(Topic (Albany N.Y.) No. 80) Carter, Robert Allan - Marital Rape (1985, Legislative and Governmental Services, New York State Library) PDF

Marital Rape
Interpersonal Violence Series
SERIES EDITORS
Claire Renzetti, Ph.D.
Jeffrey L. Edleson, Ph.D.
Parenting by Men Who Batter: New Directions for Assessment and Intervention

Edited by Jeffrey L. Edleson and Oliver J. Williams
Coercive Control: How Men Entrap Women in Personal Life

Evan Stark
Childhood Victimization: Violence, Crime, and Abuse in the Lives of Young People

David Finkelhor
Restorative Justice and Violence Against Women

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Familicidal Hearts: The Emotional Styles of 211 Killers

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Violence in Context: Current Evidence on Risk, Protection, and Prevention

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Poverty, Battered Women, and Work in U.S. Public Policy

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Child Victims and Restorative Justice: A Needs-R ights Model

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Battered Women’s Protective Strategies

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Men Who Batter
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When Men Murder Women

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Comparative Perspectives on Gender Violence: Lessons From Efforts Worldwide

Edited by Rashmi Goel and Leigh Goodmark
Marital Rape: Consent, Marriage, and Social Change in Global Context

Edited by Kersti Yllö and M. Gabriela Torres
Marital Rape
Consent, Marriage, and Social Change
in Global Context
EDITED BY KERSTI YLLÖ
AND
M. GABRIELA TORRES
1
3
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Yllö, Kersti, editor. | Torres, M. Gabriela, editor.
Title: Marital rape : consent, marriage, and social change in global context / Kersti Yllö and
M. Gabriela Torres, editors.
Description: Oxford ; New York : Oxford University Press, [2016] |
Series: Interpersonal violence series | Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2015047825 | ISBN 9780190238360 (alk. paper)
Subjects: LCSH: Rape in marriage. | Marital violence.
Classification: LCC HV6558 .M265 2016 | DDC 362.883—dc23
LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015047825
9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Printed by Sheridan, USA
For Kai, Hillar, and David (K.Y.)
For Sam, Ben, and Patrick (G.T.)

That night our new husbands took us quickly …
They took us flat on our backs on the bare floor of the Minute Motel …
They took us in the best hotels …
They took us for granted and assumed we would do for them
whatever it was we were told.
Please turn toward the wall and drop down on your hands and knees …
They took us violently, with their fists, whenever we tried to resist.
They took us even though we bit them. They took us even
though we hit them …
They took us as we stared up blankly at the ceiling and waited
for it to be over,
not realizing that it would not be over for years.
—Julie Otsuka, The Buddha in the Attic
CONTENTS
Acknowledgments xi
List of Contributors xiii
List of Abbreviations xv
Note on Sources xvii
Prologue: Understanding Marital Rape in Global Context 1

Kersti Yllö
SECTION I Conceptualizing the Problem of Marital Rape

1. R
econciling Cultural Difference in the Study of Marital Rape 9
M. Gabriela Torres
2. A
n Overview of Marital Rape Research in the United States:
Limitations and Implications for Cross-Cultural Research 19
Raquel Kennedy Bergen
3. Cross-Cultural Studies of Gender-Based Violence: Holistic
Approaches for Marital Rape Research 29
Jennifer R. Wies and Hillary J. Haldane
SECTION II The Lived Experience of Rape in Marriage in

Cross-Cultural Context
4. Modern Marriage, Masculinity, and Intimate Partner Violence
in Nigeria 41
Daniel Jordan Smith
5. Marital Sexual Violence, Structural Vulnerability, and Misplaced
Responsibility in Northern Việt Nam 55
Lynn Kwiatkowski
6. Normalizing Suffering, Robadas, Coercive Power, and Marital
Unions Among Ladinas in Eastern Guatemala 75
Cecilia Menjívar
7. Marital Rape and the Law: The Condition of Black Township Women
in South Africa’s Democracy 87
Judith L. Singleton
x C ontents
8. Marital Sexual Violence in Turkey 103

Henrica A.F.M. (Henriette) Jansen, Ilknur Yüksel-Kaptanoglu,
Filiz Kardam, and Banu Ergöçmen
9. Rape and the Continuum of Sexual Abuse in Intimate Relationships: Interviews
With US Women From Different
Social Classes 123
James Ptacek
10. Sexual Murder of Women Intimate Partners in Great Britain 139
Russell P. Dobash and R. Emerson Dobash
SECTION III Public Health, Legal, and Human Rights Perspectives

11. A Feminist Public Health Approach to Marital Rape 163
Jacquelyn Campbell, Bushra Sabri, Jocelyn Anderson,
and Veronica Barcelona de Mendoza
12. Marital Rape Laws Globally: Rationales and Snapshots
Around the World 177
Michelle J. Anderson
13. Human Rights Meets Intimate Partner Sexual Violence 187
Monica McWilliams and Fionnuala Ní Aoláin
Epilogue: Implications for Policy, Practice, and Future Research 199

M. Gabriela Torres and Kersti Yllö
Legal References 205

References 207
Index 233
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The collaboration and innovation that is evident in this volume would not have been
possible without funding from the Wenner-Gren Foundation through their 2012
Conference and Workshop Grant.
The completion of this volume was made possible with the editorial support of
Jessica Kruger, who spent long hours managing references, formats, and other minu-
tia that we all dread to work on but may not ignore. We are so grateful for her dedica-
tion to this project.
The patient listening, sage commentary, and careful editorial work of David
Leigh Potter on many versions of this work was an invaluable contribution.
Thank you also to Patrick Rashleigh, who gracefully worked with us on drafting
the figures in this volume.
Thanks to Rebekah Howland and Barbara Curtis, who worked with us tirelessly
during the 2013 Global Perspectives on Sexual Violence in Marriage Conference
that was held at Wheaton College, Massachusetts.
This is a project borne of cross-d isciplinary collaboration that began in a class-
room. In addition to the conference support provided by Wheaton College for the
2013 Global Perspectives on Sexual Violence in Marriage Conference, our college
has also supported our project by funding the dissemination of the work at confer-
ences and awarding us a writing retreat at the Barbara Kellner Key West home. Most
important, we thank Wheaton for allowing us to teach together and thus begin a
process that has allowed us to learn deeply from each other.
At Oxford University Press, we have had the pleasure of working with incred-
ibly responsive and supportive editors. Thank you to Dana Bliss for giving us space
to think through what was at the core of our volume. Thank you also to Andrew
Dominello, an alumnus of our own institution, who is the very picture of profes-
sionalism and competence that we hope all our students will reach.
The writing companionship and support we received from Wheaton College’s
Scribbling Women has been precious to us. In particular, we want to thank Claire
Buck, Kim Miller, and Karen McCormack, who all shared valuable critical com-
ments on our book prospectus. Gabriela Torres also thanks Mary Beth Tierney-Tello
x i i A cknowledgments
and Montserrat Pérez Toribio for the many fruitful conversations they shared with
her on the nature of gender and violence.
Most important, we want to acknowledge the patience, imagination, and hard
work of the authors featured in this volume. We thank them for engaging with us
over a long collaborative review process. Thank you for staying connected with us
through travel, difference, and the regular toils and sometimes wild turns of life.
LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS
Jocelyn Anderson, Monica McWilliams,

Johns Hopkins University Ulster University
Michelle J. Anderson, Cecilia Menjívar,

CUNY School of Law University of Kansas
Veronica Barcelona de Mendoza, Fionnuala Ní Aoláin,

Yale School of Nursing University of Minnesota Law School
and Ulster University
Raquel Kennedy Bergen,
St. Joseph’s University James Ptacek,
Suffolk University
Jacquelyn Campbell,
Johns Hopkins University Bushra Sabri,
Johns Hopkins University
R. Emerson Dobash,
University of Manchester Judith L. Singleton,
DePaul University
Russell P. Dobash,
University of Manchester Daniel Jordan Smith,
Brown University
Banu Ergöçmen,
Hacettepe Üniversitesi M. Gabriela Torres,
Wheaton College, MA
Hillary J. Haldane,
Quinnipiac University Jennifer R. Wies,
Eastern Kentucky University
Henrica A.F.M. (Henriette) Jansen,
United Nations Population Fund Kersti Yllö,
Wheaton College, MA
Filiz Kardam,
Çankaya University Ilknur Yüksel-K aptanoglu,
Hacettepe Üniversitesi
Lynn Kwiatkowski,
Colorado State University
LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS
AAS Abuse Assessment Screen

CDC Centers for Disease Control and Prevention
CEDAW Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination
Against Women
CESCR Committee on Economic, Social, and Cultural Rights
CLAS culturally and linguistically appropriate services
CTS2 Revised Conflict Tactics Scale
DEVAW UN Declaration on Elimination of Violence Against Women
ICCPR International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights
IPV intimate partner violence
IPM intimate partner murder
IPSV intimate partner sexual violence
IPSexM intimate partner murder including sexual assault
KSGM General Directorate on the Status of Women
OHCHR Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights
PEP postexposure prophylaxis
PrEP preexposure prophylaxis
PRWA Protocol to the African Charter on Human and People’s Rights
on the Human Rights of Women
PTSD post-traumatic stress disorder
SES Sexual Experiences Survey
SexM sexual murder of women
SOTP Sexual Offender Treatment Program
SVAWS Severity of Violence Against Women Scale
TURKSTAT Turkish Statistical Institute
VAWA Violence Against Women Act
NOTE ON SOURCES
Legal sources used in the chapters in this volume are cited separately. The lists of
references cited, legal and otherwise, are the consolidated references for all the
chapters. We hope that the compilation will be a resource and facilitate further
scholarship.
Marital Rape
Prologue
Understanding Marital Rape in Global Context
KERSTI YLLÖ
Rape is a controversial concept. We can define rape simply—as forced, noncon-

sensual sex involving vaginal, oral, or anal penetration. But, it is never that simple.
There is no straightforward understanding of rape based only on the act itself.
Cultural and legal definitions of rape are always shaped by the relationships and
status of those involved, a premise that holds both historically and cross-culturally.
An assault by a stranger is more likely to be seen as a “real rape” than one by some-
one known to the victim. A “chaste” woman—or young girl—is more likely to be
considered a “victim.” A prior sexual relationship is regarded as a reasonable defense
because consent is assumed. In some cultures, consent is not even something that
an individual wife can give. The families that arranged the marriage guarantee her
permanent consent. The power relations that contextualize the act are critical. That
is why efforts to understand and intervene in marital rape are so difficult.
As Estelle B. Freedman (2013, 3) points out in Redefining Rape, “At its core, rape
is a legal term that encompasses a malleable and culturally determined perception
of an act… . The meaning of rape is thus fluid.” Early rape laws defined the assault as
a property crime against the husband or father whose wife or daughter was defiled.
Under this framework marital rape is an oxymoron because a wife is legally a hus-
band’s sexual property. When 17th-century rape laws—f rom British common law
to the Qing dynasty in China (Ng 1987)—sanctioned rape, it was considered a vio-
lation of a woman’s chastity, again not possible in the context of marriage. Further,
British jurist Lord Matthew Hale (1736/1847, 628) addressed the issue of consent
directly by declaring that, “The husband cannot be guilty of a rape committed by
himself upon his lawful wife, for by their mutual consent and contract the wife hath
given up herself in this kind unto her husband, which she cannot retract.” Still today,
this ideology of permanent, irrevocable consent pervades legal and cultural concep-
tualizations of marriage and forced sex within it. And, this ideology has global reso-
nance, not because people on many continents were influenced by Lord Hale, but
because control of women’s bodies through marriage is foundational to patriarchy.
The ways in which marital rape is condoned varies enormously cross-culturally.
In the United States, for example, forced sex in marriage is illegal, yet numerous atti-
tudinal surveys show that Americans regard the rape of a wife as far less serious than
a similar assault on an acquaintance or stranger (Yllö 2010). In India, the Supreme
2 P rologue : U nderstanding M arital R ape in G lobal C onte x t
Court ruled in February 2015 that marital rape was not a criminal offense. A gov-
ernment minister then told the Parliament that marital rape could not be crimi-
nalized in India as “marriages are sacrosanct” in that country (BBC News 2015).
At the most vile extreme, Boko Haram, a radical Nigerian sect, has kidnapped and
repeatedly raped hundreds of women and girls calling it “marriage.” One victim
recounts, “They choose the ones they wanted to marry. If anybody shouts, they said
they would shoot them” (Nossiter 2015). As Freedman (2013) argues, rape is a mal-
leable term. Apparently, so is marriage.
There has certainly been resistance to rape throughout human history, but it
was not until the late 20th century that rape became the object of intensive politi-
cal analysis (Freedman 2013, 271). The antirape movement that grew out of 1960s
consciousness-raising groups, as well as Susan Brownmiller’s (1975) groundbreak-
ing Against Our Will, led to dramatic rethinking about rape. At that time, marital
rape was legal in all fifty US states as well as in virtually all other countries across the
globe—yet it was not the focus of attention or activism.
Around 1980, David Finkelhor and I were studying child sexual abuse and wife
battering (respectively) at the University of New Hampshire. It occurred to us that
we had never really considered the sexual abuse of wives. Our initial review of the
literature turned up no social science research and a handful of legal articles debat-
ing the spousal exemption to rape laws. Our research project that culminated in
License to Rape: The Sexual Abuse of Wives (1985) began. Intensive interviews with
fifty women who had experienced forced sex by husbands and cohabiters began to
break the silence surrounding sexual violence in marriage. In 1982, Diana Russell
published her pioneering survey research in Rape in Marriage and established that
forced sex in marriage was indeed a widespread and significant problem in the
United States. During the next decade, marital rape was criminalized in every state,
owing to the work of feminist activists who used our research to challenge the idea
that these sexual assaults were inconsequential. While marital rape received some
attention as these changes took place, it still did not take hold as a public issue. While
child sexual abuse and date rape—a nd most recently campus sexual assault—have
generated extensive research, attention, and intervention, the only major addition
to the marital rape literature was in 1996 with Raquel Bergen’s Wife Rape. In 1999,
I wrote a piece titled “Wife Rape: A Social Problem for the 21st Century” predicting
that numerous social changes would bring the issue of rape in marriage out of the
shadows.
A few years ago, I decided to try to explore how marital rape is understood, expe-
rienced, and sanctioned globally. As a sociologist with a US focus, it was clear to
me that I was unprepared to pursue cross-cultural work alone, so I sought out my
Wheaton colleague in anthropology, Gabriela Torres. Her work on femicide and
the state in Guatemala as well as her deep understanding of anthropology’s emic
approach—a nd the power and limits of such a perspective—have been critical to
developing the nuanced understanding of violence against women cross-culturally
that is so fundamental to this volume.
At this point in the 21st century, three significant currents are bringing marital
rape into public focus globally. First, the idea that women’s rights are human rights is
no longer a radical or fringe perspective. Organizations such as the United Nations
and Amnesty International, which traditionally regarded human rights in narrowly
political terms, have moved to a more expansive understanding that acknowledges
woman abuse in the private sphere as a rights violation. Important legal changes
sanctioning these violations then follow. The international human rights/women’s
rights perspective is built on an abstract Western conceptualization of individual
autonomy and liberty (although that is not to say that indigenous women have not
fought for equality and freedom within their own societies). Still, the universal
(cross-cultural) implementation of the human rights agenda is complex and sub-
ject to sometimes-contentious debate. Nevertheless, the idea that women are equal
human beings with bodily integrity is taking hold, and that change has major impli-
cations for the understanding of marriage and the nature of the sexual relationship
within it.
Second, and closely related to the change just discussed, is the global trans-
formation of marriage as an institution and a relationship. As Stephanie Coontz
(2005) and Jennifer Hirsch and Holly Wardlow (2009) explicate, the traditional
model of marriage as a contract between families for the purpose of reproduction
is shifting toward marriage as a companionate and intimate relationship world-
wide. Admittedly, this shift (and its connection to increases in female education)
is highly uneven and often resisted globally. Further, it is not always a change that
uniformly empowers women (Smith, this volume). Nevertheless, the idea that
marriage is a relationship between two people involving romantic love and sexual
intimacy validates the conceptualization of a wife as a distinct, autonomous being.
With that comes a recognition of her independent decision-making and capacity
to give or withhold consent. And, that creates a tectonic shift in the way marital
rape can be understood and the sanctions and interventions that can be brought
to bear.
The third current of change that brings marital rape to the forefront is the HIV/
AIDS pandemic. It has become clear that large numbers of married women, par-
ticularly in sub-Saharan Africa, have been infected by their husbands. Lacking the
ability to deny sex—or even ask for sex with a condom—can be life threatening
for women and their children. In its 2001 Declaration of Commitment on HIV/
AIDS, the United Nations made clear the link between women’s sexual autonomy
and AIDS prevention. The declaration committed member states to develop and
implement national strategies to
empower women to have control over and decide freely and responsibly on
matters related to their sexuality to increase their ability to protect themselves
from HIV infection; [and ensure] … reduction of their vulnerability to HIV/
AIDS through the elimination of all forms of discrimination, as well as all
forms of violence against women and girls, including harmful traditional and
customary practices, abuse, rape and other forms of sexual violence, battering
and trafficking in women and girls.1
In my view, it is telling that the United Nations arrived at such strong support for
women’s sexual autonomy as a strategy for curbing the AIDS pandemic. A woman’s
right to choose or refuse sex should be fundamental, regardless of disease conse-
quences. Nevertheless, it is clear that the AIDS pandemic gives urgency to efforts
to address rape both in and outside marriage. In this context, marital rape can be
approached as a public health problem. Prioritizing women’s health and reducing
the harm and illness that forced sex brings is a promising approach to intervention
in marital rape in contexts where an emphasis on women’s autonomy would gener-

ate resistance in both men and women.
Contributors to this volume develop these themes at some length, drawing on
their intimate knowledge of a range of cultural contexts and a variety of disciplinary
approaches. While we have called this book Marital Rape, this is not the term that all
authors use. Different chapters refer to forced sex, sexual assault, sexual abuse, repro-
ductive abuse, and intimate partner sexual violence, among other terms. We have
not tried to impose a uniformity of usage because there are good reasons for differ-
ent terms at times, especially because the women in the studies are often not legally
married to the intimate partners who assault them. We have tried to avoid popular
acronyms like IPSV (intimate partner sexual violence) because we find them cold
and distancing, but otherwise consider many terms as generally interchangeable.
But, let me explain why we focus the volume on marital rape. The ideologies of
irrevocable consent and permanent sexual access, which are central to the legal and
cultural condoning of forced sex in intimate relationships, are a central character-
istic of the institution of marriage. Historically and cross-culturally, marriage has
guaranteed men sexual and reproductive access to women. The significance of an
individual woman’s consent varies considerably from culture to culture. In some
contexts, a wife’s consent is not a consideration at all because sexual access for the
purpose of reproduction is understood by the families arranging it as the purpose of
marriage. Historically in the West, by contrast, marriage explicitly granted the wife’s
ongoing consent. The presumption that a cohabitor or date or former girlfriend has
granted consent to sex on any given occasion because she consented previously
grows out of this assumption in the marital contract. In this context at least, consent
is not just a matter of personal choice or interpersonal conflict; it is an institutional
premise. By focusing on marital rape cross-culturally, we do not exclude other inti-
mate partner sexual violence but rather emphasize the institutional underpinnings
that give rise to the full range. Further, we explore the meaning of consent in dif-
ferent cultures and consider the ways in which those understandings are changing.
It is important to note that the research and analysis of rape in marriage and other
intimate relationships that this volume offers are focused entirely on heterosexual
relationships. There is no question that the institution of marriage is changing, and
one of those changes is the growing acceptance and legalization of same-sex marriage.
This positive change portends further transformation as the terms husband and wife
fade as signifiers of rigid gender roles. Increasingly, spouses of all gender combina-
tions negotiate their intimate and marital roles and responsibilities. It is also clear
from growing research that gay and lesbian couples are not immune from the domes-
tic violence so common among heterosexuals (Island and Lettelier 2012; Renzetti
1992). We expect that future research will take up the issue of forced sex in same-sex
marriages. Our current focus is on the millions of women worldwide who are sexually
violated by their husbands and intimate partners in the context of a marital institution
that has for millennia controlled access to women’s bodies for reproductive purposes.
Throughout this volume—w ith contributions ranging the globe—sexual violence
in intimate relationships is always considered in familial, legal, social, and cultural
context. In this sense, our framework is consistent with Lori Heise’s (1998) inte-
grated, ecological model for understanding gender-based violence. Marital rape is
understood as “a multifaceted phenomenon grounded in the interplay of individual,
family, community and socio-cultural factors” (262). These factors can be visualized
as concentric circles moving out from the personal level. Several chapters document
that the injury and harm individual women experience in very different cultural con-
texts (Guatemala, Turkey, and Vietnam, for example) have a deep commonality of
suffering and endurance. At family and community levels, however, the meanings
of marriage and consent vary enormously, from forced and arranged marriages to
widely accepted cohabitation based on individual attraction. Many of the chapters
also emphasize how the broader context of legal, political, economic structures and
cultural norms profoundly shape the experience of sexual violence. While marital
rape is the most intimate of violations, it is also the form of violence against women
that is most clearly sanctioned by the state, which specifies through laws and their
implementation what sorts of violations are condoned and even expected. These laws
crystallize cultural norms that are widely shared (although varying in their specific-
ity) that regard a wife’s body as not her own. Exploring the interconnections among
these layers of contextual factors is a central focus of this book.
A central purpose of Marital Rape: Consent, Marriage, and Social Change in Global
Context is to expand the global attention to gender-based violence to explicitly
include forced sex in marriage and other intimate relationships. This most intimate
form of violence against women has been hidden behind closed doors for too long,
and this volume presents the first in-depth consideration of marital rape globally.
A further goal of this volume is to consider the implications of this wide-ranging
research for policy and practice to more meaningfully intervene in this pervasive
form of violence and suffering.
This volume grows out of an important collaboration that is international, interdis-

ciplinary, and intergenerational. As Gabriela Torres and I approached this project,
we realized just how little scholarship—especially outside the United States—
has been focused on marital rape. Social psychologists had documented attitudes
toward marital rape. Sociologists had explored the experience and estimated rates.
Legal scholars had debated the spousal exemption in rape laws and criminaliza-
tion. However, despite its long tradition of research on marriage and kinship and
its relatively recent turn toward gender-based violence, anthropology had pro-
duced no studies of forced sex in marriage. This gap in particular was troubling
because anthropology was the discipline so clearly suited for exploring practices
cross-culturally.
We decided that our first step was to convene a small conference of research-
ers and activists to consider how we might begin a global response to rape in mar-
riage. With support from the Wenner-Gren Foundation, we gathered together
for three days at Wheaton College (Massachusetts) in May 2013. Participants
included anthropologists, sociologists, legal scholars, public health researchers, and
human rights advocates who had worked in countries from Vietnam to Nigeria to
Guatemala to the United Kingdom and United States. Unsurprisingly, this combi-
nation created a rich epistemic stew of perspectives and positions and some highly
contentious debates. Sociologists, lawyers, and human rights proponents took a
more etic approach: marital rape understood as a social problem and human rights
violation. Anthropologists took a more emic perspective, emphasizing cultural rela-
tivism and a more holistic approach that sought to understand practices from the
point of view of particular cultures. Does marital rape even exist when a culture
has no term for it and no shared understanding of it? On the other hand, who con-
trols the shared understanding within patriarchy? How do power relations shape
our understandings? What is an appropriate and effective approach to intervention
in demonstrable social suffering that does not bring a missionary zeal or bear the
imprint of colonialism?
These debates bring me to the power of collaboration. Extraordinary effort to
listen and understand differing points of view—a nd learn from them—is critical
to our effort. Our goal has not been to emphasize counterpoints and identify win-
ning arguments. Rather, it has been to carefully articulate important theoretical,
empirical, and policy positions concerning marital rape and to consider points of
integration. How can sociologists and human rights advocates temper their often-
blunt assertions about the social problems and violations that they want to chal-
lenge by more carefully considering cultural contexts (without abandoning their
strong convictions)? How can anthropologists maintain their holistic cultural lens
while also taking a firmer stand against practices that may be widely accepted in
a particular culture yet cause enormous social suffering? And, how can we bridge
the often-yawning gap between scholarship, policy, and practice—especially across
disparate cultures—to begin to ameliorate this global problem?
I am so grateful to our contributors, many of whom attended the Wheaton con-
ference and committed to new directions in their research as a result of what they
shared and learned. This volume weaves together many strands of theory, research,
policy, and practice, which is not to suggest that it represents a consensus. It is my
hope that Marital Rape: Consent, Marriage, and Social Change in Global Context is a
testament to the power and promise of a growing collaboration that contributes to
the global effort to end all forms of violence against women.
Note
1. Declaration of Commitment on HIV/A IDS, G.A. Res. S-2 6/2 , U.N. Doc. A/R ES/
S-2 6/2 (Aug. 2, 2001) §§ 55, 56.
SECTION I
Conceptualizing the Problem
of Marital Rape
1
Reconciling Cultural Difference

in the Study of Marital Rape
M. GABRIELA TORRES
The criminalization of rape in marriage is simply not possible according to the

government of India. India’s official consideration of rape in marriage as a crimi-
nal offense resulted from long-standing UN recommendations advising that the
criminalization of marital rape would be an important way to address gender-based
violence in India. In a 2014 report, Rashida Manjoo—t he UN special rapporteur
on violence against women, its causes, and consequences—noted that the Indian
state had again failed to criminalize marital rape as an act that in practice deprived
women of their basic human rights.1 Speaking for the Indian state, Haribhai
Parthibhai Chaudhary, minister of state for home affairs, commented in an April 29,
2015, article that, “The concept of marital rape, as understood internationally, can-
not be suitably applied in the Indian context due to various factors, including level
of education, illiteracy, poverty, myriad social customs and values, religious beliefs,
[and] the mindset of the society to treat the marriage as a sacrament” (Press Trust
of India 2015).
Minister Chaudhary is not alone in the conviction that customs, values, religion,
and the sanctity of marriage are grounds for sustaining the marital rape exemption.
Such beliefs have wide resonance. In a statement, Egypt’s Muslim Brotherhood
(2013) sustained the marital rape exemption as a core part of the “moral specificity
that helps preserve the cohesion of Islamic Societies.”
The customary or cultural justification of rape in marriage has meant that mari-
tal rape is still both socially acceptable and legal in many countries. Its incidence is
high and spread throughout many societies. The World Health Organization’s mul-
ticountry study of violence reported rates ranging from 6% in urban Japan to 59%
in rural Ethiopia (García Moreno et al. 2006). In many places around the world,
marriage—as David Finkelhor and my coeditor, Kersti Yllö (1985), put it more than
30 years ago—is a license to rape. Despite this (or perhaps because of it), marital
rape has been the subject of little scholarly research, particularly in anthropology,
the field with greatest expertise in cross-cultural research. Further, until the recent
10 C onceptuali z ing the P roblem of M arital R ape
surge in aspirational legal restructuring, there have been limited global interven-
tion efforts. The World Health Organization, United Nations, and World Bank now
recognize gender-based violence—a nd in particular marital rape—as a global pan-
demic, are prioritizing a standardized global accounting of marital rape as a key cat-
egory of gender-based violence, and are exploring legal and public health initiatives
to aid women (United Nations 2010; World Bank 2009).
Yet, how do we account for marital rape cross-culturally when states, religious
groups, and sometimes victims themselves hold that the concept is inapplicable and
in fact for most an oxymoron? Marital Rape: Consent, Marriage, and Social Change
in Global Context is the first account of marital rape in a cross-cultural perspec-
tive. However, it is not a comparison between cultures that assumes the violation
implied in such rape is lived and understood in the same way across cultural con-
texts. As the “Prologue” states, this volume shows the variety of ways that marital
rape as “a multifaceted phenomenon grounded in the interplay of individual, fam-
ily, community and socio-cultural factors” has come to be understood in particular
places (Heise 1998, 263). We argue that marital rape is regularly constituted across
cultures as a locally recognized social violation—one that is understood to impede
women in those particular cultural contexts from aspiring to a good human life.
Monica McWilliams, Michelle Anderson, and Jacqueline Campbell in their chap-
ters explicitly employ rights-based discourses and define marital rape as a violation
of a woman’s universal human rights. However, most chapter authors looking at the
problem cross-culturally do not use a human rights framework, in large part because
their disciplinary projects focus on the cultural and historical particularities that
give rise to an understanding of marital rape as a locally constituted violation. Lynn
Kwiatkowski, for instance, discusses the conception of marital rape in Vietnam by
documenting that women who have experienced forced sex in marriage understand
this experience as an abuse or violation but not as rape. For these women, this act
could not be rape because women’s subordinate role in marriage requires them to
acquiesce to the “naturally” high sexual desires of men. Similarly, Cecilia Menjívar
observes that women in Guatemala understand sexual violence to be a part of the
violations and suffering that women need to endure in marriage.
In both Vietnam and Guatemala, marital rape may be understood as a part of
marriage that women, because of their gender, must endure. However, women in
these circumstances clearly recognize that it causes suffering, undermines their
well-being, and limits them from obtaining a good life within their own context.
They also see themselves, in part due to their experience with forced sex in mar-
riage, as unable to make choices that are not subjected by force to the will of others.
Others, in the family and the culture, often share this perspective about the dis-
abling effects of this violence (Godoy-Paiz 2012; Shively 2011; Yllö 1999).
This volume’s approach to the study of marital rape is based on an understand-
ing of culture as neither a cohesive, well-integrated whole nor a static text that pre-
scribes behavior. The shared set of values and worldviews, within which naming
marital rape is seen as an attack on the sanctity of marriage, also holds within it
the idea that forced sex in marriage is a violation that curtails women’s ability to be
full persons, a subject that has been routinely understudied cross-culturally. Insight
regarding why and how culture is used to justify marital rape, by the Indian State or
the Muslim Brotherhood, requires an awareness of what Sally Engle Merry (2003)
suggests is a regular misapplication and misunderstanding of the culture concept.
Reconciling Cultural Difference in the Study of Marital Rape 11
The embrace of culture as a justification for marital rape is also a result of the fact
that experts in culture—a nthropologists—have been largely absent from the global
discussion of gender-based violence and its links to inequity. Anthropologists who
study cultures and their intimacies across the world regularly narrate accounts of
forced sex in marriage, but seldom do they call it “marital rape.” Detailing the con-
straints of life in the margins of neoliberal Chile, Clara Han’s (2012) Life in Debt,
to give but one example, details a horrific instance of forced sex in a marriage and
its consequences. Yet, even in Han’s rich account, the narratives of forced sex are
analyzed for what they tell us about how cultural practices themselves come to be
shaped by globalization and social inequalities. The nature of violation implied, an
analysis of the persons and practices that facilitate and entrench the violation, the
texture of the suffering in the lives of women, and how such experiences constrain
and limit gendered notions of the self are largely overlooked.
A cross-cultural study of marital rape not only tells us about the cultures of oth-
ers but also helps explicate why marital rape has not been a focus of cross-cultural
scholarship. As Wies and Haldane’s chapter concludes, we are forced to acknowl-
edge that our own knowledge-practices “are both enabled and constrained by the
knowledge practices of our ethnographic subjects” (Crook 2014). This study of rape
in marriage in a global context challenges us to explore the power dynamics that
sustain our own and our subjects’ ideas of rape, marriage, intimacy, law, and the
state. Much of the attention paid to sexual abuse and marital rape in the United
States and cross-culturally has come from human rights activists, sociologists,
criminologists, and public health researchers—who largely take an etic approach
(Bergen 1996; Finkelhor and Yllö 1989; Jansen et al. 2004; Johnson, Ollus, and
Nevala 2008; Russell 1990; Tellis 2010). The relative absence of anthropologists in
this work means that there has been little qualitative field research to shed light on
how culturally shaped understandings of sexual violence are located in the global
context. This lack of emic perspective means that there is little challenge to defini-
tions of the very concepts that are critical for understanding gender-based violence
as a global problem—for example, the concepts of consent and the bases of legal
personhood. The study of rape as a concept involves recognizing and codifying
the underlying politics, ideologies, and cultural, legal, and academic practices that
undergird the ways intimate violence is represented (de la Cadena 2014). The cate-
gorization of marital rape as a political inquiry is conveyed by our contributors, who
address sexual violence as a social problem in different global contexts and highlight
the role of culture and its institutions in sustaining stratified societies. The many
voices and histories of interviewees help us grasp that sexual violence in marriage
can be both violation and norm—not intrinsic to the nature of culture.
My own work, on war crimes, documents how sexual violence supported by cul-
tural practice and state institutions can be misrecognized as originating in culture.
Carey and Torres (2010) explore how femicide becomes socially tolerated murder
of women in Guatemala through the practices of the Guatemalan state in the 20th
century. The state’s presence or absence is historically rooted in gender inequalities
and leads to the pervasive normalization of violence as an acceptable social relation.
Although the entrenchment of social supports of femicide has been gradual, the
acceptance of violence against women in Guatemala not only has eroded women’s
citizenship rights but also has increased the incidence of violence and made its per-
vasiveness seem to be inevitably located in the nature of Guatemalaness.
Even though most states do not regularly employ gender-based violence as

Guatemala has in the recent past, states throughout the world do condone—
through action and omission—many forms of this form of violence. Chapters in
this volume deconstruct the political, cultural, and ideological legacies that give rise
to the practice of marital rape and offer insights into how these practices and ideolo-
gies develop. The authors detail significant differences in the ways marital rape is
recognized, sustained, or countered by states and their institutions. Together, they
unveil the pervasive gender inequities that position women in marital unions into
a disproportionately vulnerable role regardless of cultural differences in how this
violence is lived and understood by individuals, their families, and their state.
M A R R I AG E A N D R A PE
As Hirsch and Wardlow’s (2009, 2) volume Modern Loves documents, marriage has
drawn the interest of social scientists because it “sits at the nexus of large-scale social
processes and intimate life.” Marital rape is particularly instructive of how culture
works because it occurs at this intersection of personal intimacy and societal and
state institutions’ assertions of their purview in regulating individuals’ behavior.
Studying marital rape allows us to trace the ways that states and institutions enable,
sanction, or aim to curtail such violations. This approach is consistent with much
of recent cross-cultural research on intimacy, marriage, and gender-based violence,
which centers on the study of how changing political and economic structures
shape the meanings people give to their lived experiences and what we, as scholars,
come to understand about the lives of others (Padilla et al. 2007; Wies and Haldane
2011). For example, Noelle Stout’s (2014) study of queer identities argues that, in
societies transitioning to a neoliberal economic organization, individuals constitute
themselves through the resistance, reimagining, and embrace of not only new forms
of consumption and making a living but also new types of “love” relationships and
formalized attachments.
Related scholarship has demonstrated the links between the rise of capitalism
and current conceptions of the ideal marital union (Collier and Yanagisako 1990;
Coontz 2005; Hirsch et al. 2009; Shumway 2003) or detailed the globalization of
a companionate marriage ideal that ties self-realization to “love” bonds in marriage
(Collier 1997; Hirsch et al. 2009; Hirsch and Wardlow 2009). Clearly, it is not
only the concept of rape that is culturally situated but also marriage and intimacy
are concepts in flux. This volume adds a unique dimension to these earlier cross-
cultural works on intimacy and marriage as historically constituted and variable
across cultures.
The empirical studies presented in the following chapters reference forced sex
in marital unions and other forms of intimate partnerships. Contributors use
alternative terminologies to define marital unions, rape in marriage, and the ways
that sexual violence relates to other forms of gender-based violence. The variation
in terminology is necessary not only because it gives us insight into the different
ways that rape is represented across disciplines but also because it demonstrates the
complexity and fluidity in constructing the parameters of marital rape as a social
problem by scholars and those whose lives are described. Marriage is, however, of
particular relevance to the authors, as it is the institution where the state engages
in the definition, monitoring, and sanctioning of appropriate conduct. The state’s

involvement in this intimacy has import because it asserts that sexual behavior is
not solely delineated by an interpersonal realm. Where sexual violence, in particu-
lar, is concerned, social responsibility is shared beyond intimate partners. How the
state defines the bounds of intimacy shapes intimate partnerships beyond officially
sanctioned marriages and reflects cultural ideologies and politics. When the state
exempts otherwise-criminal acts of forced sex when these occur in marriages, it
engages in an unequal disbursement of citizenship rights: Those in marriages who
rape are not subject to punishment, and those forced into sex cannot access the pro-
tection of the state.
While the incidences of physical violence in marriage have been studied exten-
sively across the world since the 1970s, there is little systematic, comparative study
of the lived experience of rape—a nd much less so about rape when it occurs in
marriage. This volume conceives of rape as Peggy Sanday’s (1981a) foundational
work does—as neither a consequence of a mind gone astray nor a biological need
of males, but rather as a form of human sexual behavior arising in cultural contexts
where particular historical processes have made interpersonal violence and male
dominance prevalent. Studying marital rape this way leads to explorations of the
gendered ways that state institutions, healthcare systems, caregivers, and individu-
als themselves enable, sanction, or aim to curtail such violations. Anthropologists
have shown that global differences in the incidence of gender-based violence are
shaped by the ways that particular institutions address such violence (Counts,
Brown, and Campbell 1992; Goldstein 2003; Hautzinger 2007; McClusky 2001;
Plesset 2006; Scheper-Hughes 1993; Surtees 2003; Wies and Haldane 2011).
Authors in the volume continue in this vein, examining how legal frameworks, pub-
lic health support services, local government structures, and social support net-
works may work to redress the impact of marital rape or, conversely, to amplify its
impacts, including the ultimate curtailment of women’s access to protections of the
state. A focus on state institutions reveals how citizenship rights can be gendered
and inequitably disbursed.
T H E P O L I T I C S O F ST U DY I N G T H E C H A N G I N G
C O N C EP T O F M A R I TA L R A PE
Michelle Anderson’s chapter shows how marital rape as a legal category is firmly
entrenched in Western constructs of the individual, intimacy, and consent. Ideas of
what constitutes rape, consent, social violations, and marriage itself have changed
throughout history—in law and in terms of social acceptance—a nd certainly differ
significantly cross-culturally. As the chapters in this volume attest, scholars them-
selves sometimes differ in how they define what constitutes the criminalization of
marital rape. Rape, Estelle Freedman (2013) tells us, is a concept in flux. Tracing
the fragmented and piecemeal struggle to define rape in the United States from the
late 19th century to the early 20th century, Freedman demonstrates that efforts
to establish the meaning of rape and other forms of sexual violence are essentially
attempts to clarify the bounds of individual sovereignty and to redress the unequal
hierarchies of citizenship in American history. In Freedman’s historical narrative,
class, race, ethnicity, and gender regularly intertwine in the definition of what is a
rape, who can be raped, and who can rape. For her, these are pivotal questions for
understanding the ways that citizenship comes to be constituted and stratified.
Thinking cross-culturally, the concept of rape, and most saliently rape in mar-
riage, becomes more complicated as scholars debate whether the idea of rape in mar-
riage can even be applied outside the “West.” Is it even possible to think about rape
in marriage when it is not an emic concept? In other words, what happens when rape
in marriage is not a concept that is locally accepted or even understood as a pos-
sibility? Part of the complexity of understanding how marital rape impedes women
from aspiring to a good human life arises from the challenge of how we can come to
understand the experiences of others in their own terms. Understanding this type of
violation cross-culturally is particularly fraught because the idea of consent, which
increasingly has come to define key elements of the violation inherent in a rape,
assumes the existence of an independent individual subject—which is not a given in
all societies. The degree to which women and men view themselves as unique social
beings with a full ability to make choices and suffer consequences varies by culture.
Furthermore, the idea that a woman’s consent is required for sex in marriage, in
particular, is not commonly shared.
Even in North America, consent as the key determinant of nonviolative sex is
relatively new (Freedman 2013). In the 17th and 18th centuries, rape was identified
as a violation or appropriation of a man’s sexual rights over his wife or daughter and,
for some men, a state-sanctioned right over their female slaves. Even in the 19th and
early 20th century, rape was typically viewed as a violation of women’s purity, not
a violation of her consent. In many respects, these understandings were reinforced
by the fact that only men—white men more precisely—enjoyed fully the privileges
of citizenship. Freedman (2013) notes that the idea that consent-based violations
should be a critical element of rape as a violation can be traced to the efforts to define
women’s personhood—beginning in the suffragist movement that sought equal
access to citizenship.
Given the challenges of thinking about marital rape cross-culturally, most schol-
ars have decided that it is not even possible, or productive, to talk about rape in
marriage in contexts where marriage itself may not be understood as a relationship
between individuals or where bodies, as Wies and Haldane discuss in this volume,
are not construed as penetrable in our terms (Hirsch et al. 2009). Considering mari-
tal rape as a violation of an individual—in cultures where individuals do not con-
sent to marriage in the first place or where marriage is still understood as a contract
to grant sexual access for the purposes of social and biological reproduction—has
too easily been seen as an imposition of Western notions of subjectivity, the body,
rape, and marriage. Yet, as the chapters that follow evidence, women across many
cultures do experience the violation of rape in marriage—even when the way that
such violations are experienced and understood differs from culture to culture.
Naming marital rape and understanding how sexual violations in marriage are
experienced in particular cultural contexts and historical moments are crucial for
any future activism to address women’s suffering and promote their well-being.
Most of the chapters in this volume argue that ideas of marriage, intimacy, and
rape need to be analyzed in conjunction with the degrees of cultural acceptance
of interpersonal violence and the presence of male dominance. Exploring not only
the incidence of what we recognize to be marital rape but also how women and men
construct, negotiate, or deny their experiences of sexual violation leads us to tackle
the challenge of deconstructing the very violations implied in marital rape and the
role that gender inequity plays in impeding women from aspiring to a good human
life. Assessing the limits to extending the notion of rape in marriage as a legally and
culturally constituted form of violation against an individual, the cultural origins
of the concept would enable policymakers to target their interventions. As Raquel
Bergen highlights in this volume, for women to understand their experience as mar-
ital rape, “they must both have a language or a name for the experience and see this
societal definition as applicable to their own experience.”
O U T L I N E O F T H E VO LU M E
Marital Rape: Consent, Marriage, and Social Change in Global Context examines rape
in not only state-sanctioned marriages but also other forms of intimate partnerships.
This first section, “Conceptualizing the Problem of Marital Rape,” explores the com-
plexity of defining marital rape in academic and cross-cultural terms in chapters by
Raquel Kennedy Bergen and by Jennifer Weis and Hillary Haldane. Bergen reviews
the development of research on rape in marriage in the United States, the country
where the bulk of the work has been done, and points to the disciplinary silos that
characterize this scholarship. Bergen outlines how marital rape research began in
legal scholarship and crossed over to sociology and criminology and more recently
to public health and social psychology. She highlights the uneven coverage of this
scholarship with its exclusively Western focus and advocates further research in dif-
ferent ethnic contexts in America and elsewhere. Wies and Haldane offer a concep-
tual review of how cross-cultural studies have analyzed gender-based violence. They
suggest that the cultural relativist perspective most often used by anthropologists
has precluded the direct discussion of sexual violence as a social problem. For them,
sexual violence in marriage is particularly problematic as it does not fit easily into
anthropological conceptualizations of the relationship between kinship, marriage,
and gendered expectations for reproductive arrangements.
The second section, “The Lived Experience of Rape in Marriage in Cross-Cultural
Context,” is a unique set of essays that draw on ethnography, case studies, and sur-
veys from across the globe. Chapters on Guatemala, Nigeria, South Africa, Turkey,
Vietnam, Great Britain, and the United States together demonstrate both the dra-
matic costs for women of sexual violence in intimate settings and the problems
associated with defining and describing marital rape in a global context. Daniel
Smith’s work on Nigeria makes evident that social changes such as the rise of roman-
tic love as an ideal for marriage, increasing levels of education and employment for
women, and the globalization of notions of gender equality affect how sexual vio-
lence in marriage is understood. Smith argues that women may have been safer in
intimate relationships if the traditional avenues for protection (kin and commu-
nity) had not been eroded in tandem with the globalizing ideologies of marriage
and citizenship. Lynn Kwiatkowski’s study of Vietnam also focuses on how global
and local changes in ideologies of gender, sexuality, marriage, and family relate to
traditional ideas of marital rape. Working with nongovernmental organizations
supporting women’s physical and social well-being and with women who have expe-
rienced marital rape, Kwiatkowski sheds light on how stigma and isolation are asso-
ciated with marital rape. She describes the interactions and attitudes of health and
social service workers who share the cultural belief that sexual violence in marriage
needs to be a secret and shows how the stigma of marital rape is amplified by cultur-
ally shared notions of secrecy, shame, and privacy.
Cecilia Menjívar’s Guatemalan study has interesting parallels with Kwiatkowski’s
findings. Both studies suggest that marital rape sustains gender inequalities in mar-
ital unions and in society more generally. Menjívar narrates the way that Ladina
women learn to endure violence, sexual violence in particular, as part and parcel
of their marital unions. Beginning with the class-based performance of sexual vio-
lence in courtship and in the initiation of a marital union, she shows how women’s
social standing and indigenous status shape how women enter into marital unions,
using the example of robadas, or women-stolen-into-marriage. Menjívar suggests
that while robadas are not seen as raped women, the act of taking or stealing women
into marital unions that prescribe sexual access offers insight into the ways norms of
sexual violence reinforce inequities and, sometimes, violence in marriage.
Menjívar’s study also has interesting parallels with Jim Ptacek’s chapter on
class and domestic violence in the United States. Ptacek highlights how structural
inequalities shape women’s vulnerability to domestic violence and rape in intimate
relationships. He delineates a complex combination of forms of sexual violence
found in intimate relationships, of which rape is but one form. Sexual violence in
intimacy—a nd this is evidenced also in Kwiatkowski’s chapter—includes threats
and pressure to have sex, sexual degradation, delusional jealousy, surveillance, and
reproductive abuse.
Judith L. Singleton’s chapter on rape in marital unions and other intimate part-
nerships provides a nuanced account of new domestic violence laws shaping local
perspectives. She examines the effects of legal revision on the lives of poor, black
South African women by focusing on how women come to use the Family Violence
Act of 1993. That act and the Sexual Offenses Act legislated in 2007 provide legal
definitions of rape and consent in the postapartheid democracy. Singleton shows
how definitions of rape in marriage and the bounds of consent are contested in
South Africa. Her work brings to the foreground the tension between universalism,
located in legal restructuring, and the ways violence affects intimate and marital
unions on the ground. For Singleton, as for Ptacek, inequality is the key factor shap-
ing the way that rape in marital and nonmarital unions is experienced.
Henrica A. F. M. Jansen et al.’s study of Turkey is unique in the breadth of the sam-
ple from which it draws its conclusion. The chapter is based on the National Research
on Domestic Violence in Turkey, a representative study of 24,048 households, and
documents the prevalence of marital rape as one act within a complex of domestic
violence. Fifteen percent of women in the sample report rape by their husband or
intimate partner. The chapter documents how women who experience violence by
intimate partners are prone to a number of detrimental health outcomes and are par-
ticularly at risk of suicide compared to women who have not been violence victims.
Russell and Rebecca Dobash also document that marital rape puts women at risk.
Their work in Great Britain reveals how marital rape is linked to male entitlements
expressed in the form of forced sex and murder. Drawing on interviews and the anal-
ysis of 200 cases of intimate partner and sexual murders, the Dobashes show that
a significant proportion of men who murder intimate partners or commit a sexual
murder also previously committed other acts of sexual violence in the same intimate
relationships. Marital rape is shown by all the authors in this section, regardless of
cultural context, as tied to other forms of gender-based violence and poses a risk to
women’s lives and well-being.
The final section of the volume, “Public Health, Legal and Human Rights
Perspectives,” contains three essays exploring current policy approaches to address
sexual violence in intimate relationships cross-culturally. Jacquelyn Campbell
et al.’s chapter focuses on the ways that public health scholarship and interventions
intersect with marital rape globally. She presents a medical account of how forced
sex in intimacy increases women’s vulnerability to acute and chronic diseases,
including HIV/A IDS. Campbell et al. emphasize the need to recognize how health
work can be reorganized to prevent victims from being stigmatized, and, in an ideal
situation, to empower those who have lived through rape in marital and nonmarital
unions. Campbell et al. make clear that in the United States, social marginalization
and health risks experienced by rape victims are shaped by ethnic and class fac-
tors. Her chapter summarizes public health research linking marital rape to other,
distinct forms of violence against women and shows why rape in marriage is firmly
a public health concern.
Michelle Anderson’s chapter articulates how the study of marital rape matters in
poignant ways. She argues that US rape laws are inherently based on the idea that
marriage bestows consent to sexual relations to the husband on the legal sanction
of the union, and that women do not have the authority to retract that consent once
granted. Anderson points out that marital immunity for violent rape has been abol-
ished in the United States, but marital immunity for lesser sexual offenses persists
in about half the states. This is particularly important given the findings in the work
of Kwiatkowski, Ptacek, Menjívar, and Dobash and Dobash on the prevalence of
a combination of forms of violence in intimacy. Anderson’s account suggests that
US legal changes are not simply part of a local (American) history, but rather influ-
ence marital rape laws internationally given the increasing globalization of US legal
frameworks.
In the final chapter, McWilliams and Ní Aoláin argue that a rights-based under-
standing of marital rape is necessary to address the needs of women cross-culturally.
They suggest that resistance to legal frameworks for determining the workings of
intimate relationships, and to international laws that challenge how states fail to
support women’s rights, puts women at risk of harm and constrains women’s access
to full citizenship.
Engaging anthropologists with scholars of human rights and public health, and
working in tandem with established scholars in sociology, criminology, and the
law, this volume represents a distinctively new trajectory for scholarship on mari-
tal rape. Marital Rape: Consent, Marriage, and Social Change in Global Context con-
cludes with an epilogue that promotes a human rights–based approach to reduce
the incidence of marital rape. It affirms the importance we as editors place on the
yet-to-be-resolved task of reconciling cultural difference with our conviction that
women must be free to make good lives and attain full personhood regardless of
cultural context.
Note
1. Rashida Manjoo (special rapporteur on violence against women, its causes, and
consequences), Mission to India (UN Doc. A/H RC/2 6/38/Add.1, at 50), April 1,
2014.
2
An Overview of Marital Rape

Research in the United States
Limitations and Implications for Cross-Cultural Research
RAQUEL KENNEDY BERGEN
During a legislative debate in 1979, California State Senator Bob Wilson exclaimed,
“If you can’t rape your wife, who can you rape?” (quoted in Russell 1990, 132).
While there has been considerable progress in many countries both legally and
socially concerning the problem of rape in marriage, it is still a form of violence
that is often treated with skepticism, disbelief, and confusion. The question that is
most often raised is, “What is marital rape?” followed by the question, “How can a
husband rape his wife?” The implication is not how can a man act in such a horrific
way toward his partner, but how can such actions really be “rape” if the couple is
married?
A primary foundation of patriarchal cultures is men’s control over women’s bod-
ies, sexuality, and reproductive capacity. Within the United States, women histori-
cally did not have the right to say no to their partners because they were married;
thus, it was assumed that their consent was a given. This concept is known as “irre-
vocable consent” and is at the root of the problem of marital rape. As Finkelhor and
Yllo (1985) argue in their groundbreaking book, it provides husbands with a license
to rape.
In one of the earliest legal analyses on this subject, Drucker (1979) analyzed the
case for the support of the marital rape exemption under British common law and
argued that, in fact, common law does not support the spousal exemption. However,
despite this assertion and the legal challenges to this notion of the marriage license
as a license to rape, there is still much progress to be made. This chapter provides a
brief overview of the history of this issue in the United States, a broad sketch of the
literature on this form of violence against women, and a conclusion with reflections
on areas in need of future research.
2 0 C onceptuali z ing the P roblem of M arital R ape
L EG A L H I STO RY O F M A R I TA L R A PE
The understanding that forced sex in marriage could legally be rape is a relatively
new concept globally. In the United States, it was not until 1993 that rape in mar-
riage was criminalized under at least one of the sexual offense codes in all 50 states.
Prior to this time, a husband could not legally be sanctioned for raping his wife
because of what is commonly understood as the marital rape or spousal exemption
(Bergen and Barnhill 2006; X 1999). This is reflected most commonly in traditional
rape statutes in the United States; for example, the 1997 Illinois statute that defined
rape as “sexual intercourse with a female, not his wife, by force and against her will”
(Finkelhor and Yllo 1985, 1).
In her foundational book Rape in Marriage, Diana Russell (1982) argues that the
origin of the marital rape exemption is the patriarchal understanding of women as
property. First, they are the property of their fathers and later of their husbands.
This has roots in the first law of marriage as decreed by Romulus of Rome in the
eighth century bc, which “obliged married women, as having no other refuge, to
conform themselves entirely to their husbands, and the husbands to rule their wives
as necessary and inseparable possessions” (Sonkin 1987, 6). This conveys the notion
that women became property of their husbands on marriage.
The conceptualization of women as the property of men in patriarchal cultures
is further evidenced in rape legislation. For example, in the United States, rape laws
were originally enacted as property laws to protect the father’s property (most nota-
bly his daughter’s virginity) from other men. If a man’s daughter were raped, the
father could be compensated for the loss of his valuable property (her virginity),
but as Pagelow (1984) argues, these laws were not intended to protect women them-
selves or their rights to control their own bodies. In a parallel way, a husband could
be compensated for the violation of his sexual property if his wife were raped by
another man; however, a man could not be charged with the rape of his own wife
because she was understood to be his property (Bergen 1996; Dobash and Dobash
1979). As we will see further in this volume, this understanding of patriarchal
authority and women’s virginity as a valuable (tradable) commodity is still prevalent
throughout much of the world.
The foundation of the marital rape exemption is most frequently directly linked
to the statements made by Sir Matthew Hale, chief justice in Victorian England. In
the History of the Pleas of the Crown, published in 1736, Hale wrote, “The husband
cannot be guilty of a rape committed by himself upon his lawful wife, for by their
mutual matrimonial consent and contract, the wife hath given up herself in this
kind unto the husband which she cannot retract” (quoted in Russell 1990, 17). This
is largely known as Hale’s dictum and is the underlying argument for the marital
rape exemption—women give an irrevocable consent to sex on marriage. It should
be noted that even if women at this time had the right to withdraw their consent to
sex, given their status as property, they could not have had their husbands charged
with rape. They were the property of their husbands and thus had no legal recourse.
Men’s patriarchal authority is further evidenced in what is commonly known as the
principle of legal unity by William Blackstone. He wrote in the late 1760s that, with
marriage, the husband and wife became one person under the law and a woman’s
legal identity became merged with her husband’s (Bergen 1996; Dobash and Dobash
1979). As is still the case in many countries around the world, historically women in
An Overview of Marital Rape Research in the United States 21
the United States could not own property because, indeed, they were property. The
devaluation of women as property combined with the understanding that marriage
implies an irrevocable consent to sex led to the spousal exemption and has made the
problem of rape in marriage challenging to eradicate legally.
In the United States, these archaic understandings of the law were challenged in
the 1970s as women in the antirape movement began arguing vehemently that wives
were not provided with equal protection under the law (Bidwell and White 1986;
Finkelhor and Yllo 1985). Since this time, significant advances have been made state
by state in repealing spousal exemptions from rape prosecution. Laura X (1999), of
the National Clearinghouse on Marital and Date Rape, was crucial in advocating
for the need to repeal every exemption in the United States. However, these legal
changes were frequently hard fought and sometimes against the tide of political and
popular opinion. One famous example was provided by Senator Jeremiah Denton
from Alabama, who is quoted in 1981 as saying, “Damn it, when you get married,
you kind of expect you’re going to get a little sex” (Stritof 2015). Not only was sex in
marriage assumed to be a right, but also it was feared that vindictive women would
falsely accuse their husbands of raping them to gain more power in divorce and cus-
tody battles (Jackson 2015). Prior to 1978, only five states had removed all spou-
sal exemptions from their laws (Jackson 2015). However, in 1978, John Rideout of
Oregon became the first man in the United States to be prosecuted for raping his
wife when they were still living together (Russell 1990). Despite the opposition, on
July 5, 1993, marital rape became a crime in each of the 50 states, under at least one
section of the sexual offense code.
However, it is important to note that, as of 2007, there were still 20 states that
did not provide unrestricted criminalization (Jackson 2015). That is, in almost half
the states, rape within a marital relationship is still treated as a lesser crime than
rape outside the relationship—restrictions are applicable to spouses. An excellent
example of this differential treatment under the law is found in Caringella’s (2009)
research, which argues: “In 1988, Michigan removed most spousal exemptions, but
still fails to criminalize marital rape if the charge is based on the victim’s mental
incapacitation (1988 PA), a factor that some state codes now consider an aggra-
vating circumstance for non-marital rape” (Jackson 2015, 292). This is important
because, in many states, consent to sex may be assumed in marriage, especially if
the couple is still living under the same roof. Specifically, a husband may be exempt
from prosecution from rape if he does not use “excessive force” or if he had sex with
his wife when she was unable to consent—such as when she was asleep or mentally
or physically impaired. In these cases, her consent is assumed (Jackson 2015, 292).
The treatment of rape in marriage as a different and (in many cases) lesser crime
continues to perpetuate this normative understanding that the marriage contract is
an entitlement to sex, and that if violence does indeed occur, it is somehow less mor-
ally reprehensible than other forms of violence (Bergen and Barnhill 2006).
E A R LY R ES E A R C H O N M A R I TA L R A PE
Given the legal history of marital rape and the reality that it was not until recently
that men could be charged with raping their wives, it should not be surprising that
this has been an understudied area of research. While the past four decades have
seen an explosion of research and interest in the field of violence against women in
general, there is still a limited body of information about rape in marriage around
the world. It has been almost 40 years since Richard Gelles (1977) authored the first
journal article on this subject in the United States.
However, it was Diana Russell’s (1982) groundbreaking research and publica-
tion of her book, Rape in Marriage, that was essential in bringing this crime out of
the closet and raising awareness about the widespread nature of this problem. As
Russell (1990, 13) states, her goal in writing the original book was to “focus on an
ugly form of violation that occurs in many more marriages than most people would
like to believe.” In the first book ever published about rape in marriage, she drew on
interviews with 87 survivors to address the causal factors, prevalence, trauma, and
implications of this specific form of violence. Her rigorous research project, which
included a randomly selected representative sample of 930 women selected from
the San Francisco area, provided the first data about the prevalence of this problem.
Russell (1982) found that 14% of women who had ever been married had experi-
enced rape by their partners at least once.
These important data were further substantiated with the publication of David
Finkelhor and Kersti Yllo’s (1985) classic book, License to Rape: Sexual Abuse of
Wives. Drawing on interviews with survivors of wife rape, perpetrators of wife rape,
and a detailed analysis of the legal history of the issue, Finkelhor and Yllo explored
in great detail the causes of marital rape and the serious consequences. Significantly,
they argued eloquently for the criminalization of this form of violence. Their book
begins as follows:
In most of the United States, a man cannot be prosecuted for raping his wife.
Legally, he can sexually assault her in a dark alleyway. He can force her to sub-
mit with a knife at her throat. He can tie her up and have sex … against her
will. (1)
Finkelhor and Yllo point out that, despite the horrific nature of these actions, hus-
bands were immune from prosecution. The power of this statement was as startling
the first time read as it continues to be today.
Both of these books were critical in exposing the traditional tolerance for this
crime in the United States, and they motivated a new generation of researchers (me
included) to work to end this form of violence. In their groundbreaking works, these
sociologists were responsible for drawing public attention to this serious form of
violence against women that had been historically ignored due to a complex array of
legal, social, and familial factors about the subject of rape in marriage.
M A R I TA L R A PE I S N OT A “ M A R I TA L T I FF ”
In addition to addressing and drawing attention to this serious and widespread

social problem, the other significant contribution of these early works was to
provide important information about the serious physical and emotional impact
of marital rape. Rather than framing marital rape as a “marital tiff” or “disagree-
ment between partners,” the earliest work on marital rape indicated the severity of
women’s experiences of violence with their partners by drawing on interviews with
survivors (Bergen 1996; Finkelhor and Yllo 1985; Russell 1990). For example, in
Bergen’s (1996) qualitative research with survivors of wife rape, she documents the
experiences women endured with their partners and the various types of violence
that they experienced. As one survivor revealed, “Sometimes … he would push my
legs aside and force sex on me. Or he would grab my head and force me [to give him
oral sex]… . Other times he would beat the crap out of me in bed or hold a gun to
my head to force me” (15).
Some of the early research, in seeking to understand women’s experiences,
explored the question of whether the sexual violence occurred in a physically and
emotionally violent relationship or if it was a separate entity (Barshis 1983; Bidwell
and White 1986; Frieze 1983; Hanneke, Shields, and McCall 1986). Debates
occurred about whether rape in marriage should be categorized as a sexual violence
type of problem or under the umbrella of domestic violence. Russell (1982) estab-
lished that there was a relationship between marital rape and battering. Her research
revealed that 12% of women in her sample were battered, 10% were battered and
raped, and 4% experienced rape without battering. Similarly, Finkelhor and Yllo
(1985) argued that battered women were are at particularly high risk for sexual
violence, and that many women experienced what they called “battering rapes.”
Battering or physical violence may occur during the rape, after the rape, or prior to
the rape, which is common in that women are frequently beaten and then coerced
into having “makeup” sex (Bergen and Barnhill 2006; DeKeseredy et al. 2006).
However, it is important to understand that not all marital rape victims are bat-
tered wives. Finkelhor and Yllo (1985) found that a substantial number (40% of
women in their sample) experienced “force-only rape”; that is, their partners used
only the amount of force necessary to coerce their wives, and battering and physical
violence may not characterize their experiences of sexual violence.
Since these early studies were conducted, other important work has been done
to understand the intersection of sexual violence with physical and emotional abuse
and how women understand and define their experiences of sexual violence in mar-
riage (Basile 2002; Mahoney, Williams, and West 2001). An important finding is
the pervasive use of coercion or pressure that many women experience with their
partners. As Russell (1982) established decades ago, a significant number of women
(25% in her study) experience unwanted sexual experiences with their partners at
some point in their marriage. However, most would not identify their experiences
as rape. Given the historical perception that sex is implicit in the marital contract
and the understanding that wives cannot be raped by their partners, researchers
have sought to understand how women construct and define their own experiences.
Specifically, researchers have broadened their definitions of sexual violence within
intimate partnerships to include women’s experiences of “unwanted” or “coerced”
sex and that which is acquiesced to out of a sense of duty or wifely obligation (Basile
2002; Finkelhor and Yllo 1985; Stark 2007).
Stark’s argument of coercive control is particularly helpful in understanding this
point. He asserts that psychologically and emotionally abusive behavior—men’s
use of various strategies to intimidate, hurt, isolate, and dominate their partners—
is often subtle and difficult to detect by outsiders. However, this form of coercive
control is used in an attempt to “microregulate” everyday behavior and interactions
of their partners and secure masculine privileges—such as sex in marriage. Stark
(2007) argues that such behavior undermines women’s physical and psychological
integrity. As DeKeseredy and Schwartz (2011) found in their research with rural
women in Ohio, women who are raped by their partners suffer in immeasurable
ways, regardless of whether they are forced to have sex against their will or are
coerced or experience unwanted sexual acts when they are intoxicated or high or
unable to give consent.
In studying wife rape, both in the United States and globally, it is critical to
understand the power of this sense of duty or obligation. This perception contrib-
utes both to some men’s sense of entitlement to sex and to some women’s inability
to define their own experiences as rape. As Kelly (1990, 114) eloquently states, “In
order to define something, a word has to exist with which to name it … [and] the
name, once known, must be applicable to one’s own experience.” For women to con-
struct their experiences as wife rape, they must both have a language or a name for
the experience and see this societal definition as applicable to their own experiences
(Bergen 1996). As a survivor in Bergen’s study indicated, “I didn’t know it was rape.
I thought I had to because I was his wife—it was my duty” (1996, 40). This pervasive
belief continues to shape many women’s experiences given the lack of legislation
against wife rape and the cultural or religious norms that reinforce sex as an obliga-
tion of women in marriage.
T H E C O N S EQ U EN C ES O F M A R I TA L R A PE
Understanding how women experience rape in marriage and the serious and dan-
gerous consequences of this violence is a critical area of research (Browne 1987).
Increasingly, sociologists, psychologists, medical practitioners, and those in the
field of public health have worked to explore the diversity of women’s experiences
of violence and the continuum of violence that often changes over the course of
the relationship—particularly with pregnancy and childbearing and at times of
separation and divorce (Basile 2002; Breiding, Black, and Ryan 2008a, 2008b;
J. C. Campbell and Soeken 1999; DeKeseredy and Schwartz 2011; Mahoney,
Williams, and West 2001; Russell 1990). This growing body of research highlights
that it is this form of violence against women that often causes severe trauma, given
the severe sense of violation because the rapist is one’s partner. As a survivor shared
in Bergen’s (1996, 15) study, the rape was “the worst thing he could have done… .
It’s a violation of trust and commitment and the whole bit and compound it with
knowing my background (as a survivor of childhood sexual abuse), and it was the
worst thing he could have done to me.” Women who are raped by their partners
frequently experience immediate trauma similar to other rape survivors, such
as intense shock, fear, suicidal ideation, anxiety, and depression (Bergen 1996;
Stermac, del Bove, and Addison 2001). However, it is this sense of betrayal and vio-
lation of trust that can contribute to long-term consequences, such as depression,
sexual distress, sleeping disorders (particularly for women who are assaulted while
they sleep), distorted body image, anxiety, and problems establishing trusting rela-
tionships (Bergen and Barnhill 2006; Ullman and Siegel 1993).
Women who are raped by their husbands are likely to experience completed
sexual assaults; multiple assaults (often more than 20 incidents over the course of
the relationship); and a great sense of betrayal and violation because they are raped
by someone whom they love and trust (or presumably did at one time). Thus, it is
understandable that the psychological consequences are often severe (Kilpatrick

