This book investigates the contemporary processes involved in the telling and hearing of narratives of sexual violence and rape in a number of public arenas: mass media, social media , the courts and the legislative apparatus. Who can say what, by what means and where, and what counts as important? What stories mobilise activists to work for legal change? What stories move from social media to mass media and the legal realm, and in the other direction, and how do they do so? Through the contributorsâ empirical case studies, stemming from a broad range of disciplines (history, law, media studies, criminology and ethnology), this volume seeks to understand current movements between the criminal justice system and the cultural imaginary. Through a broad narrative approach, the contributors to this volume investigate the narratives told of rape, how they move within a minefield of charged terms, the contexts of narration and the appraisals of the storyteller. Thus, at the heart of the volume are narrative inquiries into the very conditions of speaking out and listening to narratives about rape: context, genre , audience, technological affordances and institutions.
The current historical juncture is marked by two prominent tendencies: intense reform in sexual offences legislation and a general trend towards the heightened visibility of sexual violence in the public domain (Alcoff 2018). Transnationally, and particularly in the west, the last few decades have witnessed a great deal of criticism towards the legal construction of rape and the judicial procedure, and a great number of changes in rape legislation (Little 2005; Dripps 2008; Spohn and Horney 2013). Alongside and preceding the changes in rape legislation , we have seen intense struggles in the realm of culture and politics about what constitutes the sexual and violence , victim and offender , consent and coercion . Words and narratives, as this volume amply demonstrates, âshape the ways in which it is (not) possible to understand the issues at stake, they are legislated against, measured and resourced and the responses which are deemed most urgent and appropriateâ (Boyle 2018: 2). In the legal realm in particular, consent has become âthe central concept employed by most legal systems today as a way to demarcate legitimate from illegitimate sexâ (Alcoff 2018: 125). Historically , this has long been the case in common-law systems, but from a Nordic perspective it is new. Iceland introduced a consent-based rape provision in the early summer of 2018 (Legal proposal 148, 2017â2018). In Sweden , where a majority of the volumeâs contributors and the editors reside and mainly study, non-voluntariness was introduced as a basis for the definition of rape in July 2018 (Prop 2017/2018: 177). Previously, in contemporary Nordic legislation, force has been the decisive criterion in the provisions on rape, whereas in, for example, English and other common-law systems, the law has long focused on the victimâs will, or lack of consent (Andersson 2001; Temkin 2002; McGlynn and Munro 2010). The expectations of the new Swedish provision are high, from the crime victimâs perspective (Leijonhufvud 2015; Fatta 2018). The move from force to involuntariness is expected to improve the victimâs situation in the criminal process, lead to more convictions and better protect the victimâs sexual integrity . At the heart of these expectations is the thought that the victimâs lack of a âyesâ instead of a ânoâ should mark the boundary of the individualâs sexual and bodily integrity. In other words, it would no longer be all right to assume consent as long as ânoâ is not spoken, but rather to ensure that there is an explicit âyesâ. This in turn is expected to influence sexual and social norms , requiring people to reflect upon and perhaps change their patterns of sexual communication.
At the same time, internationally, several scholars are critical of the legal construction of rape and the judicial procedure, regardless of whether the focus is on force or consent (Halley 2016; Little 2005; Dripps 2008). Irrespective of where the definitions stress the demarcation, on force or consent , rape law, like other areas of law, rests on the liberal assumption of the individualâs autonomy and agency , which means that the legal subject is free and competent to make rational choices. The shortcomings of a one-sided individualistic and liberal perspective on rape were long ago discarded by feminist researchers in legal studies. This liberal understanding of agency is argued in feminist literature to be a barrier to understanding vulnerability as a structural issue. Feminist scholars argue that a personâs vulnerability should be recognised from a contextual perspective and as dependent on social positioning in terms of gender, class and race (Grear 2010; Lacey 1997; Naffine 2002).
Undeniably, sexual violence has garnered increased visibility in the public sphere over the last few years, especially in the media, and to some extent, in some parts of the world, in crime statistics. In general, sexual violence is extremely underreported. However, a study on reported rape across Europe showed that a high level of reported rape along with low conviction rates distinguishes both the Nordic countries and Ireland, England, Wales and Scotland, central areas in this book.1 These countries also share a long tradition of gender-equality policy. Sweden , however, has the highest number of reported rapes in Europe, owing partly to a broadened concept of rape. There is also a readiness to report rape, even within close relationships, which is greater in Sweden than in many other countries (Lovett and Kelly 2009). Thus, statistical visibility does not necessarily lead to a greater number of convictions, nor does it reflect a gender-equal society, yet the tendency to report and what to report are clearly related to cultural frames of the tellable.
As we write this introduction in mid-autumn 2018, we are temporally positioned exactly one year following the most intense months of the #metoo resurgence, a worldwide movement that has made sexual violence visible in social media and the mass media to an unpreceded degree. #Metoo was initially launched in 2006 by Tarana Burke, an African American (US) activist striving for better support structures for victims of sexual violence. Then, ...