the gender inequality in itself associated with emotional labour in the workplace. It is the way in emotional labour is used by individuals to exist alongside the occurring gender inequalities within society.

However, Hochschild’s interpretations of emotional labour rely heavily upon contextual factors, notably existing gender inequalities and expectations in society. Thus a holistic

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approach is necessary that considers these notions, particularly the gendered expectations of care that influences division of unpaid domestic labour.

Gendered Expectations of Care Gender expectations can manifest themselves into structured gender roles in society. Care is indeed considered by many, consciously or not, to be within the female domain.

Furthermore, the act of care work by females enacts additional gender inequalities. These ‘socially ascribed responsibilities for care can undermine [female] rights and limit their opportunities’ (Esplen, 2009:17). From limited economic empowerment to an increased risk of gender-based violence (Médecins Sans Frontières, 2005 and Esplen 2009:21). These gendered expectations of care are intrinsically linked to a cycle of gender inequality. Yet it must be stressed that these are not biologically innate expectations or roles. As Erikson (2005) states, the results of the research into emotional labour in division of houseshow labour demonstrates that ‘gender construction, not sex, predicts the performance of emotion work and that this performance reflects a key difference in men's and women's gendered constructions of self’.

Hoschschild links domestic unpaid labour to a series of power relations that disadvantage women who ‘in general have far less [than men] independent access to money, power, authority of status in society...[they are] subordinate to social stratum.’ Thus, although this work is not in receipt of a wage, it is its own important resource for women (Hochschild, 1985:163).

The more traditional area of care for women is the domestic sphere. This encompasses the unpaid labour undertaken in the home and within families. In the Western World, this was an expected role of the wife as the husband worked to provide for the family. As women have entered the working world alongside their spouses, this role has still been taken up by the woman, the aforementioned ‘double burden’. Thus the gender roles have transcended enough to allow a woman to fulfil a man’s role but not the reverse which could result in a shared amount of domestic labour.

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Throughout Hochschild’s work is the apparent reluctance of men to take on this perceived female work, even when the husband considers himself to have egalitarian values (Hochschild, 1989:190). Hochschild suggests that this is influenced by workplace culture.

Adapted for the working man’s need as a breadwinner, it has changed little since the introduction of women as a permanent equal fixture in its sphere. Thus both men and women who choose or need to take more time in their family life (a role traditionally taken by the housewife) may find themselves disadvantaged at work and in their careers.

Hochschild concludes ‘[it] is not because parents love children less, but because a “job culture” has expanded at the expense of a “family culture”’ (1989:231).

Ultimately, however, it appears that society simply does not categorise much of this ‘female work’ as valid labour. This is touched upon in Hochschild (1989) as an issue between married couples but it is Daniels (1987:404) who argues that this lack of recognition afforded to the female contribution to families and society contributes to gender inequality.

This is a culture of motherhood that persists and leads to a ‘maternal instinct’ expected of all women, regardless of their career pursuits or talents. Consequently mothers may find themselves criticised for not appearing to dedicate enough time to their child and prioritising work in a way that most fathers do not experience. This negative reinforcement of gendered expectations of parenting is recorded and found throughout a women’s life (DiQuinzio, 1999). From criticisms of women who do not demonstrate maternal instincts or do not seek to become a mother, to the scrutinity placed upon mothering. Indeed, the comparisions of the ‘double standard’ between men and women and the expectations of their parenting is well documented (Aximm et al, 2002).

The expectations of mothers can include the expectation of them to control their emotions.

Wharton (2009) argues that emotions are shaped by cultural and societal norms. In terms of the workplace, emotions can be regulated by employers with workers being expected to manage their feelings. However, this expectation does not simply have to take the form of pressure from employers but from husbands, family, and the culture that women live in.

Indeed emotional labour is extremely important for understanding our expectations of gender.

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Figure 4 and 5 A recent advertisement for Pantene shows the double standard regarding working parents

Ann Oakley’s 1974 study on housework was influential in promoting it as a valid area of research in sociology. However, VanEvery (1997) explores the issues related to conceptualising housework. VanEvery discusses the common issue when referring to housework for research purposes, particularly in statistical terms. Empirical definitions of housework, and other domestic work, may lead to skewered data. For example, Hochschild (1989) demonstrated how parents may perceive equal parenting based on the time spent with their children. However, where one parent may spend more leisure time with their child, such as trips and playing games, the other parent may spend more time on ‘primary parenting’ such as bathing and feeding.

Furthermore, there are many areas that can misunderstood without the consideration of emotion work. In Hochschild’s exploration of ‘The Second Shift, emotional labour is used to understand the strategies and explanations used by both spouses to rationalise or ignore and the wife’s extra unpaid work.

Moreover, Hochschild reported that the presence of skewered data may have been exacerbated by many married couples failing to accurately recall the amount of housework that they or their partner undertook. This scenario requires emotion work in order to ‘fit’ their gender ideologies. By using emotional labour, individuals (mainly women) did not have to accept and therefore address the truth that there was a gender inequality. For example, Hochschild’s research into the Holt family showed that the wife used emotion work to disguise that her husband worked equally to her in the household. Thus resolving conflict with her contrasting beliefs on gender equality (Hochschild, 1989:57).

Although in the realm of paid labour, it is important to see the influence occupational gender segregation. Jobs that require large amounts of emotion work tend to be seen as

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female occupations (Hochschild, 1985). Ehrenreich and Hochschild’s ‘Global Woman’ (2003) is particularly effective at showing these gendered job roles that now require many migrant women to fill as Western women take to careers rivalling their husbands. These inequalities may be gendered but are intertwined with other complexities such as race, class and wealth. Particularly prominent is the recurring theme of white wealthier women employment poor, coloured women to take over this ‘unwanted work’.

Indeed, Hochschild (1989:121) demonstrates how women may employ help with the domestic work in order to gain a level of equality with their husband. As a women’s unpaid labour because the paid labour of a woman of lower status, however, the paying woman still oversees and is responsible for ensuring that the nanny, housekeeper or carer is enacting a sufficient job (Huang and Yeoh, 2007). From overseeing the work of the Nanny (Cheever, 2003), interactions with the housekeeper (Hondageneu-Sotelo, 2003), and even mother-inlaws ensuring the cleaner’s work is sufficient (Lan, 2003). The physical labour of unpaid work may be alleviated through payment to another person, usually a woman, but the emotional and mental side of the work still exists. Although these give a global perspective, the findings show a similar trend across the developed world (Ehrenreich & Hochschild, 2003).

Importance of Hochschild’s Work Hochschild’s application of emotional labour in ‘The Second Shift’ demonstrates how useful the concept can be when investigating the domestic sphere. Unfortunately this work is not only dated, but is limited to heterosexual married couples within the United States.

Emotional labour, to fulfil its utility, needs to be applied to a contemporary setting and follow families outside the traditional nuclear unit.

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Conclusion Emotional labour is an extremely relevant in understanding the strategies put into place by married couples holding conflicting gender ideologies between each other and even themselves. Emotional labour is a symptom, not a cause, of existing gender inequalities. It is particularly relevant and useful in understanding the relationship between gendered management of emotions with gendered expectations of care. Furthermore, the concept of emotional labour needs to be applied to more domestic settings and with a greater appreciation of its relation to a wider range of contextual gender expectations when understanding gendered inequalities.

Throughout Hochschild’s ‘The Second Shift’ (1989), it can be seen that women manage their emotions in order to complete the gendered expectations placed upon them often in opposition to their feelings of how unpaid domestic labour should be divided within their marriages. However, it is not the time spent on emotional labour that is the inequality, as found with emotional labour in the workplace (Hochschild, 1985). Particularly as emotional labour is also conducted by men. Emotional labour is utilised to support pre-existing inequalities stemming from our society’s construction of expected gender roles in domestic unpaid labour. Ultimately, these inequalities are therefore disguised not only in society but to the women themselves conducting this labour every day.

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Erickson, R. J. (2005), Why emotion work matters: sex, gender, and the division of household labor. Journal of Marriage and Family, 67: 337–351. doi: 10.1111/j.0022-2445.2005.00120.x Esplen, E. (2009) Gender and Care Overview Report. Bridge Development – Gender. Available from: http://www.bridge.ids.ac.uk/sites/bridge.ids.ac.uk/files/reports/CEP_Care_OR.pdf Family and Parenting Institute, ‘Quick Facts from Family Trends’ [webpage]. Available at http://www.familyandparenting.org/our_work/future-families/Family-Trends/Quick-Factsfrom-Family-Trends [12th November 2015]

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Figures Figure 1 Bureau of Labour Statistics. (2014) American Time Use Survey. US Department of Labour.

Available from: http://www.bls.gov/news.release/pdf/atus.pdf. Charts available from: http://www.bls.gov/TUS/CHARTS/HOUSEHOLD.HTM [Accessed 2nd January 2016] Figures 2 and 3 U-M Instite for Social Research (ISR) Panel Study of Income Dynamics. University of Michigan Institute for Social Research.

Figures 4 and 5 Philippines Pantene (2013) Labels Against Women - Philippines Pantene Commercial 2013.

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, .

Najeehah binti Haji Abdul Hamid is a third year Sociology student at Grey College, Durham University. This paper was prepared as a dissertation under the guidance of Dr. Matthew David.

Abstract This paper analyzes the motivations for skin whitening amongst Singaporean women. It draws on material from the testimonies of nine Singaporean female students collected through a combination of qualitative questionnaire and storytelling methods. Skin whitening is conceptualized as a ‘technology of the self’ (Foucault) which is situated at a ‘site of ambivalence’ (Butler), revolving around ‘light beauty’ as a disciplinary ideal shaped by multiple, intersecting power configurations including race, class, and gender. In this regard, the paper also offers a complex model of agency and proposes that a new kind of consciousness – ‘double consciousness’ (Du Bois) – is produced through the experiences of the participating women which allowed them flexibility and reflexivity when conceptualizing their own engagement with skin whitening.

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“For those of us who live at the shoreline, standing upon the constant edges of decision, crucial and alone. For those of us who cannot indulge the passing dreams of choice. For those of us who must rise out of the huts of history’s shame and up from a past that’s rooted in pain.

When we are loved, we are afraid love will vanish. When we are alone, we are afraid love will never return. And when we speak, we are afraid our words will not be heard nor welcomed. But when we are silent, we are still afraid.

So it is better to speak.”

Audre Lorde, A Litany for Survival

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ABSTRACT This paper analyzes the motivations for skin whitening amongst Singaporean women. It draws on material from the testimonies of nine Singaporean female students collected through a combination of qualitative questionnaire and storytelling methods. Skin whitening is conceptualized as a ‘technology of the self’ (Foucault) which is situated at a ‘site of ambivalence’ (Butler), revolving around ‘light beauty’ as a disciplinary ideal shaped by multiple, intersecting power configurations including race, class, and gender. In this regard, the paper also offers a complex model of agency and proposes that a new kind of consciousness – ‘double consciousness’ (Du Bois) – is produced through the experiences of the participating women which allowed them flexibility and reflexivity when conceptualizing their own engagement with skin whitening.

INTRODUCTION ‘Contemporary sociology has had little to say about the most obvious facet of human existence, namely that human beings have, and to some extent are, bodies’ (Turner, 1996, p. 60). It was not until recent years that there has been a significant rise in sociological interest and involvement in the ‘politics of the body’ (Foucault, 1988), in particular, of the bodies of women. Much of this is owed to the growing influence of feminist philosophy, that is, in essence, an ‘embodied theory’ which seeks to centralize woman’s experience of her body in its investigations of social phenomena, with the emphasis of the body as a subject that interacts with images and constructions rather than an object of images and constructions. This formulation of embodiment as ‘a lived matter of gender’ (Hughes and Witz, 1997) derives from the seminal work of Merleau-Ponty (1981, p. 82) who saw the body as ultimately ‘the vehicle of being in the world through which identities are produced and articulated’.

The research therefore is fundamentally concerned with ‘capturing’ the embodiment of women as they are understood ‘from the standpoint of the bodily-being-in-the-world’ (Csordas, 1999, p. 143) i.e., from the women themselves. Such an explanatory emphasis guides the research methodology whereby the lived experiences and testimonies of participating women were held as crucial for both knowledge-generation and empowerment (Butler, 1988, p. 522). Indeed, the knowledge produced in this research could be linked to wider advocacy work of critical race feminists who saw the importance of ‘placing women at the heart of the research by providing them with spaces to speak out and to speak freely’ (Hylton, 2012, p. 2).

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With this is mind, the research aims to address and contribute to some of the broader critical

race/feminist

approaches

to

embodiment

through

a

narrow

and

phenomenologically-rooted focus, in this case, on the skin whitening practices of Singaporean women. Although there have been many studies which look at the health complications and broader structural implications of skin whitening, substantially fewer studies have been conducted to examine the motivations of the women engaged in the practice (Charles, 2009). By removing women from the process of creating their own narratives, commentaries and critiques of skin whitening have the tendency to interpret the embodiment of women of colour in pathological terms (Lewis, 2011).

According to this view, skin whitening is framed as ‘a rejection of ethnic identity’ or ‘desire to be white’ (Piper, 1992, p. 24) and the women who practised it thus suffered from ‘self-hatred’, ‘low self-esteem’, or an ‘inferiority complex’ (Yancy, 2004, p. 87). In point of fact, ‘white feminists’ have often adopted a ‘holier-than-thou’ approach by shaming practitioners of skin whitening (Ismail, 2012). What becomes apparent is that existing discursive gendered racialization of this bodily practice serves only to reproduce sexist and racist perspectives (Fritsch, 2014) of non-white female subjects as ‘cultural dupes’ (Adorno, 1969). Furthermore, these discourses deprive skin whitening of its performativity with respect to the intersection of complex relations of power and how women locate themselves in this intersection (Tate, 2016).

This research therefore works towards challenging dominant perspectives on the embodiment of women of colour by providing an alternative framework which takes into account the diverse standpoints and embodied realities of the women of colour themselves. It will be arguing that skin whitening, as a ‘technology of the self’ (Foucault, 1988), represents a ‘site of ambivalence’ (Butler, 1993) constituting both pain and liberation for the women who are engaged in it. In doing so, this research hopes to provide a ‘decolonized analysis’ (Tate, 2010) of skin whitening which presently remains scarce within the realm of transnational feminist literature.

LITERATURE REVIEW Situating a Foucaldian Reading of Whiteness Foucault provided a conceptual basis, particularly as developed in Discipline and Punish and the first volume of The History of Sexuality, for understanding how groups that 260

successfully define themselves as ‘white’ have been able to amass significant political, economic, and social power for themselves through the production of ‘non-white’ bodies/selves and ‘knowledge’ about them (Yancy, 2004). The ‘non-white’ body/self is therefore not seen as a substantive entity, struggling as it were to demonstrate an epistemic certainty of its place in the world; it is always already connected to the broader, pre-existing nexus of power relations (Wiegman, 1999). Indeed, Hall (1996) contends that the non-white identity emerges within a context of discursive practices that anchor ways of knowing and being of the racial ‘Other’ – that is, it becomes what it had been defined to be within a social matrix that presupposes ‘Otherness’ (Fanon, 1967; Said, 1978) as a ‘diametric opposite’ of whiteness (Haug, 1987).

As with all binaries, the ascendant term serves to marginalize the descendant (Ferri and Connor, 2006). The power/knowledge nexus therefore functions to centralize whiteness (Lister, 2009), so that racial difference and discrimination against the ‘Other’ appear natural, normal, and even necessary. In doing so, whiteness fundamentally occupies a position of privilege in that it is able to ‘normalize ontological truths about what it means to be human’ (Farr, 2004, p. 253). The hegemony of whiteness is thus in part contingent upon its capacity to masquerade as decontextual and ahistorical (Evans, 1993).

To put it simply, whiteness sets itself as the ‘universal value code’ (Yancy, 2001) or standard against which everything else must be measured – it epitomizes superiority, cleanliness, intelligence, and beauty; it effectively functions as the ‘master sign’ (Wiegman, 1999). By extension, the ‘Other’ learns to see its ‘Otherness’ vis-à-vis the ‘white gaze’, thereby accepting the ‘truth’ of its ‘abnormality’ – that it is inferior, dirty, vapid, and ugly; the denigrated thing of either ritual ostracization or existential insignificance (Nakayama and Krizek, 1999). To be ‘Other’ is, essentially, to be ‘deviant’ (Foucault, 1979).

Representation of ‘Difference’ and Attempting ‘Same-ness’ Within this power/knowledge nexus, white people have irrevocably constituted themselves as subjects, whilst ‘Others’ have been, dialectically, reduced into raciated objects (Yancy, 2004). For the ‘Other’ to subjectify itself therefore necessitates a ‘regulation’ of its body/self towards undertaking a project of colour-coded self-erasure to ‘disguise its Otherness’ (Davis, 2003) – or what Yancy (2004, p. 117) refers to as, the

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‘philosophical performativity of whiteness’. ‘Racial passing’ is a useful term coined by Gilman (1999, p. 21) to compartmentalize this ‘aesthetics of racism’ in which the ‘Other’ endeavours to eliminate visible ethnic markers of ‘difference’ to achieve ‘same-ness’ via ‘proximity to whiteness’. It is thus simultaneously a process of disciplining the ‘Othered’ body/self to fit into the dominant society where whiteness is the norm, and a process of punishing the ‘Othered’ body/self for not fitting into the dominant society where ‘white is right’ (Hall, 1995).

Bonilla-Silva and Dietrich (2009) contended that this issue of ‘approximation of whiteness’ complicates ‘skin-colour ranking’ (Hall, 2013, p. 4) by moving the discussion away from simply black-white, European-African dynamics of race towards one of a social and political ‘pigmentocracy'. Ismail (2012, p. 14) defines ‘pigmentocracy’ as ‘a hierarchical structure and system of domination based on the favouritism of fair skin and European-looking features which predates but is promulgated by colonialism, and further perpetuated by neo-imperialism through a Western-dominated economic and consumer culture’. Rather than simply a ‘state of being', whiteness has evolved into a ‘state of becoming’ (Young, 2015), whereby ‘white privilege’ can now be partially extended to those who succeed in co-opting whiteness and thus ‘racially passing’ (Gilman, 1999).

This concept of pigmentocracy is particularly helpful when unpacking how ideas of whiteness transcend national borders (Andrucki and Dickinson, 2015, p. 205).

Globally-exported ‘skin colour stratification’ explicates how people with ‘fair skin and/or European-looking features’ have gained advantage over the ‘darker, Indigenous-looking Others’ (Ismail, 2012, p. 13) in upward class mobility and even at times were afforded the same superior status, in South and Southeast Asia for example, as white people (Cooppan, 2009). Accordingly, larger implications of whiteness have been reproduced through the elevation of these ‘mixed-race’ elites; and – for everyone else who is not ‘born into’ whiteness, but wishes to ‘achieve’ it – through ‘mimicry’ (Tate, 2016) by means of bodily practices, such as ethnic cosmetic surgery and skin whitening, which ‘idealized lightness’ (Hall, 2010).

Davis (2003, p. 80) argued that these practices represent a ‘negotiation of identities’ in a context where emulating whiteness confers ‘privileges’ whilst ‘difference’ in embodiment is pathologized. Achieving ‘same-ness’ through approximation of whiteness therefore allows for both assimilation and ‘survival’ (Hooks, 1992). Critical race discourses on the 262

‘performativity of whiteness’ have thus been careful not to depict the ‘Other’ body/self as simply a passive victim of ‘white discursive power’ (Delano-Oriaran and Parks, 2015), contending instead that ‘mimicry’ provides a ‘site of ambivalence’ (Butler, 1993) and resistance for ‘Others’ to actively attempt at achieving parity with their white and white-passing counterparts.

Yet, the extent to which ‘mimicry’ oscillates between oppressive and empowering qualities is highly contentious (Lipsitz, 1998). It seems that, ultimately, prevailing attempts at and the idealization of ‘same-ness’ still signify a ‘trapping’ of the ‘Othered’ body/self and its psychopathology within a semiotic space of white aesthetic ideals, whereby the ‘Other’ would much rather settle for being an imitation of whiteness than embrace its embodied representation of ‘difference’ (Yancy, 2004). The ‘Other’ is held perpetually captive, as it were, by a profound sense of ‘self-ressentiment’ and internalization of ‘epistemic violence’ (Hall, 1996, p. 17) – it becomes its own prison (Ismail, 2012).

Non-White Womanhood and the Consumption of Raciated Beauty Pigmentocracy affects ‘Other’ women more acutely, as the ‘performativity of whiteness’ intersects closely with performing femininity. Ideas of what and who a woman should be – and consequently, her worth – are heavily reliant on outward appearances. Indeed, ‘female beauty’ as embodied and material assets is found to be transformable into other forms of capital, namely social and economic capital, as it directly influences marriageability, life chances and opportunities of women (see Espino and Franz, 2002; Hunter, 2007; Vaid, 2009; Picton, 2013; Rosenblum, Darity and Harris, 2015). Beauty as a ‘currency system’ thus determines a gender politics for women dependent on their perceived desirability (Wolf, 1991).

When historical emphases on whiteness are so pervasive that they continue to influence modern criteria for ‘desirability’ (Thapan, 2004), it becomes a more complicated issue for ‘Other’ women, as race is articulated directly by the valuing of a white beauty aesthetic which serve to blatantly exclude them. Certainly, overlooking the appalling lack of diversity in media representation, influential pop culture female icons of colour such as Beyonce Knowles, Nicki Minaj, and Rihanna as well as other local celebrities in the Latin American, Asian and African subcontinents still inadvertently endorse and perpetuate – with their lighter skin and racially ambiguous features – an elevation of pigmentocratic

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values that valorize unattainable Eurocentric beauty archetypes (Tate, 2016, p. 2), and by extension, whiteness itself: ‘Female beauty is becoming an increasingly standardized quality throughout the world. A standard so strikingly White, Western, and wealthy it is tempting to conclude that there must be a conscious conspiracy afoot.’

(Chapkis, 1986, p. 37) Rondilla (2009, p. 71) thus argues that the ‘quest of non-white womanhood for whiteness’ is a result of old systems of oppression that include not just white dominance, but also male dominance, as the raciated female subject learns to view herself as foremost a product – vis-à-vis the ‘white gaze’ – intended for male consumption. Yet, it is precisely because of the consciousness of one’s racialized and sexualized positionality that the ‘performativity of whiteness’ becomes an effective, if not ironic way to counter racism and sexism (Lipsitz, 1998). The non-white female body therefore becomes a medium through which white hegemony and patriarchy exercises power, evolving hence into a site of simultaneous surveillance, struggle, resistance, and emancipation (Brownmiller, 1975). It is, as Crossley (2001, p. 149) puts it, ‘the subjectification of the objectified subject through self-objectification’.

That being so, skin tone acts as a form of gendered symbolic capital that can be ‘worked at and worked for’ (Jha, 2015, p. 13). The appeal of ‘consuming whiteness’ through the literal whitening of the skin therefore emerges from the dense converging of ‘colour hierarchies’, ‘promises of betterment’ and ‘desires for female perfection’ (Tate, 2016, p.

2). In an effort also to tap into women’s increasing purchasing power, the beauty industry further plays on these ‘aesthetics of racism’ (Gilman, 1999) by partnering with pharmaceutical firms to invoke science, as a regime of discursivity, to advertise the use of ‘whiteners’ as a means of ‘racial uplift’ and ‘transcendence’ of the female form (Hunter, 2007, p. 238). Where skin tone marks the desired from the undesirable, and beauty is marked by skin tone, ‘Other’ women can now invest in determining this marker for themselves by performing and approximating themselves to whiteness through the consumption of whitening products (Glenn, 2009).

This is perhaps best summarized through the application of the theory of ‘impression management’ by Goffman (1972). In regards to skin whitening practices, they signify the 264

‘managing’ of: (1) the ‘impression’ of whiteness, which promises upwards mobility and assimilation, (2) the ‘impression’ of beauty, which promises a sense of self-validation and self-worth, and (3) the ‘impression’ of whiteness as beauty and beauty as whiteness, because whiteness defines beauty and beauty remains an important resource for women (Hunter, 2002).

METHODOLOGY Guiding Principles and Framework Whilst existing literature has undoubtedly been instrumental in complicating the issues of whiteness and non-white womanhood, ethnographic research remains considerably limited (in particular those which investigate these issues within their specific national contexts). Without seeking to empathetically engage with women to ‘get inside’ their own thoughts and opinions (Hamilton, Smith, and Worthington, 2008), previous studies have inadvertently silenced the women they putatively sought to understand by speaking for them rather than letting them speak for themselves (Legg, 2010). To that end, they have disallowed the possibility of opening up a theoretical dialogue that would acknowledge these women’s voices and are therefore complicit in the propagation of their erasure in mainstream academia where they are but objects of intellectual fascination (Hooks, 1992).

This

research

therefore

adopts

an

ontological

position

that

foregrounds

a

phenomenological outlook where 'the focus is on descriptions of what women experience and how it is that they experience what they experience' (Patton, 1990, p. 71). With that being the case, a qualitative approach (in the combined form of 'storytelling' and open-ended questionnaires) was favoured as it provided space (1) for the women to give 'meaning' to their experiences through the process of 'narration' (Bruner, 1987); and (2) for the researcher to capture those 'meanings' and understand how the women made sense of their experiences through them (Somers and Gibson, 1993). Certainly, Boeije (2010) contended that the very purpose of any qualitative research should primarily be to 'describe and understand social phenomena in terms of the meanings people bring to them’ (p. 11).

In seeking to grasp these 'meanings', the research allowed for the unpacking of both the nuances and the dynamics of the phenomenon of skin whitening through the eyes of 265

those who have been personally involved in and affected by it. To achieve this, the research worked towards mapping the various contextual processes which connect those different 'meanings' to the wider social relations that sustain the phenomenon (Smedley, 2008). The methodology is hence partly characterized by its ability to embrace these 'meanings' and therefore is inclusive of diverse 'narratives' because it chooses to document the accounts of the participating women themselves and 'make visible their lived ‘realities' (Belenky, Clinchy, Goldberger, and Tarule, 1986, p. 24).

This approach effectively drew on Stuart Hall’s theory of 'articulation' to gain a sense of those 'meanings' and 'lived realities' from the ways the participating women articulated their experiences in their 'narrations'. 'Articulation' as a theory stresses that an identity is a subjective sense of self, but accepts the place of history, politics, space, and culture in the construction of subjectivities (Hall, 1996). When employed as a method, it was helpful in shedding light on the 'meanings' underpinning the choices that contribute to the phenomenon that these women make (Smedley, 2008). It proved particularly useful when 'sociologically coding' the data to identify theoretically informed 'meanings' that go together (Glaser and Laudel, 2013).

The research process thus necessarily demanded an appreciation of the alternative sources of knowledge that emanate from ‘non-traditional' forms of expertise (Hesse-Biber and Leavy, 2006). Hence, the 'non-traditional' style of collecting data through a combination of 'storytelling' and open-ended questionnaires. Indeed, the research began by 'probing contexts rather than texts' (Al-Sharmani and Rumminger, 2015, p. 230) in which the women’s subjective experiences and 'ways of knowing' of a lived phenomenon (here being skin whitening) are privileged over the interpretations of the researcher (DeVault, 1999). With that in mind, an inductive approach was also employed where the emphasis remained primarily on how these women recounted their engagement with the phenomenon and not on how the researcher assumed the phenomenon have been engaged with (Wimmer and Dominick, 1997). Data collection – and to some extent its analysis – were therefore based on generating description rather than proposing simplistic causal theories (Hammersley, 1998).

However, it must be acknowledged that 'pure induction' is rarely achievable (David and Sutton, 2011). The principles of phenomenology itself dictate that any attempt to report the experiences of others will inevitably be skewed towards the personal views of the 266

researcher (Patton, 1990), rendering truly ‘value free’ research inconceivable (Becker, 1967). Nevertheless, it was imperative to take on a somewhat ‘reflexive' stance and ‘actively locate oneself inside the research ‘process' (Hesse-Biber and Leavy, 2006, p. 4), or otherwise be 'theoretically sensitive' (Strauss and Corbin, 1990), as that would enable the researcher to interpret the participants’ responses through an internal understanding of their points of view (Becker, 1967). Indeed, as the researcher is a Malay-identified woman who regularly partook in skin whitening practices, this proved particularly helpful.

There have been a number of compelling arguments made by critical race feminists (whose works provided the foundation for this research) who observed that ‘reinforcing neutrality and colourblindness' undermined the 'realms of racialized gender inequalities' (Hylton, 2012, p. 3-4). To approach racial or gender concerns in a manner that was completely objective was found to sever the connection between those 'realms' and the ‘capacity of women of colour to create meanings' about their lives (Hooks, 1992, p. 124).

For this reason, it was asserted that, in any research on race and/or gender, there must be 'an awareness of the subtleties of meanings that people gave to their experiences' (Strauss and Corbin, 1990, p. 41) and a recognition of the wider oppressive dominant forces that define them (Ladson-Billings and Donnor, 2008).

It was therefore incumbent upon the researcher to be cognizant of those forces since it was only then that the ‘lived realities' of the participating women could be captured in their entirety (Al-Sharmani and Rumminger, 2015). Their responses were thus contextualized within the broader social, historical, and cultural frameworks in order to understand the continued popularity of skin whitening as a social practise in Singapore (Blay, 2011).

Even so, a level of detachment was observed in order to allow some space for the ‘data to speak on its own' (Tukey, 1977). The researcher therefore believed that there was a successful negotiation between 'insider' and 'outsider' status (Hesse-Biber and Leavy, 2006). It is nevertheless important to acknowledge the limitations of this research in terms of reliability as well as generalizability. Still, as a 'thick description' (Geertz, 1973) of an 'intrinsic case' (Stake, 1988), this research is both valid and interesting in its analysis of the ‘narratives' of the participating women.

The fundamental research question is thus: Why do young Singaporean women actively partake in the phenomenon of skin whitening? This question exposes the research as foremost being an ethical feminist and critical race enquiry. The methodology was 267

therefore developed to best suit the 'goals of intersectional feminism' (Crenshaw, 1995) which aim to ensure that the experiences of women of colour were 'at the heart of any research investigation', rather than at the ‘convenient margins’ (Hylton, 2012, p. 2).

Indeed, as was previously stated, the testimonies of these women were considered most crucial for data and subsequent knowledge generation.