et al. 1988; Stermac, del Bove, and Addison 2001). In their research, Plichta and Falik
(2001) found that, compared to those women raped not by a partner and victims of
physical violence, women who were raped by their intimate partners are more likely
to be diagnosed with anxiety and depression. When compared to battered women,
marital rape survivors are more likely to suffer from a damaged body image as well
as diminished sexual desire and long-term trust issues (J. C. Campbell 1989). This
body of research indicates the importance of what Russell (1982) argued more than
30 years ago—t hat wife rape needs to be looked at in a nuanced way as a complex
form of violence—a nd thus, “Wife rape cannot and must not be subsumed under
the battered women rubric” (101). Nor can wife rape be subsumed under the sexual
assault rubric given the nature of the marital relationship. Instead, it must be recog-
nized as a distinctive form of violence given the trauma suffered by women raped by
their partners.
M A R I TA L R A PE AS A PU B L I C H E A LT H PR O B L EM
Some of the most important research in the United States over the past few decades
has emerged in the field of healthcare in an attempt to draw attention to the serious
physical and mental health effects of marital rape. Jacqueline Campbell et al.’s chap-
ter in this volume offers a fuller discussion of the public health research. In 1989,
Campbell and her colleagues published two important articles on the health con-
sequences of marital rape (J. C. Campbell 1989; J. C. Campbell and Alford 1989).
The works led to the framing of this form of violence as a public health problem by
providing empirical evidence of the prevalence and trauma that women who are
raped by their partners endure. Furthermore, these studies provided an original
call to action for healthcare providers to address the problem and provide compre-
hensive services to these survivors (Bohn and Parker 1993; J. C. Campbell 1989;
R. Campbell 1998). Historically in the United States, it was widely documented
that women who were raped by their partners were often hesitant to seek medical
services for a variety of reasons, including shame, embarrassment, fear of their part-
ner’s retribution, cultural or familial loyalty, or simply because they had never been
asked about sexual violence (R. Campbell 1998; Mahoney 1999; Weingourt 1985).
More recent research indicates that intimate violence survivors are likely
to seek healthcare services, particularly as the violence increases or intensifies
(J. C. Campbell 2002; Eby et al. 1995; Plichta 2007; Stermac, del Bove, and Addison
2001). Recognizing the connection between violence against women and physical
and mental health, the American Medical Association called for universal routine
screening for partner violence in 1992. However, as Macy, Ermentrout, and Johns
(2011) argue, universal adoption of violence screening did not occur, and even if
implemented, evidence was lacking that the screening was well done, effective, or
even safe for women. Most recently, the American College of Obstetricians and
Gynecologists issued a Futures Without Violence report that called on practitioners
to routinely address intimate partner violence, sexual coercion, and reproductive
coercion among their patients (Chamberlain and Levenson 2012).
Despite these advancements and calls to action, serious concerns have been
raised about the gap in healthcare service provision in the United States and globally.
For example, Macy, Ermentrout, and Johns (2011) argue that while there has been
growing awareness of the severity of the problem of violence against women in
the healthcare field, there remains a perception that intimate partner violence and
sexual violence are social problems and thus not a concern for healthcare provid-
ers. This view has limited the provision of adequate services and interventions to
survivors. Macy, Ermentrout, and Johns suggest “organizational, community and
systemic changes are needed to improve health care for violence survivors” (304).
As Campbell and colleagues identify in their chapter in this volume, there is a sub-
stantial need for greater evidence-based research on assessment, screening, inter-
vention, and medical advocacy and safety services to better meet the needs of wife
rape survivors.
M OV I N G FO RWA R D
While the past four decades have shown an increase in research on the topic of
marital rape, work remains to be done. For example, there is a great need for
research to understand why men, both in the United States and globally, rape
their wives (Bergen and Barnhill 2006). What are the causal factors and what are
the best practices for intervention and, more important, prevention? This is an
area in desperate need of research if we are going to ultimately prevent wife rape
and not merely support and care for survivors. Developing an understanding of
men and masculinity, as Daniel Smith’s chapter on Nigeria does, is an important
first step.
There is also a serious dearth of information about women’s experiences of mari-
tal rape globally. The international multicountry study of violence against women
conducted by the World Health Organization (García-Moreno et al. 2005) provides
powerful empirical evidence about the prevalence and implications of marital rape
around the world and is a critical step in addressing marital rape on the world stage.
However, more qualitative data are necessary to illuminate women’s experiences
of violence in other cultures so that we can understand the complexities of wom-
en’s experiences, how they define and construct their experiences of marital rape,
and how those experiences differ and are similar cross-culturally. This book is an
important step in addressing this serious gap in the literature by bringing together
researchers from the fields of anthropology, sociology, criminology, law, and public
health and providing a global lens with which to view this problem. In creating such
a collection, we acknowledge the pervasiveness of the patriarchal ideology that per-
manent consent to sex is implicit in the marriage contract, and we challenge that
construction.
More information is also needed about how women in marginalized communi-
ties experience marital rape and the resources needed to address this problem in the
United States and cross-culturally (Dasgupta 1998). Most significantly, there are
few monographs devoted specifically to the topic of marital rape or intimate partner
sexual violence and even fewer that address rape in the lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans-
gender, and questioning/queer (LGBTQ ) community. A notable exception to this
is Lori Girshick’s (2002) excellent work, Woman-to-Woman Sexual Violence, which
provides a critical analysis of how women experience sexual violence in same-sex
intimate partnerships.
Another area of research crucial to explore in greater detail is how to best assist
survivors of marital rape, both in a therapeutic sense and in navigating the crimi-
nal justice system (McOrmond-Plummer, Easteal, and Levy-Peck 2014). In 1982,
Russell argued for the need to provide more comprehensive services specifically to
survivors of marital rape. Bergen’s research reiterated this need in 1996. At that time,
it was unclear in the United States whether marital rape was treated as a domestic
violence or a sexual assault type of problem. Given the existent body of research, it is
abundantly clear that survivors of marital rape can and should be provided services
by both domestic violence and sexual assault programs. It is a problem that should
be “owned” by all (Bergen 2004). However, methods of service and best practices
are unclear in the United States and even more complex when cross-cultural factors
are taken into account. A study by Bergen in 2005 of US rape crisis centers, battered
women’s programs, and combination programs in the United States found some
areas of improvement reported by services providers, including offering shelter to
survivors and specifically addressing the issue of intimate partner rape in the mis-
sion statement of the organization. However, serious progress was still needed to
educate staff and volunteers about marital rape (only 60% of programs provided this
training) and to routinely include questions about intimate partner rape in assess-
ment instruments. Approximately half of the programs responded that they did this
on a regular basis, and frequently the question asked was, “Has your partner ever
raped you?” (Bergen 2005).
Asking such a question is not sufficient given many women’s hesitancy to define
their experiences as rape. As J. C. Campbell (1989) argued decades ago, women who
are raped by their partners must be asked specific behavioral questions in a sensi-
tive and nonjudgmental way for this information to be revealed. Most survivors of
marital rape will not voluntarily self-d isclose, and if a woman is asked about her
experiences in a way that seems to blame her, she might not choose to discuss her
experiences or seek help again (Bergen 1996; J. C. Campbell 1989; Russell 1990).
While there is a need for an updated version, Jane Doe Incorporated’s (1997)
Learning Institute created an important tool for educating advocates and practitio-
ners, Private Nightmares, Public Secrets. This provides important educational infor-
mation to those who regularly come into contact with survivors of intimate partner
sexual violence. The Australian publication by McOrmond-Plummer, Easteal, and
Levy-Peck (2014) is another critical resource for assisting survivors of wife rape and
is particularly helpful in offering a supportive, therapeutic response to survivors.
A final area that must be addressed more comprehensively is research and advo-
cacy in the fields of law and criminal justice response. The legal arena is one that has
historically confronted the problem of wife rape; in fact, much of the early research
on marital rape was published in law review journals (Drucker 1979; Eskow 1996;
Sitton 1993). More recently, researchers such as Jackson (2015) and McMahon,
Clay-Warner, and Renzulli (2009) have provided an analysis of marital rape crimi-
nalization across the United States and how the law reflects political resources as
well as other factors, such as racial heterogeneity and socioeconomic resources of
those within the state. There is a need for more detailed information about the legal
status of marital rape globally and how these laws are enacted and applied. At a min-
imum, criminalization of this problem is necessary in every country. As Jackson
(2015, 303) argues, “The unrestricted criminalization of marital rape represents a
significant political victory for women. Beyond its potential to improve women’s
safety from spousal abuse—a n important outcome that is beyond the scope of this
analysis—unrestricted criminalization also expands women’s rights to bodily self-
control and personhood.” Currently, more than 100 countries have criminalized
this form of violence. Despite public outcry, countries such as Thailand have seen
marital rape legislation enacted and cases prosecuted (“Thailand Outlaws Marital
Rape,” 2007). However, numbers about reporting, prosecution, and outcomes of
legal recourse remain scarce in the United States and around the world. More infor-
mation is needed to examine the legal and social advances that are necessary to
eradicate this problem.
Ultimately, conceptualizing wife rape as a human rights issue is critically impor-
tant. As Susan Brownmiller (1975, 381) wrote in her classic book on rape 40 years
ago, sexual assault “is an invasion of bodily integrity and a violation of freedom
and self-determination wherever it happens to take place, in or out of the marriage
bed… . Compulsory sexual intercourse is not a husband’s right in marriage, for
such a ‘right’ gives lie to any concept of equality and human dignity.” While we have
made significant progress in criminalizing this problem and raising awareness that
this is a serious form of violence against women with very real consequences, the
problem is still far too pervasive and unresolved.
3
Cross-Cultural Studies
of Gender-Based Violence
Holistic Approaches for Marital Rape Research
JENNIFER R. WIES AND HILLARY J. HALDANE
A N T H R O P O LO GY, C U LT U R E,
A N D G EN D ER- B AS ED V I O L EN C E
Anthropology has a long-standing history examining violence in a cross-cultural

context.1 However, the anthropology of gender-based violence is a relatively new
development. The scope of gender-based violence includes any act that results in, or
is likely to result in, physical, sexual, or psychological harm or suffering to women,
including threats of such acts, coercion, or arbitrary deprivation of liberty, whether
occurring in public or in private life, and including domestic violence; crimes com-
mitted in the name of honor; crimes committed in the name of passion; traffick-
ing in women and girls; traditional practices harmful to women, including female
genital mutilation, early and forced marriages, female infanticide, dowry-related
violence and deaths, acid attacks; and violence related to commercial sexual exploi-
tation as well as economic exploitation.2
This expansive definition is illustrative of the broad scope that the anthro-
pology of gender-based violence has embraced since the publication of the 1992
volume Sanctions and Sanctuary: Cultural Perspectives on the Beating of Wives
(Counts, Brown, and Campbell 1992). Recent studies include Plesset’s (2006)
fieldwork in a domestic violence shelter in Italy, which examines the institutions
that respond to gender-based violence; Alcalde’s (2010) study tracing women’s
domestic violence experiences as they intersect with state-imposed structures
of inequality and violence in Peru; and Parson’s (2013) analysis of how Chilean
people confront inequalities that support the persistence of violence. Political
and legal anthropologists also have contributed by analyzing cultural systems
that manage acts of gender-based violence. Adelman’s (2004) work is exemplary
of this approach, as she has studied policies that specifically challenge structural
inequalities.
Amidst these thematic inquiries, anthropologists have also specifically addressed
sexual violence, including rape. In a pioneering work in the field, Sanday (1981b)
analyzed 95 band and tribal societies to determine characteristics associated with
“rape-free” and “rape-prone” practices, offering a framework for linking violence
against women with other cultural patterns. More recently, Baxi’s (2014b) article in
Annual Review of Anthropology examined the cultural systems that maintain silence
concerning rape.
The anthropological approach is unique in that anthropologists seek to under-
stand violence in light of a holistic understanding of the local context. An immer-
sive, field-based approach serves to “present unfamiliar ideas or introduce new ways
of presenting existing phenomena” (Adelman et al. 2008, 514). The very notions of
“rape,” and especially of “marital rape,” as forms of gender-based violence are gen-
erated within a cultural context and are embedded within expectations for sexual
expression, marital fidelity, and heteronormative behavior. This understanding
of rape as culturally produced does not nullify the need to prevent it. Rather, the
assertion that emerges from anthropological studies is that violence must be stud-
ied in its totality: as a part of a culture’s history, kinship, and economic system.
P OW ER , G EN D ER , A N D R A PE
Studies of gender-based violence illustrate how powerfully the notion of rape con-
trols women’s movement and sense of self in many cultural contexts. In the West, 3
sexual violence is often viewed as “any sexual act that a woman submits to against
her will due to force, threat of force, or coercion” (Mahoney, Williams, and West
2001, 150). This definition includes a range of unwanted sexual actions, including
rape. The majority of Western definitions of rape are focused on acts conducted
on and with the genitals. This can include the insertion of objects into bodily ori-
fices or penetration of the body with a person’s genitals. The fondling of a woman’s
breasts alone is not considered rape; however, it would be considered a form of
sexual assault.
One feminist understanding of sexual violence sees rape as a brutalizing, horrific
act that is laden with power:
To show power and anger through rape— a s opposed to mugging or

assault—men are calling on lessons women learn from society, from history
and religion, to defile, degrade and shame in addition to inflicting physical
pain. Rapists have learned, as have their victims, that to rape is to do some-
thing worse than to assault. (Gordon and Riger 1989, 45; see also Koss and
Harvey 1991)
In Western feminist research, advocacy, and activism, rape is often constructed

as an act of power rather than simply a sex act (see Brownmiller 1975). It is this
understanding of rape that informs the models for defining rape and designing
interventions and responses that are exported globally from the West. Rape—as
Cross-Cultural Studies of Gender-Based Violence 31
a gendered form of violence—is often experienced in the West in conjunction with

fear. As Griffin (1971, 26) states:
I have never been free of the fear of rape. From a very early age I, like most
women, have thought of rape as part of my natural environment—something
to be feared and prayed against like fire and lightning. I never asked why men
raped; I simply thought it one of the many mysteries of human nature.
Reflecting a Western cultural worldview, Griffin situates men, who use their bod-
ies as weapons, as the perpetrators of rape against individual women’s bodies. The
dominant construction of rape in Western societies is individualized and so, too, is
the fear.
Ethnographic studies illustrate the variability in the cultural construction
of what the body is and what can be done to it, for ill or for good. One powerful
example of this is from Helliwell’s (2000) work with the Borneo Dayak peoples of
Southwest Kalimantan, Indonesia. In her work, Helliwell discovers that the Dayak
do not have a word for rape, sexual assault, or anything similar in their vocabu-
lary. While men are seen as slightly more powerful in their society, the Dayak
worldview constructs men and women as complementary and equal counterparts.
Importantly, their genitalia are seen as being equal and necessarily meshing with
one another. For the Dayak, then, according to Helliwell’s analysis, the penis is
not harmful because it cannot inflict pain. This is a substantially different cul-
tural understanding of what a penis can do from the Western view. The Western
ideal is that a man can use his penis to penetrate and therefore inflict harm on a
woman. He can use his ability of penetration to brutalize women, which makes
the penis a thing to be feared. This does not mean that forced sex is nonexistent in
the Dayak community, but the meaning of the act is different if you do not fear the
penetration in the same way. This perspective is not an excuse to allow rape in the
Dayak community or anywhere else, but it provides a useful example of how cross-
culturally men and women think of their bodies in relation to each other, and what
constitutes a sex act.
Among Western cultures, rape is imagined as a mechanism for the assertion
of power. The Dayak example illustrates that outside the Western imaginary, the
notion of using the body as a weapon through rape is differently constructed. Thus,
we can come to an understanding that to define the meaning of rape, which is to
say the way that individuals understand and problematize rape in their own cul-
tural situations, also requires the simultaneous deconstruction of our own notions
of power, gender, and rape and the construction of an expanded understanding of
power and gender to theorize rape. Recognizing that rape is constructed and inter-
nalized by societal members, as an execution of power, problematizes a perception
that marital rape is solely an act of gender-based violence.
K I N S H I P, M A R R I AG E, A N D T H E C U LT U R A L
C O N ST R U CT I O N O F C O N S EN T
To situate rape, consent, and what constitutes marriage in a cross-cultural per-

spective, it is also useful to explore kinship and, by extension, marriage. The
anthropological literature on kinship and related notions of what constitutes an

individual, the definition of personhood, and the ways composite identities contrib-
ute to family, band, and tribal notions of a group is vast and temporally deep. As
noted by Parkin and Stone (2004, 2):
Kinship obviously involves relationships, which in the Western, quasi-scien-

tific view frequently means relationships that are based on the biological con-
nections created through sex and birth, or conception and parturition… . Yet
even here a certain and, in some parts of the Western world, increasing num-
ber of relationships of kinship can only be described as social, since there is
open recognition that they are essentially substitutes for a relationship that is
normally defined biologically, as with adoption, fostering, and step-relations.
(emphasis added)
As a social construction and a biological fact, kinship helps us understand how

individuals in a culture define their relatedness and, by extension, the rights and
responsibilities that bind individuals in a system of social organization. Indeed,
the centrality of kinship to studies of cultural phenomena is outlined by Sahlins
(2013, 28):
Not only should kinship and personhood be disentangled, but for under-
standing kinship, much is gained by privileging intersubjective being over the
singular person as the composite site of multiple others… . Intrinsic to each
other, as Janet Carsten put it, kinsmen are people who live each other’s lives
and die each other’s deaths.
Sahlins continues:
If love and nurture, giving food or partaking it together, working together, liv-
ing from the same land, mutual aid, sharing the fortunes of migration and resi-
dence, as well as adoption and marriage, are so many grounds of kinship, they
all know with procreation the meaning of participating in one another’s life.
I take the risk: all means of constituting kinship are in essence the same. (29)
The cross-c ultural context of kinship and marriage provides an additional

mechanism for theorizing rape and marriage in diverse cultures, where the
notions of relatedness and partnerships are differently constructed. Therefore, to
conceptualize rape that occurs in marriage, we must also understand what mar-
riage is and how it functions in a particular culture. To understand how people
conceptualize consent in marriage and what constitutes a sex act, it is critical to
examine the rules of marriage. In Western societies, individuals who are married
are allowed to exercise in gyms or attend yoga with others, join book groups with
others, and work in wage labor settings with others. Yet, most Western marriages
are premised on the notion that sex acts will be performed only between the
two individuals in the marriage. You can read books with other men and women,
but sex is to occur only with your spouse. Therefore, unwritten social rules exist
about this relationship, but there is no clear listing of sexual expectations in mar-
riage: How often should partners have sex? Who is allowed to initiate it? To what
purpose does sex serve? In other words, Western society sets up the expectation
that sex will be a part of marriage. Yet, there are no clear rules about the fre-
quency, rights, and obligations in that expression.
H O U S EH O L D EC O N O M I ES, S E X , A N D V I O L EN C E
Conceptualizing rape in marriage as a product of and contextualized by kinship

does not lessen the need to consider ways to reduce its occurrence. It does, however,
afford a valuable lead to an analysis that could explain challenges to defining what
constitutes rape in the first place and barriers to ending its perpetration. Kinship is
not singularly about marriage, but marriage is a critical component of kinship. Thus,
violence that occurs within marriage is enmeshed in a complex set of relationships
that serve as building blocks for social organization.
Furthermore, it is necessary to think of what kinship and marriage do in society,
and the related function of reproduction, as well as how this relates to the expansion
and extension of the household. According to Robertson (1991, 9):
In many societies, having sex is not a private affair, but in the interest of the
wider kin group and household. While the details of sexual intercourse may be
kept by and large between the people involved in the act, the outcome of sexual
intercourse is of deep economic and social interest to a wide range of people.
Wardlow’s (2006) research with the Huli in Papua New Guinea offers a useful
example of how this recognition confounds simplified notions of sex and the
economies of households. In her study of women who exchange sex for money,
she explains why this practice is not easily rendered as “prostitution” in the
Western sense:
Because female sexuality is conceptualized as a resource produced by and for a

woman’s family and clan, when Huli passenger women exchange sex for money
they are seen as accepting compensation for something that does not belong to
them. In other words, the money a passenger woman receives when she “pros-
titutes” herself is not conceptualized by her kin as a discrete payment to her
for her sexual services; rather, she is seen as stealing a resource that rightfully
belongs to them. (167)
In other words, a woman’s vagina is not merely an individual’s genitalia. It is the

locus of genealogy, lineage survival, and a wider social group. Therefore, rape
is something that happens, but its threat is beyond the exploitation of the indi-
vidual attacked. Wardlow’s work is useful for understanding the implications of
rape as an assault on a wider group of kin and an act that potentially threatens
the lineage:
The threat of rape looms large in the everyday consciousness of Huli

women: until women are married and have a few children, they rarely stray
from familiar territory alone, and most would never walk to town or a dis-
tant garden without a husband or brother to accompany them. I, for one, was
never allowed to go anywhere alone when I lived in rural areas, and when
living in Tari I was warned not to wander off the road circling the airstrip,
and even to avoid walking on this quite central road after about 3:00 pm,
when Tari emptied out and only small groups of young men loitered about
playing darts. The high prevalence of sexual violence was often discussed,
though its proposed causes varied. Some people attributed rape to the jelas
(excessive sexual desire) of the modern generation of men who had not
been properly schooled in traditional mana about the importance of sexual-
avoidance taboos. Others asserted that violent sexual behavior stemmed
from madane (rancor, resentment) about women’s increased autonomy and
bighed-ness (willfulness, autonomy, impertinence), and was motivated by a
desire to control and punish women. Others said that the loosening restric-
tions on women were to blame: women no longer stayed in the anda (domes-
tic realm), as they were supposed to, and some men simply took advantage of
the opportunities that this situation presented. Whatever people’s thoughts
about the causes of sexual violence, there was agreement that the nature of
rape had changed: no longer only directed at the men to whom a female vic-
tim was connected, it often seemed to have more to do with the individual
woman herself. (144)
Wardlow notes the way that rape has changed due to broader political-economic
transformations in Huli society. More men and women have access to wage labor
opportunities, upending the formal subsistence economy and the related gendered
division of labor that existed. Thus, the postindustrial market economy allows a
woman to “sell” her family’s property and to keep the rewards for herself. A forced
sexual assault now is targeted at individuals, removing the wider family from
responsibility.
Furthermore, households are formed by individuals united in a marital bond and
contain within them generations above and below the marital dyad. These house-
holds typically operate as the fundamental unit of reproduction. As Robertson
(1991, 17) precisely notes:
The social rules which tell us how we should set about the business of
reproduction come to us with the full weight of long-established social cus-
tom: they are the result of numerous generations trying to make sense of the
task of creating new life in a particular environment, and they have force
today because they affect a large number of people. Some of these ideas are
so rigid (for example, “don’t have sex with a sibling”) that they are not often
discussed. Others which indicate the latitude for choice (“it’s best to marry
within your own ethnic group”) are often the subject of heated discussion.
Some ideals are very explicit (“get married before you have a baby”) while
others have a more subtle expression (the celebration of a long and respect-
able marriage in a Golden Wedding). Norms about reproduction are embod-
ied in laws and rituals, names and proverbs, dress and deportment, poetry
and gossip. But living up to these ideals is also a struggle in which some
people very evidently hold a strategic advantage. And periodically the norms
themselves go out of fashion—new experiences force a change in shared
ideals.
A PPLY I N G A N T H R O P O LO GY TO R A PE
I N M A R R I AG E: TOWA R D A H O L I ST I C A PPR OAC H
The anthropology of gender-based violence provides a foundation for defining,

measuring, and understanding rape in marriage across cultures. From cross-
cultural ethnographic research, key themes related to culture and political economy
emerge as foundational tenets of pursuing a holistic approach to the study of rape
in marriage.
Accessing Culture Through Ethnography
By 1990, when anthropologists centered “violence” in intimate relationships as wor-

thy of study, anthropology was a couple of decades behind the other social sciences,
and in large part our theorizing diverged in important ways from them. The disci-
pline placed considerable value on cultural relativism for understanding the types
of violence that particular social institutions allowed and what people actually
thought of their behavior in situ. The 1990s were an important decade for address-
ing violence: The Violence Against Women Act was passed in the United States, the
United Nations assigned the first special rapporteur for violence against women,
and the anthropologists Counts and Campbell’s (1992, 1999) volumes on violence
were published. This ushered in a shift in thinking about, and methodological and
theoretical frameworks for studying, violence, and the notion of culture became a
pivotal variable.
Anthropology is rooted in a long-term commitment to take seriously how people
in any cultural context understand and explain their lives. It is difficult to identify
how we can impose a foreign concept such as rape—much less marital rape—onto
the behavior of others. Our goal has always been to uncover the ways people explain
their own behaviors, in their own terms, with the hope that we can learn something
broadly about the human experience through cross-cultural comparison.
Situating Inequality via Political Economy
What becomes apparent in the historic and current state of the anthropology of
gender-based violence is that violence is embedded in, and productive of, other
cultural systems. When we consider variability across cultures, we can also begin
to document how cultural contexts are shaped by and respond to macrostructural
forces and the unequal distribution of global resources. Attention to these power
issues leads to a recognition that a political and economic analysis is central to
analyses of gender-based violence. Rather than focus exclusively on gender-based
violence at the individual level, a political-economic framework, particularly when
applied to cross-cultural studies, situates acts of violence in the historical context of
societies organized through social inequalities. In anthropology, political economy
is a theoretical perspective used for examining biological and social reproduction as
it relates to the distribution of resources in both capitalist and noncapitalist societies
to emphasize the ways social actors culturally construct power, gender relations, and
kinship dynamics (Lancaster and di Leonardo 1997; Mintz 1986; Roseberry 1998;
Wolf 2001). Anthropological studies of violence that incorporate an explicit politi-

cal economic analysis include Hautzinger’s (2007) work in Brazil, di Leonardo’s
(1997) examination of rape, Adelman’s (2004) analysis of poverty and violence, and
Wies and Haldane’s (2011) volume Anthropology at the Front Lines of Gender-Based
Violence. All of these works are grounded in a political-economic framework. These
studies complement work carried out in sociology, where the focus has been specifi-
cally on abuse in developed capitalist contexts to understand how macrostructural
forces affect local-level power relations (Roseberry 1998; Wolf 2001).
Cross-cultural studies of gender-based violence document the usefulness of
a multiscalar analysis of victims, perpetrators, frontline workers, aid providers,
healthcare workers, and others who may experience the consequences of gender-
based violence policy and law (Haldane 2011; Richter 2011; Wies 2009, 2011; Wies
and Coy 2013). Wies and Haldane (2011, 9) argue:
By approaching gender-based violence from a political-economic perspec-

tive, rather than individualizing the behavior, [this approach] demonstrate[s]‌
that global discourses of gender-based violence circulate in local settings and
are occasionally translated into culturally appropriate frameworks (Merry
2006[a]) while highlighting each setting’s distinct and culturally specific
approach to, and understanding of, the problem of gender-based violence.
Through a lens of structural inequalities, a political economic approach to studying

rape in marriage takes into account the diversity of kinship, marriage, and house-
hold structures across cultures and shows how these systems are subject to different
stressors and forces according to additional cultural processes such as gender, race,
and socioeconomic status (see Bolles 2001, 2002; Mullings 1995).
A political economy perspective makes explicit how necessary attention to
notions of kinship and households is for understanding the reasons violence occurs,
as well as for questioning what appears on the surface to be an implicit acceptance of
abuse as a normalized facet of life. A principal conclusion from such a holistic under-
standing of rape in marriage must be that the interwoven cultural systems that help
define and mobilize individual’s roles and powers in a society must be taken into
account to inform effective policy, law, and intervention services.
C O N C LU S I O N
An understanding of rape in marriage that takes into account cultural variation

and political economy recognizes the diversity of experiences held by victims
of gender-based violence while prompting the identification of common issues
that could be addressed as part of a global response. Such an understanding of
rape in marriage is necessary to advocate for culturally specific and locally mean-
ingful ways of addressing sexual violence, including rape, in marriage. Over the
past 40 years, well-intentioned work has been conducted to address gender-
based violence. Unfortunately, the majority of the solutions have been drawn
from Western frameworks of what constitutes ideal relationships, individuals,
and sexualities. These frameworks have often been imposed on others as part of
Western efforts to help “develop” the non-Western world. Human rights–based
approaches have been useful for creating legal frameworks concerning issues
that are broadly categorized as gender-based violence, but the categorizations
implied in human rights–based approaches are often drawn from elite under-
standings superimposed on local cultural contexts. Qualitative and field-based
research offers new and nuanced understandings of victim and survivor experi-
ences. Ethnographic methods, in particular, are also useful for identifying the
heterogeneity of ideas in any local context. For example, while there may be indi-
viduals in one village who think it is acceptable to force your wife to have sex,
other members of the village may think differently.
Furthermore, a critical, cross-c ultural approach for studying rape in marriage
can help to identify the ways that contemporary Western responses to violence
fall short of meeting local needs in different societies. The approach to ending
rape thus far has been to push, from international bodies down to local context,
legalistic and punitive measures rather than seeking solutions built on commu-
nity consensus about people’s rights and what constitutes abuse. This is most
striking in the Dayak and Huli examples mentioned in the body of this chapter.
Many societies still understand their relationships with others in terms of wider
kinship and household dynamics. How might universal frameworks for ending
rape be changed or modified to move away from individualistic understandings
of the self and rights and consider how groups of people conceptualize their place
in the world? How might each culture’s voices and circumstances point to prom-
ising avenues in the efforts against violence? Allowing people to identify the bar-
riers to violence-f ree lives, and taking seriously their perspectives, drawn from
holistic and intimate engagements, can inform a more holistic approach to the
goal of ending violence.
Notes
1. See the chapter “Ethnographic Notes From the Front Lines of Gender-Based
Violence” in Anthropology at the Front Lines of Gender-Based Violence (Wies and
Haldane 2011) for a detailed account of this history.
2. Declaration on Elimination of Violence Against Women, G.A. Res. 48/104, U.N.
Doc. A/R ES/48/104 (Dec. 20, 1993).
3. For the purposes of this chapter, we take the West to be societies that deliver their
jurisprudence on the premise that it is secular and universal, as well as societies
that are either European or heavily influenced by European populations.
SECTION II
The Lived Experience

of Rape in Marriage in
Cross-Cultural Context
4
Modern Marriage, Masculinity,

and Intimate Partner
Violence in Nigeria
DANIEL JORDAN SMITH
I N T R O D U CT I O N
Adaku’s husband, Ifeanyi, was a notorious drunk.1 When he drank, he sometimes

beat her, especially when she complained about his philandering and his frequent
failure to provide money for food and for the children’s school fees. Despite the
beatings, Adaku did not relent in her criticism of her husband. On the contrary, she
frequently carried her complaints to her family and to Ifeanyi’s kin. She made no
pretense of “loving” her husband. She simply wanted him to meet his obligations
to provide for her and their children. In her mind, the chief obstacles to his doing
so were his drinking and his infidelity. Ifeanyi’s primary objection to his wife’s con-
duct was that she had neither appreciation for his efforts to provide for his family nor
sympathy for how difficult that is in Nigeria.
Their respective kin had made many interventions to try to make peace between
them. During these mediations, Ifeanyi would promise to curtail his drinking and
better support his family, and Adaku would vow to try not to provoke her husband’s
temper. But, the cycle of violence and reconciliation continued for many years.
Sometimes, Adaku would move out of her husband’s house to stay with her natal kin
for weeks, and even months, at a time. But, eventually, she always went back. While
separations are common, divorce is rare and stigmatized in the region of southeast-
ern Nigeria where they live. In addition, their Igbo tribe is mostly patrilineal and
children belong to a man and his lineage. A woman who divorces her husband will
likely lose custody of her offspring; even a woman like Adaku saw the permanent
dissolution of her marital union as untenable.
Having lived and worked periodically in southeastern Nigeria for over 25 years,
my impression is that most men do not beat their wives. Indeed, excessive violence
by men against women or children is culturally unacceptable. But, the idea that a
4 2 L ived E x perience of R ape in M arriage
man has the authority to hit his wife or children if they defy him is widely accepted,
or at least tolerated, as long as he does not do so too frequently and he does not cause
undue injury. In this context, instances of intimate partner violence within marriage
often go unreported. Further, even if friends, neighbors, or kin are aware of violence,
it can stay at the level of the unremarkable as long as the effects are not too brutal.
In long-term research in Ubakala, a semirural community in southeastern Nigeria,
I have had the opportunity to witness the aftermath of several instances of intimate
partner violence. These were all cases of men who beat their wives. I observed the
ensuing interventions (and frequently the lack thereof) and resultant conversations
among kin and community members. It is notable that I never heard a wife complain
specifically of rape or sexual violence on the part of her husband, and I did not hear
others in the community talk about their concerns regarding domestic violence in
these terms. It is indeed unclear to me how frequent marital rape really was. This
is partly because many people in southeastern Nigeria—especially men, but also
women—do not recognize the category of marital rape. While the problem of rape
in general is deeply shrouded in Nigerian society, marital rape in particular is com-
monly considered an oxymoron. Few married women couch their complaints about
domestic violence in the idiom of rape, even when what occurs might be considered
so in the interpretation of outsiders and some Nigerians. Many women either share
the cultural logic that marital rape is a contradiction in terms or recognize that, given
prevailing social norms, such a complaint would be unrecognized and even coun-
terproductive. Men, by and large, reject the very concept of marital rape. They see
women’s sexual consent in marriage as taken for granted, and some men view beat-
ing, or at least slapping, their wives and children as a man’s prerogative.
This chapter explores the ways that ongoing social changes have affected the
context of intimate partner violence in southeastern Nigeria. At the core of these
changes are transformations and contestations around gender dynamics. Many
aspects of the contemporary situation, such as increasing levels of education and
employment for women and widely circulating global norms about gender equal-
ity, appear to push against gender-based violence. I argue that exploring masculin-
ity and the perceived challenges to patriarchy must be at the core of understanding
and addressing intimate partner violence. But, rather than simply condemning male
behavior, we must put it in context. This should not be interpreted to excuse men’s
violence, but it is absolutely necessary to curb it.
In addition to the problems of patriarchy, “modern” relationship ideals, such as
the increasingly popular belief that marriage should be grounded in romantic love,
can also deprive women of traditional avenues for protection via kinship and com-
munity. This is generally not (or not solely) because a union that is negotiated outside
the avenues of arranged marriage has no support from kin. Instead, women’s lack of
recourse to kin often comes because both parties are invested in the public appear-
ance of modernity. As I show, to acknowledge philandering, violence, or unhappi-
ness in a love union often threatens the very grounds of a woman’s achievement of
personhood through her choice of marriage. When combined with reassertions of
patriarchy, including ideas promoted in popular Pentecostal churches, new chal-
lenges to understanding and preventing intimate partner violence arise.
Drawing on several case studies, the chapter focuses on the ways that wider social
changes reverberate in the most intimate arenas of life, particularly at the intersec-
tion of gender, morality, and violence. I analyze the occurrence, meanings, and
Modern Marriage, Masculinity, and IPV in Nigeria 43
social responses to cases of intimate partner violence in marriage in contemporary

Nigeria in the context of transformations in the region’s political economy, kinship
practices, gendered social organization, and religious landscape. I pay particular
attention to men’s lives and the ways that changing ideas and practices of masculin-
ity intersect with and help explain the dynamics of intimate partner violence.
D O M EST I C V I O L EN C E A N D M A R I TA L R A PE I N N I G ER I A
In the last decade or so, the topic of domestic violence in general (and marital rape in
particular, albeit to a lesser extent) has begun to be addressed by both scholars and
advocates in Nigeria. As feminist discourses have circulated globally in the same
era that gender relations themselves are changing due to increasing levels of edu-
cation, growing urbanization, rising female participation in the formal labor force,
and a range of other interconnected factors, it is now common to find local civil soci-
ety groups such as nongovermental organizations (NGOs) advocating for greater
awareness of intimate partner violence and more measures to protect women
(Onyejekwe 2008). The NGOs promoting women’s rights tend to be based in the
national capital, Abuja, and the country’s commercial capital, Lagos, and sometimes
in state capitals. Many run projects and do advocacy work in smaller cities and rural
areas, but rights-based language regarding domestic violence and rape has not yet
reached places like Ubakala with significant effect.
Further, all efforts to specifically outlaw marital rape through federal legislation
or statutes have failed. In fact, the Nigerian Criminal Code expressly legalizes mari-
tal rape by exempting any sexual relations between a husband and his wife from the
category of rape generally. Section 6 of the code clarifies the definition of rape as
follows: “Unlawful carnal knowledge means carnal connection which takes place
otherwise than between husband and wife” (quoted in Chika 2011, 42). While it
is surely not the case that a law against marital rape would by itself be sufficient to
address the problem of marital rape in Nigeria, law—as Sally Engle Merry (2006a)
has shown—can be a significant force in social and cultural change. But, as Saida
Hodzic (2009) has observed in Ghana, getting national legislatures dominated by
men to pass laws against marital rape can be highly politicized and difficult. The
four rationales opposing marital rape laws identified by Kwaku Ansa-A nsare (2003)
in Ghana are common in Nigeria as well: (a) such ideas are foreign imposed; (b)
such laws would threaten African family and culture; (c) domestic violence is best
adjudicated privately, within families and communities, rather than by the fed-
eral government; and (d) traditional authorities should mediate such disputes. As
Hodzic notes for Ghana, in Nigeria it tends to be men who hold and promote these
views and who dominate the corridors of legal power, although I also sometimes
heard women voice these ideas.
Data on marital rape in Nigeria are scant, in no small part because of the difficulty
of measuring a phenomenon widely believed to be a conceptual paradox. But, one
study conducted in two communities, one rural and one urban, in the same general
region in southeastern Nigeria as Ubakala (my primary research site) suggests that
domestic violence is extremely common, and the incidence of rape in general is high
(Okemgbo, Omideyi, and Odimegwu 2002). This study found that nearly 80% of
women had been battered by their male partners (with battery defined as anything
from a single slap to more violent beating). Most people in Ubakala would not con-
sider a slap to be battery. While I find it hard to believe that 80% of men in Nigeria
have ever slapped their wives, much less beaten them, the study does suggest a con-
tradiction between scholarly and local definitions of what counts as violence.
The same paper further documents that approximately 21% of women reported
having ever been forced to have sexual intercourse against their will. However,
imprecision in the way the data were collected (or reported) makes it difficult to
parse violence and rape that occurred before marriage versus within marriage or
whether women’s understandings regarding what qualifies as rape were different
inside and outside marriage. Indeed, one might imagine that because of the cul-
tural belief that women must be sexually available to their husbands, they might
frequently have sex with their husbands when they do not want to, but without any
explicit issue of consent. It seems evident from this study and others in Nigeria that
marital rape is difficult for Nigerian women to prevent or report and perhaps also
even to identify (Aihie 2009; Esere, Idowu, and Durosaro 2009; Onyejekwe 2008).
A report by a women’s advocacy group headed by a Nigerian law professor enu-
merates not only why the Nigerian government has failed to criminalize marital
rape, but also why it remains so difficult to address more generally:
First of all, the fact that marital rape is not known to be a serious social offence,
because although such cases exist, most of them go unreported. Second,
women that live with their husbands feel that reporting marital rape would
have a negative impact on the marriage, family reputation and children. Third,
the fact that it is extremely difficult to establish any case of rape in Nigeria
and this means that marital rape, which occurs behind closed doors, is even
more difficult to establish. Fourth, the culture dictates a situation in which
married women are controlled in all respects by their husbands including in
their sexual reproductive lives, therefore the idea of forced sex does not exist
because the wife is expected to always submit to the husband’s demands in all
instances regardless of her own feelings. (Okonkwo 2003, 18)
While I would quibble with the extent to which men’s control of women is under-
stood by ordinary Nigerians to be so complete (a view my own observations of exer-
tions of female agency in southeastern Nigeria also challenges), I would nonetheless
be hard pressed to offer a better summary of the situation. My goal in the remainder
of this chapter is to explain why this situation persists and in particular to connect it
to three factors that I think are central to the story: the rise of love as a relationship
ideal for marriage; the performance of masculinity in contemporary Nigeria; and
the role of increasingly popular Pentecostal churches in responding to challenges to
patriarchy in marriage and gender relations in southeastern Nigeria.
LOV E, M A R R I AG E, A N D V I O L EN C E
It is common in southeastern Nigerian discourse for masculine authority in the

domestic sphere to be justified on the grounds of a model of marital relations sym-
bolized by men’s payment of bridewealth. When a couple marries, it is almost univer-
sally expected that the husband and his family will provide agreed-on gifts in cash
and in kind to the wife’s family in exchange for their consent and participation in the
socially shared project of a marriage. This occurs regardless of whether the union
is deemed a love marriage or one that is explicitly arranged by the couple’s fami-
lies. Anthropologists have been insistent for decades that bridewealth payments are
not tantamount to purchasing a wife (Bledsoe and Pison 1994; Comaroff 1980).
Bridewealth systems are complex social arrangements in which extended families
and communities create social ties rather than simply transferring a woman’s repro-
ductive capacity from her natal family to her husband and his family (Ogbu 1978;
Tambiah 1989). Bridewealth payments mark the beginning of relations rather than
the conclusion of a single transaction. Most Nigerians I know can comfortably and
fluently explain the socially embedded character of bridewealth and marriage in
their society.
But, it is nevertheless common to hear people explain and justify masculine
authority and a man’s privileged sexual access to his wife in terms of a simplified
notion that bridewealth (and therefore marriage) entitles a man to certain rights
over his wife. Indeed, on the occasions when I asked men (and on much rarer occa-
sions, women 2) about the possibility of marital rape in their society, I was commonly
told that there could be no such thing because a man was entitled to sexual access
to his wife whenever he wanted or needed it. While most men agreed that a man
should not have sex with his wife in a given moment if she did not consent, this was
usually overridden by the belief that a woman should always consent. Many women
also agreed with the proposition that part of a woman’s marital obligation was to
be sexually available to her husband. All of this complicates the concept of mari-
tal rape. When consent is presumed, rape is difficult to conceptualize, much less
prevent. With regard to the invocation of bridewealth as the justification for men’s
sexual access to their wives, I think it is best understood as symbolic in people’s
minds of a larger set of norms and practices rather than the actual reason for them.
In recent times the expectations, meanings, and practices of marriage in south-
eastern Nigeria have changed significantly, with consequences for the way gender,
intimacy, and domestic violence are understood and negotiated. In Nigeria, as
across Africa, evidence indicates that people are increasingly likely to select mar-
riage partners based, at least in part, on whether they are “in love” (Obiechina 1973;
Okonjo 1992; Smith 2001). The emergence of romantic love as a criterion in spousal
selection and the increasing importance of a couple’s personal, emotional relation-
ship in marriage should not be interpreted to mean that romantic love itself has only
recently emerged in Nigeria. Scholars have documented the existence of romantic
love in Africa long before it became a widely accepted criterion for marriage (Bell
1995; Plotnicov 1995). As Obiechina (1973, 34) notes: “The question is not whether
love and sexual attraction as normal human traits exist within Western and African
societies, but how they are woven into the fabric of life.”
Exactly when Nigerians in general and Igbos in particular began to conceptual-
ize marriage choices in more individualistic terms, privileging romantic love as a
criterion in the selection of a spouse, is hard to pinpoint. In some parts of Igboland
and in many parts of Nigeria, the social acceptance of individual choice in mate
selection is still just beginning. Certainly, these changes occurred first in urban
areas among relatively educated and elite populations (Little and Price 1973; Marris
1962). Obiechina’s (1973) study of Onitsha pamphlet literature indicates that popu-
lar Nigerian literature about love, romance, and modern marriage began to emerge
just after World War II. Historical accounts suggest that elements of modern mar-
riage began even earlier in the 20th century (Mann 1985). By the 1970s, a number
of monographs about modern marriage in West Africa had been produced (e.g.,
Harrell-Bond 1975; Oppong 1974). Most of these accounts focused on relatively
elite, urban, and educated populations.
In contemporary Igboland, the ideal that marriage should be based on romantic
love has spread well beyond urban elites. Young people across a full range of socio-
economic statuses increasingly value choosing their own spouses, and individual
choice is widely associated with the notion that marriage should be based on love.
It is of course important to recognize that ideas about what constitutes love are
culturally inflected and individually variable. But, in southeastern Nigeria it is fair
to say that when people talk about the importance of love for marriage, they are
generally signaling the value accorded to the personal and emotional quality of
the conjugal relationship. People recognize that strong bonds can develop in more
traditional marriages not premised on romantic love, but when people talk about
marrying for love—as they frequently do—t hey mean a kind of love that is associ-
ated with being modern.
In a village sample of just over 200 married women of reproductive age that I col-
lected in Ubakala during my dissertation research in 1996, over 60% reported that
their marriages were choice marriages rather than arranged marriages, and, not sur-
prisingly, the percentages were higher among younger women. The expectation to
choose one’s spouse is almost universal among young persons still in school. In a
sample of 775 students drawn from 19 secondary schools in the Umuahia area dur-
ing the same year, over 95% said they expected to choose their marriage partners
themselves, and the expectation was universal among 420 students I surveyed at
Abia State University. Although my more recent research did not entail sample sur-
veys, every indication from participant observation and popular culture is that the
ideal of love marriage has continued to grow.
The nature of social change driving these changes in marriage is too extensive
to fully account for here, but intertwining factors include economic diversification
and labor migration, urbanization, education, religious conversion, and globaliza-
tion. Contemporary economic strategies hinge on rural-urban migration. As larger
numbers of families move to the city in search of better education, employment,
and other economic opportunities, family structure is changing, and this opens up
spaces for individuals both to meet a wider variety of potential mates and to decide
to select their own partners. Modifications in family organization induced by eco-
nomic and demographic transition have been complemented by moral, ideological,
and religious trends that also affect the institution of marriage.
The modern marriages of young couples in southeastern Nigeria are clearly
different from their parents. Describing the differences between her marriage
and her parents’ marriage, a 30-year-old woman married for 3 years said, “My
father had three wives and 14 children. Often it was every woman for herself. My
husband and I have a partnership. We decide things. There is love between us.”
Perhaps the most concise way to contrast modern Igbo marriages with the past
is to note that young couples see their marriages as a life project in which they
as a couple are the primary actors, and where the idea of being in love is one of
the principal foundations of the relationship, whereas their parents’ marriages
were more obviously embedded in the structures of the extended family. The
differences are most pronounced in narratives about courtship, descriptions of

how husbands and wives resolve marital quarrels, and decision-making about
contributions to their children’s education and well-being. In each of these are-
nas, people in more modern marriages tend to emphasize the primacy of the indi-
vidual couple and their personal relationship, often in conscious opposition to
the constraints imposed by ties to kin and community. For example, a 43-year-
old teacher reported:
For me and my wife our marriage is our business, whereas in my parents’

time everything was scrutinized by the extended family. If they had any little
problem everyone might become involved. We try to keep things within the
married house. If we have any problem we handle it ourselves and maybe pray
over it, but we don’t go running to the elders broadcasting our problems here
and there.
But, it is important not to exaggerate these trends. Even in the most modern
marriages, ties to kin and community remain strong, and the projects of marriage
and childrearing continue to be a social effort, strongly embedded in the relation-
ships and values of the extended family system. Scholars of West African society
have long recognized the pronounced importance of marriage and fertility in the
region (Bledsoe and Pison 1994; Feldman-Savelsberg 1999; Fortes 1978). The fact
that modern marriage in southeastern Nigeria remains a resolutely social endeavor
creates contradictions for younger couples, who must navigate not only their indi-
vidual relationships, but also the outward representation of their marriages to kin
and community. Most couples seek to portray their marriages to themselves and to
others not only as modern but also as morally upright. The tension between being
modern and being moral is crucial to explaining the dynamics of intimacy in mar-
riage, including how women respond to intimate partner violence. In many ways,
the rise of love marriages can make it harder for a woman to report and protect her-
self from an abusive husband.
Nneka described her decision to marry Emeka as based on love. She told my
female research assistant that they met in Lagos through a friend, had seen each
other for a year, eventually fell in love, and decided to marry. Her kin were initially
opposed to the marriage because they did not know Emeka and because his family
came from a community into which women in Nneka’s community did not histori-
cally marry. But, her family relented, and the couple had a typical traditional wed-
ding, with bridewealth provided in full.
For several years, things seemed good, but by the time Nneka gave birth to their
third child, she realized Emeka was having extramarital affairs. When she objected,
he dismissed her complaints, and when she persisted, he eventually beat her. From
then, a cycle of disputes and beatings ensued. It took my research assistant many
meetings before Nneka revealed the situation, although my assistant had suspected
this was the case. When Nneka finally opened up, she explained that she was reluc-
tant to tell anyone about the beatings because of the disgrace it would bring. In
response to my assistant’s further questions, Nneka said that the fact that she had
married for love, against her parents’ initial advice, made her feel like revealing the
problem would be seen as evidence that her judgment regarding Emeka’s love had
been wrong, or that it no longer existed.
While I did not encounter many women willing to talk about abusive husbands
during my research, I did encounter more women who were hesitant for the same
reasons to publicly expose their husbands’ infidelity (Smith 2009). In any marriage,
women see intimate partner violence (like a man’s infidelity) as a big problem. But,
in love marriages in particular women seem to find confronting infidelity and vio-
lence all the more difficult. This is because in a love marriage such violations under-
mine the emotional basis for the marriage and the forms of leverage a woman has in
such marriages. While a woman might hope that love should be protection against
abuse, when abuse does occur, it seems—in southeastern Nigeria at least—t hat a
love marriage makes a woman’s position even more difficult.
T H E PER FO R M A N C E O F M ASC U L I N I T Y
The fact that the preponderance of intimate partner violence—in marriage and
otherwise—is perpetrated by men against women suggests that such violence is an
overt manifestation and enforcement of patriarchy. But, in southeastern Nigeria,
as in many settings around the world, not only a combination of complex social
changes, such as political-economic and demographic transformations, but also the
rise of feminism and the circulation of rights-based discourses have made the main-
tenance of male privilege and power through violence increasingly untenable. Even
as many Nigerian men justify intimate partner violence and deny the very possibil-
ity of marital rape based on ideas about masculine authority, the spread of formal
education and the inclusion of women in a capitalist labor market intersect with
more intimate transformations in gender dynamics, such as the rise of love as a rela-
tionship ideal for marriage described previously, to challenge hegemonic masculini-
ties. Despite these ongoing changes, it is clear that in southeastern Nigeria gender
inequality remains strong, domestic violence is still a serious issue, and marital rape
continues to be a mostly unacknowledged problem.
In this section, I argue that a better understanding of masculinity is a key ele-
ment in explaining—a nd ultimately addressing—t he problems of intimate partner
violence and marital rape. I focus on two relevant aspects of masculinity in south-
eastern Nigeria: (a) how nonviolent performances of masculinity undergird widely
shared ideas of manhood that create the context in which intimate partner vio-
lence and marital rape remain acceptable, if increasingly contested, behaviors and
(b) how the perceived threats to masculinity that men experience in Nigeria help to
explain their behavior.
Before proceeding, it is important to make two points. First, although my evi-
dence and argument focus on masculinity in southeastern Nigeria, it should be
obvious that domestic violence and marital rape are not unique to this region, coun-
try, or continent. While this should perhaps be unnecessary to note, delving into the
social conditions and cultural context that situate masculinity and enable intimate
violence can sometimes be misread as blaming culture—something unfortunately
all too common in accounts of African social problems. It is important to distin-
guish between putting a problem in its context, an endeavor central to anthropo-
logical analysis, and simplistically blaming victims (and perpetrators), a position
antithetical to good anthropology. The second and related point is that putting the
performance of masculinity in context is meant to help explain why men commit
acts of intimate partner violence and marital rape, not to excuse these behaviors.
But, I believe that curbing intimate violence and marital rape requires addressing
the threats that men perceive to their manhood rather than simply expecting men
to behave better based on some notion of individual transformation.
The relationship between the enforcement of masculine domination in mar-
riage through beatings or rape and the nonviolent means by which male author-
ity is asserted and maintained is complex. It works in contradictory ways. On the
one hand, an extensive system of patriarchy and a widely shared social construction
of masculinity create the circumstances in which men’s perpetration of domestic
violence and marital rape is possible and, at least to some extent, culturally pro-
tected. Men are not in positions of dominance over women in southeastern Nigeria
only because of violence or the threat of violence; instead, male violence against
women is tolerated (though, of course, also contested) because masculine power
achieves its relative hegemony through other means—political, economic, social,
and symbolic—t hat do not require overt violence. On the other hand, actual inci-
dents of domestic violence and marital rape seemed to be tied, and sometimes trig-
gered, in nuanced ways to men’s perceptions that masculinity is threatened, not
only by the women against whom violence is perpetrated but also by larger forces
that appear out of men’s control. I begin with a brief sketch of what the contours of
dominant or hegemonic masculinities look like in southeastern Nigeria and con-
clude this section with examples of the ways men experience threats to masculinity,
which contribute to the situations that produce intimate partner violence.
Ever since Raewyn Connell (1995) developed his hierarchy of masculinities—
hegemonic, complicitous, marginalized, and subordinated—scholars have both
mapped men into these categories and debated whether the concept of hegemonic
masculinity (the “culturally exalted” form of masculinity in a given context) accu-
rately captures patterns of male beliefs and behavior and men’s experiences (Beasley
2008; Groes-Green 2012). In southeastern Nigeria, and arguably in much of sub-
Saharan Africa, certain features of a hegemonic masculinity are easily recognizable
and widely shared. The fundamental elements of this masculine ideal involve being
a husband, father, and head of household. Above all, these roles require men to be
providers, responsible for the provision of food, shelter, and protection for their
families, and—especially in the contemporary era—for their children’s education.
The notion that the socially accepted primary foundation of African manhood is the
demonstrated capacity to provide for one’s family has been documented in many
African contexts (Hunter 2005, 2010; Lindsay and Miescher 2003; Morrell 2001).
Certainly for Nigeria, there is ample scholarship, both historical and contemporary,
that has shown that the male position as provider is central to masculine identities
and practices (Berry 1985; Cornwall 2002, 2003; Lindsay 2003). Integral to the
African and Nigerian ideal of man the provider, and indeed to Connell’s concept
of hegemonic masculinity, is that along with the obligation of being the provider
comes the privilege and authority of patriarchy. In Connell’s terms, hegemonic mas-
culinities both mask and enable the problematic inequalities of patriarchal struc-
tures and social relations. To most Nigerian men, they legitimate them.
Of course, patriarchy and the extent to which it is justified through the “patriar-
chal bargain” (Kandiyoti 1988)—t he ways in which women become complicit in
affording men the privileges and authority of masculinity in exchange for certain
social obligations that men must perform—or the “conjugal bargain” (Whitehead
1981) are not unique to Africa. Indeed, feminist scholars developed these terms for
analyzing gender in non-A frican contexts. The social construction of gender is ele-
mental to the configuration of power and the fabric of social relations in every soci-
ety, a reality that is now well established not only in anthropology but also across a
range of disciplines that have probed the meanings, practices, and consequences of
how societies “do gender” (di Leonardo 1991; Fenstermaker and West 2002). For
men in Nigeria, as in other African societies, it is the continuing importance of their
role as providers—not only for their wives and children but also for other networks
of kin and supporters if they aspire to wider power and prestige—t hat creates pres-
sures as they navigate the intersecting worlds of production and social reproduc-
tion (Cornwall 2002, 2003; see Hunter 2010 for South Africa). Andrea Cornwall
(2003) showed that in contemporary southwestern Nigeria, nothing produced
more anxiety for men than the specter of becoming (usually in women’s words)
“useless men”: men without jobs or money; men unable to satisfy their women in
love (or sex); men who fail at both production and social reproduction. The same
is true where I work in southeastern Nigeria. While the meanings and practices of
“provider love” (Hunter 2010) have evolved with societal transformation and with
the rise of new ideals and practices of intimacy, the expectation that competent mas-
culinity depends on its successful performance is as true as ever.
In contemporary Nigeria, men commonly feel their capacity to provide ade-
quately is under threat. A combination of high unemployment, low incomes, rising
costs, and increasing expectations—for greater consumption and longer, and more
expensive, schooling for children—has put many men at risk of being perceived as
“useless.” In their interviews asking women about situations that correlated with
their husbands’ resort to violence, Okemgbo, Omideyi, and Odimegwu (2002, 112)
document many responses that allude to situations in which it is a man’s perception
that his wife is challenging his masculinity that leads to a slap, or worse. In a study I
conducted in southeastern Nigeria in 2004 examining the risk of HIV infection in
marriage, much of the research focused on men’s extramarital sexual behavior and
the performance of masculinity more generally (Hirsch et al. 2009; Smith 2007,
2009). One of the questions I asked the 22 married men I interviewed in depth over
several meetings was whether there was ever a situation that would justify a man
slapping or beating his wife. Although slightly more than half of the men responded
it was never acceptable to beat one’s wife, slightly less than half said that some cir-
cumstances might warrant it. Men’s explanations of what those situations might
entail frequently referenced challenges to their authority and specifically disrespect
for their role (and assumed power) as providers.
For example, Uchenwa, an auto mechanic in his early 40s, said that if his wife
failed to cook and blamed the lack of a meal on not having enough money from
him, it might provoke him to slap her: “Sometimes if a woman does not see with
her husband’s struggles and unnecessarily torments him about chop [food] money
when she knows there is none, she can provoke a slap. It is a wife’s duty to do her
best with what a man can provide.” Iheancho, who has a small provisions shop in
a local market, said, “Every time it is time to pay the children’s school fees it is a
crisis. Often there is not enough cash on hand. If my wife disturbs me too much—
especially if she exposes our problems to others—t hat is a reason to slap her.” Other
examples focused on disrespect of man’s authority, such as leaving for an extended
period without permission, spending money in what men perceived to be a wanton
fashion, or even, in a couple of cases, for complaining too openly about a man’s infi-
delity. In such cases, women commonly expressed discontent about men wasting
precious resources on a girlfriend instead of properly catering for his family, rather
than focusing on infidelity as a personal insult or breach of trust. The logic of this
justification derives from wives’ knowledge that prevailing ideals of masculinity
implicitly—a nd even explicitly—entitle men to relationships outside marriage, as
long as they provide for their families (Smith 2007).
In these interviews, I did not ask men specifically about marital rape. I did ask
about mutual sexual pleasure, and most of the men said plainly that marital sexual
intercourse should be mutually pleasurable to a man and a woman. Indeed, many
men asserted that part of being a proper man entails the ability to satisfy one’s wife
sexually. But, the fact that men believe they should give sexual pleasure to their
wives does not preclude marital rape. Over the years I have lived and worked in
Nigeria, I have sometimes heard men talk about marital rape, mostly in the con-
text of responding to some kind of news coverage about it—usually a story about
a women’s rights conference, an NGO advocating for a change in Nigerian law, or
something like that. The tenor of the conversations was typically incredulous. The
context was always male-dominated social settings where men were performing
masculinity for their peers. In these circumstances, men decried the very possibil-
ity of marital rape, suggesting that a wife should always be available to her husband.
The assumption of a man’s unfettered sexual access to his wife tilted between the
sense of male authority and entitlement tied to a shared understanding of bride-
wealth, marriage, and domestic gender hierarchy on the one hand and a kind of
bravado about male sexual performance on the other hand. That a woman might
have a right to deny consent to sex with her husband threatens an overall system of
patriarchy; that a woman would not want to have sex with her husband challenges
his capacity to perform as a man.
The verb perform is a telling one in Nigerian pidgin English. It captures a wide
spectrum of expectations and behaviors associated with masculinity in contem-
porary Nigeria. Men (and women) use it to describe everything from success (or
failure) in politics and the workplace to providing for one’s family and satisfying
one’s sexual partner. The ubiquitous use of the verb is indicative of the extent to
which men’s performance as men is under constant scrutiny in Nigeria. In an era in
which expectations have skyrocketed about what men are supposed to provide to
their political clients and communities of origin in the public arena, and to their kin,
wives, and children in the private domain, most men find the performance of com-
petent masculinity extremely challenging. Intimate partner violence is fueled—
although, again, not excusable—by the way in which an array of challenges to the
performance of modern masculinity converge in men’s roles as providers for their
wives and children.
PEN T EC O STA L C H R I ST I A N I T Y A N D
T H E PAT R I A R C H A L BA R G A I N
In November 2011, Obiageri Nweze joined a small Pentecostal church in her

semirural village. For months, a friend of hers who had joined the church a year or
so earlier had been urging her to come to their Sunday services. The friend had even
52 L ived E x perience of R ape in M arriage
brought the pastor to visit Obiageri’s house on a couple of occasions to pray with
her and encourage her to join his flock. Obiageri was married to a terribly abusive
man. I observed her bruised face more than once in the years since I had known
her. Her friend from the Pentecostal church told her that joining the church would
help resolve her problems with her husband. The pastor specifically prayed that her
husband would follow her in finding Christ as his personal savior and that he would
then refrain from his abuse.
In the months after Obiageri became born again until I left Nigeria in April of
2012, her husband did not follow her to join the church. But, she insisted that her
newly found faith (she had always been a Christian, but not “born again”), the pas-
tor, and the congregation gave her strength. She maintained hope that her hus-
band would also become born again, and that it would repair their marriage and
reform his violent behavior. Although Obiageri’s husband did not do as she hoped,
I heard many stories of women joining Pentecostal churches to seek refuge from
abusive, unfaithful, or otherwise-d isappointing husbands. While in southeastern
Nigeria it is customary for a woman to join her husband’s church, I am also aware
of cases where men followed their wives in becoming born again. Scholarship on
Pentecostal Christianity in Nigeria, and in Africa more generally, has noted the dis-
proportionate population of women in Pentecostal churches. Some scholars have
noted that women frequently try to use their churches to modify their husbands’
behavior, whether the problem is intimate partner violence, alcohol abuse, infidel-
ity, economic irresponsibility, or some combination of these (R. Marshall 2009; B.
Martin 2001; Mate 2002; Newell 2005). Whether Pentecostal Christianity has a
constructive effect in curtailing domestic violence or other problematic aspects of
the performance of masculinity in southeastern Nigeria is hard to know, but I have
some preliminary evidence and ideas.
In 2012, I spent several months in Nigeria conducting a study focused on the
role of Pentecostal Christianity in Nigeria’s AIDS epidemic. I also focused more
broadly on the social effects of this now very popular brand of Christianity. Women
outnumbered men in the several churches I visited regularly, but not dramatically
so. It was more common to find women in congregations without their husbands
than vice versa, but also very common to observe spouses in the same Pentecostal
church. In all the churches I attended, I frequently heard sermons, Bible readings,
and other orations focused on the importance of marriage and family. Pastors
encouraged men to recruit their wives and women to recruit their husbands into the
church if they had not already done so. Quite strikingly, men’s behavior as husbands
and fathers was a fairly common topic, with pastors urging men to forgo philander-
ing, alcohol abuse, and domestic violence in favor of fidelity, abstemiousness, and
peaceful communication. It was clear why these churches would appeal to women
with abusive or otherwise-problematic husbands, although I never heard anyone
address the issue of marital rape—perhaps further evidence of the degree to which
it is culturally unrecognized, or at least deeply shrouded.
It was also evident that these Pentecostal churches promoted a model of mas-
culinity that subscribed to and advanced the ideal of the man as the primary pro-
vider. Further, they conveyed a strong message that, in exchange for a man fulfilling
his masculine obligations for providing for his family, a woman should recognize
and submit to the authority of her husband. Rhetoric about the importance of good
Christian families always included reference to the idea that the man, as a father and
husband, was in charge. He should not drink, engage in extramarital sex, abuse his
wife and children, or fail to provide for them to the best of his ability, but if he ful-
fills his duties, his family must acknowledge that his is the final word in household
decisions. It is perhaps not surprising that many women with abusive, drunken, or
unfaithful husbands found the prospects of such an exchange appealing. In many
ways, Pentecostal churches offered the reestablishment of the patriarchal bargain,
where women acquiesce to men’s authority in return for certain kinds of support.
Many men also found Pentecostal Christianity’s reassertion of the patriarchal
bargain appealing, although they tended to implicate women for its failures more
than themselves. At a lunch I had with men from one of the Pentecostal churches
I attended one Sunday afternoon, the conversation touched on many of these issues
of masculinity and the patriarchal bargain. With regard to family, the men asserted
that a man’s position as the head of his household is God’s will and evident in the
Bible. These Pentecostal men criticized the failures of many Nigerians to behave
in ways that they said were required in men’s roles as husband, father, and head of
the family. Specifically, they condemned drinking alcohol, sexual infidelity, and
the failure to raise children “in a good Christian way” as the main faults plaguing
modern families. They said it was Christian men’s responsibility to correct these
problems. Several men also noted that weak manhood led to problems in women’s
behavior, including promiscuity, fiscal irresponsibility, and disobedience. They fur-
ther asserted that it was frequently the failure of women to respect men’s authority
that undermined a man’s ability to fulfill his familial and community obligations.
This conversation and many others like it, as well as countless sermons I observed in
Pentecostal churches, convinced me that part of Pentecostal Christianity’s appeal
to men was its potential to reestablish a patriarchal bargain in an era when men’s
authority as men appears threatened on many fronts. But, while Nigerian Pentecostal
Christianity’s preferred version of gender dynamics in marriage appears to offer
some protection against domestic violence and other egregious consequences of
gender inequality, arguably it fundamentally preserves patriarchy. Thus, it leaves in
place—a nd even strengthens—some of the gender dynamics that make intimate
partner violence possible in the first place.
C O N C LU S I O N
When I was doing fieldwork in the mid-1990s, during and after the Fourth World
Congress on Women in Beijing, many men in Nigeria jokingly referred to efforts
of their wives or other women to challenge or change the nature of male author-
ity as “Beijing.” The men vowed: “Africa [or Nigeria] is not Beijing.” The assertion
that masculine authority—a nd by implication male privilege—is culturally rooted
remains common in Nigeria. Of course, this view that male authority and privilege
are quintessentially “African” has been observed elsewhere (e.g., see Spronk 2012
for Kenya), and naturalized ideas about masculine privilege and power are common
throughout the world. But, the very fact that my male interlocutors in Nigeria were
cognizant of the conference in Beijing and aware of (if resistant to) its implications
in their setting is, I think, firm evidence that things are indeed changing.
Sally Engle Merry (2006a, 2006b) has written convincingly about the processes
by which women’s rights in general and the right to protection from gender-based
intimate partner violence in particular become acknowledged and eventually

adopted in new settings around the globe. While my purpose in this chapter has
been to document the social and cultural forces at work that continue to enable
intimate partner violence in southeastern Nigeria and make marital rape an almost
culturally unrecognizable category, I want to conclude by pointing out that many
of the processes that Merry describes are under way, if not complete, in Nigeria.
Admittedly, some signs remain worrisome. For example, although law can some-
times lead to positive social change, in Nigeria, with regard to marital rape, it is
clearly not leading the way, as Nigerian law still protects marital rape. Other signs
are mixed. While one might imagine that the rise of love marriage could be good
for women’s rights, some of my ethnographic evidence suggests that it might make
confronting abusive (and unfaithful) husbands even harder. Further, ever-more-
popular Pentecostal Christian churches seem to be a place where women can seek
help with abusive husbands, and these churches push men to behave better. But,
they also reestablish the patriarchal bargain in ways that leave men’s power intact—
or even augment it. Nevertheless, despite these elements of social life that protect
male privilege and facilitate, or at least tolerate, intimate partner violence and mari-
tal rape, major changes are afoot.
As I briefly alluded to previously, a plethora of civil society groups, such as
NGOs and community-based organizations, have taken up the cause of wom-
en’s rights and gender-based violence, although few specifically focus on mari-
tal rape. Further, one can increasingly find stories in Nigerian newspapers and
magazines and on TV and radio that address a variety of women’s rights issues.
These messages meet a world where more and more Nigerian women are well
educated, they are more likely to work outside the home, and their participation
in politics is gradually growing. All of these things bode well. But, based on my
research and experience in Nigeria, I think much greater attention to men and
masculinity is needed. Policies, programs, messages, and interventions aimed
at curbing domestic violence could better address the realities of men’s lives.
Instead of condemning—or apologizing for—men’s bad behavior, it would be
better to recognize that even abusive men are caught up in the performance of
masculinity. There is no way to stop men from trying to be men, but it might be
possible to slowly shift what that means.
Notes
1. All names are pseudonyms.
2. I had female research assistants interview women about sensitive topics rather than
attempting to do so myself.
5
Marital Sexual Violence,

