Handbook on Sexual Violence (105 page)

Conclusion: taking stock --
plus c¸a change, plus c’est la meˆ me chose?
‌

Sandra Walklate and Jennifer Brown

Introduction

This collection has contextualised and documented a vast array of theoretical and policy developments that, over the past 30 years or so, have contributed to the shifting contours of how we think about sexual violence and what interventions might be deemed appropriate when responding to sexual violence. Yet despite the powerful influence of second-wave feminism (Chesney-Lind 2006) and the formative work of Kelly (1988), used as the organising conceptual framework for the work presented in this collection, Stanko (2007) observes that she experiences more continuity with the past than change. Mooney (2007) asks in respect to domestic violence how it is that this can be such a public anathema but at the same time a private commonplace. Of course in this collection we have been concerned not just with domestic violence, but a wider range of sexual violences experienced not only by women but also by men, children and people of different ethnicities and sexualities. In the light of the focus of this book, then, Mooney’s question is an even more pertinent one.

Commenting in particular on the search for more democratic interpersonal relationships, Giddens (1991) suggested that this search marked the beginnings of women becoming increasingly less complicit in the power of the penis. Indeed there is evidence for a decline in this complicity documented in the chapters here, especially in women’s changing willingness to report crimes to the police observed by Sylvia Walby, Jo Armstrong and Sofia Strid. It is also found in the work of, inter alia, Piipsa (2004) and Lewis (2004). Indeed decline in complicity might also be a reflection of a decline in the acceptability of sexual violence more generally. Yet the dilemmas posed by Stanko and Mooney, of how to make sense of the simultaneous continuing presence of both a wide range of policy activity directed towards such violence and relatively unchanging experience of it, alongside some of the observations by

our contributors, remains. In this concluding chapter we endeavour to offer a framework for understanding why this dilemma still exists and what, if at all, remains to be done about it. In order to do this we shall first of all summarise the paramount messages of the preceding chapters.

Dempsey (2007) usefully reminds us that in 1994 the United Nations required member states to show ‘due diligence’ in punishing acts of violence against women. Indeed this requirement, alongside European human rights legislation, has afforded the opportunity for such violence to be put on the agenda in a meaningful way in some countries. Kelly (2005) herself observes feminist activists were hugely influential in pushing women’s issues into the UN human rights agenda. However, as the UN group INSTRAW (2005) recognised, the challenge was, and still is, to shift behaviour. Brown
et al
. (2010) refer to this problem as the ‘implementation gap’ and some appreciation of its continued presence can be found in the contributions to Part One of this book.

The persistence of sexual violence, as D’Cruze so cogently argues, posits a considerable challenge to the ‘civilising process’ that is taken by Elias (1994) to mark the emergence of modern societies. The historical legacy that D’Cruze draws our attention to, a legacy replete with silencing mechanisms that were/ are also strongly marked by social class, overlaid by a legal (McGregor) and cultural (Wynne-Davies) heritage, facilitates our understanding of why problems of what counts and is counted as sexual violence (see also Walby, Armstrong and Strid) remain. Here we are reminded that notions of the deserving victim, victim-blaming, and the power still to despoil a woman’s ‘moral’ character, have deep roots indeed; roots that we still see bearing fruit in understandings of rape (Jones, Jordan), domestic violence (Westmarland) and prostitution (Phoenix). The need for ‘required force’ and an absence of consent in cases of rape, changes in the law notwithstanding, as McGregor points out, ‘has not demanded enough of men’s behaviour’. One is left asking the question, how far have we moved on from being ‘thrown down’ (D’Cruze) as the framework for understanding sanctioned as well as unauthorised sexual behaviour. An appreciation of the importance of historical context afforded by the chapters of D’Cruze and McGregor illustrates the intractability of sexual violence (including presumptions of who are the legitimate victims and offenders, an issue that is developed by Hoel and Duncan) despite evolving understandings of sexuality and sexual norms. These historical traces resonate down the centuries and remain with us today, referred to here as the ‘implementation gap’. Walby
et al
. in this volume also discuss the ‘justice gap’. The question of this ‘gap’ is the first thematic issue that we need to consider and we shall illustrate it with reference to responses to rape.