Hooks (1992) has observed that ‘the absence of women of colour in academic literature is so salient, yet not much has been done to address it' (p. 117) – the primary source of the researcher’s interest to conduct this enquiry is precisely because of this unfortunate fact. Whereas previous studies have only investigated how women of colour perform their gendered identities, there was never actually an attempt to listen to these women speak about and against the construction of their selves. The intention of this research was to place these women in a position of power by chronicling their own 'life stories' – and with that their 'resistance struggle' (Giroux, 2003). Above all, the priority was on providing ‘therapeutic spaces of agency' for these women to both 'voice out' and reflect on their experiences (Hooks, 1992, p. 125).

The goal of capturing these women’s voices does not, however, mean that their testimonies were equated with the 'absolute truth' (Atkinson, 1992). The research recognizes that one woman’s experiences should not be assumed to be representative of other women’s, and that, although 'common themes' may have been identified (David and Sutton, 2011), these specific experiences of a limited collection of ‘life stories' cannot be extrapolated or applied to all women in all contexts (Al-Sharmani and Rumminger, 2015).

Rather, the research sought to depict and respect the complexities of multiple 'truths' (Hooks, 1992): how different women experienced life through the negotiation of their identities as both women in Singapore and people of colour within a global/transnational context, the implications of those experiences on the choices they made with regards to skin whitening, and the connection between these individual 'life stories' to a larger, interrelated narrative (Clandinin and Connelly, 2000).

The research was ultimately a pursuit that not only examined these concerns in ways that offered new insights, but also questioned pre-held assumptions about racialized gender regimes as established and perpetuated by the skin whitening phenomenon. More importantly, the methodology used to achieve this is underpinned by the emancipatory politics of critical race feminist theory and methodologies which endeavour to open up a 268

‘discursive terrain’ (Hooks, 1992, p. 125) that can amplify the voices of those who are often silenced by giving them the chance to finally share their stories.

Participant Selection and Ethics In total, nine Singaporean women participated in the research. They were final-year students at the University of Durham and the University of Newcastle, United Kingdom, all of whom were reading from a range of hard sciences and liberal arts courses. Three different ethnic groups were represented among them: four identified as Malay, three as Chinese and the remaining two were of Indian background. This diversity was intentional, designed both to mirror the population demographics of Singapore, and to cover an extensive range of experiences with skin whitening, while still being able to identify vital similarities that cut across those individual experiences (Sims and Hirudayaraj, 2015).

This reflects one of the aims of the research, which was to derive the significance of those shared patterns that have emerged out of heterogeneity in order to paint a ‘bigger picture' of the phenomenon at hand.

The participants were recruited through requests via the social media messaging application ‘Whatsapp'. Attached with the requests was a copy of the 'participant information sheet', which laid out in great detail what the research was about and made clear that their responses – if they agreed to get involved – would be anonymized to respect their confidentiality (Berg, 1998). They were also reassured that they were under no obligation to take part in the research. It would have been advisable to have adhered to Wilkinson’s philosophy of precautionary over-recruitment (1998) since, out of the fifteen participants that were initially expected, only nine replied to the request. The response rate was nonetheless favourable and appropriate – given the recommended number of six to ten in small-scale studies (Morgan, 1997) – because it allowed the researcher to explore the issue of skin whitening in much greater depth and detail (Patton, 1990).

In order to recruit these women, the researcher employed a mixture of convenience and purposeful sampling (Robson, 2011). As such, the women in the study were mostly friends or acquaintances with whom relatively good relationships had already been established (Hayes, 2000). Since this type of quota sampling was not applied systematically, there was undoubtedly a likelihood of bias (Robson, 2011) that might have

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produced responses influenced by perceived researcher expectations (Fern, 1982).

Furthermore, as with pre-existing relationships between participants and researchers more generally, familiarity affords a degree of ‘intimacy' at the expense of values or factual information that might be taken for granted or not challenged (David and Sutton, 2011). This, however, was addressed by using online questionnaires instead of one-on-one interviews in order to detach the participants from the physical presence of the researcher. Such a method of non-probability sampling was also considered the most suitable given the sensitive nature of the skin whitening phenomenon.

Indeed, the rapport we already had motivated the women to ‘open up' about experiences they might have been uncomfortable sharing with someone they were less accustomed to (Bryman, 2004). This was further encouraged by the fact that the researcher was also a woman who came from a similar national and cultural background (Bergold and Thomas, 2012). In addition, as the women were in a way ‘self-selected', they might have been more politically inclined and racially conscious, and were, therefore, presumably more interested in participating in a research about racial politics than those who denied the requests sent to them.

This was evidently helpful in 'facilitating fluid communication' and overcoming issues of ‘discomfort' or ‘reluctance' to ‘open up’ (Madriz, 2000, p. 843) about their experiences with skin whitening, which to many might seem like a very delicate issue. Still, the well-being of participants could not be guaranteed and they were thus offered the option of getting in touch with the researcher personally if they wished to discuss privately any of the distressing issues that arose during the data collection process. Likewise, the participants were assured that the data collected would be secured for the duration of the research and destroyed immediately following its conclusion (BSA, 2011, p. 5).

Research Design Qualitative online questionnaires were chosen as the primary mode of data collection for the research. The nine women who responded to the requests from the researcher were later sent an email containing a set of seven open-ended questions about themselves and their experiences as someone involved in the skin whitening phenomenon. These questions assessed five core domains: participation in skin whitening, regularity of the practice, motivations, perceptions of beauty, and awareness of social issues implicated in

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the prevalence of skin whitening practices, particularly within the Singaporean context.

These emails were sent out shortly after the participants signed their consent forms and, since they were all busy final-year students, they were given no strict deadline to reply.

Nonetheless, they were encouraged to do so within six weeks to allow time for the researcher to collate and conduct an intensive review of their cases. The emails also indicated that there might be follow-up questions, should the participants agree to them.

These questionnaires were ‘non-traditional' (Hesse-Biber and Leavy, 2006) in the sense that they were structured to encourage ‘storytelling'. Similar techniques are often used by critical race feminists (see Solorzano and Yosso, 2002; Smith, 2006; Ladson-Billings and Donnor, 2008; Stefancic, 2013; Matias and Grosland, 2016) to obtain a better understanding of emotions and ‘articulations' (Hall 1996), which would otherwise be missed or misunderstood if a more structured method such as interviews were chosen (Bryman, 2004). As previously noted, the extant literature on skin whitening has been either dismissive or disparaging of the women who were involved (Ismail, 2012).

By allowing these women to 'tell their own stories', the research enables them to ‘respond to and resist the standard story about them' (Ikemoto, 1997, p. 536). The selected methodology was thus in line with the long tradition in critical race and feminist research, which holds that ‘stories are an essential tool for empowerment through challenging dominant grand ‘narratives' (Delgado, 1989, p. 2436). This reiterated one of the goals of the research, which was to centralize the voices of the participating women by placing them in a position of power to chronicle their own 'life stories'.

The questions that the participants were asked thus served primarily as a ‘guide' to initiate their discussion of the issues presented to them; ensuring that they were solely in charge of documenting their own accounts of the phenomenon whilst still keeping to the investigative topics (Bryman, 2004). This, including the relative absence of time constraints, ensured a high level of flexibility, affording the participants a significant degree of freedom to say whatever and as much as they wanted (Wimmer and Dominick, 1997). This was further aided by the questionnaires being conducted online, which allowed the participants to choose an environment that was comfortable for them as they formulated their replies (Johnston, 2013).

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The only drawback was that the responses sometimes felt stilted or came across as heavily edited. This, however, goes back to the point of 'articulation' as theory and method (Hall, 1996) whereby the ways in which the participants chose to express themselves was key in understanding the ‘meanings' they gave to their experiences.

Moreover, the lack of spontaneity meant that the participants were not rushed and instead able to give considerable thought to what they wanted to say, consequently promoting the ‘authenticity' of the data collected by reflecting the 'truths' of the participants (Matias and Grosland, 2016).

By doing this, the research successfully avoided producing artificially induced responses.

Furthermore, this was promoted through a disengagement from ‘interviewer effect' (Davies and Baker, 1987). It has been noted that, as with any methodology involving face-to-face interactions, the ‘impressions’ as well as verbal and visual cues given by the researcher play a significant role in how participants convey themselves (Fern, 1982). It follows that, since the researcher is rather light-skinned and may come across as racially ambiguous, this might well have presented its own set of challenges when it came to data collection. Bearing in mind that the subject matter of this research is, after all, about appearances, the researcher’s own appearance could have greatly influenced the testimonies of the participating women had one-on-one interviews been conducted instead.

Data Analysis Following the principles of thematic analysis (Braun and Clarke, 2013), the researcher began the process of data analysis by first applying a system of open coding to the responses after they were collated (Boeije, 2010). Each line of text was reviewed for words and phrases that stood out, which were immediately recorded on ‘analytic memos' (Strauss and Corbin, 1990). The ‘memos' were used at this stage of axial coding to distinguish whether these words and phrases recurred in meaning either literally or synonymously – and locate any discernible ‘patterns' (Smith, 2015). The ‘patterns’ were later clustered into categories (Glaser and Laudel, 2013). These categories were systematically compared (Robson, 2011) in order to evaluate their relevance and identify emergent ‘common themes' (David and Sutton, 2011).

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A combination of 'in vivo' and ‘sociological' coding was employed throughout to assist in the subsequent mapping of ‘common themes' to underlying social processes (Saldana, 2015). The final phase therefore involved a ‘genealogical method’ (Kearins and Hooper, 2002) whereby ‘common themes’ are analyzed within the context of culture and history of Singaporean society. For example, it was found that the participating women consistently described the great pressure to be lighter-skinned to be seen as ‘attractive’ by their peers and this may possibly reflect the population dynamics of Singapore whereby the Chinese are the majority as well as the Westernization of beauty ideals as a result of Singapore’s colonial past and globalization. The ‘common themes’ are consequently organized under ‘theoretical headings’ (Boeije, 2010) which are reported in the findings.

FINDINGS The following section presents an exploration of the various interrelated themes which emerged from the analysis of the data. They are categorized into four subsections: Whitening Undefined, Lightness, Light Beauty, and Double Consciousness.

Pseudonyms are used throughout to maintain the anonymity of the participants. For the benefit of the reader, the researcher has chosen the first letter of the pseudonyms to reflect the participants’ ethnicities. For example, Maria is Malay, Indira is Indian, and Clarence is Chinese. This is to avoid repetitiveness.

Also, to reiterate the goal of the study, which was to ‘give voice’ to the participating women, this section makes extensive use of selected excerpts from their responses. This is to further help the reader get a deeper sense of what was being said through the participants’ perspectives alongside the researcher’s analysis/discussion of them. The participating women are also quoted throughout and, in order to not confuse the reader, these quotes will be those without in-text citation.

Light and fair, and lightness and fairness, will be used reciprocally.

Whitening (Un) Defined: ‘Brightening’ vs. ‘Toning’ A review of the data indicates that defining the practice of skin whitening is not as straightforward or precise as one might assume. Although the nine participants involved in the research report regularly using products marketed as agents that modify skin pigmentation, or ‘whiteners’, not all defined their application of these products 273

as

‘whitening’. Those who did describe the practice as ‘whitening’ also used the words ‘brightening’ and ‘lightening’ interchangeably. Others seemed reluctant to call it ‘whitening’ at all and referred to it only as ‘toning’. This distinction is significant enough to warrant a more detailed mention.

Carmen:

I guess toners do count as skin whitening products, but they target the skin’s health rather than colour, like fix blemishes, dullness, and unevenness ... it does also prevent me from getting darker ... If you look at it that way, I do kind of use these products to help maintain my skin tone ... I am naturally fair, so toning is just way to preserve or even improve the natural radiance of my complexion.

Cassandra: I use skin toners for health reasons … they give my skin a better complexion and a nice bright glow … I won’t say that that is entirely similar to skin whitening, but most of the products I use do actually help in keeping my fairness … admittedly, I don’t want to get darker, but the aim is mostly to clean and even my skin out.

Michaela: Skin whitening has been part of my beauty regime for a long time, but I also do it for facial cleanliness ... In my community, my skin colour is called kuning langsat (olive) and it’s in between fair and dark … but I wanted a lighter complexion since that was a healthier.

From the perspectives of the participants, it seems that the distinction relies heavily upon their justification for – or, rather, motivations behind – the use of skin whitening products.

These motivations were classified as either related to dermatological health and/or about ‘obtaining lighter skin’. Following this logic, ‘toning’ entails an ‘evening out’ of the skin whereas ‘brightening’ denotes an alteration in its ‘shade’. It could be argued that the

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implication of the latter of wanting to ‘change one’s colour’ (Glenn, 2008, p. 11) is why some of the women distanced themselves from the term ‘skin whitening’.

However, just as these women explained their use of ‘toners’ as ‘skin-care’, it is important to note that the women who described their skin whitening practices as ‘brightening’ or ‘lightening’ also rationalized the use of ‘whiteners’ as part of a ‘daily facial hygiene routine’. because, in their estimation, dark skin was considered ‘unclean’. Darkness was thus perceived as something that needed to be ‘purified’ or prevented for the ‘well-being’ of the skin. The overarching motif here was therefore the idea that a ‘wholesome complexion’ was one that was fair. This will be explored further in the next section.

Lightness: Yearning For and ‘Keeping’ It Perhaps what is most intriguing is that the motivations were distinguishably segregated depending on the women’s ‘natural’ skin tone. To ease the discussion for the benefit of the reader, participants were split into two groups: (1) Those who were ‘born dark’ and practised skin whitening to ‘fix their darkness’.

(2) Those who were ‘born fair’ and practised skin whitening to ‘retain their fairness’.

The first group comprised the Malay and Indian participants, and the second group was exclusively Chinese. The demographics of these groups is extremely significant, as we will observe later on, in understanding the ways in which the women articulated their motivations for participating in skin whitening, and how these motivations relate to broader racial and class politics in Singapore.

Group 1 The women in this group ‘yearned for lightness’ (Glenn, 2008, p. 1). They recounted having been ‘introduced’ to the significance of light skin ‘very early on in life’ by their parents (particularly mothers) and peers through ‘comments’ that showed a disdain for dark skin, and a preference for ‘fair girls’. This often led the women to suffer from ‘low self-esteem’ and sought to ‘regain confidence’ through ‘brightening’ their skin. The women made it very clear in their responses that this ‘pressure’ to conform to ‘idealized lightness’ (Hall, 2010) was what informed their skin whitening practices.

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Munira:

I want to love myself, but it’s difficult when you are constantly being told you are worth less than others with white or fair skin ... In the Malay community, light-skinned girls were put on a pedestal. More generally, it was the Chinese girls who get sung praises because they were lightest ... I was made to think that my skin was dirty and that it had to be cleansed through whitening … It’s sad because I have come to believe this was true.

Indila:

At school, I would be called derogatory and sometimes racist things. I was even jeered by my friends who thought my dark skin was something to joke about. They didn’t think it was serious but it got to the point that I became depressed and that was when my mother started buying me brightening products ... I think I have got lighter since because the teasing stopped. And guys have started showing interest as well … I learned early on that I needed to achieve lightness so I can feel good about myself and fit in with everyone else.

The inextricable link between femininity, fairness and beauty here is hard to miss. Given that dark skin is perceived to be constituting ‘inherent ugliness’ (Gilman, 1999), skin whitening sells itself to these women as a beauty regime which promises to ‘enhance outward appearances’ (Ismail, 2012). Furthermore, it seems that these women are also taught to internalize the idea that not only did their skin fall short of the light-skinned ideal; it was also a ‘disease which required curing’ (Stepan, 1991, p. 24).

Appropriating the ‘rhetoric of biomedicine’ to institutionalise the ‘regulatory depreciation of darkness’ (Thompson, 2004, p. 171) further helps sustain the ‘performative practices’ (Butler, 2004) of skin whitening which claim to be ‘solutions to the problem of dark skin’ (Rondilla and Spickard, 2007, p. 79). In Foucauldian terms, skin whitening is an embodiment of a ‘dark skin stigma’ (Jha, 2015). It may thus be regarded as a ‘technology of the self’ (Foucault, 1988) that the Indian and Malay women employed to ‘fix’ their dark 276

skin so they could feel ‘beautiful’ and, more importantly, ‘accepted’ within their own communities as well as assimilate into the predominantly (light-skinned) Chinese society.

This speaks volumes about the ways in which the issue of skin whitening is intimately tied to embodied practices of self-subordination (Davis, 2003). It also exposes the uncomfortable fact that even in an ostensibly democratic, multicultural society such as Singapore, certain groups of individuals – namely the Indians and Malays – continue to be defined as ‘Other’ and are forced to find ways to ‘disguise their Otherness’ in order to ‘blend in’ (Hall, 1996, p. 32) and ‘compete for the gifts that are denied them because of their skin colour’ (Ismail, 2012, p. 21). In fact, the women reported that their light-skinned peers tend to have more friends, higher opportunities in education and employment, and better marriage prospects – as evidenced by the numerous studies (see Mohamad, 2014; Vadaketh and Low, 2014; Narayanan and Kwen Fee, 2016; Duruz, 2016; Lian, 2016; Lian and Ganapathy, 2016) which found that Singapore’s ethnic Chinese population enjoys the most economic wealth and social status in this small country, which manifests itself in political and material privilege, at the expense of the inferiorization of their traditionally darker-skinned Indian and Malay counterparts. It would not be surprising that this, in turn, encourages them to ‘brighten’ their skin so they can procure some of the perceived benefits that come with having light skin (Ismail, 2012).

The beauty industry capitalizes on the pathologization of dark skin by further playing on these anxieties (Glenn, 2008). Tate (2016) refers to this as an extension of ‘commodity racism’. Skin whitening products are often advertised by cosmetic and pharmaceutical firms as ‘correctors’ (Stepan, 1991) that could ‘transform not just the physical appearance of consumers but their lives’ (Glenn, 2008, p. 18). Television and print adverts frequently associate dark skin with ‘pain, rejection and limited options’ (Glenn, 2008, p. 18).

Depictions of ‘accomplishing lightness’ (Robinson, 2011) are juxtaposed as the key to ‘opening the doors of opportunity’ (and a lot can be said about how this actually translates to real life). The lightening of skin is thus framed as a ‘means of transcendence’ (Winders, Jones and Higgins, 2005, p. 80). Underpinning this is the idea that since light skin is achievable, it should and must be achieved – by purchasing those skin whitening products, of course (Tate, 2016). The women’s experiences of being ‘pushed towards lightening’ to ‘improve’ themselves are a testament to how successfully this message has been sold.

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These marketing strategies have also combined discourses of nature in their promotion by claiming to use ‘herbal ingredients or minerals’ (Ismail, 2012). The ‘invocation of nature’ (Thompson, 2004) serves to legitimate the use of the products whilst also reassuring consumers that these products are not harmful and will just help ‘counter the contamination of dark skin’ (Glenn, 2008, p. 4). The women cited this in their responses; stating that they use only ‘organic products from accredited companies’ when they can.

However, the women observed that ‘access’ to these items is ‘incredibly limited’ since they are usually expensive and sold in very few selected stores. The women nonetheless mentioned that, since they stopped depending on their mothers to buy them skin whitening products, they felt it was ‘okay to splurge every once in a while because top-quality brighteners were an investment'. Otherwise they were forced to resort to ‘the high-street range’ despite being ‘less effective and possibly harmful'. According to one Malay woman, the potential adverse effects of these products did not deter her from further use as ‘desperate measures must be taken’ to achieve the ‘desired complexion'.

Another Indian woman similarly explained that ‘beauty is worth suffering for'.

This alludes to the pre-colonial colour-caste hierarchy which also interestingly corresponds with the current class dynamics in Singapore where there is a prominent Chinese upper class, Indian middle class, and Malay working class (Cheng, 2014).

Lightness, then and now, represents a privilege available only to those who are either ‘born with’ it or have the means to afford it (Glenn, 2008). In the past, the ‘bourgeoisie’ were in commerce, did service jobs, or had peasants to tend their farms so they were able to stay out of the sun and ‘protect’ their skin from getting too dark. Today, they can pay upwards of $200 for products to achieve ‘full whitening’ (Ismail, 2012, p.22).

Indeed, the use of products from American and French companies evidently sets apart the Chinese women in this research from the Indian and Malay women who ‘have to settle with drugstore merchandise'. Societal changes may have largely abolished a clear-cut aristocracy, but light skin and/or the ability to pay for the ‘luxury of having light skin’ still indisputably remains a status symbol (Thapan, 2004) – a harsh reminder for those of darker skin that this status symbol is not ‘simply earned; it is something to be aspired and worked towards’ (Ismail, 2012, p. 14).

Group 2

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It is important to recognize how the tradition of ‘idealized lightness’ (Hall, 2010) has been part of different local cultures and predates the establishment of Western imperialistic entities in Asia; although it was arguably reinforced by their presence which spanned three centuries through colonial ideas of superiority associated with whiteness (Thapan, 2004). Certainly, each of the three major ethnic groups in Singapore has its own legacy of skin colour discrimination. With the Indians and Malays, darker skin was associated with the ‘manual’ or labouring class, whereas light skin was considered a ‘preserve of the elite’ (Rondilla, 2009, p. 67). Meanwhile, East Asian cultures, including the Chinese, have always historically celebrated light skin as a symbol of grace and prosperity. (Xu and Feiner, 2007). Ayyar and Khandare (2013, p. 71) contend that these preferences were ‘crystallized’ during the British occupation and later came ‘full circle’ with contemporary globalization.

Within the context of Singapore, sustaining the ‘idealization’ of light skin corresponds also to the rise of a Chinese upper class who presently hold the most political and economic power (Hee and Ooi, 2003). In fact, Thanapal (2015) holds that structural ‘Chinese privilege’ is in some ways analogous to ‘white privilege’ in Europe, the United States, Australia and New Zealand, despite the important differences in the historical, political, and geographic circumstances and developments of these two privileges. To return to the point of skin whitening as a ‘technology of the self', this explains why the ‘impression of lightness’ offered a way for the Malays and Indians to conform to the pre- and post-colonial values of their individual communities, and ‘integrate’ into the wider predominantly Chinese society (Glenn, 2008).

As was previously stated, the Indian and Malay women in the research described regularly experiencing discrimination on the basis of their dark skin. Indeed, a number of recent studies (see Pickering, 2013; Cheng, 2014; Chua and Ng, 2015; Narayanan and Kwen Fee, 2016) found that skin tone, alongside other intersecting factors, such as ethnic and financial background, has a direct correlation with one’s life chances in Singapore (Chua, 2002, p. 27). This kind of ‘colourism’ and inter-POC (people of colour) policing of skin colour is thus not new or unique to Singapore, but has been complicated by the valorization of whiteness as a legacy of British imperialism and the resultant transnational pigmentocracy: the idea that lighter you are, the higher on the hierarchy you stand (Hall, 1996). Colourism is not just a serious problem between the Chinese, Indian, and Malay

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ethnic groups in Singapore; but also within the Indian community itself, and, to a lesser extent, within the Malay community as well – additionally due to increasing ‘Arabization’ (Mohamad, 2014). White supremacy and Chinese supremacy function in combination here.

The expression of a ‘dark skin stigma’ (Jha, 2015) by the Chinese women in this second group therefore vastly differed from the views of the Malay and Indian women in the first group, in the sense that there was more of a ‘distancing from darkness’ (Fritsch, 2014, p.

11) than a ‘yearning for lightness’ (Glenn, 2008, p. 1). It can be deduced from their responses that the ‘need to achieve’ fair skin was not as pronounced and this could be because these women were part of the dominant demographic and already light-skinned to begin with. Additionally, this may be influenced by the proximity to countries such as China, Japan, and South Korea, and the popularity in Singapore of a pop culture emanating from those countries (Duong, 2016).

Clarence: People tell me my skin is like white jade, so I am quite proud of that ... It’s very sunny in Singapore so I have to apply toners regularly to keep my skin beautiful and healthy ... I use products from the Dior Snow range because they are much better than stuff you can get at drugstores ... I buy only the best for my skin.

Cassandra: I am quite proud of my original skin tone. People have often complimented it for being clear and radiant, comparing me to this or that K-Pop star … But even if I get slightly tanned, the neighbourhood auntie will come and ask me why I became dark … So my skin is something that I have had to maintain considering Singapore’s very sunny weather ... I don’t mind having to pay the extra costs for products from Estee Lauder and L’Oréal. That’s my beauty secret. I think all women should make an effort to take care of their skin.

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What is notably absent from these accounts is the experience of being shamed or discriminated against due to complexion and how that experience affected the future use of skin whitening products. For the Chinese women, ‘toning’ their skin was not a ‘punishment for having been born the wrong shade’ (Hall, 1996, p. 7) but was something that was almost ‘empowering’ because they were ‘in charge’ of their own bodies by deciding what was ‘best’ for them. Engels (2008) however would perhaps espouse a less positive perspective; calling this instead the ‘commercialization of the liberation rhetoric’ whereby the ‘democratization of choice’ is suggested only in terms of ‘purchasing beauty products’ (p. 13). Ismail (2012) would further argue that there was ‘no real agency’ because women used what little they do have to ‘pattern themselves on the external control of standards’ that are held against them (p. 16).

Nevertheless, in stark contrast to the Indian and Malay women who confessed that it was ‘difficult to love their skin', the Chinese women displayed great pride in and embraced theirs. They were ‘encouraged’ by others and got to ‘see themselves’ represented in media images that affirm their ‘worth’ in terms of beauty – a privilege that the Indian and Malay women were not afforded. Whilst they made no significant mention of the benefits that fairness entail such as having precedence in education, employment, and government which was pointed out by the Indian and Malay women, the Chinese women still start from a position of knowing that their light skin acts as a form of ‘social currency’ (Thapan, 2004, p. 439). The pressure was then on ‘keeping’ their light skin both the way it is and from ‘getting dark'.

However, as with Indian and Malay participants, this ‘disciplining of the body’ (Sawicki, 1991) was also rationalized by the Chinese women as a ‘healthcare routine'. Fairness represented ‘purity’ and they explained that their regular use of ‘toners’ was thereby to suppress a ‘regression’ to being ‘too tanned'. So while dark skin may be a ‘disease’ the Indian and Malay women were born with and had to rectify; for the Chinese women, it was a ‘disease’ that must be prevented from.

Light Beauty: Historical Awareness and Historical Continuity As shown thus far, all the women in this research are cognizant of the fact that light skin is widely desired. However, whilst the Chinese women did make references to the ‘social currency’ that their fairness hold, it is the Indian and Malay women who appear to

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explicitly contextualize their experiences within the broader racial and class politics in Singapore by situating their individual discussions of skin whitening within a broader discussion of the ‘economies of colour’ (Parameswaran, 2015). Having faced discrimination and exclusion on the basis of their dark skin, it was feasibly expected that they would be more conscious of their oppression in a pigmentocratic system which merits lightness.

It is perhaps unsurprising that the women were acutely aware of Singapore’s colonial past and related their skin whitening practices also to the lasting impact of British imperialism on pre-existing and contemporary values which ‘idealized lightness' as an extension of whiteness. The women acknowledged the role of the media in ‘reinforcing Westernized beauty standards’ as well. Jha (2015) refers to this as ‘cultural neo-imperialism’ in which Western ideals, including ideals of beauty, are propagated globally. In this regard, ‘light beauty’ has emerged as a regulatory model restructuring pre- and post-colonial power relations in the urban context of pigmentocracy and class stratification in Singapore (Narayanan and Kwen Fee, 2016). Skin tone as a form of symbolic capital hence carries both a transnational and historical signification.

Munira: The media is responsible

for

telling

us

that

to

be

beautiful is to be white. Just turn on the TV or open any magazine and you get the idea … But Malays also typically find fair-skinned girls who look like they are have European or Arab blood prettier. I guess this due to colonization back in the days and white supremacy … and the confusion between Islam as a faith and Arab as culture … Elite Malays usually married the white and Arab people who came, and nowadays the kacukan (mixed) look is still very popular because that meant you were high-class.

Maria:

If we consider the local stars or just popular people on social media, if they are not Chinese, then they are half-white or look white. With Malays, if you were mixed-blood, you were the ideal ... I believe it is mostly

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because of our colonial history but also because of media influence where fairness is held to highest regard ... What this tells me is that I am never going to be beautiful enough, because I am not white enough. At least with skin whitening, I get to have the fair skin.

Iman:

It is a popular phenomenon, especially in the Indian community, to adore white people ... I think this prejudice is linked to the lasting impact of British colonialism in both India and Singapore, so we have a legacy of white supremacy. We also have a legacy of Chinese hegemony ... That’s why beautiful people are either part-European or Chinese-looking, it’s so rare to see a minority win a beauty pageant … Being white or passing as one is prized in our society … I cannot get white features, not without expensive surgery, but I can get fairer at least and skin whitening is affordable.

It is clear from these responses that beauty is interpreted as the ‘approximation of a white aesthetic’ (Gilman, 1991, p. 21). This would partly explain why despite many contemporary Indian Singaporeans, like the Chinese, first arriving in the former colony as indentured labour (as well as convicts, traders and sepoys) under the British regime, they were not able to appropriate the forms of privilege or rival the Chinese majority in this privilege in their own Singaporean experience. With the Malays, their subjugation was a byproduct of colonial processes of segregation and gentrification and an elevation of an ‘Arab-Malay’ middle class who tend to have white-passing features and light skin (Mohamad, 2014).

In addition to belonging to the dominant demographic, the Chinese women are thus ‘racially superior’ to the Indian and Malay women because they belong to an ethnic majority whose normative fairness signifies proximity to whiteness. Nonetheless, they have admitted to considering cosmetic surgery at some point in their lives to ‘fix’ their ‘distinctly Asian features’ such as their ‘small, slanted eyes’ and ‘full nose'. It reflects how even the ‘Korean and Japanese pop stars’ the Chinese women have often

been 283

compared to represent a ‘specific kind of beauty’ which Rondilla (2009, p. 64) describes as ‘Asian beauty according to the white imagination’. Hence, this explains also the favouring of biracial women who have ‘European or Arab blood’ within the Indian and Malay communities. Ultimately, this points to the fact that it is not just dark skin which was ‘looked down upon’ – it is anything that could signify non-whiteness i.e. ‘Otherness’ (Hunter, 2005).

Indeed, as beauty continues to be defined by primarily white or white-passing bodies and faces, it will remain elusive for many women of colour (Rondilla and Spickard, 2007) and, in particular, dark-skinned Indian and Malay women. ‘Brightening’ the skin thus offers a way for these women to ‘emulate whiteness’ and achieve a sense of belonging to a local and global society where ‘light beauty’ is highly prized (Glenn, 2008). For example, one Malay woman stressed the importance of understanding that ‘the pursuit of skin whitening is not necessarily an aspiration to become white but a quest to separate oneself from the working-class, indigenous brown look that puts dark-skinned people at a disadvantage'.