Structural Vulnerability, and
Misplaced Responsibility
in Northern Việt Nam
LY N N K W I AT K O W S K I
Marital sexual violence is not a new experience for married women in Việt Nam,
yet discourses about forced or coerced sex, or sexual violence, in marriage have only
recently been emerging in the public arena in this country. This concept has become
more prominent over the last two decades in various public forums, such as state
laws, documents, and meetings; international organization reports and projects;
Vietnamese nongovernmental organization (NGO) programs; Vietnamese and for-
eign scholars’ and NGOs’ research reports and publications; and media stories and
programs. Particularly novel about this development is the public and official recog-
nition of this sexual practice as a form of violence against women. With recognition
of sexual violence in marriage having been recent, women subjected to marital sex-
ual violence in northern Việt Nam have, at times, interpreted this violence through
cultural frameworks that normalize the practice, and, at other times, through legal
structures that prohibit it, so that they experience this gender violence as simultane-
ously normative and illegal.
Still, like all forms of gender violence, marital sexual violence is not experienced
in the same manner by all women because this depends in part on their positional-
ity. Poor Vietnamese women abused through marital sexual violence not only are
vulnerable to the assault and force that characterize this form of domestic violence
but also are structurally vulnerable to intersecting economic, political, and cultural
“insults,” which are additional sources of pain and distress, and of the gender vio-
lence itself. According to Quesada, Hart, and Bourgois (2011, 344), an insult can
be a physical, psychological, or sociocultural—as well as chemical or infectious—
“stimulus that adversely affects an individual, group, or community in dynamic
relation to an environment.” Poor women find it particularly difficult to address

sexual violence in marriage in a meaningful way due to cultural norms surround-
ing gender, sexuality, marriage, and kinship; their economic insecurity; and state
political orientations to gender, the family, and domestic violence. Marital sexual
violence had only been deemed illegal in Việt Nam in 2007 (Socialist Republic of
Vietnam [SRV] National Assembly 2007, 1). Also, offenses related to domestic vio-
lence pertaining to the new law, including forced sex in marriage, are placed under
civil jurisdiction rather than the jurisdiction of criminal law. Marital sexual vio-
lence is a culturally sensitive issue, and a formidable one to address publicly in spite
of the new official recognition of the violence.
In this chapter,1 I first explore the emerging cultural discourses surrounding
marital sexual violence and the complexity involved in generating a shared under-
standing of this form of gender violence. Second, I analyze the structural vulner-
ability of women subject to marital sexual violence and the ways that they embody
their marginalized status. Third, I assess contradictions in the emerging discourses
and practices surrounding the prevention of domestic violence, which include con-
ceptualizing sexual violence and other forms of violence in marriage as social prob-
lems, while maintaining that women who experience sexual violence in marriage
are individually responsible to speak publicly about their abuse to stop it. This idea
places responsibility squarely on abused women to control the sexual violence they
are experiencing from their husband (see also Mullins 1994). While understandable
in the cultural context of muted responses to sexual concerns found in northern
Việt Nam, I argue that this misplaced responsibility contradicts the state’s inten-
tion of preventing domestic violence through new forms of governance that make
domestic violence a social and public problem.
ST R U CT U R A L V U L N ER A B I L I T Y
A N D M A R I TA L S E X UA L V I O L EN C E
In studying marital sexual violence against women, it is important to understand

the cultural meanings that are attributed to violence, gender, sexuality, and mar-
riage, as well as the structural violence that is a source of marital sexual violence
and exacerbates its effects on women’s health and social and economic well-being,
but that is also normalized and often not apparent. Sally Engle Merry (2009) and
Menjívar (Chapter 6, this volume) argue that structural violence is an important
dimension of violence and is intimately connected to gender violence. It is exempli-
fied by poverty, racism, ethnic discrimination, displacement, and hunger (Merry
2009). For instance, women in Việt Nam are subject to the structural violence of
gender inequality, and kinship structure and ideologies, as well as low economic
status for some women.
Historically specific cultural meanings attributed to gender, sexuality, marriage,
and marital sexual violence against women in a society, and practices related to them,
can be analyzed through Michel Foucault’s concept of “discourse.” A discourse can
be understood as an institutionalized system of thought composed of forms of rep-
resentation, ideas, language, attitudes, beliefs, and practices that produces histori-
cally and culturally located meanings. Discourses create for people ideas of what
is true, normal, or real in a particular society. Through modern power, expressed
Marital Sexual Violence, Structural Vulnerability, and Misplaced Responsibility 57
via language and practices, dominant discourses generate for people a particular
conception of the world around them and of their subjectivity, although multiple,
contradictory discourses circulate within societies (Mascia-Lees 2010, 157; Moore
1994). Recent dynamic and changing global (discussed at length by McWilliams
and Ní Aoláin in this volume), national, and popular discourses about gender, sexu-
ality, marriage, and marital sexual violence against women have been influencing
Vietnamese women and men’s negotiation of these processes in their daily lives.
In my analysis, I also draw on Quesada, Hart, and Bourgois’s (2011, 340) concep-
tion of “structural vulnerability” to analyze marital sexual violence in Việt Nam.
They define structural vulnerability to be “a positionality that imposes physical/emo-
tional suffering on specific population groups and individuals in patterned ways …
a product of class-based economic exploitation and cultural, gender/sexual, and
racialized discrimination, as well as complementary processes of depreciated sub-
jectivity formation.” They use this term to encompass political economic, cultural,
and individual sources of physical and psychodynamic distress.
Women’s positionality in Việt Nam renders them structurally vulnerable to mari-
tal sexual violence and other forms of domestic violence, injury, acute and chronic
illness, and emotional distress. Abusive husbands draw on cultural ideologies of
gender, marriage, family, and violence and commit sexual violence against their
wives to—a mong other reasons—shore up their authority, assert control, or meet
their sexual desires or for other reasons, often with impunity due to inadequately
understood and implemented legal structures.
T H E ST U DY O F M A R I TA L S E X UA L V I O L EN C E I N V I Ệ T N A M
While a considerable amount of literature analyzing marital sexual violence has

been published, much of it has focused on Western societies. Anthropologists have
become increasingly interested in researching gender violence over the last two to
three decades, with important anthropological research having been conducted on
this topic even earlier. While marital sexual violence has often been included as an
aspect of anthropological research on domestic violence, it has not commonly been
its primary focus. These observations hold true for research on domestic violence in
Việt Nam as well, with some exceptions.
Most research in Việt Nam has addressed marital sexual violence as part of a
study with a broader focus, such as domestic violence, gender and sexuality, rape,
and HIV/A IDS (Gammeltoft and Nguyễn 2015; General Statistics Office of Viet
Nam [GSO] 2010; Horton and Rydström 2011; Nguyen 2008; Nguyễn 2011a,
2011b; Phinney 2009; Vu M. L. et al. 1999; Vu S. H. 2008). Overall, there has been
little research focusing on marital sexual violence, or other forms of sexual violence,
in Việt Nam (Gardsbane et al. 2010; Nguyễn 2011a, 2011b). Phan Thi Thu Hien’s
(2008) anthropological research directly addresses sexual coercion in marriage in
Việt Nam. She especially focuses on the cultural and social sources of sexual coer-
cion and the question of why women who experience marital sexual coercion com-
monly do not complain or seek help. Vu Song Ha’s (2008) anthropological study
focuses on sexual attitudes and practices among married women in rural areas of
northern Việt Nam and indirectly addresses marital sexual violence. She argues that
we must view Vietnamese women’s sexual practices that may appear to be passive,
including silence when engaging in unwanted sex, as agentive, inventive, and, more
specifically, as means to meet cultural and social expectations to sacrifice for their
families and achieve family harmony.
My analysis differs from these important studies in that it addresses the contin-
ued structural vulnerability of women to marital sexual violence within a different
political economic, social, and cultural context, which includes the implementation
of the domestic violence law over the 5 years prior to my research. It also exam-
ines the agency exerted by some abused women beyond their relationship with their
husband in order to end the marital sexual violence, with the understanding that
their agency was framed by both the opportunities and constraints generated by the
intersecting global, national, and local forces they negotiated on a daily basis.
R ES E A R C H I N G M A R I TA L S E X UA L
V I O L EN C E / D O M EST I C V I O L EN C E I N H À N Ộ I
My analysis is based on qualitative research I conducted in 2013 focusing on marital

sexual violence, as well as earlier research I conducted on domestic violence more
broadly in northern Việt Nam. I worked in two communities in Hà Nội and within
a hospital-based counseling center for women grappling with a variety of health and
social problems, particularly domestic violence. The women’s counseling center was
jointly established by an international donor organization and the Vietnamese gov-
ernment in 2002 as part of a broader program addressing domestic violence, and
it was implemented with the assistance of Vietnamese NGOs and foreign consul-
tants. These communities and the counseling center are located in two districts of
Hà Nội, whose economies are based mainly on agriculture, industry, commerce,
professions, government agencies, and services. Both men and women work in these
economic arenas.
During my research in 2013, I interviewed 10 women who had experienced
domestic violence perpetrated by their husbands, with 7 of these women experienc-
ing sexual violence in marriage. I also interviewed 19 healthcare providers, social
service providers, and government officials and leaders who assisted women abused
by their husbands and worked to prevent domestic violence. In addition, I inter-
viewed 17 community members, 7 of whom were men and 10 women, about their
perceptions and experiences of sexual violence in marriage. The community mem-
bers varied in age and economic status, and they were predominantly members of
the Kinh majority ethnic group. I also interviewed nine professionals working in
these communities and the center of Hà Nội who had experience with the imple-
mentation of the domestic violence law.
T H E SC O PE O F M A R I TA L S E X UA L V I O L EN C E I N V I Ệ T N A M
To capture a sense of the scope of marital sexual violence and other forms of domes-
tic violence in Việt Nam, I refer to the findings of the first national study on domestic
violence in Việt Nam, conducted in 2009 and 2010 by the Vietnamese government
and international and local organizations. The study’s researchers found that 10%
of nearly 5,000 currently or previously married women surveyed reported that they
experienced sexual violence from their husbands in their lifetime; 4% reported

experiencing this violence in the 12 months prior to the study. Of the women, 32%
reported physical violence from their husbands in their lifetime (6% in the previous
12 months), and 54% reported emotional abuse (25% in the previous 12 months)
(GSO 2010, 20, 50). Abused women often experience multiple forms of violence
from their husbands in Việt Nam and elsewhere. The national study found that
6.8% of the women surveyed reported having experienced sexual, physical, and
emotional abuse from their husbands in their lifetime (62).2 The smaller number of
women reporting marital sexual violence may reflect its less frequent occurrence,
but it may also indicate the more fraught cultural and social meanings surrounding
marital sexual violence in Việt Nam. Therefore, it is equally important to examine
“the wider context of meaning and power” within which this gender violence can be
understood (Merry 2009, 20).
D O M EST I C V I O L EN C E, M A R I TA L S E X UA L V I O L EN C E,
C U LT U R A L I D EO LO G I ES, A N D T H E STAT E
In this section, I address changing conceptions of domestic violence, marital sexual

violence in particular. These transformations have coincided with state-sponsored
economic and social reforms, referred to as đổi mới, or renovation, which officially
have been implemented since the mid-1980s. Đổi mới resulted in the transition to
a socialist-oriented market economy and broader social transformations. These
changes provided social and political conditions for the emergence in Việt Nam of
numerous local Vietnamese NGOs, as well as international health, development, and
donor organizations. However, they also led to greater state focus on the household
as the cornerstone of the Vietnamese economy and the reemergence of Confucian
ideologies of femininity emphasizing women’s role in the domestic sphere and
responsibility to maintain family harmony and happiness (Werner 2002). At a time
of concern over significant and rapid social changes occurring with đổi mới and glo-
balization, the greater state focus on the household as the cornerstone of the econ-
omy and the reemergence of Confucian ideologies of femininity reflect a renewal of
Vietnamese values that have been promoted by the state (Bélanger 2004).
Family happiness is an important cultural value for Vietnamese people (Werner
2002). Again, the achievement of a “happy family” has been regularly promoted
by the Vietnamese government, particularly through the activities of the Women’s
Union and the government’s Cultured Family and Happy Family campaigns
(Drummond 2004; Kwiatkowski 2011b; Leshkowich 2014). 3 Maintaining family
happiness and stability have been important for the Vietnamese Communist Party–
led government in varying ways historically. The family became a significant site
in the postindependence period in state discourse for the construction and imple-
mentation of Marxist ideals as the foundation of an egalitarian and socialist nation
(Bélanger and Barbieri 2009, 13; Pettus 2003). Following the transition to a market
economy with đổi mới policies, family stability and economy have been important
to the Vietnamese government for the economic success of the nation. The govern-
ment has taken a gendered approach to achieving this goal. For example, to achieve
family harmony and happiness, women have been expected to sacrifice their own
needs for their family and the Vietnamese nation (Pettus 2003). In regard to marital
sexual violence and other forms of domestic violence, these renewed ideologies have
conveyed to contemporary women the idea that disharmony, conflict, and violence
in their family is due to their own failure to maintain a happy and harmonious mar-
riage and family (Schuler et al. 2006; Vu S. H. 2008).
Vietnamese people’s perspectives of husbands’ abuse of their wives have been
significantly shaped by changing cultural conceptions of gender, the family, sexu-
ality, and violence. Some of the dominant, and at times contradictory, cultural
discourses of gender, the family, sexuality, and violence circulating in Vietnamese
society are promoted by the state (Kwiatkowski 2011b; Nguyễn-võ 2002; Pettus
2003). Marital sexual violence is often, although not always, exerted by husbands
in conjunction with the threat of or actual physical violence. A common cultural
view of men’s violence, including against their wives, is that it is an outcome of men’s
natural potential for having a “high” or “hot” temper (Kwiatkowski 2014; Rydström
2003). Husbands’ domestic violence is perceived by some to be a form of educa-
tion of errant wives, an idea influenced by Confucian moral principles found in the
Confucian Gia Huấn Ca, Family Training Ode, traditionally thought to have been
written in the 15th century by Nguyễn Trãi (Marr 1981). The ode states that when
husbands advise their wives, women cannot criticize their husbands or speak to
them as their superior. Many Vietnamese women have said to me that it is wrong for
women to physically fight their husband, even in self-defense (see also Phan 2008).
Women’s practice of commonly living within a male-centered kinship and house-
hold system in Việt Nam has also shaped some people’s acceptance of certain cases
of domestic violence. Confucian emphasis on hierarchically ordered gender and
family relationships involving patriarchal and patrilineal kinship relationships has
been a factor in this regard, stemming from Chinese colonial influence in Việt Nam,
beginning in the second century bce (Jamieson 1993; Luong 2003; Minh 2010;
Ngo 2004; Phan 2008). More specifically, some people’s acceptance of marital
sexual violence stems in part from Confucian gender and family ideologies, which
emphasize women’s threefold subordination to fathers, husbands, and sons (Luong
2003). Enacting appropriate roles and maintaining proper relationships allows for
harmony in interpersonal and family relationships (Gammeltoft 1999; Vu S. H.
2008). Again, the state has emphasized the family and the family economy and pro-
moted women as responsible for maintaining harmony in their families.
Confucian ideas have not historically influenced all Vietnamese people to the
same degree, however, and how these ideas have been interpreted and advanced
has changed over time. For example, the Vietnamese socialist state has promoted
changing ideals of femininity, which at times have aligned with Confucian ideolo-
gies, including following the implementation of đổi mới policies (Ngo 2004; Pettus
2003). Still, many Vietnamese people put these intersecting Confucian-influenced
gender, marriage, and family ideologies into practice in their family relationships
along with other socialist and more egalitarian ideas about gender and family rela-
tionships also promoted by the state (Bélanger and Barbieri 2009; Marr 1981).
Bélanger and Barbieri (2009, 5) argue “that Vietnamese families are complex and
connected entities that reflect actively and strategically” and that negotiate change
as well as, in some cases, “actively contest change and retain values.”
Cultural discourses and social structure also inform conceptions of sexuality
and marital sexual violence. In Việt Nam, important studies of sexuality have been
conducted in recent years, but knowledge about sexuality there remains limited.
Research has found that men’s and women’s sexuality and behavior are culturally
constructed in Việt Nam as being biologically different. Heterosexuality is gen-
erally viewed as sexually normative in Việt Nam, and significant in perpetuating
patrilineages, although there is evidence of some, limited tolerance for same-sex
relationships among Vietnamese youth (Horton and Rydström 2011). Cultural dis-
courses of masculinity construct men as physiologically and relatedly gendered as
superior to women, assertive, independent, experimental, and hot, yet also as equal
to women, as a socialist gender ideal. Men’s sexual gratification is understood to be
a physiological need. Some Vietnamese perceive that if the accumulation of the heat
of men’s sexual desire, drive, and stress is not released by sexual relaxation provided
by a man’s wife, who may cool his sexual heat, men risk “explosion” (Gammeltoft
and Nguyễn 2015; Horton and Rydström 2011, 554–55).
Women are culturally constructed, through traditional mores, as inferior to men,
submissive, cool, dependent, sexually passive, and obligated to provide sexual sat-
isfaction or relaxation to their husbands, although, again through socialist ideals,
women are simultaneously constructed as equal to men, strong, and capable. In
regard to sexuality, if women are unable or refuse to have sex with their husbands,
some men feel justified in seeking sex elsewhere (Gammeltoft and Nguyễn 2015;
Horton and Rydström 2011; Phinney 2009). In addition, among other justifications,
this gendered sexual discourse, as it intersects with other traditional Vietnamese
discourses of marriage and family, has naturalized and legitimized some men and
women’s acceptance of a man forcing his wife to have sex if she refuses. In spite of
the violence and conflict that can be engendered by marital sexual violence, abu-
sive men may perceive their actions to maintain their own health and their family’s
harmony by meeting the men’s own sexual needs and preserving their marriage.
However, this is only one cultural justification because marital sexual violence is
perceived to be engaged in by Vietnamese men not only to meet their sexual desires,
but also to continue the male’s lineage. For example, some men force their wives
to have sex, or have affairs, to have a son. Many Vietnamese men and women with
whom I spoke also perceived marital sexual violence, and other forms of domes-
tic violence, to be linked to men’s high consumption of alcohol, although not in all
cases (see also Vu M. L. et al. 1999).
At the same time, most people I interviewed did not think it was acceptable or
normal for a man to have sex with his wife when she does not want to. With đổi mới
and the state’s renewed emphasis on traditional, Confucian-influenced ideologies,
marital sex and discussions of sexuality have been recently geared toward repro-
duction and creating small, prosperous, and happy families, particularly through
the Happy Family campaign beginning in the 1990s. Phinney (2009) argued that
while Confucian ideology seems to deny the importance of marital sexual desire,
she found that some Vietnamese men and women recognized how important the
sexual satisfaction of both husband and wife was to a successful marriage.
Still, many people I spoke with knew of men who did force their wives to have
sex, sometimes violently. While men generally are perceived to have sexual needs,
men who forced their wives to have sex, particularly those who did so violently, were
commonly viewed as having unusual sexual needs. Many people asserted that men
who demand sex frequently from their wives are biologically constituted to have
high sexual needs or high levels of hormones. Some healthcare providers and oth-
ers looked to local plant remedies or biomedicine to reduce abusive men’s inflated
sexual needs. Some women said they were harmed physically and emotionally by
their husbands, who learned about sexual practices from video or Internet pornog-
raphy and forced their wives to imitate the actors when the women did not want to.
As noted, circulating in conjunction with the naturalization of husbands’ demands
for sex made to their wives was a discourse on gendered family relations that asserted
that wives must provide sex to their husbands, with consent presumed on their mar-
riage. This was perceived by some Vietnamese men and women, although not all, to
be a responsibility of wives even if the women did not want to have sexual relations
(Phan 2008; Vu M. L. et al. 1999; Vu S. H. 2008). This has not been an uncom-
mon assumption about marital sexual relations held by people in societies cross-
culturally, or historically in some societies, including the United States (Anderson
2003; Sack 2010). In addition, Vietnamese women are expected to sacrifice for their
families, especially for their children, which includes, for some, acceding to hus-
bands’ sexual demands (Pettus 2003).
While research has shown that not all Vietnamese men and women conform to
these cultural discourses of sexuality, gender, and marital sexual relations, in every-
day family life they can serve to culturally legitimize abusive men’s use of coercion
or violence to force their wives to have sex with them. The subordination of wives
to their husbands, the naturalization of men’s sexual needs, and the presumption
of consent to sex with marriage intersected and influenced some men’s forced or
coerced sex and violence against their wives in marriage.
Discussing marital sexual violence with me, one middle-aged woman named
Hoa said:
When a man wants sex too much, repeatedly in one week for example, his
wife has to service him. But because women are different from men, in that
women have to think about their families and their families’ finances, women
don’t have as much sexual desire as men. In many cases, the man’s hormones
are too high. If a woman marries a man with high levels of hormones, she has
to suffer a lot.4
Hoa’s view draws on traditional cultural discourses of gender, sexuality, marriage,

family, and violence. These discourses are taken up by many Vietnamese people
today, yet also compete in northern Vietnamese society with ideals of gender
equality, including gender equality in marriage, and the condemnation of violence
within the family influenced historically by the socialist state’s and international
discourses. The recent outlawing of “forced or coerced sex” in marriage in Việt Nam
has led many to rethink the legitimacy of marital sexual violence, but this has not led
to a clear conception of its meaning.
C H A N G I N G C U LT U R A L C O N C EP T I O N S
O F D O M EST I C V I O L EN C E
The disparate cultural discourses of gender, marriage, and violence circulating in

Vietnamese society have allowed, in recent decades, a space for the emergence of
counterdiscourses of and practices that directly condemn domestic violence, work
to prevent it, and address the health and social needs of abused women, including
women who have experienced marital sexual violence. In this context, domestic
violence in Việt Nam comprises a set of meanings and practices that has been shift-
ing over the course of the 20th and 21st centuries, with some significant changes
having occurred over the last two decades. As I noted previously, these changes
have coincided particularly with đổi mới, which provided the social and politi-
cal conditions for the emergence of numerous local Vietnamese NGOs, as well
as international health, development, and donor organizations that have been
addressing domestic violence.
Prior to, and especially following, đổi mới, these organizations introduced
new definitions of domestic violence and alternative ways to address the needs
of abused women and prevent domestic violence. One example of a global defi-
nition of violence against women introduced to Vietnamese government officials
and professionals, and officially taken up by the Ministry of Health by the mid-
2000s, was found in its 2006 Health Report. It is the UN General Assembly’s
1993 Declaration on the Elimination of Violence Against Women. The Việt Nam
Ministry of Health’s version of this UN declaration defines violence against
women as “any act of gender-based violence that results in, or is likely to result
in, physical, sexual, or mental harm or suffering to women, including threats of
such acts, coercion, or arbitrary deprivation of liberty, whether occurring in public
or in private life” (Socialist Republic of Vietnam Ministry of Health [SRV MOH]
2006, 113). This kind of definition has been circulating in Việt Nam for almost
two decades and has been reshaping the ways that Vietnamese people conceive
of domestic violence. For example, prior to this time, and particularly prior to the
approval and implementation of the 2007 domestic violence law, most Vietnamese
people I interviewed conceived of domestic violence as primarily involving hus-
bands’ physical beating of their wives, which some viewed as potentially caused by
the abused woman.
These conceptions and evaluations of domestic violence have undergone exten-
sive, but incomplete, revision in recent years in Việt Nam. For example, the report
of the 2009–2010 national study of domestic violence in Việt Nam noted that the
researchers had created a questionnaire that was a version of the questionnaire
developed by the World Health Organization’s (WHO’s) Multicountry Study on
Women’s Health and Domestic Violence Against Women. The WHO question-
naire defined and inquired about specific acts to measure different forms of vio-
lence, including physical, sexual, emotional, and economic violence (GSO 2010).
Drawing from UN and WHO definitions of violence against women, this study fur-
ther defined sexual violence “as the use of force, coercion or psychological intimida-
tion to force the woman to engage in a sexual act against her will, whether or not it is
completed” (GSO 2010, 31). As Anderson’s survey in this volume also shows, a more
specific definition of sexual violence such as this one is not found in the domestic
violence law; however, the concept of “forced or coerced sex” is used instead. The
survey, reports, and the domestic violence law depict ways in which, through forms
of governance, the state, NGOs, and international organizations introduce new dis-
courses that may gradually change the Vietnamese population’s conceptualizations
of domestic violence. Still, new cultural understandings of marital sexual violence
in Việt Nam are negotiated by people and intersect with other cultural conceptions
of gender, marriage, sexuality, and violence circulating in Việt Nam, leading to a
multiplicity of understandings of marital sexual violence.
C O N F U S I O N A N D L AC K O F C L A R I T Y
Exploring complexities involved in defining, recognizing, and addressing marital

sexual violence in northern Việt Nam is important because these are processes
that still lack clarity for Vietnamese people with whom I spoke. This lack of clar-
ity can increase women’s structural vulnerability to marital sexual violence and
poor health. For example, during the development of the domestic violence law in
the mid-2000s, there was a great deal of debate among members of the National
Assembly about how to define sexual abuse in marriage because it was perceived
by some delegates to be a “taboo and a sensitive topic” in Việt Nam. Also, delegates
found it difficult to define types of sexual abuse and set sanctions for them (Việt
Nam News 2006).
After discussion of this issue, the delegates approved the concept of “forced or
coerced sex” for inclusion in the law. However, as Anderson in this volume shows
for other countries, the meaning of this concept was not defined in the law, and the
law did not specify which family members may be involved in forced or coerced sex.
These shortcomings left the concept in the law vague, leading to difficulty among
Vietnamese people and government officials in recognizing marital sexual violence
in some cases. The law also did not address the patriarchal relations usually underly-
ing forced or coerced sex in marriage in Việt Nam, with the violence most commonly
involving husbands abusing their wives (GSO 2010). It is also important to point
out that the concept of “forced or coerced sex” was used in the domestic violence
law, rather than “rape.” Because offenses related to domestic violence pertaining to
the new law are placed under civil jurisdiction rather than the jurisdiction of crimi-
nal law, and forced or coerced sex within the family, including between spouses,
was exempted from the general rape provisions, Nguyễn (2011b, 33) argues that
this may indicate a continuing acceptance of marital sex as “a ‘natural’ entitlement”
of marriage. Under the domestic violence law, abusive husbands can be charged for
criminal penalty depending on the severity of the violation, yet this provision of the
law is subject to interpretation (SRV National Assembly 2007).
Vietnamese people generally do not conceive of forced or coerced sex in marriage
as “rape” (hiếp dâm), and the terms rape and marital rape are not commonly used
by Vietnamese people to refer to marital sexual violence (Nguyễn 2011b). Instead,
the terms commonly used by Vietnamese include forced sex in marriage (cưỡng ép
quan hệ tình dục trong hôn nhân or cưỡng bức tình dục trong hôn nhân); sexual vio-
lence in marriage (bạo lực tình dục trong hôn nhân); sexual abuse, or maltreatment,
in marriage (ngược đãi tình dục trong hôn nhân); and to force a wife to have sex (ép
vợ quan hệ tình dục). In addition to the view that sex with one’s spouse is a “nat-
ural” entitlement of marriage, the fact that the 2007 domestic violence law does
not identify forced sex in marriage as rape may influence the popular reluctance to
use the concept of rape to describe this violation and to conceive of it as rape. As
Nguyễn (2011a) argues, the use of terms such as domestic violence or forced sex
may also be a means of avoiding a sensitive subject, rape. This might be significant
particularly in a society that culturally constructs men as biologically having stron-
ger sexual needs than women and accords men greater sexual license (Gammeltoft
and Nguyễn 2015; Horton and Rydström 2011). Nguyễn (2011a) also writes that
some women who had been raped, including those raped by family members other
than spouses, preferred not to use the concept of rape to describe the sexual violence
they had experienced. According to one woman, rape can be frightening. Likewise,
Vietnamese may be hesitant to view rape as “a violent sexual act grounded in the
physical and mental abuse of power” (77).
In regard to the Việt Nam Penal Code, an important distinction made between
rape and forced sex has been the victim’s consent, with an absence of consent being
an element of rape and reluctance to consent often cited in instances of forced sex
(Nguyễn 2011a). The idea of reluctance to consent being associated with forced
sex in marriage could be related to the idea of marital sex being presumed to be a
“natural” entitlement of marriage. Some Vietnamese women also have internalized
the notions that “real” rape: refers to sexual assault involving strangers; results in
serious injury; or involves drunkenness (220). Additional reasons for Vietnamese
women’s hesitation to identify sexual violence in marriage as rape may be individual
and family stigma associated with rape (Nguyễn 2011a), economic constraints, and
fear of reprisal from husbands.
Vietnamese people I interviewed held diverse views of what constitutes mari-
tal sexual violence. Abused women addressed marital sexual violence in multiple
ways as well. This diversity of views and approaches makes the concept and prac-
tice unclear for some and unstable. Phan (2008) also found that married men and
women’s ideas of sexual consent and coercion varied.
In my research, most of the women who had experienced marital sexual violence
were clear that they were subject to abusive behavior from their husband. Yet, some
of the abused women still questioned their own perceptions at times. Each of these
women also experienced physical violence, and some of their husbands threatened
them with further violence. Also, six of the seven abused women’s husbands physi-
cally abused their wives both during and beyond the marital sexual violence. Some
of these women discussed being forced to engage in specific sexual activities that
they felt uncomfortable with or humiliated by. Some of these women expressed feel-
ing emotionally abused by their husbands as well.
Each of the abused women with whom I spoke had sought assistance for their
problem of domestic violence, but most had revealed their experience of marital sex-
ual violence only after several visits with professionals, such as healthcare providers
or community leaders. These abused women were able to exert agency to resist their
husbands’ sexual abuse by revealing it to others and seeking assistance in coping
with it. However, numerous people explained to me that Vietnamese women who
have experienced marital sexual violence generally have not told others about their
husbands’ sexual violence against them, except for one or more close family mem-
bers or friends, often female, who served as their confidants (see also Gammeltoft
and Nguyễn 2015; Phan 2008; Vu S. H. 2008). In Vietnamese society, sex has his-
torically not been considered to be an appropriate topic for public discussion, par-
ticularly for women (Nguyễn 2011b; Phan 2008; Vu M. L. et al. 1999). Among the
seven women I interviewed, four had confided in female relatives or close friends to
cope with their problem of marital sexual violence, as well as having brought their
case forward to professionals and community leaders. Still, several women said they
knew of other women who experienced marital sexual violence but had not revealed
their problem to others.
Vietnamese women have been perceived to be passive in marital and nonmari-
tal sexual matters and practices, as noted previously. However, recent research has
found that some Vietnamese women do discuss sexual issues and their feelings
about sexuality with their husbands (Bui 2010; Phan 2008; Phinney 2009; Vu S. H.
2008). Five of the seven abused women I spoke with said that when they experi-
enced marital sexual violence, they had told their husband they did not wish to have
sex with him. One woman named Thu, however, who had been sexually abused by
her husband for about 4 years and had been telling him that she did not consent
to having sex with him, at one point changed her tactic in resisting her husband’s
abuse. Thu began to verbally protest to her husband that he had abused her after
he had forced her to have sex with him, rather than resist his aggression while it
was occurring. Thu had decided on this approach because, previously, he had hit
her even more vehemently when she had contested him while he forced her to have
sex. Thu hoped her protests would prevent her husband from sexually violating her
again, but they did not.
Only one of the abused women I spoke with, Liên, said that she had not told her
husband when she had not wished to have sex with him. From Liên’s perspective, he
should have known that he was forcing her to have sex when she had obvious health
problems, such as after breaking a leg or after giving birth or obtaining an abortion,
which Liên perceived as requiring a 2-month hiatus from sex. Liên also had been
beaten by her husband for 8 years when I spoke with her, although he had not hit
her while they had sex. Liên said that her husband’s sexual abuse was encouraged by
his mother: “My mother-in-law always influences how my husband has sex with me,
in order to establish a higher position [than me], to prove the power of a husband.”
Liên complained that her mother-in-law always knows when she needs to stop hav-
ing sex, such as while an injury is healing. Yet, Liên said:
She has made my husband wonder why I don’t have sex with him by saying,
“Maybe your wife has a health problem, but sex is very easy, so why [should
she not have sex with you]?” And my mother-in-law has called on other women
to come to my house, and asked women to repeatedly call on my husband to
go out with them, in order to make me feel that I need to go along with my
husband [in his demand to have sex]. My mother-in-law says to other people,
but also wants me to know because I can hear her, that my husband and I have
sex only once or twice a week, so there is no need to stop having sex for so long.
During sex my husband does not hit me, but he has hit me many [other] times
and I think it is very normal. All families in Việt Nam have this problem. It is
normal. The wife doesn’t dare fight back, and they don’t fight back.
Liên’s experiences of marital sexual and physical violence depict the complicated
nature of the violence. It can involve a husband’s family members’ demands, patriar-
chal discourses of marital roles, the normalization of marital physical violence, and
ideas of a wife’s responsibility to provide sexual services to her husband regardless
of her own desires or health needs. Family members’ encouragement of a husband’s
domestic violence against his wife is not unusual in Việt Nam, with patrilineal kin-
ship and patriarchal family ideology. Vietnamese families historically commonly
chose patrilocal residence following marriage, although this practice has changed
to some degree due to economic and social shifts (Luong 2003). Many abused
women live within or near their husbands’ parents and male siblings’ households,
some of whom have been influenced by patriarchal discourses of marital and family
relationships. These have included the subordination of daughters-in-law to their
mothers-in-law, although this ideology and practice have been discouraged by the
Communist-led government since at least the implementation of the 1959 Marriage
and Family Law (Chin 1973; Werner 2004). Indeed, I encountered several other
cases wherein family members of abusive husbands have tried to stop the violence
against these men’s wives. As Daniel Smith, in this volume, also suggests, changes in
patriarchal family discourses and ideologies as well as family composition may have
an impact on the safety of women in marital unions.
While most of the abused women expressed their view that they had experienced
sexual violence from their husbands, at least one of the abused women with whom
I spoke, named Thảo, whose husband for 2 years had verbally maltreated and regu-
larly slapped her, and forced her to lie down and have sex while imitating actors on
pornography videos, still questioned her perceptions of her experiences, saying:
At first I wanted to reject it [my husband forcing me to have sex]; and then for
such a long time I couldn’t, after resisting it wasn’t effective. So I think I have
to accept it, or allow it, so that I can sleep, and then the next day I can work.
Many times I think that this is my duty. I don’t want to talk with other people,
because I think that this is the duty of a wife, so I just accept it and don’t tell
anyone. But sometimes I think that this is sexual abuse.
In Thảo’s analysis, and echoing the women Menjívar (as discussed in this volume)
interviewed in Guatemala, it is clear that the cultural prescription for wives to meet
their husbands’ sexual demands has influenced her ambivalence about her percep-
tions of her husband’s sexual abuse and her reticence in sharing her experiences with
others. Thảo has requested assistance in stopping her husband’s sexual violence;
she has consulted her neighbors, her mother-in-law and sisters-in-law, her family,
Women’s Union leaders, counselors at the women’s counseling center, and the secu-
rity force in her community, but she has avoided discussing the sexual abuse with oth-
ers in her community, including healthcare providers treating her physical injuries.
The discourse of wives’ responsibility to meet their husbands’ sexual demands
also has influenced some people to blame abused women for their husbands’ sexual
and physical violence against them, with the blame commonly intersecting with
the naturalization of men’s anger, violence, and sexual needs. As one 57-year-old
woman I interviewed, named Hồng, said:
I know of many cases of sexual violence in marriage, and I think the reason for
it is that the woman has a lack of knowledge and understanding about emo-
tions and biology in sexuality. When a wife doesn’t know how to agree with her
husband [and his sexual demands], this can lead a husband to feel uncomfort-
able and to commit sexual violence. Whether a wife wants or doesn’t want [to
have sex with her husband], she must agree to it to keep the family’s happiness.
That is the traditional thinking of Vietnamese people. If a husband can restrain
his anger nothing will happen, but if he can’t, this will influence the family’s
happiness. So the wife must learn about family planning or the family’s happi-
ness will be affected.
Among the three women I interviewed who had been physically, but not sexu-
ally, abused by their husbands, two said that they had agreed to have sex with their
husbands when they had not wanted to in order to avoid conflict. Yet, they did not
perceive their husband to have committed sexual violence against them. At times,
one of the women had told her husband that she had not wanted to have sex with
him, and he had complied with her decision. She said, “I don’t think that is abuse
because I went along with my husband. If he forced me, it would be abuse. And
abuse also involves the husband hitting his wife.” This woman’s perception that
marital sexual violence only occurs with physical violence reiterates the prevalent
idea that domestic violence involves physical violence and extensive injury. Related
to this view, most of the women who did perceive themselves to have experienced
abuse had been physically beaten and forced to have sex by their husbands. This is
significant, given the traditional cultural ideas surrounding domestic violence in
Việt Nam and the lack of clarity associated with the concept of “forced or coerced
sex” found in the domestic violence law. As I noted, for only one woman with whom
I spoke, Liên, forced or coerced sex involved her assumption that her husband
should know when it was inappropriate to have sexual relations with her, without
Liên having to state that she did not wish to have sexual relations with him. All of
the other abused women who identified marital sexual violence from their husbands
had experienced physical violence as well.
With these different understandings of sexual relations in marriage, we can
observe that, on the one hand, several of the women I spoke with perceived them-
selves to be capable of expressing their own sexual needs and desires, and, on the
other hand, some of the women were aware that, in the view of some Vietnamese
people, women have been expected to be knowledgeable about sex and how to meet
their husbands’ sexual demands regardless of their own desires or well-being. Due
to these cultural expectations of wives’ sexuality in relation to their husbands’, some
Vietnamese women do not always express their sexual desires to their husbands (see
also Phan 2008 and Vu S. H. 2008). These cultural expectations also can lead some
husbands to expect their wives to have sex with them at any time and to perceive
that their wives are implicitly agreeing to sex with them due to their lack of pro-
test even when their wives do not agree. This can cause misunderstanding between
spouses (Phan 2008). All of the 17 community members whom I interviewed said
that marital sexual violence involves physical force on the part of one spouse, when
having sex is not agreed to by both. The idea that marital sexual violence involves
physical force appears to be clear and straightforward to people in these communi-
ties. Yet, this is not always the case.
Another conception of marital sexual violence involves adultery. This idea extends
beyond the concept of “forced or coerced sex” found in the domestic violence law,
yet is viewed by some as a form of domestic violence involving sex-related abuse or
sexual violence (Vu M. L. et al. 1999). Some of the abused women, and other com-
munity members I interviewed, including Women’s Union leaders, identified men’s
adultery as a form of sexual violence against their wives. This view involved per-
ceiving husbands to be denying their wives a monogamous sexual relationship, or a
sexual relationship at all, in their marriage because the husbands were having affairs
with other women. Another conception of marital sexual violence involves the with-
holding of sex. For instance, one woman said that sexual violence involves a hus-
band denying his wife sex, even if he is not having an extramarital affair. There were
also cases of abused women whose adulterous husbands were forcing their wives to
have sex with them during the period when they were having a sexual relationship
with another woman. An additional conception of marital sexual violence conveyed

to me involved the intersection of sexual and mental harm, or suffering, as adultery
and withholding of sex caused emotional anguish for some women I spoke with.
A Vietnamese woman provided a related example when she said that psychological
pressure to have sex imposed on a spouse also constitutes marital sexual violence,
or sexual coercion.
Among 24 community members (including the seven women who had experi-
enced marital sexual violence) I interviewed, 79% (19) (76% [13] of the females and
86% [6]‌of the males) said they thought it was not acceptable or normal for a man
to have sex with his wife when she does not want to. Also, 17% (4) (18% [3] of the
females and 14% [1] of the males) said it was normal, one of whom was an abused
woman. This woman said, “If there is no hitting or yelling, it is normal for a husband
to force his wife to have sex with him, it is no problem.” Another abused woman
expressed ambivalence about the issue, at first saying, “I do not know. If my hus-
band wants sex, it is because of his desire, it is a part of life, his need. It is a natural
demand.” Later, though, she said that her husband abused her by having sex when
she did not want to.
These varying perspectives and situations depict the complicated power rela-
tions and processes involved in marital sexual violence and the lack of clarity many
Vietnamese people, including abused women, have in understanding and identify-
ing sexual violence in marriage. The absence of a shared cultural conceptualization
of marital sexual violence that abused women, healthcare providers, government
officials, police, and other community members can draw on, even with the domes-
tic violence law, I suggest, has contributed to abused women’s lack of a clear sense
that it is legitimate to express their experiences of marital sexual violence.
I L L N ES S, P OV ERT Y, A N D I N ST I T U T I O N A L I N S U F FI C I EN CY
As Campbell et al., in this volume, also show, marital sexual violence has significant
health impacts on abused women. I discussed the health impacts of marital sexual
violence with abused women and counselors and biomedical healthcare providers
who helped them. Due to poverty and, for some, lack of health insurance, some
women have difficulty accessing long-term healthcare for serious or chronic health
problems resulting from their husbands’ violence (Kwiatkowski 2011b). Abused
women sometimes treat their injuries themselves and visit local traditional healers
as well. They often try to conceal, due to feelings of shame and privacy, from health-
care providers the fact that their husband sexually abused them. They also may not
be certain of the response they will receive from healthcare providers. While the
Ministry of Health now requires healthcare providers to be trained in treating in an
appropriate and sensitive manner patients who experience domestic violence (SRV
MOH 2009), some healthcare providers may still be somewhat unclear about the
meaning of forced or coerced sex, and they hold diverse perspectives of it.
One female healthcare provider told me that when a husband does not know
that his wife does not wish to have sex, his sexual advances are not considered to be
sexual abuse. In contrast, she later said, “Many women do not want to have sex with
their husbands, but agree to when the husbands wish to. They don’t know that they
are suffering sexual violence. The woman was suffering, but she couldn’t understand
why, maybe because of mental health problems [due to the violence].” A female doc-
tor, who was trained to treat women who experienced marital sexual violence, said
some of her patients told her their husbands forced them to have sex when these
women did not want to. She said, though, that she thinks this is not abuse or vio-
lence unless the woman has a health problem.
Through my interviews and participant observation, I learned there are other
institutional barriers to preventing or escaping marital sexual violence. As Menjívar
and Ptacek, both in this volume, describe, barriers to escaping marital sexual vio-
lence include difficulty acquiring a divorce due to problems such as women’s poverty;
stigma associated with divorce; fear of negative effects of divorce on their children;
and government-mandated reconciliation processes, reinforced in the new domes-
tic violence law; these pressure women to return to their abusive husbands without
ensuring protection for the women (Kwiatkowski 2011b). Developments in state
and nonstate approaches to domestic violence have had some important positive
impacts since the implementation of the law, including an increase in Vietnamese
government officials and the public’s awareness of domestic violence and its identi-
fication as a significant social problem in Việt Nam. Still, several of the individuals
I interviewed about the law said that while the law is appropriate, it has been difficult
to implement. For example, marital sexual violence is considered a private matter,
so police find it difficult to investigate. Locating evidence of marital sexual violence
can also be difficult (Hoàng 2008). I found that some police still hesitate to punish
abusive husbands, despite training in implementing the domestic violence law.
M I S PL AC ED R ES P O N S I B I L I T Y
Sexuality, rape, marital sexual violence, and other forms of sexual violence are
issues that are not commonly openly discussed in public among people in Việt Nam
(Gardsbane et al. 2010; Nguyễn 2011b; Vu M. L. et al. 1999). Still, there are some
arenas of social life where sexuality is or is becoming more publicly available for con-
sumption, such as local and foreign media, Youth Union discussions, family plan-
ning program discussions, and markets for prostitution (Bui 2010; Gammeltoft and
Nguyễn 2015; Horton and Rydström 2011; Nguyễn-võ 2002; Phan 2008; Phinney
2009; Vu S. H. 2008). However, open discussion about marital sexual violence is
still limited. Most of the women and men I interviewed said they had heard or read
about marital sexual violence in the media, but not to the same degree as domestic
violence more broadly. Also, among 16 women I interviewed who attended Women’s
Union meetings, where domestic violence is most commonly publicly addressed by
women, most said they either had only briefly heard marital sexual violence dis-
cussed in these meetings (6) or never had (7). Shame associated with sexuality and
marital sexual abuse in Việt Nam makes public, face-to-face discussion of marital
sexual violence problematic and isolates abused women.
The domestic violence law and other discourses of the state, international and
local organizations working in Việt Nam and the media have asserted that domestic
violence, including marital sexual violence, is a social problem, not a private, indi-
vidual or family problem. Through the 2007 domestic violence law, the Vietnamese
government, along with scholars, professionals, and others who supported and
influenced the development of the law, have deemed forced sex in marriage to be a
violent act and, therefore, an assertion of power and control. As noted, attempts are
made by government personnel to reconcile the couple to prevent further domes-
tic violence while maintaining the marriage of the couple. Yet, this approach com-
monly does not protect women from continued abuse from their husbands.
Marital sexual violence in Việt Nam is punishable, according to the law, depend-
ing on the circumstances and severity of the violence. Potential punishments
include receiving community criticism, adhering to restraining orders, paying
all damages abused women incur as a result of sexual violence and other forms of
domestic violence, paying fines, and being disciplined for a criminal penalty (SRV
National Assembly 2007). Unfortunately, the law is not always enforced, and the
punishment of men who commit sexual violence and other forms of domestic vio-
lence against their wives is still not common (Kwiatkowski 2014).
With the approval of the domestic violence law in 2007, more abused women
and other Vietnamese people perceive marital sexual violence to be an assertion of
power and control. Nevertheless, the ideas of sex as a natural entitlement of mar-
riage and women having the responsibility to create a happy family, as well as the
limited discussion of sex, continue to also influence Vietnamese people’s evaluation
of marital sexual violence and inhibit some abused women from publicly contesting
their husbands’ sexual abuse toward them.
While marital sexual violence is now officially constructed as a social problem,
some government officials and NGO professionals, who were knowledgeable about
the domestic violence law as well as different services the law requires the state to
support, asserted that women who have suffered marital sexual violence are respon-
sible for raising their own voices if anything is to be done about the problem. While
they did advocate other ways to address this problem, placing most of the burden for
ending the silence around marital sexual violence on abused women may be inter-
preted as blaming the women for their husbands’ marital sexual violence or making
women responsible for controlling their husbands’ sexual violence. Their reason-
ing is that marital sexual violence is often private and hidden by abused women.
Physical violence is commonly easier to identify by outsiders due to injuries that are
often apparent on abused women’s bodies. I argue that this misplaced responsibility
contradicts the state’s and other advocates’ intention of preventing domestic vio-
lence through new forms of governance. The officials and professionals did not con-
sider the broader context I have discussed, which makes identifying and revealing
this experience daunting for the women. It individualizes the problem rather than
looks to create cultural, social, political, and economic changes that would better
support women and aid them in discussing marital sexual violence.
There are some NGOs and government organizations in Việt Nam, such as coun-
seling centers and hotlines that have been open to addressing marital sexual vio-
lence with individual women and, to a more limited extent, with men. Some have
also stressed helping women to make decisions about how to address the violence
without pushing them to reconcile with their husbands (Kwiatkowski 2011a). One
NGO establishes job training for abused women and has been considering a theater
performance that would examine marital sexual violence. A Western-style shelter in
Hà Nội has helped some women who have experienced marital sexual violence, and
local community shelters have as well.
Thảo’s neighbors and her local Women’s Union members provided a loan
and advice to her and her husband. Recall that Thảo had been severely sexually,
physically, and emotionally abused by her husband for about 2 years. The loan was
offered to help Thảo and her unemployed husband earn money through animal hus-
bandry. Thảo hesitated to accept the loan initially because she thought her husband
would spend the money on alcohol at a local restaurant. However, Thảo said when
counselors who were assisting her told her they thought Thảo’s husband should
obtain work, she decided to accept the funds. Thảo further said that since she made
use of the loan, her husband has been raising pigs at their home and has reduced
his socializing, alcohol consumption, and violence toward her. While this broader
approach to addressing marital sexual violence is encouraging, the counselors aid-
ing Thảo bemoaned the fact that few cases of domestic violence receive this kind of
support from the community. They said that communities and mass organizations
tend to only help an abused woman with a loan when they perceive the case to be
serious. This may be due to limited funds. Although Thảo’s husband did not entirely
stop sexually abusing her, a community health, social, and economic approach to
domestic violence, along with the enforcement of existing laws, may help to reduce
women’s vulnerability to continued violence from their husbands.
International and Vietnamese NGOs and, since the implementation of the 2007
domestic violence law, government officials and mass organizations have been imple-
menting a few programs for men oriented toward the prevention of domestic violence,
including sexual violence. This has been an important development because this kind
of domestic violence prevention activity, as well as government programs stressing the
creation and maintenance of “happy families,” have in the last three decades mainly
been implemented for women. Educational prevention activities for both men and
women are key to generating new conceptualizations of gender, marriage, sexuality in
marriage, and family and to preventing further marital sexual violence.
New ideas that may help alleviate women being blamed for marital sexual vio-
lence, and other forms of domestic violence, could include making men equally
responsible with women for creating happy families. This kind of approach to pre-
venting domestic violence will likely only be successful, though, with the simultane-
ous implementation of approaches that also provide women with the social support
and economic ability to decide to leave an abusive marriage if women determine
this to be the best course of action.
Based on my own and other scholars’ research, many women who have been pres-
sured to remain in abusive marriages through the government-mandated reconcilia-
tion approach and who have stayed married to their abusive husbands have experienced
continued violence from their husbands in the face of government leaders’, family
members’, and friends’ attempts to counsel the husbands to stop abusing their wives
(Kwiatkowski 2011b). Eliminating the reconciliation approach to addressing domestic
violence, providing women the ability to decide how to manage domestic violence in
conjunction with social and economic support, and encouraging both men and women
to be equally responsible for creating happy families may aid in reducing the problem of
continued marital sexual violence and other forms of domestic violence.
C O N C LU S I O N
In spite of the 2007 domestic violence law that prohibits forced or coerced sex
among family members, women’s structural vulnerability to marital sexual violence
continues. While there are other factors at play as well, I have argued that this is
largely due to a lack of clarity of this new legal concept; cultural ideologies of gender,
family, sexuality, and violence circulating in Việt Nam that legitimate marital sex-
ual violence; inadequate implementation of existing laws prohibiting marital sex-
ual violence and other forms of domestic violence; barriers to divorce; and shame
associated with sexuality and marital sexual abuse. These insults have made public
discussion of marital sexual violence problematic, isolated women who experience
marital sexual violence, and led some authorities to perceive women to be individu-
ally responsible to control their husbands’ sexual violence against them. If these cul-
tural, social, political, and economic problems can be addressed to better support
abused women and make revealing marital sexual violence more viable for them,
their structural vulnerability to marital sexual violence and its health and social
effects may be reduced.
Notes
1. I sincerely thank Dr. Nguyen Thi Hoai Duc, director of the Institute for
Reproductive and Family Health, for her kind hospitality and considerable assis-
tance to me while I was affiliated with the institute during my research in 2013 and
during earlier visits to Vietnam. I offer my deepest gratitude to the Vietnamese
women and men who shared their experiences, knowledge, and time with me dur-
ing my research in their communities. I wish to express my great appreciation to
Kersti Yllö and M. Gabriela Torres for their generous efforts and dedicated work
that led to the publication of this edited volume and their insightful and helpful
comments on earlier drafts of my chapter. I am also grateful to Daniel J. Smith and
Cecilia Menjívar for their astute and useful suggestions for this chapter.
2. The General Statistics Office of Vietnam, the United Nations–Government of Viet
Nam Joint Programme on Gender Equality, the World Health Organization, and
other organizations conducted the National Study on Domestic Violence Against
Women in Viet Nam. Researchers of this study interviewed 4,838 women between
the ages of 18 and 60, most of whom were married and a small number who were
partnered, throughout Vietnam for the survey. This study also included in-depth
interviews with women survivors of domestic violence, key informants, and women
and men in local Vietnamese communities, as well as focus groups with men and
women (GSO 2010, 19).
3. The Vietnam Women’s Union is a Communist Party–led mass organization that
conveys policies and implements government campaigns and activities in com-
munities throughout Vietnam, particularly for women. It also has sponsored eco-
nomic development at the national level and in local communities and advocated
gender equality as well as traditional feminine and family ideals.
4. I have used pseudonyms for all names in this chapter to protect the identities of the
participants in my research.
6
Normalizing Suffering, Robadas,