The problems and possibilities of the ‘implementation gap’

In a review conducted by Brown
et al
. (2010) to support Baroness Stern’s investigation into rape in England and Wales (Stern 2010) they articulate three distinct phases of concern and reform with respect to sexual violence in the modern period, i.e. 1982–1998; 1999–2009; 2010 onwards. The first phase was

marked by Roger Graef’s documentary on Thames Valley Police about the oppressive interviewing of a rape victim (discussed in the chapter by Horvath and Yexley, who show how this was instrumental in leading to a programme of reform within policing and elsewhere). These reforms included improved police training such as sexual offence investigative trained officers (SOITs), changes in the law and introduction of sexual offences referral centres (SARCs). Harris and Grace (1999) examined the results of these innovations only to discover they had had relatively little impact. The second phase (1999– 2009) also saw a flurry of activity that included the introduction of consolidating legislation, the Sexual Offences Act of 2003 that attempted some clarification around the question of consent. In addition, Her Majesty’s Inspectorate of Constabulary (HMIC) and the Crown Prosecution Service (CPS) undertook a review of rape (HMIC/CPS 2002) again to find inconsistent rape recording practices, problems in police investigations, and failure to allocate special prosecutors to cases. A subsequent CPS review conducted in 2007 reported:

The introduction of STO role, SARCs, WCUs and CPS rape co-ordinators, specialist lawyers and specialist case workers is, without doubt, leading to improvements in the CJS response to rape cases and a more professional approach to the treatment and care of victim-survivors. However ‘intention’ is not yet translating into fully effective practice on the ground, and several fundamental difficulties persist that are constraining the potential for more significant and sustained improvement.

(p. 21)

A number of high-profile failures by the Metropolitan Police to investigate rape allegations properly, discussed in the introduction to this book, contributed to Harriet Harman, deputy leader of the Government of the day, commissioning the Stern Review (Stern 2010) and so marked a third phase of review and reform.

What then accounts for this cycle in which often a scandal triggers renewal of concern about sexual violence, and another round of commissioned reports that make much the same recommendations as those conducted previously? In his analysis of the problem, John Yates, then Association of Chief Police Officers (ACPO) lead on sexual crime, declared, ‘We are policy-rich and implementation-poor’ (
The Guardian
, 26 March 2009). This is a theme picked up by Baroness Stern in her review in which she observes that despite some improvement in practice and an improving prosecution rate, rape and sexual assault remain intensely problematic crimes.

So whilst there has been a great deal of problem description and analysis, as witnessed by a plethora of reports and policy innovation in the form of law reform and changes in practice, sexual violence remains under-reported, underinvestigated and underprosecuted, with patchy service provision in the form of SARCs or health care. Implementation failure is one of three suggested reasons why reforms fail (Lewis and Greene 1978). The other two reasons are programme overexpectation and conceptual failure, the latter occurring when

a reform project is based on inaccurate or incomplete theory of causation. We can see evidence within this collection and elsewhere that responses to sexual violence fail on all three counts.

For example in understanding the policy implementation process, Rein

(1983) argues that not only are there different constituencies calling for better co-ordination, their reasons for doing so vary, for example, efficiency, accessibility, advocacy, and/or participation. This variety and consequent lack of clarity about purpose (consider the continuing lack of common definition of domestic violence between the various agencies responding to it) contributes to what Lewis and Greene (1978) identify as reform overexpectation. In the absence of clarity, operationalising or prioritising change becomes confusing and unfocused. Rein (1983) adds that implementation requires practitioners to change their daily behaviour and Lewis and Greene (1978) also propose that implementation requires changes in the internal environment. The HMIC/CPS reviews referred to here, and the work of the IPCC into failed enquiries discussed in the Introduction, show that there is ample evidence for a mindset among criminal justice professionals that disbelieves women when they are reporting allegations of sexual violence under circumstances they – police and prosecutors – find unconvincing.