The women’s skin whitening practices is thus not simply an embodied expression of pigmentocracy and class struggles in Singapore, but also an understanding and reaction to it.

Double Consciousness: Loving Oneself through ‘Self-Hate’ Established thus far is how the the practice of skin whitening as a ‘technology of the self’ emerged from the intertwining of personal fantasies and wider structural forces. Although the women varied in how they understood the skin colour hierarchy that exists in Singapore, they were able to situate their skin whitening practices within the broader social and economic issues implicated in the marginalisation of dark skin and the privileging of lightness. On that account, it is apparent from their testimonies that all the women displayed a deep sense of ‘hyper-awareness’ (Dumont, 2008). This is perhaps the foremost finding of the research in that it revealed the capacity for these women to be critical of the world they live in and their place in it.

The women involved in this research thus directly challenged the plethora of ambivalent perspectives, specifically those arising from Western feminist academia, which often position them – and women of colour more generally – as ‘passive victims who suffer from internalized racism and self-hatred’ (Headley, 2004, p. 87). As a matter of fact, the

284

women quite outrightly reject this dominant view of them in their responses. The detailed accounts of their pro-active engagement with skin whitening also portrays them as far from ‘passive'. Rather, it might be argued that the women were attempting to ‘survive'.

Indeed, as one Malay participant eloquently explained, skin whitening was the only way she knows how ‘to love herself in a world that constantly tells her to hate her body'.

Carmen: I succumb to toning my skin because I don’t want to be mistreated like the girls who are born with naturally darker skin … I am disgusted by my own attitude because I know this isn’t right, so I try to defend those who are dark-skinned and remind my friends that they are beautiful and amazing people regardless.

Iman:

There is this sense of injustice when you realize that what is defined of you because of your skin colour gives cause to exclude you ... Your skin colour marks your position in society ... Skin whitening therefore comes in as a very seductive way of defying the system and get the benefits you know you deserve.

Meredith: By making these choices, I dismiss this ridiculous idea that it means we don’t love who we are ... It is easier for other people to shame us who lighten our skin because they already occupy positions of power ... They don’t know what it feels like, having to face enormous amounts of body policing daily.

It would appear that it is precisely because the women have ‘externalized’ the colourism they have been taught to internalize (Jha, 2015) that skin whitening acts as an ‘active strategy’ to ‘navigate through a class-based society that is further hierarchized by colour’ and ‘counter the negative effects of having dark skin’ (p. 17). The women are, as Du Bois (1996) would call them, ‘doubly conscious’ in that they fully grasp how their skin whitening practices are informed by the preference for light skin, but they are also alert to the racism behind the preference. It is a struggle, in other words, ‘between their view 285

of

themselves, versus the dominant racial narrative’ (Du Bois, 1996, p. 5). In doing so, these women ‘denaturalize’ (Butler, 2004) hierarchies of colour despite still participating in it.

There is thus a tension between ‘normalization’ and ‘resistance’ (Foucault, 2005) in that they simultaneously oppose and constitute each other. To put it simply, the women effectively ‘normalize’ the value of light skin by practising skin whitening, but it is also through these skin whitening practices that they may ‘resist’ their disempowerment.

CONCLUSION This research could not be more timely, with more and more public attention now focusing on debates about skin colour, as evidenced, for example, by recently ‘trending’ social media campaigns such as Black is Beautiful, Unfair and Lovely, and Skin Whitening Feministas (Jha, 2015). Such debates are enriched by the application of important theoretical works, including those of Foucault (1979, 1988, 2005), Butler (1988, 1993, 2004), Hooks (1992), and Yancy (2001, 2004). Accordingly, much sociological research on ‘globalizing body politics’ has drawn on these and other prominent theorists.

However, those few studies are often limited to broad literature-based studies on whiteness and non-white womanhood. An area that requires much more investigation is the embodiment of whiteness through practices of emulation such as skin whitening that women in countries in the Global South such as Singapore disproportionately partake in, and how this phenomenon of skin whitening affects different groups of women of colour in these countries differently. As such, criticism of these issues disallows the possibility of a theoretical dialogue that might include the narratives of women who are actually affected by them.

The fundamental question of this research is thus: Why do young Singaporean women actively partake in the phenomenon of skin whitening? The framing of the question exposes the research’s exploratory orientation. It seemed only appropriate therefore to develop a methodology best suited to the 'goals of intersectional feminism' (Crenshaw, 1995) which aim to ensure that the voices of participating women were 'at the heart of the research investigation' (Hylton, 2012, p. 2). Indeed, combining the use of online questionnaires and storytelling enabled the researcher to gather rich data through the collection of personal testimonies. Likewise, the process of documenting and analyzing these testimonies allowed for a unique insight for both the researcher and reader into the

286

experiences of the women in the research. Furthermore, it is plausible to assume that the motivations expressed by the sample, albeit relatively small and selective, may be indicative of the motivations held by the wider population of Singaporean women, considering similar exposure to societal pressures, class structures, and the effects of colonialism. Nevertheless, the research does not purport to be representative of the experiences of all women, in Singapore or elsewhere. Needless to say, the methodology employed raised a number of considerations and concerns, but attempts have been made to address them systematically and transparently.

The findings situate the research in relation to earlier theories of whiteness and non-white womanhood, whilst also developing them further. As a threshold matter, this research demonstrated that the ‘yearning for lightness’ results from the intertwining of personal fantasies for betterment and institutional forces of ‘transnational whiteness’ (Ismail, 2012), local racial hierarchies and capitalist commerce. Class and colour, as well as, it seems, consciousness of colonial histories, often converged to provide a readily available frame for Indian and Malay women to contextualize their experiences of exclusion on the basis of their darkness. Skin whitening as a ‘technology of the self’ (Foucault, 1988) thus offered a way for them to conform to the pre- and post-colonial values of their individual communities, improve social mobility, and integrate into the wider predominantly Chinese society (Glenn, 2008). For Chinese women, their fair skin was thus a form gendered symbolic capital that has significant exchange value resulting from the conflation of fairness with perceived attractiveness and superior status (Glenn, 2009). To that end, whilst the Indian and Malay women ‘aspired’ to lightness, the Chinese women had to ‘maintain’ theirs – a reminder for the latter that, although their light complexion does confer them proximity to whiteness, their ‘whiteness’ was precarious (Ismail, 2012). It takes time, money, dedication, and discipline to ‘keep'.

On that account, this research has illuminated the ways in which lightness – as an uneven socializing force borne of structural racism and class inequalities – can at once be oppressive to women whilst opening up small avenues of agency by allowing them to negotiate their own embodiment in order to finally be seen as more human. The ‘yearning for lightness’ creates affects such as desire, identification, shame, and perhaps even self-loathing; but it also creates capacities and consciousness that open individual women, such as those involved in this study, as reflexive subjects to articulations of

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belonging; where they can learn to love their ‘Othered’ body/self by doing what is best for its survival in a world that has been divided along gendered and coloured lines.

Certainly, the complexity of lightness lies in that it is a contradictory site of surveillance and resistance – of struggle and reclaiming power. The study thus alerts the reader to the ‘bigger picture’ of the skin colour hierarchy by problematizing the motivations of the participating women, thereby allowing for a paradigmatic shift away from thinking of them as simply ‘docile bodies’ caught up in the oppressive micro and macro-structural relations of power. Indeed, this would have not been possible had the researcher not chosen a methodology which entails ‘collecting the stories of participants’ (Al-Sharmani and Rumminger, 2015, p. 230). As important as these stories themselves were, it is also the way this study had been developed and conducted which could perhaps serve as a model for future research on this fascinating subject – that is, amplifying the voices of women who are engaged in any given phenomenon a research sought to explore liberates those women by finally giving them a platform whereby they can freely speak and be listened to.

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To what ext ent di d at t i t udes t owar ds mar i t al vi ol ence i n t he Engl i s h hous ehol d change c. 1600- 1900?

Miriam Brittenden is a second year History student at Van Mildert College, Durham University. This paper

was prepared for the ‘The World We Have Lost – Family and Household in Europe, c.1600-1914’ module taught by Dr. Julie Marfany.

Abstract A survey of how attitudes in English communities and society towards maritial violence, against women, has changed across the period c.1600-1900. Attitudes are considered firstly at an ‘official’ level, those expressed in public discourse, didactic and prescriptive literature, and by the law and secondly at an ‘ordinary’ level through popular literature, songs and ballads, and also the ‘responses’ of local communities (family, friends and neighbours). The widely held assumption that women in England have enjoyed a steadily linear improvement in their status over time is something that is tested and challenged. What can be established is a noticeably broad change in official attitudes towards marital violence, from tolerance and even advocacy, to condemnation, occurred from the seventeenth century and, made marital violence by the end of the nineteenth century ‘socially unacceptable’. What is also evident, interestingly, is that this linear shift in ‘official’ attitudes was not reflected at the grassroots of English society where there was far more continuity across the period in terms of attitudes, characterised by considerable ambiguity. In no period was there outright condemnation, nor outright support of marital violence. An interesting continuity was the willingness of certain members of the community, often but not always women, to arbitrate in conflict, signalling, within ordinary attitudes, a significant, albeit not majority, strand of intolerance which is evidenced in fairly equal measure across much of the period. A real change in community attitudes and responses to marital violence can only be detected at the very end of our period, the late nineteenth century, when a greater professionalised response to marital violence, prompted the view that marital violence was somebody else’s business. In sum, the extent to which attitudes towards Martial Violence changed across the period c.1600-1900 varied, but in terms of ordinary attitudes it was limited.

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For the purposes of this discussion, ‘marital violence’ will be defined as physical, verbal, or emotional violence, abuse or cruelty perpetrated by husbands towards their wives. Within this study, ‘attitudes’ will be considered firstly at an ‘official’ level, the attitudes expressed in public discourse, didactic and prescriptive literature, and by the law. Secondly it will be considered at an ‘ordinary’ level. This will be examined through popular literature, songs and ballads, and also the ‘responses’ of local communities (family, friends and neighbours) across England towards instances of marital violence, as evidence of attitudes, recorded primarily in witness statements in court cases against marital violence. The extent to which attitudes at both an ‘official’ and ordinary societal level changed will be the focus here, and the extent to which they condemned, tolerated or advocated marital violence. Further considerations within this will be how attitudes towards what constituted marital violence changed, how it should be dealt with, and the extent to which ‘official’ attitudes matched ‘ordinary’ attitudes.

What can be established from this exploration, is that a noticeably broad change in official attitudes towards marital violence, from tolerance and even advocacy, to condemnation, occurred from the seventeenth century and, made marital violence by the end of the nineteenth century ‘socially unacceptable’. What is also evident, is that this linear shift in ‘official’ attitudes was not reflected at the grassroots of English society where there was far more continuity across the period in terms of attitudes, characterised by considerable ambiguity. In no period was there outright condemnation, nor outright support of marital violence. One theme of continuity across the centuries is the ambiguity of popular literature and discourse over time to both condone and condemn marital violence. Another continuity was the willingness of certain members of the community, often but not always women, to arbitrate in conflict, signalling, within ordinary attitudes, a significant, albeit not majority,

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strand of intolerance which is evidenced in fairly equal measure across much of the period. A real change in community attitudes and responses to marital violence can only be detected at the very end of our period, the late nineteenth century, when a greater professionalised response to marital violence prompted the view that marital violence was somebody else’s business. In sum, the extent to which attitudes towards Martial Violence changed across the period c.1600-1900 varied, but in terms of ordinary attitudes it was limited.

It can be strongly argued that in the respective period, there occurred a significant and consistent shift in ‘official’ attitudes towards marital violence, from relative complacency, to widespread condemnation – rendering marital violence ‘socially unacceptable’ by the mid eighteenth century. The change can be traced through the changing depictions of the perpetrator of marital violence in public discourse, prescriptive literature and social commentators, and the way in which social class came to re-define marital violence. Already by the end of the seventeenth century, changing depictions of perpetrators of violence within marriage indicate that at a ‘public’ level, marital violence was becoming less socially acceptable. Joanne Bailey has noted how at the beginning of the respective period it was violent wives, as opposed to violent husbands who were a source of fear in the public’s imagination, indicated through literary portrayals of spousal murder. From 1650 onwards however portrayals of murderous husbands came to outnumber those of murderous wives in pamphlets and the notion of the ‘wife-beater’ emerged.1 In the eighteenth century a deeper ingrained shift in public attitudes can be detected through the lens of social class. The pervasive stereotype of the ‘wife-beater’ developed further as a brutish, drunken, lower class tyrant, and an obsession with manners and civility condemned the wife-beater in public discourse and prescriptive literature. Margaret Hunt cites the work of moralists Addison and

1

Joanne Bailey, Unquiet lives: marriage and marriage breakdown in England, 1660-1800 (Cambridge, 2003), p.111

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Steele, writing for the Spectator in 1711 – Steele asks ‘Can there be any thing more base’ than ‘treating an helpless Creature with Unkindness.2 This condemnation was intensified in nineteenth century English public discourse as the stereotype of the wife-beater was frequently invoked in newspapers. A letter to the editor of the Times in the nineteenth century, deplored; ‘the perpetration of every imaginable brutality….by operatives in London on their wretched wives’3, and social commentators like Henry Mayhew in 1861 described labourers like coal heavers as a ‘rude class’ who are ‘brutal to their wives’.4 During the enfranchisement campaign of the Chartists, the image of the working man who could not rule his wife without resort to physical violence was deployed by their opponents to argue that such men were not deserving of the vote, thus politicising the shift in attitudes. 5 The barbarous wife-beater was a grotesque contrast to the conjugal harmony of the civilised home, likewise increasingly advocated in didactic literature in the eighteenth and nineteenth century, reinforcing new class-based attitudes. Addison and Steele called for men to ‘moderate their anger and treat their wives as bosom companions rather than bond-servants’.6 In the nineteenth century, William Cobbet’s Cottage Economy (1821), aimed at working class men, advised husbands to stay at home with their wives and be kind to them.7 The key aspect of change in all of this, at a ‘public’ attitudes level – as Margaret Hunt has suggested, is that marital violence, previously a ‘dramatic spectacle, far from unspeakable’ became something that was condemned as a socially unacceptable act and even as a topic of conversation.8 A further repercussion of the working class wife-beater stereotype specifically, was to develop

2

M.R. Hunt, ‘Wife-beating, Domesticity and Women’s Independence in Eighteenth century London’, Gender and History, 4 (1992) p.11 3 A. James Hammerton, Cruelty and Companionship: conflict in nineteenth century married life, (London) 1992, p.21 4 Hammerton, Cruelty and Companionship, p.23 5 Elizabeth Foyster, Marital violence. An English family history, 1660-1857 (Cambridge, 2005), p.80 6

Hunt, ‘Wife-beating, Domesticity and Women’s Independence in Eighteenth century London’, p.10 Hammerton, Cruelty and Companionship,p.24 8 Ibid.

7

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the ‘official’ attitude that marital violence was a working class problem. Increasingly classbased attitudes towards marital violence at a public level, not only constitute a change in the extent to which marital violence was condemned in official attitudes, but also the way in which marital violence was conceptualised depending on its social context.

The public shift in attitudes towards social and moral condemnation of marital violence, can be traced more formally in changes in English Law. Over the course of the period a move towards harsher penal measures against marital violence evidence a developing condemnation and broader legal definition of marital violence, reaffirming the view that over time it became ‘socially unacceptable. Up until the latter part of the eighteenth century there was very little within English law to define marital violence, protect victims or sanction perpetrators. The right of a husband to beat his wife had been enshrined in canon law before the seventeenth century and as Roderick Phillips has noted, the concept of ‘moderate correction’ made clear in legal works like Lawes Resolution of Women’s Rights, and Blackstone’s commentary in 1795, that wife beating in a moderate form in Early Modern England was ‘permitted, acceptable and even recommended’.9 What characterised the concept of moderate correction however was ‘confusion’.10 None defined exactly what ‘moderate’ meant. The alleged ‘rule of thumb’ which said that a husband had the right to beat his wife with a stick no thicker than his thumb, though never a legal precedent, entered common law and folklore during the seventeenth century, suggesting a fairly ungenerous view of ‘moderate correction’ .11 This was to change significantly by the middle of the eighteenth century, firstly through harsher methods of dealing with marital violence such as a move away from nominal fines and public whippings to imprisonment for those convicted of

9

Roderick Phillips, Putting asunder: A history of divorce in Western Society, New York, 1988, p.326 Susan, Dwyer Amussen, ‘“Being stirred to much unquietness”: violence and domestic violence in early modern England’, Journal of Women’s History, 6,2 (1994) p.71 10

11

Anna Clark, The struggle for the breeches. Gender and the making of the British working class (London and Berkeley, 1995), p.73

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assault, and even more by the nineteenth century with measures like the 1882 Wife Beater Act (which gave police magistrates the power to order convicted men to be flogged).12

Whilst it could be argued that this kind of shift may have just reflected harsher judicial responses to violent offenders overall, this cannot account for the wider legal definition of marital violence by the end of the eighteenth century. Several rulings made by judges in the 1790s illustrate institutional and public acknowledgment that violence within marriage constituted more than just physical brutality, it could also encompass threatened and emotional violence. Stowell’s judgement in the allowed wives to use a husband’s threats of violence as sufficient grounds for separation and Judge Scott’s ruling in the Evans case of 1790 laid the ground for an extension of the definition of cruelty to include ‘actual or menaced’ bodily injury.13 This was a change from the start of the period, consolidated in the nineteenth century as a series of new laws sought to protect women against marital violence; for example a ruling in 1878 that aggravated assault could be sufficient grounds for judicial separation.14 Bailey has argued that this broader categorisation of cruelty was reflective of the notion that men needed to be subjected to more control in order to prevent violence, dismissing the view of Biggs and Stone that this was a sign wives were coming to be seen in less subordinate terms than their husbands. These measures can more convincingly be suggested however, as institutional condemnation of marital abuse in social and moral terms – formalising the change in the attitudes of public discourse.15

Evaluating the testimonies given by men accused in such cases further evidences this view.

Both Joanne Bailey and Laura Gowing have charted how men’s responses to accusations

12

Bailey, Unquiet lives, p.128 and Philips, Putting asunder, p.326 Bailey, Unquiet lives, p.124, and Foyster, Marital violence, p.43 14 Philips, Putting asunder p. 326 15 See Biggs, Matrimonial Cruelty, p.21, Cited in Bailey, Unquiet lives, p.124 13

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changed across the period from defining their actions as a ‘rational’ response to female provocation in the seventeenth century, to denying claims of violence in the eighteenth.

Gowing notes how men in seventeenth century London contrasted the ‘rationality’ of their actions with the errant ‘provocation’ and ‘misuse’ of their wives.16 A pertinent case is that of Simon White in the Seventeenth century who answering allegations of cruelty from his wife Elizabeth, freely admitted that he did ‘uppon juste occasion chastise and correcte’ Elizabeth with a small beechen wand for her ‘misuse and intolerable’ behaviour toward him.17 This contrasts starkly with Bailey’s breakdown of male responses to accusations of cruelty in fifty one matrimonial cases before the church courts in the eighteenth century in which only four men actually admitted beating their wives, just one of whom defined his actions in terms of ‘moderate correction’ as before .18 Those that did admit violence presented it as a ‘momentary loss of control’, for example Francis Spence admitted in 1783 that his wife’s temper has ‘thrown [him] off his Guard’ into using ‘disagreeable language’, a far cry from the ‘rational’ response of Simon White in the Seventeenth Century.

19

Overall what this

shows, is men’s changing perceptions of how society and the law would judge their behaviour, indicating that whilst the early modern period was relatively complacent in terms of legal attitudes to marital violence, by the eighteenth century onwards, this had changed.

A wider survey of a popular literature and verse in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries reveals however that below ‘official’ discourse, attitudes about the moral right or wrongness or marital violence remained ambivalent across the period. It can be convincingly argued, as Foyster does, that there was ‘never’ a universally agreed view that violence should play no

16

Laura Gowing, Domestic Dangers, Women, Words and Sex in Early Modern London, (New York, 1996) p.219 17 Ibid.

18 Bailey, Unquiet lives, p.120 19 , Bailey, Unquiet lives, p.120

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part in marriage throughout the period, despite the ‘official view’ changing. 20 Indeed, many ballads in the eighteenth century evidence this ambiguity. ‘The Brother’s Advice to his sister, After Marriage’ c.1780-1820 gave generic advice to a wife, teaching her to bear with her husband’s faults, and if her husband reprimanded her, to ‘love him ne’er the less’.21 This is suggestive of tolerance towards marital violence, rather than the disavowal of didactic literature. The Ballad ‘Worth of a Husband’ says in a similar vein that ‘…if he gets drunk at nght, and beat you as a warning,/ You must give him a pint of stout first thing in the morning’. The companion ballad ‘Worth of a Woman’ on the other hand, advised men not to beat their wives.22 This ambiguity continued into the nineteenth century as Clark has noted, in the ‘humorous’ nature of popular literature which allowed for songs which simultaneously mocked and condone wife-beating.23 For example, A Fool’s Advice to Henpeck’d Husbands,” (1800) ridiculed men who could not control their wives. But it also advised them, ‘When your wife for scolding finds pretences’ to ‘Take the handle of a broom,/ Not much thicker than your thumb,’ and ‘thwack’ her with it’, a clear reference to the ‘rule of thumb’, and indicative of the uncertainty surrounding the moral boundaries of marital violence.24 Hammerton has also argued that the use of puppet shows, a popular cultural practice particularly amongst the working classes in the nineteenth century, depicting the ‘battle of the sexes’ especially the popularity of the physical contests between Punch and Judy, in the nineteenth century were testament to a ‘stoical’ tolerance of marital conflict.25 It can be asserted, in light of this consideration of popular discourse then that in fact the amount of condemnation for marital violence within the consciousness of ordinary English people did

20

Foyster, Marital violence, p.43 Foyster, Marital violence, p.86 22 Ibid.

23 Clark, The struggle for the breeches, p. 70 24 “A Fool’s Advice to Henpeck’d Husbands” (Manchester, ca.1800, Manchester Public Library, Ballad Collection, p.346), in Clark, The struggle for the breeches, p. 70 25 Hammerton, Cruelty and Companionship,p.15 21

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not change across our period, what changed was ‘the basis’ for condemnation, and the forms in which this was expressed: class based frameworks, and a harsher judicial system.26

Whilst popular ballads and verse can be said to more accurately chart the attitudes of ‘normal people’ than prescriptive literature, legal changes and public discourse, the actual responses of communities to marital violence is even more accurate accurate evidence. Community response, in this context will be defined in terms of interventions and arbitrations in conflicts and communal behaviour towards perpetrators of marital violence. Through analysis of this, it can be strongly argued that there were fundamental continuities in attitudes amongst ordinary people about the moral justifications of marital violence, and ways it should be dealt with, across all three centuries, with a more pronounced shift in attitudes only being detected at the very end of the period.

One community response to perpetrators of marital violence which Historians have paid much attention too is the practice of charivaris or ‘Rough Music’, a noisy custom of popular protest intended to demonstrate ‘collective disapproval’ of local offences against ‘communal norms’.27 It was first noted by E.P Thompson, that charivaris witnessed a shift in target from the eighteenth century in its target, from the adulterous wife, to the brutal wife-beater.28 Anthony Fletcher has argued that the practice of Rough Music evidenced a long-term ‘deepseated’ change in harsher attitudes towards marital violence ‘at the grass roots of English society’.

29

More recent analysis of rough music practices by Anna Clarke and Hammerton

however, offer the conclusion that attitudes towards perpetrators remained ambiguous across the period, suggestive of a wider consistent ambiguity in overall attitudes towards the

26

Foyster, Marital violence, p.82 Hammerton, Cruelty and Companionship, p.12 28 E.P. Thompson, Customs in Common: Studies in Traditional Popular Culture, (New York, 1991), p.512, cited in Clark, The struggle for the breeches, p. 84 29 Anthony Fletcher, Gender, Sex and Subordination in England 1500-1800, (Bath, 1995) p.209 27

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morality of marital violence. Clark’s study of charivaris during the nineteenth century notes that rough music continued to be practiced against wives and other traditional targets.30 Further continuity has been suggested by Hammerton who argues that in light of the fact that evidence of rough music is often of an unreliable nature, ‘drawn from isolated descriptions by antiquarian folklorists’,

31

it is reasonable to surmise that condemnation towards violent

husbands in rough music rituals may well have existed before the eighteenth century, based on late Elizabethan writers like Thomas Lupton favouring harsh retribution against them via Charivaris.32 Evidence found in court records for much of the period shows a continuity across all three centuries, of neighbours and family, often women, in many cases across classes, intervening in cases of marital violence. This is suggestive of a significant, though perhaps not majority attitude within English communities always willing to condemn severe violence. It should be noted however, that the very nature of studying marital violence, whether contemporary or historical, is difficult since the evidence available, both for violence and responses to violence, is from the cases which entered courtrooms, inevitably a small proportion of all the incidences and responses that actually took place. Complete historical accuracy is therefore impossible, but from what evidence is available, strong trends can be identified. Susan Amussen’s study provides powerful evidence of strong neighbourly intervention in the early modern period which took many forms, in spite of the legal complacency towards marital violence. She notes that as soon as a woman suffered any ‘serious injury’, beating ceased to be acceptable and neighbours were ‘more than willing’ to intervene.33 For example, in the case of Anne Gosling, who had been beaten ‘severely’, a neighbour was quick to inform her

30

Clark, The struggle for the breeches, p. 84 Hammerton, Cruelty and Companionship, p.16 32 op.cit.p.14 33 Amussen, ‘“Being stirred to much unquietness”: pp.78-79 31

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father.34 Likewise, neighbours and friends could provide ‘moral and evidentiary’ support to women who left their husbands and sought legal complaints,35 evident in cases such as that of Susan Vyollet in 1629 whose neighbours supported her decision to leave her husband, and an Oxford woman who “spoke against” a man who beat his wife in 1685.36 Margaret Hunt’s study of marital violence in the early eighteenth century which looks at ten cases of spousal abuse that reached the consistory court of London between 1711-1713, finds that that ‘In the eighteenth century most assault cases were mediated informally by neighbours, family, friends’.37 Bailey’s study of late eighteenth century court cases of marital violence finds that the cases produce the ‘overwhelming impression’ that an ‘outright refusal to arbitrate’ in wife-beating was rare, and that a ‘willingness’ to attempt to stop violence overrode any husband’s claims that the treatment of his wife was a private issue.38 Both Hunt and Robert Shoemaker put forward the thesis that the increased societal condemnation and social unacceptability of marital violence privatised and pushed it ‘behind closed doors’ by the mid-eighteenth century, and thus made it an unspeakable subject amongst communities, changing attitudes in that respect and prompting a decline in neighbourly arbitrations.39 This notion also supports Lawrence Stone’s highly criticised view of the rise of ‘companionate marriage’ which also saw the closing off the married couple from the community.40 These contentions can be challenged however with Evidence such as that provided by Bailey which shows that throughout the eighteenth century, many communities were not wary of arbitrating in disputes in order to protect victims, such as the

34

Amussen, ‘“Being stirred to much unquietness”: p. 79 Amussen, ‘“Being stirred to much unquietness”: p.80 36 Ibid.

37 Hunt, ‘Wife-beating, Domesticity and Women’s Independence in Eighteenth century London’ p.22 38 Joanne Bailey “'I Dye [sic] by Inches': Locating Wife Beating in the Concept of a Privatization of Marriage and Violence in Eighteenth-century England”. Social History 31 (3), 2006 p. 285 39 Robert Shoemaker, ‘Male Honour and the Decline of Public Violence in Eighteenth-Century London Author’, Social History, Vol. 26, No. 2 (May, 2001), p.208, also see Hunt, ‘Wife-beating, Domesticity and Women’s Independence in Eighteenth century London’ Gender and History, 4 (1992) 40 L. Stone, The Family, Sex and Marriage in England 1500-1800, abridged edn (London, 1977) ch.8, cited in Bailey “'I Dye [sic] by Inches', 2006 p. 275 35

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statement of William Elleker in 1761, a neighbour of Elizabeth Walker to support her complaint to the justice of the peace that her husband frequently attacked her at night.’41 In the 1790s maids of James Lees of Saddleworth, Manchester, who monitored the ill-treatment of his wife Mary and intervened when necessary illustrate that ‘community’ intervention could and did cross class-divides and was not confined to working class communities as suggested in ‘official’ attitudes. These kind of arbitrations continued well into the nineteenth century, making it impossible to accept ‘sweeping narratives about the privatization of family’ and illustrating the continuity of this contingent of attitudes. 42 In Leeds in 1846 for example, a spontaneous protest was conducted by women, who heard the shouts of a woman as her drunk husband beat her and one of her children. The man, Walshaw was driven out of his house, hooted by the women who later resolved to mob him.43 It should be noted that these cases do not however, reveal an enduring attitude that violence of any sort within marriage was unacceptable. The majority of historians are united in accepting that at a popular level, a degree of correction, which may involve some violence, was not unusual, particularly in the early modern period.44 Indeed, across the respective period, there remained variation surrounding the circumstances under which intervention would occur. Both Hunt and Foyster for example have suggested that to enlist the wider sympathy of the community, women had to conform to norms of acceptable female behaviour.45 Foyster has also suggested that across the period community response to marital violence could be qualified by factors like age, fulfilment of marital roles, and a wife’s

41

Bailey “'I Dye [sic] by Inches',p.286 Bailey “'I Dye [sic] by Inches',2006, p.287 43 Hammerton, Cruelty and Companionship, p.17 42

44

See M.R. Hunt, ‘Wife-beating, Domesticity and Women’s Independence in Eighteenth century London’, Gender and History, 4 (1992) (p.24) Amussen, ‘“Being stirred to much unquietness”: violence and domestic violence in early modern England’, Journal of Women’s History, 6,2 (1994), pp. 70-89 (p.77) Laura Gowing, Domestic Dangers, Women, Words and Sex in Early Modern London, (New York, 1996) pp.181-231 45 Hunt, ‘Wife-beating, Domesticity and Women’s Independence in Eighteenth century London’, p.24 and Foyster, Marital violence, p.61

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physical health. If a husband was cruel to his wife during her period of ‘lying in’ after childbirth he was ‘open to special condemnation’.46 Nonetheless, these were fluctuations which remained in evidence across the period, still suggestive of an ultimate continuity in the attitudes of ordinary English people. Furthermore while ‘qualifiers’ were in operation throughout, what the evidence is clear on, as Amussen has suggested, is that if neighbours accepted some violence against wives they expected it, in all three centuries, to be limited.47 If there is any real change to be found in community attitudes and responses however, it is to be found towards the very end of the period, in the latter part of the nineteenth century. Up until the 19th century, Foyster has observed that responsibility for dealing with the consequences of marital violence was still shared and distributed amongst communities.48 From the late 1800s it might be noted that a professional response to domestic violence, the police force, had fully developed, along with the British legal condemnation of marital violence, consolidated in acts like the 1882 Wife-Beater Act. The inquest into a wife’s death in June 1853 charts the beginning of an attitude change however , when a neighbour reportedly told the coroner of her decision not to call in extra help, believing that only the police ought to censure a husband’s violence and it was ‘not her business’.49 Ellen Ross’ evidence of community responses to marital violence in working class urban communities 1870-1914 reaffirms this attitude. From 1870 onwards, the sound of ‘shouting and blows’ caused neighbours to gather on the stairs, but only the presence of a very ‘dangerous weapon, the sight of a lot of blood, or sounds of real terror’ would prompt intervention.50 These examples illustrate how a shift in attitudes amongst communities towards the ‘privatisation’

46

Foyster, Marital violence, p.56 Amussen, ‘“Being stirred to much unquietness” p.78 48 Foyster, Marital violence, p.231 49 Foyster, Marital violence, p.233 50 Ellen Ross, “"fierce Questions and Taunts": Married Life in Working-class London, 1870-1914”. Feminist Studies 8 (3) 1982, p.592 47

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of marital violence which Hunt and Shoemaker referenced, did occur, but only in the late nineteenth century, and

in response to the development of a professional response to

violence, as opposed to the influence of the broader shift in wider societal attitudes. It can further be argued that rather than indicating complacency or a shift in attitudes towards the morality of marital violence, a reduction in community intervention may have only reflected that intervention was no longer necessary. Perhaps, as a result, for this period and moving into the twentieth century, community intervention may no longer be the most methodologically accurate measure of ordinary attitudes.