Coercive Power, and
Marital Unions Among Ladinas
in Eastern Guatemala
CECILIA MENJÍVAR
In this chapter, I examine experiences of intimate partner violence (rape) of nonin-

digenous (Ladina) women in Eastern Guatemala through the practice of robadas or
abductions, in which women are “taken” during the period of courtship, sometimes
semivoluntarily but other times by force, by a suitor who wants to start a marital
relationship with them. I argue that there is a continuum of abuse and violence
based on coercive power in marital relationships that starts during courtship, before
the couple begins to cohabit. Although, of course, not all robadas end up in abusive
relations in marriage, it is instructive to examine robadas as a starting point to exca-
vate the connections that exist among various forms of violence in the romantic and
intimate lives of women that set the conditions for violent acts such as rape to occur.
I further argue that robadas, like marital rape, are bound with other forms of sexual
abuse that are rooted in the coercive power that characterizes intimate relations in
Guatemala. As Kwiatkowski in this volume also suggests, these practices are shaped
by structures of inequality beyond the home. I argue here that we cannot isolate the
intimate spaces of the home from the structural conditions that create hierarchies of
power and control. In my conceptualization, marital rape becomes an extension of
other kinds of violence in exploitative marriages (see Russell 1990; Tellis 2010) that
are not only linked to the structural violence of economic dependence (Menjívar
2011) but also intertwined with broader patterns of violence in society, such as
political and structural violence (Abbink 1998; Menjívar 2011).
To accomplish my goal, I rely on 30 in-depth interviews, multiple informal con-
versations with the women, family members, and key figures and observations
I gathered through close to 5 years of intermittent fieldwork in a semirural town in
Eastern Guatemala I call San Alejo1 (see Menjívar 2011). And, although this chap-
ter is primarily based on the data I gathered in San Alejo, I offer complementary
observations that come from in-depth interviews I collected among Guatemalan
immigrants in the United States. Examining the experiences of Guatemalan women
in two distinct sociocultural contexts and in different social positions permits us to
capture continuity and change.
The UN Declaration on the Elimination of Violence Against Women lists the dif-
ferent forms of gender violence that can result in women’s suffering. Applying that
definition, nearly every woman I met in San Alejo was experiencing or had experi-
enced one form and often multiple forms of violence in her life. Some spoke about it
openly; others did not. However, what is important here is not only what the women
said but also how they talked about their experiences and perceptions. Attending to
these subtleties allows us to focus on not only the women’s recognition of their suf-
fering but also the naturalization of the various sources of pain in their lives. Indeed,
a key aspect about experiences of violence is how women would intersperse their
speech with portrayals of positive aspects of their marital unions, which not only
added complexity and nuance but also contributed to normalize them in their lives.
Therefore, paralleling Finkelhor and Yllö’s (1985) and Russell’s (1982) observa-
tions about marital rape, the Guatemalan women in San Alejo did not identify vio-
lent acts in their marriage as out of the ordinary, even when they seemed to have
been traumatized after such acts. Such acts, familiar and routine and entwined in
the belief that they were the “way things are” because men had the undisputed upper
hand in enforcing their will, were painful but went unquestioned because they were
all too common. As such, they are accepted, and women often believed that they had
to learn to endure them. And, although there were important differences in the way
women experienced and made sense of these coercive acts across social positions,
there were also key common denominators to their experiences that I underscore.
These common experiences point to the normalization of violence that rests on a
continuum of coercive power that makes possible the mistreatment of women not
only in their homes (see Dobash and Dobash 1979 for a historical account of this)
but also in the community, neighborhood, and society at large. The cases that follow
illustrate these points.
Hortencia described her first husband as a hard-working man who was a good
provider. She remembered how caring he was when she was ill; he worried if she did
not feel well and made every effort to take her to see the doctor as soon as possible.
He even took care of the children if she was bedridden. “He was good, caring; he
would take pity on me,” Hortencia said with a hint of contentment. But, she often
qualified her positive assessment with comments like, “Oh, but he had a bad tem-
per”; “The 10 years I lived with him were años de amargura [bitter years]”; or “The
scars I have on my body and in my heart remind me of my life with him.” After
8 years of widowhood, she still had flashbacks and nightmares from the days when
he used to beat her and chase her around the house and out into the street with a
knife, shouting insults at her, all because the beans were not salted the way he liked
or because he thought she stared at a man who passed by their house. If he was too
drunk, she would manage to wrestle the knife from his hands and run to a neigh-
bor’s house. With a slight smile, she revealed that deep inside she wished that he
would come home very drunk so she could outmaneuver him. One incident stood
out as especially painful to her. It happened right after their first child was born:
Normalizing Suffering, Robadas, Coercive Power, and Marital Unions 77
Twelve days after the girl was born he beat me badly because the tortillas got
cold when I served them to him. So I escaped. The neighbors told my mama
what he had done, just 12 days after the girl was born, so my mama took me to
her house, right here, around the corner. But he went to get me from there by
force. I was very afraid of him and came home. My mama thought that I wanted
to come back with him. She was very upset and told me never to come to her if
I had a problem again. I said to myself, if I’m going to stay with him, then I’m
going to suffer in silence. I never went back to my mama or my sister. I had to
endure all this alone. I realized that I was an adult. Uno de mujer sufre [One
suffers as a woman].
Although most assaults happened when Hortencia’s husband was drunk and she
recounted the more egregious incidents with sadness and a lingering look of fear on
her face, she described the physical violence matter of factly as “the way things are
around here.” Although her husband acted alone when these incidents happened,
the tacit (but sometimes open) participation of other family members lingered as a
backdrop. It is this social context that makes the violence on the part of individuals
(men in this case) and the consequent suffering in the lives of women not only pos-
sible but also acceptable.
At the other end of town, physically and socially, lived Delfina in a large home
decorated with chandeliers and with several cars parked outside; she was a member
of one of the most respected (and wealthy) families in San Alejo. Her words help
to shed light on the normalization of exploitative and abusive relationships in mar-
riages. She said that even though her husband insulted her every day, telling her that
she was a good for nothing and that she should just leave the house, he had never
hit her. He insulted her family, who also owned a significant amount of land, about
their supposed arrogance and wealth and threatened Delfina with sending her back
to them as soon as his own mother died. Friends and family who were close to the
family had seen how Delfina’s husband behaved toward her. She explained:
When he gets upset, he insults me in front of anyone, no matter who it is, and
calls me everything from bitch on up, it’s never below that. If one of his friends
comes over and he asks me to serve them something to eat and I don’t do it
quickly or if he tells me to look for something and I take longer, oh God, he
starts shouting at me. “Stupid,” “bitch,” ay, he shouts anything that comes to
his mind. In front of the workers who built this house, you should have seen
how he insulted me every day. I would just ignore him, ni modo [what else]. Ay,
a los hombres hay que aguantarlos [one has to put up with men].
Delfina was not alone, as most other women I met in San Alejo had similar marital
situations and echoed Delfina’s words as they tried to make sense of their marital
experiences.
Another aspect of the women’s marital relations that can set the context for
marital rape is the intense sense of control over the women that the men felt when
they entered a union. Interestingly, the overbearing burden of ideal gender roles
as lived by women in Guatemala bears a strong resemblance to the experience of
Vietnamese women discussed by Kwiatkowski in this volume. Men would control
women’s bodies, movements, and in general their lives, given that they felt a sense
of ownership of the women that comes with a marital union. For instance, Emilia
spoke at length about her husband’s short temper, his requirement that she be the
only one to serve him, and his constant control. He would time her when she went
to visit her parents, would not allow her to socialize with her friends, and would keep
a close eye on her work schedule so that he knew exactly when she would be home.
However, she did not find it out of the ordinary because she was not the only one in
that situation, either in her family or in San Alejo in general.
Andrea, whose marital situation was uncertain because apparently she had been
forced by her stepfather into becoming his sexual partner after her mother’s death,
mentioned routine beatings from this man if he ever saw her talking with others.
Speaking in a low voice in the garden of the house where she lived with her son
and her stepfather/partner, she said that this señor did not like it when other men
showed interest in her: “He becomes very angry and hits me if some man talks to
me. The other day, there was a young man who talked to me at the park. He doesn’t
tolerate that. The next day he came to the kitchen to hit me with a saucepan in the
head. I live in fear because if he finds out that I talk with anyone, he can hit me.” Her
stepfather/partner would tell her that he was looking out for her, making sure that
she did not get entangled with some irresponsible man, as had happened after her
mother died. Andrea explained, “I was 15 when she died, and I was lost; I ended up
having my baby alone. So to prevent another accident like that, he does not let me
have a boyfriend; I’m 22, but he says no.” In a framework of protection, itself bound
up in symbolic and gender violence, this man ended up controlling Andrea’s roman-
tic life by means of sexual, psychological, and physical violence.
A key aspect informing the women’s lives was the profound gender inequities that
pervaded families, communities, and institutions that, I argue, lay at the root of the
insidious forms of violence, pain, and suffering, including marital rape, the women
endured. This chain of causality, entwined in coercive power, was not lost on the
women I came to know. One hot afternoon, I was sitting at a small convenience store
in the center of San Alejo chatting with the owner, and two religious women, who
had come to have a soda, joined in the conversation. One of the women explained
her views as follows: “Look, in this country we have lost our fear of God and we
have learned to fear each other. We fear everything and everyone. Yes, violence is all
around us. Here it’s like in Israel, the land of Our Savior. And the violence enters the
home and our families, and it destroys us. But why? Because we don’t fear God.” The
owner of the store, not fully convinced, nevertheless nodded in agreement and said
that in her country values about basic humanity had been lost, which is why so many
people were being killed. During a visit to San Alejo, a nurse at the health post pro-
vided the following insight, which points to the commingling of multifaceted vio-
lence and expressions of masculinity based on coercive force: “What do you expect
in a country that has not respected its citizens? From a government that only has
fomented violence to deal with violence? Of course, if we live with violence every
day, that penetrates the minds of people, no? So it’s la ley del machete [the law of the
machete] for everything!”
The cases presented illustrate the predominant ideology in San Alejo that wives
(whether formally married or cohabiting) are considered the property of the hus-
bands when they are in a union, and thus it was commonly believed that the men
had inherent rights to the women’s bodies. The marital exemption practice that
historically gave men the right to demand sex from their wives regardless of the
women’s desires (Finkelhor and Yllö 1985; Tellis 2010) and thus to rape them
exists in various forms in Guatemala. Therefore, the violence that women experi-
ence in the context of a marital union serves to “assert [the male partner’s] ultimate
ownership over her body” (Finkelhor and Yllö 1985, 29), and thus it becomes more
“about humiliation, degradation, anger” (18) than simply about disagreements.
As Abbink (1998, 273) notes, expressions of violence always contain “an aspect
of ‘communication’ ”—be it as a statement of social protest, of intimidation, or of
self-assertion.
Robadas contribute to the legitimation of the central element of men’s author-
ity, based on coercive power, which reinforces and nourishes gender inequality and
physical violence. Significantly, robadas can involve actual physical violence, as
when young women are dragged on the pavement or pushed inside an open door, or
the term can be used as a metaphor to describe an elopement. But the use of the term
in itself, which positions women as objects and possessions without will, is an impor-
tant aspect of courtship and marriage that evinces the violent basis on which many
unions are built. As Wim Savenije and Katherine Andrade-Eekhoff (2003, 145)
note in their examination of everyday violence in El Salvador, “Intimate relations
are often confused with property relations.”
Various forms of violence, including humiliation, degradation, and self-blame,
come to light in robadas. It is often the women who must go back to their parents
to apologize for the deed. They go through the embarrassment of the actual robada,
particularly when it is forced or even semivoluntary, and then the humiliation of
asking for forgiveness for something that the men usually persuaded (or forced)
them to do and that the social milieu sees as normal. Robadas are the way in which
many unions were established in San Alejo.
Of the 30 San Alejo women I formally interviewed, 5 had been involved in roba-
das (2 at the age of 13) and 2 were forced to elope, which essentially means they
were also robadas. The women were triply harmed—once by the act itself, especially
when forced, then by having to accept culpability for it and apologizing to the par-
ents, and then by starting out a union on such violent grounds. Importantly, the vio-
lence inscribed in this practice was not only normalized and framed in a language
that justifies it as part of “custom” but also formalized in Guatemalan law. Until
2006, the Guatemalan penal code exonerated a sexual violator if the aggressor mar-
ried the victim, provided that the victim was older than 12 (Sanford 2008) and in
practice men were not prosecuted. It was not unheard of that a young girl was forced
to marry her abductor.
Lucrecia told me the story of her sister, whose boyfriend “se la robó” (stole her) as
she was leaving school. He knew that after having stayed with him for one night she
could not go back to live at her aunt’s house because it would be assumed she was no
longer a virgin and was thus dishonored. However, because she acted “easy” by not
putting up much resistance and agreeing to stay with him, he decided not to marry
her; later she ended up a single mother of two children from two different men (nei-
ther of whom had stolen her). In the case of Estrella, her boyfriend stole her just
before she turned 17, and she and the boyfriend were married 12 days later. Estrella’s
mother did not sanction the union but had to go along with it because her daughter
had already been robada and thus it would be difficult to find a suitable partner for
her later. Estrella lived with her first husband for 13 years, until he opened up a busi-
ness in another city and met a woman there. Susana’s and Mirna’s cases were similar
to those of Lucrecia’s sister and Estrella’s in that once they eloped/were stolen there
was no going back to their parents’ home, and they were forced to marry the men.
Ileana, who was 13 years old when she was robada (and 17 when I met her), had
vivid memories of her experience. She had a penchant for Tex-Mex music, in par-
ticular songs by Selena, and was invited to a house where she was told they would
be playing her music. The man who is now her partner was there and “took” her
from that house. “Me llevó [He took me],” she said, indicating a less-t han-voluntary
act on her part. She reflected that it had all been planned because she barely got to
listen to any of the music she was promised. In the case of Mirna, her grandparents
were upset because, like Estrella, they assumed Mirna’s boyfriend was not going to
appreciate her as a wife because he had never bothered to visit her at her house and
she had eloped with him. Mirna’s grandparents did not blame the boyfriend; they
blamed Mirna for having been “easy.” Mirna explained:
Since I was a minor, they captured him and forced him to face his responsibil-
ity, but he said that he loved me, and since I loved him I had to marry him.
My grandma said that at 13, yes, I was 13 years old when he stole me [smiles],
I could not make such a decision, but I thought I was in love and that he had
stolen me because he loved me.
The cases of Isabel and Hortencia shed light on how these robadas happen, the
power men have to instigate and control the act, the participation of other family
members, how women see these acts, and, importantly, their normalization. When
I asked Isabel if her husband had asked for her hand in marriage she said no and
explained how it had happened:
No, I just left with him. Because here the men say, “You’re leaving with me,”
and the women start to lie and give excuses until you can’t lie anymore. The
third time he told me to go with him, I went. But by then I couldn’t even look
at him. It was something that came over me. I abhorred him in the end, but
I had to go with him because by then we had agreed to elope. He took me to
Guatemala [City]; we spent about 5 days there at his sister’s house. We came
back, but it took my parents about 15 days to forgive me for what I did, and after
that I started to visit them again.
In Hortencia’s case, she had already talked about marriage with her boyfriend
but she was just 16 and not ready to start a union. Then, she found out that he had
been married before. She was upset that he had not told her and changed her mind
about marrying him. “He was furious because I didn’t want to marry him anymore,
so he stole me,” she said. “You know, as it is the custom we have here.” “And how did
it happen?” I asked. She replied:
It’s the custom here; the man takes you. He has friends with him in case you
resist. They hit you if you don’t want to go. So that’s how they did it with me.
The next day I ran to my mama’s, but she thought that I had left with him of my
own accord, so she sent me back to him. She told me, “Marido querías, marido
tenés” [You wanted a husband, now you have one]. And I asked myself, why
is she saying this to me? Nothing has happened to me yet [meaning she had
not had intercourse yet]. And when I went back to him he started hitting me
because I had dared to escape to go back to my mama. I had to stay with him
after that.
The practice of robadas seemed to cut across social classes, but the women of
higher socioeconomic positions did not refer to it as such, making robadas a class-
bound concept that adds insult to injury among the socially or economically
vulnerable women who go through it. This contrast was evident in how Vera and
Mariana explained their situations. Vera, who had attended private schools in a
larger city and drove a late-model car, was still considered to be from lower-class
standing because her mother supported the entire household by renting the rooms
in her house and running a cafeteria. As people in town commented, the money her
mother had made, though decently earned, had not erased Vera’s “humble origins,”
and her family, though “decent and hard working,” were not among the “notables”
in town. Vera fell in love with the son of a powerful, notable family. The young man
drank and was never interested in working or going to school. One day, on her way
back from the city, he was waiting for her in the street and “me robó” [he stole me],
Vera explained. For about 10 days she stayed with various relatives of her boyfriend
until he brought her home to his parents, where she seemed to have been welcomed.
Others in town said that part of the reason this family of higher status welcomed
Vera to their home (and even helped the couple establish their own home) was
because the young man was not the family’s best “asset,” so the parents were happy
that he had found a woman who could tolerate his drinking. A neighbor of this fam-
ily said, “Her family has more money, but his has more orgullo [pride, arrogance], so
they’re a good match. When he stole her it worked well for all of them.” Everyone,
including Vera, referred to this event as a robada.
Mariana’s experience was almost identical to Vera’s, so when we conversed about
it, I asked her if she had been robada. She smiled and quickly corrected me. “Robada,
no,” she explained, “That’s what the people here do. In my case, I just came to live
with him when he told me to.” It is not that she wanted to paint herself in “modern”
terms or to appear “liberal,” a worker at a health post told me. “It’s that she wants to
separate herself, differentiate herself from the pueblo [people]. She does not want
to appear as if she is like everyone else, because her family is very wealthy. That’s
all. That’s why she didn’t tell you about her robada.” I heard similar comments from
members of well-to-do families, who generally did not use the term robada, and oth-
ers in town provided similar explanations. Vera said that it took her mother about
2 weeks to forgive her for what had happened. Vera (but not Mariana) felt embar-
rassed and needed to be forgiven for something that was not entirely of her own
choosing. Thus, to be robada hurt the women triply—emotionally, physically, and
in their relations at home.
Leticia’s case further highlights that class inequalities, as Ptacek in this volume
also suggests, can compound the injuries of intimate partner violence. As was cus-
tomary, Leticia’s partner took her to live with his parents, and eventually they had a
daughter, but they never married. In fact, she only stayed with this partner (her first)
for 1 year because his mother never accepted her. Leticia had worked as a house-
keeper for another family before she and her partner got together, and her partner’s
family did not accept her because of her lower-class standing. “[His mother] used to
call me la sirvienta [the maid], never by my name. I don’t think she ever pronounced
my name. Yes, she would say, ‘Vení, vos, sirvienta’ [Come, you, maid], or just ‘Sh, sir-
vienta.’ She made me eat in the kitchen, not at the table like the rest of the family. In
that house I was always treated like an inferior. So he only stole me to be humiliated
by his family. So, of course, no, we never married.” But Leticia never questioned that
given her background and social standing he would refuse to marry her after all. In
her eyes, this is how things were.
Mariana and Vera were still not married even after they had been living with
their partners postrobadas long enough to have had children with them, some-
thing that bothered them, mostly because of what this meant in the eyes of others
in San Alejo and also perhaps because it affected how they saw themselves and
their futures. In contrast, María Ruth and Susana, who lived in the poorest area
of town and were also robadas, had married their boyfriends. When Susana’s boy-
friend asked for her hand in marriage, her parents did not give permission because
they did not like the young man; he drank too much and was not a hard worker.
So, Susana and the young man went to live with his parents. “Yes, I was robada,
but not completely, because he and I had already talked about it,” Susana told me,
though he did pressure her into it. María Ruth’s parents were very poor—even
poorer than her husband’s family, she said—a nd although they thought the mar-
riage might improve their daughter’s life, they hesitated to agree to it because the
young man came to ask for her hand in marriage at 10 o’clock in the morning
already reeking of alcohol. Both men stole their girlfriends and in time married
them in the church, but in hindsight both women regretted the events that led to
their marriages. Susana said, “It’s been suffering since the first day. Not a single
day passes when I can say that I’m happy.” And both thought that the robadas
might have had something to do with the way things had turned out; at the same
time, they pointed to themselves as culpable because they had disobeyed their
parents and not resisted the men strongly enough, even though the boyfriends
had essentially just “taken them.”
One afternoon I was discussing the issue of robadas with Ofelia, the reception-
ist at the health clinic, and she said that the practice was common. In contrast to
what I had observed, she said that many couples who start out their unions through
a robada—whether involuntary, forced, or semivoluntary—marry in due course.
She remarked that many couples begin a union this way because they lack the
money to have a wedding and start a family, endorsing the belief that robadas are
a “custom” of the poor. She added, “So, it’s the poor, the poor women, who suffer
because they enter unions they don’t want, a lot of times by force. Here [in San
Alejo] the men are the owners. Sometimes they act out of caprice; on a whim they
steal a girl.” She was thinking of her neighbor, who had been stolen by a man she
hardly knew. Her neighbor and the man had spoken a few times; he had “expressed
interest in her,” and then he had stolen her. Ofelia explains how unions that start
out from the violent act of a robada can continue to breed violence, abuse, and mis-
treatment in the union:
Someone else had stolen this man’s girlfriend, so out of pure anger he got drunk,
and bolo [drunk] he stole my neighbor. He used to be in the army and had a very
bad temper. After he stole her he was always drunk; 2 weeks after he took her
he started beating her. He used to tell her, “Go to your house if you don’t like it
here,” but she had to stay because her family was angry with her. She aguantó ese
trato [endured that treatment] for years. She had a boyfriend whom she loved
when this man stole her. It was tough for her, for years. Even now, she doesn’t live
in tranquility.
I noticed that often when women talked about men “having interest” in the
women they later stole, they referred to a period similar to stalking, in which
intense control and pressure (bordering on harassment, as in the cases of Isabel
and Hortencia) is interpreted as “interest” or romantic love. This happened to
Delfina. When her husband started courting her, he became “very possessive,” to
the point of not letting her come close to any other men, even young male cousins.
He kept an eye on her every move and enlisted his friends to help him “control”
her. Smiling a little, Delfina explained, “He became very jealous; I couldn’t even
look at other men. Once, this drunken man from the street, a dirty man, came by
our house and he [at that time her boyfriend] thought that this man came to see
me. Imagine! He never let me have any other boyfriends; he would chase them
away. No one could get close to me.” So, Delfina explained, she married her hus-
band by default. “I knew I would never be able to see other men because he kept
me watched and controlled, so I ended up accepting him,” she said with a shrug
of her shoulders and a slight smile, even if she knew he was not the best option
for her.
Among the Guatemalan immigrant women I have interviewed in the United
States, some recognize the violence and coercion in their marital and sexual relations
and accept that these may constitute a form of “violation,” while others do not view
such acts as rape. Perhaps, as Belknap (2007, 293) argues, “It cannot be rape if the
offender is a husband or boyfriend.” Or, it is a defense mechanism that the women
utilize to minimize the violence to be able to endure it and live with their partners
(see Bergen 1996). Such defense mechanisms may be more common, as Ptacek in this
volume notes, when the women find themselves economically dependent on men,
as González-López (2005) found in the cases of marital rape in her research among
Mexican immigrant women in the United States. Importantly, the experiences of
immigrant women can shed light on how the social context can affect how women
understand and experience coercive intimate relationships. Immigrant women in the
United States are more exposed to information about violence, and many know and
talk about how more responsive law enforcement is in the United States than in their
origin countries (see Menjívar and Bejarano 2004). At the same time, there are certain
aspects of how women understand violence in marital relations that persist across con-
texts, although not completely unchanged.
For instance, in detailing her abusive marriage and exploitative relationship,
Yanet, who now lives in Phoenix, Arizona, explained that her husband would make
it a point to humiliate her and denigrate her in areas he knew were very delicate for
her. In addition to threats and regular psychological abuse, he would make some
of the abuse public. He would tell off-color jokes to her coworkers in her presence
knowing how much this embarrassed her, would allude to their intimate relations
and what he saw as her shortcomings in conversations with his friends, and would
make fun about her body with others. This all happened in the context of violence
and threats in more intimate spaces; she is almost certain she never had sexual rela-
tions with her husband without being forced into it (see González-López 2005).
One insidious practice that highlights the fundamentally coercive nature of their
intimate life, entwined with the objectification of female bodies, is that her husband
would “warn” her that they would have sex on a particular day. She explained:
OK, for instance, in the morning, as I got out of the shower and started to get
dressed he would give me this terrible smile and would tell me, “Don’t bother
to wear underwear today because tonight I’m going to use you, I feel like using
you, bitch. So don’t put underwear on because you’ll have to take all that off
and I don’t want to waste time.” He would say this and then the whole day
I would be having discomfort, like an affliction, like my stomach churning and
somehow I would feel my vagina closing. It was the pure disgust of knowing
that he would be using me; well, that’s how he called having sex with me. And
yes, it was that, using me. I never wanted it.
Whereas Yanet had learned about domestic violence, what it is, how to recognize it,
and what she would need to do in case she experienced it, she was more hesitant to
define the violence in her intimate relations as rape. She said it was almost too much
to bear; she felt terrible thinking that she had been violated almost every day for
years. She said, however, that she recognized it as domestic violence.
Amanda’s case is similar in that the recognition of such violent acts as marital
rape is not always easy. Amanda, also living in Phoenix, however, did use the term
violada when referring to some episodes in which her common-law partner would
force her to have sex with him and threaten her with violence if she did not. She
explained:
You know, he was in the army and learned a lot of different kinds of punish-
ments there, like torture. So if I didn’t do what he wanted, he would threaten
me with a punishment. One time, I was tired, I don’t know, maybe of him or
of having relations with him, or maybe just tired from work. The thing is that
I didn’t do what he asked me to do. Then he said, “OK, then I’m going to have
to punish you. He said he would put a lighted cigarette on me.” So I thought
I better do what he says. This is how he was. He did whatever he wanted. It was
not right. He was malo [evil].
Therefore, Amanda did recognize the profound coercion in her relationship and
mentioned that what her partner did amounted to violation (or rape) and that this
should not have to happen in a marriage. This is quite different from how women
in San Alejo would make sense of their forced relationships, where women did rec-
ognize the violence in relationships but tended to couch them, as the Vietnamese
women did for Kwiatkowski in this volume, in the ideology of “the way things are
here.”
C O N C LU S I O N
The case of robadas in Eastern Guatemala offers the opportunity to examine the
continuum of violence and coercion that starts in courtship and becomes part of
marital relations for many Guatemalan women. This examination also allows us to
unveil the routinized violence in visible and less-v isible practices, similar to those
discussed by Ptacek in this volume, and how these become so normalized that they
fade from view and become part of life or custom, or “the way things are.” Following
Bourdieu’s (2001, 9) conceptualization of the social order as an “immense symbolic
machine to ratify masculine domination” in examining violence and coercion in
robadas as a precursor for relations in a marital union, I have underscored the nat-
uralization that comes from the symbolic violence on which they are based. The
violence on which courtship rests is later manifested in intimate relations, denigra-
tions and humiliations in a union. In turn, these more intimate practices are enacted
within a context of nuanced and complex social relations but also of deeply unequal
gender relations that position women as dependents and even as objects and pos-
sessions. The continuum of violence and practices based on coercive power and the
treatment of women as possessions can then lead to the more egregious expressions
of violence in the form of feminicides, as Caputi and Russell (1990) have observed.
The cases of Guatemalan immigrant women in the United States occur in a dif-
ferent context but still within the sociocultural parameters that place women in
an unequal position and often dependent on the men. And, even though in the US
context the women become exposed to information about different forms of vio-
lence against women, and they are more likely to identify a situation of domestic
violence as such and to know what to do, they do not automatically define their vio-
lent intimate experiences as marital rape. They sometimes draw a line between rape
and marriage because in their milieu the two cannot go together. These cases show
both continuity and change and point to the difference that a dissimilar context can
make, in that women become cognizant that certain acts do not have to be part of
the way things are. At the same time, these cases make evident the power of gen-
der ideologies and coercive power in the context of marriage, which do not go away
completely even when women live in a dissimilar context and are not economically
dependent on men. Given the embedded nature of the framing of the way things are
and the enduring and naturalizing power of unequal gender relations, a project for
change may start with disentangling the violent aspects from the “social order” so
that they become visible and recognizable as violent and thus create potential for
change. This is an important step forward.
Note
1. This chapter uses some data that also appear in Chapter 4 of Menjívar (2011).
7
Marital Rape and the Law

The Condition of Black Township
Women in South Africa’s Democracy
JUDITH L. SINGLETON
One July afternoon, NoSipho and I talked in her home in Mpophomeni, South
Africa. A single mother, she was delighted to have me as a visitor, especially since
her two children and older brother were away at school and work. Most after-
noons, NoSipho had usually completed her household chores, ending the day by
cooking dinner for everyone. But on this particular day, NoSipho sat chatting with
me, an American woman who expressed interest in learning about her life. While
we talked, she spoke candidly about painful experiences with sexual violence as a
young woman in her late 20s. Now, almost 10 years later, she spoke about her ex-
boyfriend, who perpetrated the seemingly endless violence and terror.
On one occasion, NoSipho recalled, her ex-boyfriend beat her so badly that she
fainted.
“He left me on top of the grave,” she said metaphorically, “but he would leave me
so that I would not go inside the grave” (July 7, 2005). Continuing, she said:
I was staying with him permanently, like kipiting [cohabiting]. In our custom,
I’m not supposed to stay with a man permanently without him paying any-
thing. He’s supposed to pay lobola [brideprice] to my parents, then I can stay
with him. If I go and stay with him and he’s paid nothing, he’ll take me as a slut
and he will do anything to me because I’m nothing to him. He would say to
me, “You have to pack your bags and go because you don’t want me to have sex
with you. Who are you going to have sex with, because you don’t want to have
sex with me?” I would say to him, “I don’t want to have sex today.” But he would
just grab me and put me on top of the bed. I would say no, but he grabbed me
anyway! Sometimes I think he wouldn’t take me seriously because the expres-
sion on my face was not serious. Boys don’t take girls seriously. So they rape
them. (July 7, 2005)
Another woman named Dudu was married and in her early 30s with two children
at the time of our interview; she told me that her husband—while inebriated—often
hit her in their home. She explained differences between “rape” and “forced sex” by
saying, “Rape is demand. Forced sex is demand of sex from my husband. I would
never say ‘My husband raped me,’ because my husband paid lobola for me. My boy-
friend paid nothing for me, so that is rape” (March 10, 2005).
These two narratives from NoSipho and Dudu illustrate, first, that the home is
the most dangerous place for women and, second, in the South African context, the
economic factor of ilobolo (bridewealth)1 influences the distinctions women make
between rape and forced sex. Some women believed that once the family of the bride
receives lobolo, the man could claim unlimited sexual access to his wife. But, other
women interpreted distinctions between rape and forced sex differently. NoSipho
defined rape as “having sex with my boyfriend when I do not love him anymore”
(July 10, 2002).
Many scholars and activists perceive South Africa’s laws regarding sexual vio-
lence as progressive. Yet, some argue while the laws have changed, sexual violence,
particularly rape, continues to persist. Since its democratic transition in 1994, South
Africa has earned the tragic distinction, according to media and statistical data, as
one of the “rape capitals of the world” (Savings 2014).
This chapter examines two cases and two laws regarding marital rape. The cases
include the experiences of marital rape with NoSipho and Dudu, two women I came
to know in Mpophomeni while conducting 18 months of ethnographic research in
South Africa. The two laws I examine include the Family Violence Act of 1993,
which later became the Domestic Violence Act, and the Sexual Offenses Act of 2007.
The Family Violence Act was the first to acknowledge the existence of marital rape,
and the Sexual Offenses Act provided legal definitions of rape and consent reflect-
ing change in the postapartheid era of democracy. Using narratives from NoSipho
and Dudu, I examine the effects of these laws and their relevance on the lives of
poor, black South African women. Their cases illustrate the wide disparity between
laws regarding marital rape and consent and women’s sexual experiences and beliefs
about the meanings of these concepts. More important, this chapter demonstrates
the contradictions between national laws and customary practices that discourage
gender equality.
While marital rape is an intimate and personal assault, I argue it cannot be
understood without examining the larger historical, economic, and social struc-
ture. This chapter identifies several factors contextualizing marital rape in post-
apartheid South Africa. The historical and economic inequalities that leave many
black South Africans in poverty and struggling to sustain themselves are embed-
ded from the apartheid era and remain profound and powerful currently in the
postapartheid era. As black South African men’s economic security deteriorates
and becomes more precarious, their ability to secure lobolo for marriage is also
endangered. Prospects for marriage for poor black South African men in the post-
apartheid economy are slim to nonexistent. As a result, marriage is in decline due
to widespread beliefs about the practice of lobola. I provide a detailed examination
of the effects of this practice.
Lobola practices are central to understanding Zulu society, marriage, social
organization, economic inequality, and marital rape. High rates of unemployment
of many young, black South African men are compounded with the necessity of
Marital Rape and the Law 89
paying lobola to the bride’s family. This has resulted in the inability of men to find
female partners to marry. The decline of marriage is also changing the social orga-
nization of South African society. The capitalist structure of the nuclear family that
dominated the apartheid system is a remnant of the past. Men are no longer the sole
providers and heads of households.
The practice of lobola has influenced not only the decline of marriage and social
organization but also meanings of marital rape. I argue that contested definitions
of rape and consent in South Africa exemplify tensions between universalism and
cultural relativism concerning sexuality, sexual violence, and law. More important,
lobola plays a role in the ways in which women and men think about ideas of sexual
coercion and consent. These notions are reflected in the various and conflicting legal
systems of customary and civil law that persist in South Africa. Both sexes believed
in the law of custom, as opposed to national law. Local discursive structures of law
collide, particularly in regard to women’s relation to the state. Reflecting on the situ-
ation of women in Africa in the context of postconflict transformation, Meredith
Turshen (2002, 78) states: “Most African women live under more than one ‘state’
in the sense that they live under more than one set of laws: the statutory regime
and the customary regime. Men’s interests dominate both statutory and customary
systems because they are patriarchal.” Turshen’s assessment is relevant to the situ-
ation of women in Mpophomeni concerning sexual practices in the postapartheid
era in South Africa. As Gayatri Reddy (2005) suggests, global, national, and local
forces overlap in one sphere and become part of people’s lives. This is especially true
for women living in postconflict regimes under transformation. At times, women
I interviewed demonstrated awareness of the law of the state, and in other instances
their beliefs reverted to the law of custom.
Unequal social and economic relations between women and men also add ten-
sions between black South African women and men regarding rape and sexual
consent (Singleton 2008). Men’s economic insecurity and inability to perform as
providers of the household ruptures notions of masculine identity, which at times
results in frustration and violence against women. The aim of this chapter is to argue
and illustrate that lobola practices are central and must be understood and acknowl-
edged when creating policy regarding marital rape. In addition, because of declin-
ing marriage rates in South Africa, meanings and definitions of marital rape need
to cover other forms of relationships, including cohabitation or kipiting as NoSipho
described in her narrative. Practices of lobola undermine gender equality in a demo-
cratic society.
South Africa is a recent democracy and celebrated its 20th anniversary in 2014.
It has created and adopted many new laws that are upheld by its progressive con-
stitution. Yet, the nation continues to struggle with many cultural practices, such
as lobola, that counter principles of equality. These tensions continue to pervade,
making it difficult for many black South African women to thrive in a democracy
that encourages healthy intimate relationships. Thus, I argue these factors resulting
from beliefs and practices of lobola contribute to violence against women and rape.
These issues continue to plague South African society today.
I am not suggesting in this chapter that rape is a problem only in the black South
African community. On the contrary, like everywhere else in the world, rape and
sexual violence in South Africa extends across race and class lines. Oscar Pistorius,
the white South African track star known as “Bladerunner” who was found guilty
in 2014 of killing his girlfriend, model Reeva Steenkamp, illustrates how gender-
based violence remains a problem in white South African communities.2 While the
Pistorius case is about race and social and economic class, there are additional ele-
ments, including perceptions of hegemonic masculinity, celebrity, and disability.
During the 24 months I lived in South Africa conducting field research, I met many
white South African women survivors of sexual violence with male partners within
and outside marriage. Sexual violence may be more visible in communities with
social and economic deprivation. The apartheid system’s success was that many
South African communities were left to live in dreadful conditions with little access
to education, healthcare, and decent housing. I suggest that sexual violence is not
only a problem belonging to specific segments of South African society but also a
problem for everyone living there.
R ES E A R C H S I T E, M E T H O D O LO GY, A N D P O S I T I O N
This chapter is based on field research I conducted for a period of 24 months for a
larger ethnographic research project on sexual violence and acquaintance rape in
the township of Mpophomeni situated approximately 37 kilometers (~22 miles)
west of Pietermaritzburg and approximately 80 kilometers (49 miles) west from the
city of Durban in KwaZulu Natal Province.
Because this study is ethnographic and aimed at examining forms of sexual coer-
cion, I became deeply involved as a volunteer at the community center that enabled
me to meet residents. I conducted in-depth interviews—often in Zulu—a nd did
extensive participant observation in community workshops and meetings.
I carried out a survey about young people’s employment status and the types of
housing in which they resided. I also carried out participant observation in com-
munity workshops and meetings and conducted individual interviews to learn
about young people’s lives and their experiences. On average, I interviewed partici-
pants three times for at least 2 to 3 hours and regularly interacted with them on a
daily basis. I found I had a unique social position in Mpophomeni as an African
American. Given my facility with the Zulu language, doors opened to relationships
that otherwise might have been more difficult to enter.
L AWS A D D R ES S I N G M A R I TA L R A PE: FA M I LY
V I O L EN C E ACT, D O M EST I C V I O L EN C E ACT,
A N D S E X UA L O FFEN S ES ACT
The South African Parliament passed the Family Violence Act in 1993 (Fedler
1994; Nowrojee and Manby 1995) and renamed it the Domestic Violence Act in
1998. This new law acknowledged acquaintance rape and openly addressed violence
against women and rape in South African households. Section 5 specifically rec-
ognized marital rape as a form of sexual violence that was prosecutable as a crime
in South Africa’s courts (Fedler 1994; Majola 1993; Nowrojee and Bronwen 1995).
Although the law purportedly protects married women by any law or custom
and “a man and woman who ordinarily live or lived together as husband and wife,
although not married to each other,”3 several problems exist with the law itself. First,
when this legislation was passed into law in 1993, many law enforcement profession-
als, including police and magistrates, were not educated about the law, and many
acted more sympathetically to the abuser. Second, as with most cases concerning
gender-based violence, rape is difficult to prove in a court of law, especially with a
husband or live-in partner. Law is also limited in restructuring embedded power
relations in society (Fedler 1994), which include gender relations and encompasses
social, political, and economic power in the household. Finally, poor women like
NoSipho and Dudu are usually not educated and informed about many of the laws
regarding sexual violence and rape that were legislated before the ending of apart-
heid and in the postapartheid eras. Many women in Mpophomeni described the
negative reactions of local police when they sought assistance with gender-based
violence, including domestic violence. Police in Mpophomeni told women to return
home to their violent husbands and boyfriends.
But, Dudu utilized a different strategy to curb acts of violence brought on by her
husband. In Mpophomeni, the postapartheid government built single-room houses
in the township to alleviate overcrowding in families and homes (Singleton 2014).
Dudu lived in her own house before marriage and kept it while married so that she
and her two children could return and use it as a place of safety, particularly when
her husband beat her.
While the original purpose of the Family Violence and Domestic Violence
Acts were to support women in relationships of unequal power, the concept of ilo-
bolo continues to hold strong influence among Zulu women and men. Although
NoSipho’s relationship is outside marriage demonstrating differences in power,
Dudu’s marriage illustrates another point. Dudu exercises agency in keeping her
house to protect herself and her children from her husband, especially when he is
intoxicated. Dudu did not want to speak in much detail about the violence in her
marriage. Her husband worked at the community center where I worked and taught
an English reading-a nd-w riting class. Dudu was aware that I knew her husband and
entrusted a great deal of confidence in me that I would not divulge anything about
our conversations regarding the violence she experienced within her marriage.
The Sexual Offenses Act became law in December 2007 (Rondganger 2007). The
law broadens the legal definition of rape adopted in 1957 by acknowledging that rape
can occur not only between a man and a woman, but also between two people of the
same sex. The law legislated in 1957 defined rape as an act “committed by a man
having intentional, unlawful sexual intercourse with a woman without her consent”
(South African Law Reform Commission 1999, 69; Vogelman 1990, 3). The Sexual
Offenses Act of 2007 recognizes that rape can include other penetrative acts besides
sexual intercourse. South Africa’s new law defines rape as “an act committed by any
person (‘A’) who unlawfully and intentionally commits an act of sexual penetration
with a complainant (‘B’) without the consent of ‘B.’ ”4 However, it fails to provide an
explicit definition of consent yet outlines “coercive circumstances.”
B R I EF H I STO RY O F I LO B O LO A N D LO B O L A PR ACT I C ES
Ilobolo and lobola, or brideprice, took center stage in anthropological writing dur-
ing the rise of capitalism and labor migration in the first years after colonization.
Transitions in the practice of lobola persisted as the demand for cash by Africans
increased. Ilobolo constituted a series of wealth transfers from the groom’s family
to the bride’s family. Gifts consisted of cattle, meat, beads, and household utensils
(Krige 1936, 121).
Imposing a new economic structure, colonial authorities misinterpreted the
meaning of ilobolo as “dowry,” in that the family of the groom made cash pay-
ments in exchange for the woman before marriage. Lobola, or “buying a wife,” now
involved agreeing on a price (Vilakazi 1962, 63) in exchange for services and duties
within the household, including sexual access to the woman’s body. 5
As labor migration proliferated, the meaning of lobolo changed from a dowry
to a more complex form of investment. Migrant laborers often pooled money des-
ignated for lobolo into a fund. This investment became a way for a man to secure
access to other financial opportunities, including returning to his community to
support his family and clan elders. With the creation of stockfels—rotating credit
associations—m igrant laborers from the same area combined their earnings into
interest-bearing savings accounts. The name stockfel originated from the English
term stockfair, an institution transplanted to the Eastern Cape by English settlers in
the early 19th century (Ashforth 2003; Schultze 1997). While men worked in the
cities, a proxy replaced the groom in a wedding ceremony back in the countryside.
The families accepted the groom’s absence as a demonstration of ambition and
financial wisdom. Writing about his observations during the 1970s, Basil Samson
(1981) comments that with the money in a stockfel, a man could pay bridewealth
and also return to his rural home, buy a plow, pay for a team to pull it, and work as a
“stay-at-home” to supply food to a hungry population dominated by women.
Labor migration strained relationships between spouses and their family at home.
Stockfels, stay-at-homes, and proxies eased the financial strain of migrant laborers
living in hostels. Marriage functioned primarily as the disposition of paternal rights
over children. By analyzing the temporality in the transfer of payments from the
groom’s family to the wife’s family, Colin Murray (1981) demonstrates the uncer-
tainty in the position of the rights of children in the 1970s. The practice of bohali, the
process of installment payments in the form of cattle, addressed the transition to a
cash economy and the poverty of most African households. This practice completed
the lobola process and took many years for most Africans to accomplish. A marriage
was incomplete until full lobolo was paid (Murray 1981, 116). This situation had seri-
ous consequences for women and children, particularly regarding inheritance. In
the postapartheid era, massive unemployment affects the ability of young men to pay
lobola and to marry and contributes to the fragility of marriage (Ashforth 1999, 53).
Unemployment in South Africa is at 40%, and in black South African communities,
it is higher. Prospects of employment for many young, black South African men in
Mpophomeni are slim, making them unmarriageable.
Historically and currently, marriage in Zulu society marks social status. For
women, marriage is looked on as a rite of passage from a “girl to a woman,” resulting
in reproduction and motherhood. For men, it marks the transition from boyhood
to manhood, which includes taking on responsibilities as provider for the house-
hold. But, in actuality, for most black South African men, particularly those in Zulu
society, marriage rates have fallen over the past 40 years. High male unemployment
makes prospects for marriage tentative, leaving many women single. With this real-
ity, how is marriage defined in the Zulu context? For the most part, women prefer
remaining single with children rather than cohabitating with men. Perhaps from the
data we can conclude that rape occurs within intimate partners rather than within
the formal institution of marriage.
M A R R I AG E PR ACT I C ES A N D T H E D EC L I N E
O F M A R R I AG E I N SO U T H A FR I CA
Marriage as an institution in South African society is historically complicated by

the colonial construction of a dual legal system, one of custom and one regulating
laws and practices by the state that served to further racial oppression. Legal plu-
ralism instituted by the British colonizers consisted of separate and unequal hier-
archies, which included civil law and claimed superiority over the subordinate or
inferior system of customary law, otherwise known as “traditional” law (Chanock
1985). These legal systems continue to operate in the postapartheid era, functioning
not in isolation, but rather as a hybrid, often overlapping each other, at times com-
peting for recognition by the state.
Despite a decline, many black South Africans continue to practice customary
marriages in the 21st century. For example, in 2011, according to Statistics South
Africa (2012), approximately 5,084 customary marriages were registered at the
Department of Home Affairs, compared to 9,996 in 2010. These figures represent
a 49.1% decline in customary marriage between 2010 and 2011 alone. Customary
marriages in South Africa have steadily declined since 2007, with the highest reg-
istered amount recorded in 2004 (20,301) and the lowest recorded in 2011 (5,084)
(Statistics South Africa 2012).
South Africa also represents a nation where marriage is in decline. Marriage
rates in South Africa have steadily decreased since the 1950s (Garenne et al. 2001;
Hosegood, McGrath, and Moultrie 2009; Hunter 2006; Kalule-Sabiti et al. 2007;
Posel and Rudwick 2011). Among all ethnic groups in South Africa, marriage rates
are the lowest among the Zulu, who predominantly live in the KwaZulu Natal prov-
ince. In 2008, approximately 3 of every 10 (30%) Zulu adults were or had been mar-
ried. Marriage rates are also significantly lower in urban areas. Among urban Zulu
dwellers in 2008, only one of every four (25%) Zulu adults was ever married (Posel
and Rudwick 2011).
The participants of my research study were between the ages of 18 and 35. Most
of the young women and men were not married. Dudu was the only married woman
in my study, and there was only one man, Zakhele, who was in the process of negoti-
ating ilobolo with the family of his girlfriend. As the statistics suggest, most women
were single with children.
C O H A B I TAT I N G O R U KU K I PITA A N D I LO B O LO
Cohabitation or ukukipita is rising in South Africa. National data from 1995 to

2008 illustrate that the percentage of black South Africans 18 years of age and older
cohabitating and not married more than doubled, although the initial base was 4%.
Cohabitation rates in urban areas are higher than in rural areas and have risen by
more—from 4% in 1995 to almost 13% in 2008 (Posel and Rudwick 2011, 9). In
1995, only 5% of African women aged 20–45 reported cohabitating with a partner.
By 2008, cohabitation increased to 14%, and 76% of African women aged 20–45
were unmarried (Posel and Rudwick 2014, 282).
Cohabitation rates remain lower among women who are mothers. In 2008, almost
half of all African mothers were neither married nor cohabitating with a partner, and
only 30% of African children were growing up in households with the presence of
their fathers, meaning that 70% were growing up without a father at home (Posel
and Rudwick 2011). Dorrit Posel and Stephanie Rudwick (2014) emphasize that, in
the context of falling marriage rates in South Africa, cohabitation rates, particularly
among women who are mothers, have not increased. NoSipho implied the stigma
attached to cohabitation for women as one explanation. However, available data from
households in KwaZulu Natal demonstrate that, although stigmatized, cohabitation
is not uncommon in urban areas, particularly where sociocultural sanctions have a
tendency to be more flexible. Ukukipita becomes somewhat acceptable only when
ilobola negotiations are ongoing. Goldblatt, Yose, and Mills (2001) and Xaba (2001)
highlight negative consequences of cohabitation or ukukipiting for women. These
studies suggest that cohabiting with men leaves women in vulnerable positions, par-
ticularly as victims of domestic violence and rape. Male partners perceive women
living with men who have not paid or are not participating in lobola negotiations
as less valuable or, as NoSipho explained bluntly, “slut[s]‌.” The practice of ukukipita
removes the central element of ilobolo. Ukukipita changes social organization and
meanings of “family.” In addition, women are more vulnerable to sexual violence.
M A R I TA L R A PE A N D FO R M S O F C O ER C I O N,
C O N S EN T, A N D AC Q U I ESC EN C E
We must focus on notions of coercion and consent to understand rape and marital
rape. Because of the marriage bond, many women and men believe in a sense of duty
to their partner. “Duty” is often manipulated, bullied, and coerced in different ways.
Finkelhor and Yllö (1985, 86) outline four basic types of coercion: (1) social coer-
cion; (2) interpersonal coercion; (3) threatened physical coercion; and (4) physical
coercion. Social coercion is defined as the burden that women sense due to soci-
etal expectations and conventions (Finkelhor and Yllö 1985, 86). Laws, religious
beliefs, and domestic relations within the home institutionalized social coercion.
The results are the performance of societal beliefs. Interpersonal coercion, although
it may not consist of any physical force, can potentially be devastating. It may involve
psychological intimidation, which may result in diminishing a woman’s confidence
and self-esteem. These threats may also lead to humiliation. The third form, threat-
ened physical coercion can range from explicit to implied threats to women. Finally,
physical coercion involves bodily contact and brute force from a male partner. This
is the kind of coercion usually associated with rape. The law and other institutions
within society have yet to acknowledge the other forms.
Both NoSipho and Dudu expressed experiences with both physical and psycho-
logical coercion in their narratives. NoSipho also suggested acquiescence and per-
haps a reason why some women comply to sexual relations with their partners.
As women, we don’t have the full right to say “no,” I won’t have a lover if I say
“no!” That is how we are raped. Even if he is your lover, your partner has no
right to force you and you must be strong that you can say no, you must not be
afraid to say “no!” You must not be afraid you are going to be alone. It’s loneli-
ness that makes women say “yes,” even if they don’t like it. (July 15, 2005)
NoSipho’s comment illustrates not only compliance but also a form of social coer-
cion due to the continued structure of gender inequality from the apartheid era
and continued in the postapartheid era. During the apartheid era, expectations of
women were clearly based on race and gender roles. White South African women
were minors in the eyes of the state but were privileged and protected yet expected
to reproduce to continue the apartheid nation. Black South African women were
noncitizens without rights. While black South African men were also noncitizens,
they were expected to uphold the beliefs of the apartheid state within the household
(Singleton 2008). In this sense, social and interpersonal coercion coalesce with the
larger social structure, influencing relations within the microspace of the home and
the household. NoSipho and Dudu both detailed experiences of physical coercion
by their male partners highlighting their unequal status. But, rape and marital rape
become complicated, messy, and challenging when we discuss and acknowledge
consent.
We must examine concepts of sexual coercion and consent and think about
how they apply to rape within marriage. Kathleen Basile (1999, 1038) poses the
question: “How does the idea of acquiescence fit into an understanding of sexual
coercion in marriage?” What are the different ways in which women “give in” to
undesired sex with their partners? Furthermore, how do women make sense of their
own reactions to unwanted sex and other experiences within these relationships?
While some South African feminist scholars argued just before the democratic
transition that the law on rape should focus on coercion, I argue that the law should
focus on consent with the goal of achieving sexual autonomy for women. Sexual
autonomy involves the guarantee of privacy, personhood, and freedom (Schulhofer
1992, 35). This concept implies acceptance of and respect for choice rather than
legal constructs of consent and coercion (84). Some legal scholars argue that con-
sent is not only language enunciation but also a state of mind, that is, a subjective
attitude or feeling or a willingness that a person experiences (Kadish, Schulhofer,
and Steiker 2007; Wertheimer 2003; Westen 2004). These scholars believe that
defining consent as a verbal act is insufficient. Peter Westen (2004) argues that the
core concept of consent consists of a state of mind of acquiescence.
Some jurisdictions use the state-of-m ind argument in definitions of consent. For
example, Canada defines rape as “an act of non-consent” and “consent” as “a mental
state on a putative victim’s part”6 (South African Law Reform Commission 1999,
93–94). Yet, Canada protects an actor against strict liability by means of supple-
mental mens rea (“with intent”) rules, which say that an actor is guilty of rape only
if he intends, knows, is recklessly unaware of, or is willfully blind to the fact that
his putative victim is not voluntarily acquiescing to sexual intercourse in her mind
(Westen 2004, 144–45). I agree with Westen’s argument in that a more precise mea-
sure of an actor’s guilt of rape is by defining consent as a mental state on a subject’s
part while requiring mens rea on an actor’s part rather than simply using verbal
communication as an assessment of consent.
Consent is not explicitly defined in South Africa’s law on sexual offenses. Rape
is defined in the Sexual Offenses Act adopted in 2007 as “an act committed by any
person (‘A’) who unlawfully and intentionally commits an act of sexual penetration
with a complainant (‘B’) without the consent of (‘B’).” 7 The lack of a definition of
consent is due to requirements that the prosecution had to prove beyond a reason-
able doubt that the victim did not willingly consent to sexual intercourse with the
accused (South African Law Reform Commission 1999, 95). This often led to exces-
sive focus on the victim’s behavior rather than the alleged conduct of the accused
during the rape trial, and the courts in general find it difficult to interpret the mean-
ing of consent. In addition, courts often rely on stereotypical notions about women
and their past sexual behavior to decide if an accused is guilty of rape. This factor
demonstrates the persistence of the old rape myths that assume that a woman moti-
vated by revenge, blackmail, jealousy, guilt, or embarrassment often falsely claims
rape after having consented to sexual relations. Prosecutors ignore many cases in
which consent is ambiguous (115). As a result, consent is loosely defined in South
African law.
Many young men I spoke with in Mpophomeni expressed conservative beliefs
about the meaning of consent, the marriage contract, and the rights of women.
Instead of sexual consent as the central focus to the marriage contract, lobolo was
the most important factor expressed by many. Women’s right to consent was nonex-
istent in the minds of many young men. Many believed that women did not have the
right to say no to sex because it was their duty and not part of their social contract.
They believed that men were entitled to sex with women, especially once lobola
payments were initiated. While attending a workshop in Mpophomeni on sexual
violence, rape, and the meaning of consent and the new proposed legal definitions
of rape, Bongani, a 25-year-old unemployed man, stood up and in Zulu shouted
angrily: “A young woman does not have the right to say no to sex, because I paid for
her either through lobola or because she is a prostitute! I deserve to have sex at any
time. A woman is here on earth to bear my children” (March 23, 2005). Zakhele,
another single man I spoke with, argued that once a woman and man are married,
men should maintain power in the home. He believed a woman’s responsibility was
to stay at home and reproduce to produce a large family (April 28, 2005). Neither
consent nor nonconsent applied to women. Bongani and Zakhele expressed frus-
tration with the idea of women consenting or not to sex. They believed husbands
had the right to have sex with their wives without their female partner’s permission
(April 28 and 30, 2005). How does the law begin to address changing these ideas
about male domination and the oppression of women expressed by young, poor
township men?
Most young men I spoke to in Mpophomeni rejected ideas of acquaintance and
marital rape and did not acknowledge the idea that boyfriends and husbands rape
their girlfriends and wives. Like many women, young men believed that once lobola
was paid, they were entitled to sex. Many young men defined rape as a premeditated
act committed only by strangers in the streets. They also recognized the concept of
child rape—children raped by family members. While I lived in South Africa, child
rape was a topic often spoken about in the media and in overall national discourse.
However, attention to the rape of women was often ignored.
Young township men spoke of rapists as prowlers, lurking on dark streets at
night. They also believed that women should take preventive measures to avoid
being raped in the streets of Mpophomeni. For example, Musa, a 25-year-old unem-
ployed man, said: “Women must know where to walk or stay during the night times,
because rapists usually rape in dark areas. They must not accept rides from strangers
because it is very dangerous” (April 28, 2005). Vusi, another young man, suggested
that women should run, scream, or carry a whistle as safety precautions to avoid
being raped.
Some young men told me that women forced men to have sex with them.
According to Thandanani, a 25-year-old man, women forced men to have sex so
they became pregnant and had children to gain access to social welfare grants that
have been instituted by the democratic government. But, instead of using the money
for the children once they received the grant, women would “buy cell phones and get
credit” (April 5, 2005). Other men believed some women used rape as a threat or as
blackmail to attain money from them. Thandanani told how, after an argument, he
and his now-former girlfriend “made up” by having sex. The next day, Thandanani
said, the young woman told the police that he had raped her. “If the policeman is
interested in the woman for himself,” Thandanani exclaimed, “he will defend her!”
More important, some young men strongly disagreed with South Africa’s new
law on rape. They believed the country’s law on rape, its constitutional advocacy
for gender equality and the protection of women, had diminished the legal system’s
ability to protect men. Simply, these young men believed the law protected women
more than men. Because of women’s ability to coerce men into sex, Sipho said, men
also needed the support of the law (March 29, 2005).
Musa said the new government had allowed women to acquire power while it dis-
empowered men (April 28, 2005). While Sipho personally believed “the government
is on the side of women when it comes to the issue of rape,” publicly he expressed
acceptance of the new ideology of government. Sipho was someone who volun-
teered to work for several nongovernmental organizations located in Mpophomeni.
Because of his involvement, he enjoyed a certain amount of status with young peo-
ple in the community. So, Sipho realized that publicly he must express some politi-
cal correctness. He explained by saying, “You have to keep up with the changes of
the new government. So, no, women and men are equal” (March 29, 2005).
These examples illustrate the wide disparity between beliefs, practices, and the
law. Comments from male participants demonstrate men’s interests in preserving
“tradition” and customary practices, which as Turshen (2002) noted are steeped
in patriarchy. It is also suggestive of men’s unwillingness to understand the shared
benefits of equal opportunity for both women and men in society.
As reported in the introduction to this chapter, NoSipho’s comments demon-
strated that when she lived with her former boyfriend, she respected customary
beliefs about the position of women in the household. But, her ideas expressed
in accounts of other situations, particularly outside the household, suggest that
NoSipho also held a belief in the law of the state. This demonstrates how women
live under more than one legal system—one of custom and the statutory struc-
ture. But, NoSipho, in her earlier narrative description, alluded to the centrality
of lobolo with kipiting or cohabitation. Because practices of kipiting are hierar-
chically subordinate to marriage and stigmatized, a woman’s consent in intimate
relations is also nonexistent and certainly not expected. NoSipho suggested that a
woman living with a man outside marriage does not deserve or expect any rights.
NoSipho suggested that Zulu society seems to condone rape in this context. In
circumstances of cohabitation, women are sluts who deserve any kind of treatment
from their male partners, including rape. Perhaps educational programs focused on
gender-based violence could begin with conversations about lobola and the pres-
sure on men to have the ability to pay the bride’s family. These discussions could
include how beliefs about payment of lobola are contributing to the decline in mar-
riage in South Africa, forcing some women to live with male partners outside mar-
riage, making them vulnerable to violence in the home. Questions and discussions
could also focus on the advantage of marriage and why Zulu women should enter
the marriage contract. For some women, marriage provides a respectable social
status, particularly with payment of lobola by male partners to the bride’s family.
In the postapartheid era, with high levels of unemployment, families of women to
be married are dependent on a certain amount of cash with lobola payments, as
opposed to the precolonial practice of gift exchange solidifying the relationship
between families. 8
T H E R O L E O F M ASC U L I N I T Y, EN T I T L EM EN T,
A N D S E X UA L C O N S EN T
Bongani’s and Zakhele’s ideas about women and their right to sexual consent within
marriage correspond with different forms of masculinity. Raewyn Connell (1995)
defines hegemonic masculinity as dominating other masculinities and succeeding
in creating prescriptions and models of masculinity within a society. These mascu-
linities are binding and create cultural images of what it means to be a “real man”
among men (Morrell 2001, 7). Hegemony is marked by successful claims to author-
ity rather than direct violence (Connell 1995, 77).
In Connell’s (1995, 80–81) analysis, marginalization refers to the relations
between masculinities in dominant and subordinated groups. She suggests that
race relations are an integral part of the dynamic between masculinities. Minorities,
defined in terms of race, class, and ethnicity, have all characteristically construed
their manhood differently from members of the ruling class or elite. According to
Connell, hegemonic masculinity among whites sustains institutional oppression
and physical terror that have framed the making of masculinities in black com-
munities. Marginalization is always relative to the authorization of the hegemonic
masculinity of the dominant group (Connell 1995). In the case of South Africa, his-
torically black South African men were marginalized and subordinated by British
colonizers and the oppressive structure they created. After the British left in the
early 20th century, the Afrikaaners claimed political and economic power, continu-
ing to marginalize black South African masculinity all the way through the approxi-
mately 50 years (1947–1994) of the apartheid era.
Inspired by Raewyn Connell’s approaches to masculinity and power, South
African scholar Thokozani Xaba (2001) examined “struggle masculinity” and
“street masculinity,” which became dominant among young urban Africans dur-
ing the antiapartheid struggle in the 1980s to the early 1990s. Struggle masculin-
ity’s characteristics included opposition to the apartheid system, specifically Bantu
education, the exploitation of workers and communities, high rents, suppression of
protest, and political militancy (109). Struggle masculinity existed alongside street
masculinity, which was disparaging toward women. According to Xaba, these nega-
tive attitudes also tainted struggle masculinity. Modeling,9 the murder of women,
and sexual violence, including rape, demonstrate the merging of street and struggle
masculinity. Struggle masculinity considered women fair game in the violence that
was associated with it (116).
Bongani and Zakhele as young Zulu men and NoSipho and Dudu’s male partners
illustrate the merging of street and struggle masculinity as well as Connell’s ideas of
hegemonic and subordinated masculinities. Black masculinity in the South African
context has been historically marginalized. Street masculinity that rose during the
antiapartheid struggle represents an effort by black South African men to assert
their power in a society dominated by white supremacy. Just as they see many white
South African men dominate socially and economically in households, they also
believe that is their “place.”
Domination in the household includes supremacy in sexual relations with
women. These forms of masculinity privileged and encouraged male entitlement
and served to oppress black South African women. Perhaps the lack of acknowledg-
ment of the rights of women and inscribed acts of violence on female partners illus-
trates the frustration associated with the promises of the postapartheid era for black
South African men. After all, it was described to many during the antiapartheid
struggle that it would be a time of freedom and liberation from white dominance
and oppression. Instead, the postapartheid era is marked with economic uncer-
tainty and presents challenges to black masculinity and masculine dominance that
can result in violence. These ideas are tied to notions of consent and rape while also
related to privilege and entitlement. The comments shared by some young black
men living in Mpophomeni demonstrate ideas and beliefs of entitlement to sexual
access to women’s bodies at any time, especially in exchange for lobola. But, the
combination of male powerlessness, frustration, beliefs, and ideas of entitlement
and dominance—on top of the structural factors of the inability to provide for a
household and participate in the economy as their fathers did—contribute to sexual
violence. Lacking the ability to participate in the new economy in South Africa con-
tributes to the inability to raise the funds to pay lobola, which undermines male
power. These issues raise the importance and the need for equal educational oppor-
tunities for both black South African women and men, especially during a time of a
precarious economy. This represents an initial effort in raising people out of poverty,
which will also substantially equalize gender relations.
L AW A N D S O C I A L C H A N G E
This chapter outlined and emphasized several structural factors that must be taken
into account for a discussion of marital rape in the postapartheid era in South
Africa. These factors include the historical and economic inequalities that many
black South Africans continue to struggle to overcome. High unemployment rates
of young black South African men affect marital rates. The difficulty of many young
men in the Zulu community contributes to the decline in marriage and the change
in social organization and meanings of family.
Lobola practices contradict national laws that condone equality and also contrib-
ute to the current decline in marriage in South Africa’s Zulu community. With high
levels of unemployment among men, many young Zulu men are unable to secure
payment of lobola to the bride’s family. As a result, prospects of marriage are much
more difficult for the younger generation of Zulu men. With marriage in decline,
ideas and definitions of marital rape and acquaintance rape must be changed. The
decline in marital rates has contributed to changes in social organization, including
the nuclear family structure of households.
Women and men in the township of Mpophomeni defined rape differently
based on payment of lobola practices of ukukipita. Some made distinctions
between rape and forced sex, depending on if lobola payments were initiated with
the family of the bride. Lobola and ukukipita are practices that must also be taken
into account for a discussion of marital rape in South Africa. Definitions of rape
and marital rape are equated with men’s ability to secure payments of bridewealth
to the family of the bride. Once lobola payments were made, some participants
believed that the husband had a right to unlimited sexual access to the body of his
female partner. Many participants did not believe that a woman could be raped
by her husband.
Because of its holistic approach, anthropology has the potential to contribute
enormously to explanations of sexual violence. A holistic anthropological analy-
sis includes and ties observations of behavior in everyday life and adds insight
to larger historical, social, and economic changes within society. Anthropology
provides explanations and analysis of structural factors such as apartheid, eco-
nomic inequality, notions of masculinity, formal laws, cultural beliefs, and prac-
tices and elucidates the context within which marital rape is all too common. My
purpose is to push meanings and definitions of marital rape in South Africa to
new levels so that they coincide with structural changes in society. We must fully
understand all these dimensions to formulate effective and meaningful policies
to end sexual violence.10
Notes
1. According to the Scholar’s Zulu Dictionary, lobolo (ilobolo) is a noun referring to
cattle and other things given for a bride. Lobola is a verb meaning to give cattle for
a bride.
2. In early December 2015, the South African Supreme Court of Appeals overturned
the culpable homicide conviction that resulted from Mr. Pistorius’ 2014 trial. Last
December, the South African Supreme Court of Appeals found Oscar Pistorius
guilty of murdering his girlfriend Reeva Steenkamp on Valentine’s Day 2013. Mr.
Pistorius is scheduled for sentencing in April 2016. In the meantime, his lawyers
have filed papers requesting the South African Constitutional Court (the equiva-
lent of the U.S. Supreme Court) hear his case to appeal the judgement of the mur-
der conviction held by The South African Supreme Court of Appeals. http://mg.co.
za/a rticle/2 016- 01-11- oscar-pistorius-appeals-murder-conviction-i n-concourt.
Mail and Guardian. January 11, 2016.
3. Family Violence Act 1993 (S. Afr.) §1 No. 2.
4. S. Afr. Const., 32nd Amendment Act of 2007 § 3.
5. Historically in Zulu society, the payment of lobola by the groom not only signified
individual sexual access to the woman’s body, but if the husband passes away, the
widow becomes the wife of her husband’s brothers (levirate marriage). Zulu soci-
ety is communal and not individual based—at least before the onset of capitalism.
But, many communal practices were preserved within the capitalist structure.
6. Can. Crim. Code, reprinted in R.S.C. 1985 § 265.
7. S. Afr. Const., 32nd Amendment Act of 2007 § 3.
8. During my research, I found that many Zulu men negotiating lobola pay with cash
and cattle.
9. Modeling was a common practice used against women in townships suspected of
cooperating with or being aligned with the apartheid system during the antiapart-
heid struggle. Women were stripped of their clothing and forced to walk naked
through the streets as a form of humiliation and to signify that they were a “traitor”
and supported the apartheid system.
10. I would like to thank my friend, colleague, and fellow anthropologist Clinton
Nichols for reading several drafts of this manuscript, offering advice, and taking on
the role of editor.
8
Marital Sexual Violence in Turkey