In a similar vein, Mike Shiner (2010) discusses the Metropolitan Police’s reaction to the charge of institutional racism made by Lord Macpherson in his inquiry into their investigation of the murder of Stephen Lawrence. Shiner agrees with Savage (2003) that the British police service are especially adept at undermining, withstanding and inverting externally imposed change. Shiner argues that police officers were affronted by the charge which they took very personally. As a consequence they engaged in a series of denial or displacement strategies to avoid serious critical analysis of what Macpherson meant or how to remedy the problem of racism. Shiner suggests the police’s institutional response to Macpherson’s recommendations was to adapt, subvert or rebrand in order to try and offset the telling off they received. We might apply a similar analysis to the police’s response to recommendations concerning sexual violence. Examination of the IPCC’s findings in relation to failed investigations reveals examples of denial of women’s allegations in preference to the accounts provided by male suspects. Recent publicity surrounding the behaviour of the Met’s Sapphire officers (a unit dedicated to the investigation of sexual crime) shows some interference with women complainants’ statements and a subversion of process. Shiner proposes that having such reactions in the face of criticism is realistic, which policy innovation should recognise and account for. In the case of racism, Shiner suggests that officers participate in restorative forums that confront them with the harmful consequences of their actions in a way which makes it difficult to negate. Perhaps such an innovation may be applied to policing sexual violence to overcome the continued no criming or taking no further action when allegations are made.

The HMIC/CPS litany of failed implementation also implies a conceptual failure, as suggested by Lewis and Greene. Helen Jones argues in her chapter, ‘if existing theories of violence were too limited (and there is little doubt of that) and if the different expressions of sexual violence are connected (and

there is little doubt about that) then what is needed is a connected approach that goes beyond current provisions.’ If we add to this, the problems of attrition and conviction that are discussed in detail by Walby
et al
., all lend support to Smart’s (1989) observations on the power of phallocentrism and clearly suggest that the problems of both definition and understanding of sexual violence remain. This problem is considered from a number of different theoretical perspectives in Part Two of this book.

Whilst each of our contributors addresses the problem of definition differently, they all point to its contested nature. Vetere’s work is appreciative of understanding the specificities of the context in which violence occurs for all those party to it. This stands somewhat in contrast to the socio-structural approach adopted by Jones. Yet all are agreed that lack of clarity on definitions compounds problems of measurement (see also Walby
et al
.) and contributes to what is considered normal and/or abnormal for both victims and perpetrators. This is a point made in different ways by Jones. She makes the case for extending our appreciation of sexual violence to include that perpetrated in times of conflict and war. Brown unpicks the normal/abnormal axis for our understandings of perpetrators and the associated demonisation of offenders (an issue which is also taken up later in the collection by Steph Petrie observing that vitriol is saved for the female sexual offender). Kemshall and Phoenix challenge some key assumptions about the relationship between sex and economics that also challenge what counts as normal. All in their different ways add to Kelly’s (1988) concept of a continuum, either in breadth or depth and, by implication, point to its continuing conceptual power. For our contributors the ‘everyday, routine, mundane (sexual) intrusions’ (Kelly, Preface to this volume) have not fallen off their agendas. Nevertheless tensions do remain. Several of the Handbook authors are troubled by the definition of sexual violence offered by Kelly as it focuses on women and children as the targets of the violence and men as its perpetrators. There are elements that are sustainable, i.e. the notion of frequency as a characteristic of sexually violent behaviours and the harm rendered but we offer the following reworking of Kelly to encompass the extended range of sexual violence’s purview taken by the present contributors. Sexual violence then is defined in terms of
the frequency (either high or low) with which any act having explicit or implicit sexual content comprising any actual or threatened behaviour, verbal or non-verbal aimed at an individual that (in)directly hurts, degrades, frightens or controls her/him at the time of the act or at any time in the future
.