The extent then, to which attitudes towards marital violence changed in England c.16001900, specifically the extent to which marital violence was tolerated and accepted, is limited.

Whilst a significant shift can be identified at an ‘official’ attitudes level – in changes in the legal response to marital violence and the views propagated in public discourse, at an ‘ordinary’ level much continuity can be observed. In popular literature and ballads, and in communal customs of plebeian justice, this continuity was a profound ambivalence. In each period there were attitudes which condemned marital violence, and simultaneous attitudes which encouraged complacency. Another continuity can be identified in that there were always, in every period, members of the community willing to arbitrate and intervene in violence, thus exercising their own judgment – and constituting a significant, albeit not majority attitude of intolerance towards severe marital violence that endured. Where some change in community response can be observed is at the end of the period, when a developed professional response to marital violence can be said to have changed attitudes towards how it should be dealt with rather than whether it was acceptable, an attitude which can be seen to have endured today. The ultimate continuity is in the level of condemnation, what changed was the basis for how this condemnation was expressed. Thus the ‘linear’ process of change detected at an official level, belies a different story at the ‘grassroots’ of English society. It

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should be acknowledged that this is just one way of interpreting and measuring â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;attitudesâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; towards marital violence in this period. This study has not focussed, for example, on the attitudes of wives as victims of marital violence, and how their responses changed or stayed the same. An interesting area of further study, having considered official and communal attitudes and responses, would be to examine how victimâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s own responses and attempts at resistance developed over the period. Furthermore, having observed both this change and continuity in official and ordinary attitudes, a further point of study would be to consider what this means in terms of the status of wives within the English household across this period.

Words: 3,983

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Bibliography

Amussen, Susan, Dwyer, ‘“Being stirred to much unquietness”: violence and domestic violence in early modern England’, Journal of Women’s History, 6,2 (1994) pp.70-89 Bailey, Joanne, “'I Dye [sic] by Inches': Locating Wife Beating in the Concept of a Privatization of Marriage and Violence in Eighteenth-century England”. Social History, 31 (3), 2006 pp. 273–94 Bailey, Joanne, Unquiet lives: marriage and marriage breakdown in England, 1660-1800 (Cambridge, 2003), Clark, Anna, The struggle for the breeches. Gender and the making of the British working class (London and Berkeley, 1995), Fletcher, Anthony., Gender, Sex and Subordination in England 1500-1800, (Bath, 1995) Foyster, Elizabeth, Marital violence. An English family history, 1660-1857 (Cambridge, 2005).

Gowing, Laura, Domestic Dangers, Women, Words and Sex in Early Modern London, (New York, 1996) Hammerton, James, A., Cruelty and Companionship: conflict in nineteenth century married life, (London) 1992, Hunt, M.R. ‘Wife-beating, Domesticity and Women’s Independence in Eighteenth century London’, Gender and History, 4 (1992) pp.10-33 Phillips, Roderick, Putting asunder: A history of divorce in Western Society, New York, 1988, p.326 Ross, Ellen “"fierce Questions and Taunts": Married Life in Working-class London, 18701914”. Feminist Studies 8 (3) 1982, p.575-602 Shoemaker, Robert, ‘Male Honour and the Decline of Public Violence in Eighteenth-Century London Author’, Social History, Vol. 26, No. 2 (May, 2001) pp.190-208 Smith, Greg, T., ‘Expanding the Compass of Domestic Violence in the Hanoverian Metropolis’, Journal of Social History, Vol. 41, No. 1 (Fall, 2007), pp. 31-54

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Wrightson, Keith, English Society: 1580-1680, (Oxford, 1982)

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Samantha Brooks is a first year Combined Honours in Social Sciences student at Hatfiled College,

Durham University. This paper was prepared for the ‘Conceptualizing Society’ module taught by

Dr. Christopher Lawless.

Abstract Having been briefly introduced to feminist thought during scheduled lectures and seminars I found myself wanting to dive deeper into the extremely varied and thought-provoking material. The opportunity to compare contemporary feminism to postmodernism came from a fortunately set title because it encompassed two topics I felt I could personally identify with and wanted to explore more. Therefore, I knew a comparison would help me develop my own understanding and feminist beliefs, whilst covering theorists that I hadn’t already found compared together.

Taking the basis of the material provided from lectures and seminars I quickly found the two specific topics I wanted to concentrate on: gender terminology and media representations. From there it was a matter of finding articles, reviews, and published works from both topics that complimented and contrasted these topics.

I found the more I researched, that contemporary feminism had drawn a lot from classic postmodernist theorist’s work and it came naturally to highlight the similarities and the limitations of postmodernism for feminism’s theoretical and emancipatory future. As expected, the postmodern work I concentrated on most importantly provoked a discussion basis for contemporary feminism.

The implication of this essay is that contemporary feminism still has a lot to learn from postmodernism theoretically and, if feminist writers continue to question the very nature of society and language, potentially women can progress even further towards achieving their goals.

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Contemporary feminism consists of many diverse approaches to Sociology, and similarly postmodernism is an umbrella term that many theorists fall under to some extent. Bearing this in mind, it is inevitable not all postmodern theories can help us understand all of contemporary feminism. Consequently, the aim of this essay is to approach contemporary feminism on a micro-scale, using topics that have recently become regarded as important, and demonstrate how some postmodern theorists can help us understand the foundations of the approaches. Above all, for the purpose of this essay a contemporary feminist will be defined as: still alive today; still contributing to the feminist community academically; and, largely identified as a feminist. Moreover, due to the inscrutable quality of the term postmodern, each individual theorist’s work used will be evaluated respectively. The position of this essay is that postmodernism can absolutely help us understand contemporary feminism in the issues evaluated. In order to better qualify this position, this essay will be separated into two main focus areas: firstly, the contemporary feminist approach to deconstructing gender terminology; and, finally an analysis of the feminist positions on women in the media.

The first main section of this essay will evaluate how postmodernism can help us understand contemporary feminist work on gender. Indeed, the recent feminist approach has been to to differentiate and redefine the terms ‘sex’ and ‘gender’. 1 Effectively, (Rubin, 1975; 165-167) explains this will separate “the biological raw material of human sex” from the “socially imposed division of the sexes” of ‘gender’. Furthermore, she emphasises this stems from the issue that women are oppressed by men “by having to be women”. 2 To clarify, this standpoint accepts the biological differences between women and men, whilst creating a dichotomy between that biological basis and the social connotations that a maledominated society has artificially imposed. Consequently, (Rubin, 1975) puts forward an ideal of a ‘genderless’, rather than ‘sexless’, society. Dramatically, this approach to feminism uses the deconstruction of gender-specific language to detach contemporary theory from those who argue that women are biologically pre-determined to have a specific role in society.3 In order to better understand this approach to feminism, the work of Foucault can

1 Rubin, G., (1975). “The Traffic in Women: Notes on the ‘Political Economy’ of Sex”, in Toward an Anthropology of Women, R. Reiter (ed.). New York: Monthly Review Press. pp.165-179 in Mikkola, Mari. “Feminist Perspectives on Sex and Gender”, The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Spring 2016 Edition). Edward N. Zalta (ed.), forthcoming URL = <http://plato.stanford.edu/archives/spr2016/entries/feminism-gender/>.

2 Rubin, G., (1975). “The Traffic in Women: Notes on the ‘Political Economy’ of Sex”, in Toward an Anthropology of Women, R. Reiter (ed.). New York: Monthly Review Press. p.204 in Mikkola, Mari. “Feminist Perspectives on Sex and Gender”, The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Spring 2016 Edition). Edward N. Zalta (ed.), forthcoming URL = <http://plato.stanford.edu/archives/spr2016/entries/feminism-gender/>.

3 For the biological determinist viewpoint in Feminism, Geddes and Thompson’s work in 1889 is a starting point.

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offer a key perspective.4 Indeed, in his work ‘The Archaeology of Knowledge’ he put forward his interpretation of the overlapping relationship between ideas and language. 5 Taking a different approach, (Foucault, 1989) described the evolution of language from the need to classify ‘new things’ into ‘strategies’ that determine how those ‘things’ should be responded to in a social context. In regards to the word ‘gender’ it becomes clear why (Rubin, 1975) wants to redefine the terminology in an attempt to reconfigure the resulting ‘strategies’. If there is indeed a relationship between word formation and human responsiveness to that word, (Rubin, 1975) is ambitiously aiming to redefine linguistics so women will no longer be gender-specifically discriminated against. However, crucially this rests on the assumption that the gender-specific oppression of women is a social phenomenon constructed by a patriarchal society. Nevertheless, the suggestion from (Foucault, 1989) that the role of language and its representation are crucial to studying the changing concepts of knowledge supports the position of (Rubin, 1975).6 Indeed, (Foucault, 1989) describes the systemization of the organisation of knowledge in the Renaissance period, as a culmination of the characteristics of abstract concepts. If we again look at (Rubin, 1975) upon this basis, we can understand her work is aiming to unhinge the relationship between gender-specific words and their representation that was cemented in that period. Her ambition being to redefine the abstract concept of ‘gender’ theoretically for the progression of the feminist movement and as a result deconstruct the expectations and apparent limitations of women in our world today.

To build upon such contemporary feminist work on gender, this essay will now evaluate Judith Butler’s ground-breaking work.7 Firstly, in her radical work ‘Gender Trouble’, (Butler, 1990; 7) argues that by categorising themselves as ‘women’ feminists have allowed “an unwitting regulation and reification of gender relations”. Effectively, (Butler, 1990) goes one step further than (Rubin, 1975) and advocates the perception of gender as ‘fluid’, in a biological and sociological sense. Moreover, (Butler, 1990; 14) promotes the analysis of “socially constituted subjects in specifiable contexts”. The first key point to extract from the work of (Butler, 1990) is her ambition to separate ‘gender’ from ‘sex’, whilst uprooting the foundations of both concepts. By advocating for gender fluidity, (Butler, 1990) is aiming to abolish the polarity of ‘woman’ versus ‘man’. Indeed, this ground-up approach to epistemology was foreshadowed in the work of the early postmodernist, Jacques Derrida. 8

4 It is important to note that although Foucault himself would probably reject the title of postmodernist, there are some clear connotations of poststructuralist and postmodernist thought in his work. Indeed, for the purposes of this essay we can denote some of his work to the postmodernist cause, due to his fundamental move away from the Enlightenment epistemology and arguably towards a postmodernist approach.

5 Foucault, M., (1989). “Archaeology of Knowledge”. Abingdon: Routledge. in Cuff, E., Sharrock, W. and Francis, D. (1998). Perspectives in Sociology. 4th ed. London: Routledge.

6 Foucault, M., (1989). “The Order of Things: Archaeology of the Human Sciences”.

Abingdon: Routledge. in Cuff, E., Sharrock, W. and Francis, D. (1998). Perspectives in Sociology. 4th ed. London: Routledge.

7 Butler, J. (1990). Gender Trouble. New York: Routledge.

8 This essay has made a judgement that Jacques Derrida is an early postmodern theorist, due to his generally critical approach to modern Western philosophy and his intentions to differentiate himself from the modern period by putting forward his concept of

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In point of fact, is Derrida’s work on the implications of language. 9 Effectively, (Derrida, 1967; 351-371) articulated the ‘sign’, by which he defined the implications of language, “ha[d] been determined by [the opposition between the sensible and the intelligible] through the totality of history”. To connect this to the work of (Butler, 1990), her reflection on the terminology of ‘woman’ and ‘man’ led her to conclude the best approach, for the progression of feminism, was to unpick the work that had historically culminated in the connotations of gender and rewrite the ‘rule book’, so to speak. Consequently, (Butler, 1990) intends to remove the ‘opposition between the sensible and the intelligible’ and replace this with a compromised ‘sign’ on a fluid scale. To further develop this, (Butler, 1990) argued that by completely deconstructing the meaning of a gender-specific person, you undermined the legitimacy of the ‘reification of gender relations’ that have historically been used to oppress women. Additionally, it is important to highlight the chosen language of (Derrida, 1967) in the citation above, where he emphasised ‘determined’ and ‘through the totality of its history’, which suggests someone had been exercising some form of power continually and in specific historical periods. Therefore, when (Butler, 1990) specifies her support for ‘socially constituted subjects in specifiable contexts’, consequently she builds on the possibility of individual action determining the connotations of language within their specific context. In sum, when reflecting on the work of Derrida, Butler remarked that he demonstrated language does not “always confound our intentions, but… that our intentions do not fully govern everything we end up meaning”. It is upon this foundation that (Butler, 1990) opened up a duality between language and meaning, where individual agents can consciously re-determine the consequences of language implications in their specific social context. The resulting implication being that women can manipulate gender-specific language to free themselves of the limitations traditionally imposed by their respective male-dominated culture.

This essay will now go on to analyse how postmodernism can help us understand the contemporary feminist approach to women’s representation in the media. A notable starting point is in the work of Sue Thornham.10 Indeed, in the words of Louise Fitzgerald her work is critical to remind contemporary feminists what “remains to be done as new technologies transpire to complicate the way we… generate human identity”. 11 For example, (Thornham, 2007; 19) asserts “the public narratives of history and culture- endlessly circulated in media forms- offer frameworks for our self-understanding”.

Moreover, (Thornham, 2007; 19) argues the media has come to impact its external environment and, as a result, “we may [all] have powerful internal investments”. In order to understand this approach, some of the work of the early postmodernist Jean Baudrillard can be useful.12 In effect, (Baudrillard, 1994; 1) put forward the concept of ‘hyperreality’, which

deconstruction, which takes the assumption that his poststructuralist work followed a postmodernist agenda.

9 Derrida, J. (1967). Writing and Difference. London: Routledge 10 Thornham, S. (2007). Women, Feminism and Media. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press Ltd. 11 Fitzgerald, L., (2009). “Review of: Women, feminism and media” by Sue Thornham.

Feminist Review No.92. pp.168-169 12 Baudrillard, J. (1994). Simulacra and Simulation. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press.

For the purpose of this essay, the decision has been made to categorize Jean Baudrillard as

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he defined as the simulation that is “the generation by models of models of a real without origin or reality”. Therefore, if we approach the perception of the media as generating the ‘reality’ of society, rather than merely reflecting it, the media has become a ‘model’ generating a ‘real’ without a direct ‘origin or reality’. This is crucial for how women are represented in the media, because it means whoever is producing the content in this virtual reality has the power to determine how women perceive themselves in society. This is corroborated by the evidence of UNESCO that “images of women in the media which have been documented… are the productions of the people within the media organisations”.13 Essentially, (Thornham, 2007) justifies the position to intervene with the media because the presentation of women as “dependent on men for financial, emotional and physical support”, she doesn’t believe is beneficial for the progression of contemporary feminism.14 This is where the work of (Baudrillard, 1994) is limited to help our understanding of (Thornham, 2007) because he is typical of postmodernism in that he doesn’t really offer a plan of action to tackle the problems he observes, instead it is the act of analysing them itself that has value and meaning. Therefore, the work of (Baudrillard, 1994) can only help us understand the theoretical basis of the approach of (Thornham, 2007) to women’s representation in the media. By contrast, (Thornham, 2007; 24) advocates a ground-up approach by having far “more women in positions of power in media organisations”.

Notably, this approach of having more women in positions of power echoes the calls for more women in the workplace in general by many contemporary feminists.15 This is arguably more on the feminist agenda because of a shift towards the ground-up approach to change institutions from within, rather than lobbying for change externally. In addition, (Thornham, 2007) draws upon the work of Stuart Hall, citing that “identity is formed at the unstable point where the ‘unspeakable’ stories of subjectivity meet the narratives of history, of a culture”.16 If, indeed, contemporary media is generating a Baudrillard-style ‘hyperreality’, (Thornham, 2007) is arguing feminists should integrate into the media industry, to determine the ‘narratives of history’ that are subjectively being presented.

Consequently, her ambition is to undermine the current sense of women’s identity being formed in part due to content media is choosing to distribute. Additionally, (Thornham, 2007; 48) herself even cites (Baudrillard, 1994; 4) that the “murderous power of images, murderers of the real” and clearly underlines that how women are represented in the media directly determines how women will be treated in ‘real’ life, in the most extreme sense.

Above all, (Thornham, 2007) emphasises the importance of the power of media, especially as it’s platform expands into the Internet. This is something Baudrillard himself was concerned about, as he rejected the apparent ‘freedom’ of the Internet, stating that “the

an early postmodern theorist. Postmodernity was one of his main interest areas and his work on ‘Hyperreality’ is widely acknowledged as a combination between semiotics and postmodernism.

13 UNESCO. (1979). ‘Mass Media: The Image, Role and Social Conditions of Women’, Paris, Reports and Papers on Mass Communication.

14 UNESCO. (1979). ‘Mass Media: The Image, Role and Social Conditions of Women’, Paris, Reports and Papers on Mass Communication.

15 A key example is the work of Sandberg, S., (2013). Lean In: Women, Work, and the Will to Lead. New York City: Alfred A. Knopf 16 (Hall, 1987; 44) in Thornham, S. (2007). Women, Feminism and Media. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press Ltd. p.22

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Internet merely simulates a free mental space”.17 In fact, (Baudrillard, 2000) argued the Internet being limited by code had the potential to destroy our culture in the real world.

(Thornham, 2007) is similarly fatalistic about the possibilities of the Internet, yet again advocates a ground-up approach, by encouraging women to get involved from the inside.

Therefore, this contemporary feminist approach to women’s representation in the media has reinforced the importance of the media in the progression of the feminist movement, especially with the increasing threat the internet poses.

Another contemporary feminist viewpoint on media concentrates on the portrayals of women in film. Indeed, Maggie Humm echoes the work of (Thornham, 2007) when she writes “without representations we have no gender identities, and through representations we shape our gendered world”.18 However, (Humm, 1997; 3) specifies in film that the “visionary way of seeing” facilitated by feminism is not reflected and instead it “often and anxiously envisions women stereotypically as ‘good’ mothers, or ‘bad’, hysterical careerists”. It is important to underline the generalised stereotypes (Humm, 1997) gives because both of these are potentially beneficial to a patriarchal society. Firstly, ‘‘good’ mothers’ will ensure the continuation of the male family line, by staying at home to serve their husband and children. Secondly, the idea of women as ‘’bad’ hysterical careerists’ perpetuates the ambition of some men to reject them in the workplace because of their hysteria and selfishness. In order to better understand these approaches to women’s representation in film, it is useful to look through the perspective of the postmodern theorist Douglas Kellner.19 Effectively, (Kellner, 1995; 1) underlines “media culture… provides ever more material for… modelling thought and behavior, and identities”.

Consequently, his work reinforces the argument of (Humm, 1997) that ‘representations’ in the media ‘shape our gendered world’ if indeed media can go as far to model our identities.

Moreover, (Kellner, 1995) supports the possibility that film does not necessarily reflect the visionary qualities of feminism, because it generally portrays the values of the dominant males in a given society, which justifies the ambitions of (Humm, 1997) to tackle the patriarchy-reinforcing stereotypes of women in film. Additionally, (Humm, 1997) uses the example of a typical 1970s Hollywood film, ‘Klute’ to illustrate how the film industry is framing the sexual identity of women. Crucially, (Humm, 1997; 52) notes that the lead character, Bree, is romanticised as being saved when the lead actor, Klute, “depriv[es] [her] of access to her own erotic language” and finally “relegate[s] her to suburban closure”. In sum, this idealised representation of women’s place in society has taken away Bree’s independence and sexual expression, as a prostitute, in return for complete subjugation and isolation by the supposed love of her life. Notably, (Humm, 1997; 52) goes on to argue that ‘Klute’ “horrifies female spectators… because in [Bree’s] silenced voice [they] hear her sexuality repressed”. In order to expand upon the argument (Humm, 1997) is making here it is crucial to underline why the male-dominated film industry would benefit from producing such a film. At this point the later work of Douglas Kellner can also provide some insight into

17 Baudrillard, J., (2000). The Vital Illusion. Julia Witwer Ed. New York: Columbia University Press. p.69. in Hegarty, P., (2004). Jean Baudrillard: Live Theory. New York: Continuum.

18 Humm, M., (1997). Feminism and Film. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Preface, p.vii.

19 Kellner, D. (1995). Media Culture: Cultural Studies, Identity and Politics between the Modern and the Post-modern. Abingdon: Routledge.

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this approach to the industry.20 In effect, (Kellner, 2009; 1990) argues the film lays “bare the socio-political fantasies and personal dreams and nightmares of an era”. Furthermore, (Kellner, 2009; 1990) goes further to suggest that contemporary films can be used to “help dissect and deconstruct dominant ideologies”, whilst “show[ing] key ideological resistance and struggle given society at a specific moment”. Therefore, if we take the suggestion of (Kellner, 2009) at face value, that films give insight to ‘dominant ideologies’ and insight to conflict within a society at any given moment, this supports why female spectators would be shocked at Bree’s sexuality being repressed. Consequently, the implications are that if the film industry is making money from representing women as oppressed and helpless, the underlining basis to the US society still has the problems contemporary feminism have yet to tackle. Therefore, for (Humm, 1997) the use of the film industry to perceive and shape the real world’s ‘gender identities’, means that it is crucial for more women to protest and boycott films that do not represent women in a way that supports the feminist movement.

In order to reach a conclusion, this essay reasserts that postmodernism can absolutely help us understand contemporary feminism. However, it is important to note that this evaluation is limited by the breadth of topics discussed and in the number of theories represented.

Crucially, the evidence analysed demonstrates that contemporary work on gender terminology and women in the media have expanded upon the foundation of postmodernism, and thus, the postmodern theorists discussed can provide the reader with some insight. The implications of this judgement are that the study of postmodernism is still a worthwhile pursuit to academics and that contemporary feminism, like the society academics study, has developed and expanded thanks in part to postmodern research.

Finally, to look at the bigger picture of contemporary feminism all the theorists evaluated have built on past academia to progress and improve the lives of women today and have consequently supported a relationship between past and present in our perception of the world around us.

20 Kellner, D., (2009). Cinema Wars: Hollywood Film and Politics in the Bush-Cheney Era. Chichester: John Wiley & Sons Ltd.

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Bibliography

Baudrillard, J. (1994). Simulacra and Simulation. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press.

Baudrillard, J., (2000). The Vital Illusion. Julia Witwer Ed. New York: Columbia University Press.

Butler, J. (1990). Gender Trouble. New York: Routledge.

Cuff, E., Sharrock, W. and Francis, D. (1998). Perspectives in Sociology. 4th ed. London: Routledge.

Derrida, J. (1967). Writing and Difference. London: Routledge Fitzgerald, L., (2009). “Review of: Women, feminism and media” by Sue Thornham. Feminist Review No.92.

Foucault, M., (1989). “Archaeology of Knowledge”. Abingdon: Routledge.

Foucault, M., (1989). “The Order of Things: Archaeology of the Human Sciences”. Abingdon: Routledge.

(Hall, 1987; 44) in Thornham, S. (2007). Women, Feminism and Media. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press Ltd. Hegarty, P., (2004). Jean Baudrillard: Live Theory. New York: Continuum.

Humm, M., (1997). Feminism and Film. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press.

Kellner, D. (1995). Media Culture: Cultural Studies, Identity and Politics between the Modern and the Post-modern. Abingdon: Routledge.

Kellner, D., (2009). Cinema Wars: Hollywood Film and Politics in the Bush-Cheney Era. Chichester: John Wiley & Sons Ltd. Sandberg, S., (2013). Lean In: Women, Work, and the Will to Lead. New York City: Alfred A. Knopf Thornham, S. (2007). Women, Feminism and Media. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press Ltd. UNESCO. (1979). ‘Mass Media: The Image, Role and Social Conditions of Women’, Paris, Reports and Papers on Mass Communication.

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Anna Southam is a third year Economics student at Hatfiled College, Durham University. This paper was prepared

as a dissertation under the guidance of Dr. Martin Robson.

Abstract

Shareholders, directors and managers are becoming increasingly concerned over the gender composition of corporate boards. The issue is popularly discussed in the press, thus heightening the pressure for governments and firms to introduce reforms that increase gender diversity in the boardroom. Thus, the last decade has seen a rise in the literature exploring the relationship between board gender diversity and firm performance. The majority of research so far remains largely inconclusive, emphasising an urgent need for more evidence. Accordingly, this study draws upon critical mass theory, by employing a panel data set of 108 firms between 2004---2014 to empirically investigate whether board gender diversity positively impacts firm performance. First, I find that gender diversity, measured as the percentage of female directors, is not significantly related to firm performance.

Consequently, I investigate whether there is a ‘critical mass’ of female directors that needs to be achieved on a board, before they can exert any impact on firm performance. I find a positive link between board gender diversity and firm performance, which becomes significant at the 20---40% level, thus indicating that a critical mass exists. Accordingly, I include both a linear and quadratic term for gender diversity in a regression, with the aim to determine the absolute value for the critical mass. I find gender diversity to positively effect firm performance only once a critical mass of 30% is obtained, translating to an absolute number of three female directors, and therefore providing support to prior studies emphasising the ‘magic number’ of three females in the boardroom. Despite the last result proving to be insignificant, it should be perceived a beneficial starting point for future research. Additionally, the second result helps me to conclude that a critical mass does exist for UK boardrooms, providing new evidence and important implications for policymakers.

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Acknowledgments I would like to thank my dissertation supervisor, Martin Robson. I am hugely grateful for the academic guidance, advice and support that he has given, throughout the process of writing this dissertation.

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1. Introduction 1.1 Overview of the Board Gender Debate

There have been long---standing concerns over the attitudes towards females in the labour market (Gregory---Smith et al., 2014). Despite females making credible inroads into the majority of traditionally male domains in the last few decades, the boardroom still remains particularly male dominated (Hillman et al., 2007).

Accordingly, there has been a shift in the focus of policymakers, shareholders and managers towards increasing the female representation on a corporate board.

Within this dissertation, female representation on corporate boards will most commonly be referred to as board gender diversity. Board gender diversity is defined as â&#x20AC;&#x153;the proportion of women on the boardâ&#x20AC;? (Perrault; 2015, p.149).

The last decade has seen an increase in government legislation proposing that firms should increase their female representation in the boardroom. Such initiatives are continuously discussed in the popular press (Konrad and Kramer, 2006), with most debating whether more female appointments will positively impact firm value. If governments are choosing to promote females to boardrooms for equitable reasons, with the aim to appease the increasing pressure from society, women are unlikely to have a positive impact on firm performance. Nevertheless, the business case for diversity suggests that female directors bring additional perspectives to the boardroom, enhancing decision---making and fundamentally, firm performance (Milliken and Martins, 1996). Arguing in favour of the business case for gender diversity, McKinsey (2010) reported that companies with board gender diversity outperform those with no female representation by 41% in terms of return on equity and 56% with regards to operating results. Thus, this argument asserts that there is a clear case for government intervention to target board gender diversity.

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Over twenty countries have introduced mandatory quotas for females on corporate boards (Vinnicombe et al., 2015). The first country to adopt a quota was Norway, who in 2003 imposed a law for all publically listed companiesâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; boards to comprise of 40% female representation. Subsequently, Spain followed, enforcing a law for 40% female representation by 2015. Since, France, Belgium and the Netherlands have also imposed quotas.

Table 1 --- Performance by Listed Index

Country

% of Female Directors

Index

Norway

35.1%

OBX

Sweden

32.6%

OMX STOCKHOLM 30

France

32.5%

CAC 40

Finland

29.4%

OMX HELSINKI 25

Belgium

28.5%

BEL 20

UK

26.1%

FTSE 100

Netherlands

23.7%

AEX

Denmark

21.7%

OMX COPENHAGEN 20

Germany

21.3%

DAX

Spain

19.5%

IBEX35

United States

16.9%

NASDAQ 100

Austria

16.4%

ATX

Australia

16.2%

ASXALL ORDINARIES

Poland

15.1%

W1G20

Luxembourg

13.4%

LUXX

Ireland

12.7%

ISEQ

India

12.1%

BSE 200

China

11.1%

HANG SENG

Source: Davies, 2015

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Table 1 illustrates that the proportion of female directors in the boardroom is still significantly low in all of the listed countries, with the highest at only 35.1%. It is not surprising that Norway; the first to introduce a quota, and thus the most prominent in tackling the issue is ranked highest. In 2010, the European Union proposed a 40% objective, and subsequently, many European countries also rank highly. In comparison, countries outside of Europe have a much lower proportion of board gender diversity. Developing countries, such as India and China are only just starting to notice the importance of having females in top corporate positions, thus they are yet to set serious penalties for non---compliance (Vinnicombe et al., 2015). The UK ranks sixth overall, only behind the majority of countries that have set formal quotas. Accordingly, it can be argued that the UKâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s voluntary approach is working (Davies, 2015), and that a mandatory quota may not be necessary in order to achieve a higher proportion of board gender diversity. Moreover, prior evidence documents that quotas can in fact hinder firm performance; companies subject to a quota are unlikely to select the best talent, instead choosing inexperienced directors (Ahern and Dittmar, 2012). Thus, this study aims to provide crucial evidence to policymakers, and analyse whether a voluntary approach instead results in female directors exerting a positive impact on firm performance.