H E N R I C A A . F. M . ( H E N R I E T T E ) J A N S E N ,
I L K N U R Y Ü K S E L - K A P T A N O G L U , F I L I Z K A R D A M ,
AND BANU ERGÖÇMEN
Domestic violence— i ncluding sexual violence— against women is a global

problem that crosses cultural, geographic, religious, social, and economic bound-
aries. Turkey, of course, is not immune from this problem. As a violation of human
rights and freedom on gender grounds, violence against women deprives women
of their rightful place in social and economic life. In addition, due to its strong and
consistent health consequences, violence against women has been recognized as a
serious public health issue (Devries et al. 2011; Ellsberg et al. 2008; Fanslow and
Robinson 2011; Ludermir et al. 2008; Pallitto et al. 2013). International research
has revealed that violence is perpetrated in particular in the women’s immedi-
ate social setting by intimate partners, which is the term used to indicate current
or former husbands, cohabitors, or other dating partners (García-Moreno et al.
2006; Heise, Ellsberg, and Gottemoeller 2002; Jewkes 2002). Further, the effects
of domestic violence are felt not only by the women who experience it directly but
also by their children, families, and society as a whole.
In the Declaration on the Elimination of Violence Against Women adopted by
the UN General Assembly in 1993, violence against women was defined as “any
act of gender-based violence that results in, or is likely to result in, physical, sexual
or psychological harm or suffering to women, including threats of such acts, coer-
cion or arbitrary deprivation of liberty, whether occurring in public or private life.”1
Domestic violence is defined by the United Nations as “a form of violence that
occurs in private life between individuals who are generally connected by sexual
intercourse or by blood relation” (quoted in Kadının Statüsü Genel Müdürlüğü
[General Directorate on the Status of Women; KSGM] 2008).
In Turkey, gender-based domestic violence has been on the public agenda since
the 1980s as a result of the women’s movement. The international approach of iden-
tifying violence against women as a violation of human rights has defined this mat-
ter as a responsibility of the state. In Turkey, combating violence against women
has been among the top priority responsibilities of the government as a result of the
international agreements and treaties that it has signed.
T H E N AT I O N A L R ES E A R C H ST U DY O N D O M EST I C
V I O L EN C E AG A I N ST WO M EN I N T U R K E Y
Until recently, studies providing detailed information and data about domestic vio-
lence against women have been limited in Turkey. The lack of data on prevalence
and causes of violence against women and how it is publicly perceived has been
one of the most important factors impeding the development and implementation
of national programs to combat violence. This chapter reports some of the results
of the National Research on Domestic Violence Against Women in Turkey, 2008, of
which the General Directorate on the Status of Women (known as KSGM) is the
beneficiary institution.2 The research was conducted by a three-partner consor-
tium consisting of ICON-I nstitute Public Sector, Hacettepe University Institute
of Population Studies, and BNB Consulting and was funded by the European
Commission.
The overall study is a comprehensive examination of multiple forms of violence
against women; however, this chapter focuses specifically on the data concerning
sexual violence in marriage. Data regarding physical violence by husbands are also
included because the two forms of marital abuse co-occur closely within the phe-
nomenon of intimate partner violence that generally manifests itself as a “course
of conduct,” meaning a pattern of conduct composed of various acts, evidencing a
continuity of purpose.
M E T H O D O LO GY
The methodology of the National Research on Domestic Violence Against Women

in Turkey is designed to ensure that the data are collected in the most reliable and
comparable way possible using an adaptation of the World Health Organization
(WHO) questionnaire and protocol (García-Moreno et al. 2005).
Data on the prevalence of different forms of violence, and causes and conse-
quences of violence, as well as data on women’s experiences and attitudes toward
domestic violence have been obtained through a mixed-method approach using a
quantitative and a qualitative component. The sensitivity of the research topic has
been kept in mind during the implementation of both components. The safety of
women has been a priority, and the research was designed in a way to secure the
safety of the interviewers as well (WHO 2001).
Quantitative Component
The quantitative component (the survey portion of the project) obtained data on
the prevalence and frequency of forms of domestic violence against women for the
national level, urban/r ural settlements, and 12 regions. The sample design for the sur-
vey employed a weighted, stratified, and multistage cluster sample approach to yield
Marital Sexual Violence in Turkey 10 5
Table 8.1 Background Characteristics of Respondents

in the Survey
Percentage distribution of women by education and marital
status, Turkey, 2008
Background Characteristics Percentage Unweighted Number
of Women
Education
No education/primary incomplete 18.7 2,915
Primary level 42.8 5,537
Secondary level 15.2 1,643
High school and higher 23.3 2,698
Do not know 0.0 2
Marital status
Never married 19.1 1,997
Married 75.5 10,102
Widowed 3.0 417
Divorced/separated 2.4 279
Total 100.0 12,795
a sample of 24,048 households. The sample selection was done in collaboration with
the Turkish Statistical Institute (TURKSTAT). TURKSTAT provided the sampling
frame, cluster selection, and block lists consisting of the selected households.
Interviewer training is key to data quality and respondent satisfaction (Jansen
et al. 2004). For the survey in Turkey, 189 individuals received 2 weeks of instruc-
tion on gender and domestic violence as well as interviewing techniques. The train-
ing emphasized safety and sensitivity and approaches that allowed the collection
of information without putting women at risk. Following a pilot study of 3 days, 15
field teams of one supervisor, two field editors, and eight interviewers were formed.
It was important that the interviewers were female because individual interviews
in the survey were conducted with women. Fieldwork took place between July and
October 2008.
In the interviewed households, 22,822 women aged 15–59 had been identified.
For reasons of confidentiality and safety, only one woman aged 15–59 per house-
hold was randomly selected for interviewing. In total, 14,854 women were in this
way selected for individual interview. Questionnaires were completed by face-to-
face interviews with 12,795 women and the response rate for individual interviews
was 86.1%. Table 8.1 gives a summary of the background characteristics (educa-
tional level and marital status) of the 12,795 female respondents.
Measuring Violence
Whether women disclose violence or not is strongly related to the wording of ques-
tions and the manner in which they are asked. Asking about violence through one
single question (e.g., “Has your partner ever been sexually violent to you?”) is usually
not effective for obtaining the real rates (Center for Health and Gender Equity
1995) as it leaves the interpretation of what is “sexual violence” to the respondents,
while research has shown women often do not think of what is happening to them
in terms of violence. Therefore “loaded” terms such as abuse, rape, and violence were
not used in the questions in our survey. To obtain information on women’s expe-
rience with violence, women were asked about specific behavioral acts, using the
same words that women use in their day-to-day conversation. Special attention was
paid to the wording and translation of violence questions and asking the questions
in a nonjudgmental manner.
The behavioral acts in Box 8.1 were included in the measures of physical and sexual
violence. During the interviews, women were asked whether they had experienced
these specific acts of violence, one by one. Those who confirmed having been exposed
to any of the acts were asked more detailed questions about when and how frequently
the act had occurred. Regarding the timing of the act, two different periods were con-
sidered: any period in their life and the 12 months preceding the interview.
The partnership concept does not express the same phenomena everywhere due
to differences in settlements, region, culture, and so on, even within the context of
Turkey. Current and former husbands are always included in the partner definition.
In the more “Westernized” parts of Turkey, women can also have dating partners
without being married (and thus can be at risk of partner violence without being
married), while in the more traditional parts, women can be betrothed, without
even ever seeing or spending time alone with the man they are going to marry (and
thus while they can be considered “partnered,” practically they cannot be at risk
of partner violence until they are married). Therefore, to have results that can be
properly compared between regions in Turkey, in this chapter most of the informa-
tion on intimate partner violence is presented for “ever-married” women, reflecting
violence by current or former husbands. Only in one section (when making com-
parisons broken down by partnership status) the results based on the answers given
Box 8.1
Behavioural Acts Used in the Survey to Measure Physical
and Sexual Violence by Husbands or Other Intimate Partners
Physical violence against women by husband or other intimate partner(s):
Slapped her or threw something at her that could hurt her
Pushed or shoved her or pulled her hair
Hit her with his fist or something else that could hurt her
Kicked her, dragged her, or beat her up
Choked or burned her on purpose
Threatened to use or actually used a gun, knife, or other weapon against her
Sexual violence against women by husband or other intimate partner(s):

Physically forced her to have sexual intercourse when she did not want to
Had sexual intercourse when she did not want to because she was afraid of what
he might do
Forced her to do something that she found degrading or humiliating
by women who had “dating” relationships (engaged and those with boyfriends or
fiancés), irrespective of whether they had a sexual relationship, are also presented
and compared with the results for currently married women, with divorced/sepa-
rated women, and with women who are widowed.
Qualitative Component
Besides a survey, a large qualitative stage of the research was implemented with
the aim to obtain detailed information about attitudes, beliefs, and experiences of
women and men that could not be collected by the survey. A total of 64 in-depth and
semistructured interviews were held in Ankara, Samsun, and Mersin Provinces.
These interviews included women survivors of violence, mothers and mothers-in-
law of survivors, male perpetrators of violence, and representatives of institutions
that provide counseling and other services to women who have been exposed to
domestic violence.
Focus group discussions were held to understand the attitudes of men toward
violence against women, status of men and women in the society, and men’s per-
ceptions of domestic violence as well as their own experiences with violence. Six
different focus groups of men were held, each homogeneous in terms of age, edu-
cation, and marital status. Further, there were three focus groups with profession-
als (counselors/social services representatives, legal services representatives, and
journalists).
S U RV E Y FI N D I N G S
Physical and Sexual Violence by Husbands
Table 8.2 shows the prevalence rates for physical, sexual, and physical or sexual vio-
lence reported by ever-married women by background characteristics of the respon-
dents. Overall, 39% of ever-married women reported having experienced physical
partner violence at some time in their lives. In other words, 4 of 10 Turkish women
had been exposed to physical violence by their husbands. Although there was no
significant variation between urban and rural areas nationwide, there was consid-
erable variation between regions. The proportion of women experiencing physical
violence varied between 25% and 53% between regions. As many as one in every
two women living in the Northeast Anatolia region reported having been exposed
to physical violence in their lifetime. When looking at the 12 months prior to the
interview, countrywide, 1 in 10 women reported physical violence in this recent
period (see Figure 8.1).
It is even more difficult for women to disclose experiences of sexual violence
compared to those of physical violence. Actually, it is thought to be inappropriate
to talk about sexual violence within marriage. Nevertheless, it was found that 15%
of ever-married women in Turkey reported to have experienced at least one act of
sexual violence by a partner. The prevalence of sexual violence, like physical vio-
lence, showed considerable variation between regions. While in the West Marmara
region 9% of married women reported sexual violence at some time in their lives,
Table 8.2 Prevalence of Physical and Sexual Partner Violence
Prevalence of physical and sexual violence by an intimate partner among ever-married women by place of residence, age,
education, and wealth level, Turkey, 2008
Physical or Sexual
Physical Violence Sexual Violence Violence
Ever Current Ever Current Ever Current Ever-Married
(%) (%) (%) (%) (%) (%) Women
Background Characteristics
Place of residence
Urban 38.0 10.0 14.3 6.7 40.3 13.5 7,981
Rural 43.2 9.9 18.3 7.9 46.6 14.1 2,817
Age groups
15–2 4 31.9 17.3 13.5 9.7 35.3 21.3 1,194
25–3 4 36.6 12.5 13.0 8.4 39.2 16.5 3,652
35– 4 4 39.7 8.7 14.2 6.5 42.0 12.6 3,009
45–59 45.4 4.8 19.6 4.6 47.9 7.8 2,943
Education
None/primary incomplete 52.2 12.6 22.2 9.6 55.7 17.4 2,741
Primary, first level 39.9 9.1 15.2 6.9 42.2 13.1 5,237
Primary, second level 34.9 12.3 13.1 7.6 38.5 15.4 872
High school and higher 25.0 7.9 8.7 3.8 27.2 10.0 1,948
Wealth level
Low 47.0 13.7 18.9 9.4 49.9 18.0 4,189
Medium 38.9 8.9 14.6 6.4 41.6 12.7 4,631
High 26.7 5.5 10.3 3.9 28.7 8.3 1,978
Turkey 39.3 9.9 15.3 7.0 41.9 13.7 10,798
37
Istanbul 8
25 lifetime
West Marmara 6 last 12 months
31
Aegean 5
36
East Marmara 7
42
West Anatolia 12
42
Mediterranean 12
50
Central Anatolia 13
43
West Black Sea 8
38
East Black Sea 7
53
Northeast Anatolia 18
47
Central East Anatolia 15
48
Southeast Anatolia 19
38
Urban 10
43
Rural 10
39
Turkey 10
Figure 8.1 Physical violence perpetrated by husbands, among ever married women in

Turkey, by region (%).
in the Northeast Anatolia region, the rate was 29%. For the remaining regions, the
prevalence varied between 11% and 23%. When considering sexual violence in the
12 months prior to the interview, nationwide, almost half of women who reported
sexual partner violence ever in their lives had a recent (i.e., in the past 12 months)
experience of sexual violence (see Figure 8.2).
The prevalence rates for the experience of physical or sexual violence, or both,
are important because they show that these two forms of violence are usually
experienced together. Nationwide, the prevalence of experiencing either physi-
cal or sexual violence or both was 42%, whereas the prevalence of physical vio-
lence was 39% and the prevalence of sexual violence was 15%. This suggests that,
in many cases, sexual violence occurs in the context of physical violence (see
Figure 8.3).
The data indicate that sexual violence rarely occurs alone. However, it is possible
that most women only consider nonconsensual sex as forced when it occurs in the
context of physical violence. How women think about consent to sex in marriage
was not explored in the survey, and in the qualitative component, it was a topic that
women were reluctant to talk about, so this question remains.
11
Istanbul 5
9 lifetime
West Marmara 4 last 12 months
14
Aegean 4
13
East Marmara 6
15
West Anatolia 6
16
Mediterranean 6
23
Central Anatolia 11
17
West Black Sea 7
18
East Black Sea 8
29
20
20
14
Urban 7
18
Rural 8
15
Turkey 7
Figure 8.2 Sexual violence perpetrated by husbands, among ever married women in

Turkey, by region (%).
38
ever physical violence
Urban 14 ever sexual violence
40 ever physical or sexual violence
43
Rural 18
47
39
National 15
42
Figure 8.3 Prevalence of physical or sexual violence, or both, perpetrated by husbands,

among ever married women in Turkey, urban, rural and national (%).
Table 8.3 Different Acts of Sexual Partner Violence
Percentage of ever-married women who have experienced different acts of sexual violence by their intimate partner by place of
residence, age, education, and wealth level, Turkey, 2008
Physically Forced Had Sex Because Forced to Do
to Have Sexual Afraid of What Something Degrading/
Intercourse Partner Might Do Humiliating
Ever Current Ever Current Ever Current Ever-Married
(%) (%) (%) (%) (%) (%) Women
Background Characteristics
Place of residence
Urban 8.5 3.4 10.7 5.2 3.4 1.4 7,981
Rural 11.1 4.1 13.5 5.7 3.0 1.6 2,817
Age groups
15–2 4 6.7 4.8 9.4 7.5 4.0 1.9 1,194
25–3 4 7.1 4.1 9.7 6.4 3.0 2.0 3,652
35– 4 4 8.1 3.0 10.6 5.0 3.0 1.1 3,009
45–59 13.5 2.8 14.9 3.5 3.4 1.0 2,943
Education
None/primary incomplete 14.6 5.6 16.1 7.3 4.7 2.2 2,741
Primary, first level 8.8 3.4 11.8 5.4 3.0 1.3 5,237
Primary, second level 6.7 3.6 9.1 5.7 3.5 1.5 872
High school and higher 4.9 1.7 6.2 2.9 2.2 1.0 1,948
Wealth level
Low 12.0 5.3 14.3 7.1 4.3 2.2 4,189
Medium 8.6 3.0 10.9 5.0 2.8 1.2 4,631
High 5.4 1.6 7.4 3.1 2.3 0.9 1,978
Turkey 9.1 3.6 11.4 5.3 3.3 1.5 10,798
It was found that lifetime experience of physical or sexual violence increased

with age. As would be expected (because of the cumulative experience), the preva-
lence of lifetime physical or sexual violence was highest among women in the 45–59
age group (the oldest group in the survey). However, when considering the last
12 months, the situation was exactly the opposite. For example, the prevalence of
physical or sexual violence was the highest in the youngest age group of 15–2 4 years
(21%) when compared to other age groups. These patterns clearly indicate that vio-
lence starts early in marriage and when women are young.
As educational level increased, the proportion of women reporting partner
violence decreased. The prevalence of physical or sexual violence experienced
by women with no education or who had not completed primary school was
56%, while it was only 27% among women with at least a high school education.
Although it seems that the increase in educational level is effective in protect-
ing women against violence, it is also striking that almost 3 of 10 women having
high school or higher education had experienced partner violence. For physical
or sexual violence in the past 12 months, the percentages were highest among the
women with the lowest education level. However, the variations for the prevalence
of recent violence by educational level are not as large as that for lifetime violence.
For the relation between violence and wealth levels, we see similar patterns as for
educational level. Whereas the prevalence of lifetime partner violence reported by
women with a lower wealth level was 50%, this dropped to 29% among the women
in the highest socioeconomic level. Although it appears that when living standards
improve, partner violence decreases, it does not mean having a high living standard
completely protects women from violence.
Acts of Sexual Violence by Husbands
Table 8.3 shows the prevalence of acts of sexual violence that women were asked about,
as reported by ever-married women, and as occurring in their lifetime or in the past
12 months, type of residence, and background characteristics of the women. The most
commonly mentioned act of sexual violence among the three types asked was, “Having
had sexual intercourse when she did not want to because she was afraid of what he
might do.” While 11% of ever-married women nationwide reported ever having sex-
ual intercourse out of fear for various reasons, 9% said they had forced intercourse.
There is again considerable regional variation, and 24% of ever-married women in the
Northeast Anatolia region reported having had sexual intercourse out of fear. In terms
of violence that happened recently, overall about half of the women who had ever had
sexual intercourse out of fear reported that this had happened in the past 12 months,
with the highest prevalence in Northeast Anatolia, where 16% of ever-married women
reported this had happened in the past 12 months (regional data not shown in table).
Physical and Sexual Partner

Violence by Marital Status
As mentioned, within the scope of the research, all women were interviewed regard-
less of whether they were married. The prevalence rates for physical and sexual
violence in the previous sections are percentages calculated based on ever-married

women. In Figure 8.4, the prevalences of physical and sexual partner violence for all
ever-partnered women are given, broken down by marital status. When consider-
ing all ever-partnered (married as well as single/dating) women, the proportion of
women who reported physical partner violence in any period of their lives is 36%.
Nationwide, when the marital status of the women is considered, the most striking
result is that the proportion of women reporting physical violence is as high as 73%
among those who are divorced/separated. In other words, 7 of 10 women who are
divorced/separated experienced physical partner violence in their lifetime. This is
much higher than the overall prevalence rate for ever-partnered women, and it can be
hypothesized that women who are divorced are more likely to have had a violent mar-
riage and that this was a reason for the breakup. Other studies, however, also showed
that partner violence often increases after a breakup. Finally, there is a real possibility
that women who are no longer with their violent ex-husbands find it easier to disclose
violence compared to women who are still with violent husbands because they are no
longer afraid of receiving consequences of disclosing what happened to them.
The lifetime prevalence rate of physical partner violence is 28% among currently
married women and 49% among widowed women (higher than the currently mar-
ried women, but not as high as the divorced/separated women). Among dating
women, only 9% reported physical violence by their boyfriends, fiancés, or the men
to whom they are engaged. A partial explanation of this low rate, as noted previ-
ously, is that in the more traditional regions of Turkey, many women will not be able
to spend time alone with their fiancés before marriage; thus, they are in practice not
at risk of partner violence.
A similar pattern can be seen for the proportions of women who experienced sex-
ual violence. While 44% of women who were divorced/separated reported sexual
violence, the proportions are 14% for currently married women and 22% for wid-
owed women. The proportion of never-married women who were dating who expe-
rienced sexual partner violence was only 2.2%.
9
Single Ever physical violence
2
Ever sexual violence
10
Ever physical or sexual violence
28
Currently married 14
40
49
Widowed 22
51
73
Divorced/Separated 44
77
Figure 8.4 Prevalence of physical or sexual partner violence, or both according to

marital status in Turkey (%).
Istanbul 10 Never experienced physical or sexual violence

17
5 Experienced physical or sexual violence
West Marmara 15
Aegean 8
15
East Marmara 7
15
West Anatolia 8
18
Mediterranean 10
20
Central Anatolia 10
21
West Black Sea 9
21
East Black Sea 11
20
40
34
32
Urban 9
19
Rural 12
25
Turkey 10
21
Figure 8.5 Percentage of ever-married women reporting their general health condition

as “poor or very poor” according to experience of physical or sexual intimate partner
violence, by region.
The prevalence rates of physical or sexual violence, or both, show consistently

similar patterns, with divorced or separated women reporting the highest levels, fol-
lowed by widows and currently married women, respectively.
Physical and Sexual Partner

Violence and Health Outcomes
Among the most obvious consequences of violence against women are injuries as
a direct result of violent incidents. However, in this section we do not look at inju-
ries but illustrate the impact of physical or sexual partner violence, or both, in ever-
married women in Turkey by showing some of the associations with general health
and with mental health that we found in the survey.
In the interviews, women were asked to evaluate their own general health sta-
tus and specific physical symptoms in the last 4 weeks. The information regarding
health status was obtained before the women were asked questions about the vio-
lence they experienced. The answers given by women about their health status have
been analyzed according to whether they had experienced physical or sexual vio-
lence from their intimate partner(s).
In Turkey, women who had experienced physical or sexual violence in their life-
time were twice as likely to consider their general health status “poor or very poor”
compared to those who had never experienced violence: 21% among women who
experienced violence and 10% among women without such experience reported
poor health. The relative difference in reporting on general health status was similar
among women living in urban and rural areas. Women living in Northeast Anatolia,
Central East Anatolia, and Southeast Anatolia were more likely to make nega-
tive evaluations of their general health status, compared to women living in other
regions, although the impact on health shows the same pattern everywhere in the
country (see Figure 8.5).
Along the same lines, when evaluating the answers on pain or discomfort in
the last 4 weeks, women varied according to whether they had experienced physi-
cal or sexual violence in their lifetime. In Turkey, 38% of women who experienced
intimate partner physical or sexual violence in their lifetime reported feeling “very
much or extreme pain/d iscomfort.” This proportion is only 21% among the women
who never experienced violence (data not shown).
Women who had ever experienced physical or sexual partner violence were four
times more likely to have attempted to end their own lives, compared to women
who had never experienced such violence (Figure 8.6). The percentage of those
Istanbul 2
9 Never experienced physical or sexual violence
1 Experienced physical or sexual violence
West Marmara 8
Aegean 3
13
East Marmara 2
9
West Anatolia 2
13
Mediterranean 3
15
Central Anatolia 2
12
West Black Sea 3
12
East Black Sea 3
10
13
11
15
Urban 3
12
Rural 2
11
Turkey 3
12
Figure 8.6 Percentage of ever-married women reporting to have ever attempted suicide

according to experience of physical or sexual intimate partner violence, by region.
who attempted to end their lives among women who experienced violence is 12%,
while it is only 3% among those who never experienced violence. There is some
regional variation: The proportion who attempted suicide among women living in
the Mediterranean and in Southeast Anatolia regions and who experienced physical
or sexual violence is 15%, while it is 9% and 8% for those living in Istanbul and West
Marmara regions, respectively. However, the relative proportions between those
who did and who did not experience violence are similar throughout the country.
In terms of health consequences, the study revealed that violence experienced
from intimate partner(s) had direct and indirect negative effects on various aspects
of the health of women. Because this was a cross-sectional study, except for injuries,
it is not possible to determine whether experiencing violence was the direct cause
of certain health problems. Nevertheless, results are consistent, and for all health
outcomes that we looked at, we found that women who have experienced violence
are more likely to score worse in terms of health, as is found in other studies around
the world.
Do Women Share the Violence Experienced

With Their Close Social Network?
In the survey, women were asked with whom from their close social network they
share information on the experiences of violence. They were further asked who
offered to help among this network. In Turkey, 49% of women who experienced
physical or sexual violence by their husband reported that they had not told any-
body about the violence they experienced. In other words, almost half of the women
who experienced violence revealed for the first time that they had experienced such
violence when they were interviewed for this survey (see Figure 8.7).
Among abused women, only 34% of the women told their immediate families
about the violence. Further, 22% of the women shared information on the violence
they experienced with their friends or neighbors, and 12% of the women shared
their experiences of violence with a member of the man’s family.
Sharing their experiences of violence varied according to the age of the women.
Young women (aged 15–2 4) were more likely to tell others about the violence expe-
rienced, whereas sharing was less common among older women. Sharing the vio-
lence with persons in the immediate social network also varied with education level.
Women with a low educational level were more likely to hide violence. While 61%
of women without any education or incomplete primary education did not tell any-
body about the violence they experienced, only 33% of women with high school or
higher level education did not tell anyone. Among women with a high wealth level, it
was also relatively more common to tell about violence to persons in the immediate
social network. For instance, women in the highest wealth level were twice as likely
(33%) compared to women in the lowest wealth level (17%) to share their experi-
ence of partner violence with their friends or neighbors.
Women who reported physical or sexual partner violence were asked whether, as
a result of violence, they had applied to (sought help from) police, gendarmerie, hos-
pital or health institution, public prosecutor, lawyer, women’s organization, munici-
pality, the Social Services and Child Protection Institution, Society Center, or other
official institutions or nongovernmental organizations (NGOs). Of the women who
44
Nobody
36
15–24 Own family
12
23 Husband's family
46 Friend/neighbor
35
25–34
14
22
48
36
35–44
12
21
53
31
45–59
9
23
61
28
None/primary incomplete
9
16
48
35
Primary, first level
13
21
39
40
Primary, second level
16
27
33
41
High school and higher
10
38
54
32
Low wealth
11
17
47
35
Middle wealth
12
23
37
36
High wealth
13
33
49
34
Turkey
12
22
Figure 8.7 Percentage of ever-married women who told about physical or sexual

violence, by whom they told, and by age, educational and wealth level.
had experienced physical or sexual partner violence, 92% had not made any contact
with any of these institutions or services. Only 4% contacted police, and 4% sought
medical attention.
In conclusion, most women who had been exposed to violence lacked both indi-
vidual and institutional support. Many women were alone with their experience of
violence. Our respondents explained the reasons for the isolation: not perceiving
the violence as a serious problem, not wanting to leave their children, loving/forgiv-
ing a partner or thinking he would change, or obeying families’ desire to make them
return home as a result of the social values that favor the continuation of the family.
They described not being able to act as they are embarrassed, ashamed, and afraid
to be blamed.
Q UA L I TAT I V E I N T ERV I E WS: TA L K I N G

A B O U T S E X UA L V I O L EN C E
The interviews conducted with women, men, and mothers/mothers-in-law revealed

that women and men described violence differently. Not all of the women who expe-
rienced violence could easily talk about this situation; however, those who talked
gave more detailed information about their experiences compared to men. Some
women were able to give clear and detailed descriptions of the violence that they
experienced, which makes one feel the pain created by verbal abuse or physical vio-
lence. Women remembered the situation they were/a re exposed to and the scars
with all the details, even if they no longer wanted to think about it or had left the
whole thing behind.
The interviews with men reflected that speaking about violence was not an easy
matter for them. Men, who had accepted the fact that they had perpetrated violence,
insisted that these were accidental incidents inevitably breaking out very seldom
and mainly as a consequence of women’s provocative behavior. According to them,
women talk too much, exaggerate things, carry the outdated events again and again
to the agenda, and as such become provocative. Some of the male participants of
the interviews argued that men can sometimes exert violence out of necessity, but
others believed that a man should never resort to violence. Men who were perpetra-
tors of violence avoided talking about their violent acts; instead, they preferred to
talk about the reasons for violence to underline its inevitability or to discuss the
solutions and their opinions and experiences related to this subject. None of them
mentioned that verbal, sexual, or physical violence can deeply hurt the abused per-
son. Some of the men who stated that they considered violence a negative behavior
pattern refused to talk about their own violent acts in detail.
Sexual violence is the most difficult type of violence for anyone to discuss.
During the interviews with men, this subject was not brought up at all. Some of the
women had implied that their husbands had sex with them without their consent,
but they refused to go into the details. Women who were long-term victims of all
kinds of violence stated that sometimes their partners forced them to have sexual
intercourse after beating them, and sometimes they let their partners have sex with
them to avoid being beaten. Meanwhile, they said that they did not have any desire
for sexual relations with their husbands after having to endure different types of
violence exerted by these husbands.
Marital Sexual Violence in Turkey 119
The following is the testimonial of a woman who had been exposed to violence by
her husband for a long time and who found it hard to have sex with him because she
believed sex is a way of sharing:
My marriage lasted 23 years, after 23 years, and all this time I was experienc-
ing violence, I mean sexually too. When I didn’t want and why I didn’t want,
for example, he would gamble, and when he lost the money he would come and
beat me, and after this beating, for instance after this beating, he wanted to
have sex. When I objected I would be beaten again… . When I reacted nega-
tively, for example when I said that I didn’t want it, as you know sexuality, too,
is a way of sharing, I mean it has to be mutual. He would beat me for the small-
est thing. He would beat me and also reach his aim. (46-year-old woman, mar-
ried/l iving separate from her husband, two children, high school graduate)
Another woman explained the way she resisted the sexual demands of her hus-
band, who was a perpetrator of violence, as follows:
Of course he definitely forces, I mean he does it by using force too; we have

sex like that. I mean I am very indifferent towards him. I became extremely
indifferent; I now sleep separate from him. I mean he told me, “You spend my
money, my savings freely and you don’t do your duties as a wife.” And I told him
this: “Let alone being the father of my two children, if I had nine or ten children
from you, even if you were the father of all these children, I would still not do
it for money, never be a prostitute for you.” … I said, “You can’t make me do it,
don’t expect it from me.” If it becomes necessary I’ll give up my luxuries, I will
not buy what I would buy, won’t wear what I would wear, and won’t have sex with
you for your money. I mean I won’t condescend to you or to your money. I mean
this very wrong for me. This is, in my opinion, being totally wishy-washy." (34-
year-old woman, married, two children, primary school graduate)
Another woman describes the denigration she felt by a breadth of sexual abuses
her husband made her endure:
I have slept with him so many times. So much torment. He drinks, pardon me
for saying this, and he wants to have anal sex. He does filthy things. He tor-
mented me very much in every way. I mean, there were times when I got up
from the bed retching like a pregnant woman. Now I don’t have any retching,
backache, I couldn’t get up and walk because of my backache. Now that back-
ache is gone… . He was such a man that, for example, I was to serve the meals
I prepared naked. How can one strip and be naked at the meals while serving
and eating? (Divorced mother of three children)
Another woman, who was in a shaky relation with her partner, was threatened by
him with a gun, which turned out afterward to have a blank cartridge. She explained
the incident as follows:
I sat on the armchair, he came near me and said he loved me, I told him I wanted
to go, and when he said, “No, you will stay here today.” I went out of my mind,
1 2 0 L ived E x perience of R ape in M arriage
I pushed him, and he fell back. Then he got up and came near me, hit me on
the head with his head, this time I fell back and hit my head on the edge of the
armchair. In the meanwhile, I got up and started cursing, using words which
I wouldn’t normally use. I guess he couldn’t stand these, he went inside and
when he came back he was holding a gun pointed at me: I couldn’t do anything,
I mean that was the moment I felt I would die because it was even the first time
in my life I saw a gun… . Even when he pointed the gun at me and told me
that I had to stay there, this time I couldn’t say, “No, I will go.” But then I told
myself, be it as it may and I continued with my insults. He got nervous and
angry, he seriously loaded the magazine of the gun and as he was pulling it, his
finger got stuck in the magazine and bled, in the meantime his friend came in
and hit him to get the gun from his hand; they started fighting. He sent me to
the living room inside and closed the door; I think I was there alone for 5 min-
utes or so I think, but I was continuously crying because I was very scared; not-
withstanding my crying they both came in, he hugged me, said, “I love you very
much, I don’t want to lose you,” and I said, “Go, I don’t want to talk!” … I said
I wanted to be alone, he went inside, 5 or 10 minutes later he came back… .
The gun was again in his hand, even though his friend had taken it away from
him a while ago. He took me by the arm and pushed me to the bedroom, trust
me I don’t remember anything about this part, this is also how I have testified.
I only know this, I know how I went there and I know the moment I came to
myself. When I came to myself, everything had happened; I couldn’t even put
my clothes on because they were torn; they were ripped during the rough and
tumble. I put on his shirt. In the meantime I recognized that it was half past
four, in the month of Ramadan, I know very well at what time the prayer will
be called. I put on his shirt and took the key from his pocket and went out.
(25-year-old woman, single, university graduate)
The testimonies from survivors give vivid voice to the experience of forced sex at
the hands of husbands and other intimate partners. As we learned from the survey
results, in Turkey this is an all-too-common experience, with 15% of women report-
ing sexual violence perpetrated by the men closest to them.
C O N C LU D I N G R EM A R KS
The National Research on Domestic Violence Against Women in Turkey for the first
time created a rich information source about violence against women in this coun-
try by providing a multidimensional study. This study represents the largest repre-
sentative sample survey ever conducted that includes sexual violence in marriage.
This study shows that, provided the interviews are done sensitively by skilled and
empathic interviewers, it is possible to gather data on forced sex in marriage and that
women will talk about it. The first and most important priority is that the current
results will be used to widely create awareness of the scale and scope of the problem
and to guide and inform the development of targeted policies, strategies, and pro-
grams in support of the overall objective: to protect women from domestic violence.
When the research results of this project are evaluated, the most striking find-
ings are the following: first, that the phenomenon of domestic violence is more
widespread in Turkey than previously known; second, that despite the pervasive-
ness of violence against women, women are alone—t hey feel alone in their experi-
ence of violence and they feel alone in their combat against violence. Even though
violence against women is common, only half of the women who experienced vio-
lence ever told someone in their immediate social network about the violence they
experienced, and only a few women did seek help from an institution or support ser-
vice. What actually is important now is to investigate the reasons for this: reveal the
truths behind this silence of women, their acceptance of violence, their normaliza-
tion of the events. But, even without knowing all the reasons for domestic violence
against women, the research results have once more pointed out the urgency of total
awareness—a nd the importance of determination and urgent action in combating
domestic violence against women.
Notes
1. Declaration on Elimination of Violence against Women, G.A. Res. 48/104, U.N.
Doc. A/R ES/48/104 (Dec. 20, 1993).
2. This chapter represents selected and revised sections of the full study report: Turkey
Prime Ministry Directorate General on the Status of Women. 2009. Domestic
Violence Against Women in Turkey: National Research on Domestic Violence Against
Women in Turkey. Ankara: Hacettepe University, Institute for Population Studies.
http://w ww.hips.hacettepe.edu.tr/eng/v iolence.shtml.
9
Rape and the Continuum

of Sexual Abuse in Intimate
Relationships
Interviews With US Women
From Different Social Classes
JA M E S P TAC E K
According to the US Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, almost one of five
women (18.3%) in the United States has been raped over her lifetime, and more than
half (51.1%) of the offenders were intimate partners (Black et al. 2011, 1). How can
we best make sense of rape in the context of an intimate relationship?
Drawing from a class-stratified sample of 60 women who have been abused by
intimate partners, this chapter examines rape and sexual abuse in the context of
both class privilege and class disadvantage. Participants interviewed for this quali-
tative study included women who were wealthy, professional, working class, and
poor. Slightly over half of the women (55%) were married to their abusive partners.
All of the women were divorced or separated from their partners at the time of the
interviews. Most of the 60 women in this study (63%, n = 38) reported that their
partners either threatened or used physical force to make them have sex. Fully 48%
of the 60 women (n = 29) said that the term rape fit their experiences.
These women identified a range of sexually abusive behaviors by their partners.
They spoke of verbal degradation, delusional jealousy, infidelity, reproductive
abuse, pornography, the sexual abuse of their children, and rape. These acts are
aspects of a continuum of sexual abuse, and rape will be best understood within
this context. The idea of a continuum is inspired by the work of Liz Kelly, who
argues that individual acts of violence and abuse in intimate relationships are ele-
ments of a “continuum of sexual violence” that extends over women’s lifetimes.
Kelly (1988, 41) states that sexual violence, in all of its manifestations, operates
“as a form of social control by denying women freedom and autonomy” (see also
Russell 1990). I do not follow Kelly’s definition of sexual violence or the spe-
cific contents of her continuum precisely here. She combines physical and sexual
aspects of abuse together; in her view, all intimate partner violence is sexual vio-
lence. I also use the term abuse rather than violence. In this study, I learned that for
many women the word abuse better describes the range of their experiences than
“violence,” which emphasizes physical suffering. Recent scholarship has empha-
sized that prioritizing physical violence over psychological, economic, and other
forms of abuse obscures the web of coercive control that traps women in abusive
relationships (see Ferraro 2006; Stark 2007). But, like Kelly, I argue that these sex-
ually abusive behaviors are interrelated, and that seeing them as a continuum helps
explain their impact on women.
This chapter begins with a discussion of research methods and the class character-
istics of the women who were interviewed. Next, I address the economic dependence
and economic abuse within these relationships. The continuum of sexual abuse is
then examined. While class differences in sexual abuse are noted, many elements of
the continuum are shown to be remarkably similar across the class categories. Last,
I address the difficulties that women had in naming their experiences as rape.
R ES E A R C H M E T H O D S
Women were invited to participate in research interviews through advertisements

sent to shelters, women’s advocacy programs, counselors working with abusive men,
therapists, and community antiviolence activists. Some women who took part in
interviews encouraged other women they knew to participate. This culminated in
a sample of 60 women. The study flyer invited participants who had been out of
abusive relationships for a number of years. This was done to address the long-term
consequences of abuse and the process of healing. The length of time between the
separation and the interview varied widely, but most women had been separated for
less than 10 years. Such an extended time between the abuse and the interview may
not be ideal: Over time, memories fade, and details blur. But, I found the women to
be eloquent and highly motivated to speak to me about their relationships, which
indicates the continuing impact of this abuse on their lives.
The semistructured interviews lasted from 1 to 5 hours. While the goal was a
sample of women from every social class, I also sought to interview women from
different racial groups. Attempts to recruit Asian American and Native American
women were unsuccessful; my lack of Spanish-speaking skills limited my ability to
interview Latinas. Of the 60 women, 73% (n = 44) were white, 23% (n = 14) were
black or African American, one was Asian American, and one had Hispanic and
Asian American ancestry.
C L AS S C H A R ACT ER I ST I C S O F T H E WO M EN
Two opposing myths about class and intimate partner abuse seem to dominate pub-
lic discussions. The first myth, called the “class myth,” is that class is all that matters,
that only poor and working-class women are victimized. The second myth, the “uni-
versal risk myth,” takes the opposite view. This one says that class does not matter at
Rape and the Continuum of Sexual Abuse in Intimate Relationships 125
all, and that the same levels of violence can be found at every class level. Both myths
distort the relationship of social class to women’s victimization (Ptacek 1999).
While it is true that intimate partner abuse can be found at every class level, social
circumstances—especially poverty and economic hardship—increase women’s
vulnerability. Research indicates that rates of intimate partner violence are signifi-
cantly higher in poor and working-class households than in economically privileged
ones. In her review of this literature, Claire Renzetti (2011, 171) finds that “financial
strain, unemployment, and living in economically disadvantaged neighborhoods”
increase the risks of intimate partner violence.
The concept of intersectionality seeks to theorize the simultaneous operation of
privilege and discrimination in people’s lives (Cho, Crenshaw, and McCall 2013;
Choo and Feree 2010; Crenshaw 1991). Because there are many dimensions of
inequality—including class, race, gender, ethnicity, sexual orientation, gender non-
conformity, age, disability, religious affiliation, and citizenship status—most peo-
ple occupy complex social locations where they are privileged by some parts of their
identities while discriminated against because of other aspects. For those women in
the study who had class and racial privilege, this privilege obviously did not protect
them from physical and sexual abuse. In fact, half of the wealthy women had been
in more than one abusive relationship. Nonetheless, privilege and discrimination
affected women’s experiences, as I discuss further. The class and racial identities of
the women in this study are highlighted to raise this complexity.
I have categorized the class circumstances of the women as wealthy, professional,
working class, or poor. Economists and social theorists have found the term middle
class to lack either a clear or a consistent definition (US Department of Commerce
2010; Wysong, Perrucci, and Wright 2013). Sometimes, middle class is used to
mean working class; other times, it appears to mean the class of professionals and
managers, something markedly different. For these reasons, I have abandoned the
term middle class altogether. It will quickly become apparent that the categories of
wealthy, professional, working class, and poor possess distinct characteristics.
Those in the wealthy category had either household incomes from $500,000 to
several million dollars a year or millions in inheritance or investments. The occupa-
tions (largely of the men) were in finance, medicine, and business management; most
of the men and women were college graduates, and some held advanced degrees.
Most of the women in this category were married, had children, and worked part-
time. The average length of the relationships was over 14 years.
Those in the professional category had household incomes from $100,000 to
$300,000, but mostly without substantial investments. Their occupations included
higher education, information technology, medicine, and sales. Half of the women
worked full time and half worked part-t ime. Most held college degrees, and a num-
ber had PhDs. Most of the women were married, and most also had children. The
average length of the marriages or relationships was 19 years.
The working-class group had household incomes generally from $30,000 to
$90,000, without significant investments. They worked in building trades, food
service, transportation, and clerical jobs. Unlike the wealthy and professional men,
most of the working-class men’s jobs were unstable: Many worked on and off, did
seasonal labor, or held a variety of minimum-wage jobs. Like many of the wealthy
and professional women, working-class women largely worked part-t ime to care for
their children. Very few of the men or women had college degrees. Most women
were married and had children; the average length of their relationships was less
than 10 years.
Most of those from poor communities reported no regular income. Some were
on disability or other forms of state assistance. The occupations for those who were
employed included the hotel industry, food service, drug dealing, and prostitution.
Most were without high school diplomas. None were married; most were not raising
children. These relationships averaged 5 years.
Overall, the women in the privileged classes (wealthy and professional) were in
much longer relationships with their abusive partners than the working-class and
poor women. Because most women said they felt “trapped” in these relationships,
this means that the professional and wealthy women felt trapped for a much longer
period of time.
When they were in these relationships, 18% (n = 11) of the women could be cat-
egorized as wealthy; 23% (n = 14) were professional; 43% (n = 26) were working
class; and 15% (n = 9) were poor. But, class status can be fleeting, especially for
women. Research has shown that recently divorced women are twice as likely to
be in poverty as recently divorced men, and that women are more likely to receive
public assistance following divorce than men (Elliott and Simmons 2011). Based
on their circumstances at the time of the interviews, most of which took place years
after their separation, there was a marked decline in the women’s economic status.
This was especially true for working-class women. Of the 60 women, 10% (n = 6)
remained wealthy; 27% (n = 16) had professional status; 28% (n = 17) were work-
ing class; and 35% (n = 21) were now poor, a category that more than doubled in
size. Owing to their education, investments, and access to new partners with stable
jobs, most of the wealthy and professional women did not lose class status, although
some certainly did. But, many of the formerly working-class women were now poor.
At the time of the interviews, almost half of the poor women were homeless or had
been homeless since leaving (or being left by) their partners. In some cases, wom-
en’s physical injuries were disabling; in other cases, men sought to damage their
ex-partners financially after separation and succeeded. For a number of women,
being single mothers created difficult dilemmas around work and their children’s
needs. Problems with addiction, depression, and other mental health issues in the
wake of the abuse were also consequential.
There were class differences in reports of physical abuse. While most women in all
class categories were slapped, hit, or punched by their partners, it was more common
for working-class and poor women to say they were kicked, choked, and threatened
with guns and knives. Most women (60%, n = 36) said their partners threatened
to kill them; this was true for most women of every class, except for the wealthy
women. The majority of women from every class community suffered bruises, but
those from working class and poor communities were more likely to seek hospital
care and report permanent injuries. In terms of sexual violence, the lower the eco-
nomic status, the more likely women were to be threatened with physical force to
have sex or to be physically forced to have sex. Psychological abuse was identified by
every single woman. Most men from all social classes were also economically abu-
sive, as discussed further in this chapter. Most of the women called the police about
their abuse; poor women were the most likely to call. Poor and working-class men
were more likely to have criminal records and more likely to have been convicted
of intimate violence against women. Fully 45% of the women obtained restraining
orders from the courts against their partners, a rate that is almost identical across
class categories.
EC O N O M I C D EPEN D EN C E, EC O N O M I C A B U S E
Of the 60 women interviewed, 24 had college degrees or more: Six had PhDs, 2 had
master’s degrees, and 1 was an MD. Half the women had more education than their
partners; 28% had the same educational level. Only 22% of the men had more edu-
cation than their partners. But, despite this advantage in education, most women in
wealthy, professional, and working-class communities had less income. A common
pattern was for women who were mothers to work only part-t ime outside the home.
Only in poor communities did women earn more money than their partners; more
men than women in these communities were out of the labor force entirely.
Even though the men generally made more money, making the women depen-
dent on them, most men sought even greater leverage through economically abusive
actions. Asked if they were prevented from having money for their own use, most
women (65%, n = 39) said yes. This represents the majority of women in every class
category. A number of men kept women from having access to their own paychecks.
“He demanded that I put his name on my checking account. It was to prove that
I loved him,” one white woman told me. She inherited substantial investments from
her parents. Many women (43%, n = 26) were put on an allowance by their partners,
something more appropriate for children than adults. Most men (53%, n = 32) either
stopped or tried to stop their partners from going to work or school. A number of
women lost their jobs or dropped out of college because of their partner’s actions.
By increasing financial dependence, these men suppressed their partner’s resis-
tance. “I relied on him financially,” a black professional woman said. “When we had
this [fight] he wouldn’t give me any allowance for that month so I had to swallow
some of it because I didn’t want to lose my allowance.”
A C O N T I N U U M O F S E X UA L A B U S E
Although the focus of this chapter is on intimate relationships, women also reported
sexual abuse in their families of origin, in school, in the workplace, and on the street.
For Liz Kelly, this is all part of the continuum of sexual violence. Working-class and
poor women were more likely to have been sexually abused as children than women
in the privileged classes. However, reports of physical abuse as children were similar
across class categories, as were reports of emotional abuse and neglect. Women told
me that being abused and berated by their parents diminished their sense of self-
worth and made them feel guilty and ashamed, feelings they brought into their adult
relationships. Half of the women said they suffered violence and abuse from teach-
ers, bosses, coworkers, fellow students, strangers, or law enforcement officials. This
abuse was frequently sexual in nature and included sexual harassment and rape.
Half of the women suffered abuse in previous relationships with men; this was
most common for women in poor communities. This abuse also was often sexual in
nature. An experience of rape at gunpoint by one boyfriend greatly affected the next
relationship that one woman had: “[My ex-boyfriend] had put a gun to my head and
so when somebody requested sex I thought I’d better do it or else somebody will
shoot me,” she told me. She was a white woman with an advanced degree. For some,
the legacy of this history meant that abuse was “just the way life was,” as one woman
put it. Others said they came to fear all men.
Seeing sexual abuse as a continuum highlights the consequences one experience
of abuse may have on later relationships. Seven elements of a continuum of sexual
abuse were emphasized by the women I spoke with. The interconnections between
these forms of violence and abuse will become clear.
Verbal Degradation
Researchers analyze the physical, sexual, psychological, and economic aspects

of abuse separately, but in women’s accounts, these forms of abuse seep into one
another. This is easily seen in the verbal degradation reported by these women in
Box 9.1.
Within every class category, most of the women (88%, n = 53) said they were
called names and criticized by their partners, and most all (92%, n = 55) said they
were shouted or screamed at. When asked how often this verbal abuse occurred,
many women reported this happened “all the time,” “many times a week,” an “infi-
nite number of times,” “almost daily,” or “hundreds of times.” A list of some of the
names these women were called is included in Box 9.1, arranged by the class cat-
egories of the women. This list is merely a sketch; some women were unwilling to
state the names they were called, perhaps out of a sense of self-d ignity. Many offered
only some names out of what must be a long and debasing list. Nonetheless, the list
illustrates an important dimension of the abuse they suffered.
The sexualized aspects of the men’s hostility are immediately apparent in this
list. These words degrade women’s identities by attacking their sexual morality and
physical appearance. There do not appear to be dramatic differences in these words
across the class categories. Women are further criticized for their failures as part-
ners, mothers, and “women.” The word bitch is the most frequently named insult.
This word is often used to silence women, and their anger particularly.
Along with attacks on women’s morality, womanhood, and assertiveness, there
are judgments of a different kind contained in this language. A number of the
men used the terms loser, idiot, stupid, useless, worthless, and nothing to disparage
their partners. This focus on women’s intelligence and achievement reflects both
misogyny and the ruthless competitiveness of the US economic system. “America
has always been the most competitive of societies,” Andrew Hacker (2003, 39–4 0)
writes. “No other nation so rates its residents as winners or losers.” As has been
shown, these men did more than degrade them as “losers”; most deliberately
undermined their wives and partners economically, seemingly in an effort to make
them into losers. One white working-class woman told me, “He undermined my
self-i mage so badly that I thought I was the scum of the earth, you know? I kind of
dressed like that and acted like that. Apologized to everyone… . He really made me
feel ashamed at who I was.”
There is remarkable hypocrisy beneath these verbal assaults. In many cases, these
men condemned their partners for the very characteristics that they themselves
possessed. They alleged these women were somehow immoral. Yet, it was the men’s
Box 9.1
Verbal Degradation Reported by Women
Wealthy
f—ing bitch, loser
stupid, lazy, ugly, pathetic, unattractive, embarrassing
bitch, slut
bitch, slut
stupid, idiot, useless, f—ing asshole, not a good mother
worthless, I didn’t dress good enough, I wasn’t good enough
stupid
Professional
white reject, pathetic person
stupid, no one would want me, no good at anything, bitch, dirty
bitch, abusive, lousy mother, liar, stupid
fat, thin
f—ing bag of shit, stupid, fat, can’t even act like a woman, a slob, f—ing lazy
whore, bitch, slut
stupid, you’re nothing
fat, f—ing bitch
stupid, worthless
worst piece of trash, terrible person, c—
Working class
fat, ugly, stupid, trollop
bitch, slut, f—ing stupid, fat cow, whore
stupid, bitch
fat, stupid, whore
piece of shit, c—, f—ing bitch, worthless, ignorant, incapable, useless
asshole, bimbo, bitch, broad, douchebag, frigid, c—, slut, whore, all preceded by
“f—ing”
c—, bitch, slut, stupid, fat, ugly
fat, crazy, psycho, stupid, deadbeat mom
bitch, slut, whore, c—, idiot, moron, stupid, ugly
bitch, asshole, f—ing idiot, selfish, greedy, mean, stupid, lazy, a poor parent,
not pretty
bitch, whore, worthless, stupid, nobody else is going to want you
bitch, dyke
whore
fat, c—
bitch, stupid, worthless
Poor
bitch, stupid, lazy, crazy; not good enough
bitch
bitch, whore
bitch, slut
you’re nothing, you’ll never be anything
sexual violence that is criminal under US laws. By calling their wives or partners
“sluts” and “whores,” they accused their partners of being excessively sexual and
deceptive; yet according to the women, many of these same men were the ones who
were sexually dishonest and having multiple affairs.
For some, this verbal degradation was seen as more consequential than any other
form of abuse. “I used to almost pray that he’d hit me,” a white working-class woman
told me, “because the pain would go away from that. But the emotional—t he pain
would never go away. I can still hear it in my head … I can still see his face and I can
still hear it.” The worst abuse, according to another white woman from a working-
class neighborhood, was “being called a c—and a bitch … every day.”
Delusional Jealousy
A number of the women said that the first abuse they can recall involved demonstra-
tions of what can only be called delusional jealousy. This is the suspicion of cheating
or the feeling of a threat to one’s relationship that is so exaggerated as to be out of
touch with reality. Fully 75% of the women indicated their husbands or partners
checked on them or monitored their phone calls or their whereabouts. There was lit-
tle difference across the class categories. Women’s partners would call them at home
to make sure they were not out with someone else; review calls on their phones to
see who they had contacted; check to see that they were at work by repeatedly tex-
ting them or looking for their cars; time them when they went grocery shopping;
and even look under the bed and in the closets for hidden lovers. Consistent with
the themes in verbal abuse, the misogynist assumptions here are that women are
somehow by nature both sexually insatiable and dishonest. Women were accused
of having sex with ministers, doctors, neighbors, mailmen, colleagues, friends, and
grocery clerks. “When he’d drink, to him I was always doing something,” one black
woman said. “I was cheating, I was seeing people. I didn’t understand that.” She
worked part-t ime in food service for poverty-level wages. A white woman described
the behavior of her partner, whose yearly earnings were in the millions of dollars.
“He would get upset if I wasn’t home and say, ‘Well, where were you? Are you screw-
ing around on me?’ ” Some men policed what their partners wore when leaving the
house. Several women said they could not wear makeup because their partners were
fearful that this would attract too much sexual attention.
Women described how jealousy escalated into rage and violence. A white
working-class woman recalled, “He and I were in the grocery store and he perceived
me as checking out another guy, you know? Looking at another guy as if I wanted
to, as if I was interested in the other guy. But I wasn’t… . He was very paranoid and
suspicious… . He yelled and screamed at me.” One woman was punched in the face
until she bled for riding in a car with another man.
The Threat of Men’s Affairs
Infidelity was seen by many women as a form of abuse, as an attempt to control

and punish them. One third (n = 20) of the men were unfaithful. Of the 45 men
who checked up on or monitored their partner’s whereabouts, 12 were themselves
Rape and the Continuum of Sexual Abuse in Intimate Relationships 1 31
having relations with women outside the relationship. Women from all class catego-
ries reported infidelity; the highest rate was among wealthy men. “I would say that,
you know, having an affair was another kind of abuse,” one wealthy white woman
said, “another way to try to control what I did, which was, I should shut up, I should
do what he wanted.” Another white woman, married to a business executive, told a
therapist she was worried her husband might be having affairs (he was). Given the
power of his social position, her therapist advised her to “be more accommodating,
and … go along, to make peace… . I just didn’t know how to handle high-powered
men, basically is what she said.” A married white working-class woman stated, “He
goes around saying [the baby’s] not his, and that I’m a slut and a cheater. And now
I know it’s really because he is.”
Violence was used to defend men’s self-appointed entitlement to have affairs.
Two women, both living in professional communities, were assaulted for objecting
to their husbands’ infidelities.
Reproductive Abuse
The terms pregnancy coercion and reproductive coercion have been used to iden-
tify how, especially in the context of intimate violence, men may force women
to get pregnant or sabotage their contraceptive practices (American College of
Obstetricians and Gynecologists 2013; Miller, Jordan, et al. 2010). Other research
focuses on violence and abuse during pregnancy (see Jasinski 2004; S. L. Martin
et al. 2012). In this sample, the forms of abuse relating to reproduction were more
likely to involve violence during pregnancy and attempts to force miscarriages.
For this reason, the term reproductive abuse is used to include both violations
of reproductive rights (either by coercing pregnancy or coercing abortion) and
violations of women’s reproductive health. Of those interviewed, 27% (n = 16)—
mostly working-class (n = 8) and professional (n = 6) women—gave accounts of
this kind of abuse.
Some of the women described behavior consistent with coerced pregnancy.
One married white working-class woman said her husband admitted he tried to
get her pregnant so that she could not leave him. Another white woman, who was
poor despite working in food service, was in an economically exploitive relation-
ship with an unemployed man. She felt that her partner sought to get her preg-
nant because this would somehow bring more money into their relationship. Both
women ended up as single mothers. One white woman with an advanced degree
talked about a coerced abortion, which was a turning point in her relationship with
her husband.
A number of men abused their partners severely while they were pregnant. “He
beat me black and blue,” said an African American professional woman. The doc-
tors who treated her were upset about the extensiveness of the bruising. Two men
pushed their pregnant partners down the stairs. One woman was kicked in the
stomach; another was punched hard enough to break her ribs. One white profes-
sional woman who was early in her pregnancy reported, “He beat me from head to
toe. I was bruised everywhere… . He didn’t want any more children.”
Two men attempted to cause miscarriages. One denied he would be the father
and accused his partner of cheating on him. Two other men beat their partners
so badly that their partners lost the pregnancies; one of these women almost died
from her injuries. The assault began with an accusation that she was lying about her
whereabouts.
Pornography
Nine women described their partner’s use of pornography as abusive. While this was
reported at every class level, this mostly concerned working-class men. “He would
try to coerce me to do things,” one white wealthy woman said. “You know, whether
it was, ‘Oh, you know, let’s watch this, you know, pornography tape and, you know,
re-enact various things.’ ” A white woman who worked in retail reported, “It got to
the point where he would not have sex without a pornographic movie playing… . He
would make me do what they were doing. He didn’t care if it was painful or humiliat-
ing.” Another white working-class woman said that toward the end of their decades-
long marriage, “The porn he was looking at at that point was rape, public humiliation,
violence against women.” She felt this encouraged him to become more aggressive in
their sexual activity, which frightened her. This caused her to divorce him, ending a
long marriage.
The Sexual Abuse of Children
The sexual abuse of children represented the worst form of abuse for some women.
Four women had reasons to suspect their partners of sexually assaulting their chil-
dren, and while each case was investigated by authorities, no charges were ever
filed. The women could not get the investigators to take their concerns seriously.
“He would demean her. Call her a slut… . She hadn’t been penetrated. But there had
been some sexual abuse going on,” a white woman described. She remains extremely
upset about this although she could not prove her partner was responsible. She lived
in a professional community. In two cases, women stated their partners showed por-
nography to their children and attempted to hide this.
Rape
Some 63% (n = 38) of the women indicated their partners either used or threat-
ened physical force to have sex. While nearly half (48%, n = 12) of the wealthy
and professional women reported forced sex, 68% (n = 26) of the working-class
and poor women disclosed this. Unmarried women had virtually the same rate as
married women. Because state and federal laws on rape turn on the threat or use
of physical force, these responses are consistent with the legal definition of rape
in the United States.1
Diana Russell’s (1990) early work established that marital rape is no less trau-
matic or brutal than other kinds of rape. This was clear in women’s accounts. Three
women were raped anally; one was raped at gunpoint and another at knifepoint;
one was sexually assaulted with a sharp metal object. One was gang-raped by her
boyfriend and his friends.
For seven women, rape was an exceptional event that marked the end of the rela-
tionship. For others, it was a turning point—t he beginning of a plan to leave. But,
for many women, sexual assault was a common, ongoing part of their experience.
Sixteen women reported they were often physically forced to have sex or threatened
with physical force. Some said they were assaulted “weekly,” “monthly,” or “almost
daily.” Some described being so afraid after being raped that they sought to placate
their partners to avoid more violence:
I tried to appease him.
So, I tried to do everything he had requested of me, including sexual activities
that I found demeaning.
So, rather than being raped, I would do what he asked. (a white woman from a
working-class neighborhood)
He raped me that night… . [she was crying]
Things just went downhill from there.
From that point in time I did not have one consensual sexual encounter with
him. (a white woman from a working-class community)
While they were in these relationships, it was difficult for most women to name
their partner’s actions as abusive:
We had a huge fight, I can’t remember what it was about, and he raped me
after that fight.
I didn’t know it was rape at the time… . There was sexual abuse constantly.
I mean he demanded sex every single night… . I didn’t realize I’d been
sexually abused until I got to [a domestic abuse advocacy center] and
was going through some questionnaires for intake information. (a white
professional woman)
It confused me. I didn’t understand why he did that. I mean, we were in the
process of just having sex normally and then he just started getting really
violent and, and raped me anally and I didn’t consent to that.
I had never experienced that before.
It was nothing gentle; nothing loving; nothing patient; nothing slow or easy.
It was just vicious… . I screamed out in agony and nobody heard me.
And it was just really hard for me to try to make sense of it afterward, so
I didn’t try. (a white woman from a working-class neighborhood)
It was only after they separated that most women could name these experiences as
abusive.
There are many interconnections between the elements of the continuum of
sexual abuse. The language of sluts and whores provided justifications for the jeal-
ous actions that most men engaged in. Verbal abuse and delusional jealousy were
related to men’s attempts to cause miscarriages in the cases where men denied they
were responsible for the pregnancies. Men’s infidelities were seen by the women as
demeaning and humiliating, consistent with the verbal degradation they endured.
Men’s use of pornography was experienced as further debasement. Pornography has
been memorably defined by Andrea Dworkin (1979, 9) as the “graphic depiction of
whores,” and women felt they were being pressed into fulfilling this role. The sexual
abuse of children, which involved pornography in some cases, is an extension of the
control and sexual entitlement men assumed over their partners.
The threat of violence lies beneath the elements of this continuum. In the context
of a physically abusive relationship, verbal abuse that is shouted or screamed is itself
frightening. The acts of delusional jealousy often led to yelling and violence. Women
were assaulted for resisting men’s infidelities. Pornography that represented rape
and sexual humiliation scared women, and men who used this kind of pornography
brought this abusiveness into their sexuality. The forced sex that most of the women
reported represents the culmination of this degradation and objectification. Asked
about their partners’ feelings about women in general, most respondents in every
class category said these men lacked respect or had contempt for women.
Fully 63% of the women reported incidents consistent with the legal definition of
rape; this was true for most professional, working-class, and poor women. In terms
of verbal degradation, delusional jealousy, men’s affairs, and reproductive abuse,
there were more similarities than differences across class categories.
N A M I N G A N D N OT N A M I N G R A PE
A number of obstacles prevented women from naming their experiences of forced

sex as rape.
Social Support for Men’s Sexual Entitlement
Much confusion was voiced by women about what sexual abuse is in the context
of marriage or an intimate relationship. A white woman with inherited wealth
said this:
Somebody brought up the question of marital rape and I was still way too
brainwashed and I was like … what, what are you talking about?
I was his wife.
He could do whatever he wanted with me… . It took me a long time to realize
that I had the right to say no, and that if I didn’t have that right nothing was
a real yes.
An unmarried white woman from a working-class community explained:
It was difficult … to really like see it, you know, as [rape] at the time because
it felt like such a gray area.
Because it was someone I was like, you know, already sexually involved with.
But, you know, at the same time … he would be physically forcing me to do
stuff when I didn’t want to… .
I always thought that I was doing something, something wrong, you know,
I wasn’t a good girlfriend, or it was kind of what I deserved.
Even when women did tell people and seek help, they were sometimes told it was
their duty to submit sexually to their partners. “I remember telling my mother once,
talking to her about it,” one white woman related. She was from a working-class
neighborhood. “She said, ‘Well you just don’t give him enough which is why he has
to take it that way. Give him more sex and he will be happier.’ That didn’t work.”
Another white working-class woman sought religious counseling and, after detailing
the physical violence and multiple sexual assaults, was told she needed to become a
“better wife.”
The Suppression of Women’s Anger
While a number of women raised their voices about the abuse, more than half of
the women (n = 36) said their partners would not allow them to express anger.
Keeping them from expressing anger led in many cases to difficulty in even feeling
anger: A number of women did not feel angry about the abuse until years after sepa-
ration. Preventing the expression of anger can undermine the feeling that some-
thing is unjust:
(While the marriage was going on did you feel angry about his abusiveness?)
You know, not until the very end when I didn’t care if he smashed me
around… . No, I felt fear.
I felt afraid.
I felt controlled.
I felt powerless.
In hindsight can’t describe it as anger because I feel that if I was really angry
then I would have done something.
I was depressed.
I internalized that anger and I was anxious. (a white woman from a wealthy
community)
One woman who was sexually assaulted said she felt mostly sadness, but not
anger until 6 months after leaving. Many years after divorce, another woman who
was raped by her husband still does not feel angry, to the dismay of her friends.
For another woman, who suffered rapes on a regular basis, anger came more than
15 years after the divorce. Women’s support groups and therapy helped many
women recover and experience the full range of their feelings.
Guilt and Shame
Most of the men, at every class level, explained their abusiveness by blaming their
partners. According to the women, their partners said things like, “It was always
my fault”; “He was being forced to behave this way, because I was so inadequate,
or I was so stupid”; “You made me do this”; and, “Women deserve it.” In a culture
that blames women for rape as well as for problems in intimate relationships (Dunn
2012; Henry and Powell 2014), it should not be surprising that almost all of the
women struggled with feelings of guilt and shame. This made it hard for them to
name their experiences as abusive.
How does guilt undermine the sense that one was abused? This is how a white
wealthy woman explained it, concerning the physical and sexual violence she
experienced: “It’s hard for me to see that [my ex-husband] needs to take responsibil-
ity for what he did to me. I still kind of blame myself.”
The weight of racist images was evident in a poor woman’s reflections on guilt.
“Yeah I felt guilty about it, I have,” she said, reflecting on the rape—at gunpoint—that
made her leave the relationship. “It’s one of those things when you’re growing up, and
I don’t know about every culture, but being a black woman, it’s like you carry yourself
a certain way and you try to do that. And I try to make sure I carry myself a certain
way and don’t do certain things. But then there’s that question in the back of my head
like, was there something I did… . You start to question yourself and the things that
you did that may have led them to do or feel comfortable with doing what they did.”
Shame is best understood as a feeling distinct from guilt. Whereas guilt con-
cerns a specific action—something one did or could have done—shame is a
global feeling; it is a negative evaluation of the whole self (Tangney and Dearing
2003). Melissa Harris-Perry (2011) argues that shame is caused by stigmas that
are imposed on groups of people—stigmas that reduce members of these groups
to debased characteristics—l ike those in the list of degrading names shown previ-
ously. According to Harris-Perry, “Shame is the psychological and physical effect of
repeated acts of misrecognition” (107).
Feelings of shame undercut women’s identities. One black woman from a poor
neighborhood said she felt “like I was nothing. I was like a piece of trash. I was not
worthy. I couldn’t do anything good in my life… . Even after the relationship I strug-
gled with that. I thought wherever I was going, people would have seen it in me.”
Stigmas About Class and Race
The “class myth” is the idea that only poor and working-class women are vulnerable
to abuse. This myth turns on stigmas about class and race. Contempt for poor and
working-class people is combined with racialized fears in this myth. One reason it
survives, despite decades of efforts to debunk it, is that the myth operates to deepen
divisions between social classes.
In every class category, women sought to avoid the stigmas associated with pov-
erty and poor communities of color. In their efforts to escape them, the women
reveal the emotional power of these stigmas and the way they prevent women from
naming their own experiences of abuse. A white woman from a wealthy community
who was physically forced to have sex described how her images of abuse did not
match what she was going through: “I’d never really read about the signs or knew
the definition of domestic abuse because I always thought you had to be beaten up
and have broken bones, be married to someone who’s not educated. I really bought
into the whole profile.” She did not name this as abuse until she attended a public
meeting on intimate violence. A professional woman spoke of trying to avoid the
stigma of being an African American single mother and how this trapped her in a
physically and sexually abusive marriage:
I told [a girlfriend] about the abuse I was going through… . You think these
things happen to poor people so I told her … I was kind of like blackmailed
into staying… . Nobody wants to be called a divorcee or single mom.
It all has connotations with society.
Even women from working-class communities wanted to distance themselves

from the stigmas of class and race that are part of the class myth:
I felt trapped because I didn’t know that this happened to so many other women.
I thought I was the only one, because it certainly didn’t happen to people
like me.
It didn’t happen to smart people, it didn’t happen to people who—you know,
this was supposed to only happen to uneducated, poor, welfare women of
color, [who] didn’t speak English… .
That’s who this happened to.
In my ignorance, that shame, my own shame … kept me trapped. (a white
woman from a working-class community)
She was speaking self-critically here: After leaving her abusive partner, she worked
as an advocate for women who suffered abuse.
And, what about the women who were impoverished and who had to constantly
wrestle with the humiliating images heaped on them? The pain and anger one
woman feels is evident in her remarks:
It’s not like I just went out and got pregnant for welfare or by choice or whatever.
I’m a single mother because of domestic violence and that is extremely
stigmatizing and that is shameful.
People automatically assume, “She’s a single mom because she wants to get
resources,” but they don’t consider the domestic violence. (a white woman
from a poor community)
At every class level, then, there is evidence of the class myth and the power it has to
distort women’s perceptions of abuse.
Early in the interview, I asked women to fill out a check-off list from an abusive
behavior survey (see Shepard and Campbell 1992). This list of check-off items
includes being threatened with physical force to have sex and being physically forced
to have sex, although the word rape does not appear. Late in the interview, I asked
women about a number of different terms that might be used to describe their expe-
riences. The terms included victim and survivor, as well as rape. I asked these ques-
tions apologetically, stating that the words we have to describe the range of women’s
experiences are too few and too crude. Most of the women disliked or even hated
the term victim. The level of discomfort with this word may be yet another reason
why it is difficult for many women to acknowledge that they were raped.
Even coming toward the end of a long conversation about abuse, a direct question
using the word rape was painful for many women to consider. Often, there would be
a long pause before their response. Of the 38 women (63% of the total) who reported
they were either threatened with force or physically forced to have sex, 13 actually
used the term rape themselves even before I got to these questions. After I asked
about it, an additional 16 women agreed that the word rape described their experi-
ences. Thus, a total of 29 women (48% of the total) explicitly named what they suf-
fered as rape; 9 women who had reported a threat or use of physical force to have sex
did not identify with this word. Wealthy women were least likely to name the forced
sex that they suffered as rape.
C O N C LU S I O N
Rather than seeing rape as a discrete incident in an abusive relationship, I have

argued that it is best seen as part of a continuum of sexual abuse. The continuum
includes many different behaviors. I have emphasized verbal degradation, delu-
sional jealousy, infidelity, reproductive abuse, pornography, and the sexual abuse
of children as interconnected with rape in intimate relationships. The verbal deg-
radation displayed the malicious and controlling attitudes that were expressed in
these forms of sexual abuse. Through their words and actions, the men described in
these accounts caused fear, suppressed anger, and created feelings of guilt, shame,
and powerlessness in these women. Many women struggled to see their experiences
as sexually abusive, owing to the consequences of this emotional manipulation.
Seeing this as a continuum clarifies how these words and actions are interrelated.
While most women reported forced sex, there were class differences; poor and
working-class women were the most victimized. Yet, many elements of the contin-
uum appeared with similar frequency across class categories.
Economic dependency and economic abuse, which existed at every class level,
posed further obstacles to women’s resistance. Class and racial stigmas intensified
women’s feelings of guilt and shame, which prevented many women from perceiv-
ing their partners as abusive.
After struggling under the weight of this abuse, which many endured for years,
all of the women succeeded in separating from their abusive partners. Nearly half
of the women in every class category sought help from domestic abuse agencies.
In most cases, however, this took place only after separation. The role of women’s
groups organized by these agencies was pivotal in challenging the debilitating feel-
ings of guilt and shame in the wake of abuse. This support was so transformative
that many of the women are now working as advocates themselves or speaking pub-
licly about their experience in the hopes of preventing further suffering.
Note
1. See Mass. Gen. Laws ch. 265, § 22 (n.d.); 10 U.S.C. § 920, art. 120 (2012).
10
Sexual Murder of Women