1.2 The Board Gender Debate in The UK

The UK has been a leading country in terms of integrating women into the workforce. For example, in 2014 78% of females in the UK participated in the workforce in comparison to an OECD average of 71% (OECD, 2014). Nevertheless, the majority of board positions for FTSE 100 firms are still held by males (Farrell and Hersch, 2005).

Historically, there was no formal application process or interview required for a non---executive director to be appointed to a board, which allowed an â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;old boys clubâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; to continually monopolise the majority of UK directorships. As a result, the Cadbury

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Report (Cadbury, 1999) and the Higgs Review (Higgs, 2003) were released, calling for more clarity when making director appointments, as well as bringing attention to the importance of gender diversity in the boardroom, and how companies should select leadership positions from larger talent pools. Additionally, the department for Business Innovation and Skills proposed a voluntary target of 25% female board representation for all FTSE 100 firms by 2015 (Davies, 2011). Introduced in the 2011 Davies Report, this has since been extended to the FTSE 250. Alongside the target, companies were instructed to annually publish their diversity policy, which included stating the proportion of females working at each company level.

Figure 1 â&#x20AC;&#x201C; FTSE 100 Board Gender Diversity

Source: Davies, 2015

Figure 1 illustrates that female board representation for FTSE 100 firms has more than doubled in five years, exceeding the aspirational target set. Moreover, Table 2 shows how the number of all---male boards has declined from twenty one in 2010/2011 to zero in 2015. The policyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s success is mostly credited to peer pressure, the threat of the introduction of a quota and the consistent and clear research

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produced. Consequently, the target has now been increased to 33% and extended to FTSE 350 firms by 2020.

Table 2 â&#x20AC;&#x201C; FTSE 100 Progress

FTSE 100

2010/2011 2012

Representation 12.5%

2013

2014

Mar

Oct

2015

2015

15.0%

17.3%

20.7%

23.5%

26.1%

12

15

25

36

41

55

135

163

194

231

263

286

Number of

117

143

176

211

239

260

women Non---

(15.6%)

(22.4%) (21.8%) (25.5%) (28.5%) (31.4%)

Number of

18

20

18

20

24

26

women Exec

(5.5%)

(6.6%)

(5.8%)

(6.9%)

(8.6%)

(9.6%)

2

1

1

1

3

3

5

4

3

4

5

5

1076

1086

1112

1117

1117

1097

21

11

7

2

0

0

of women Number of companies with 25%+ Number of women on boards

Exec Directors

Directors Number of women Chairmen Number of women CEOs Total Directorships Number of all male boards Source: Davies, 2015

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Nevertheless, the percentage of female executive directors remains relatively low at 9.6% in comparison to that of non---executive directors at 31.4%, therefore indicating that the increase in female board representation for FTSE 100 firms has mostly been because of non---executive director appointments. Furthermore, there are only five female CEOs across all 100 firms, a figure that has failed to increase throughout the five years. These facts illustrate that there is still a long way to go to achieve complete gender parity in the boardroom. Moreover, the fact that 46% of the UK workforce (World Bank, 2014) and 53% of graduates are female (ONS, 2013) show that the figure of 26% female representation is still comparatively low; further emphasising that there is much room for improvement in this area. Nevertheless, the voluntary approach has still managed to achieve similar increases in female representation towards that of countries with mandatory quotas, and as a result the success of such an approach cannot be undervalued.

1.3 Aims of the Dissertation

Given the attention surrounding the argument for increased female representation within the boardroom, the relationship between board gender diversity and firm performance warrants theoretical and empirical examination. As outlined above, the introduction of the Lord Davies initiative has resulted in the UK experiencing a dramatic increase in board gender diversity in the last four years, however the last study to empirically investigate its relationship with firm performance only studied data up until 2011 (Gregory---Smith et al., 2014). Thus, this dissertation aims to expand on this study and investigate the relationship using a panel of over 100 firms for the period 2004---2014. Using the percentage of female directors as a measure for board gender diversity, I first find an insignificant positive relationship between board gender diversity and firm performance, a result consistent with Gregory--- Smith et al. (2014). Accordingly, I investigate whether there is a â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;critical massâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; of female directors that needs to be achieved on a corporate board, before they can exert any influence on firm performance. To empirically answer this, I split board

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gender diversity into four distinct groups based on the seminal work by Kanter (1977a), and examine each of their individual effects on firm performance. I find a positive impact for all of the group types, which turns significant at the 20---40% level. Finally, I include both a linear and quadratic term for board gender diversity in the regression and find it to follow a U---shape. Thus, I find board gender diversity to initially have a negative impact on firm performance until a â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;critical massâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; of 30% is reached. When relating this to an absolute number, I find three female directors to be the critical mass on a board, consistent with the previous literature (Joecks et al., 2013). Although the last result is insignificant, my analysis of board diversity in the UK is unique because it is the first study to find that a critical mass of females is needed in order to exert a positive impact on firm performance. Thus, this dissertation aims to provide pivotal evidence for policymakers.

1.4 Dissertation Outline

The remainder of the dissertation is organised into five distinct sections. Section two outlines the theoretical and empirical framework for the effect of female directors on firm performance. The third section presents the data and methodology used to empirically estimate the relationship between board gender diversity and firm performance. Section four reports and discusses the results and findings for each of the research questions. The final section concludes with a summary of the results, implications for future research and policy recommendations.

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2. Literature Review

2.1 Introduction The purpose of the literature review is to summarise the underlying theoretical and empirical evidence concerning gender diversity in the boardroom. Firstly, there will be an overview of the economic and business theoretical framework, providing the foundations for the case of more female directors. Secondly, the relative empirical evidence examining the relationship will be explored. Finally, tokenism and critical mass theory will be outlined; extensions of traditional evidence that have recently started to shape the relevant literature.

2.2 Theoretical Framework

2.2.1 The Economic Case for Gender Diversity The economic case for increased female representation in the boardroom centres around two themes. The first relates to the costs of discrimination and the second to resource dependency theory.

Discrimination can occur when firms intentionally choose to disregard female candidates because of the belief that they will harm performance. Commonly known as taste---based discrimination (Becker, 1957), a firm would rather sacrifice income and pay a ‘discrimination tax’ (Becker, 1957) to avoid the disutility that the board would receive from hiring a female. Theoretically, discriminatory firms therefore face a competitive disadvantage due to their suboptimal allocation of resources. In juxtaposition, firms who choose to embrace gender diversity will not face a ‘discrimination tax’, thus enhancing their productivity and relative performance.

Accordingly, in a competitive market, non---discriminative firms will prevail, and therefore the existence of taste---based discrimination is improbable.

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Consequently, economic analysis of discrimination mostly focuses on statistical discrimination (Phelps, 1972). An example of such discrimination is when a firm judges a prospective recruit’s skills based on the skills of their associated demographic group, rather than their individual prowess. These procedures can hamper equally qualified females chances of promotion to boards (Powell and Butterfield, 1994). For example, a predominantly male board is more likely to value and promote the skills of a similarly tuned male candidate over a female candidate.

Evidence of bias gender selection to boards is highlighted in Farrell and Hersch’s (2005) study of Fortune 500 firms. They found that the probability of a female board appointment after a recent female departure is 0.39. This probability significantly decreased to 0.13 if a male had recently departed. Fundamentally, if firms are bias or incorrectly assess the pool of candidates, it will be more difficult for these firms to find the most suitable candidate, thus increasing hiring costs and harming their overall performance (Campbell and Mínguez---Vera, 2008).

2.2.2 Resource Dependency Theory

Resource dependency theory postulates that companies can form linkages in order to reduce the uncertainty of the resources in the external environment that they depend on (Pfeffer and Salancik, 1978). In many cases, the board can serve as the essential linking mechanism (Hillman et al., 2007), with Pfeffer and Salancik (1978) introducing three benefits that can be accrued from board linkages: advice and counsel, legitimacy, and communication channels. Firstly, a gender diverse board is more likely to succeed in fostering the advice and counsel link. Due to different educational experiences, females’ human capital endowments will differ to those of males. Thus, evidence proposes diverse boards offer an increased range of perspectives and viewpoints, and consequently are more able to generate successful solutions to complex problems. Secondly, Cox and Blake (1991) propose the ‘value--- in---diversity’ hypothesis, stipulating that as social pressure for diversity mounts, firms can achieve legitimacy by appointing females to the board. Moreover,

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practices such as this also signal to current female employees and potential recruits that the company is a â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;female---friendly employerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; (Sealy, 2008), further heightening legitimacy. Finally, diverse boards will have access to a wider range of communication channels. For example, a company can benefit from reflecting the demographic characteristics of its stakeholders (Brammer et al., 2007), with a gender diverse board better equipped to form links with female customers. In support, Brammer et al. (2007) found that female directors in the UK are more likely to hold positions in sectors affiliated to female consumers, such as retailing. As a result, a gender diverse board has the potential to minimise the risks that can materialise from the external environment. Applying the resource dependency theory to 1000 US firms, Hillman et al. (2007) found that companies with increased gender diversity were more successful in fostering the necessary linkages.

2.2.3 The Business Case for Gender Diversity

The business case for gender diversity in the boardroom proposes that diverse groups achieve more favourable results than homogenous groups (Milliken and Martins, 1996). Additionally, it proclaims how board gender diversity can help improve a firmâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s corporate governance, predominantly through agency theory.

The business argument for gender diversity evolves from the perception that females possess different attributes to males, and therefore encounter different workplace and societal experiences. In agreement, Robinson and Dechant (1997) state that certain attitudes vary systematically with demographic variables such as gender. For example, females are known to be more risk averse (Croson and Gneezy, 2009), and tend to espouse longer---term strategies than males (Byrnes et al., 1999).

Consequently, they bring a different outlook and voice to debates, improving the decision---making process (Zelechowski and Bilimoria, 2004). Despite opposing literature arguing that increased diversity induces confrontation (Tajfel and Turner, 1986) and that homogenous boards communicate more frequently (Earley and

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Mosakowski, 2000), a mixture of unique perspectives is more likely to stimulate creativity and innovation, thus enhancing firm performance. For example, Dezso and Gaddi Ross (2012) found that when a firm is focused on innovation, an increased gender diverse board leads to a more desirable firm performance. Additionally, a diverse board is more likely to improve the image of the firm, satisfying stakeholders and potential customers, further enhancing firm performance (Smith et al., 2006).

Agency theory is the main theoretical concept underpinning the idea that a more diverse board can enhance firm performance (Alvarado et al., 2011), thus most corporate governance literature takes this approach (Terjesen et al., 2009). It is the framework used to comprehend the relationship between board characteristics and firm value, and how agency problems can occur if directors do not act in shareholders’ best interests. Fama and Jensen (1983) assert that independent directors are pivotal in ensuring shareholders’ interests are met, making sure that the monitoring role is effectively accomplished. It is also argued that female directors escalate board independence (Fondas and Sassalos, 2000), and are therefore more successful in monitoring managers (Carter et al., 2003). Women are different to traditional male directors and are not part of an ‘old boys club’. Instead, they hold a different perspective and are often a minority and outsider on a board, and are therefore more likely aligned to independent directors. Thus, if females are not marginalized on a board, they can reduce agency costs (Jensen and Meckling, 1976), and have a positive impact on firm value. In support, Adams and Ferreira (2009) showed that female directors in the US were more likely to serve on committees related to monitoring, which they found to subsequently improve a firm’s monitoring performance. Furthermore, they found evidence that females have higher board attendance than their male counterparts. Accordingly, female directors can bolster corporate governance, which should sequentially positively impact firm value.

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2.3 Traditional Approaches to the Analysis of Females in the Boardroom The first notable studies to investigate the effect of a gender diverse board on firm performance were presented by Shrader et al. (1997) and Singh et al. (2001).

Drawing on the resource---based view, Shrader et al. (1997) investigated 200 Fortune 500 firms, and found a significant negative relationship between female boardroom representation and accounting measures. Singh et al. (2001) surveyed FTSE 100 companies and found that boards with more female directors were associated with higher turnover, profit and number of employees. However, Singh et al. (2001) failed to implement econometric analysis and Shrader et al. (1997) did not control for reverse causality between board composition and performance, thus most literature cites Carter et al. (2003) as the earliest influential investigation of the relationship. Carter et al. (2003) used two---stage least squares regression analysis on 638 Fortune 1000 US firms to test the relationship between Tobin’s Q and two measures of board gender diversity. Employing the percentage of female directors and a dummy variable for female board representation as measures, the authors found a positive relationship. Despite evoking some speculation due to the limited sample size, Carter et al. (2003) have received lots of support from succeeding studies (Erhardt et al., 2003; Liu et al., 2014; Sabatier, 2015). Within Europe, Campbell and Mínguez---Vera (2008) advanced on previous cross---sectional studies and used panel data to document a more reliable positive relationship between the Blau and Shannon index and firm performance. The Blau and Shannon indexes are diversity measures, and in Campbell and Mínguez---Vera’s (2008) analysis, represented the proportion of females to males. In terms of other indicators, Dezso and Gaddi Ross (2012) and Torchia (2011) found that female directors enhanced firm performance, but only if the firm’s strategy centred on innovation. Finally, studies have also found evidence for the market valuing board diversity. For example, Ellis and Keys (2003) and Catalyst (2004) recorded a positive stock price reaction for a diversity promoting appointment.

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There has also been an abundance of contrasting evidence. Despite postulating that female directors lead to better board attendance records, Adams and Ferreira (2009) estimated a negative relationship for their impact on firm performance in the US. Gregory---Smith et al. (2014) found an insignificant relationship when providing the first econometric study of UK listed companies between 1996 and 2011. Moreover, the authors found that a female is less likely to be appointed to the board after a male director has stepped down in comparison to when another female steps down, with estimations of 10% and 20% respectively. The authors concluded that female directors should be appointed for moral rather than economic reasons, and that there could also be a degree of tokenism. Within Norway, Ahern and Dittmar (2012) evaluated the effect of the introduction of the 2003 quota. Using a natural experiment, they found a negative impact on firm valuations, implying a corresponding negative performance. From this, the authors deduced that firms experienced short run costs of being forced to hire female directors who were usually inexperienced. Additionally, Bøhren and Staubo (2012) found that half of the Norwegian firms who would have been subject to the quota changed their organisational structure in order to avoid it. Contrary to Ellis and Keysâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; (2003) earlier study, Farrell and Hersch (2005) reported an insignificant negative stock market reaction to the announcement of female additions to US boards. Furthermore, Lee and James (2007) also discovered companies, on average encounter a fall in their stock price after the announcement of a new female CEO. Nevertheless, their sample consisted of only 17 firms, and therefore these results are to be treated with caution.

Consistent with much of the theoretical framework, the empirical evidence remains inconclusive, with most studies only focusing on the US. The ambiguous results occur for three predominant reasons. Firstly, countries operate in varied institutional contexts, causing researchers to encounter heterogeneous measures of gender diversity, especially when investigating in different time periods (Campbell and MĂ­nguez---Vera, 2010). Adams and Ferreira (2009) proclaim that the relationship

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between diversity and firm performance depends on the type of governance, thus as this differs between countries, results are likely to vary. Compared to the US, processes such as director elections and comply or explain systems result in the UK having a very different institutional context (Gregory---Smith et al., 2014). Secondly, researchers employ a range of estimation methods, including different performance measures. Moreover, some fail to control for joint---endogeneity or for measures known to influence firm performance, such as leverage. Finally and most crucially, Kanter (1977a) argues that only once a minimum number of women are on a board, will the female directors be able to exercise influence. Below this threshold, females will be viewed as tokens. Thus, (Campbell and Mínguez---Vera, 2008, p.441) proclaim that the “impact of gender diversity cannot be determined a priori.”

2.4 Defining Tokenism and Critical Mass Theory

Drawing on the final challenge, the debate surrounding tokenism and critical mass theory can be traced back to the seminal works by Kanter (1977a; 1977b). In her field study of a large industrial Fortune 500 corporation, Kanter identified four groups based on group interaction processes. Each group consisted of varied proportional representations of minorities, which could then be extended to any working environment.

•

Uniform groups consist of one significant social type. Within the group, there are likely to be differentiations, however they will be homogenous in terms of “salient external master statuses” (Kanter, 1977b, p.966), such as gender.

Thus, the group has a ‘typological ratio’ of 100:0.

•

A skewed group exists when there is a dominant majority who control the few, with a ratio of 85:15. The minority are labelled ‘tokens’ and are representatives for their category (Kanter, 1977a), rather than individuals.

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•

Titled groups, with an approximate ratio of 65:35 materialise when there is a more moderate distribution. Here, minorities begin to become individuals and can start to effect the culture of the group by forming allies.

•

With 40---60% women, a balanced group forms. Within this, majority and minority transform into prospective subgroups, and the emphasis is on each of the individual’s different skills and attributes.

Out of all of the groups, Kanter found skewed to be the most problematic due to the existence of tokens. Tokens have three behavioural consequences: visibility, polarisation and assimilation. Concerning visibility, tokens are often overlooked, facing increased performance pressure. Regarding polarisation, systematic differences are exaggerated. Respecting assimilation, tokens are often stereotyped based on their reference group. Thus, Kanter concludes that tokens are unlikely to exert any influence, and instead will conform to the majority. Accordingly, they will be unable to exercise any impact on firm performance (Spangler et al., 1978; Joecks et al., 2013).

For over half a century, researchers have studied the behavioural effects of minority groups. Asch (1951, 1955) was the first to study conformity to majority groups. In a lab experiment, he found that participants would intentionally give an incorrect answer if they had already heard three or more others in the group give the same false answer. Thus, he concluded that when three or more of a unanimous majority state their opinion, an individual is likely to conform. This is a similar situation to what a female ‘token’ director would experience, pressure to conform to the majority. Nevertheless, if more female directors are appointed, to the extent that the group shifts from skewed to tilted, females will be able to exert stronger influence.

This is known as critical mass theory, traced back to collective behaviour analysis (Granovetter, 1978). More clearly, once the critical mass is achieved, the actions of a subgroup will become more pronounced (Kramer et al., 2007). The threshold for a board is commonly estimated to be three, with Kristie (2011, p.22) postulating, “one

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is a token, two is a presence, and three is a voice”. Accordingly, a board with three female directors is more likely to reap the benefits of diversity, positively impacting firm performance.

2.5 Tokenism and Critical Mass Theory Studies

Although critical mass theory has started to receive more attention from recent literature, there are few studies that have used the concept to analyse women’s impact on corporate boards. The earliest contributions to test Kanter’s theory were presented by Spangler et al. (1978) and Fenwick and Neal (2001). Both found support for Kanter’s theory; with the former noting that females’ achievements will diminish in a skewed group, and the latter deducing that tilted groups outperform skewed and uniform groups. Nevertheless, the results are confined to straightforward mean comparisons. Moreover, the studies are based on women law students, and are therefore of little use in the study of corporate boards. The first studies to focus on board diversity were provided by Erkut et al. (2008) and Konrad et al. (2008). Both built on Asch’s (1951) conformity theory to conclude that the critical mass of female directors on a board is achieved when there is ‘at least three women’. They argue that when this number is reached, it is more likely female directors’ ideas will be heard. Despite these studies providing the first evidence of the critical mass of female directors, they fail to incorporate regression analysis, instead using interviews and discussions of 50 female directors to shape their conclusions.

Although critical mass theory has rarely been empirically tested, the literature is greatly supportive. Torchia et al. (2011) used regression analysis on 317 Norwegian firms to find that a board with at least three women enhanced the level of organisational innovation. They found no significant impact when there were only two female directors, thus supporting critical mass theory. Liu et al. (2014) employed a panel of more than 2000 Chinese firms to test the relationship between

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gender diversity and firm performance. They measured gender diversity using dummy variables, representing one, two and three female board directors. They found a positive link throughout, which became significant when there were at least three female directors. Schwartz---Ziv (2015) provided initial evidence on critical mass theory in relation to corporate governance, concluding that boards with at least three female directors are 79% more active at board meetings. Finally, Joecks et al. (2013) recorded the first attempt of endogenously determining the critical mass by investigating the link between gender diversity and firm performance, on a panel dataset of 151 listed German firms. Combining univariate findings with multivariate regression analysis, the authors found firm performance to follow a U--- shape, which turned positive when a critical mass of about 30% of female directors is attained. Joecks et al. (2013) convert this to an absolute number of three female directors, consistent with the previous literature.

2.6 Intended Contribution to Literature

Thus far, very little research has been conducted on the relationship between board gender diversity and firm performance within the UK. Notably, Gregory---Smith et al.

(2014) used the percentage of female directors to record a generally positive, but insignificant relationship for UK listed firms. Therefore, unless there has been a significant change of UK board composition in last three years, I expect a similar result when using the percentage of female directors. Nevertheless, Gregory---Smith et al. (2014) also documented bias gender board appointments, concluding that there is a degree of tokenism in UK boardrooms. Accordingly, as the ratio of female directors increases, I would expect them to have an escalating impact on firm performance, thus satisfying critical mass theory. This study contributes to the existing academic literature in numerous ways. First, it adds a contemporary conclusion to the limited UK empirical evidence. Second, it presents supporting evidence of critical mass theory for UK firms, emphasising the need for more female

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directors. Finally, it is the first study to determine the critical mass of female directors for UK corporate boards.

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3. Methodology

3.1 Introduction This chapter outlines the methodology used to empirically examine the relationship between board gender diversity and firm performance. This study expands on the work by Gregory---Smith et al. (2014), by following a similar approach to Joecks et al.

(2013), in order to determine the critical mass of female directors in the UK boardroom. The section will firstly present the approaches undertaken for data collection, before summarising the measures for firm performance and board gender diversity. The chapter will finish by presenting the model that will be used to empirically test the relationship.

3.2 Data Collection

To explore the relationship between board gender diversity and firm performance, this study will examine FTSE 100 companies. The FTSE 100 consists of the largest 100 companies, measured by market capitalisation. Previous empirical evidence suggests that there is a higher chance of board gender diversity for larger firms (Carter et al., 2003). This is because of the positive relationship that exists between firm size and board size, and therefore FTSE 100 firms are more likely to have more board seats available for female directors. Accordingly, by investigating the FTSE 100, I can accurately gauge whether there is relationship between board gender diversity and firm performance.

My initial sample consists of all 146 companies that have entered and exited the FTSE 100 index in the years 2004---2014. The financial data has been obtained from Datastream, and the board composition data from FAME and firmsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; annual reports.

18 firms had exited the index for administration reasons and 20 firms for mergers and acquisitions or IPOs, Thus, they have therefore been excluded from the sample.

Similar to Joecks et al. (2013), firm---years with an ROE +/---150 were classed as

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outliers, and are therefore also discarded from the sample in order to reduce any adverse effect that they may have. Overall, the final sample consists of an unbalanced panel of 108 UK firms, with 1,137 observations over an 11---year period.

3.3 Data Measures

3.3.1 Firm Performance Measure

The principle measure for firm performance in the study is return on equity (ROE).

The data for ROE is computed by Datastream, as net income before preferred dividends minus preferred dividend requirement, divided by the average of the previous and current yearâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s common equity. Therefore, the variable measures the capability of a company to create profits from its shareholdersâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; investments, as well as the profitability of the firm itself. Although there are other measures available for firm performance, the choice of ROE is consistent with an abundance of previous studies that investigate the link between board diversity and firm performance (e.g.

Shrader et al. 1997; Luckerath---Rovers, 2011; Sabatier, 2015). Additionally, Joecks et al. (2013) use ROE as their measure for firm performance to endogenously determine the critical mass of female directors. Thus, as this study is following a similar approach, it is sensible to adopt the same dependent variable.

3.3.2 Gender Diversity Measures

The primary measure of interest in this study is board gender diversity. The data for this variable was hand collected from each of the firmsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; annual reports and then verified against the FAME database. A female director was identified by their name and picture, when given. Overall, the sample consists of 11,967 directors, comprising of 10,416 male and 1,551 female directors. None of the boards were female dominated, with the maximum female representation equalling 50%.

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This study will measure board gender diversity in three ways; the percentage of female directors, a dummy variable for each of Kanterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s (1977a) group types, and with the use of a quadratic term in order to determine critical mass. The first measure is most commonly used to estimate the impact of board gender diversity (Carter et al., 2003; Ahern and Dittmar, 2012; Gregory---Smith et al., 2014). Thus, this study will also incorporate it as a diversity measure to help provide an initial picture of the impact on firm performance. The trend of board gender diversity for the years 2004---2014 is presented in Figure 2. Figure 2 illustrates the percentage of female directors consistently increasing throughout the 11---year period. In 2004, it is originally at 8%, before gradually increasing to 10% in 2007. In 2011, the percentage reaches 14%, before spiking up to 21% in 2014. As outlined in the introduction, the Lord Davies report was published in 2011, thus it is most likely that this was an influential factor behind the comparatively larger increase in the latter years. In short, the percentage of female directors increases by 13% throughout the 11---year period, thus the data set presents a reliable environment to investigate whether there is a relationship between board gender diversity and firm performance.

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Figure 2 – Board Gender Diversity Progress

This study will also empirically test Kanter’s predictions. To investigate this, I have adopted the same approach as Joecks et al. (2013), and created four dummy variables, each representing Kanter’s respective group types. For a uniform group, the dummy variable will equal the value ‘1’ if the board has no female directors, and ‘0’ if there is at least one. With regards to a skewed board, the dummy variable will equal the value ‘1’ if a board has at least one female director, but less than 20% female representation, and ‘0’ otherwise. In terms of a tilted board, the dummy variable will equal ‘1’ if there is at least 20%, but less than 40% female directors in the boardroom, and ‘0’ otherwise. Finally, for a balanced board, the dummy variable will equal the value ‘1’ if the ratio of female directors is at least 40%, and ‘0’ otherwise. Among all of the firm---years, 24%, 49%, 26% and 1% are uniform, skewed, tilted and balanced boards respectively.

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In the final regression, the percentage of female directors will be included in both its linear and quadratic form. The inclusion of the quadratic term, will allow me to determine the critical mass for the percentage and subsequently the absolute number of female directors in a UK boardroom.

3.3.3 Control Measures

Similar to Liu et al. (2014), control variables are grouped into three categories: board, firm and performance characteristics. Data has been collected for board and firm characteristics from the firmsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; annual reports and subsequently confirmed by FAME. For performance characteristics, the data has been compiled from Datastream.

3.3.3.1 Board Characteristics

Consistent with previous empirical literature, the percentage of independent directors and board size are included as control variables (Adams and Ferreira, 2009; Gregory---Smith et al., 2014). Agency theory suggests that independent directors enhance firm value through increased monitoring (Fama and Jensen, 1983), and therefore I expect the percentage of independent directors to positively impact ROE. Corporate governance research suggests board size to have a negative impact on firm performance (Hermalin and Weisbach, 2003). A larger board is thought to be a less effective monitor (Jensen, 1993), because more directors can lead to communication and decision---making difficulties (Guest, 2009). Accordingly, I expect a negative relationship between board size and firm performance.

3.3.3.2 Firm Characteristics

In line with the growing literature investigating the relationship between firm age and performance, years since incorporation is included as a control variable. Older

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firms tend to have an established client base, more experience and subsequently more knowledge. However, older firms also lose the ability to innovate and compete over time. Prior evidence supports the second hypothesis (Loderer and Waelchli, 2010), and consequently I expect a negative relationship. In accordance to previous literature (Liu, et al., 2014) a dummy variable for a female CEO will be incorporated into the model. The variable will equal ‘1’ if the firm has a female CEO, and ‘0’ otherwise. Previous research illustrates the market reacting negatively to the announcement of a female CEO (Farrell and Hersch, 2005; Lee and James, 2007), thus I expect a corresponding negative impact on firm performance.

3.3.3.3 Performance Characteristics

Market value is employed as a control variable for firm size. In accordance with earlier studies, I expect a positive relationship between firm size and firm performance, as higher market value should exhibit greater profitability (Joecks et al., 2013). Leverage is also included as the ratio of debt to equity. The empirical evidence on the relationship between leverage and firm performance remains inconclusive. For example, agency theory states that leverage acts as a disciplinary mechanism, positively impacting firm performance. On the other hand, high leverage increases bankruptcy pressure, therefore constraining firms, and negatively impacting their financial performance. Consequently, the prediction of its effect in this study is ambiguous.

3.4 The Model

3.4.1 Endogeneity The main obstacle that this empirical analysis will face is reverse causality, which is a source of endogeneity. Endogeneity occurs when explanatory variables are correlated with the error term (Carter Hill et al., 2012), in this case making it

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difficult to identify the true relationship between the percentage of female directors and firm performance. While the presence of female directors can impact firm performance, one cannot rule out the possibility that female directors may choose to join the board of a well---performing firm. Thus, there is a problem of reverse causality. To overcome this challenge, the variable will be lagged by one year, and as a result, the impact of female directors will be realised in the succeeding year.

Additionally, all of the control variables will be lagged by one year. Not only are these variables associated with board gender diversity, they also need time to impact firm performance (Liu et al., 2014). This approach has been adopted in preceding literature (Gregory---Smith et al., 2014).

3.4.2 Model Specification

The dataset for this analysis is an unbalanced panel of over 100 FTSE 100 firms that have entered and exited in period 2004---2014.

(Equation 3.1)

!it = !1!it + !i + !it , ! = 1,…,N, ! = 1, …, T

An important aspect of panel data is that it comprises of entities for multiple time periods (Carter Hill et al., 2012), combining a cross---sectional dimension, denoted by subscript !, and a time---series dimension, denoted by subscript ! (Equation 3.1). In this analysis, the subscripts ! and ! represent firms and year, respectively.