Intimate Partners in Great Britain
R U S S E L L P. D O B A S H A N D R . E M E R S O N D O B A S H
In this chapter, we consider the nature of the most serious type of sexual assault
in intimate relationships by comparing intimate partner sexual murders with two
other types of murder of women: intimate partner murder that did not include a sex-
ual attack and the sexual murder of a woman who was in some way acquainted with
the murderer.1 We begin by briefly sketching the sociocultural background of this
type of violence in Great Britain by considering the research on the sexual assault
of intimate partners as a context for exploring intimate partner sexual murder. We
also discuss the scant literature that focuses on intimate partner sex murders and
briefly consider the research on sexual murder because it is possible that the nature
of intimate partner sexual murder parallels the sexual murders of women who are
not intimate partners.
There is a paucity of research on the sexual murder of women intimate partners
and to elucidate this type of murder, we draw on the quantitative and qualitative
data from the Murder in Britain Study (hereafter the Murder Study) to compare
three types of murder of women to address a number of interrelated questions, such
as how the contexts and circumstances associated with intimate partner sex murder
differ from intimate partner murder and sex murders; what the childhood and adult
characteristics of the men who commit these three types of murders are; how these
men relate to women and what their interpretations of the murder and the victim
are; and whether intimate partner sex murderers are best defined as sexual aggres-
sors who kill an intimate partner.
SO C I O C U LT U R A L C O N T E X T
Great Britain has had a decidedly mixed history of dealing with sexual and physi-
cal violence against women and wives. Husbands’ “conjugal rights” were strongly
asserted in Sir Matthew Hale’s (1736) treatise History of the Pleas of the Crown, in
which he argued that the laws of rape could not be applied to marriage because the
wife “hath given up herself in this kind unto her husband, which she cannot retract.”
While this was not a legal treatise that led to it being codified into law, it seems to
have confirmed common law practice and apparently was codified in 1822 when
nine judges confirmed the issue of exemption from prosecution. Men’s conjugal
rights were challenged in the latter part of the 19th century and into the early 20th
by feminists such Frances Power Cobbe, Josephine Butler, Caroline Norton, and
Harriet Taylor and liberals such as John Stuart Mill and Bertrand Russell (Dobash
and Dobash 1979, 1992; Smart1989). Social and political struggles to improve the
rights and health of women encountered serious objections, but successes included
a series of legislative changes enacted in the latter part of the 19th century, includ-
ing the Married Women’s Property Act of 1885, which made a conviction for assault
on a wife sufficient grounds for divorce. It is not clear whether sexual violence was
included in this legislation or became an element of the legal process, but impor-
tantly, access to the courts was only available to a small proportion of mostly well-
off women and divorce was rare in Britain in the early half of the 20th century.
It was the “(re)discovery” of “battered women” in the early 1970s and the creation
of the battered women’s movement in Britain that led to efforts to assist women who
suffered violence at the hands of their husbands and to struggles to improve social
support and legal protection (Dobash and Dobash 1979, 1992). At about the same
time, the Rape Crisis movement emerged to assist women who had been raped
and sexually assaulted (Jones and Cook 2008). An important target of both move-
ments was the laws and practices of the criminal justice system, which generally
ignored physical and sexual violence against women. Women reporting rape were
treated with disdain, badgered into withdrawing the complaint, implicated in the
act because of the way they dressed and behaved, and in various other ways left with
no recourse—justice was diverted and denied. Gradually, efforts of Rape Crisis
and Women’s Aid, supported by a generally sympathetic media, led to meaningful
debates and efforts to abolish the exemption for sexual assaults by husbands. Rape
in marriage was eventually criminalized in the United Kingdom, first in Scotland in
1982 and subsequently in England/Wales in 1991.
In addition, there have been several cultural developments, beginning in the
1980s, that have brought the issue of sexual abuse and violence into the public
arena: These began with the child sexual abuse scandals associated with the Catholic
Church in Ireland and more broadly in “care homes” for children throughout
Britain; more recently, scandal involved the identification of gangs of men sexually
grooming young girls into prostitution (mostly vulnerable girls, often in care—in
one English city, as many as 1,400 girls had been groomed); then in 2012, there
was the revelation that one of Britain’s most revered celebrities, Jimmy Saville (who
died the previous year), was a serial sexual abuser of hundreds of children, which
subsequently led to a number of police investigations (such as Operation Yewtree).
Police investigations of historical cases of child sexual abuse resulted in the convic-
tion of a number of high-profile individuals: publicists, rock musicians, television
personalities, and authors.
All of this has raised the profile of the issue of sexual violence against women and
children. It appears from the recent crime statistics that this, along with the years
of efforts on the part of groups such as Rape Crisis, has resulted in an improved
response from the criminal justice system. In 2014, successful convictions for
Sexual Murder of Women Intimate Partners in Great Britain 141
physical and sexual violence against women increased 17%. While the number of
cases may indicate an actual increase in violence against women, the cases may rep-
resent the outcome of a number of developments, particularly an improvement in
police response to victims, a greater willingness to hold perpetrators accountable by
pursuing prosecutions, and, possibly, improvements in court procedures. However,
it is difficult to disentangle these statistics to assess developments in the prosecu-
tion of sexual violence against intimate partners.
Of course, sexual abuse and violence against women continues. In 2013, the
Ministry of Justice, Home Office, and Office for National Statistics, drawing on
various sources, estimated that annually in England and Wales, 85,000 women are
raped and 400,000 are sexually assaulted. And, during their lifetime, approximately
20% of women aged 16–59 had been subjected to some type of sexual violence (see
also Crown Prosecution Service 2015). Responses may be improving, but there is
much to be done by way of further developments in the social and criminal jus-
tice response to women who have been sexually assaulted. Sadly, during the recent
and continuing period of national fiscal austerity, there has been an assault on the
services for women survivors. Services must be supported, and women who report
sexual abuse and rape should be treated in an appropriate manner. Also, we need to
continue to enhance the certainty of retributive and reformative efforts directed at
offenders.
T H E K N OW L ED G E
Sexual Violence in Intimate Relationships
Existing evidence from a range of studies, including surveys using national prob-
ability samples and intensive interview studies of known samples of women who
experience intimate partner violence, tells a common story. While there are sig-
nificant reporting problems associated with estimating the prevalence and rate of
sexual violence, particularly against intimate partners, reliable estimates have been
produced. In the United States, anywhere from 9% to 13% of women who have
ever been in a marital or cohabiting relationship report being raped and/or sexu-
ally assaulted by their partner or ex-partner (Basile 2002; Catalano 2006; Hanneke,
Shields, and McCall 1986; McFarlane et al. 2005; Russell 1982; Tjaden and
Thoennes 2006). A unique study based in South Africa involving interviews with
a large sample of men revealed a self-reported prevalence of 15% (Abrahams et al.
2004). World Health Organization (WHO) survey research in Asian and Pacific
countries suggests a much greater prevalence. Using the reports of men, researchers
report 12%–55%, with the highest prevalence in the Pacific region (Fulu et al. 2013).
Studies from various countries reporting physically coercive sex and rape involv-
ing all types of relationships—intimate, acquaintance, stranger—consistently find
that intimate partner rape is the most common type (Basile 2002; Fulu et al. 2013;
Tjaden and Thoennes 2006).
Coercion and threats of violence are also related to unwanted sexual acts at the
hands of partners. In these cases, women acquiesce in a context of pressure or non-
physical coercion or submit because they have experienced their partner’s physical
and sexual violence in the past when they refused or resisted (Basile 1999, 2002;
J. C. Campbell and Alford 1989; Meyer, Vivian, and O’Leary 1998). Importantly,
considerable proportions of women who report assault/battering from partners also
report sexual assaults. Research investigating the correspondence between physi-
cal and sexual assault in intimate relationships consistently shows that the two are
highly correlated in both volume and severity (A. D. Marshall and Holtzworth-
Munroe 2002; McFarlane et al. 2005; Meyer, Vivian, and O’Leary 1998). In those
relationships where both occur, the incidence and severity of sexual assault increases
as physical violence increases, although it is possible that escalating sexual violence
increases physical violence. Much of the existing research focuses on sociodemo-
graphic correlates of this violence and reveals that physical and sexual violence is
most likely to be experienced by economically disadvantaged and poorly educated
young women. Various types of research across diverse cultures and societies dem-
onstrate that women and men recognize the phenomenon/problem of intimate
partner sexual assault—it does not appear to be outside the cultural sphere of any
society. Yet, only a few studies have provided wider contextual knowledge of these
crimes.
The early foundational research of Russell (1982) and Finkelhor and Yllö (1985)
in the United States suggested that there were various types of intimate partner
rape. Russell found three types: rape using physical force, rape preceded by physical
threat, and rape in circumstances where women were unable to consent. Finkelhor
and Yllö, following Groth, Burgess, and Holmstrom (1977), identified three types
of intimate partner rape: Battering rape involving anger and physical violence
occurred in 48% of their cases; force-only rape, where the perpetrator was not angry
but raped his partner as an act of domination and control, occurred in 42%; and, a
third type, obsessive rape, that involved sadistic and brutal violence (such as attack-
ing the genitals or insertion of objects) during the sex assault, occurred in 6% (see
also Bergen 1996).
The South African research cited previously found that sexual assault in intimate
relationships was associated with verbal abuse of partners, simultaneously having
more than one partner, problematic alcohol use, and a history of conflict/physical
violence outside the home (Abrahams et al. 2004). Importantly, the researchers
concluded that the violence was linked with a propensity to solve problems with
violence across various settings and to male sexual entitlement and dominance.
An exceptional piece of intensive research carried out in India investigated the
dynamics of sexual assaults and revealed similar patterns. Repeatedly interviewing
a sample of married woman over a 2-year period, the researchers found that one
quarter had been forced to have sex on at least one occasion during their married
lives (Kahn et al. n.d.). The researchers conclude, “Husbands take as their right to
have complete control over the body and sexuality of their wives” (11).
Other research has attempted to investigate the sequence of the physical and
sexual violence, exploring whether sexual violence precedes or follows the physi-
cal violence. While there is sparse research on this issue, some reports suggest that
physical and sexual violence are coterminous; other research suggests that forced
sex occurs after the physical assault (McFarlane et al. 2005). Bennice and colleagues
(2003) offer two possible explanations of the sequence of physical assault followed
by a sexual attack: The sex attack is merely another type of assault, or it may be a
reflection of the notion of a cycle of violence with the initiation of sex the “honey-
moon” period reflecting “making up” and an apology.
Sexual Murder of Women Intimate Partners in Great Britain 14 3
Bennice and colleagues reject the “cycle-of-v iolence explanation,” and we con-
sider this explanation implausible in light of existing knowledge regarding men’s
orientations to their use of physical and sexual violence committed against an inti-
mate partner, although research suggests some men view sex, including violent sex,
after a physical attack as making up.
Adams (2007) offers one of the most nuanced explanations of the nature and
sequencing of the relationship between physical and sexual violence. In a small-
scale but significant study, Adams compared three types of intimate partner
violence: homicide, attempted homicide, and serious abuse. In interviews with mur-
derers, none admitted to having previously committed sexual violence against the
woman they killed. Indeed, they all rated themselves as being “always” or “nearly
always” “sensitive to their partners’ sexual needs” (173). By contrast, 80% of the vic-
tims of attempted homicide and 57% of the abused women reported at least one inci-
dent of “forced sex.” Almost all of the women reported that men sought sex, usually
forced, immediately after a physical assault. Adams notes that this pattern serves
several functions: For some abusers, the sex meant his partner had “forgiven” him
and called it makeup sex. Adams also suggests that this was a reflection of perpetra-
tors notion that the violence was not consequential, as in, “It couldn’t have been
that bad if she had sex with me.” The sex “reaffirms claims of ownership,” which was
especially likely when women were separated or had intimated to their partner that
they wanted to end the relationship. As Adams (178) concludes, “Nothing seems
to signify possession more than sex, and particularly sexual conquest.” The WHO
survey research in Asian and Pacific countries reached similar conclusions: Sex was
regarded as an entitlement: 70%–80% of the men said they had a right to sex in mar-
riage regardless of consent (Fulu et al. 2013).
Intimate Partner Sexual Murders
Previous sexual violence against the victim has been identified as an important
correlate of intimate partner murder (Braaf 2011). Campbell and colleagues, using
interviews with proxy respondents (e.g., a relative of the victim), compared intimate
partner homicide to abusive relationships and found that previous sexual violence
was a significant precursor of homicide, occurring in 57% of the 220 homicides but
only 15% of the 356 abusive relationships (J. C. Campbell et al. 2007; J. C. Campbell
et al. 2004). The research also revealed that sexual murders of an intimate partner
represented 17% of the murders of women intimate partners (J. C. Campbell 2007).
In our own earlier analysis, we compared the levels of sexual violence of men
convicted of assaulting their partners (n = 122) with cases of intimate partner mur-
der (n = 105). We found that only 2% of the former group admitted ever forcing
their partner to engage in a sexual act prior to the assault (Dobash et al. 2000, 185),
whereas 13% of the 105 murderers were reported to have previously committed sex-
ual violence against their partner. In addition, 16% of the murderers had sexually
assaulted their partner in the course of the murder, but none of the convicted men
sexually attacked their partner during the assault resulting in a conviction (Dobash
et al. 2007).
A Canadian study of 703 cases of intimate partner homicide of women found
that a sexual attack occurred in 33% of the killings (Gartner, Dawson, and Crawford
1999). Dawson and Gartner (1998) also reported that cohabitants and girlfriends
of the perpetrator were twice as likely as married women to have suffered a sexual
assault.
Sexual Murders
When considering the sexual aggression of men who murder an intimate partner,
it is useful to investigate their sexual behavior outside their intimate relationships.
That is, are they men who have only used sexual violence against their partner, or are
they best considered sexual aggressors against intimate partners and other women
who end up killing their partner in a sexual manner? After reviewing the sparse
evidence regarding sexual homicides in several countries, Berkel and Dern (2013,
323) conclude that sexual murderers are “difficult to classify” but are likely to be
“rapists who kill,” and this includes men who have murdered an intimate partner.
Such a conclusion points to the need to compare intimate partner sexual murders
to other types of sex murders; however, there is little reliable evidence regarding sex-
ual murders. While readers may find this surprising, there is a paucity of research on
sexual murder because the academic, media, and public concentration on and fasci-
nation with serial killers has exaggerated the prevalence of this rare type of murder
and consequently inhibited the investigation of other types of sexual murder. This
fascination has detracted from efforts to investigate sexual murders that involve
only one victim—t he vast majority—a nd much of the research has conflated the
nature of sexual murders and the characteristics of perpetrators with those of serial
killers (see Dobash and Dobash 2015, Chapter 5).
While there have been a few important studies of “sexual murder,” there is
scant systematic research that would enhance explanations and understanding
of this type of. A few comparative studies of sexual aggressors/rapists and sexual
murderers have been conducted, but they suggest that there is little significant
difference in the two types of sexual offenders (Carter and Hollin 2010; Chan and
Heide 2009; Dobash and Dobash 2015; Grubin 1994; Proulx et al. 2007). If there
are differences, they appear to be related to contextual and circumstantial factors,
such as intoxication, emotional state (anger), and reactions of the victim. Reliable
research also suggests that sexual murderers are more likely to be isolated and
“lonely.” These attributes are manifested as difficulty in relationships with oth-
ers that begins in childhood and continues into their adult lives. Surprisingly,
given that almost all victims of sexual murder are women, most of these reports
do not explore the importance of problems in relationships with and orientations
to women.
Given the limitations of existing research and the variability in findings, system-
atic reviews of the research on sexual murder suggest, for example, that “studies of
sexual homicides are still in their preliminary stages” and research procedures do
not generally lead to “reliable” results (Chan and Heide 2009, p. 50). Using a com-
parative approach, we are able to extend knowledge regarding the sexual murder of
intimate partners by comparing them to men who commit sexual murder against an
acquaintance and in so doing add to the meagre knowledge regarding sexual mur-
der. We turn now to a brief description of the Murder Study from which we have
drawn the data to be considered here.
T H E M U R D ER I N B R I TA I N ST U DY
The Murder Study involved the collection of data from 866 case files of men (n = 786)
and women (n = 80) imprisoned for murder in England/Wales and Scotland and 200
interviews with convicted murderers conducted in seven prisons in the two juris-
dictions (for details, see Dobash and Dobash 2015, 11–20, Appendix I). Interviews
were tape-recorded and guided by a structured interview schedule that allowed for
open-ended answers. Information gathered using these two sources of data focused,
for example, on the life course of the offender from childhood to adulthood, the con-
text and circumstances associated with the murder, the murder event, adjustment to
prison life, participation in offender treatment programs in prison, and orientations
to the murder and the victim, particularly relating to denial, remorse, and empathy
(see Dobash and Dobash 2015).
The case file and interview data sets only include cases in which there was a con-
viction for “murder” and do not include cases resulting in a conviction for “man-
slaughter” or cases in which the perpetrator committed suicide. In Great Britain,
homicide offenders are charged with either murder or manslaughter (culpable homi-
cide in Scotland). A murder conviction, but not one for manslaughter, results in an
automatic life sentence accompanied by a tariff, a suggested minimum number of
years that must be served before an offender can be considered for parole (Ashworth
and Mitchell 2000). The tariff varies but at the time of the research the average tariff
was about 12 years. Because of the gravity of the offense and the “indeterminate”
nature of the life sentence, the justice system invests considerable effort in dealing
with those convicted of murder who must be judged “safe” before being released
on parole (life license) into the community. As such, the level of record-keeping
for those found guilty of murder is far more extensive than for those convicted of
manslaughter, which involves a fixed sentence. The case files of those sentenced
for murder contain a wealth of information that is gathered and compiled from the
time of detection of the murder through to the period of imprisonment. Case files
are extensive and contain, for example, reports from police, forensic scientists, trial
judges, psychiatrists, social workers, probation officers, and prison staff. The infor-
mation included in the case files covers childhood, family background, adult life
and circumstances, the murder, the legal process, and activities and adjustment in
prison. It is this type of information together with the interview materials that allow
for an intensive examination and comparison of different types of murder that can
be used to distinguish various types and thus provide a fuller understanding of the
characteristics of each type.
Men Who Murder Women: Three Types
Using a subset of qualitative and quantitative data from the Murder Study, we iden-
tified 271 cases involving the murder of an adult woman (age 16 and over). For the
comparative objectives of this chapter and its remaining material, 224 of these were
classified into three types: intimate partner murders (IPMs) that did not include
a sexual element/assault (n = 88), IPM that included a sexual assault (IPSexM)
(n = 17), and the sexual murders of women (SexMs) who were not intimate part-
ners but were acquainted with the murderer in some way (n = 72).2 For comparative
purposes, only sex murders committed by men who were acquainted with the vic-
tim are considered here because they provide a more meaningful comparison to sex
murders committed by intimates.
The two categories of IPM involved three types of relationships: marital (43%,
n = 45), cohabiting (32%, n = 34), and serious boyfriend/g irlfriend (25%, n = 26).
Around one third of these relationships involved a separation or divorce at the time
of the murder, and this did not vary in terms of the presence of a sexual element
or by type of relationship. The sexual murders of acquaintances (n = 72) involved
a range of relationship types, including short-term acquaintances of 1 day or less
(15%, n = 11), longer-term acquaintances (35%, n = 25), friends (24%, n = 17), neigh-
bors (13%, n = 9), and relatives (14%, n = 10). For the purposes of the analysis, these
are combined into one category. A broad conceptualization of “sexual murder” was
used in the research, which included, for example, not only rape before, during, and
after the murder but also other sexual acts, such as the arrangement of clothing or
the body and sexual mutilation.
Sexual Murder of Intimate Partners
As the following analysis shows, comparisons of IPSexMs and IPMs reveals consid-
erable similarity as well as differences. Of course, the most significant distinction
is the inclusion of a sexual attack/element in the murder. The following accounts
demonstrate the nature of these attacks:
After he strangled her, he undressed her and put her in bed and tried to have
sex. When she did not respond he punched her. Next couple of days he says he
really didn’t grasp she was dead. He wrote on the walls of the flat poetry and
threats to the victim about seeing other men.
She leaves him, he then intimidates, harasses, and assaults her—she refuses
to return. He breaks into her house and assaults and rapes her whilst threat-
ening her with a knife. He said she consented. He was granted bail—despite
police objections—a nd while awaiting trial for these offences he rapes and
kills her.
Forensic evidence indicates that she had not moved after the sexual inter-
course, which was therefore contemporaneous with or immediately prior to
the killing. She died of approximately 113 stab wounds; some of these around
her breast were caused after death. The top half of her body was completely
covered in knife wounds. In short, it was a frenzied attack.
He [admits] he killed his wife but describes it as an “accident” that occurred
during consensual sadomasochistic sex. He described tying a scarf around her
neck as being normal practice, whether having oral or anal sex. [From prison
file] within a month of his wife’s death he wrote to a woman who had befriended
him while he was in prison in which his interest in sexual activity involving
bondage and chains was enthusiastically expressed (Case 613cf1.1.1).
These examples compiled from the case files of men who murdered their partner
and committed a sexual act during the murder event illustrate many of the major
patterns: The sexual attack occurred prior to the murder but usually during and/
or after the violent assault; the sexual attack was an integral aspect of the mur-
der; the sexual aggression included vaginal and/or anal rape and penetration with
objects and other sexual acts such as mutilation; the murder occurred in the con-
text of men’s sexual jealousy and possessiveness and separation; and the perpetrator
appeared to be determined to kill his partner or ex-partner. These are some of the
specific acts and patterns associated with IPSexM, yet how do these murders com-
pare with IPMs and SexMs?
In the remainder of this chapter, we compare the context and circumstances
of the murders of women as well as the life course of the three types of offenders,
including childhood, adulthood, and “in prison.” The focus is on a gender-based
analysis that situates these murders in the overall context of men’s sense of entitle-
ment, jealousy, and possessiveness. Yet, individual characteristics are also impor-
tant in the backgrounds of these men throughout the life course from childhood
adversity to violent offending and alcohol abuse in adulthood. The comparisons of
men’s orientations and life histories show similarities and differences, and we con-
sider how these enhance existing understandings and explanations of the murder
of women. We begin with a comparison of the context and nature of the murder of
IPMs and IPSexMs.
C O M PA R I S O N O F I N T I M AT E PA RT N ER M U R D ER
A N D I N T I M AT E PA RT N ER S E X UA L M U R D ER
The Importance of Type of Relationship
Nonlethal and lethal violence against women has been consistently linked to cohab-
iting and dating relationships. There is strong evidence of a greater prevalence of
violence in these types of relationships, although some recent reports suggest that,
at least, for IPM not involving a sexual assault there is no longer a difference in the
prevalence of murder across various types of relationship (see Dobash and Dobash
2015 for a review). Although sparse, the evidence also suggests that sexual mur-
ders of intimate partners may be more likely in cohabiting and dating relationships
than marital unions (Campbell et al. 2007; Dawson and Gartner 1998; Dobash and
Dobash 2015). Proposals suggesting variable levels basically represent two types of
explanations: one focusing on the differences in types of relationship and the other
focusing on the attributes of those involved in each type. It has been argued that
cohabiting and dating relationships are more tenuous, unstable, and conflictual
than marital ones. Other arguments point to demographic evidence suggesting, for
example, that such relationships involve those that are younger, less well educated,
and more likely to be unemployed—i mportant risk factors for violence.
Here, we explore the possibility that the apparent greater likelihood of sexual
murders in cohabiting and dating relationships may be related to the attributes of
the perpetrators who are, for various reasons, unable to establish permanent, com-
mitted relationships with women because they are, like sexual murderers, less able
to form a meaningful intimate relationship with women and to commit to intimacy.
As such, these men may more closely resemble men who murder acquaintances,
such as a friend or neighbor. The evidence regarding the murder event and the back-
grounds of the three types of murderers are summarized in the following sections.
The Murder Event
As indicated, 17 of the IPMs (16%) included a sexual attack/element. Evidence

from the Murder Study regarding type of relationship parallels other research,
with boyfriends accounting for the vast majority, 59% (n = 10) and cohabitants
representing another sizable minority, 29% (n = 5). Only two (12%) of the vic-
tims of an IPSexM were married to the man who murdered them. Sex murderers
of intimate partners were significantly younger than intimate partner murderers
(31 vs. 35), as were the victims (27 vs. 32). Intimate partner sex murderers were
significantly less likely than intimate partner murderers to be employed at the time
of the murder (35% vs. IPMs 51%). The context of these two types of murder did
not vary: Considerable proportions in both groups killed their partner in a con-
text of jealousy and possessiveness (IPSexMs 29% vs. IPMs 31%). Separation or
the woman’s attempts to leave the relationship was also significant, associated with
around one third of both types of murder. While there were some similarities in the
context of the murders, there were also important differences. An ongoing dispute
(usually about possessiveness and separation) was significantly more likely in IPM
(78%) than IPSexM (47%). Significantly, previous physical violence to the victim
was more likely in IPSexMs (55% vs. IPSexMs 70%), as was sexual violence (9%
vs. IPSexMs 39%). Confrontations immediately preceding the murder were about
equally likely (75% vs. IPSexMs 67%). Many of these were associated with men
attempting to coerce their partner into remaining in the relationship or returning
or women attempting to dissuade their partner from using violence against them
or to protect themselves.
Around one quarter of the intimate partner murderers were drunk at the time,
whereas only one tenth of the intimate partner sex murderers were inebriated.
Almost all of the murders occurred in the home of the victim (IPM 90% vs. IPSexM
88%). Although most involved a number of different types of violence (e.g., beating,
stomping, and stabbing), strangulation was significantly more likely to be cited as
the cause of death in sex murders (53%) than IPMs (27%).
Instruments/weapons—clubs, bats, ligatures, knives—were used in around
three quarters of both types of murders, but ligatures were much more likely to have
been used in the sexual murders (12% vs. IPSexM 30%). Intimate partner murder-
ers were more likely to have used a sharp instrument (knife, screwdriver) to murder
their partner (38% vs. IPSexM 24%). A sizable proportion of men in both groups
were angry at the time, although this was significantly more likely for intimate
partner murderers (65% vs. IPSexM 45%). Intimate partner murderers (47%) were
much more likely to have inflicted 10 or more injuries than intimate partner sex
murderers (29%)—possibly because strangulation was the usual cause of death in
the sexual murders.
Much of the literature on homicide suggests that the number of injuries is a reli-
able indicator of the brutality of the murder. We are not so sure. For example, a few
sexual murderers tortured their victims by strangling them into unconsciousness,
and once they regained consciousness, they did it again and again. While this vio-
lence would certainly result in injuries to the neck, the type and number would not
indicate the horrific nature of such murders. Firearms were used in only four cases.
After the murder, the majority of men in both groups left the scene (IPM 73% vs.
IPSexMs 65%), although some attempted to hide the body by, for example, moving
it to another location (SexM 16% vs. IPSexMs 18%), and two of the IPMs dismem-
bered the body and attempted to hide it. Only sexual murderers unclothed (6%)
and/or sexually mutilated the body after death (12%).
Intimate Partner and Intimate Partner Sexual Murder Compared
Boyfriends were much more likely than husbands and cohabitants to have commit-
ted a sexual attack as an integral aspect of the murder. Most of the IPMs of both
types involved an ongoing dispute between the victim and offender, but this was
significantly more likely in IPMs. Whether an IPM or an IPSexM, men killed their
partners during a confrontation involving jealousy and possessiveness, and this was
often associated with women’s attempts to end the relationship. The qualitative evi-
dence clearly demonstrates the dynamic aspects of the murders; for example, the
men often “changed the project” from one involving attempts to retain or retrieve
their partner to one of murdering her.
An additional aspect of these events was anger, usually involving the issues asso-
ciated with ongoing conflict and disputes. Anger was often sustained over a con-
siderable period of time, although this was rather less likely for IPSexMs. In the
interviews, men often invoked anger in an exculpatory manner, as in, “I just lost it.”
Are anger and a fixed orientation to murder contradictory states of “mind”? Not
necessarily—it is perfectly possible to be angry and act in a purposeful and deter-
mined manner, and the actions of many of these men illustrated both rationality
and emotions.
While previous physical violence against the victim was apparent in a consid-
erable proportion of both types, this was significantly more likely in IPSexM, as
was previous sexual violence. One interpretation of the sexual murders is that this
was merely another, final incident of sexual assault within a pattern of sexual vio-
lence. The IPMs were often brutal, involving a number of different types of violence,
but significantly strangulation, often with a ligature, was much more likely in the
sex murders. Both types of murderers acted against the body after death and were
equally likely to have dismembered and/or attempted to hide the body, but only
sexual murderers, albeit a small number, committed a sexual act after the murder.
Comparisons of Context of Intimate Partner Sex Murders

and Sexual Murders of Acquaintances
Here, we compare the IPSexMs with the SexMs of an acquaintance, ranging from
a few short-term acquaintances to more close or long-term (in some cases lifelong)
acquaintances, such as friends and neighbors. As indicated, all of the IPMs involved
the killing of a wife, cohabitant, or girlfriend of the murderer, whereas none of the
SexMs involved such a victim. However, many of the sex murderers were in an inti-
mate relationship at the time of the murder. The majority were in a dating (60%)
relationship, and another third were cohabiting, although most were living on their
own. The perpetrators of a sexual murder were more likely than the intimate partner
sex murderers to be employed but not significantly more likely. The average age of
the perpetrators of a sexual murder (26) was considerably younger than that of the
men who killed intimate partners, who ranged in age from 16 to 51. The victims of a
sexual murder were much older than victims of IPSexMs (average age 43), and the
range was much broader (16–85). Of the women, 14% were aged 65 and over, and
7% were 80 and over. The oldest victim of IPM was 54.
The context of these murders involved short-term acquaintances meeting, for
example, in a pub or at a social gathering and rather longer relationships associated
with neighbors or friends. Longer-term acquaintances also involved workmates or
men and women who encountered each other over several months/years at leisure
and social locations, such as pubs. The qualitative evidence suggests friends, neigh-
bors, and other long-term acquaintances of the victim generally had direct access to
the victim. For most, initial approaches were unlikely to involve conflict and an inti-
mation of a sexual or physical attack. The short-term acquaintances also involved
the easy access of a social encounter that might have included considerable reciproc-
ity. This contrasts with many of the intimate partner encounters, which included a
history of separation, intimidation, and violence and an immediate encounter that
initially involved aggression and violence.
Previous physical and/or sexual violence to the victim was not common; an
ongoing dispute also was not common—no more than 4%—a nd this occurred
among friends and relatives. Confrontations immediately preceding the murder
occurred in 38% of the sex murders, but these encounters were very different from
those associated with the two types of IPM. While men who killed intimate part-
ners often accosted them as a result of separation and possessiveness, sex murderers
were generally attempting to overcome their victim with aggression and violence to
gain sexual access. When women resisted and the men were thwarted, they changed
the project from one of seeking sex through coercion, aggression, and violence to
one of brutal and ultimately lethal violence. However, a few sex murderers attacked
women with a clear intention of killing them and committing a serious violent sex-
ual assault.
The dynamic aspects of IPM, including those involving a sexual element, were
generally very different. Intimate partner murderers, as noted, were some of the
most determined of all the murderers in the Murder Study. The culmination of an
ongoing dispute in the IPMs usually involved deep resentment, anger, and revenge.
Changing the project was also included, but the dynamics were quite different from
the sexual murders of acquaintances. For example, as suggested, intimate partners
used aggression and violence to attempt to control and punish their partner, to pre-
vent her from leaving, or to force her to return. When they thought she was “lost,”
their efforts were fixed on annihilating her and/or others, such as her children as
acts of revenge or relatives, friends, and new partners, who were usually attempting
to protect the woman.
Few of the intimate partner sex murderers were drunk at the time, whereas the
majority of the sex murderers (52%) were. Around one third of sex murderers were
angry at the time of the murder. In the main, this anger was highly circumstantial,
associated with their response to the woman’s attempts to repel the man’s sexual
“advances” and/or aggression and violence. As such, this was in considerable con-
trast to both types of intimate partner murderers, some of whom were angry before,
during, and sometimes after the lethal assault. A few sexual murderers did report
pervasive anger—d irected at all women or a particular woman, in some cases an
intimate partner.
Similar to IPMs, sex murders usually occurred in the home or residence of

the victim (76%) and involved the use of bodily violence, punching, kicking, and
stomping, although the use of a sharp instrument was common, and strangulation
and drowning were the cause of death in a majority. Such methods are comparable
to those used in the IPSexM, although the use of a ligature (28%) was less likely. The
infliction of 10 or more injuries was common, and the proportions (44%) paralleled
those of IPMs. After the murder, most of the sex murderers left the location of the
attack and resumed their normal activities; that is, they went back to the pub or their
own residence. A few engaged in further acts related to the body: 15% tried to hide
the body, 10% unclothed the body, and 4% sexually mutilated the victim after death.
These proportions are similar to those associated with the IPSexMs.
Summary for Intimate Partner Sex Murders and Sex Murders
Comparison of IPSexMs and sex murders of acquaintances reveals considerable

differences in the context of the murder. Jealousy, possessiveness, and separation
were not apparent in the sex murders; rather, the murders of acquaintances usu-
ally occurred in the context of the perpetrator’s attempts to gain sexual access to
the victim. There were no long-term disputes, and most perpetrators of sexual mur-
ders had not been using physical or sexual violence against the victim. Access to
the victim was facilitated by a long, sometimes short, history of mutuality that did
not involve physical or sexual violence. These men were on average rather younger
than the intimate partner sex murderers, but their victims were much older—w ith
a reasonable proportion over the age of 65. Excessive alcohol consumption was a
factor in many of these sexual murders, and the qualitative materials suggest that
the men who murdered women age 65 and over were the most likely to be drunk at
the time. The physical violence and the proportions of the men who strangled the
woman and used a ligature were also similar in the two types of murders. Women
were usually murdered in their own homes, where some were living on their own.
Unlike intimate partner sex murderers, sex murderers did not dismember the body
of their victim and try to hide it, although similar proportions did attempt to hide
the body and committed a sexual act/assault on the body of the victim.
L I F E C O U R S E O F T H E PER PE T R ATO R S
Childhood
Whereas it was important to directly compare the context and nature of the murder
events associated with IPMs, IPSexMs, and SexMs, the life course—childhood and
adulthood—of the three types of murderers (especially the sex murderers) are rela-
tively similar, and as such we present a three-way comparison of the backgrounds
of these men. The vast majority in all three groups were born into intact, primarily
working-class, two-parent families where fathers were steadily employed in skilled
and unskilled manual occupations. However, in childhood reasonable proportions
of the men experienced adversity, and this was especially the case for IPSexMs and
sexual murders of acquaintances. While a sizable proportion of these two groups
(nearly one half) experienced the dissolution of their birth parents’ relationship
through permanent separation or divorce, this was much less likely for IPMs.
Around two fifths of the men in both types of sex murders grew up in households
in which their father/male caretaker used physical violence against their mother.
Alcohol problems of fathers were apparent in all three groups but especially in the
backgrounds of the sex murderers of acquaintances. Social services and criminal
justice agencies were very likely to have been involved with the families of men who
committed a sexual murder of a partner or acquaintance: social services, IPSexM
28% vs. SexM 48%; psychological/psychiatric services, 36% vs. 32%; and police,
50% vs. 54%. Three or more changes in caretakers (a marker of significant dis-
ruption and adversity) were apparent in all three groups but were about twice as
likely in the backgrounds of the two types of sex murderers (30%). Two fifths of the
sex murderers spent time in institutional and/or foster care, while this was much
less likely in the backgrounds of men in the other two groups. Physical abuse was
reported in 16% of the childhoods of those who committed IPMs, 27% of those
committing SexMs, and 36% of those involved in IPSexMs. There were no reports
of sexual abuse in the childhoods of those committing IPSexMs, but the case files
of 6% of IPMs and 16% of the SexMs indicated the perpetrator had been sexually
abused in childhood.
Experiences in, and lack of achievement at, school played an important role in
the development of these men. School presented numerous challenges associated
with learning and problems relating to discipline and relationships with others.
Nearly one half (46%) of intimate partner sexual murderers and a majority of the
sex murderers (65%) experienced problems at school, a majority in both groups
were disruptive, and one quarter experienced mental health problems resulting
in professional intervention. Alcohol abuse before the age of 16 was reported in
around one third of intimate partner sex murderers and sex murderers and about
two fifths of the intimate partner murderers. Early onset of criminal behavior
before the age of 13 occurred in all three types but was more likely for IPSexMs
and SexMs (one fifth), and the levels in all three groups were significantly higher
than those reported in population-based studies—no more than 5% (Wikström
et al. 2013). Importantly, one quarter of the intimate partner sexual murderers and
sex murderers, but only 7% of the intimate partner murderers, committed seri-
ous violence before the age of 16; the same proportions in the two sexual mur-
der groups were convicted of five or more criminal offenses before this age. Also
importantly, around one quarter of intimate partner sexual murderers and the sex
murderers, but only 7% of the intimate partner murderers, committed serious sex-
ual violence before the age of 16. What stands out in these comparisons of child-
hood are problems in the backgrounds of sex murderers and intimate partner sex
murderers regarding the presence and prevalence of adversity that exceeded what
would be found in the wider population.
As reported previously, a reasonable proportion of the men who murdered their
intimate partner but did not commit a sexual act experienced adversity in child-
hood, but this was much less likely than was the case in the two types of sexual
murder. This partly reflects the presence of a group of men in the IPM group who
came from relatively conventional backgrounds and experienced few problems in
childhood, were regularly employed during their adult lives, and had never been
convicted of any type of criminal offense (see Dobash and Dobash 2015; Dobash,
Dobash, and Cavanaugh 2009). However, the proportions, around one quarter,
were similar in the IPM and IPSexM groups, and the relatively “conventional” men
were just as likely as men with convictions, the more criminalistic, to have distorted
orientations of and “difficulties” in their relationships with women (see discussion
that follows).
Adulthood
While problems in childhood were significant for many of these men, what was
especially important were problems in adolescence and a failure to make the transi-
tion from adolescence into adulthood. The majority in all three groups left school
before obtaining any educational qualifications, and with the exception of the inti-
mate partner murderers, the vast majority were unemployed or at best sporadically
employed in unskilled manual occupations throughout their adult lives. Difficulties
in relations with others often led to problems in employment, as did the abuse of
alcohol.
Alcohol abuse was a feature of the lives of many, especially sexual murderers
(55%) and marginally less likely for those committing IPMs, while drug abuse was
a problem for around one quarter of the intimate partner sexual murderers and
the sex murderers. Sexual problems of a varied nature were apparent in the lives of
around two thirds of the intimate partner sexual murderers and sex murderers—but
were relatively rare in the backgrounds of intimate partner murderers (15%).
Around three quarters of the intimate partner murderers and intimate partner
sex murderers experienced the failure of at least one marital or cohabiting relation-
ship, and many had a number of unsuccessful relationships. While one quarter of
those committing SexMs had never been in a marital or cohabiting relationship, of
those that had, just over one half had experienced a failure of at least one cohabiting
or marital relationship. Once in prison, nearly all of these men were judged to have
problems in relationships with women (IPM 73%, IPSexM 88%, and SexM 88%).
The case files and interviews, as the following accounts demonstrate, were replete
with examples of relationship problems, many associated with the use of violence
and attempts to coerce and control intimate partners.
Relationships With Women
Throughout his adult life, he has displayed evidence of difficulty in maintain-

ing stable relationships with women.
Earlier reports suggest his actions may relate to attempts to exert emotional
pressure on the women involved. He denies using violence within his relation-
ships but acknowledges that he has sought to gain control by instilling fear.
He self-reports identifying women as “sluts” and “princesses” and has stated
that he prefers relationships with women who are less intellectually able than
himself.
He is fully capable and has no reservations about assaulting females. When
accused is shunned or abandoned by women he is obviously prepared to go to
extreme lengths to seek retribution.
The common themes to his sexual fantasies seem to be one of domination

and control. It is vital for him to feel “in control” of women and to never allow
himself to be used or placed in a vulnerable position. The second area of concern
relates to his general attitude towards women. He continues to hold women in
very poor regard. He has a deep mistrust of women which sometimes turns
into hatred. If he is ever “let down” by a woman he becomes totally preoccu-
pied in seeking revenge. He views women as conspirators, people not to trust
and people to be “kept in their place.” His deep seated resentment of them
manifesting itself in two previous acts of sexual violence (one rape, one inde-
cent assault) and the murder of his common-law-w ife (Case File 1036cf1.1.1).
Violence and Criminal Behavior
Most of these men engaged in persistent criminal behavior, including thefts and
assaults; three quarters in all three groups had at least one previous conviction for
any type of offense, and around one half had five or more. Importantly, unreported
physical and sexual violence against women was apparent in the backgrounds of
many. Just under one third of the two types of sexual murderers had committed
sexual violence against women who were not intimates, but this was rare among
intimate partner murderers (5%). Physical violence in a previous intimate relation-
ship occurred in around one half of those committing IPMs and sex murders but
in three quarters of those committing IPSexMs. Around two fifths of the intimate
partner sex murderers had sexually abused a previous partner, but only one tenth of
the intimate partner murderers and sex murderers had done so. One third of these
men could be described as “generally violent,” whereas most directed their violence
at women, especially intimate partners. As the following examples illustrate, this
physical and sexual violence was usually serious and often chronic.
Sexual and Physical Violence Against Previous Intimate Partners
After the abortion, his violence became more brutal, his sexual violence even
more so. Sodomy and oral sex was forced. He tied her up and locked her in and
did not allow her to go to the toilet. He starved her too. She would feign passing
out when he strangled her to get him to release his grip.
He has no previous convictions but was charged with the offense of raping
an elderly lady. However, she did not wish to go through with the court appear-
ance and the matter was dropped.
He was convicted of rape and murder 10 years prior to the current index
offense of murder. [Following his release] his parole license was revoked
3 years later when he was convicted of rape of his former wife. He maintains
sex was consensual and/or none of it was true and the police beat a confession
out of him.
The victim met him through her ex-husband during the time of her marriage
breaking-up. He tried to develop a relationship but she rejected him. Previous
assault against the victim involved an argument when he wanted to have sex
but she refused. When the victim tried to escort him from her flat he slapped
her across the face with such force that she fell to the ground. He kept her on
the ground by placing his foot on her chest and then slapped her several times
across the face. She managed to raise herself halfway to her feet, as she did so
he punched her on the jaw with his clenched fist. She eventually managed to
push him out of the house. The police were not called (Case File 922cf1.4.2).
The following account reflects a very unusual case, involving previous imprison-
ment of the perpetrator for the rape of a neighbor, who upon release, became the
victim of murder:
The victim [neighbor] of the murderer had previously been the victim of
offenses by the defendant. Years earlier, he broke into her home, savagely
attacked and raped her. When released he attacked, raped and killed her. He
disfigured the body by spraying her genitals with cleaning fluid and throw-
ing down a lighted match which set the bedroom alight. Prior to the murder
the deceased met with his probation officer and told her she was frightened
because he was on parole (Case File 836cf1.4.2).
Although many of these men had committed physical and sexual violence for
which they were not apprehended, reasonable proportions had been convicted of
assault. One quarter of the intimate partner sex murderers and one third of the other
two groups had been convicted of at least one minor assault, and around two fifths
in all three groups had obtained a conviction for a serious assault. Significantly, of
those men convicted of any type of assault, in the majority of cases the victim was a
woman: IPMs 58%; IPSexMs 100%; and SexMs 61%. In addition, a small propor-
tion of those committing IPMs (2%) and IPSexMs (6%) had been convicted of a
rape and/or serious sexual assault, and 15% of those committing SexMs of acquain-
tances had been convicted of such a crime. When the evidence regarding convic-
tions for violence is considered in light of “undetected” physical and sexual violence,
it indicates that these men were “specialists” in violence against women with deep
roots in their orientations to women, especially intimate partners.
Murderers’ Perspectives in Prison
Once in prison, the men who murdered a woman, like all those serving sentences for
other crimes, must adapt to prison life, but those serving life must also confront the
nature of their crime and attempt to change their thinking and actions. Of consider-
able significance is the behavior of a minority (10%–15%) of the sexual murderers
who sexually molested and in other ways made sexual overtures to women prison
staff. Many were unabashed—demonstrating that even in the context of controls
and the near certainty of punishment (such as loss of privileges), they refused to
control their sexual predilections. Some, unlike the majority, do not cooperate with
the prison regime, refuse to participate in programs, are disruptive, even violent,
suggesting continuing problems associated with relationships with others. Not sur-
prisingly, at the time of the research around three quarters of the two types of sex
murderers were judged to be a continuing “risk to the public,” whereas only around
one third of intimate partner murderers were assessed as a risk.
Changing Violent Men
The starting point for those who attempt to challenge and alter the orientations and
behaviors associated with murder is the murder itself, particularly as reflected in the
way the offender thinks about the violence and the victim. In British prisons, sexual
murderers confront an additional challenge: They must deal with the sexual aspects
of the murder and their previous sexual violence and participate in special programs,
Sexual Offender Treatment Programs (SOTPs), focused on sexual orientations and
sexual violence. Initial efforts generally, although not always, confront resistance—
offenders deny they committed the murder, deny or minimize the sexual elements
of the murder, and often attempt to avoid responsibility by blaming the victim and
her behavior: She consented to violent sex, we had a long-standing sexual relation-
ship (this proposed by men who killed a stranger), she would not let me have sex or
the kind of sex I wanted, she provoked me, it was in self-defense. Deflection is often
apparent: someone else did it, it was the alcohol, or it was an accident (Dobash and
Dobash 2011, 2015). These exculpatory accounts are pertinent for all three types,
but the intimate partner murderers, including those who committed a sexual act,
also blamed their partner for the violence because of her infidelity (usually in the
minds of the offenders) and her attempts to end the relationship: “If she hadn’t left
me, she would still be alive.”
Before addressing these exculpatory accounts, prison professionals must over-
come denial. Denial of the murder is often associated with the criminal justice pro-
cess when men plead “not guilty” in an attempt to avoid conviction, but for some
men, this is maintained for a considerable period of time, and a few never accept
responsibility for the murder or aspects of it, especially the sexual elements. At the
time of the research, there was little variation in the levels of “absolute” denial (20%)
across the three groups, and for some men, this was unrelenting. If denial is persis-
tent, men cannot and will not participate in the intervention programs aimed at
assessing and heightening remorse for the murder and enhancing empathy for the
victim, which are necessary for their release. Accepting responsibility and express-
ing genuine remorse and empathy are generally deemed essential aspects of begin-
ning the process of change. In our interviews, some men did accept responsibility
for the murder, express remorse, and seemed to have “embraced” the messages of
the programs, although this was not evident for many, and information in the case
files often reflected lack of sincerity and fluctuation in the expressions of these emo-
tions and the willingness to change. At the time of research, a sizable proportion of
these men (those committing IPMs 35%, IPSexMs 41%, and SexMs 51%) expressed
little or no remorse. Victim empathy was even less likely. This was especially the
case for those committing IPSexMs (65%) and SexMs (69%), yet nearly one half of
the IPMs were also unlikely to express genuine empathy.
S U M M A RY A N D C O N C LU S I O N
In this chapter, we compared the murder events associated with three types of mur-
der of women and the life course of the men who commit these murders. Using data
from the Murder in Britain Study, we compared the murder events in 17 IPSexMs
with 88 IPMs that did not include a sexual attack/act and 72 cases of sexual murder
of an acquaintance. The evidence illustrates the particularities of the sexual and

physical violence that occurs in these three types of murder.
Intimate Partner Murder and Intimate Partner Sexual Murder
Of the utmost significance in advancing understanding of the murders of women

is the type of relationship between the perpetrator and victim. Evidence presented
here and in other research shows that women are most at risk of nonlethal and lethal
violence from an intimate partner. Significantly, the Murder Study suggests that
boyfriends were disproportionately more likely to kill a partner than husbands and
cohabitees. Yet, the contexts of the majority of IPMs and IPSexMs were similar.
Most men killed their partners and ex-partners because of jealousy and possessive-
ness and when women left them or attempted to leave. Many men in the two types
had been in conflict with the woman they killed for a considerable period of time—
in a few cases, years after a separation or divorce. Some were obsessional about their
“rights” to determine the lives of their partners, and this was sometimes linked
to sustained anger that animated their fixed intention to kill. IPMs and IPSexMs
typically involved changing the project. These were usually associated with failed
attempts to coerce partners to remain in the relationship or to persuade them to
return, and when these efforts failed, the men murdered them. Intimate partner
murderers, including those who committed a sexual murder, were some of the most
determined “encountered” in the Murder Study. Whatever the similarities in con-
text of the murder event, there was a profound difference: In one a rape or sexual
assault occurred but not in the other. Why?
Why Sexual Violence in the Murder of an Intimate Partner?
It is important to consider the sexual violence as a separate and distinct aspect of

the murder, yet it is difficult to offer a definitive, singular interpretation regarding
the intentions and meanings perpetrators attach to these acts. In this British-based
research, a considerable proportion of the intimate partner sex murderers were act-
ing out an often-repeated pattern of sexual violence. Intimate partner sex murder-
ers were likely to have committed previous physical and sexual violence against the
woman they killed (previous sexual violence was rare in IPMs). When reviewing
the evidence from the Murder Study, it seems clear that men carried out a sexual
attack for various reasons: For a small minority, the physical and sexual attack
involved the acting out of a brutal sexual fantasy; for most, it appeared to consti-
tute a final demonstration of the man’s perceived entitlements and possessiveness.
As one of Adams’s (2007, 167) respondents told him, “I was the last one to have
her,” and as one of the murderers told us, “It was one way of saying goodbye.” For
other men, the sexual violence appeared to be a part of an act of revenge—a nother
way of dominating and punishing his partner—even when the sexual act occurred
after death. More straightforwardly, the act may have been sexually gratifying.
Distinguishing between these contexts and motivations was often difficult, and in
many cases, multiple intentions were apparent. It may be that men interpret the pos-
session and control of women as central features of the institution of marriage and
male entitlements (even when not married) that fuel sexual murders and underlie
ideologies of permanent consent. Certainly, a significant commonality in sexual
violence of an intimate was the objectification of women. Men who kill objectify
their victims, and the sexual act against a woman demonstrates an extension of this
objectification.
Sexual Murders of Acquaintance and Intimate

Partners Compared
Sexual murders of acquaintances involved the murder of women who were short-
term acquaintances and women who had known the perpetrator for some time, for
example, neighbors or friends. These relationships presented the perpetrator with
various levels of access, which they exploited. The context of sexual murders was
very different from the two types of IPM. Sexual murderers were not generally
intent on committing a sexual murder because they were jealous and possessive.
They were primarily motivated by sexual intentions. However, like both types of
intimate partner murderers, these men might also have been angry, but these emo-
tions were primarily situational, associated with women’s attempts to repel their
physical and sexual assault. In these circumstances, the men changed the project
from one of attempting to obtain sex to one of using lethal violence. In contrast to
intimate partner sexual murderers, few sex murderers of acquaintances had com-
mitted previous physical or sexual violence against the woman they killed, although
some had a history of sexual violence. Importantly, the two types of sexual murder-
ers were just as likely to have committed sexual violence against a woman who was
not an intimate. In addition, intimate partner sexual murderers and sexual murder-
ers were just as likely to have been described in the case files as having sexual prob-
lems during their adult lives, while few intimate partner murderers were so defined.
However, comparison of the childhoods and adult lives of these three types of
murderers did not reveal distinctive backgrounds in the two types of sexual mur-
derers. Adversity was relatively prevalent in the backgrounds of all types, with the
exception of a quarter of the intimate partner murderers, who might be described
as “relatively conventional.” The life course of the majority of men in all three types
included a history of problems in intimate relationships with women, persistent
criminal behavior, and histories of and convictions for assaulting women. While
some used violence against men, most had primarily been physically and/or sexu-
ally violent to women.
What Are the Implications of the Evidence Presented Here?
While it may be that intimate partner sexual murderers are generally similar to the
sexual murderers of acquaintances, there are important differences as well. This
research suggests that in Great Britain men who sexually murder their intimate
partners are actually sexual predators. While we suspect that most of these men
primarily use sexual violence against partners, some have also been sexually violent
to women who are not intimates. While relationship matters, it is significant that
there is a trajectory of sexual violence among these men, who are generally unable
to form stable, intimate relationships with women and their orientations to women
are both “distorted” and aggressive. Men in both types committed a sexual act as an
integral aspect of the murder, yet intimate partner sexual murderers seemed more
likely to have committed a sexual act as an integral aspect of the physical assault to
punish or take revenge on their partners. Men who committed a sexual murder of
an acquaintance, in contrast, were intent on overcoming their victims to perpetrate
a sexual act. Fundamentally, though, the two types of sexual murderers acted in a
context of male prerogatives to dominate and control women, with a sense of sexual
entitlement regardless of the consequences to the women they attacked.
Notes
1. We would like to thank Kersti Yllö and M. Gabriela Torres for their helpful com-
ments on earlier versions of this chapter.
2. The data configuration of the SexM type is rather different from the cases analyzed
in When Men Murder Women (2015). Here the cases of stranger sex murders are
excluded but cases of the sexual murder of women 65 and over (n=21) are included
whereas they were analyzed separately in WMMW.
SECTION III
Public Health, Legal, and

Human Rights Perspectives
11
A Feminist Public Health

Approach to Marital Rape
J A C Q U E LY N C A M P B E L L , B U S H R A S A B R I ,
J O C E LY N A N D E R S O N , A N D
VERONICA BARCELONA DE MENDOZA
This chapter takes a feminist public health perspective in presenting an overview

of the negative health consequences of forced sex in marriage and other intimate
relationships. We use the terminology of forced sex because this is how women are
most likely to refer to sexual assault from a current or former husband, boyfriend,
or same-sex partner (Russell 1982). Public health officials and healthcare providers
as well as advocates for women need to be aware of the particular physical and emo-
tional damage caused by such sexual violence beyond the immediate act. Further,
practitioners and the public must be aware of structural barriers and the cultural
context within which abuse occurs.
H E A LT H C O N S EQ U EN C ES O F M A R I TA L R A PE
The negative reproductive health impact of forced sex spans from acute pain and
injury to chronic health conditions. Acute infections, pregnancy, poor neonatal
outcomes, and HIV are a few of the reproductive health consequences linked to
such sexual violence that are expanded in this chapter. Researchers who studied
sexual assault and reproductive health historically examined outcomes without
attention to differences between incidents involving intimate partners and those
involving strangers or acquaintances as perpetrators. In recent years, more atten-
tion has been paid to the health outcomes of forced sex within current and former
intimate relationships. Sexual violence is commonly conceptualized by issues of
power and control (particularly of men over women), as is intimate partner vio-
lence (IPV) (Holmstrom and Burgess 1980). Forced sex is yet another way that
perpetrators of violence exercise dominance over their victims, but there are also
other motives (such as anger and sadism) that were explicated by Finkelhor and
Yllö (1985).
16 4 P ublic H ealth , L egal , and H uman R ights P erspectives
While marital rape or intimate partner forced sex can take the form of physically
forced sex, it also takes on other forms. In 2010, Miller and colleagues articulated the
concept of “reproductive coercion” to describe male partner pregnancy-promoting
behaviors. Reproductive coercion includes behaviors that aim to control a partner
using threats, coercive sexual behaviors, and physical violence (Miller, Decker, et al.
2010). Reproductive coercion has been found to occur both with and without other
aspects of physical and psychological partner violence. These coercive, threaten-
ing, or violent behaviors directed toward a woman’s ability to determine if or when
she becomes pregnant have important implications for reproductive, maternal, and
child health.
Recent work on reproductive coercion builds on past studies linking violence in
relationships with both unintended pregnancy and negative pregnancy outcomes.
These coercive behaviors have been found to increase unintended pregnancies in
women with and without abuse histories (Miller, Decker, et al. 2010). A relationship
between violence and partner involvement (or lack thereof) in abortion decision-
making has also been explored (Silverman et al. 2010; Woo, Fine, and Goetzl 2005).
In one study, men who reported committing violence against partners were more
likely to cite conflict during the abortion decision-making process than men who
had not committed violence (Silverman et al. 2010). Women seeking abortion were
less likely to disclose abortions to an abusive partner than a nonabusive partner
(Woo, Fine, and Goetzl 2005). While specific reasons for nondisclosure were not
identified, fear of violence or conflict is certainly one possibility.
Unintended pregnancy is another potential consequence of intimate partner sex-
ual violence (Gazmararian et al. 1995). Since unintended pregnancy is associated
with myriad negative health outcomes for mothers and babies, this is of utmost con-
cern to clinicians and researchers alike (Pallitto, Campbell, and O’Campo 2005).
A 2010 meta-a nalysis found that women exposed to partner violence were more
likely to give birth to preterm or low birth weight infants (Shah and Shah 2010).
Researchers in several countries have found relationships between IPV—
including forced sex—a nd higher rates of abortions (Amaro et al. 1990; Hedin and
Janson 2000; Janssen et al. 2003; Kaye 2001; Webster, Chandler, and Battistutta
1996; Yoshihama and Sorenson 1994); however, the directionality of this relation-
ship is still unclear (e.g., Was the abortion a result of an unintended pregnancy
with an abusive partner? Was an abusive partner forcing the abortion?) (Pallitto,
Campbell, and O’Campo 2005). This differential in abortion rates may be an indi-
cator of more unintended pregnancies among women in abusive relationships.
Control over pregnancy and birth control decisions is a form of abuse that warrants
further study and intervention to prevent the negative consequences of unintended
pregnancies.
The relationship between IPV and increased reporting of symptoms and diag-
nosis of sexually transmitted infections has been established in various studies
(Breiding, Black, and Ryan 2008a; J. C. Campbell et al. 2002; Campbell and Soeken
1999). This relationship holds especially true when intimate partner sexual violence
is specifically examined (Wingood, DiClemente, and Raj 2000). These studies
document that intimate partner forced sex is often not an isolated incident, but an
event repeated frequently over time. Victims report sexual violence as an extension
of ongoing physical and psychological violence featuring gender and power imbal-
ance (Wingood, DiClemente, and Raj 2000). In this context, male partners’ risk
A Feminist Public Health Approach to Marital Rape 16 5
behaviors are an important factor increasing the risk of HIV acquisition. Abused
women often report that intimate partners are sexually active outside their rela-
tionship and are unreceptive to condom use (Cole, Logan, and Shannon 2007;
Stockman, Lucea, Draughon, et al. 2013). But, women who ask about their partner’s
affairs, condom use, or drug use may be vulnerable to further violence. Women’s
behaviors in addition to those of their partners may be influenced by sexual vio-
lence, including increased sexual risk-taking, such as exchange sex, multiple con-
current sexual partners, higher number of lifetime sexual partners, and inconsistent
condom use (Stockman, Lucea, Draughon, et al. 2013). Pelvic pain (with or without
a documented physiologic cause) and cervical cancer have also been associated with
experiences of sexual violence and abuse (Coker et al. 2000; Micheletti, Pelissetto,
and Benedetto 2009). While connections between forced sex and sexually trans-
mitted infections have been identified, there is still a great deal unknown about the
linkages between sexual assault and women’s symptomatology.
HIV/AIDS Risk
The associations between forced sex, IPV, and HIV were first identified and
described in the literature of the early 1990s. Multiple literature reviews have pre-
sented evidence that HIV infection rates are higher for women with IPV histories
and that IPV rates are higher for women who are HIV infected (J. C. Campbell et al.
2008; Maman et al. 2000). Potential pathways of HIV acquisition by women with
a history of intimate violence have also appeared in the literature (J. C. Campbell
et al. 2013; Jewkes et al. 2010). Direct pathways (see Figure 11.1) leading from
forced sex to increased HIV transmission risk have included forced sexual contact,
particularly as the use of force precludes a partner from employing potential risk
reduction strategies such as condoms or lubricants. Unique to intimate partner
forced sex is the often-repetitive nature of forced sexual behaviors, including forced
vaginal, oral, and anal sex.
Various indirect pathways involve both biologic and behavioral risk factors;
these factors are often complicated by the bidirectional or cyclic relationships
noted. Biologically, the long-term stress and inflammatory response of women who
have experienced IPV are thought to have an impact on the woman’s immune sys-
tem, making them more susceptible to a number of negative health consequences
(J. C. Campbell et al. 2013; Humphreys et al. 2012; A. Woods et al. 2005; S. Woods
et al. 2005). Physically forced sex or concurrent infection with sexually transmit-
ted infections may also result in inflammation or injury to the cervical and vaginal
tissues, resulting in further susceptibility to HIV transmission (Draughon 2012).
These chronic stressors, which often also manifest as mental health disorders or
substance abuse issues, may have an impact on response to treatment by women liv-
ing with HIV (Draughon 2012; Schafer et al. 2012). These chronic stress responses
may also be triggered by cumulative lifetime traumas, such as childhood sexual
abuse, demanding a lifelong, holistic, trauma-informed approach to be addressed in
clinical settings (J. C. Campbell et al. 2013).
Behavioral pathways for increased HIV transmission must take into account both
partners’ behaviors. An abusive partners’ participation in more high-risk behav-
iors such as having concurrent sex partners or illicit drug use behaviors must be
Partner STIs
characteristics (especially GUDs)
IPV HIV susceptibility

(physical/sexual, acquisition and
inclusive of forced) disease progression
Sexual risk behaviors
Substance abuse
CSA PTSD Depression
Chronic stress/
disregulated HPA
Dashed lines and shaded circles indicate

Inflammatory response relationships and variables not presented
I1–6,I1–1β, TNF-α CRP and discussed in this brief review
Figure 11.1 Pathways to HIV susceptibility, acquisition and disease progression.
considered. A history of sexual violence has also been linked to women themselves
participating in various behaviors that place them at higher risk for HIV acquisition
(e.g., exchange sex, intravenous drug use, concurrent sex partners).
While the incidence and prevalence of HIV in the United States are relatively
low in a global context, the documented relationship between HIV and violence
is still profound. Continued violence within the relationship has also been shown
to have an impact on entry into care and adherence to care (Schafer et al. 2012).
Missed appointments and nonadherence to antiretroviral medications in patients
diagnosed with HIV may lead to increased opportunistic infections and related
morbidity and mortality. Longitudinal prospective studies are necessary to further
assess the true degree of risk attributable to sexual violence. In addition, both pre-
and postexposure prophylaxis (PrEP and PEP) for patients who report ongoing or
acute sexual violence should be explored as strategies to decrease the risk of HIV
acquisition in these patients.
Mental Health Associations
Few studies have looked at the relationship between intimate partner forced sex and
mental health outcomes separately from the effects of IPV more generally. Those
studies that do focus on this issue, however, offer evidence of a higher prevalence
of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) (Messing, Thaller, and Bagwell 2014;
O’Campo et al. 2006) or more symptoms of PTSD (McFarlane et al. 2005) among
victims of intimate partner forced sex compared to those suffering from other forms
of IPV. In addition, Campbell and Soeken (1999) found evidence of more depres-
sion among women who had experienced a greater number of sexual assaults (child-
hood, adolescent, and adulthood), including partner and nonpartner rape. In Hong
Kong, Tiwari and colleagues (2014) found intimate partner sexual aggression to be
associated with both depression and PTSD.
Homicide Risk
In a study of women victims of attempted or completed homicides by current or

former intimate partners, incidents of forced sex associated with the attempt nearly
doubled the risk of victims being killed (Campbell et al. 2003). Similarly, in a com-
parison of lethal versus nonlethal IPV in the United Kingdom, sexual violence was
identified as a risk factor for lethality (Dobash et al. 2007; Dobash and Dobash in
this volume). Another 2003 study, of women who survived an attempted homicide,
found that the majority had experienced prior physical or sexual abuse within that
relationship (Nicolaidis et al. 2003). These findings indicate that intimate partner
forced sex is a risk factor for women becoming victims of attempted and lethal homi-
cides (Campbell 2007).
Health Outcomes in Context
The social and political context surrounding marital rape or intimate partner forced
sex has greatly changed in the past 30 years. The health consequences of intimate
partner forced sex can no longer be ignored. These can range from acute injuries
following an incident of rape, to chronic conditions such as pelvic pain and HIV
infection, to death as a result of homicide or suicide. Healthcare providers must be
aware of not only sexual violence and its common manifestations in their practice
setting but also methods for identifying and providing appropriate treatment for
patients who have experienced sexual violence in intimate relationships. Treatment
options should address the short-and long-term consequences of sexual violence as
well as the culture of the survivor. While some patients may present with criminal
justice system involvement, others present for routine or emergency medical care
only. As with other areas of health care, providers must be attuned to cultural norms
and legalities and sensitive to health consequences and access to care, especially for
women of marginalized status and experiences.
M A R I TA L R A PE I N M A R G I N A L IZED G R O U PS
Immigrant Women
The early research establishing health outcomes usually did not disaggregate by
racial or ethnic groups or socioeconomic status. More recently, the issue has been
examined within marginalized groups specifically or across ethnic/cultural groups.
Women from marginalized groups, such as immigrants in the United States, are at
high risk for experiencing intimate partner forced sex (see also Bergen this volume).
Factors such as gender inequity in intimate partner relationships and cultural/reli-
gious beliefs about breaking up families place immigrant women at risk of experi-
encing forced sex from husbands and intimate partner marital rape.
Women often continue to maintain traditional cultural norms of their countries
of origin, such as patriarchal family values, rigid gender norms, and myths about
partner violence (Ahmad et al. 2009; Yoshihama et al. 2012). Women’s adherence
to some traditional attitudes about husbands’/male partners’ rights and privileges
in relationships may be part of this risk (Bhuyan et al. 2005; Gage and Hutchinson
2006). In a study of South Asian immigrants, refusing a husband’s requests for sex
was reported as a justifiable reason to discipline a woman (Guruge, Khanlou, and
Gastaldo 2010). Abusive male partners may decide where and when to have sex and
engage in reproductive coercion as a method of exerting power and control over
women. Further, abusive men may accuse their partners of sexual inadequacy, espe-
cially by making comparisons with other women (Abraham 1998, 1999; Raj and
Silverman 2002). Due to the traditional view of sex as a marital obligation and male
prerogatives of pregnancy decisions, intimate partner sexual violence among many
immigrant women remains unacknowledged, normalized, or hidden (Abraham
1998, 1999; Sabri, Barcelona de Mendoza, and Campbell 2014).
The quality of social support from informal networks (e.g., family and friends)
has been found to be an important factor in disclosing intimate partner forced sex or
other forms of abuse and seeking help among immigrant women (Mahapatra 2012;
Yoshioka et al. 2003). Immigrant women from Latin American and Arabic coun-
tries are most often held accountable for family and community honor (see Menjívar
chapter in this volume for more on this topic). Patriarchal concepts of honor and
shame are used to control and silence women in abusive relationships (Gupta 2008;
Mindlin et al. 2013; Raj and Silverman 2002; Sabri 2014; Weil and Lee 2004; Wong
et al. 2011). Women’s shame and traditional gender inequalities are also a strong
underlying component influencing reporting of abuse among immigrant women
from Latin America and other regions. A qualitative study of 10 countries in Latin
America found that many women who experienced intimate partner forced sex were
also survivors of sexual abuse from other trusted male figures (Sagot 2005). Women
from Guatemala reported a custom where a woman was married to her rapist as a
cultural expectation to preserve her honor. Sexual abuse was reported in a third of
women interviewed in Peru whose marriages had been arranged by their parents.
After emigrating from Latin America to the United States, women face new chal-
lenges associated with being an immigrant, and it is important to consider how their
birth culture shapes women’s health outcomes and interactions with the healthcare
system. Immigrants are more likely to have anxiety, depression, and PTSD than
their nonimmigrant counterparts, and unfriendly immigration policies were found
to contribute to these outcomes in a recent systematic review (Martinez 2015).
Women sexually assaulted by both partners and nonpartners are also more likely
to have such mental health problems, and immigration can be only be expected to
exacerbate these issues (Sabri et al. 2013; Stockman et al. 2014).
Immigrant women who experience intimate partner forced sex face distinct
barriers in obtaining support and services and healthcare, including economic
dependence on partners, limited education, lack of social support, lack of aware-
ness of available resources to protect them against abuse, and lack of culturally or
linguistically competent services of all kinds. Some immigrant groups may see the
intervention of social services in family violence as an invasion of their privacy or as
resulting in shame for the whole family (Earner 2010). Under these circumstances,
it is extremely difficult for immigrant women to name sexual assault by a husband
as an ongoing problem. Many immigrant women depend on their husbands for
immigration status, visa sponsorships, and financial support. Fear of deportation,
not only their own but also other family members, is a common threat experienced
by undocumented Latina immigrants who experience IPV but hesitate to report
it (Reina, Lohman, and Maldonado 2014). This lack of reporting abuse to any ser-
vice or healthcare seems to be magnified among couples for which there is a dis-
cordant relationship (i.e., the abuser has legal immigration status and the woman
is undocumented) (Menjívar and Salcido 2002; Reina, Lohman, and Maldonado
2014; Rodriguez et al. 2009).
Immigration laws affect the availability of social services and their access to
healthcare for women who experience IPV as well. An Alabama study documented a
reduction of services and an increased sense of discrimination among both foreign-
and US-born Latina women as a result of an omnibus law restricting immigrant
settlement and enforcing immigration policy (White et al. 2014).
Research shows that abusive partners isolate immigrant women by limiting their
contact with family in the United States and in the country of origin and prohibit-
ing friendships with people outside the family; both patterns serve as barriers to
help-seeking for abuse (Ahmad et al. 2009; George and Rahangdale 1999; Raj and
Silverman 2002; Sabri 2014). Immigrant women’s limited social networks and the
reality of living in a foreign country where the pervasive culture and language are
unfamiliar make for a potentially lethal combination of fear, control, and abuse in
intimate partner relationships (Sabri, Barcelona de Mendoza, and Campbell 2014).
Thus, immigrant women are especially at risk for poor health outcomes of such vio-
lence due to unmet needs of health care. Women may not be independently able
or allowed by their partners to access healthcare services or may be hindered by
financial constraints.
Immigrant women’s access to health services is influenced by both immigration
and health policies. Federal policies intersect with health policies to create primary
barriers, such as ineligibility of health insurance, and unintended secondary bar-
riers, such as limited access to health services (Sethi 2013), especially for those
undocumented (Chavez 2012). Further, negative perceptions and mistrust of medi-
cal systems and social service providers are additional barriers for women seeking
help. In a study in Canada, immigrant women’s perceptions of healthcare experi-
ences were cultural insensitivity, cultural unresponsiveness, and lack of respect.
Women identified the lack of knowledge and awareness of multicultural health
beliefs and practices as major driving forces behind healthcare providers’ cultural
insensitivity and unresponsiveness (Weerasinghe and Mitchell 2007).
The healthcare system can play a pivotal role in promoting the safety and health
of abused immigrant women. For women, even those who come from traditional
cultural backgrounds, inquiring about IPV in healthcare settings is a “socially
accepted way to break the silence” and may be a beginning to actual societal change
(Usta et al. 2012). In the context of women who experience IPV, pregnancy is often a
time when they may seek medical care and is an important time for identification of
abused women. However, limited access to healthcare denies immigrant women the
opportunity to disclose abuse and places them at risk for continuing abuse and the
negative health consequences of abuse. Further, negative perceptions and mistrust
of medical systems and social service providers are additional barriers for women
seeking help. Immigrant women may encounter cultural and linguistic barriers
when seeking medical care or help against violence. Healthcare providers may use
unqualified interpreters or utilize women’s family members or friends to interpret
her native language. Such practices may result in increased risk to the woman due to
lack of confidentiality in interpretation, inaccuracies in interpretation, or compro-
mised quality of care (Sabri, Barcelona de Mendoza, and Campbell 2014).
There is a pressing need for health policies and programs that promote immigrant
women’s utilization of health services and address women’s status at the intersection
of immigration and health policies, culture and health, and pay attention to contex-
tual challenges impacting their lives (Sethi 2013). Healthcare providers can start to
reduce the barriers and improve the cultural appropriateness and safety of their care
by complying with national guidelines for culturally and linguistically appropriate
services (CLAS; CLAS standards) established by the Office of Minority Health
of the US Department of Health and Human Services (https://w ww.thinkcultur-
alhealth.hhs.gov). As a first step, healthcare providers must ask clients which lan-
guage they prefer to speak and document that in the medical record. Live, trained
interpreters for all languages should be made available to all patients who are lim-
ited English proficient. When live interpreters are not available, telephonic interpre-
tation services should be utilized for interpretation. However, healthcare providers
need to assess in advance how well the telephonic interpretation services used by
their system interpret terminology specific to violence and forced sex.
Second, essential written materials should be translated into the languages spo-
ken by the provider’s given patient population, including informed consents, proce-
dure information and aftercare instructions, and educational materials, especially
those related to violence and abuse. Third, but not least important, cultural com-
petency training should be provided for all healthcare staff, from administrative/
clerical staff to clinical providers, including those who make appointments and
answer phones. Every effort should be made to employ and support the develop-
ment of bilingual staff at every point of contact for patient care to provide the ideal
environment of healthcare professionals who not only are fluent in the language
but also understand the culture. Common practices such as using family members
or untrained interpreters raise ethical and quality-of-care conflicts and should be
avoided (Hilfinger Messias et al. 2009). One only has to imagine the scenario of a
healthcare provider asking a child or adolescent to ask his or her mother if his or her
father ever forces the mother to have sex to understand the particular ethical issues
related to marital rape from using family members as interpreters.
On the policy level, efforts to support more comprehensive healthcare reform
can be made that provide universal coverage and access to care. Without access to
healthcare, providers and organizations are limited in their ability to identify and
respond to women who experience violence. In addition, it is important to work for
a more equitable and economically sound immigration policy that recognizes the
contributions of immigrants to society and allows a pathway for them to become
fully integrated and responsible residents of the United States. This includes access-
ing to jobs, obtaining driver’s licenses, and having the availability and accessibility
of education from elementary school through college.
Women of African Descent
Women of African descent have been found to be disproportionately affected by IPV

in the United States. In a survey by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention
(CDC), 43.7% of African American women reported a lifetime experience of rape,
physical violence, or stalking by an intimate partner (Black et al. 2011). A multisite
study of women of African descent (n = 543) reported that, among women experi-
encing lifetime intimate partner abuse, 30% reported multiple types of abuse (i.e.,
physical, psychological, and sexual) (Stockman et al. 2014). African American
women survivors of sexual violence have also experienced other forms of violence,
such as childhood physical and sexual abuse, community violence, and racial and
sexual harassment at the workplace. Multiple violence experiences often compound
the negative physical and mental health effects of IPV (West 2004). Thus, African
American women are at high risk for worse health outcomes of intimate partner
forced sex, such as HIV infection (Stockman, Lucea, and Campbell 2013). In a
recent report, the rate of new HIV infections among African American women was
20 times that of Caucasian women. For 87% of the African American women, the
most common method of HIV transmission was found to be high-r isk heterosexual
contact (CDC 2014). Forced sex, inability to negotiate safe sex practices, and risk
behaviors due to cumulative life stressors place African American women at high
risk for HIV and other comorbid health problems.
African American women face numerous barriers to disclosing abuse to for-
mal support sources. Barriers to seeking help include individual (e.g., shame, fear,
emphasis on self-reliance); relationship (e.g., abusive partner control tactics);
and community barriers (such as stigma or discrimination) (Sabri et al. 2013).
Additional barriers include poverty, providers’ lack of cultural competence, racism
and discrimination, limited or inadequate financial standing, and cultural norms
(e.g., stigma, emphasis on “self-reliance”) (Rodriguez et al. 2009).
These barriers are tied to the unique configuration of race, class, and gender
inequalities faced by African American women, especially in marginalized com-
munity contexts (Long and Ullman 2013). In a qualitative study of nine African
American women (Long and Ullman 2013), each woman reported experiencing
sexual assault in her lifetime. The discussions of sexual assault experiences and
coping strategies were embedded in the context of additional traumatic life events
and stressors, such as living in violent impoverished neighborhoods. The majority
of women were assaulted by acquaintances, romantic partners, or friends. If the
perpetrator was a family member, women were unable to receive family members’
support. Women are hesitant to report sexual assaults for fear of causing tension in
their communities or of contributing to further racism and discrimination faced by
African American men (Long and Ullman 2013).
Native American Women
According to the US Census Bureau, 5.2 million people identified as Native

American in 2010, which was 1.7% of the total population (Norris, Vines, and
Hoeffel 2012). Research on IPV within this population group is limited for a vari-
ety of reasons, including the vast heterogeneity of tribes and cultural backgrounds
of Native Americans and their limited representation in survey methodologies

employed in studying the many forms of IPV (i.e., emotional, physical, and sexual
abuse). The 2005 reauthorization of the Violence Against Women Act (VAWA) rec-
ognized the lack of research in this high-r isk population and called for a program of
research that specifically examines the prevalence and effectiveness of responses to
violence within this group (Crossland, Palmer, and Brooks 2013).
What limited research there is shows that indigenous populations in the United
States, or Native Americans, suffer disproportionately high rates of violence and
have the highest rate of suicide of all races/ethnicities (Parks et al. 2014). Native
American women are more likely than other North American women to have been
raped or stalked (Tjaden and Thoennes 2006) and are at higher risk for IPV due to
a variety of factors related to their unique history and marginalization, including
racism, sexism, poverty, and the intergenerational trauma of attempted genocide
and boarding school experiences (Bryant-Davis, Chung, and Tillman 2009; Cross,
Earle, and Simmons 2000; Whitbeck et al. 2004). Societal policies and practices
have continued to hinder development of indigenous communities, including detri-
mental child welfare policies, discriminatory practices of child protective services,
and removal of children from the home to attend boarding schools outside their
communities (Cross, Earle, and Simmons 2000; Madrigal 2001; Mannes 1995).
Annual spending on healthcare programs for indigenous Americans is lower
than every other federal medical program (Duran et al. 2009), despite having the
protected guarantee by the federal government of universal healthcare coverage.
Established evidence-based practices for healthcare professionals have not been
implemented consistently in clinics that serve Native Americans, and many com-
munities lack routine screening for IPV (Duran et al. 2009).
In a convenience sample of women accessing an Indian Health Service general
medicine clinic, 52% of women reported at least one lifetime experience of violence,
40% reported verbal abuse, 42% reported physical abuse, and 12% reported sexual
abuse (Fairchild, Fairchild, and Stoner 1998). A national survey of violence against
women found that approximately one third of Native American respondents had
experienced a completed or attempted rape during their lifetime, a rate higher than
African American (19%), Caucasian (18%), and Asian (7%) women (Tjaden and
Thoennes 1998).
Several sociodemographic risk factors account for this higher risk for sexual
assault, both partner and nonpartner, among Native American women, includ-
ing marital status, alcohol dependence, history of childhood abuse, and cultural/
tribal factors. Women who were not married but instead were separated, living
with a partner, or divorced were at highest risk for sexual assault according to Yuan
et al. (2006). These findings have been replicated among Native Americans from
different tribes (Manson et al. 2005). Some studies, on the other hand, have con-
cluded that women who are not partnered may be at higher risk for abuse due to
lack of a male companion who may retaliate (Bryant-Davis, Chung, and Tillman
2009) or because they are seen as more vulnerable (O’Donnell, Smith, and Madison
2002). A recent meta-a nalysis concluded that there was a clear positive association
between IPV (including sexual violence) and alcohol use; however, the temporality
of this relationship remains unclear due to a lack of longitudinal studies (Devries
et al. 2014). The National Epidemiologic Survey on Alcohol and Related Conditions
reported that Native Americans had higher rates of weekly heavy drinking than
other-race adults and greater total alcohol consumption than other groups (Chen
et al. 2006), placing women at higher risk for sexual and physical violence (Oetzel
and Duran 2004; Wahab and Olson 2004). In fact, information on over 60% of inti-
mate and family violence against Native Americans reported that the perpetrator
had been using alcohol (Perry 2004). However, the high rates of substance abuse
may be in part related to the intergenerational transmission of trauma, including
historical trauma (Whitbeck et al. 2004). Finally, revictimization—t hat is, women
who experience sexual abuse as children and then again as adults—was observed in
all women in one small study of those abused as children (Bohn 2003).
Culture and tribal affiliations may be significant but remain less understood.
A robust predictor of sexual assault for indigenous women in one study was a strong
tribal identity (Yuan et al. 2006). Several explanations have been offered to explain
this finding, including lack of services for victims of violence, concerns about lack
of confidentiality, and underreporting (Yuan et al. 2006). There are 562 federally
recognized Indian tribes (nations), nearly half of which are found in Alaska. These
tribes represent a diversity of culture, language, and ethnicity, and the majority
remain vastly understudied in the medical literature of violence and risk. A national
network analysis revealed that only 31% of tribal lands were within 60 miles of a
facility that provided sexual assault examinations (Juraska et al. 2014), demonstrat-
ing the lack of medical resources available to women who have been victimized and
seek care. Limited research shows that Native American women are likely to seek
social services when experiencing IPV (Evans-Campbell et al. 2006); however, this
is a finding that should be explored further in future studies.
The general paucity of studies on IPV, on sexual abuse and revictimization in
indigenous women, highlights an urgent need for further research. Due to the diver-
sity among tribes, physical and geographic locations, and culture, research efforts
and services may be best focused at the local level, beginning with healthcare pro-
viders screening for all types of IPV to assess the scope of the problem. Next, educa-
tion about the problem and risks of IPV is paramount. This can begin by building
awareness among community members and leaders, exploring the co-occurrence
of violence with alcohol use, and discussing how the social status of women is inex-
tricably linked to empowering women to have agency over their own bodies and
to report violence. These efforts must also include local and tribal governmental
policies that support violence prevention, identification of abuse, and allocation of
resources for service provision so that meaningful referrals can be made.
AS S ES S M EN T I N T H E H E A LT H CA R E SYST EM
Identifying women who have been forced to participate in unwanted sexual activi-
ties by their partners can be challenging. Whatever their racial, ethnic, or class
background, a variety of societal pressures may prevent them from identifying their
experiences as sexual assault (as further explicated in terms of social class in Ptacek
this volume). Women often feel that participating in sex is a requirement of a mar-
riage or long-term relationship and are especially hesitant to identify themselves as
having been “raped” because the terminology is so frequently associated with the
stereotypical stranger rape scenario. Using behaviorally specific terms or even the
broader “forced sex” is a more productive approach.
174 P ublic H ealth , L egal , and H uman R ights P erspectives
Routine, sensitive use of standardized screening in clinical settings can help to

identify women who have experienced sexual violence at the hands of an intimate
partner. One well-established and commonly used screening tool is the Abuse
Assessment Screen (AAS) (Parker and MacFarlane 1991; Parker et al. 1993). The
AAS was initially developed for use in obstetrics and gynecology and includes one
item specific to forced sexual activities. Routine screening (i.e., all patients at all
visits) is considered to be the most effective way to both normalize the process of
inquiry and provide opportunities for patient disclosure. In addition to identifica-
tion of specific victims, the practice of screening in clinical settings helps to estab-
lish a climate of safety within the healthcare system. While victims may not disclose
violence the first time they are asked, the process of being asked allows them to
know that the healthcare system is a protected place to discuss IPV and seek help.
The importance of identifying these women, acknowledging their experiences,
and implementing trauma-informed care models is imperative for improving the
health of women who have been sexually assaulted by a partner. This opinion is
shared by numerous healthcare organizations, including the Institute of Medicine
and the US Preventive Services Task Force (American College of Physicians 2011;
American Medical Association 2007; American Nurses Association 2000; Institute
of Medicine 2011; Moyer 2013). This is particularly important for those women
with risk factors for intimate partner homicide, such as forced sex, an imperative
for providing appropriate service referrals. Following routine screening, referrals to
local and national IPV service providers (hotlines, shelters, advocates, legal assis-
tance, etc.) should be offered.
The referral system also should ensure that a safety assessment and planning
are provided for women identified through the screening process. The Danger
Assessment is one common tool used for this second-line lethality assessment.
The Danger Assessment (http://w ww.dangerassessment.org) is a tool developed
specifically to identify women at high risk of being killed by an intimate partner
(J. C. Campbell 2007; J. C. Campbell et al. 2003). It can be completed by the patient
during a healthcare visit or in conjunction with advocacy or criminal justice ser-
vices. When an elevated risk is identified, safety planning should address this risk.
The Danger Assessment is also available as a smartphone application called One
Love Lite; it can be completed or shared with patients for use at a later time and
includes links to online, telephone, and text message resources (https://itunes.
apple.com/us/app/one-love-l ite/id559824450?mt=8).
Fully understanding the spectrum of sexual violence and coercion presents addi-
tional challenges to clinicians and researchers interested in better understanding
and responding to intimate partner sexual violence. While screening tools are use-
ful in busy clinic settings, they usually only have one item regarding sexual violence
among other questions about relationship violence. Measurement tools such as the
Severity of Violence Against Women Scale (SVAWS), the Revised Conflict Tactics
Scale (CTS2) and the Sexual Experiences Survey (SES) cover a broader range of
sexual behaviors (e.g., fellatio, cunnilingus, anal penetration) that may be involved
in pressured or coerced sex (Gylys and McNamara 1996; Koss and Oros 1982; L. L.
Marshall 1992; Straus et al. 1996). Using these expanded definitions and identify-
ing specific behaviors can help to identify women who may not identify their situ-
ation as being explicitly forced but have felt pressured, threatened, or coerced into
participating in unwanted sexual activities by their partner.
A Feminist Public Health Approach to Marital Rape 175
C O N C LU S I O N S
Knowledge related to marital rape or intimate partner forced sex has increased tre-
mendously in the past 30 years, including extensive attention to legal issues. The
definition of intimate partner sexual assault has expanded to encompass reproduc-
tive coercion. Further, a body of knowledge has been developed on the physical
health effects of sexual assault by husbands and other intimate partners, includ-
ing mental health outcomes and increased risk of homicide. While not extensive,
research on the specific experiences of intimate partner forced sex marital rape for
women from marginalized populations has been sufficient to suggest the potential
efficacy of more research in that area.
Because marital rape is legal in many other countries, women from those cul-
tures experience particular challenges in both accessing appropriate healthcare and
in having their rights upheld. While a continued focus on establishing and ensuring
women’s rights globally is one way to promote improving both the health and jus-
tice outcomes of women who have experienced marital rape, broader public health
strategies must also be employed. Interventions that provide access to family plan-
ning and reproductive health services address one area in which the negative health
outcomes of intimate partner forced sex can be addressed (Miller, Decker, et al.
2011). It may be particularly effective to provide access to long-acting, covert con-
traceptive methods as well as testing, treatment, and prevention options for sexually
transmitted infections as indicated. Some of these interventions may be interpreted
as more congruent with an individualistic human rights approach than with the
familial or community-oriented values of many cultures.
Global work examining microfinance programs in conjunction with gender
equality intervention have also shown promise in impacting reproductive health,
violence, and mental health outcomes (Dunkle et al. 2006; Glass et al. 2014; Jewkes
et al. 2008; Pronyk et al. 2006). Other community-oriented strategies may provide
resources and group work for whole villages affected by warfare and sexual assault
rather than focusing on individual women (Glass et al. 2014). More culturally appro-
priate, evidence-based interventions for the healthcare system need to be developed
to ensure that women who have been sexually assaulted by intimate partners are
better served by the healthcare system to improve their health.
When working in non-Western societies, there is a need to consider local cul-
ture, including laws, customs, and religious practices/beliefs, when implementing
screening and referral for intimate partner sexual violence. In many cases, local and
community resources exist that capitalize on the talents of leaders and providers
who understand the culture and provide services; these should be identified first.
It is also important to work within the political landscape of the local environ-
ment. For example, the World Health Organization has partnered with First Ladies
of less developed countries in a strategy to raise visibility and obtain political sup-
port for women’s issues, such as maternal mortality reduction in South America.
These strategies are wise in that they work within countries’ existing networks to
identify solutions unique to the cultural environment and capitalize on local lead-
ers and resources. Finally, wherever possible, it is important to continue to work
for improved human rights, specifically women’s rights, and to change the tide of
violence against women and cultural acceptability of rape and disadvantaged social
status for women.
12
Marital Rape Laws Globally

Rationales and Snapshots Around the World
MICHELLE J. ANDERSON
According to the United Nations, although at least 52 countries have outlawed

marital rape, “more than 2.6 billion women live in countries where it has not been
explicitly criminalized” (UN Women 2011, 33). The history of English law was a
powerful force in providing men who raped their wives with legal protection from
prosecution in many countries. Since at least the 17th century, English common law
included a formal marital rape exemption. This exemption meant that men could
not be charged with raping their wives, and, if they were charged, marriage provided
them with a complete defense (Hale 1736/1847, 629).
Legal systems derived from this tradition have evolved, but the marital rape
exemption often survives. Some legal systems allow men to rape their wives with-
out censure. Others prohibit marital rape, but only in circumstances involving
extrinsic violence. Today although the United States has abolished marital immu-
nity for forcible sexual penetration, 13 states retain immunity for lesser penetra-
tive offenses, including sex with an unconscious or incapacitated spouse (Perkins
and Boyce 1982, 110).1 Around the globe, countries range across the spectrum as
well, with some providing defendants with an absolute marital rape exemption even
for forcible rape, and others providing defendants no immunity for sexual offenses
committed against spouses or prior intimates.
This chapter traces the proffered rationales for the historic marital rape exemp-
tion, identifies current forms of marital immunity in the United States, describes
examples of marital rape laws from other countries, and sets a framework to imple-
ment progressive reform in this area.
J U ST I FI CAT I O N S U N D ER EN G L I S H C O M M O N
L AW FO R T H E M A R I TA L R A PE E X EM P T I O N
The traditional definition of rape under English common law was unlawful sexual
intercourse with a female without her consent. In their leading treatise on criminal
law, Rollin M. Perkins and Ronald N. Boyce (1982, 115) explained that the marital
rape exemption was built into the definition of the crime itself through the word
unlawful. Any sexual intercourse, even forced, between a husband and his wife
was lawful and thus excluded from the definition of rape, which required unlawful
intercourse.2
English common law had three major justifications for the designation of all sex-
ual intercourse between husband and wife as lawful: the property theory, the unity
theory, and the ongoing consent theory (Schelong 1994). Under the first theory,
women were historically considered to be the property of men. Rape was a trans-
gression against the man who owned the woman as his property, not against the
woman herself. The rape of an unmarried woman transgressed against her father,
and the rape of a married woman transgressed against her husband (85). The rape of
a married woman by her husband, however, was not a transgression because a man
was allowed to treat his chattel as he deemed appropriate (see also Sitton 1993, 261,
265). Because the rape of a married woman was a violation of her husband’s prop-
erty, “prosecuting a husband for raping his wife made no more sense than indicting
him for stealing his own property” (Schelong 1994, 87).
The second justification, the unity theory, was a derivative of the feudal doc-
trine of coverture, in which a woman’s independent legal identity was abolished
at marriage, becoming subsumed within—or covered by—her husband’s identity
(Schelong 1994, 86). Sir William Blackstone (1765, 442) explained this theory in
his noted treatise on English common law: “By marriage, the husband and wife are
one person in law: that is, the very being or legal existence of the woman is sus-
pended during the marriage, or at least is incorporated and consolidated” into her
husband’s legal existence. Once man and woman had been unified by marriage, “a
man could no more be charged with raping his wife than be charged with raping
himself ” (Blackstone 1765, 442; see also Augustine 1990, 559, 561).
The chief justice in England in the 17th century, Lord Matthew Hale, articulated
what would become the most popular justification in modern jurisprudence for the
marital rape exemption. Hale wrote: “The husband cannot be guilty of a rape com-
mitted by himself upon his lawful wife, for by their mutual matrimonial consent
and contract the wife hath given up herself in this kind unto her husband, which she
cannot retract” (quoted in Finkelhor and Yllö 1985, 90). By giving her body sexually
to her husband through marriage, a woman thereby gave her ongoing contractual
consent to conjugal relations with him throughout the marriage.
Although the marital rape exemption has been subjected to widespread aca-
demic criticism, a number of contemporary legal scholars continue to defend
Hale’s theory of ongoing consent. For example, Donald Dripps (1992, 1801) calls
it “implied authorization” for sexual penetration. He poses a hypothetical set of
facts: A married couple returns home from a party very drunk. After his wife passes
out “unconscious on the bed,” the man “engages in coitus with her.” Dripps argues
that, although the wife never consented to the sexual act, the husband enjoyed
“implied authorization” to penetrate her without her consent. According to Dripps,
this derived from the fact that the woman had, “while sober and over a long course
of dealing, approved of a complex relationship in which sex plays a prominent role”
(1992, 1801).
In 1962, the prestigious American Law Institute used the theory of ongoing con-
sent to expand its marital rape exemption to cohabitants in the Model Penal Code.
Marital Rape Laws Globally 17 9
The code indicated: “Whenever in this article the definition of an offense excludes

conduct with a spouse, the exclusion shall be deemed to extend to persons living as
man and wife, regardless of the legal status of their relationship.”3 The Commentary
to the Code explained:
Marriage or an equivalent relationship, while not amounting to a legal waiver

of the woman’s right to say “no,” does imply a kind of generalized consent that
distinguishes some versions of the crime of rape from parallel behavior by a
husband. The relationship itself creates a presumption of consent, valid until
revoked.4
When the property theory of marriage was in vogue, the property a man received
at marriage was access to his wife’s services, including her sexual services. When a
woman was no longer conceptualized as a man’s property, the unity theory arose.
The collapsed legal identity of husband and wife was one of protection, as adult to
child, and assumed no conflict of interest of the parties to the marriage. Moreover,
the collapsed legal identity assumed an identity of interests between husband and
wife sexually. When it was no longer credible to see a wife as part of her husband’s
identity or in need for adult protection, the ongoing consent theory began to hold
sway. That theory tipped its hat to the idea of female sexual autonomy but insisted
that a wife granted her consent to sexual access at the altar.
The theory of ongoing consent continues in many jurisdictions throughout the
world, as does the idea that the state should not be involved in the private affairs of
the family and the notion that it is too complicated for the state to be involved in
disputes over marital discord, including marital rape.
M A R I TA L R A PE E X EM P T I O N I N T H E U N I T ED STAT ES
In the United States, since the 1970s, there has been a steady trend to erode the mar-
ital rape exemption to provide equality under the law between rape victims who are
married to their attackers and those who are not. In 1984, for example, the Liberta
case went to the highest court in the state of New York. Liberta had been convicted
of rape and sodomy in the first degree of his spouse. On appeal of the conviction, the
highest New York court held:
There is no rational basis for distinguishing between marital rape and non-
marital rape. The various rationales which have been asserted in defense of the
exemption are either based upon archaic notions about the consent and prop-
erty rights incident to marriage or are simply unable to withstand even the
slightest scrutiny. We therefore declare the marital exemption for rape in the
New York statute to be unconstitutional. 5
The judgment concluded that the exemption “therefore violates the equal protec-
tion clauses of both the Federal and State Constitutions.”6
Some states in the United States changed their laws by way of a similar court case
or through legislative efforts. These changes generally followed an equality analy-
sis in circumstances of forcible rape similar to the New York case. Today, all states
criminalize marital rape with force. Thirteen states, however, continue to exempt
defendants from criminal liability for rape when their wives are mentally incapaci-
tated or physically helpless.7 In three of these states—Ohio, Oklahoma, and South
Carolina—offenders are even immune from rape charges when they administer
drugs, intoxicants, or controlled substances to render their spouses incapacitated or
unconscious to penetrate them.8
Nevertheless, among states that have outlawed forcible marital rape, a num-
ber require that the victim satisfy additional criteria to pursue charges of mari-
tal sexual assault, including three nonmutually exclusive types of evidence. The
first imposes additional reporting requirements on victims who choose to pursue
claims. Second, nine states require that a couple be separated or divorced before
certain sexual offense prosecutions may proceed.9 Third, eight states do not recog-
nize certain sexual offenses committed by spouses unless the offender uses force,
violence, duress, or threats of great bodily harm to carry out the offenses.10 The vast
majority of states in the United States have abolished the marital rape exemption
for forcible rape. Nevertheless, immunity for lesser penetrative offenses continues,
and many states have hurdles that district attorneys must overcome to prosecute
marital rape, including narrowing reporting requirements, separation or divorce, or
requirements of additional force.
M A R I TA L R A PE A N D I M M U N I T Y A R O U N D T H E WO R L D
According to UN Women (2011, 134–37), most countries around the world do

not criminalize marital rape, including an overwhelming majority in Central
and Eastern Europe; Central, East, and South Asia; the Pacific; the Middle East;
and North and sub-Saharan Africa. About half the countries in Latin America and
the Caribbean, however, do criminalize marital rape. Only in the developed
regions of the world is marital rape more criminal than not. Legal systems in
different countries vary widely in how they address the question of marital
rape. Countries fall along the spectrum, from affording offenders who rape their
spouses a full exemption from criminal prosecution to affording no status differ-
ence to those who sexually offend against spouses, other intimates, or strangers.
At one end of the spectrum are countries that explicitly do not criminal-
ize marital rape, regardless of the force used to carry it out. Ethiopia’s rape law
reads: “Whoever compels a woman to submit to sexual intercourse outside wed-
lock, whether by the use of violence or grave intimidation, or after having ren-
dered her unconscious or incapable of resistance, is punishable with rigorous
imprisonment from 5 years to 15 years.”11 The language that grants a marital rape
exemption in this criminal code is the requirement that the rape occur “outside
wedlock.” Similarly, Lebanon’s criminal code states: “Whoever, with violence
and threat, coerces (a woman) other than his wife to sexual intercourse, is pun-
ished with hard labor for no less than 5 years, and no less than 7 years if the
victim is 15-years-old or younger.”12 Here, the key language is “other than his
wife.” Lebanon also provides that marriage after the rape is a complete defense
to the crime, which creates a perverse incentive for a victim to marry her abuser,
if indeed she has a choice. The Lebanese code indicates: “In the event a legal
marriage is concluded between the person who committed any of the crimes
Marital Rape Laws Globally 181
mentioned in this chapter [including rape, kidnapping, and statutory rape] and
the victim, prosecution shall be stopped.”13
Although Lebanon passed a domestic violence law in 2014, a provision criminal-
izing marital rape was jettisoned from the bill when religious courts and authorities
lobbied strongly against it. In fact, religious leaders managed to have inserted into
the law the idea of a “marital right to intercourse,” the first time such a provision was
introduced into the law (Bramley 2014).
Moving a little on the spectrum, some countries’ laws single out underage rape or
rape when the parties are separated for legal censure. For example, the Penal Code
of Singapore provides for a marital rape exemption unless the wife is under the age
of 13 or spouses have entered into a separation agreement.14 Similarly, India’s Penal
Code provides for a marital rape exemption unless the wife is under the age of 15
or the spouses have a separation agreement. The Indian code specifies that “sexual
intercourse or sexual acts by a man with his own wife, the wife not being under
15 years of age, is not rape.” It also indicates: “Whoever has sexual intercourse with
his own wife, who is living separately, whether under a decree of separation or oth-
erwise, without her consent, shall be punished with imprisonment … and shall also
be liable to fine.”15 When the Indian parliament took up the possibility of chang-
ing the law, arguments against criminalizing marital rape included not only Hale’s
ongoing consent theory, but also pride in India’s low divorce rate and appeals to
Indian culture in postcolonial society, where “the concept of rape upon one’s own
wife is rather foreign in our country” (Baxi 2014a, 21).
In some countries, marital rape is criminalized, but only if the offender uses
extrinsic force to accomplish it. For example, although Finland has formal neu-
trality in its criminal code regarding the rape of one’s spouse, sex without consent
(and without extrinsic force) is not explicitly criminalized.16 Only a few countries
appear to conceive of the rape of an intimate as worse than the rape of a stranger.
The Colombian penal code, for example, not only criminalizes forcible sexual con-
duct but also actually makes the rape of a spouse or other intimate partner an aggra-
vated offense.17 The code prescribes a sentencing enhancement of one third to one
half when the offense is committed against a spouse, cohabitant, or a person with
whom the defendant has fathered a child.18 South African law regards the rape of
married and unmarried women as equivalents and criminalizes nonconsensual as
well as forcible penetration. It concludes that “any person (‘A’) who unlawfully and
intentionally commits an act of sexual penetration with a complainant (‘B’), with-
out the consent of ‘B,’ is guilty of the offence of rape.”19 In addition, the law asserts
that “whenever an accused person is charged with [a sexual offense] it is not a valid
defense for that accused person to contend that a marital or other relationship exists
or existed between him or her and the complainant.”20
Nepal offers an example of the evolution of the law of marital rape. In 2002, a case
went to the Nepalese Supreme Court that invalidated the provision of the criminal
code that exempted husbands from being charged with raping their wives. The High
Court emphasized the importance of free agreement to sexual penetration by both
partners: “Sexual intercourse in conjugal life is a normal course of behaviour, which
must be based on consent” (UN Women 2011, 17). Like the New York court in the
Liberta case, the court’s analysis depended on the idea of the sexual autonomy of the
victim. According to the UN Women: “Cases such as these reflect sweeping changes
to the assumption that a wife implicitly consents to all sexual activity” (2011, 17).
The Nepalese Supreme Court’s analysis, like the Liberta court’s, undermined Hale’s
theory of ongoing consent.
N EU T R A L I T Y O N M A R I TA L STAT U S I N S E X UA L O F F EN S ES
The theory of ongoing consent underlying both the past and current marital
immunities in sexual offense statutes contradicts circumstances in the real world
(see Anderson 2003), which come, as Campbell et al. in this volume suggest, at an
intolerable cost to married women. To achieve neutrality on the marital status of
the parties, states must abolish their marital rape exemptions and afford no status
preference to men who sexually abuse their wives. The absence of that neutrality
sustains unequal access to citizenship protections.
Many women who experience physical and sexual violence remain with their
abusers for complicated reasons. That should not be mistaken for ongoing consent
to sexual relations. As Campbell et al., Ptacek, and Dobash and Dobash argue in this
volume, battered women are especially vulnerable to wife rape (Finkelhor and Yllö
1985, 22). Studies indicate that between one third and one half of battered women
have been raped one or more times by their batterers (Russell 1990, 96). A woman
who is raped by her husband may stay with him because she has nowhere to go, may
want to provide stability for her young children, or may feel love for her husband,
despite his sexual abuse (Mahoney, Williams, and West 2001, 143, 147). Many vic-
tims of wife rape are financially unable to leave (Russell 1990, 220–22). Some rap-
ists tell their wives that they will murder them if they leave. 21 In fact, sexual abuse
and other physical abuse frequently increases when women declare their intention
to leave or actually do leave their spouses (Finkelhor and Yllö 1985, 25).
A marital exemption for incapacitated or unconscious rape ignores or greatly
undervalues a married woman’s sexual autonomy—particularly her freedom to
decide whether and when to engage in intercourse. It reveals ignorance about the
perils of sexual penetration for a woman, denying her the power to negotiate the use
of contraceptives and other protection to prevent pregnancy and disease. Unwanted
pregnancy and disease are serious injuries for both unmarried and married women.
Even if the man does not make his unconscious wife pregnant against her will or
infect her with a sexually transmitted disease, he has profoundly degraded her
bodily integrity.
Wife rape is at least as harmful to victims as stranger rape. Marital sexual attacks
are more likely than stranger sexual attacks to end in completed rapes rather than
attempted rapes (Finkelhor and Yllö 1985, 137). Wife rape victims are more likely
than victims of acquaintances or strangers to be raped orally and anally (Russell
1990, 64). The physical consequences of wife rape can be painful and dangerous,
including
injuries to the vaginal and anal areas, lacerations, soreness, bruising, torn
muscles, fatigue and vomiting. Women who have been battered and raped
by their husbands may suffer other physical consequences including broken
bones, black eyes, bloody noses, and knife wounds that occur during the sex-
ual violence. [Researchers] report that one half of the marital rape survivors
in their sample were kicked, hit or burned during sex. Specific gynecological
consequences of marital rape include vaginal stretching, miscarriages, still-

births, bladder infections, infertility and the potential contraction of sexually
transmitted diseases, including HIV. (Bergen and Barnhill 2006)22
Despite the serious physical consequences of wife rape, the psychological con-
sequences, as Campbell et al. in this volume suggest, are usually more devastating.
Short-term psychological effects of wife rape may include “anxiety, shock, intense
fear, depression, suicidal ideation, and post-traumatic stress disorder” (Finkelhor
and Yllö 1985, 126). Long-term psychological effects may include “disordered eat-
ing, sleep problems, depression, problems establishing trusting relationships, and
increased negative feelings about themselves” as well as “flashbacks, sexual dys-
function, and emotional pain for years after the violence” (Russell 1990, 191). In
one study of raped wives, “More than half of the women mentioned consider[ed] or
attempt[ed] suicide at some point” (Finkelhor and Yllö 1985, 126).
One reason that wife rape is so traumatic is that victims are less likely to tell fam-
ily members, rape crisis counselors, or police officers about their experiences, and
they are less likely to receive support when they do (Bergen 1996, 59). In addition
to feeling betrayed, isolated, and blamed, victims of wife rape also are more likely
than victims of stranger rape to endure multiple offenses from their attackers and to
suffer from persistent terror (Muehlenhard and Highby 1998, 172, 178).
Once one understands the serious consequences of marital rape, one cannot abide
by the traditional rationales providing legal exemptions that still pervade the law in
much of the world. Increasingly for people worldwide, the commitment of marriage
bespeaks the hope of harmony in a pair’s sexual life together, rather than one’s ongo-
ing consent to sexual access no matter the force one’s partner deploys to obtain it. As
many of the chapters in this volume argue, the silence surrounding marital rape in
many cultures is a result of enforced norms of patriarchy, which support a spouse’s
sexual privileges at the cost of the other’s sexual autonomy. Countries around the
world must abolish marital immunity for sexual offenses. Given the deep entrench-
ment of these legal and cultural norms, much work still needs to be done to safe-
guard women’s rights and lives. From a legal standpoint, first, countries envisioning
legal reform need to treat marital and nonmarital sexual assault the same, whether
forcible or nonconsensual. Second, they need to repeal the laws that require sepa-
ration or divorce or extra force, as well as provisions that exempt incapacitated or
unconscious rape from legal condemnation. Formal neutrality in rape law on the
marital status of the complainant and the defendant, affording no status preference
to married men who rape or sexually assault their wives, is the minimum a country
must have to claim fairness to women.
Notes
1. Alaska Stat. § 11.41.425 (2014) (marriage is a defense to sexual assault in third
degree, class C felony); Conn. Gen. Stat. Ann. § 53a–71 (West 2014) (marital
immunity for sexual assault in second degree), § 53a–73a (marital immunity for
sexual assault in fourth degree); Idaho Code Ann. § 18-6107 (1948–2014) (“No
person shall be convicted of rape for any act or acts with that person’s spouse,
except under the circumstances cited in paragraphs 3 [force] and 4 [threats of
harm or use of intoxicating substance] of § 18-6101.”); Iowa Code Ann. § 709.4
(West 2014) (marital immunity for mentally incapacitated and physically helpless
sexual assault); Md. Code Ann., Crim. Law § 3-316 (West 2014) (spouses can only
be prosecuted for rape in first degree, rape in second degree, or sexual offense in
third degree if force is used or couple is living separately); Mich. Comp. Laws Ann.
§ 750.5201 (West 2014) (spouse cannot be prosecuted for criminal sexual conduct
in first through fourth degrees based solely on his or her spouse being under age
16, mentally incapable, or mentally incapacitated); Minn. Stat. Ann. § 609.349
(West 2014) (spouse does not commit criminal sexual conduct in third or fourth
degree if actor knows or has reason to know that complainant is mentally impaired,
mentally incapacitated, or physically helpless); Miss. Code Ann. § 97-3 -99 (2014)
(legal spouse of alleged victim may be found guilty of sexual battery if legal spouse
engaged in forcible sexual penetration without consent of alleged victim); Nev.
Rev. Stat. § 200.373 (2014) (marriage is no defense to charge of sexual assault
if assault was committed by force or by threat of force); Ohio Rev. Code Ann.
§ 2907.03 (West 2014) (spouses exempt from sexual battery, third-degree felony),
§ 2907.05 (spouses exempt from gross sexual imposition, third-or fourth-degree
felony), § 2907.06 (spouses exempt from sexual imposition, first-degree misde-
meanor); Okla. Stat. Ann. tit. 21, § 1111 (West 2014) (rape of spouse must be
accompanied by actual or threatened force or violence, along with apparent
power of execution against victim or third person); R.I. Gen. Laws 1956 § 11-37-
2 (1953–2014) (spouses exempt from first-degree sexual assault if victim is men-
tally incapacitated, mentally disabled, or physically helpless); S.C. Code 1976 Ann.
§ 16-3 -652 (2014) (spouse cannot be prosecuted for criminal sexual conduct in
third degree).
2. State v. Smith, 426 A.2d 38, 43-4 4 (N.J. 1981).
3. Model Penal Code § 213.6(2) (1962).
4. Id. § 213.1 cmt. 6, 343.
5. People v. Liberta, 64 N.Y.2d 152 (1984).
6. Id.
7. Model Penal Code § 213.1 cmt. n.3.
8. Ohio Rev. Code Ann. § 2907.02(a) (West 2014) (rape includes when “for the pur-
pose of preventing resistance, the offender substantially impairs the other person’s
judgment or control by administering any drug, intoxicant, or controlled substance
to the other person surreptitiously or by force, threat of force, or deception”);
Okla. Stat. Ann. tit. 21, § 1111 (West 2014) (“Rape is an act of sexual intercourse
involving vaginal or anal penetration accomplished with a male or female who is
not the spouse of the perpetrator” where the victim is “incapable through mental
illness or any other unsoundness of mind; … where the victim is intoxicated by a
narcotic or anesthetic agent, administered by or with the privity of the accused as a
means of forcing the victim to submit; … or where the victim is at the time uncon-
scious of the nature of the act.”); S.C. Code 1976 Ann. § 16-3 -652 (2014) (criminal
sexual conduct in first degree includes when “the actor causes the victim, without
the victim’s consent, to become mentally incapacitated or physically helpless by
administering, distributing, dispensing, delivering … a controlled substance”).
9. Alaska Stat. § 11.41.432 (2014) (it is defense to sexual assault when victim is
mentally incapable of consenting that offender is married to person and neither
party has filed with the court for separation); Haw. Rev. Stat. § 707-700 (2014)
(married does not include spouses living apart); Kan. Stat. Ann. § 21-3501 (2014)
(person is not considered spouse if couple is living apart or either spouse has filed
for separation or divorce or for relief under protection from abuse act); Md. Code
Ann., Crim. Law § 3-316 (West 2014) (spouse may not be prosecuted under
§ 3-303 [rape in first degree], § 3-304 [rape in second degree], § 3-307 [sexual
offense in third degree] or § 3-308 [sexual offense in fourth degree] unless per-
son committing crime uses force and act is without consent of spouse, or couple
has lived apart under written separation agreement or for at least 3 months before
alleged rape or sexual offense. A person may be prosecuted under these statutes if
there was decree of limited divorce at time of offense); Minn. Stat. Ann. § 609.349
(West 2014) (person does not commit criminal sexual conduct under § 609.342(a)
and (b) [criminal sexual conduct in first degree], § 609.343(a) and (b) [criminal
sexual conduct in second degree], § 609.344(a), (b), (d), and (e) [criminal sexual
conduct in third degree], and § 609.345(a), (b), (d), (e) [criminal sexual conduct in
fourth degree], if actor and complainant were adults cohabiting in ongoing volun-
tary sexual relationship at time of alleged offense, or if complainant is actor’s legal
spouse, unless couple is living apart and one of them has filed for legal separation
or dissolution of marriage); Miss. Code Ann. § 97-3 -99 (2014) (person is not guilty
of sexual battery if alleged victim is that person’s legal spouse and at time of alleged
offense such person and alleged victim are not separated and living apart unless
force is used); Ohio Rev. Code Ann. § 2907.02(G) (West 2014) (spouse cannot be
charged with rape unless couple is living separate or force is used); R.I. Gen. Laws
1956 § 11-37-1 (1953–2014) (married does not include spouses who are living apart
and decision for divorce has been granted); S.C. Code 1976 Ann. § 16-3 -658 (2014)
(person cannot be guilty of criminal sexual conduct in first or second degree if
victim is the legal spouse unless couple is living apart).
10. Conn. Gen. Stat. Ann. § 53a-70b (West 2014) (spouses or cohabitants are exempt
from sexual assault unless offender uses force or the threat of force); Idaho Code
Ann. § 18-6107 (1948–2014) (husband can only be prosecuted for rape where
wife “resists but her resistance is overcome by force or violence” or “where she is
prevented from resistance by threats of immediate and great bodily harm, accom-
panied by apparent power of execution; or by any intoxicating, narcotic, or anes-
thetic substance administered by or with the privity of the accused”); Md. Code
Ann., Crim. Law § 3-316 (West 2014) (spouses can only be prosecuted for rape in
first degree, rape in second degree, or sexual offense in third degree if force is used
or couple is living separately); Miss. Code Ann. § 97-3 -99 (2014) (legal spouse
of alleged victim may be found guilty of sexual battery if legal spouse engaged in
forcible sexual penetration without consent of alleged victim); Nev. Rev. Stat.
§ 200.373 (2014) (marriage is no defense to charge of sexual assault if assault was
committed by force or by threat of force); Ohio Rev. Code Ann. § 2907.02(G)
(West 2014) (marriage or cohabitation is no defense to rape if offender uses force
or threat of force); Okla. Stat. Ann. tit. 21, § 1111 (West 2014) (rape of spouse
must be accompanied by actual or threatened force or violence, along with appar-
ent power of execution against victim or third person); S.C. Code 1976 Ann.
16-3 -615 (2014) (spousal sexual battery requires aggravated force, defined as “use
or the threat of use of a weapon or the use or threat of use of physical force or physi-
cal violence of a high and aggravated nature).
1 1. Eth. Crim. Code art. 620, Proc. 414/2004 (2004).
12. Leb. Penal Code art. 503 (n.d.).
13. Id. art. 522.
14. Sing. Penal Code §375 (2008)
15. India Penal Code, Act No. 45 of 1860, § 376 (2012)
1 6. Fin. Crim. Code, Proc. 563/1998.