Accordingly, Stock and Watson (2011) argue that this setting allows us to learn about the evolution over the period of the variables for each entity. Moreover, panel data allows the user to control for individual---specific characteristics that cannot be observed, in other words, unobserved heterogeneity. This is captured by the ‘individual effect’, !i, and is time invariant. On the other hand, !it is the ‘idiosyncratic error’ and is time---varying.

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3.4.2.1 Choosing between Fixed and Random Effects When using panel data, two models are most commonly estimated, fixed effects (FE) and random effects (RE). The crucial difference between the two estimation methods is in the way that !i is treated. A FE model can be used to control for omitted variables that vary across entities, but do not change over time. In such a model, !1,â&#x20AC;Ś, !n are estimated entity---specific intercepts, which are assumed to be constant over time, and are therefore known as entity fixed effects (Stock and Watson, 2011). Any behavioural differences that occur between individuals are thus captured by the intercept, with any time---invariant characteristics controlled for (Carter Hill et al., 2012). Accordingly, the main advantage of the FE model is its ability to control for unobserved characteristics, such as firm culture. Thus, in accordance to previous literature, which investigates the link between board diversity and firm performance, it is likely that this model will be preferred. In comparison, in a RE model, !i is part of the error term, and consequently certain assumptions need to be met. One of these is that !i must not be correlated with any of the explanatory variables in the model. If such correlation exists, the RE estimator will produce regression coefficients that are bias and inconsistent. The RE estimator is preferred when heterogeneity is not present, and therefore the intercepts can be extracted from the same random distribution. Additionally, it is preferred when the dataset consists of a small T and large N, which is the case of my dataset.

Nevertheless, Verbeek (2012) states how even when it is likely a RE estimator will be favoured, if !i is correlated with any of the explanatory variables, the FE estimator is preferred, because ignoring this can lead to inconsistent estimates. In order to determine which is preferred, I will test both estimators in the results and findings.

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3.4.3 Time Dummies Time dummies will be used for all of the years to capture year effects that are not otherwise measured in the model, for example changing business conditions. To control for such shocks, the dummy will equal ‘1’ for the respective year, and ‘0’ otherwise.

3.4.4 The Final Model

The final model:

(Equation 3.2) Firm Performance !1 !!!!!_!!!!!!_!!!!!!!!it + !2 !!!!!_!ℎ!!!!!!!!!!!!!it + !3 !!!!_!ℎ!!!!!!!!!!!!!it + !4 !!!!!!!!!!!_!ℎ!!!!!!!!!!!!!it + !i + !t + !it Firm performance is the dependent variable, measured by ROE. The independent variable, Board_Gender_Diversity is measured by the percentage of female directors on the board (Gender Diversity) or by the four dummy variables for each of Kanter’s group types (Uniform, Skewed, Tilted and Balanced Board). In the final regression, gender diversity also enters into the regression in its quadratic form in order to determine the critical mass of female directors in UK boardrooms.

Board_Characteristics, Firm_Characteristics and Performance_Characteristics each represent the three control groups outlined earlier: board, firm and performance characteristics, respectively. Within the control groups, market value and firm age are entered into the regression as natural logarithms, in order to reduce skewness.

The model includes, !i, indicating firm fixed effects, and !t, representing year fixed effects. !it is the error term.

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4. Results and Findings 4.1 Descriptive Statistics

Table 3 presents the descriptive statistics for the gender diversity measures, the performance measure, and for board, firm and performance characteristics. These are shown in panels A, B, C, D and E respectively.

The variable of interest is the measure for gender diversity represented by the percentage of female directors on a board and four dummy variables for each of Kanterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s group types. The mean percentage of all female directors in our sample is 13%. Additionally, the maximum female representation on any board is 50%. Thus, the sample illustrates that male directors dominate the boards of FTSE 100 companies. The alternative measure for gender diversity is a set of four dummy variables for each of Kanterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s group types. Table 3 illustrates that 24%, 49%, 26% and 1% are uniform, skewed, tilted and balanced boards respectively. Panel B reports the descriptive statistics for ROE. After the elimination of outliers, the mean ROE is 19%, with a standard deviation of 0.22, over the whole sample. Panels C, D and E display the control variables each in their respective groups. The average board has 10.53 members and approximately 56% of board members are independent. The average firm age in the sample is 46 years and only 4% of our sample firms have a female CEO. Finally, market value has an average of 11,205 pounds and leverage, measured by debt to equity has an average of 1.09. The leverage ratio is pulled up by the financial institutions in the sample, which borrow large amounts of money to then lend to their clients.

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Table 3 â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Descriptive Statistics

Variables

N

Mean

Standard

Minimum

Maximum

Deviation Panel A: Board

Gender Diversity Percentage of Female

1137

0.13

0.10

0

0.5

Uniform Board

1137

0.24

0.43

0

1

Skewed Board

1137

0.49

0.50

0

1

Tilted Board

1137

0.26

0.44

0

1

Balanced Board

1137

0.01

0.08

0

1

Directors

Panel B: Performance

Measure ROE Panel C: Board

1137

0.19

0.22

---1.03

1.49

Characteristics Board Size

1137

10.53

2.50

4

21

Percentage of

1137

0.56

0.13

0

1

Independent Directors Panel D: Firm

Characteristics Firm Age

1137

46.11

45.65

0

322

Female CEO

1137

0.04

0.19

0

1

Panel E: Performance

Characteristics

Market Value

1137

11204.86

18794.26

49.94

129408.30

Leverage

1137

1.09

1.87

0

19.49

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4.2 The Hausman Test As outlined in the methodology, there are two main models usually used when investigating the relationship between board gender diversity and firm performance: fixed effects (FE) and random effects (RE). A FE estimator assumes that the individual specific effect is correlated to the explanatory variables. In comparison, a RE estimator assumes that the individual specific effect is uncorrelated to the explanatory variables. In order to test the validity of these assumptions, the Hausman Test (1978) can be used. In the Hausman Test, the null hypothesis is that !it and !i are uncorrelated, with the alternative hypothesis stating that they are correlated. The test therefore compares the two estimators, with the FE model consistent under the null and alternative hypothesis, in comparison to the RE model, which is only consistent under the null hypothesis. If they are both consistent, large samples under both estimates should be similar (Carter Hill et al., 2012). If only the FE estimator is consistent, and !it and !i are correlated, there will be a difference between the models, and the FE estimator will be preferred.

The test statistic and results are as follows (Verbeek, 2012; p.385):

(Equation 4.1) ‘

!H = !FE − !RE [ ! !FE − ! !RE ]-1 !FE − !RE

Table 4 – Hausman Test

Test Statistic 52.93

Critical Value 26.296

T---Probability 0.0000

Result Significant

As expected, the test shows a significant result, illustrating that the estimators are statistically different and that the FE estimator is preferred. This is consistent with

354

the previous literature, which has studied the board gender diversity and firm performance relationship (Smith et al., 2006; Adams and Ferreira, 2009).

The test result shows that the RE estimator is most likely influenced by omitted variable bias, causing the firm fixed effects to be correlated with the explanatory variables. Such unobserved variables have been discussed in prior literature. The culture of a firm is likely to remain consistent over time, but differ between companies (Liu et al., 2014). For example, some firmsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; cultures may be averse to having female directors sitting on their board, thus are unlikely to hire them. In addition, geographical territory and industry are likely to remain constant over time, but again differ between firms (Gregory---Smith et al., 2014). These factors are unlikely to be randomly drawn from all of the firms and uncorrelated to other firm descriptors. Thus, a FE estimator is clearly needed to control for the estimation of the relationship between board gender diversity and firm performance.

Consequently, for each of the three parts of the analysis, a pooled and FE model will be run, with the FE model preferred1. Both models will include year dummies.

Additionally, the pooled model will include industry dummies, because unlike in FE, this is not controlled for in such a model.

4.3 Diagnostic Tests

Before interpretation, it is important to confirm that the final model meets all of the FE regression assumptions (Stock and Watson, 2011, p.405).

1 The Breusch and Pagan Lagrangian Multiplier test confirmed that the RE model

was preferred to the pooled model for all three regressions (see Appendix A). As the FE estimator was also preferred to the RE estimator, the FE estimator will be the chosen model.

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Table 5 – Fixed Effects Assumptions

1. !it has conditional mean zero: !(!it| !i1, !i2, … , !iT, !i ) = 0.

2. (!i1, !i2, … , !iT, !i1, !i2, … , !iT), ! = 1, … , ! are i.i.d, draws from their joint distribution.

3. Large outliers are unlikely: (!it, !it) have nonzero fourth moments.

4. There is no perfect multicollinearity.

To ensure that the assumptions are satisfied, the model will be run through diagnostic testing.

4.3.1 Serial Correlation In panel data, serial correlation occurs when the errors in different time periods are correlated. For example, !it is presumed to be autocorrelated if it is correlated over time for a given entity (Stock and Watson, 2011). Serial correlation can result in the invalidity of the standard errors that would have been determined under the incorrect assumption of no serial correlation. The standard errors derived are therefore bias, consequently causing the results to be inefficient. In order to detect if serial correlation exists in the idiosyncratic error term of my model, I will use a test devised by Wooldridge (2002). The null hypothesis of the Wooldridge Test states no first---order autocorrelation.

Table 6 – Wooldridge Test

Test Statistic F(1, 106) = 15.282

Critical Value 3.931

T---Probability 0.0002

Result Significant

The null hypothesis is rejected, thus indicating that serial correlation is present in my model. Nevertheless, there are methods that have been devised in order to control for such situations. If serial correlation exists in the idiosyncratic error term,

356

clustered standard errors can be used. Clustered standard errors are a type of heteroskedasticity and autocorrelation---consistent standard errors, which permit regression errors to be arbitrary correlated within a cluster, however assume that the regression errors are not correlated across clusters (Stock and Watson, 2011).

Additionally, clustered standard errors imply robust, and therefore the errors are also robust for conditional heteroskedasticity. Accordingly, clustered standard errors ensure that the standard errors in a model are valid if !it is correlated over time within an entity, as well as if they are heteroskedastic (Stock and Watson, 2011), thus permitting for both in a way that is consistent with fixed effects regression assumption two (Stock and Watson, 2011). Since the Wooldridge test illustrates serial correlation to be present in all three of my regressions (See Appendix B), clustered standard errors will be used throughout.

4.3.2 Testing for Multicollinearity

Multicollinearity is a phenomenon that can occur when one of the explanatory variables is a perfect linear function of the other explanatory variables. Verbeek (2012) states that the problem of an approximate linear regression among the regressors can lead to inflated standard errors, and consequently unreliable regression estimates. In order to verify that this problem does not exist among the variables used in my analysis, Table 7 presents the pairwise correlations between each of the variables. This provides a rudimental check for multicollinearity, where a correlation of at least 0.7 is a signal of concern (Liu et al., 2014).

357

Table 7 â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Variable Correlations

Variables

ROE

Board

Board

% Of

Ln Firm

Female

Ln

Gender

Size

Independent

Age

CEO

Market

Diversity

Directors

Leverage

Value

ROE

1.000

Board

0.0510

1.000

Board Size

0.0056

0.1242***

1.000

% Of

---0.0242

0.2393***

0.1398***

1.000

Ln Firm Age

---0.1150***

---0.0133

0.1272***

0.1421***

1.000

Female CEO

0.0100

0.2508***

---0.0608*

0.0090

---0.0797**

1.000

0.1692***

0.3076***

0.5984***

0.3914***

0.1108***

0.0277

1.000

0.0815**

---0.0172

0.1235***

---0.0579*

---0.0357

---0.0576*

0.0692**

Gender Diversity

Independent Directors

Ln Market

Value Leverage

1.000

*, **, *** Denotes significance at the 10, 5 and 1 % levels, respectively.

Table 7 illustrates that the highest correlation is 0.5984, thus there is no indication of a multicollinearity issue. Concerning the dependent variable, ROE, it is positively related to market value (r=0.17***) and leverage (r=0.08**), and slightly negatively correlated to firm age (r=---0.12***). Gender diversity is positively related to board size (r=0.12***), the percentage of independent directors (r=0.24***), female CEO (r=0.25***) and market value (r=0.31***). Accordingly, companies with larger market values and boards are characterized by a higher degree of board gender diversity. Board size increases with firm size; subsequently resulting in more seats available for female directors (Carter et al., 2003). In terms of interrelations between the control variables, the most noticeable concern is the strong correlation between market value and both the percentage of independent directors (r=0.39***) and board size (r=0.60***). However, as stated, larger firms are associated with

358

larger boards (Carter et al., 2003), and will therefore also have more space available for independent directors.

4.3.3 Wald Test

The Wald Test can be used to test the significance of the explanatory variables in the statistical model. The test can be used to see whether the associated parameter or group of parameters for each of the explanatory variables are equal to zero. If the outcome of the test for a particular group is significant, then the null hypothesis is rejected, and the conclusion is that the group of parameters associated to the group are not equal to zero. Accordingly, these variables should then be incorporated within the model. On the other hand, if the outcome is insignificant, then the variables should be omitted from the model. For each of my regressions, the Wald Test will be carried out three times. Firstly, the overall significance for all of the variables will be tested to ensure the goodness---of---fit of the model, denoted by W1.

Secondly, a test for all of the independent variable coefficients will be reported, W2.

Finally, the joint significance of the time dummy variables will be tested to see whether the inclusion of these are important, !1. These will all be tested using the F--- statistic and at the 5% significance level. Thus, each of the reported p---values should be below 0.05, indicating a significant result. The three results will be reported with each of the regression outputs.

4.4 Analysis The essential diagnostic tests have been examined, and it can be confirmed that the model does not violate any of the FE assumptions. Accordingly, each of the regression results are reported below. This section will thus interpret the results, as well as stating the economic implications in relation to board gender diversity. As outlined in previous sections, the regressions will include firm fixed effects; year fixed effects and clustered standard errors.

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4.4.1 The Effect of the Percentage of Female Directors on Firm Performance

First, the effect of board gender diversity on firm performance will be examined. In this analysis, board gender diversity will be measured as the percentage of female directors on the board, and firm performance as the ROE. The results of the regression model are reported in Table 8, with column 1 recording the results of pooled model and column 2 recording the results of the FE model. The results for each of these are generally similar, thus insinuating that the results in this analysis are robust to the inclusion of firm fixed effects. Nevertheless, the FE model will be interpreted because, as outlined by the significant Hausman Test result, this is our preferred model. The three Wald Tests report significant results, warranting the use of the overall model, the coefficients and the time dummy variables. This indicates that the inclusion of each are important in ensuring the relationship is modelled effectively, with the time dummy variables taking into account the importance of the changes in the macroeconomic environment. The years 2006, 2008, 2009 and 2013 were all found to be significant, thus signalling that time shocks occurred during these years.

360

Table 8 â&#x20AC;&#x201C; The Effect of the Percentage of Female Directors on Firm Performance

Variables

(1) Pooled

(2) Fixed Effects

ROE

ROE

Board Gender Diversity

0.1025

0.0010

(0.1224)

(0.0924)

---0.0146**

---0.0045

(0.0058)

(0.0044)

Percentage of

---0.1014

0.0132

Independent Directors

(0.0852)

(0.0662)

Ln Firm Age

---0.0138

---0.0889**

(0.0105)

(0.0416)

---0.0135

---0.0074

(0.0366)

(0.0410)

0.0465***

0.0837***

(0.0130)

(0.0178)

0.0116

0.0483***

(0.0074)

(0.0095)

Board Size

Female CEO Ln Market Value Leverage W1

F(16, 106) = 6.54 (p=0.000)

W2

F(7, 106) = 5.84 (p=0.000)

!!

F(9, 106) = 4.34 (p=0.000)

Standard errors are in parentheses.

*, **, *** Denotes significance at the 10, 5 and 1 % levels, respectively.

The variable of interest in this analysis is board gender diversity. The results illustrate that there is a negligible positive link between ROE and the measure of

361

board gender diversity for the pooled and FE model. Specifically to the FE model, an increase in 1 unit of board gender diversity leads to a 0.0010 unit increase in firm value. Nevertheless, the effect is not significant, and it can therefore be concluded that there is no statistical relationship. As highlighted in the literature review, the previous evidence that has investigated the relationship has been mixed, with most analysing the effect within varying countries with different corporate governance and financial regulations. Consequently, this result can only accurately be compared to other UK studies. Gregory---Smith et al.â&#x20AC;&#x2122;s (2014) analysis of FTSE 350 firms also investigated the relationship between the ratio of female directors in the boardroom and firm performance. For their performance measure of ROE, they also found an insignificant positive relationship, therefore supporting my result. From, the results in Table 8, it can therefore be concluded that there is no effect between the overall percentage of female directors on a corporate board and firm performance.

Whilst the control variables are not the central focus in this analysis, they are still influential to the overall results. Each of them will be interpreted within their respective groups.

In terms of board characteristics, the evidence in Table 8 illustrates neither of the variables to be significant. Most surprisingly, board size is not significant (p=0.292).

Nevertheless, it still exhibits a negative effect at the 30% level, which is in the direction in line with the theoretical prediction. A board with more directors is thought to lead to decision---making difficulties (Guest, 2009), and is therefore a less effective monitor (Jensen, 1993). In Gregory---Smith et al.â&#x20AC;&#x2122;s (2014) analysis, they found board size to negatively effect firm performance, and to be significant in most cases. However, their study incorporated more firms, so it is most likely that my sample size is too small to capture the true underlying effect. Additionally, the percentage of independent directors is not significant. The fact that Gregory---Smith et al. (2014) also found an insignificant relationship supports the evidence that independent directors are not instrumental to firm performance.

362

Regarding firm characteristics, the results in Table 8 show only firm age to have a significant effect, which is negative at the 5% level. In this case, the evidence illustrates that older firms in the UK lose their capability to compete and innovate.

Evidence of this negative relationship is frequently supported in prior literature (Loderer and Waelchli, 2010; Liu et al., 2014). Table 8 illustrates that a 1% increase in firm years leads to a 0.0008 unit decline in firm performance. Female CEO is not significant, and exhibits a negative effect, therefore illustrating that a female CEO is not beneficial to firm performance.

Finally, both market value and leverage have a significant effect. Market value has a positive impact on firm performance, significant at the 1% level, with a 1% increase in market value, leading to a 0.0008 unit increase in firm performance. This result supports the hypothesis that larger firms will perform better and is consistent with prior evidence in both the board gender diversity case (Joecks et al., 2013) and within the UK (Guest, 2009). Additionally, leverage has a positive significant effect on ROE, at the 1% level. This gives credibility to agency theory, which proclaims that leverage acts as a disciplinary mechanism, positively enhancing firm performance.

The overall conclusion from Table 8, after controlling for board, firm and performance characteristics, is that there is no evidence for a statistical link between board gender diversity, measured by the percentage of female directors, and firm performance. Nevertheless, the seminal views by Kanter (1977a) outlined in the literature review, suggested that once there are a certain proportion of females in the boardroom, a positive impact would be recognized. Thus, in the next analysis I will look at varying group proportions of female directors and their effect on firm performance.

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4.4.2 The Effect of Kanterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Group Types on Firm Performance

As highlighted in the literature review, a greater representation of female directors is likely to have a positive effect on firm performance. Hence, a board with a tilted group of females is likely to exert a stronger impact than a skewed board.

Accordingly, I next test Kanterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s theory, and use four dummy variables, each representing the four varying proportional groups of female directors, to measure board gender diversity in a regression model. In order to avoid the dummy variable trap, the balanced board variable will be omitted. This variable was chosen because only 1% of the sample qualifies to be a balanced board, and therefore such a result is unlikely to accurately reflect the effect that this ratio would have on firm performance.

Briefly focusing on the effect of each of the dummy variables in the pooled model, it seems that each of the proportional representations exert no significant impact on ROE. Nevertheless, as the Hausman Test for this regression was significant (see Appendix C), it is likely that these results are effected by omitted unobserved firm characteristics, for example firm culture. Once firm fixed effects are added (column 2) the variables of interest turn positive, with the tilted board becoming significant at the 5% level. This change indicates that these results are driven by omitted firm specific factors; therefore reinforcing the fact that the FE model is preferred. Again, all of the Wald tests report significant results, and clustered standard errors are used to control for serial correlation, validating the use of this model.

The uniform and skewed boards are not statistically significant, and therefore there is no evidence of them contributing to a higher ROE. Nevertheless, the tilted board is significant at the 5% level and is associated with a 0.05 higher ROE. Hence, in agreement with Kanterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s (1977a) theoretical predictions, the results illustrate that firms with 20---40% female representation positively impact firm performance, unlike firms with less than 20% representation. These results are similar to the only other study to investigate this, Joecks et al. (2013), whom also found female

364

representation to become significant at the 5% level when a tilted board exists. A robustness check is performed on these results by testing the regression on two different performance measures, return on assets (ROA), and the natural logarithm of Tobinâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Q, a forward looking performance measure (see Appendix D). Strikingly, the results are similar to those obtained in Table 9, with the tilted board outperforming the skewed and uniform boards. Additionally, the tilted board is significant at the 1% level for ROA and significant at the 15% level for Tobinâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Q. Thus, it can be strongly concluded that tilted boards exert the greatest effect on firm performance.

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Table 9 --- The Effect of Kanterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Group Types on Firm Performance

Variables

(1) Pooled

(2) Fixed Effects

ROE

ROE

Uniform Board

---0.0489

0.0399

(0.0448)

(0.0358)

---0.0479

0.0357

(0.0417)

(0.0308)

---0.0102

0.0543**

(0.0415)

(0.0266)

---0.0142**

---0.0046

(0.0059)

(0.0044)

Percentage of

---0.1045

0.0074

Independent Directors

(0.0846)

(0.0645)

Ln Firm Age

---0.0137

---0.0913**

(0.0105)

(0.0419)

---0.0140

---0.0081

(0.0354)

(0.0388)

0.0468***

0.0837***

(0.0129)

(0.0181)

0.0117

0.0487***

(0.0075)

(0.0096)

Skewed Board Tilted Board Board Size

Female CEO Ln Market Value Leverage W1

F(18, 106) = 5.94 (p=0.000)

W2

F(9, 106) = 5.23 (p=0.000)

!!

F(9, 106) = 4.25 (p=0.000)

Standard errors are in parentheses.

*, **, *** Denotes significance at the 10, 5 and 1 % levels, respectively.

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The control variables display the same directional statistical links as the previous analysis reported in Table 8. Market value and leverage are positively affiliated with firm value, remaining significant at the 1% level, and firm age is negatively affiliated with firm value, remaining significant at the 5% level. Thus, the same theoretical explanations for their outcomes can also be applied to this regression.

To conclude, board gender diversity is positively related to ROE, a link that becomes significant when there is a female representation of 20---40%, defined by the tilted board dummy variable. Thus, this result implies that there is a critical mass of female directors in UK boardrooms, insinuated when a tilted board occurs.

Accordingly, I next endeavour to determine the level at which the critical mass is reached, by including both a linear and quadratic measure for gender diversity in the regression. For a critical mass to exist a negative linear term and a positive quadratic term should be present.

4.4.3 Determining the Critical Mass of UK Female Directors

The results for the effect of board gender diversity in both its linear and quadratic term on ROE are displayed in Table 10. The Hausman Test gave a significant result (see Appendix C), illustrating that the FE model is preferred. The Wald statistics are also significant and clustered standard errors are additionally used, verifying the use of the model.

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Table 10 --- Determining the Critical Mass of Female Directors

Variables

(1) Pooled

(2) Fixed Effects

ROE

ROE

Board Gender Diversity

---0.0447

---0.0643

(0.2816)

(0.2082)

0.5019

0.2162

Diversity2

(0.6879)

(0.5287)

Board Size

---0.0143**

---0.0044

(0.0059)

(0.0044)

Percentage of

---0.1020

0.0150

Independent Directors

(0.0847)

(0.0654)

Ln Firm Age

---0.0140

---0.0892**

(0.0105)

(0.0418)

---0.0199

---0.0089

(0.0388)

(0.0415)

0.0473***

0.0840***

(0.0131)

(0.0181)

0.0116

0.0484***

(0.0075)

(0.0095)

Board Gender

Female CEO Ln Market Value Leverage W1

F(17, 106) = 6.19 (p=0.000)

W2

F(8, 106) = 5.10 (p=0.000)

!!

F(9, 106) = 4.28 (p=0.000)

Standard errors are in parentheses.

*, **, *** Denotes significance at the 10, 5 and 1 % levels, respectively.

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In terms of the control variables, these also show the same directional significance as the previous regressions, and are thus interpreted the same way as stated in section 4.4.1.

Regarding the relationship between board gender diversity and ROE, Table 10 shows the linear term to be negative and the quadratic term to be positive, thus illustrating a concave relationship, and indicating that a critical mass exists.

Although neither of the terms are significant, the preceding regression provided strong evidence for a critical mass of female directors to be present in UK boardrooms. Accordingly, a graph of the link between board gender diversity and ROE shall be drawn to see whether any conclusions can be drawn from this analysis.

Figure 3 â&#x20AC;&#x201C; ROE and Board Gender Diversity

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Figure 3 graphs the relationship between the linear and quadratic terms for board gender diversity, and ROE, as given by the FE regression in Table 10. A U---shape is illustrated in Figure 1 with a minimum of approximately 16%. This percentage falls into the skewed group, and is therefore in line with Kanter’s predictions.

Additionally, at a ratio of 30%, ROE reaches the level of an all---male uniform board, therefore indicating the point at which the critical mass occurs. Above this threshold, a diverse board will outperform a uniform board. Applying the critical value of 30% to the average board size in my sample (10.53), the value converts to an absolute value of an average of three female directors. However, as neither the linear or quadratic terms are significant, these results should be treated as tentative rather than certain, instead only illustrating a general link between board gender diversity and ROE. Nevertheless, there is an abundance of evidence and theory supporting these results, as explained below, which help to increase their validity.

Firstly, the value of 30% falls within the tilted group, which as outlined by Kanter (1977a), is when a female can start to exert a positive impact because they are no longer treated as a ‘token.’ Additionally, the tilted group was found to have a positive and significant effect in the prior analysis, which was robust to multiple performance measures. Secondly, the critical value translates to an absolute number of three female directors. The critical value of three is supported by most of the previous evidence to investigate whether a critical mass exists in a boardroom. In the only other study to test this, Joecks et al. (2013) found a critical value of 30% for French boardrooms, which also translated to an absolute number of three.

Moreover, Torchia et al. (2011) and Liu et al. (2014) found the critical value for female directors in a boardroom to be three, when investigating the impact of board gender diversity on innovation and firm performance, respectively. Through an interview study, Konrad et al. (2008) and Konrad and Kramer (2006) also found the critical mass of female directors to be three. Finally, in order to verify this further, I split the sample into two subsamples, based on the firms’ market value. Table 11 illustrates the two subsamples to exhibit a negative linear term and a positive quadratic term, providing more support for a concave shape. Nevertheless, the

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board gender diversity terms in Table 11 are still insignificant, indicating that the result in Table 10 is robust to different firm sizes in my sample.

Table 11 â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Subsamples

Variables

(1) Fixed Effects --- Small (2) Fixed Effects --- Large ROE

Board Gender Diversity

ROE ---0.0708

---0.2796

(0.2434)

(0.4977)

0.3094

0.6855

Diversity2

(0.6526)

(1.362)

Board Size

---0.0032

---0.0014

(0.0060)

(0.0080)

0.0188

---0.0025

Independent Directors

(0.0773)

(0.1106)

Ln Firm Age

---0.0985**

---0.2067*

(0.0476)

(0.1037)

0.0415

---0.0597

(0.0349)

(0.0388)

0.0931***

0.0194

(0.0217)

(0.0500)

0.0547***

0.0379**

(0.0109)

(0.0149)

Board Gender

Percentage of

Female CEO Ln Market Value Leverage Standard errors are in parentheses.

*, **, *** Denotes significance at the 10, 5 and 1 % levels, respectively.

Thus, I have attempted the first study to determine the critical mass for board gender diversity by adding a quadratic term in the regression analysis. The critical mass was determined to be at the 30% level translating to an absolute value of an

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average of three female directors. Nevertheless, this result is insignificant, and therefore opens the door to future research to see whether this analysis can be improved upon. Accordingly, limitations for this analysis and implications for future research will be discussed in the conclusion.

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5. Conclusion

5.1 Conclusions and Discussion Board gender diversity is an important matter for government reform efforts globally. Nevertheless, the consequences of such reforms are yet to be fully understood. Whilst an abundance of evidence illustrates board gender diversity to have a positive effect on firm performance, there is still countless literature proposing otherwise. Accordingly, this study has investigated 11 years of data between 2004 and 2014 of FTSE 100 firms, with the aim to extend the existing UK literature and document the first evidence of the critical mass of female directors on firm performance. In this context, I acknowledged three questions. I first answered whether there is a statistical link between board gender diversity and firm performance. Secondly, I addressed whether a positive relationship would prevail once a certain ratio of board gender diversity had been reached. Thirdly, I sought to find the critical mass at which this threshold is obtained. With regards to the first question, I found no significant link between board gender diversity, measured as the percentage of female directors, and firm performance, thus providing no evidence for the economic and business case for gender diversity at the overall level.

Accordingly, I split board gender diversity into four group types, based on Kanterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s (1977a) varying representations. I found that boards with 20---40% females outperform those with less than 20%, providing support for critical mass theory. I additionally found support for the economic and business case for board gender diversity at the 20---40% level. Finally, I sought to determine the absolute number at which this turning point occurs by including a quadratic term in the first regression.

I found this point to be obtained at the 30% level, translating to an absolute number of three female directors in the boardroom. Nevertheless, the final result was insignificant. Thus, rather than the last part of this investigation providing a final answer, it should instead be deemed a helpful starting point for future analysis.

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5.2 Limitations of the Analysis and Implications for Future Research The majority of the limitations of this analysis centre on the insignificant result obtained in the last regression. Accordingly, this section will state how future research can improve this study, and hopefully identify whether a more accurate result can be obtained when attempting to determine the critical mass of female directors in the boardroom. The first limitation of this analysis is that it has only used data from FTSE 100 companies. Accordingly, my sample size could have been too small to discover a true underlying effect. Future research in the UK should therefore incorporate more companies, to not only attempt to see whether an effect can then be realised, but also to see whether the results I have found generalise to smaller firms. The second limitation is that most of the variables used in my study are endogenous. In an attempt to control for this, I lagged the explanatory variables.