17. Colom. Código Penal (Criminal Code) art. 205-06 (2000).
18. Id. art. 211(5).
19. S. Afr. Const., 32nd Amendment Act of 2007 § 3 (2007) (Criminal Law: Sexual
Offences and Related Matters).
20. Id. § 56(1).
2 1. See, e.g., Jones v. State, 74 S.W.3d 663, 667 (Ark. 2002) (victim testified that Jones
told her “that if I wanted out of the marriage by divorce I wouldn’t get it because the
only way to get out of our marriage was like our wedding vows is through death and
I would have to die”).
22. See, e.g., Shunn v. State, 742 P.2d 775, 776 (Wyo. 1987) (defendant battered and
raped his wife with a wooden baton).
13
Human Rights Meets Intimate

Partner Sexual Violence
MONICA MCWILLIAMS AND FIONNUALA NÍ AOLÁIN
Research for these essay was in part supported by the Department for International
Development (DfiD) supported Political Settlement Project at http://w ww.politi-
calsettlements.org
Over the last three decades, sexual violence against women in intimate partner
relationships has become a global health issue. The development of a human rights
perspective on the phenomenon has been more recent. Assessing the prevalence of
coercive sex in the context of intimate relationships—and marital rape in particu-
lar—is challenging for many reasons. Research for these essay was in part supported
by the Department for International Development (DfiD) supported Political
Settlement Research Project at http://w ww.politicalsettlements.org. Sexual violence
is highly stigmatized and is among the few crimes in which the victim might also be
blamed for the harm experienced (Darnall and Jewkes 2013). Furthermore, women
who have been victims of what is legally defined as marital rape might not acknowl-
edge it as such, and there are extraordinary social and cultural pressures to main-
tain the “sanctity” of certain kinds of intimate relationships, particularly marriage
(Stern 2010).1 Consequently, worldwide estimates of nonvolitional sex vary substan-
tially. A British national probability survey (Macdowall et al. 2013) supported by
the American National Intimate Partner and Sexual Violence Survey (Black et al.
2011) shows that one in five women report experiencing attempted nonvolitional sex,
and one in ten women report experiencing completed nonvolitional sex since age 13
years. The finding of national data that 70% of penetrative sexual harm to women
aged 25 years or over is by men known to them counters the misconception of the
perpetrator as a “stranger in the bush.” Indeed, what adds to the gravity of marital
rape is that, unlike stranger rape, it tends to occur more than once (Black et al. 2011).
A recent UN study (2013) of six Asia-Pacific countries confirms the vulnerability
of women to sexual assault as a result of their subordinate roles in the public and
private spheres (Fulu et al. 2013). According to this survey of 10,000 men,2 nearly
half reported using physical or sexual violence against a female partner, and nearly
a quarter admitted to having raped. Rape was particularly common within intimate
relationships and was associated with men’s personal histories and practices, within
a broader context of structural inequalities, and used as a way to reassert some
level of power and control. The common motivation of men who have admitted to
rape was the belief that they were entitled to sex even without the female partner’s
consent. 3
Irrespective of the degree of coercion used, or the relationship between the assail-
ant and the injured party, nonvolitional sex represents a violation of sexual auton-
omy and bodily integrity and is therefore a violation of human rights. It undermines
not only the autonomy of the individual but also her dignity and personhood, values
deeply inscribed in the international human rights corpus. Naming sexual harm in
this way involved “making visible what was invisible, defining as unacceptable what
was acceptable and insisting that what was naturalized is problematic” (Kelly 1988,
139). The UN special rapporteur on violence against women has underscored that
“gendered violence is the most prevalent human rights violation worldwide and is
a manifestation of discrimination on the basis of gender, race, and socio-economic
class.”4 This chapter outlines how sexual violence became incorporated into the
human rights discourse and points to the need for a human rights–based framework
to address more comprehensively the needs of victims.
Since its inception, the post-Second World War human rights treaty regimes
have consistently failed to name and effectively regulate the harms experienced
by women. The dearth of international law regulation has a direct correlation with
domestic legal lacunae for intimate violence, one begetting and reinforcing the
other. The limits of legal accountability are firmly rooted in age-old ideas about the
proper role of the law in regulating the lives and experiences of women. Feminist
theorists have long articulated that the most pervasive harms to women tend to
occur within the inner sanctum of the private realm, within the family (see Merry
2006a). As Hilary Charlesworth (1993, 9–10) has aptly noted, “Historically, the
formation of the state depended on a sexual division of labor and the relegation of
women to a private, domestic, devalued sphere. Men dominated in the public sphere
of citizenship and political and economic life.”
The implications for women of the public/private divide have been well docu-
mented by scholars over the decades, including pervasive impunity for violence
and a persistent unwillingness to “meddle” in domestic and family affairs by courts.
Law’s oversight of the private domain is purposely constrained, and it remains effec-
tively out of regulatory bounds (Ni Aoláin and Hamilton 2009). Scholars such as
Carol Smart (1989) have identified the discursive power of law to denigrate and dis-
qualify the experiences of women as inherently damaging to women. This, in turn,
ultimately translates into structured inequality and exclusions being validated to
the social, legal, and economic detriment of women.
This pattern of noninterference and deference, well established within national
legal systems, took an early hold in international human rights theory and practice
(see Bond and Jeffries 2014). 5 In the opening paragraph of the UN charter is the
claim that members are determined to “reaffirm [their] faith in fundamental human
rights, in the dignity and worth of the human person, in the equal rights of men
and women.” This is further supported by a specific reference to the prohibition of
discrimination on the basis of sex in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights,
G.A. Res. 217A (III), U.N. Doc. A/810 at 71 (1948). Thus, while early international
law developments expressly included nondiscrimination clauses, their fundamental
Human Rights Meets Intimate Partner Sexual Violence 18 9
oeuvre was addressed to a universal human experience that, though neutrally

framed, in practice served to address the harms men experienced more consistently
and thoroughly than those experienced by women. For example, the harm of tor-
ture was defined in ways that addressed the experiences of those persons likely to
be detained, arrested, or incarcerated (in most societies, men),6 and by definition
seemed to exclude the kinds of violence that women were most likely to experience,
usually in the private sphere of the home and intimate relationships. A distinctly
gendered outcome from apparently neutral treaty protection was the direct result
of a set of treaty obligations regulating the public sphere, but these rules were struc-
turally and institutionally incapable of recognizing harms in the private sphere as
implicating the duties and obligations of states.
Despite that historical baggage, a discernible shift in human rights protections is
now emerging, emanating from the specialist human rights treaty regimes. These
shifts have potentially significant consequences by delineating the harms women
experience and seeking accountability for them. The first part of this chapter
addresses the institutional structures of human rights protection, including human
rights treaty law and practice. The second part examines the specialist treaty address-
ing women’s rights under international law, the Convention on the Elimination of
All Forms of Discrimination Against Women (CEDAW), and the challenges that
addressing violence against women has encountered in this area. The chapter con-
cludes with an overview of the European and Inter-A merican human rights treaty
systems, where some of the most innovative judicial developments have been taking
place in recent years. By drawing on recent jurisprudence from the European Court
of Human Rights and the Inter-A merican Court of Human Rights, the chapter dem-
onstrates how this important human rights initiative influenced the changes now
in place.7 Despite these changes, weaknesses and limitations of the human rights
system (and law more broadly) in addressing violent harm to women still remain.
Legal acknowledgment and redress are only one (albeit important) dimension of an
engaged policy and structural response to violence.
The principle of due diligence has been an important advancement in ensur-
ing that international law protects women. This principle has established that the
state bears the duty of preventing, protecting, investigating, and compensating
for wrongs committed by the state, its agents, and more recently nonstate actors.
A human rights framework helps grant recognition to women facing multiple risks/
violations from their intimate partners, as well as to those who face greater barri-
ers to justice due to marginalization or location in systems of inequality extending
beyond gender. Connecting these two separate but related dimensions has sup-
ported enhanced recognition of the compound effects of more than one form of dis-
crimination and has highlighted the need for solutions that respond to aggravated
forms of discrimination.
I N T ER N AT I O N A L L AW A N D A WO M A N’S
R I G H T TO B E FR EE FR O M V I O L EN C E
Intimate violence was traditionally viewed by domestic lawmakers in terms of

honor violation rather than criminal act. For centuries, international legal reg-
ulation followed a broad paradigm of noninterference in the domestic affairs of
states, declining to address how states treated their own citizens within their
national boundaries and having little to say about how states should regulate rela-
tionships between private persons. The shift to international legal regulation of
internal actions by states followed the catastrophic harms associated with World
War II. The birth of the international human rights movement revised notions of
state sovereignty, creating greater accountability for a range of harms by hold-
ing states firmly to obligations of positive duties to protect the rights and dignity
of individuals. Despite the laudatory press for state accountability, enabled by
comprehensive international and regional human rights treaty regimes, women’s
rights lagged behind the general human rights enforcement regimes. The found-
ing treaties of the international human rights order have few express references
to women and gender, and when those treaties were interpreted by international
tribunals and regional courts, the experiences of women were generally excluded
or ignored.
However, positive developments emanating from the UN Decade for Women
(1975–1985) and the 1985 Nairobi Forward-Looking Strategies identified violence
against women as a key dimension of transnational feminist activism central to bet-
tering women’s lives globally.8 The CEDAW, adopted in 1979, noticeably contained
no explicit provision addressing state responsibility for ending violence against
women, and no specific link was made between violence and the absence of equality
for women. As Alice Edwards (2011, 8) notes: “This glaring omission was arguably
the impetus behind the committee responsible for supervising the treaty’s imple-
mentation to issue two general recommendations on violence against women.”
The 1993 World Conference on Human Rights redressed this matter with an
explicit recognition of women’s rights as human rights.9 The Vienna Conference
affirmed the need for a specific legal instrument addressing violence against women,
calling for the drafting of a Declaration on Violence Against Women and the
appointment of a UN special rapporteur with responsibility for global reporting and
oversight of this issue.10 In 1993, both these goals were realized by the appointment
of a special rapporteur and the adoption of the UN Declaration on Elimination of
Violence Against Women (DEVAW).11 The Beijing World Conference also firmly
addressed violence against women, with a notable emphasis on violence experi-
enced by women during armed conflict (including sexual slavery, forced steriliza-
tion, forced abortion, female infanticide, and systematic sexual violence). Various
follow-ups to the Beijing conference, including Beijing + 5, + 10, and + 15, continue
to underscore the importance of both the UN and the Beijing focus on these forms
of violence. These developments positively show the emergence of “soft law,” a term
used to broadly describe nonbinding international legal norms that can shape and
direct state action and responsibility on violence against women as a means to cre-
ate an increasingly robust climate of accountability for gendered violence.
Soft law norms, however, come with some limitations (Ní Aoláin 2012). It
remains troubling that the “hard” law norms (primarily treaty and customary law)
remain focused on issues primarily associated with masculine interests, harms, and
prerogatives, with little to say about the interests and harms of most direct concern
to women (Ní Aoláin 2012). Moreover, the early motif of elevating sexual violence
against women in conflict to greater scrutiny and importance has spawned expansive
international legal engagements with the experiences of women in war. However, in
doing so, this emphasis risks being a singular preoccupation with women in war,
Human Rights Meets Intimate Partner Sexual Violence 191
often leaving behind and marginalizing the routine, daily, and unending cycles of
intimate partner violence experienced by women in ordinary peacetime.
In addition to these international legal developments, some regional standards
for responding to violence against women have emerged, including the 1994 Inter-
American Convention on the Prevention, Punishment, and Eradication of Violence
Against Women.12 This treaty explicitly prohibits gendered violence and codifies the
“right of every woman to be free from violence [including] … the right of women to
be free from all forms of discrimination.”13 The Protocol to the African Charter on
Human and People’s Rights on the Human Rights of Women (PRWA) was estab-
lished in 2003 and enforced beginning in 2005. The Council of Europe has also
endorsed the Istanbul Convention, the Convention on Preventing and Combatting
Violence Against Women and Domestic Violence in 2011.14 That treaty is particu-
larly notable for its emphasis on domestic violence and for its Preamble, which
[recognizes] that the realization of de jure and de facto equality between women
and men is a key element in the prevention of violence against women;
[recognizes] that violence against women is a manifestation of historically
unequal power relations between women and men, which have led to domina-
tion over, and discrimination against, women by men and to the prevention of
the full advancement of women; [and]
[recognizes] the structural nature of violence against women as gender-based
violence, and that violence against women is one of the crucial social mech-
anisms by which women are forced into a subordinate position compared
with men.
International laws document an ever-growing corpus of legal norms evolving

regionally and globally. These developments underscore the limits of the interna-
tional human rights system as it was conceived in the postwar period and the enor-
mous gap that had to be filled simply by naming sexual violence against women from
known men as an unacceptable and sanctionable act. The growth of agreed-on norms
is also a testament to the transnational women’s rights movement and its activism
within multiple arenas in the international legal system. However, norm develop-
ment is merely a starting point. The contemporary challenge clearly lies in enforce-
ment, preventing a backlash to the normative rules, and closing off avenues for
cultural relativism to be used as a rationale at the national level to prevent these rules
from becoming operative. In addition, the advent of efforts to establish international
criminal law as the site for adjudicating accountability for certain kinds of violence
against women raises new questions about the benefits and drawbacks of a criminal
law approach in addressing the causalities and forms of violence (Engle 2015).
T H E WO M EN’S C O N V EN T I O N
The CEDAW treaty came with a glaring and obvious oversight in its formal pro-
visions; specifically, the treaty does not directly address violence against women.
Recognizing this lacunae, the committee overseeing the treaty quickly moved to fill
the gap by issuing General Comments, which function both as a form of guidance
to states on how to prepare reports to the committee and as authoritative guid-

ance on the meaning and scope of the treaty. Notably, the early issuance of General
Comments for the mainstream UN treaty bodies (International Covenant on
Civil and Political Rights [ICCPR], Committee on Economic, Social, and Cultural
Rights [CESCR]) contained few or no references to women’s lives and experiences
(Edwards 2011, 116–19).
There have been attempts to remedy this deficit in recent years, through both
mainstreaming attempts (acknowledging the specificity of women’s experiences in
General Comments) and specific General Comments (an example is the issuance
of General Comments by both the CCPR and CESCR on the equal right of men
and women to enjoy human rights).15 General Recommendation 19 by the CEDAW
Committee, adopted in 1992, is the most important document relating to the con-
sideration of intimate violence.16 This comment confirms that gender-based vio-
lence is a reality that disables women from full enjoyment of their human rights on
the basis of equality with men.17 It identifies state obligations to ensure “appropriate
and effective” measures to overcome all forms of gender-based violence, including
legal prohibition of family violence, rape, sexual violence, and other gender-based
violence; providing protection and support services for victims of violence; and giv-
ing judges and law enforcement officials effective training to enable them to be gen-
der sensitive when addressing violence against women. States are also encouraged
to collect statistics and support research addressing the extent, causes, and effects
of violence against women.
General Comment 19 creates a communicative space enabling violence against
women to be confronted through the state reporting process, although state report-
ing processes have variable success in compelling states to meet their responsi-
bilities or to facilitate meaningful social change. Regrettably, states report late or
inadequately to the CEDAW Committee and frequently fail to heed the advice or
critique of the committee as a means to enact legal and political reforms.18 These
actions underscore the broader point that women often experience the “uneven”
application of legal rules and standards, and that moving toward accountability
entails additional burdens for gender-based violence.
More robust forms of enforcement from the CEDAW Committee are now found
in its Optional Protocol capacity. The Optional Protocol enables a communication
whereby an individual woman (or group of women) can submit claims charging
violations of the rights protected by the convention to the committee. The proce-
dure is enabled by states allowing persons within their territory to bring individual
complaints before the committee to adjudicate the merits and (as appropriate) find
violation and issue remedy recommendations. In addition, the protocol creates a
procedure that enables the committee to initiate inquiries into situations of gross or
systematic violations of women’s rights.
While the procedure is relatively new, and states’ responses have been limited,
the process has allowed the committee to decide a small number of important cases
and to produce definitive jurisprudence. In the context of intimate violence, the
committee has been active and articulate in its communications function. In Sahide
Goekce (deceased) v. Austria, a communication involving an Austrian national who
had experienced years of domestic abuse and was eventually murdered by her hus-
band was deemed admissible, despite significant challenge from the Austrian gov-
ernment.19 The CEDAW Committee found Austria responsible for the death of and
the violence experienced by Ms. Goekce as a result of its failure to provide due dili-
gence in legal and institutional oversight.
Procedural protection has become an increasingly important means to safeguard
core human rights, including the rights to life, freedom from torture, and inhuman
and degrading treatment. A number of general recommendations are present in the
Goekce case and have implications for state practices related to domestic violence
broadly defined: first, clearly articulating a state’s responsibility to strengthen exist-
ing domestic law preventing domestic violence; second, promoting timely prosecu-
tion of domestic violence perpetrators through domestic courts; third, articulating
that the treaty standard requires enhanced coordination and collaboration between
police, public prosecutors, and judges; and fourth, strengthening training and
education on programs related to domestic violence for judges, attorneys, and law
enforcement, including acquainting officers and official personnel with the CEDAW
Committee’s General Recommendation 19.
A parallel case, Yildirim v. Austria, exhibits many similarities to Goekce, citing
similar convention violations.20 Specifically, the committee found that the state
failed to take all the positive measures possible to protect Yildirim’s right to life
and personal security. The committee affirms the same kind of recommendations
articulated in Goekce (vigilant and speedy prosecution of perpetrators, utilizing
and strengthening the civil and criminal systems) and emphasizes that “the perpe-
trator’s rights cannot supersede women’s human rights to life and to physical and
mental integrity.”21 The number of CEDAW Committee Optional Protocol com-
plaints is small but growing (Hoq 2001; see Office of the High Commissioner for
Human Rights [OHCHR] 2015 for current statistics). Notably, the categories of
complaint overwhelmingly concentrate on intimate violence, including communi-
cations about domestic violence, cases of rape or sexual assault, allegations of vio-
lence against women, and reproductive rights.
R EG I O N A L I N N OVAT I O N S
Recent years have witnessed a significant shift in the way cultural discourses are
addressed and constructed within human rights regimes and the implementation of
binding (and nonbinding) legal rules. Increasingly, courts and interpretative bodies
have confirmed that it is insufficient to focus on women’s vulnerability as wives or
partners. Instead, an emphasis is emerging to recognize a gendered order that privi-
leges male violence through the normative and institutional formations of societies.
The state is obligated not only to protect against intimate partner violence but also
to eliminate its “causes”—t hat is, gender discrimination at structural, ideological,
and operational levels—a nd to bear responsibility for addressing its consequences.
Some inklings of this transformative approach to addressing sexual and intimate
harms can be seen in the jurisprudence of regional human rights courts, with the
Inter-A merican Court and Commission leading the way on this revolutionary front.
The European Court of Human Rights is the oldest regional human rights judi-
cial body. Established in 1953, in its early years the court exhibited a profound gap
in its pronouncements on women’s rights in general and violence against women in
particular. In recent years, silence has given way (albeit slowly) to articulation of an
increasingly sophisticated jurisprudence on intimate violence. The change started
with the highly controversial case of Ayadin v. Turkey,22 which involved rape and
sexual harm inflicted on a young Kurdish women while in Turkish police custody.
The case set an important marker in international law with its finding that rape con-
stituted torture under the prohibitions contained in the European Convention. The
court was also trenchant on remedies, finding that when an individual has an argu-
able claim that she has been tortured by agents of the state, the state has an obli-
gation to “conduct … a thorough and effective investigation capable of leading to
identification and punishment of culprits.” In the context of rape, the obligation on
the state includes an examination by “competent, independent medical profession-
als.” The court found that
his [the Turkish Prosecutor’s] primary concern in ordering three medical

examinations in rapid succession was to establish whether the applicant had
lost her virginity. The focus of the examinations should really have been on
whether the applicant was a rape victim, which was the very essence of her
complaint.23
The court concluded that the absence of a thorough and effective investigation of
the rape allegation constituted a breach of Article 13 of the Convention (the right
to an effective remedy). Aydin was a significant symbolic case, finally giving rec-
ognition to rape as a form of torture, and important to the protection of minority
women’s rights in divided societal contexts. However, the litmus test for any robust
engagement with violence against women requires moving out of the armed con-
flict paradigm that was a backdrop to the Aydin case to address regular and routine
violence for women.
The court has made this move with some alacrity. It has held, for example, that
the delay in prosecuting serious intimate partner violence amounted to the state
condoning such abuse and has also found breaches of Article 3 (prohibition of
inhumane or degrading treatment) where authorities failed to properly investigate
and prosecute any nonconsensual sexual act, even when the victim had not resisted
physically.24 Moreover, the court concluded that the law barring undocumented
immigrant women from access to state shelters for domestic violence exposed them
to arrest, created an obstacle to seeking justice, and made them vulnerable to a
range of violations (see Hasselbacher 2010). Applying a human rights perspective
to violence has helped to create a momentum to breaking the silence surrounding
such violence and for connecting diverse struggles across the globe. Jurisprudence
on intimate partner violence is now a regular feature on the court’s docket. Thus,
in Opuz v. Turkey, the European Court of Human Rights upheld, alongside viola-
tions of Article 2 (right to life) and Article 3 (prohibition of inhumane or degrading
treatment), a violation of Article 14, the provision of the treaty prohibiting violence,
finding that gender-based violence constitutes a form of discrimination under the
treaty.25
Although not a rape case, Osman v. United Kingdom also emphasizes the scope
and intensity of state duties to legislate “effective criminal law provisions to deter
the commission of offences against the person backed up by law-enforcement
machinery for the prevention, suppression and sanctioning of breaches of such
provisions.”26 In addition, states may be obligated in certain well-defined circum-
stances to take proactive “preventive operational measures” to protect individuals
whose lives are under threat from the criminal activities of another.”27 While Osman
concerns procedural obligations relating to the right to life, a number of subsequent
cases reinforce Osman by defining procedural obligations in the context of rape.
The case has been instrumental in the United Kingdom, bringing public agencies
together to help identify high-r isk factors for significant harm where there is known
to be a previous history of intimate partner violence (Steel, Blakeborough, and
Nicholas 2011). Rape is now considered to be one of these high-r isk factors along-
side threats to kill. Where these factors are made known to the public authority, or
where protection orders have been issued based on this information, the onus is on
the public agency to show that it has taken all reasonable measures to protect the
victim threatened with such danger by her intimate partner.
This judicial intervention is significant given the high rate of attrition from pros-
ecution in Europe. It also suggests a pressing need for the police and the judiciary
to ensure that those reporting rape and other sexual offenses within intimate rela-
tionships are treated sensitively and receive an appropriate response throughout all
stages of the criminal justice process (see Kelly and Regan 2001). Concerns have
been expressed that not only do the injured parties feel that they themselves are “on
trial,” but also that the aftercare and information provided posttrial can be variable,
and in some cases severely lacking. In the United Kingdom, Stern (2010) reviewed
the way in which victims of rape were dealt with by public bodies in England and
Wales and concluded that justice was about more than punishing the perpetrator,
affirming the positive obligation of the state to deal with victims as people who have
been harmed and to whom society has a responsibility to help protect. Whether
the rape is reported or not—a nd in cases of marital/partner rape, it is less likely to
be—or whether there is a prosecution or conviction, which is also less likely, the
state still has an obligation to support women who have been raped to recover and
rebuild their lives.
Research shows that barriers to reporting sexual violence—particularly in the
context of intimate relationships—include fear of the perpetrator, of not being
believed, or of being blamed and fear for the family; shame and guilt; and loyalty
to the perpetrator (Department of Justice for Northern Ireland [DOJNI] 2009, 2).
Because the violation strikes at the concepts of human dignity and bodily integrity,
the state’s obligations are much wider than simply seeking a conviction. For victims
of marital/partner rape, getting the case to court is important, but being believed
and supported is just as important. When the positive right to an effective investiga-
tion and prosecution is accompanied by rights to needs-based services, then human
rights become “real” for the victims concerned.
In the Inter-A merican Commission regional courts system, claims of a similar
nature also are making significant headway. The first major case considered by the
Inter-A merican Commission, Maria da Penha Maia Fernandes v. Brazil (2001),28
involved the attempted murder of a woman by her husband, the effects of which ren-
dered her a paraplegic for the remainder of her life. Seventeen years later, when the
commission issued its decision, the state still had not sentenced the husband. The
court found violations of Article 8 (fair trial) and Article 25 (judicial protection).
The commission determined that Brazil’s actions were “part of a gender pattern of
negligence and a lack of effective action by the State in prosecuting and convicting
aggressors” of domestic violence, and that the “general and discriminatory judicial
ineffectiveness also creates a climate that is conducive to domestic violence, since
society sees no evidence of the willingness by the State, as the representative of the
society to take effective action to sanction such acts.”29
A series of cases in the Inter-A merican Commission system have held viola-
tions of the convention when women have been raped and sexually harmed in
prisons and in custody. This development reflects a broader pattern among the
treaty bodies to recognize violence in armed conflict or repressive settings first,
before considering regular and normalized violence within family structures.
Thus, in Martín de Mejía v. Peru and Ana, Beatriz and Celia Gonzàles Pérez v.
Mexico, the Inter-A merican Commission addressed rape by military personnel
and pronounced it torture. 30 Striking cases such as the Plan de Sánchez Massacre
and Castro-Castro v. Peru attend to harms in prison and in communities to women
deemed to be extremist and thus outside the boundaries of the state’s full protec-
tion by virtue of their nonstate actor/paramilitary affiliations. 31 Although initially
reluctant to recognize sexual harms to women, the Inter-A merican Commission
system has demonstrated with these cases a recognition that the state must take
responsibility, memorialize the victims, and pay both individual and communal
reparations. Gonzàles Pérez has been commended for taking an intersectionality
approach with its finding that the pain and humiliation suffered by the women
was aggravated by their condition as members of an indigenous group, denied sta-
tus within their communities and stigmatized as a result of the violations they had
experienced. The focus on the most marginalized women is sustained through
a series of cases involving severe and systematic violence against indigenous
women and girls and those from lower socioeconomic communities, including
Cotton Fields and Rosendo Cantú. 32
C O N C LU S I O N
Rape in the context of intimate partner relationships is unique not only because it
strikes at the physical integrity, dignity, and autonomy of the victim but also because
of the demands it makes of public bodies required to respond to it and the variation
in these responses across states. The analysis here points to some of the structural
and conceptual limitations of existing paradigms, and highlights new thinking that
might reframe traditional and outmoded thinking on intimate harm. It has been a
relatively slow journey for international human rights law as it winds its way toward
recognizing intimate sexual violence as a fully experienced and consequential
human rights violation. Although individual cases have broken new ground, they
also have their limits. They tend to emphasize (with procedural reason) the experi-
ence and harms to one particular individual but have a limited capacity to name and
address the structural contexts that give rise to sustained violence in the first place.
It is encouraging that the most recent treaty document, the Istanbul Convention,
refers to economic harm and suffering, the first explicit recognition that violence to
women is a complex and layered phenomenon that includes economic, social, and
cultural forces (see, e.g., Conner 2014).
These economic, social, and cultural factors can determine how perpetrators of
marital/partner rape are held accountable for gender-based harms. They can also
determine the response to victims, ensuring protection and reparation are also con-
sidered. Challenging impunity and ensuring public accountability for such crime
is crucial, but so is the provision of a victim-centered, rights-based response. The

contemporary challenge clearly lies in enforcement, preventing a backlash to the
normative rules and closing off the avenues for cultural relativism to be utilized at
the national level to prevent the rules being meaningfully operative. Much valu-
able work has been undertaken in recent decades, but marital/partner rape requires
a range of human rights protections that need to be developed through a human
rights–based framework at both the global and local levels. The human rights per-
spective has provided momentum for breaking the silence around marital/part-
ner rape and for connecting diverse struggles by women both locally and globally.
Ultimately, though, legal forms and processes remain only part of a wider solution
to sexual harm.
Notes
1. In addition to these barriers, the Stern review noted that only 6% of rapes initially
reported to police get to the point of conviction. The review exposed areas in which
criminal law is not being enforced and highlighted a long history of disbelief, dis-
respect, blaming the victim, not seeing rape as a serious violation, and therefore
deciding not to record it as a crime. The Crown Prosecution Service’s target for
reducing “unsuccessful outcomes” influences their decisions to take forward to
trial only cases with the strongest evidence and may explain why so few marital
rape cases have been prosecuted in Great Britain and Northern Ireland.
2. The nine sites were in Bangladesh, Cambodia, China, Indonesia, Papua New
Guinea, and Sri Lanka. The UN partnership study stressed that the data are repre-
sentative of those sites, but not of the entire Asia-Pacific region or each of its indi-
vidual countries.
3. Of the men who had committed rape, 72% to 97% were never punished, also con-
firming that impunity remains a serious issue.
4. Rashida Manjoo (Special Rapporteur on violence against women, its causes, and
consequences), Mission to India, U.N. Doc. A/H RC/2 6/38/Add.1, at 43 (Apr. 1,
2014).
5. On the ongoing differences between violence to women and violence in other
cases, a recent study of sentencing, comparing sentencing outcomes in domestic
and nondomestic violence cases, is instructive.
6. Thus, for example, the UN Convention Against Torture [G.A. Res. 39/4 6, U.N.
Doc. A/R ES/39/4 6, art. 1 (Dec. 10, 1984)] defines torture as “an act by which
severe pain or suffering, whether physical or mental, is intentionally inflicted on a
person” for a purpose such as obtaining information or a confession, punishment,
intimidation, coercion, “or for any reason based on discrimination of any kind.”
7. See, for example, Inter-A m. Comm’n. H.R., Maria Da Penha Maia Fernandes
v. Brazil, Case 12.051, Report No. 54/01, OEA/Ser.L/V/II.111, Doc. 20 rev.,
16.04.2001.
8. The strategies are found at http://w ww.un.org/womenwatch/confer/n fls/.
9. World Conference on Human Rights, June 14–25, 1993, Vienna Declaration and
Programme of Action pt. I, ¶ 18, U.N. Doc. A/CONF.157/23 (July 12, 1993).
10. Id. pt. II, ¶ 38.
11. G.A. Res. 48/104, U.N. Doc. A/R ES/48/104, DEVAW (Dec. 20, 1993).
12. OASGA Inter-A m. Convention on the Prevention, Punishment and Eradication
of Violence Against Women (“Convention of Belém do Pará”) (9 Jun. 1994) 22
I.L.M. 1429.
1 3. OASTS No. A-61, 9 June 1994, art. 6.

14. CETS No. 210, 5 Nov. 2011.
15. CCPR, Equality of Rights Between Men and Women, U.N. Doc. CCPR/C/21/
Rev.1/Add.10 (29 Mar. 2000); CESCR, The Equal Right of Men and Women to the
Enjoyment of All Economic, Social and Cultural Rights, U.N. Doc. E/C .12/2005/
4 (13 May 2005).
16. It states “gender based violence is a form of discrimination that seriously inhibits
women’s ability to enjoy rights and freedoms on the basis of equality with men”
(CEDAW, Violence Against Women (1992), art. 1.
17. Specifically, Article 7 limits women’s enjoyment of the following: (a) the right to
life; (b) the right not to be subject to torture or to cruel, inhuman, or degrading
treatment or punishment; (c) the right to equal protection according to humanitar-
ian norms in time of international or internal armed conflict; (d) the right to liberty
and security of person; (e) the right to equal protection under the law; (f) the right
to equality in the family; (g) the right to the highest standard attainable of physical
and mental health; and (h) the right to just and favorable conditions of work.
18. This is generally true for the reporting process, but the data on CEDAW confirm
this is especially true for state reporting on this treaty.
19. CEDAW, Communication No. 5/2005, U.N. Doc. CEDAW/C/39/D/5/2005
(6 Aug. 2007).
20. CEDAW, Communication No. 6/2005, U.N. Doc. CEDAW/C/39/D/6/2005
(1 Oct. 2007).
21. Id. ¶ 12.1.5
22. Ayadin v. Turkey, 23178/94 Eur. Ct. H.R. (2007).
23. Id. ¶ 107.
2 4. E.S. and Others v. Slovakia, 8227/0 4 Eur. Ct. H.R. (2009); M.C. v. Bulgaria,
39272/98 Eur. Ct. H.R. 646 (2003).
25. Opuz v. Turkey, 33401/02 Eur. Ct. H.R. (2009). The applicant and her mother
were assaulted and threatened over many years by the applicant’s husband H.O.,
at various points leaving both women with life-threatening injuries. With only
one exception, no prosecution was brought against him on the grounds that both
women had withdrawn their complaints, despite their explanations that H.O. had
harassed them into doing so, threatening to kill them. He subsequently stabbed his
wife seven times and shot dead his mother-in-law. The court found a violation of
Article 2 (right to life) concerning the murder of H.O.’s mother-i n-law and a viola-
tion of Article 3 (prohibition of inhumane or degrading treatment) concerning the
state’s failure to protect his wife.
2 6. Osman v. U.K., 29 EHRR 245, ¶ 115 (2000).
27. Id. ¶ 115.
28. Inter-A m. Comm’n H.R. on Maria Da Penha Maia Fernandes v. Brazil, Case
12.051, Report No. 54/01, OEA/Ser.L/V/I I.111, Doc. 20 rev. (16 Apr. 2001).
29. Id. ¶¶ 55–56, 60. In response to the commission’s decision, Brazil adopted the
Maria da Penha law in 2007 that aims “to restrain domestic and family violence
against women; define the main forms of violence against women; and determine
mechanisms and measures for prevention, protection and assistance to women
experiencing violence.”
30. In 1996 and 2001, respectively.
31. Inter-A m. Ct. H.R. (ser. C) Nos. 116, 160.
32. March 9, 2007, and March 27, 2009, respectively.
Epilogue
Implications for Policy, Practice, and Future Research
M. GABRIELA TORRES AND KERSTI YLLÖ
Built on interdisciplinary, international, and intergenerational collaboration, Marital

Rape is the most comprehensive cross-cultural conceptual analysis and set of findings
on rape in marriage currently available. Further, the collection has implications for
policy and practice and raises questions for further research. Rape in marriage and
other intimate relationships, our authors’ evidence, is widespread globally, affecting
millions of women worldwide. Yet, the legal and cultural definitions and responses
to rape in marriage vary widely from culture to culture. Regardless of definitions
and context, however, rape within marriage and other intimate relationships causes
physical and emotional harm to women worldwide. Whether the harm is understood
as a criminal attack or as suffering that must be silently endured as a part of marriage,
women clearly recognize forced sex as undermining their well-being.
A central theme of this volume is that marital rape cannot be understood sim-
ply at the individual or interpersonal level. Marriage and particularly marital rape
lie at the nexus of intimate life, cultural norms and practices, and the purview of
state institutions. As a number of the chapters in this volume argue, marriage—as
an institution and interpersonal relationship—is undergoing rapid social change.
From the eclipsing of arranged marriages by companionate, love-based marriages
to the recognition of same-sex marriage, understandings of marriage are changing.
The growing emphasis on individual choice and the decline of rigid, gender-based
roles have profound implications for addressing marital rape.
This volume establishes that gender norms and inequalities are fundamental
to the experience, understanding, and regulation of marital rape across the globe.
Gender shapes intimate and institutional responses to marital rape in concrete ways.
As a number of authors have shown, many women see forced sex in marriage as
both wifely duty and inherent to being a woman. The silence, blame, and/or shame
associated with marital rape mean that few survivors of marital rape voluntarily self-
disclose. At the same time, men often assume sexual entitlements that also are sanc-
tioned by the state in much of the world. State support for male entitlements and
power in marriage—along with the subordination of women—is not simply a matter
of culture or custom, but rather it is a political practice of reifying gender hierarchies.
Our collaboration has made clear that the concepts we use to name the viola-
tion in marital rape matter. The anthropologists in this volume have drawn insight
from holistic and intimate engagements in communities, and they challenge us
2 0 0 E pilogue
to appreciate more deeply the perspectives of those who have lived forced sex in
marriage across the globe. Their work suggests that we cannot take for granted the
universality of concepts such as rape, consent, marriage, law, or the ideal of human
rights. They contend that although marital rape is not a cultural tradition, cultural
context is paramount for understanding and intervening in the practice. There is no
single solution to the problem of marital rape in a global context.
I M PL I CAT I O N S FO R P O L I CY A N D PR ACT I C E
Marital rape is a violation of human rights wherever it occurs. What this implies for
intervention is complex, however. Although women’s rights have been recognized
and incorporated into international human rights regimes, treaties, and declara-
tions, this is clearly insufficient. Similarly, the criminalization of rape in marriage
and other intimate relationships in national and state laws is necessary as an aspi-
rational statement but does not necessarily produce effective social change, par-
ticularly in different cultural contexts. The imposition of a human rights/legalistic
framework can be problematic because it is often seen as a Western individualized
construct and can, therefore, generate resistance from men and women in some
contexts. Further, criminalization must be carefully implemented because margin-
alized communities bear the brunt of police intervention cross-culturally. Despite
these problems, recognizing marital rape as a rights violation and a criminal offense
is, for us, a fundamental principle of justice.
It does not follow from this that a human rights/legalistic approach should be
the leading edge of intervention globally. As the studies in this volume document,
women who are raped by intimate partners experience rape, first and foremost, as
embodied social suffering and not as a violation of rights. Given the documented
harm (injury, disease, reproductive trauma) that marital rape causes to millions of
women globally, a holistic public health approach may be the most effective initial
intervention. Focusing on women’s physical health and social well-being, and that
of their children, is more likely to be welcome in a range of communities. Local
educational and support services linked to public health can begin to recognize and
ameliorate the impact of forced sex in marriage. Importantly, though, public health
and social service providers must be trained to deal with physical and sexual vio-
lence and to consider the ways they can challenge the reproduction gender inequity.
One of the unexplored areas of policy and practice is interventions that leverage
particular cultural contradictions. Local cultural contexts are not homogeneous
and regularly include contradictory voices and values. Community interventions
can amplify the previously silenced voices of marital rape survivors above prevailing
voices that norm gender-based violence in the idea of the “sanctity of marriage.” The
reverence for marriage can be redefined to include the health and well-being of both
partners. Further, interventions can promote local or culturally different forms of
masculinity that enable greater gender equity and shift the shame in the violation
of marital rape from women to men. For example, the Confucian value of “happy
family,” and the safeguards to the well-being of its members that this implies, could
be interpreted as a husband’s responsibility as well as a wife’s.
Finally, while the focus on marital rape is important, this volume shows that
fundamental change cannot happen simply by addressing marital rape. Marital
Epilogue: Implications for Policy, Practice, and Future Research 2 01
rape occurs in a broader context that often includes physical violence, power rela-
tions within the marriage and kin group, as well as broader social and institutional
inequalities. The gender inequity and entitlements that underlie marital rape
ultimately need to be addressed through the empowerment of women through
increased educational and employment opportunities.
F U T U R E R ES E A R C H
This volume offers the first scholarship on marital rape in a global context. Our
effort addresses important epistemological and methodological issues and opens a
new set of questions. Research into such an intimate problem in such varied cultural
contexts not only provides great opportunities for scholars but also brings with it sig-
nificant responsibilities. A full exploration of marital rape cross-culturally requires
a combination of etic and emic approaches, despite—or perhaps exactly because
of—t he tensions between the two. The emic analysis of marital rape is grounded in
the words and perspectives of research participants within particular cultures. Such
a qualitative approach provides richness and depth of understanding. Etic research,
in contrast, aims for broad generalizability and comparison across contexts (like
the World Health Organization gender-based violence study) and provides impor-
tant, largely quantitative data. Rates of assault for various nations, regions, and sub-
groups can be determined, along with the impact of variables like education and
socioeconomic status. The challenge is to bring these two approaches together—a
complex effort in which outside definitions are not simply imposed nor particular
cultural constructs simply accepted.
We see four major areas where further scholarly work is necessary if we are to
understand marital rape globally and to provide the knowledge base for more effec-
tive intervention and prevention. The issues and ideas that need to be addressed do
not fall neatly into disciplinary categories, and we see ongoing collaboration as criti-
cal to these efforts. The four areas are human rights, law, and crime; public health;
documenting marital rape globally; and theoretical development.
Human Rights, Law, and Crime
More comprehensive research and advocacy in the fields of human rights, law, and
criminal justice is needed. More detailed information about the global legal sta-
tus of marital rape and its place in human rights regimes is necessary. Specifically,
examining how these treaties and laws are enacted, implemented, and understood
in varying cultural contexts is essential. We regard conceptualizing wife rape as a
crime and a human rights issue as critically important, but this must be done by
incorporating an emic perspective. What does criminalization mean in different
contexts? How are perpetrators held accountable (or not)? Research on whether
criminal law is the most effective path to accountability or whether there are dif-
ferent avenues (such as civil law, restorative justice, customary law, or alternative
treatments) for seeking justice for marital rape victims would be most valuable.
Furthermore, accountability is an issue not only for individual perpetrators but
also for states. We need to consider ways to hold states accountable for safeguarding
2 0 2 E pilogue
their citizens, for failing this endangers so many and opens a legal pathway for asy-
lum seekers.
Public Health
We see tremendous opportunity and need for developing public health research
on the physical and emotional consequences of forced sex in marriage within the
emerging critical global health approach, which particularly highlights intersec-
tional inequalities. This people-centered perspective must be built on real engage-
ment with community members and a full acknowledgment of local barriers to
women’s well-being. Research that can advance our medical knowledge of the
injury, disease, and reproductive and emotional trauma of sexual violence, and how
it can most effectively be applied in various communities, would be of great value.
Investigations of how to best support those community members who already care
for victims can help ensure that intervention efforts are not top down and externally
imposed but collaboratively created.
Documenting Marital Rape Globally
Successful efforts to implement the legal, criminal justice, and public health
approaches to marital rape will depend on much more expansive research on the
lived experience of victims and perpetrators in a wide range of cultural contexts.
This volume presents the first steps in anthropological research in countries from
Africa to Asia to Central America; however, these just scratch the global surface.
It is essential that further research explore forced sex in intimate relationships in
far more communities and cultures around the world. How do varying kinship sys-
tems, languages, religions, and political and economic systems shape the phenome-
non of marital rape? In particular, how is consent relevant to the violation of marital
rape cross-culturally? What are the sexual assault experiences of those displaced by
conflict? We tend to assume that they are at great risk as refugees and immigrants,
but we have not explored their multiple jeopardies at the hands of husbands as well
as strangers. Further, how do globalization and rapidly changing norms and institu-
tions affect our assessments and interventions? When more detailed knowledge of
the local situation is developed, then broader comparisons that take into account
structural forces are possible. Generalizations that are grounded in evidence of the
interplay of intersectionalities drawn from many locations can better guide future
policy and practice.
Theoretical Development
The empirical issues and questions described previously are pressing. However,
they cannot adequately be addressed without further theoretical development in
this emerging field of study. There is a great deal of theoretical and analytical work
to be done to define, better explain, and apply our core concepts. Marriage, rape,
entitlement, intimacy, and consent, among others, are critical notions that are in
Epilogue: Implications for Policy, Practice, and Future Research 203
flux. Consent, increasingly a concept at the core of debates on rape, requires par-
ticular attention. We need to bring the power of collaboration to bear as we develop
our understandings and our explanations. We especially need to explore the con-
nections between and among the multiple levels we reference. How are personal
characteristics, relationship dynamics, family and kin, gendered cultural norms,
and inequitable social structures mutually reinforcing in perpetuating rape in mar-
riage? And, where are the contradictions and openings for creating social change?
Theory and research (both etic and emic) need to be incorporated and developed if
we are to shed fuller light on rape in marriage.
There is a crack, a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.

Leonard Cohen
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for Physical Assault and Rape Among Six Native American Tribes.” Journal of
Interpersonal Violence 21 (12): 1566–90.
INDEX
abductions. See robadas battering rapes, 23, 65

abortion, 164 battery, defined, 43–4 4
abuse Bergen, Raquel Kennedy, 2
use of the term, 124 Blackstone, William, 20, 178
vs. violence, 124 blaming victims, 67
Abuse Assessment Screen (AAS), 174 misplaced responsibility
Adams, David, 143 and, 70–72
adultery, men’s, 51 Boko Haram, 2
as sexual violence, 68–69 Brazil, 195–96, 198n29
affairs, threat of men’s, 130–31 bridewealth/brideprice, 44–45, 87, 88,
African Charter on Human and People’s 91–92, 100. See also lobolo/
Rights, 191 lobola/i lobolo
aggravated force, defined, 185n10 Britain, 139–41, 194–95. See also
alcohol abuse, 41, 53, 76–77, 82–83, 148, English common law; murder;
150–53, 172–73 Murder in Britain Study
anger, women’s, 135 Brownmiller, Susan, 2, 28
suppression of, 135
anthropological approach, holistic, Campbell, Jacqueline C., 25, 27
35–37, 100, 199–200 Chaudhary, Haribhai Parthibhai, 9
anthropology child rape, 96
applied to rape in marriage, 35–36 children, sexual abuse of, 132
gender-based violence 29–30 Christianity. See Pentecostal
antirape movement, 2–3 Christianity and the patriarchal
apartheid, 88–91, 95, 98 bargain
autonomy of women, 3 class
sexual, 95 and intimate partner abuse, myths
Aydin v. Turkey, 194 about, 124–25
stigma about, 136–37
battered women contrasted with marital class characteristics of victims,
rape survivors, 25 124–27
battering, 26. See also domestic violence; class myth, 124–25, 136, 137
physical violence coerced sex. See forced or coerced sex
defined, 43–4 4 coercion, sexual, 94
marital rape and, 23, 25, 27, 65, 119 defining, 64, 94
in Nigeria, 41–4 4 cohabiting. See kipiting
prevalence of, 43–4 4 Colombia, 181
2 3 4 I nde x
Confucianism, 59, 60 dowry, 92. See also bridewealth/

conjugal bargain, 49–50 brideprice; lobolo/lobola/
“conjugal rights,” 139–4 0 ilobolo
Connell, Raewyn, 49, 98, 99 Dripps, Donald, 178
consent, 95, 203 due diligence, principle of, 189
absence of consent vs. reluctance to duty. See obligation/duty
consent, 65
definitions and meanings of the term, economic dependence and economic
91, 94–96, 99, 179 abuse, 127. See also household
kinship, marriage, and the cultural economies; political economy
construction of, 31–33 emic approach, 2, 201
permanent/i rrevocable, 1, 4, 19, 20, emic concept, 14
26, 140, 158, 178 emic perspective, 5–6, 11, 201
terminology, 178 emotional abuse, 23. See also verbal
controlling behavior, 23–2 4 degradation
Convention on the Elimination of England. See Britain
All Forms of Discrimination English common law, justifications
Against Women (CEDAW), for marital rape exemption
190–93, 198n16 under, 177–79
General Comments, 191–92 entitlement to sex, men’s (sense of), 24,
criminalization of marital rape, 2, 9, 45, 65, 71, 96, 142, 143
20–22, 27–28, 140, 177, 179–81, masculinity and, 45, 51, 98–99
200. See also laws and legal issues sexual murder and, 157–59
Nigeria and, 43, 44 social support for, 134–35
in Việt Nam, 62, 64 state support for, 64, 199
cultural conceptions of domestic Ermentrout, Dania M., 25, 26
violence, changing, 62–63 Ethiopia, 180
cultural construction of consent, 31–33 ethnography, accessing culture
cultural ideologies, 59–62 through, 35
culture, 35. See also specific topics etic approach, 5, 11, 201
gender-based violence, anthropology, European Court of Human
and, 29–30 Rights, 193–94
customary law, 93
family members encouraging sexual
Danger Assessment, 174 abuse, 66
Dayak people, 31 Family Violence Act of 1993, 90–91.
Denton, Jeremiah, 21 See also Domestic Violence Act
discourse, 56–57 of 1998
divorce, 41, 70, 113–14, 126 fear
domestic violence. See also battering; of rape, 30–31, 33–3 4, 96–97
National Research on Domestic of refusing sex, 94–95
Violence Against Women in submitting out of, 67–70, 111t, 112
Turkey; physical violence Finkelhor, David, 2, 22, 23, 79, 94,
definitions of, 63, 103, 136 142, 163
in Nigeria, 41–4 4 Finland, 181
in Việt Nam, 59–63 forced marriage. See also robadas
Domestic Violence Act of 1998, 88, 90, forced or coerced sex
91. See also Family Violence Act meaning of, 31, 62, 64, 69
of 1993 use of the terms, 163, 173
I nde x 235
force-only rape, 23, 142 Igbo people, 41, 44, 45

Freedman, Estelle B., 1, 2, 13–14 ilobolo. See lobolo/lobola/i lobolo
immigrant women, 83, 167–70
Gelles, Richard, 22 immunity, legal. See marital immunity
gender-based violence. See also “implied authorization” for sexual
specific topics penetration, 178
definition and scope of the incapacitated rape, 21, 177, 180,
term, 29, 76 182, 183
Ghana, 43 India, 1–2 , 9, 142, 181
global context. See also Indonesia. See Dayak people
international law infidelity. See adultery; affairs
understanding rape in a, 1–6 Inter-A merican Commission on Human
global documentation of marital Rights, 195–96
rape, 202 international law. See also laws and
Goekce, Sahide, 192–93 legal issues
Gordon, Margaret T., 30 and a woman’s right to be free from
Great Britain. See Britain sexual violence, 188–91
Griffin, Susan, 31 interviews
Guatemala. See Ladinas in Eastern with Turkish women, 118–20
Guatemala with US women from different social
guilt, 135–36 classes, 123–2 4
class characteristics of the
Haldane, Hillary J., 36 women, 124–27
Hale, Matthew, 1, 20, 139–4 0, 178 findings, 127–38
Hale’s dictum, 20 research methods, 124
Han, Clara, 11 intimate partner, defined, 103
Hà Nội, researching marital intimate partner sexual murders
sexual violence/domestic (IPSexMs), 143–47, 158–59.
violence in, 56 See also murder; murderers
healthcare system, 69 of women
assessment in the, 173–74 comparison of IPM and, 149, 157
health consequences of marital importance of type of
rape, 163–67. See also relationship, 147
public health the murder event, 148–49
health outcomes reasons for sexual violence in
in context, 167 the murder of intimate
physical and sexual partner partner, 157–58
violence and, 114–16 vs. sex murders of acquaintances,
Heise, Lori, 4, 10 151, 158
HIV/A IDS, 3 context of, 149–51
HIV/A IDS risk, 165–66, 166f intimate partner sexual violence
homicide risk, 167. See also murder (IPSV), 123–2 4. See also
honor, 168 marital rape/i ntimate
household economies, sex, and partner rape
violence, 33–3 4 definitions and conceptions of,
Huli people, 33–3 4 23, 68–69
human rights, 28, 187–89, 196–97. prevalence of, 58–59, 107, 108t, 109,
See also specific topics 109f, 110f, 111t, 112–13, 113f,
crime, law, and, 201–2 141, 187–88
2 3 6 I nde x
intimate partner sexual violence history of, 91–93

(IPSV) (Cont.) meanings of, 92, 100n1
research findings regarding, 141–43 love and marriage, 44–48
terminology, 4, 124
Istanbul Convention, 196 Macy, Rebecca J., 25, 26
“makeup” sex, 23, 143
Jackson, Aubrey L., 21, 27–28 “making up,” 142
jealousy, delusional, 130 marginalization, 98
Johns, Natalie B., 25, 26 Maria da Penha Maia Fernandes v. Brazil,
195–96, 198n29
Kelly, Liz, 24, 123–2 4, 127 marital immunity
kinship, marriage, and the cultural around the world, 180–82
construction of consent, 31–33 for lesser penetrative offenses, 180
kipiting (cohabiting), 87, 97 in United States, 177, 180
KwaZulu-Natal Province, 94. See also marital rape exemption
Zulu people justifications under English common
law for the, 177–79
Ladinas in Eastern Guatemala in United States, 179–80
normalizing suffering, robadas, marital rape/i ntimate partner rape,
coercive power, and marital 132–3 4. See also specific topics
unions among, 75–85 attitudes toward stranger and
Latin American immigrants, 168, 169 acquaintance rape vs. attitudes
laws and legal issues, 22, 27–28, 177. See toward, 1
also criminalization of marital concepts and conceptualizations of,
rape; rape: definitions and 4–5, 9–12, 20, 24, 32, 33, 35, 42,
defining of the term 45, 55, 62–65, 68, 69, 75, 95, 163,
in Britain, 139–41 181, 201
international law and a woman’s as form of gender-based
right to be free from sexual violence, 30
violence, 188–91 legal, 100, 178
legal history of marital rape, 20–21 politics of studying the changing
marital rape exemption, 177–80 concept of marital rape, 13–15
neutrality on marital status in sexual in South Africa, 89, 100
offenses, 181–83 concepts related to, 202–3
original purpose of rape laws, 20 consequences of, 24–25
regional innovations, 193–96 considered to be an oxymoron, 1, 10,
in South Africa, 88–91, 95–96 19, 20, 23, 42, 45, 51, 83, 96, 178
in Việt Nam, 62, 64, 71, 72 currents bringing it into public focus
Lebanon, 180–81 globally, 2–3
legal immunity. See marital immunity debates related to, 5–6
legal unity, principle of, 20 fear of false accusations of, 21
legislation. See laws and legal issues and the future, 26–28, 201–3
lesbian relationships, sexual implications for policy and practice,
violence in, 26 200–201
license to rape, marriage as, 9, 19 is not a “marital tiff,” 22–2 4
License to Rape: The Sexual Abuse of jokes about, 19
Wives (Finkelhor and Yllö), 2, 22 justifications for, 9–11, 44–45, 61, 83,
lobolo/lobola/i lobolo, 87– 89, 96–100 168, 178
cohabitation/ukukipita and, 93–94 in marginalized groups, 167–73
I nde x 237
number of rapes experienced by relationships with women, 153–54

victims of, 24, 187 sexual and physical violence
prevalence of, 14, 44, 111t, 112, 123, against previous intimate
132, 141, 187–88 partners, 154–55
psychological effects of, 24–25, violence and criminal
135–36, 183 behavior, 154
terminology, 4, 64, 105–6, 124 types of men who murder
theoretical development in the study women, 145–4 6
of, 202–3 Murder in Britain Study (Murder
writings on, 2, 22 Study), 139, 144–48,
marital sexual violence. See intimate 150, 156–59
partner sexual violence;
marital rape National Research on Domestic
marriage. See also entitlement to sex; Violence Against Women in
License to Rape; robadas Turkey, 104, 120–21
husband and wife as one person under findings of, 120–21
the law, 20 acts of sexual violence by
as license to rape, 9, 19 husbands, 112
as malleable term, 2 physical and sexual partner
rape and, 2, 12–13 violence and health
as right of passage, 92 outcomes, 114–16
used to exonerate sexual violators, 79 physical and sexual partner
Married Women’s Property Act of violence by marital
1885, 140 status, 112–14
masculinity. See also entitlement to sex physical and sexual violence by
hegemonic, 49, 98 husbands, 107, 108t, 109, 109f,
performance of, 48–51 110f, 111t, 112
“struggle” vs. “street,” 98–99 women sharing the violence
mental health associations, 166–67 experienced with their social
Merry, Sally Engle, 10, 43, 53–54 network, 116, 117f, 118
“middle class,” use of the term, 125 women talking about sexual
modeling, 98–99, 101n9 violence in interviews, 118–20
Mpophomeni, South Africa, 87–92, methodology of, 104
96–97, 99, 100 measuring violence, 105–7
murder, sexual, 144, 158–59, 167. qualitative component,
See also intimate partner 107, 118–20
sexual murders; Murder in quantitative component, 104–5
Britain Study Native American women, 171–73
of women intimate partners in Nepal, 181–82
Britain, 139 neutrality on marital status in sexual
knowledge related to, 141–43 offenses, 181–83
sociocultural context of, 139–41 Nigeria, 53–54
murderers of women, 158–59, 167 domestic violence and marital rape
life course of perpetrators in, 41–4 4
adulthood, 153 love, marriage, and rape in, 44–48
changing violent men, 156 Pentecostal Christianity and the
childhood, 151–53 patriarchal bargain in, 51–53
murderers’ perspectives in the performance of masculinity
prison, 155 in, 48–51
2 3 8 I nde x
Nigerian Criminal Code, 43 definitions and defining of the term, 1,

nongovernmental organizations 10, 13–14, 30–31, 88, 91, 95–96,
(NGOs), 43, 71–72 100, 177–78
that exclude marital rape, 20, 23,
Obiechina, Emmanuel, 45 43, 64, 83, 178
obligation/duty, 94 distinctions between forced sex and,
sex as wife’s, 24 65, 88, 100
obsessive rape, 142 fear of, 30–31, 33–3 4, 96–97
Okonkwo, C. O., 44 naming and not naming, 23–2 4, 27,
One Love Light (app), 174 64–65, 84, 85, 134–37, 187
Opuz v. Turkey, 194, 198n25 prevalence of, 187
Osman v. United Kingdom, 194–95 “real,” 1, 10, 65
terminology, 105–6, 137, 163, 173
Papua New Guinea. See Huli people rape crisis movement, 140
Parkin, Robert, 32 Rape in Marriage (Russell), 2, 20, 22.
patriarchal bargain, 49–53 See also Russell, Diana E. H.
Pentecostal Christianity and the rape myths, 96, 124–25. See also
patriarchal bargain, 51–53 class myth
physical violence, 124. See also battering; reconciliation approach, 72
intimate partner sexual refusing sex, 61, 87, 141, 168
murders; murder fear of, 94–95
prevalence of, 104, 107, 108t, 109, reproduction, 34
109f, 110f, 112–13 reproductive abuse, 131–32
sex following, 143 reproductive coercion, 164
sexual violence and, 142, 143 research on marital rape/i ntimate
Pistorius, Oscar “Bladerunner,” partner rape, 124. See also
89–90, 100n2 National Research on Domestic
political economy, situating inequality Violence Against Women in
via, 35–36 Turkey; specific topics
pornography, 132 early, 21–22
defined, 133–3 4 future, 201–3
posttraumatic stress disorder in Hà Nội, 56
(PTSD), 166–67 Rideout, John, 21
power, gender, and rape, 30–31 Riger, Stephanie, 30
pregnancy coercion, 131 robadas (women stolen into marriage),
prison rape, 196 75, 79–85
property, women as, 1, 20–21, 78, 79, 179 Robertson, A. F., 33, 34
property crime, rape as a, 2, 20, 178 Russell, Diana E. H., 2, 20, 22, 23, 25, 27,
property rights, 179 142, 183
prostitution, 33
psychological abuse. See emotional Şahide Goekce (deceased)
abuse; verbal degradation v. Austria, 192–93
public health, 202 Sahlins, Marshall, 32
public health problem, marital rape Sanday, Peggy, 13
as, 25–2 6 sex, men withholding, 68, 69
sex murder. See murder, sexual
race, stigma about, 136–37 sexual abuse, 124
rape of children, 96, 132
I nde x 239
a continuum of, 123–2 4, 127–28, Turkey, 103–4, 118–20, 194, 198n25.

133–3 4, 138 See also National Research on
defining, 64, 124 Domestic Violence Against
sexual entitlement. See entitlement to sex Women in Turkey
sexual murder. See murder, sexual Turshen, Meredith, 89
Sexual Offender Treatment Programs
(SOTPs), 156 ukukipita (cohabiting). See kipiting
Sexual Offenses Act of 2007, 91, 95–96 unconscious rape. See incapacitated rape
sexual property. See property United Nations (UN) Declaration on
sexual violence, defined, 30, 63, 124 Elimination of Violence Against
shame, 135–36, 168 Women (DEVAW), 63, 76,
Singapore, 181 103, 190
social class. See class universal risk myth, 124–25
South Africa, 87–90, 142. See also unlawful intercourse, 178
lobolo/lobola/i lobolo
apartheid in, 88–91, 95, 98 verbal degradation, 128–30
cohabitation/ukukipita and ilobolo “victim,” 137
in, 93–94 who is and isn’t considered a, 137
history of ilobolo and lobola practices victims/survivors
in, 91–93 how best to assist, 27
law and social change in, 99–100 reluctance to disclose having been
laws addressing marital rape in, raped, 27
90–91, 181 reluctant to define/acknowledge/
marital rape and forms of identify their experience as rape,
coercion, consent, and 24, 27, 64–65, 84
acquiescence, 94–98 sharing/talking about their
marriage practices and decline of experience, 27, 116, 117f,
marriage in, 93 118–20
Mpophomeni, 87–92, 96–97, 99, 100 submitting out of fear or to avoid
postapartheid, 88, 89, 91–93, conflict, 67–70, 111t, 112
95, 98, 99 terminology, 137
role of masculinity, entitlement, who do not define/acknowledge/
and sexual consent in, 98–99 identify their experience as rape,
stalking, 83, 171, 172 23, 24, 85, 187
Stark, Evan, 23 Việt Nam, 55–56
state of mind argument, 95 changing cultural conceptions of
stigmas about class and race, 136–37 domestic violence in, 62–63
Stone, Linda, 32 confusion and lack of clarity in, 63–69
“street masculinity,” 98–99 domestic violence, marital sexual
structural vulnerability, 56–57 violence, cultural ideologies, and
“struggle masculinity,” 98–99 the state in, 59–62
suicide, attempted, 115f, 115–16 illness, poverty, and institutional
“survivor,” 137. See also victims/survivors insufficiency in, 69–70
marital sexual violence in
threat, rape preceded by physical, 142 scope of, 58–59
Torres, Gabriela, 2 structural vulnerability and, 56–57
torture, defined, 189, 197n6 study of, 57–58
“traditional” law, 93 misplaced responsibility in, 70–72
2 4 0 I nde x
Vietnam Women’s Union, 59, 70, “Wife Rape: A Social Problem for the
71, 73n3 21st Century” (Yllö), 2
violence (against women) Wilson, Bob, 19
vs. abuse, 124
definitions of, 63, 103 Xaba, Thokozani, 98
measuring, 105–7
what counts as, 44 Yllö, Kersti, 22, 23, 79, 94, 142, 163
Wardlow, Holly, 12, 33, 34 Zulu people, 88, 90, 96–99, 100n5. See
Wies, Jennifer R., 36 also KwaZulu-Natal Province

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Marital Rape

Interpersonal Violence Series

Parenting by Men Who Batter: New Directions for Assessment and Intervention

Coercive Control: How Men Entrap Women in Personal Life

Childhood Victimization: Violence, Crime, and Abuse in the Lives of Young People

Restorative Justice and Violence Against Women

Familicidal Hearts: The Emotional Styles of 211 Killers

Violence in Context: Current Evidence on Risk, Protection, and Prevention

Poverty, Battered Women, and Work in U.S. Public Policy

Child Victims and Restorative Justice: A Needs-​R ights Model

Battered Women’s Protective Strategies

When Men Murder Women

Comparative Perspectives on Gender Violence: Lessons From Efforts Worldwide

Marital Rape: Consent, Marriage, and Social Change in Global Context

EDITED BY KERSTI YLLÖ

Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press

© Oxford University Press 2016

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in

You must not circulate this work in any other form

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

For Sam, Ben, and Patrick (G.T.)

Prologue: Understanding Marital Rape in Global Context 1

SECTION I Conceptualizing the Problem of Marital Rape

SECTION II The Lived Experience of Rape in Marriage in

8. Marital Sexual Violence in Turkey 103

SECTION III Public Health, Legal, and Human Rights Perspectives

Epilogue: Implications for Policy, Practice, and Future Research 199

Legal References 205

Jocelyn Anderson, Monica McWilliams,

Michelle J. Anderson, Cecilia Menjívar,

Veronica Barcelona de Mendoza, Fionnuala Ní Aoláin,

AAS Abuse Assessment Screen

Rape is a controversial concept. We can define rape simply—​as forced, noncon-

in marital rape in contexts where an emphasis on women’s autonomy would gener-

This volume grows out of an important collaboration that is international, interdis-

Reconciling Cultural Difference

The criminalization of rape in marriage is simply not possible according to the

Even though most states do not regularly employ gender-​based violence as

in the definition, monitoring, and sanctioning of appropriate conduct. The state’s

An Overview of Marital Rape

L EG A L H I STO RY O F M A R I TA L R A PE

In addition to addressing and drawing attention to this serious and widespread

understandable that the psychological consequences are often severe (Kilpatrick

JENNIFER R. WIES AND HILLARY J. HALDANE

Anthropology has a long-​standing history examining violence in a cross-​cultural

To show power and anger through rape—​ a s opposed to mugging or

In Western feminist research, advocacy, and activism, rape is often constructed

a gendered form of violence—​is often experienced in the West in conjunction with

To situate rape, consent, and what constitutes marriage in a cross-​cultural per-

anthropological literature on kinship and related notions of what constitutes an

Kinship obviously involves relationships, which in the Western, quasi-​scien-

As a social construction and a biological fact, kinship helps us understand how

The cross-​c ultural context of kinship and marriage provides an additional

Conceptualizing rape in marriage as a product of and contextualized by kinship

Because female sexuality is conceptualized as a resource produced by and for a

In other words, a woman’s vagina is not merely an individual’s genitalia. It is the

The threat of rape looms large in the everyday consciousness of Huli

The anthropology of gender-​based violence provides a foundation for defining,

Accessing Culture Through Ethnography

By 1990, when anthropologists centered “violence” in intimate relationships as wor-

Situating Inequality via Political Economy

Wolf 2001). Anthropological studies of violence that incorporate an explicit politi-

By approaching gender-​based violence from a political-​economic perspec-

Child Victims and Restorative Justice: A Needs-R ights Model

Rape is a controversial concept. We can define rape simply—as forced, noncon-

Even though most states do not regularly employ gender-based violence as

Anthropology has a long-standing history examining violence in a cross-cultural

To show power and anger through rape— a s opposed to mugging or

a gendered form of violence—is often experienced in the West in conjunction with

To situate rape, consent, and what constitutes marriage in a cross-cultural per-

Kinship obviously involves relationships, which in the Western, quasi-scien-

The cross-c ultural context of kinship and marriage provides an additional

The anthropology of gender-based violence provides a foundation for defining,

By approaching gender-based violence from a political-economic perspec-

Domestic violence— i ncluding sexual violence— against women is a global

violence in the previous sections are percentages calculated based on ever-married

Figure 8.5 Percentage of ever-married women reporting their general health condition

Figure 8.6 Percentage of ever-married women reporting to have ever attempted suicide

Figure 8.7 Percentage of ever-married women who told about physical or sexual

The interviews conducted with women, men, and mothers/mothers-in-law revealed

An unmarried white woman from a working-class community explained:

Even women from working-class communities wanted to distance themselves