Nevertheless, future studies may want to implement a different type of model, to fully ensure that this is controlled for. For example, a two---stage least squares regression allows for the use of instrument variables to control for a situation when the error terms are correlated with the independent variables, permitting a better solution for the treatment of endogeneity. Additionally, another method could be used to ensure that serial correlation is fully controlled for. Although clustered standard errors control for serial correlation within clusters, they fail to control for correlation that occurs across clusters. Accordingly, by using a model such as the generalised method of moments, this type of serial correlation and any second order serial correlation will most likely be controlled for, and therefore a more accurate relationship could be detected. Additionally, such a model could control for any potential correlation in the dependent variable, as well as endogeneity.

Nevertheless, it is important not to undermine the importance of this study in providing the first attempt to determine the critical mass of female directors in UK boardrooms, as well as investigate different varying proportional groups of female directors and their impact on firm performance. Instead, this study aims to open the door for new studies to investigate the relationship in ways that were out of the

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scope of this analysis, for example by using the types of models mentioned above.

Thirdly, this study investigated the effect of all female directors, and did not examine whether female executive directors exert a different effect to non---executive directors. Thus, future research should explore whether each of these exert different impacts, and whether a critical mass exists for each of the respective groups. Finally, I have only studied the link between board gender diversity and firm performance, in relation to critical mass within the UK. Different countries are subject to varying regulations, and therefore these results cannot be applied to other countries. Future studies may want to implement cross---country analysis to see whether there is a point at which the positive effects of board gender diversity are obtained on a multi--- national level. If this is the case, a final answer to the inconclusive relationship between board gender diversity and firm performance could be obtained.

5.3 Policy Recommendations

Notwithstanding these limitations, this study has presented pivotal information relating to the impact of board gender diversity on firm performance, by providing the first evidence of a critical mass existing in UK boardrooms. Accordingly, this dissertation has policy implications that are relevant to policymakers within the UK. It is important to note that these policy recommendations are based on the second research question, which illustrated that 20---40% female representation on boards had a positive impact on firm performance. This result was significant and robust for multiple performance measures, highlighting that female presence on a board is instrumental for more than just equity reasons, and therefore providing strong evidence for policymakers to adhere to. This study provides no evidence for a quota to be legally implemented in the UK, instead supporting the current Lord Davies initiative, where present FTSE 100 board gender diversity stands at 26.1%, and therefore within the 20---40% range. Instead of legally enforcing firms to comply with regulations, which has been shown by previous studies to have negative results (Ahern and Dittmar, 2012), UK policymakers should continue with the voluntary

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approach. This study found that at levels of female representation below 20%, gender diversity is not associated with firm performance. In accordance, policymakers should concentrate on firms with female representation below the 20% threshold, presenting these firms with evidence of the benefits that they could reap by increasing their female board representation to above the 20% level. There are currently sixteen FTSE 100 firms with less than 20% female representation, and forty---five with less than 25% representation (Lord Davies, 2015). These are the firms that policymakers should encourage to increase their board gender diversity in order for all FTSE 100 firms to attain the significant value---adding impact that board gender diversity can have. A final remark should note that, even if firms fail to realise the economic and business cases for gender diversity that this study has supported past the 20% level, representation of females in corporate board positions is still a matter of social justice, and therefore a subject not to be neglected.

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Appendices Appendix A: Breusch and Pagan Lagrangian Multiplier tests.

The Effect of the Percentage of Female Directors on Firm Performance:

Test Statistic 462.65

T---Probability 0.0000

Result Significant

The Effect of Kanterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Group Types on Firm Performance:

Test Statistic 460.10

T---Probability 0.0000

Result Significant

Determining the Critical Mass of Female Directors: Test Statistic 459.00

T---Probability 0.0000

Result Significant

Appendix B: Wooldridge tests for Serial Correlation.

The Effect of the Percentage of Female Directors on Firm Performance: Test Statistic F(1, 106) = 15.282

Critical Value 3.931

T---Probability 0.0002

Result Significant

The Effect of Kanterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Group Types on Firm Performance:

Test Statistic F(1, 106) = 15.102

Critical Value 3.931

T---Probability 0.0002

Result Significant

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Determining the Critical Mass of Female Directors: Test Statistic F(1, 106) = 15.310

Critical Value 3.931

T---Probability 0.0002

Result Significant

Appendix C: The Hausman Test.

The Effect of Kanterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Group Types on Firm Performance:

Test Statistic 57.53

Critical Value 28.869

T---Probability 0.0000

Result Significant

Determining the Critical Mass of Female Directors: Test Statistic 52.93

Critical Value 27.587

T---Probability 0.0000

Result Significant

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Appendix D: The Effect of Kanterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Group Types on Firm Performance: measures of ROA and the natural logarithm of Tobinâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Q. Variables

Fixed Effects

Fixed Effects

ROA

Ln TQ

Uniform Board

0.0196*

---0.1010

(0.0176)

(0.1088)

0.0186*

0.0076

(0.0096)

(0.0928)

0.0222***

0.1318

(0.0075)

(0.0899)

---0.0036**

---0.0221

(0.0016)

(0.0145)

0.0060

0.0226

Independent Directors

(0.0222)

(0.1934)

Ln Firm Age

---0.0115

---0.1011

(0.0116)

(0.1262)

---0.0074

0.1419

(0.1512)

(0.1392)

0.0259***

0.2796***

(0.0055)

(0.0600)

0.0048**

0.0261

(0.0019)

(0.0182)

Skewed Board Tilted Board Board Size Percentage of

Female CEO Ln Market Value Leverage Standard errors are in parentheses.

*, **, *** Denotes significance at the 10, 5 and 1 % levels, respectively.

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Christye McKinney is a second year History student at Hatfield College, Durham University. This paper was prepared for the ‘Hard Times’ module taught by Dr. Andrzej Olechnowicz.

Abstract

The Victorian ‘double standard’ has quite rightly been the subject of intense academic interest. Feminist historians in particular have sought to understand the causes and confines of nineteenth-century ideals of femininity, and associations between women and weakness. Yet gender is an inherently relational concept, and the nineteenth century was also a crucial period of discussion about “true manliness”. This essay therefore attempts to demarcate the emerging boundaries of masculine behaviour in the Victorian period, which continue to underlie the way we understand gender roles today. By studying a selection of philosophical, political and satirical writing, art, culture and scientific works of the period, it explores the changing place of sentimentality, sensuality, spirituality, virtue, health and heroism in masculine identities, and traces the emergence of more brittle and hierarchical forms of masculinity. In addition, it aims to navigate the practical ambiguities and the intersectionality of gender with other factors of identity such as personality, sexuality, religion and socioeconomic status that inevitably served to refract and challenge assertions of gendered ideologies. Furthermore, simple stereotypes such as ‘the strong and silent type’ belie the complexity and contradictions in Victorian efforts to delineate “normality” and find stability in controlling social roles.

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Masculinity as a concept has been defined as a fluid process, standard or set of relations that are constructed by, reflected in and dependent upon contemporary society and individual psychology. In the Victorian era, gender was a constant negotiation of the contradictions between ‘official’ and competing doctrines and their practical realisation.

Unprecedented changes during the period – in particular the expansion of the middle classes – served to undermine, draw attention to and reform masculinity as part of a newly conscious struggle to delimit deviance, normality and the ideal. On an individual level, too, understandings of manliness were fundamentally interwoven with every other component of identity. These include class, sense of citizenship or local culture, occupation, age, physical appearance and ability, sexuality and religious belief. Hinged on scientific discussion, religious debate, popular insecurities, discourse on morality, respectability and the notion of progress, as well as personal experience, Victorian masculinities were therefore highly changeable and subjective. One consistent context was the constant presence and pressures exerted by femininity and the shifting status and role of women, which were integral to changing conceptions of masculinity. Crucially, a man must be considered as part of the gender system as a whole; in relation to intellectual debates surrounding the incompatibility or complimentary nature of feminine characteristics; and in terms of his individual daily interactions with women. From this opposition to the feminine we can begin to analyse, deconstruct and consider the limits of any archetype of the ‘real man’ within the complex and unstable framework of understanding.

In the early nineteenth century, interpretations of manliness were more concerned with debates on morality than ideas of strict masculinity distinctive from femininity. Early Victorian moralists saw a desexualised blend of purity, compassion, gentleness and strength as essential to humanity’s purification. Distinguishing “manliness” from “masculinity”, the new Christian man sought to overcome the beastliness of nature by looking to God as the ultimate, divine androgyne.1 Inspired by typically feminine qualities, Thomas Arnold, Oxford-educated historian and headmaster of Rugby from 1828 to 1841, established Christian graces as the pivot of the new manliness. Moreover, Arnold extolled domestic and motherly virtues and contrasted this high spiritual and manly vigour not against the feminine, but the untamed adolescent.2 From the 1830s, the real Christian man was to grow up straightforward, industrious, earnest and pure, adopting a mixture of androgynous qualities to achieve a distinctly adult state, morally distanced from boys, children and the immature.3 The introduction of this ideology into elite academic institutions like Rugby and the universities of Oxford and Cambridge both reflected and maintained an upper-class code of masculinity that was defined by the attainment of moral and intellectual maturity.4 The initial ambiguity and malleability of gender as a part of man’s identity is demonstrated by conflations of manliness, aristocratic associations and aestheticism in the symbol of the dandy. As the declining aristocracy and emergent professional classes struggled to sustain their worth through socioeconomic status, they sought to reaffirm their social authority through a cultivation of “gentlemanliness” and intellectual distinction.5 In imitating an aristocratic lifestyle and crafting their appearance, language and leisure, aspirational middle-class gentleman such as Lord Byron and “Beau” Brummell attempted to sustain their social authority through aesthetic excesses. The dandy

1

Claudia Nelson, ‘Sex and the Single Boy: Ideals of Manliness and Sexuality in Victorian Literature for Boys’, Victorian Studies, Vol. 32, 4 (1989), pp. 529-531, 538.

2 Malcolm Tozer, Manliness: The Evolution of a Victorian Ideal, unpublished PhD Thesis (Leicester, 1978), pp. 43, 46, 47.

3 Thomas Carlyle, On Heroes, Hero-Worship, and The Heroic in History (London, 1841), p. 172. Tozer, Manliness, pp. 47-48. Heather Ellis, ‘Thomas Arnold, Christian Manliness and the Problem of Boyhood’, Journal of Victorian Culture, Vol. 19, 4 (2014), pp. 30-34. John Tosh, ‘Domesticity and manliness in the Victorian middle class: the family of Edward White Benson’ in Michael Roper and John Tosh (eds.), Manful Assertions: Masculinities in Britain since 1800 (London, 1991), p. 46.

4 Fabrice Neddam, ‘Constructing masculinities under Thomas Arnold of Rugby (1828-1842): Gender, Educational Policy and School Life in an Early-Victorian Public School’, Gender and Education, Vol. 16, 3 (2004), pp. 304-7; Leonore Davidoff and Catherine Hall, Family Fortunes: Men and women of the English middle class, 1780-1900 (London, 1987), p. 110-111.

5 James Eli Adams, Dandies and Desert Saints: Styles of Victorian Masculinity (New York, 1995), pp. 5-6, 23.

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relied on the theatricality and decadence of his self-presentation as a form of masculine identity and relatively transgressive social power.6 Throughout the period, there was ongoing discussion over the place of sentimentality and sensuality in the masculine role. Nineteenth-century writers such as Dickens, Wilde, Patmore, Tennyson and Newman frequently explored manliness as an amalgamation of gendered traits in their character portrayals. In The Princess (1847), for example, the aggression of Tennyson’s king is presented as an unattractive and inadequate definition of sexual identity.7 Even as masculinity became more self-conscious past the mid-century, writers such as Stoker in his iconic Dracula (1897) explored anxiety over the potential fluidity of gender roles and the fundamental dualisms of contemporary existence, like desire and fear, life and death, and male versus female.8 Both literature and the visual arts in the Romantic era posited the cultivation of intense emotions in the individual and explored the doubts and contradictions in prevailing belief. The mid-century Pre-Raphaelites appreciated depth of feeling in feminine terms and offered what they saw to be an authentic version of masculinity that championed ‘art for art’s sake’. 9 In his influential writings, Pater in particular stressed the centrality of individual thought and impressions and in a manliness ‘drawn from the soul’.10 But this discussion of gentleness and sensuality in male conduct and expression existed in a context of increasing derision and emerging boundaries of masculine behaviour. Accumulative anxiety over man’s unique role as the dominant force in both society and the household meant that constructs of masculinity, femininity and morality were beginning to diverge and conflict with each other in the face of popular fears of democratisation, social breakdown and the emancipation of women.11 The increasingly complex and contradictory nature of mid-century Christian manliness alone has been underlined by Engelhardt’s study of the diverse ways Kingsley, Pusey and Faber used the Virgin Mary to define their idealised image of themselves.12 A growing body of literature came to be intimately connected with the lives of its readers, and novels such as Westward Ho! and Tom Brown’s School Days may well have been taken as conduct books.13 The writings of Charles Kingsley and Thomas Hughes were particularly influential in popularising and broadening associations between manliness, physical health and spiritual development within the general imperialist mood.

Kingsley championed the need for ‘a healthy body for a healthy mind’ as essential for the achievement of one’s manly potential.14 Muscular Christianity broadened the appeal of religion by combining the Christian principles of ‘tenderness and thoughtfulness for others’ with secular notions of ‘courage’ and fighting for ‘the protection of the weak, the advancement of all righteous causes, and the subduing of the earth’.15 The ties between Christian

6

James Eli Adams, ‘Gentleman, Dandy, Priest: Manliness and Social Authority in Pater's Aestheticism’, English Literary History, Vol. 59, 2 (1992), p. 442.

7 Carol Christ, ‘Victorian Masculinity and the Angel in the House’ in Martha Vicinus (ed.), A Widening Sphere: Changing Roles of Victorian Women (London, 1980), pp. 149-60.

8 Christopher Craft, ‘"Kiss Me with those Red Lips": Gender and Inversion in Bram Stoker's Dracula’, Representations, No. 8 (1984), pp. 112, 116.

9 Simon Cooke, ‘Interpreting Masculinity: Pre-Raphaelite Illustration and the Works of Tennyson, Christina Rossetti and Trollope’ in Amelia Yeates and Serena Trowbridge (eds.), Pre-Raphaelite Masculinities: Constructions of Masculinity in Art and Literature (Dorchester, 2014), pp. 133-135, 139.

10 Walter Pater, Studies in the History of the Renaissance (London, 1873), p. 213; Walter Pater, ‘Poems by William Morris’, Westminster Review (Oct 1868), pp. 300-12.

11 David Rosen, ‘The volcano and the cathedral: muscular Christianity and the origins of primal manliness’, in Donald E. Hall (ed.), Muscular Christianity: Embodying the Victorian Age (Cambridge, 1994), pp. 35, 39.

12 Carol Marie Engelhardt, ‘Victorian Masculinity and the Virgin Mary’ in Andrew Bradstock, Sean Gill, Anne Hogan and Sue Morgan (eds.), Masculinity and Spirituality in Victorian Culture (New York, 2000), p. 45.

13 Walter E. Houghton, The Victorian Frame of Mind 1830-1870 (New Haven, 1957), p. 17.

14 Charles Kingsley, Health and Education (London, 1887), p. 17; C.J.W.L. Wee, ‘Christian manliness and national identity: the problematic construction of a racially “pure” nation’ in Donald E. Hall (ed.), Muscular Christianity: Embodying the Victorian Age (2006), pp. 67, 69.

15 Thomas Hughes, edited by E.E. Brown, True Manliness: Selections from the Writings of Thomas Hughes (Boston, 1880); p. 14. Thomas Hughes, Tom Brown at Oxford: A Sequel to School Days at Rugby, Volume 1 (Boston, 1861), p. 170; Norman Vance, The Sinews of the Spirit: the ideal of Christian manliness in Victorian literature and religious thought (Cambridge, 1985), pp. 1, 17, 25.

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evangelism and a vigorous manly ideal were continually reinforced in both military and religious imagery and epitomised in the form of the ‘soldier-saint’, as exalted in Browning’s The Statue and the Bust.16 Manliness and militarism were further affiliated by Thomas Carlyle, who crafted the image of the real man based on ‘moral’ and ‘intellectual nature’, virtue and heroism. In On Heroes, he asks ‘why may not every one of us be a Hero?’ and forges the cult of Hero-worship, ‘duty and destiny’, based on the practice of Christian sincerity, self-restraint and silent triumph.17 Alongside Carlyle, many other bourgeois social thinkers, writers and educators of the 1840s and 1850s such as Ruskin also extolled the values of silence as a reflection of moral and physical strength and adherence to inner personal inclinations and opinions.18 Indeed, the ‘strong and silent type’ resonated with those who sought to draw their social status from display of their intellectual prowess, inner moral fibre and role at the vanguard of progress.19 This idea of ‘true manliness’ circumvented the limitations class and wealth that were required of the trappings of the dandy, for example, and caught the imagination of the aspirational middle classes.

By the mid-century, religion and Romanticism were giving way to a more brittle and scientific forms of masculinity and a distrust of so-called effeminate qualities.20 Androgynous portrayals in the arts contradicted the hardening definition of masculinity, the explicit aggression required of the public sphere and the increasingly hostile and broad definition of effeminacy. The progressive emancipation of women and the practical fallacy of the separate spheres ideology can be seen as undermining traditional understandings of male authority, responsibility and rights. The newfound classification of persons based on their behaviour or appearance, be it the homosexual, dandy or hero, was symptomatic of the growing anxiety over the definition of a “real man”.21 Ruskin’s widely popular Sesame and Lilies (1865) stands as a classic statement of nineteenth-century delineations of gender. It differentiated man, both as the Hero and biologically dominant force, as the sole active, progressive and productive energy in an expanding and industrialising society.22 In contrast to women and the womanly, he was the governing force of law, order, surveillance, governance and control.23 Consequently, any ambiguity in gender was replaced by the expectation that real ‘men, as a whole’ were ‘simple, masculine in manner and mind’.24 Furthermore, muscular Christianity was only one area of an active male fantasy world that was inspired, idealised and reinforced by literature and the arts. Novels, illustrations, paintings and poetry charted the conduct and appearance of ‘real’ men – the inventors, philosophers, judges, heroes, warriors and leaders of the conscious progress of mankind.25 In contrast to the aestheticism of dandies and Romantics, mainstream arts was used to communicate instructive content. Narratives of heroic triumph in the face of adversity or challenge – whether in the intellectual sphere, colonies, on the battlefield or cricket pitch – encouraged men to seek adventure and democratised and domesticated traditional medieval notions of chivalry and heroism.26 Wordsworth’s Character of the Happy Warrior (1807) established a legacy of chivalric notions of generosity, diligence and honesty as ‘what

16

John Richard Watson, ‘Soldiers and Saints: the Fighting Man and the Christian Life’ in Andrew Bradstock, Sean Gill, Anne Hogan and Sue Morgan (eds.), Masculinity and Spirituality in Victorian Culture (New York, 2000), p. 13; Robert Browning, The Statue and the Bust (1855) 17 Carlyle, On Heroes, pp. 4, 18, 47, 72, 206, 362-4.

18 John Tosh, ‘Gentlemanly Politeness and Manly Simplicity in Victorian England’, Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, Vol. 12 (2002), p.

461.

19 Hughes, True Manliness. Stefan Collini, ‘The idea of “character” in Victorian political thought’, Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 35 (1985), p. 46.

20 Tosh, ‘Domesticity and manliness in the Vic middle class’, p. 65; Davidoff and Hall, Family Fortunes, p. 111.

21 Jeffrey Weeks, ‘'Sins and Diseases': Some Notes on Homosexuality in the Nineteenth Century’, History Workshop, No. 1 (1976), p. 212.

22 John Ruskin Sesame and Lilies (London, 1865) 23 Joseph A. Kestner, Masculinities in Victorian Painting (Cambridge, 1995), p. 18, 22, 27.

24 James Fenimore Cooper, England: With Sketches of Society in the Metropolis (1837), p. 164 .

25 Stephen Heathorn, ‘How stiff were their upper lips? Research on late-Victorian and Edwardian masculinity’, Social and Personality Psychology Compass, Vol. 2, 4. (2008), p. 4.

26 Davidoff and Hall, Family Fortunes, p. 405.

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27 every man in arms should wish to be’. Kestner identified the classical hero, the medieval knight, the challenged paterfamilias, the valiant soldier and the male nude that together created a coherent sphere of ideal masculine representations.28 Iconography of the empire, hunting and Viking heroism not only featured in highbrow arts but was reproduced on tins, packaging, plates, textiles and furniture. By the 1850s, the Victorian obsession and nostalgia for medieval society as fed by literature and imagery had infused feudalistic chivalry into the model code of conduct for every English gentleman.29 The emerging ethos of competition, the male Hero and the demonstration of strength, perseverance and competence in all areas became central to middle-class understandings of society and modern masculinity.

Opportunities to develop and demonstrate physical vitality and the masculine role as protector and champion were sought and cultivated both in elite and popular culture. Oxbridge undergraduates, for example, crafted an environment of extreme competition in which their examinations marked the culmination of their struggle to manhood and triumph over moral and intellectual childishness.30 At all levels of society, regular outdoor activity, exercise and action were imbued in masculine social culture. The Scouting movement and popular conduct books, for example Walker’s True Manliness: A Pocket Companion for Boys and Young Men (1897), reflected the spread of these ideas in working-class circles.31 In Scouting for Boys (1908), Baden Powell declares that ‘a man without chivalry is no man’ and its iconic status as a manual for boyhood marked the climax of the establishment of imperialistic heroism and sportsmanship in urban society.32 Competitiveness was reinforced not only by contemporary culture and the heroic myth, but Darwinist ideas and popular biological interest in the latter half of the century.33 Darwin’s The Descent of Man considered ‘the value of the differences between the so-called races of man’ and marked aggression, courage, perseverance and power as the elite male qualities of ‘genius’.34 Whereas Christian Muscularity functioned as a vague literary ideal, vulnerable to the idiosyncrasies its writers, evolutionary biologists like Romanes used scientific evidence to authorise their conclusions about the higher mental capacity and social potential of men.35 Scientific developments added rhetorical weight to manly associations between ‘bodily strength and size’ and chivalric ‘courage, perseverance, and determined energy’.36 With mounting secularisation, religious rationalisations behind gender ideology were both conflated with and repudiated by science as a dominant dimension of Victorian mentalities. Despite the continuity between religion and the chivalrous myth, biological theory in many ways challenged the ideal Christian synthesis of attributes.

In the post-Darwinian universe, nature was no longer something man should rise above, but a system within which man should function in and conform to. Aggressive sexual selection and male strength of mind and body were revealed to be the driving forces of advancement of the human species. Evolutionary and sociological theory were

27

William Wordsworth, Wordsworth's Poems, in Two Volumes (1807): A Facsimile (London, 1984).

Kestner, Masculinities in Victorian Painting, pp. 22, 26, 42.

29 John M. MacKenzie, ‘The imperial pioneer and hunter and the British masculine stereotype in late Victorian and Edwardian times’ in J.A. Mangan and James Walvin (eds.), Manliness and Morality: Middle-Class Masculinity in Britain and America, 1800-1940 (Manchester, 1987), pp. 177-182; Mark Girouard, ‘A Return to Camelot’, The Wilson Quarterly, Vol. 5, 4 (1981), p. 184.

30 Paul R. Deslandes, ‘Competitive Examinations and the Culture of Masculinity in Oxbridge Undergraduate Life, 1850 -1920’, History of Education Quarterly, Vol. 42, 4 (2002), pp. 547-8.

31 C.E. Walker, True Manliness: A Pocket Companion for Boys and Young Men (1897).

32 Robert Baden Powell, Scouting For Boys (London, 1908), p. 111; Girouard, ‘A Return to Camelot’, pp. 186-7; Allen Warren, ‘Popular manliness: Baden-Powell, scouting, and the development of manly character’ in J.A. Mangan and James Walvin (eds.), Manliness and Morality: Middle-Class Masculinity in Britain and America, 1800-1940 (Manchester, 1987), p. 212.

33 Roberta J. Park, ‘Biological thought, athletics and the formation of a ‘man of character’: 1830-1900’ in J.A. Mangan and James Walvin (eds.), Manliness and Morality: Middle-Class Masculinity in Britain and America, 1800-1940 (Manchester, 1987), p. 9.

34 Charles Darwin, The Descent of Man and Selection in Relation to Sex (Originally published in London, 1871; New York edition, 1879), p. 565.

35 Vance, The Sinews of the Spirit, p. 166; Rob Boddice, ‘The Manly Mind? Revisiting the Victorian “Sex in Brain” Debate’, Gender & History, Vol. 23, 2 (2011), p. 324.

36 Darwin, The Descent of Man and Selection in Relation to Sex, pp. 563-565.

28

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conflated by social Darwinists such as Herbert Spencer, who attributed bourgeois values biological and moral superiority and created a hierarchy of ‘grades of human minds’ based on race, class and social conditions.37 Any deviancy, such as effeminate behaviour, disability, homosexuality, or the androgynous undertones of piety, selfcontrol and gentility became associated with degeneracy and homoeroticism that stood contrary to the progress of civilisation. From the 1860s, resurging social conservatism and fear of deviancy can be seen in trial records, legislation such as the re-criminalisation of male homosexuality in 1885, politics and popular ritual which demarcated the boundaries of normality.38 Theoretically, then, ‘normal’ men could visibly realign their identity in opposition to the lesser species based on nature and scientific fact rather than abstract tradition or religion. In an article in Household Words from 1853, commentators asked, ‘Why Shave?’, and hailed the late-century fashion for facial hair as a manifestation of ‘a man’s vigour of mind and body’ that transcended ‘custom’ and rejected womanly styles.39 Moreover, a plethora of pamphlets and inexpensive etiquette books, from The Habits of Good Society to Modern Manners and Social Forms, codified respectable and chivalrous behaviour and appearance, instructing men in the maintenance of guarded façades and the ubiquitous, austere masculine look.40 In Athletics and Manly Sport, for example, ‘obesity in adults’ was designated ‘a sign of feebleness’, whilst muscularity represented ‘character as well as strength’.41 Evidently, masculinity demanded conformity to an external code of conduct which had to be continually pursued, asserted, renegotiated, and visibly acted upon. As Adams has demonstrated, masculinity was in fact as much a spectacle as the feminine – dependent not personal authenticity or on one’s standing in the sight of God, but on the confirmation of other men.42 The suppression of deviant or ‘coarse’ behaviour, the ‘dude’ and the ‘swell’ reflected both bourgeois attempts to assert their norms across society as well as the receptivity to and interest of the upper working classes in refining their conduct.43 Furthermore, masculine ideals were inevitably refracted through practical concerns, pressures and opportunities for their demonstration. The emerging professional classes, for example, could display and develop manly moral and intellectual vigour through competence at work and the achievement of financial independence. A new rationality and utilitarianism began to oppose the sensuality as explored in earlier decades, brought on by the unprecedented pressures of work and the psychological segregation of domestic and professional spheres.44 In Self-Help (1859), Smiles created a manifesto for the idealisation of self-improvement, a sense of purpose and competition and provided inspirational case histories of success through labour. He moulded knightly, heroic and ‘genius’ ideals to nineteenth-century capitalist values, and exemplified the sentiments of countless other social thinkers, who exalted the ‘advantage of regular industry’ and ‘the blessed glow of Labour’.45 Smiles acknowledged ‘even the humblest person, who sets before his fellows an example of industry, sobriety, and upright honesty of purpose in life’ as ‘the true source of national vigour and strength’.46 Intellectuals, politicians and artists alike painted the labouring man as

37

Herbert Spencer, ‘The Comparative Psychology of Man’, Mind, Vol 1, 1 (1876), p. 20.

Henry Maudsley, Body and Will (London, 1883); Clare Walker Gore, ‘Noble Lives: Writing Disability and Masculinity in the Late Nineteenth Century’, Nineteenth-Century Contexts, Vol. 36, 4 (2014), p. 364; Nelson, ‘Sex and the Single Boy’, pp. 525-6, 542; Angus McLaren, The Trials of Masculinity: Policing Sexual Boundaries 1870-1930 (Chicago, 1997), pp. 4-7, 10, 22, 27-30.

39 Henry Morley and William Henry Wills, ‘Why Shave?’, Household Words, Vol. 7, 177 (1853), p. 560.

40 Davidoff and Hall, Family Fortunes, p. 411-415; Christopher Oldstone-Moore, ‘The Beard Movement in Victorian Britain’, Victorian Studies 48.1 (2005), pp. 7-8.

41 John Boyle O’Reilly, Athletics and Manly Sport (Boston, 1890), pp. 14-15.

42 Adams, ‘Gentleman, Dandy, Priest’, p. 11; John Tosh, ‘Masculinities in an Industrializing Society: Britain, 1800–1914’, Journal of British Studies, Vol. 44, 2 (2005), p. 335.

43 Anonymous, The Habits of Good Society: A Handbook of Etiquette for Ladies and Gentlemen (London, 1859), p. 157; Julia M. Bradley, Modern Manners and Social Forms (Chicago, 1889), p. 154; John Tosh, ‘What Should Historians Do with Masculinity? Reflections on Nineteenth-Century Britain’, History Workshop, 38 (1994), p. 184.

44 Houghton, The Victorian Frame of Mind 1830-1870, pp. 6-7; Tosh, ‘Masculinities in an Industrializing Society’, pp. 332-333.

45 Sir Charles Trevelyan, Bart., K.C.B., ‘Tramps and vagrants’, paper read at the Annual Meeting of the Newcastle-upon-Tyne Charity Organization Society (1881), p. 8; Thomas Carlyle, Past and Present (London, 1843), chapter XI, Labour.

46 Samuel Smiles, Self-Help; with Illustrations of Character and Conduct (London, 1859), pp. 15, 19.

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an essential force in society, as part of a new social hierarchy determined by an individual’s relation to means of production, as celebrated in Cruikshank’s sketch of the British Bee Hive [see fig. 1].

The dignity and political rights of the respectable working man were progressively realised in the extension of the franchise to all householders, which attempted to fix the respectable working man within the pale of the constitution.47 In the Reform Debate of 1885, Gladstone stressed the moral eligibility of working men, as demonstrated by their ‘self-command, self-control, respect for order, patience under suffering, confidence in the law, [and] regard for superiors’.48 For working men themselves, the learning of a trade connoted a sense of independence, duty and obligation. It signalled their ability to support themselves and their families independently of the state, charity or the labour of their wives and children.49 Independence and status as the head of the family were crucial for a novel working-class masculinity based on a rational lifestyle imbued with Smilesean values.50 The achievement of economic selfhood was frequently referenced by the London Working Men’s Association and Chartist suffrage campaigners, who sought to establish working-class political selfhood to match. Through demonstrating professional respectability, self-control, intellect, competence at work and moral vigour, the upper strata of the working class as well as emerging professionals distanced themselves from the noisy, dirty and degenerate residuum.51

47

Keith McClelland, ‘Masculinity and the ‘representative artisan’ in Britain, 1850-80’ in Michael Roper and John Tosh (eds.), Manful Assertions: Masculinities in Britain since 1800 (London, 1991), p. 85.

48 Janice Carlisle, Picturing Reform in Victorian Britain (Cambridge, 2014), p. 8; W. E. Gladstone, Financial Statements of 1853, 1860-1863 (London, 2013), pp. 146-7.

49 Andrew Davies, ‘Youth Gangs, Masculinity and Violence in Late Victorian Manchester and Salford’, Journal of Social History, Vol. 32, 2 (Winter, 1998), pp. 352-3; Jutta Schwarzkopf, ‘Rational and Respectable Beings: The Chartist Conception of the Citizen as Masculine’, in Kathleen Starck and Birgit Sauer (eds.), A Man's World? Political Masculinities in Literature and Culture (Newcastle, 2014), p. 28.

50 Collini, ‘The idea of “character” in Victorian political thought’, p. 48.

51 Davies, ‘Youth Gangs, Masculinity and Violence in Late Victorian Manchester and Salford’, p.359; Brian Harrison, Drink and the Victorians: The Temperance Question in England, 1815-1872 (Keele, 1994), p. 28; Schwarzkopf, ‘Rational and Respectable Beings’, pp. 29, 35.

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Fig. 1 - The British Bee Hive, George Cruikshank, 1867 (etched and altered from a design of 1840), London

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The obvious implication of this strictly hierarchical masculinity is that most people would be left at the bottom.

Despite the endeavours of middle-class intellectuals, social campaigners and philanthropists, and organisations such as the boy scouts, athletic clubs and boys’ brigades, bourgeois ideology bore questionable relevance to the poorer man.52 The attempted elevation of the respectable, independent working man as a force for social and political stability ignores the bitter and ironic reality that for most working-class men the self-help ideal was widely unattainable. Due to structural and technological changes or cyclical fluctuations in the economy, the working lives of the labouring classes were instead characterised by instability, informality and irregularity.53 The cultural weight attached to the status of breadwinner was particularly unrealistic for young men, who existed in a temporary limbo between boyhood and adult masculinity.54 Unknown numbers of unskilled, casual labourers faced seasonal unemployment, chronic underemployment and competition in the workplace from women and children.55 The far more interdependent socio-economic roles in working-class families and communities made it much more difficult to define masculinity by a sense of distinction from the feminine “Other”.56 The successful male breadwinner and bourgeois ideal male was therefore not only distinguished from women, racial others, children and animals, but contrasted against the common fallibility of the ‘average man’.57 The setting of most manly against all other men served as condemnation of those who failed to fulfil their apparent societal role and was powerful self-confirmation of middle-class identity.58 Under Smilesean philosophy, the failure to acquire wealth, maintain occupation and therefore a sense of respectability was seen to reflect the inadequacies of the poor themselves.59 Urban working-class areas became a ‘wretched land’ of unsavoury characters not only to be explored and outraged by in an emergent genre of literature and journalism, but condemned by law following the New Poor Law of 1834 which sent the most desperate of the destitute to the workhouse.60 The same people living in ‘quiet poverty’ and ‘decent poverty’ as identified by Morley in Household Words were the unwilling subject of art shows at the Royal Exhibition such as Pictures of The WorkingMan, and frequent mockery by Punch.61 In practicality, the labourer remained a spectacle, a stigmatised curiosity and ‘mysterious being’, and his observation only vindicated the superiority of the viewer.62 The chiefly bourgeois notions of masculinity so far outlined in this essay, whilst not wholly incompatible with working-class culture and lifestyle, were imagined in opposition to the sharply different working-class conceptions of masculinity.

Bourgeois condemnation is indicative of the very different reality in which working-class masculinity was formed and maintained. The irrelevance of the values of respectability, ‘genius’ or intemperance to most lower-class circles is evidenced by the great number of drinking establishments in working-class districts, the acceptance of rural poaching and petty larceny, and relatively high levels of public brawling, prostitution, begging and casual crime in

52

J.A. Mangan and James Walvin (eds.), Manliness and Morality: Middle-Class Masculinity in Britain and America, 1800-1940 (Manchester, 1987), p. 4; Keith Thomas, ‘The Double Standard’, Journal of the History of Ideas, Vol. 20, 2 (1959), p. 206; H. J. Dyos, ‘The Slums of Victorian London’, Victorian Studies, Vol. 11, 1 (1967), pp. 18-20.

53 McClelland, ‘Masculinity and the ‘representative artisan’ in Britain, 1850-80’, pp. 77-78 54 Davies, ‘Youth Gangs, Masculinity and Violence in Late Victorian Manchester and Salford’, p. 363; Tosh, ‘What Should Historians Do with Masculinity’, p. 187.

55 Gareth Stedman Jones, Outcast London: A study in the relationship between classes in Victorian society (Oxford, 1971), pp. 14, 34-38, 48, 97.

56 Tosh, ‘Masculinities in an Industrializing Society’, p. 336; Tosh, ‘Gentlemanly Politeness and Manly Simplicity in Victorian England’, p. 648.

57 Dinah Maria Mulock Craik, Concerning men, and other papers. By the author of John Halifax, gentleman (London, 1888) 58 Tosh, ‘Masculinities in an Industrializing Society’, p. 342; Boddice, ‘The Manly Mind’, p. 322.

59 Brian Harrison, ‘Philanthropy and the Victorians’, Victorian Studies, Vol. 9, 4 (1966), p. 368.

60 Henry Morley, ‘The Quiet Poor’, Household Words, IX (1854), p. 205; Dan Bivona and Roger B. Henkle, The Imagination of Class: Masculinity and the Victorian Urban Poor (Ohio, 2006), pp. 6-10.

61 Morley, ‘The Quiet Poor’, p. 201; Carlisle, Picturing Reform in Victorian Britain, p. 58.

62 Boddice, ‘The Manly Mind’, p. 327; Colin Cruise, ‘From the Margins: The Male Bohemian Observer in Mid-Victorian Culture’, Visual Culture in Britain, Vol. 16, 2 (2015), p. 138.

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63 slop-shops and garrets. The reality of working-class lifestyle and culture meant that the body served an important purpose in shaping a man’s ability to work, marry, survive in living conditions and function in an economic family unit.64 As opposed to fulfilling a literary ideal, working-class masculinities placed deep-rooted practical importance on ideas of character, “hardness” and physical sturdiness. The cultural importance of a man’s fighting prowess, toughness and ability to withstand pain and heavy inebriation can be seen in lower-class traditions of gambling and drinking, the common formation of gangs across a wide range of poor neighbourhoods and the regularity of street violence.65 The practical ambiguity, interrelation and changeability of class definitions inevitably mean that these traditions of muscularity and health as well as the idealisation of the breadwinner overlapped and persisted across social circles.

Though not necessarily demonstrated through plain dress, industriousness or piety, health, muscular energy and virility were clearly also ingrained in working-class masculinities. Local reputation could be built on knowledge of a skill, capacity for physical labour as well as fighting prowess.66 Baden Powell’s veneration of the outdoors, the “hard” man of Mancunian scuttlers and Ford Madox Brown’s image of Work were never mutually exclusive. The proliferation of working-class autobiographies as well as instances of members of youth gangs from Manchester and Salford using the law against each other suggest that masculinity was as much a renegotiation of assigned labels and expectations for poorer men as for the bourgeoisie.67 Despite its apparent continuity and malleability, masculine ideology faced constant refraction and challenge in reallife application and individual experience. Contradictions between behaviour required for the domestic environment and qualities necessary for success in business and sporting life helped make masculinity an ambiguous, instable and often unattainable theory. The fantasy surrounding the masculine ideal as courted by much contemporary literature is punctured by the reality of its superficiality. Countless instances of the paradoxes of masculinity surely undermine the relevance or even the existence of the concept of one ‘real man’. For example, this fallacy could be in terms of appearance, as shown by a letter to The Times in 1828 expressing the absurdity of compelling military ‘men who have no natural moustaches…to wear false ones’.68 Or in terms of expectation versus actuality, exemplified by Auerbach’s research into the mounting bureaucracy behind the myth of the heroic imperial adventure.69 Alternatively, the general irrelevance of idiosyncratic theories is suggested by Neddam’s study of the impact of Arnold’s manliness as defined by intellectual and moral maturity in light of widespread bullying at Rugby and a school-boy hierarchy based upon physicality and aggressiveness.70 Clearly, we must also consider the role of deviant and heterodox attitudes and behaviour, which actually reveal the malleable nature and plurality of masculine identity. Popular novels such as Under Two Flags (1867) and Bohemian journalism continued to promote and comment upon the diversity of modern masculinity.71 The identification and classification of deviancy opened a conversation between perceived normal behaviour and other ‘species’ of men.

Be it a kind of metrosexual performativity, homosexuality, heterodox religious beliefs, or socialism, alternate forms of male identity existed alongside and informed hegemonic, conservative norms.72 On the one hand, they could clash,

63

Harrison, Drink and the Victorians p. 369; Donald Thomas, The Victorian Underworld (New York, 1998), pp. 2, 4, 28.

Ying S. Lee, Masculinity and the English Working Class: Studies in Victorian Autobiography and Fiction (New York, 2007), pp. 19, 20.

65 Davies, ‘Youth Gangs, Masculinity and Violence in Late Victorian Manchester and Salford’, pp. 350-365; Davidoff and Hall, Family Fortunes, p.

400.

66 Davies, ‘Youth Gangs, Masculinity and Violence in Late Victorian Manchester and Salford’, p. 353.

67 Lee, Masculinity and the English Working Class, pp. 20, 22; Davies, ‘Youth Gangs, Masculinity and Violence in Late Victorian Manchester and Salford’, pp. 353, 362.

68 Anon, ‘Military Moustaches’, The Times (London, 23 May 1828), p. 3.

69 Jeffrey Auerbach, ‘Imperial Boredom’, Common Knowledge, Vol. 11, 2 (2005), pp. 287, 293.

70 Neddam, ‘Constructing masculinities under Thomas Arnold of Rugby)’, pp. 310-311.

71 Jeremy Kaye, ‘Twenty-First-Century Victorian Dandy: What Metrosexuality and the Heterosexual Matrix Reveal about Victorian Men’, The Journal of Popular Culture, Vol. 42, 1, (2009), pp. 113-116; Cruise, ‘From the Margins’, p. 143.

72 Michel Foucault, The History of Sexuality Volume I: An Introduction (New York, 1978), p. 43; Maudsley, Body and Will; Kaye, ‘Twenty-FirstCentury Victorian Dandy’, p. 109.

64

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for example seen in the correlation between a growing suspicion of emotion and all-male conviviality, and a rising homosexual literary culture in the 1890’s, seen in the spread of magazines like The Artist and The Spirit Lamp.73 On the other, they could inform and overlap; the Humanitarian League used man’s protective role to dispute the glorification of aggression and campaign against capital and corporal punishment.74 Additionally, we must bear in mind the unascertainable extent to which the recognition, expression or conscious suppression of deviant behaviour or instincts, particularly homosexual feelings, might have affected personal perceptions of masculinity. Deviating attitudes towards affection and homosexuality existed ambiguously in the Oxford and Anglo-Catholic movements.75 Thus the reality and complexity of men’s lives made masculinity an entirely personal, subjective and interpretable understanding of identity which would be inappropriate to generalise about or simplify.

In summary, then, the Victorian period saw conscious efforts to delineate masculinity and normality in response to the changing face of society. Conceptions of the ‘real man’ were inextricably wrapped into contemporary discourse on class, social status, religion, evolutionary theory, respectability, individualism, nationality and modernity. The role of empire and racial theories in fermenting nationalism could also be explored in relation to English masculinity, and admittedly it is difficult to explicitly delineate between overlapping facets of identity. Masculinity is not just a social construct but an individual, flexible and subjective experience that in practicality defies idealisation or typification.

Connell is right in saying that ‘we must constantly go beyond gender to understand gender’ and look to its inherently relational aspect which is reliant on physicality, upbringing, opportunity and personality.76 Nonetheless, we can with some confidence argue that Victorian masculinities were fairly consistently reliant on public affirmation, ideas of character and strength, and differentiation from adolescence and the effeminate.77 Whilst the ‘strong and silent type’ belies the plurality, complexity and changeability of the ideal man, it does attest to the enduring anxiety that underlay contemporary discourse on masculine conduct and responsibility. It is somewhat unsurprising that one of the only consistencies in this era characterised by change is the idealisation of the strong and firm.

73

David Hilliard, ‘Unenglish and Unmanly: Anglo-Catholicism and Homosexuality’, Victorian Studies, Vol. 25, 2 (1982), p. 187; Tosh, ‘What Should Historians Do with Masculinity’, p. 187.

74 Henry Stephens Salt, Humanitarianism, its Principles and Progress (London, 1906) 75 Hilliard, ‘Unenglish and Unmanly’, pp. 186-7.

76 R.W. Connell, Masculinities (Cornwall, 1995), p. 76.

77 Tosh, ‘What Should Historians Do with Masculinity’, p. 183.

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O’Reilly, John Boyle, Athletics and Manly Sport (Boston, 1890) Pater, Walter, ‘Poems by William Morris’, Westminster Review (Oct 1868), pp. 300-12.

Pater, Walter, Studies in the History of the Renaissance (London, 1873) Ruskin, John, Sesame and Lilies (London, 1865) Salt, Henry Stephens, Humanitarianism, its Principles and Progress (London, 1906) Smiles, Samuel, Self-Help; with Illustrations of Character and Conduct (London, 1859), Spencer, Herbert, ‘The Comparative Psychology of Man’, Mind, Vol 1, 1 (1876), pp. 7-20.

Trevelyan, Bart., K.C.B., Sir Charles, ‘Tramps and vagrants’, paper read at the Annual Meeting of the Newcastle-upon-Tyne Charity Organization Society (1881) Walker, C.E., True Manliness: A Pocket Companion for Boys and Young Men (1897).

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Bradstock, Andrew, Sean Gill, Anne Hogan and Sue Morgan (eds.), Masculinity and Spirituality in Victorian Culture (New York, 2000) Boddice, Rob, ‘The Manly Mind? Revisiting the Victorian “Sex in Brain” Debate’, Gender & History, Vol. 23, 2 (2011) Bivona, Dan and Roger B. Henkle, The Imagination of Class: Masculinity and the Victorian Urban Poor (Ohio, 2006), Carlisle, Janice, Picturing Reform in Victorian Britain (Cambridge, 2014) Collini, Stefan, ‘The idea of “character” in Victorian political thought’, Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 35 (1985), pp. 29-50.

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Cruise, Colin ‘From the Margins: The Male Bohemian Observer in Mid-Victorian Culture’, Visual Culture in Britain, Vol. 16, 2 (2015), pp. 137-153 Davidoff, Leonore and Catherine Hall, Family Fortunes: Men and women of the English middle class, 1780-1900 (London, 1987) Davies, Andrew, ‘Youth Gangs, Masculinity and Violence in Late Victorian Manchester and Salford’, Journal of Social History, Vol. 32, 2 (1998), pp. 349-369.

Deslandes, Paul R., ‘Competitive Examinations and the Culture of Masculinity in Oxbridge Undergraduate Life, 1850 -1920’, History of Education Quarterly, Vol. 42, 4 (2002), pp. 544-578.

Dyos, H. J., ‘The Slums of Victorian London’, Victorian Studies, Vol. 11, 1 (1967), pp. 5-40.

Eli Adams, James, Dandies and Desert Saints: Styles of Victorian Masculinity (New York, 1995) Eli Adams, James, ‘Gentleman, Dandy, Priest: Manliness and Social Authority in Pater's Aestheticism’, English Literary History, Vol. 59, 2 (1992), pp. 441-466.

Ellis, Heather, ‘Thomas Arnold, Christian Manliness and the Problem of Boyhood’, Journal of Victorian Culture, Vol. 19, 4 (2014), pp. 425-441.

Foucault, Michel, The History of Sexuality Volume I: An Introduction (New York, 1978) Girouard, Mark, ‘A Return to Camelot’, The Wilson Quarterly, Vol. 5, 4 (1981), pp. 178-189.

Hall, Donald E. (ed.), Muscular Christianity: Embodying the Victorian Age (Cambridge, 1994) Harrison, Brian, Drink and the Victorians: The Temperance Question in England, 1815-1872 (Keele, 1994) Harrison, Brian, ‘Philanthropy and the Victorians’, Victorian Studies, Vol. 9, 4 (1966), pp. 353-374.

Heathorn, Stephen, ‘How stiff were their upper lips? Research on late-Victorian and Edwardian masculinity’, Social and Personality Psychology Compass, Vol. 2, 4 (2008), pp. 1-8.

Hilliard, David, ‘Unenglish and Unmanly: Anglo-Catholicism and Homosexuality’, Victorian Studies, Vol. 25, 2 (1982), pp. 181-210.

Houghton, Walter E., The Victorian Frame of Mind 1830-1870 (New Haven, 1957) Kaye, Jeremy, ‘Twenty-First-Century Victorian Dandy: What Metrosexuality and the Heterosexual Matrix Reveal about Victorian Men’, The Journal of Popular Culture, Vol. 42, 1, (2009) Kestner, Joseph A., Masculinities in Victorian Painting (Cambridge, 1995) Lee, Ying S., Masculinity and the English Working Class: Studies in Victorian Autobiography and Fiction (New York, 2007) Mangan, J.A. and James Walvin (eds.), Manliness and Morality: Middle-Class Masculinity in Britain and America, 1800-1940 (Manchester, 1987) McLaren, Angus, The Trials of Masculinity: Policing Sexual Boundaries 1870-1930 (Chicago, 1997) Neddam, Fabrice, ‘Constructing masculinities under Thomas Arnold of Rugby (1828–1842): Gender, Educational Policy and School Life in an early-Victorian Public School’, Gender and Education, Vol. 16, 3 (2004), pp. 303-326.

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455-472.

Tosh, John, ‘Masculinities in an Industrializing Society: Britain, 1800–1914’, Journal of British Studies, Vol. 44, 2 (2005), pp. 330-342 Tosh, John, ‘What Should Historians Do with Masculinity? Reflections on Nineteenth-Century Britain’, History Workshop, 38 (1994), pp. 179202.

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Weeks, Jeffrey, ‘'Sins and Diseases': Some Notes on Homosexuality in the Nineteenth Century’, History Workshop, No. 1 (1976), pp. 211-219.

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‘ The book has s om ehow t o be adapt ed t o t he body’ ( V i r gi ni a W ool f ) : G ender and t he Body i n Shakes pear e’ s As You Li ke I t .

Naoise Murphy is a third year Combined Honours in Arts student at University College, Durham University.

This paper was prepared for the ‘Theory and Practice of Literary Criticsm’ module taught by Dr. Alastair

Renfrew.

Abstract

This essay offers a feminist reading of Shakespeare’s As You Like It, examining the relationship between gender expression and the body. The foundational ideas of second wave feminist theory and queer theory, alongside the work of feminist scholars of Shakespeare, are used to explore the subversive nature of the play.

The essay begins with a short overview of some core ideas of feminist theory, most importantly the logical basis for differentiating sex and gender. It proceeds with a reading of As You Like It as a ‘feminist’ comedy preoccupied with the disruption of traditional gender norms and the avoidance of choice. Rosalind, the cross-dressing heroine, is shown to embody the performative nature of gender identity through her assumption of a crossgendered disguise. The idea of performance is examined further with reference to the emblematic ‘All the world’s a stage’ speech and Butler’s theory of gender performativity.

Finally, gaps in the apparently conclusive, patriarchal ending of the play are exploited to offer a reading which leaves room for female agency and the continued subversion of gender norms.

As You Like It demonstrates the basic premise of second wave feminism in its dissociation of gender expression from physical characteristics. The cross-dressing comedic heroine, along with the figure of the player herself, are representative of the ‘gender trouble’ caused by the play and its radical view of the constructed nature of masculinity and femininity.

403

Feminist literary criticism has been influential in providing readings of canonical texts that challenge patriarchal assumptions about gender and the body. Shakespeare’s As You Like It is a text which has been subject to a great deal of feminist scrutiny, largely due to its themes of cross-dressing, its empowered, self-sufficient female heroine and its potentially subversive attitude to gender norms. The play explores the discord between the physical characteristics and gender performances of the characters, framing the body as a site of conflict between societal expectations for women and the expression of the woman’s interiority. Ideas from feminist theory about gender as a social construct with no direct causal or reflective relationship to the body, i.e. sex, are pertinent. The theme of disguise in the play becomes a complex exploration of this concept. Shakespeare also touches on notions of performativity, linked to the stage and the actor, which are central to current gender theory. Whether one locates the feminism of As You Like It in the playwright or the critic, it remains a rich source of questions about the concept of gender, with much to contribute to feminist theories of gender and the body.

Second wave feminism, which deconstructed the relationship between ‘sex’ and ‘gender’, began with Simone de Beauvoir’s famous pronouncement ‘One is not born, but rather becomes, woman’ in her seminal work, The Second Sex.1 Taking a historical materialist approach drawn from Marxist thought, Beauvoir declared ‘gender’ to be social construct and rejected essentialism (the idea that there is some innate masculine or feminine ‘essence’). Her existentialist background led her to assert that ‘in his pure subjectivity, the human being is nothing. He is measured by his acts.’2 We construct all facets of our identity through concrete

1

De Beauvoir, Simone, The Second Sex, trans. Constance Borde and Sheila Malovany-Chevalier (New York: Vintage, 2011), p. 189.

2 Beauvoir, p. 181.

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action in the world, including our gender. The body is, nevertheless, extremely important in Beauvoir’s writing. She bases her philosophy on the ‘lived experience’ of women, and emphasises the idea of ‘embodiment’ (from the phenomenology of Merleau-Ponty). We are embodied subjects; we experience the world through our bodies, which form the basis of our subjectivity. This does not mean, however, that the body constitutes a fixed destiny for women. Biological data only has meaning according to the social assumptions we bring to it.

Later feminist theorists have built on the work of Beauvoir to dissociate gender further from the body. Monique Wittig points out how the choice of genitalia as the marker for sexual, and hence gendered, difference, is based on the heteronormative centrality of reproduction to society. We could just as easily have developed a society that categorises children at birth by some other feature of their anatomy. The categories ‘man’ and ‘woman’ are ‘political categories and not natural givens’.3 Shakespeare’s comedies are often thought to be the most ‘feminist’ of his plays. Many feature cross-dressing, and thus deliberately disrupt traditional gender norms and the patriarchal social order. According to Bamber ‘[I]n comedy the feminine either rebels against the restraining social order or (more commonly) presides in alliance with forces that challenge its hegemony’.4 In As You Like It, gender is subverted when Rosalind disguises herself as a man and flees from court into the Forest of Arden, where normal social restrictions do not apply. The comedies are preoccupied with the avoidance of choice.

Bamber continues, ‘in comedy we are attracted to characters who minister to our sense of freedom from choice, and it is no coincidence that these characters are often women’.5 The

3

Monique Wittig, ‘One Is Not Born a Woman’ in Vincent B. Leitch (ed.) The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism, 2nd edn. (London: W.W. Norton and Company, 2010), p. 1909.

4 Linda Bamber, Comic Women, Tragic Men: A Study of Gender and Genre in Shakespeare (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1982), p. 28.

5 Bamber, p. 117.

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cross-dressing heroines move easily between different expressions of gender identity. They embody freedom from the dictates of biological sex.

Indeed, biological sex is shown to have no bearing on the gender identity characters choose to express in the play. The artificiality of gender is evident throughout. In Act II, scene iv.

Rosalind, still adjusting to her new identity as a man, states ‘I could find in my heart to disgrace my man’s apparel and to cry like a woman. But I must comfort the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose ought to show itself courageous to petticoat; therefore, courage, good Aliena!’ (ll. 4-8). Gender is characterised here by dress; the ‘doublet and hose’ stand for masculinity, in opposition to the feminine ‘petticoat’, pointing to the utterly constructed nature of the concept. Gender is thus as easily changed as clothing. It is the fact of her assumed identity as a man that gives Rosalind the courage to behave as a man is expected to.

Societal expectations, i.e. that men will not cry, and that women will, shape the characters’ behaviour entirely. The flexibility of social customs is broached elsewhere in the play, e.g.

Act III, scene ii: Those that are good manners at the court are as ridiculous in the country as the behaviour of the country is most mockable at the court. You told me you salute not at the court but you kiss your hands. That courtesy would be uncleanly if courtiers were shepherds. (ll. 44-9)

Social practices are constructed around the particular social structures to which they apply.

Shakespeare mocks the courtiers who believe that their customs are the single, unalterable way of doing things. This mockery extends to gender. Customs become naturalised through repetition, but there is no universal, unchanging reason for the differences in the expression of masculine and feminine identity.

The idea of disguise is central to As You Like It. Shakespeare explores the tension that arises when Rosalind assumes an outward appearance which apparently does not correspond to her

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true nature. We have seen how masculine dress impels her to act in a masculine way, but earlier in the play, questions are raised about Rosalind’s personality, and whether it is indeed as stereotypically feminine as she seems to believe. In Act I, scene iii, as she proposes dressing as a man in their flight from the court, she decides that she will put ‘A boar-spear in my hand, and in my heart, / Lie there what hidden woman’s fear there will’ (ll. 17-8). This relates to our previous idea about assuming masculine traits thanks to dress, but also implies that masculine and feminine characteristics can co-exist in Rosalind’s personality. Which trait is more ‘real’ then? The ‘fear’ that society associates with her female identity, or the courage she clearly displays in the course of the play, which society ordains as belonging to the identity she artificially assumes? Rosalind, like many comic heroines, is undoubtedly the most vibrant and courageous character in the play. Is this force of personality inspired purely by her assumption of masculinity? As it is not restricted to the scenes when she is dressed as a man, it is easy to conclude that it is in fact a ‘true’ feature of her character. ‘Masculine’ energy is what inspires her to cross-dress in the first place; therefore she clearly embodies both masculine and feminine traits simultaneously.

These ideas have obvious parallels with the theory of gender performativity, articulated by Judith Butler in her 1990 book Gender Trouble. Butler describes gender as ‘the repeated stylization of the body’, claiming that ‘There is no gender identity behind the expressions of gender; that identity is performatively constituted by the very ‘’expressions’’ that are said to be its results.’6 Gender is naturalised through repetitive performance. We can also perform gender is ways that do not correspond to our biological sex, as evidenced by practices such as drag, and by Rosalind in the play. The famous ‘All the world’s a stage speech’ (Act II, scene vii, ll. 139-66) spoken by Jacques articulates the play’s more general concern with ideas of performance. In Jacques’ philosophy, every individual is an actor. We are all in costume,

6

Judith Butler, Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity (London: Routledge, 1990), p. 45, p.

34.

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playing a part which may or may not correspond to some ‘real’ interiority. The masks we put on become our reality. For Shakespeare, ‘[T]he player became the emblem of man’s equality beneath the distinction of his dress’.7 The player thus also becomes the representative of the fluidity of identity, showcasing the ease with which an individual can assume an identity different to his or her own. Masculinity and femininity are performances, an insight which becomes abundantly clear in the dramatic irony of ‘Ganymede’s’ performance as ‘Rosalind’ for Orlando. ‘Acting a man in the forest, acting a woman for Orlando, Rosalind acquires a Puckish insight into the theatrical nature of masculinity and femininity.’8 The ending of As You Like It, with its return to the patriarchal social order of the court, poses a challenge to the feminist reading. However, there are gaps in the play which can be exploited to explain the playwright’s apparent advocating of a re-establishment of male authority and traditional gender norms suggested by the promises of marriage which close the action. As Lisa Hopkins notes, the conclusion of the play resists closure. The marriages do not in fact take place on stage, or indeed, within the timescale of the play, leaving the ending more open than it appears on the surface. Rosalind also makes a subversive double promise to both her father and Orlando, pronouncing the same words, ‘To you I give myself, for I am yours’ (V. iv. ll. 114-5), to both. ‘At the same time as she reinscribes herself within the patriarchal order by investing her rights in herself in her father, she also challenges it by asserting her desire for Orlando.’9 By giving herself to the man she has chosen, Rosalind assumes authority over her own future, a privilege which should belong to a man. Even though she has returned to her female identity in outward appearance, she refuses to return to feminine submission and passivity. This is reinforced in the unconventional Epilogue: ‘It is

7

Juliet Dusinberre, Shakespeare and the Nature of Women, 3rd edn. (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003), pp. 236-7.

8 Ibid, p. 243.

9 Lisa Hopkins, ‘Marriage as Comic Closure’ in Emma Smith (ed.) Shakespeare’s Comedies (Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2004), p. 39.

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not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue; but it is no more unhandsome than to see the lord the prologueâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; (ll. 1-3).

Feminist theoryâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s basic premises, that sex and gender are separate concepts, and that gender is a social construct, naturalised through repetitive performance, are essential to the feminist reading of many of Shakespeareâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s plays. Of course, it is anachronistic to attribute second wave feminist ideas to a 16th century playwright, but even without disregarding authorial intention, it has been shown that Shakespeare himself did have remarkable sympathy for his comic heroines and a potentially radical outlook on the nature of women. Relations between gender and the body have been a cornerstone of feminist thought since its inception, and this analysis of As You Like It has shown how they have been a fruitful area of exploration even for writers who do not subscribe to a feminist agenda.

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Bibliography Bamber, Linda, Comic Women, Tragic Men: A Study of Gender and Genre in Shakespeare (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1982).

Butler, Judith, Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity (London: Routledge, 1990).

Dusinberre, Juliet, Shakespeare and the Nature of Women, 3rd edn. (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003).

De Beauvoir, Simone, The Second Sex, trans. Constance Borde and Sheila MalovanyChevalier (New York: Vintage, 2011).

Lisa Hopkins, ‘Marriage as Comic Closure’ in Emma Smith (ed.) Shakespeare’s Comedies (Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2004).

Shakespeare, William, ‘As You Like It’, in Gary Taylor and Stanley Wells (eds.), The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works, 2nd edn. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2005).

Wittig, Monique, ‘One Is Not Born a Woman’ in Vincent B. Leitch (ed.) The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism, 2nd edn. (London: W.W. Norton and Company, 2010).

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