ANNOUNCEMENT: NEW EDITORS

 15 December 2024

Dear Feminism & Psychology community

It is with great pleasure that I introduce you to the new editors of Feminism & Psychology. From January 2025, Feminism & Psychology editorial processes will be overseen by Professor Tracy Morison as editor-in-chief. Tracy is an Associate Professor in the Critical Health Psychology Programme at Massey University, Aotearoa/New Zealand. She has a wealth of publishing and editing experience, and has contributed significantly to feminist and critical theories, alongside in-depth qualitative methodologies. She is well acquainted with F&P processes and approach, having worked as editor for the past three years and as book reviews editor before that. Tracy will be joined by Professor Floretta Boonzaier in editor capacity. Floretta is a Professor in Psychology at the University of Cape Town, South Africa, and Co-Director of the Hub for Decolonial Feminist Psychologies in Africa. She works in feminist, critical, social and decolonial psychologies, with special interests in intersectional subjectivities, participatory methodologies and gender-based violence. Welcome on board, Tracy and Floretta!

Tracy and Floretta will make further announcements in due course regarding associate editors and the editorial board. These announcements will be in line with the usual term-based review and appointment processes.

I have thoroughly enjoyed the 12 years that I spent as editor-in-chief of the journal. It is an extraordinary privilege to work with authors, reviewers and an editorial board who are passionate about the aims of the journal, and to learn from colleagues from around the globe. I am grateful for the support provided by the SAGE office, our associate editors (Ngaire Donaghue; Maria Gurevich; Jeanne Marecek; Lorrie Radtke; Annadís Greta Rúdólfsdóttir; Sarah Riley; Ingrid Palmary; Kopano Ratele; Eva Magnusson), our book reviews editors (Stephanie Taylor; Sue Jackson; Tracy Morison; Jabulile Mavuso; Sudarshan Kottai), our editorial assistants (Lindsay Kelland; Jabulile Mavuso; Pedro Pinto; Ryan du Toit, Sibongile Matebese; Megan Reuvers; Megaera Jones), and our consulting editorial board. A special thanks goes to my co-editors – Jeanne Marecek, Rose Capdevila, Tracy Morison, Rebecca Lawthom – for their dedication to rigorous and supportive editorial processes, and for being wonderful colleagues.

Feminism & Psychology holds a special place for the publication of ground-breaking feminist work in and around psychologies, enabled by the founding collective led by Sue Wilkinson and carried on by Nicola Gavey and Virginia Braun as editors prior to my, Jeanne, Rose, Tracy and Rebecca’s terms. The possibilities and challenges of Feminism & Psychology are aptly captured in our 30th anniversary editorial, and I shall not repeat them here. Suffice to say that the journal represents a very rich space of feminist scholarship.

I encourage you to continue to contribute to the journal in whatever way suits you (submitting papers; reviewing; offering to be on the editorial board; prescribing papers to students; engaging with our special issues or virtual special issues; proposing special issues, submitting blogs). The strength of the journal lies in the many contributions (seen and unseen) by the community of feminist scholars around the globe. Warm thanks to this wonderful community!

Best wishes,

Catriona Macleod

Postfeminism in prison: Women correctional officer’s accounts of gendered appearance at work

 

In contemporary culture where neoliberal principles of individualism, choice and free-market systems operate on the individual, looking attractive has renewed relevance for women. Dominant social discourses construct the expectation that women should maintain a heteronormatively attractive, or sexy, appearance (Elias et al, 2017; Gill, 2007). This body focus has both intensified and extended over the last decade, encompassing more social contexts (for example, pregnancy) and scrutinising more bodily areas (as I write, dermaplaning is trending, although Elias et al. in 2017 use examples like the ‘thigh gap’, and ‘tech neck’). Individual work, self-surveillance, and consumerism are constructed as necessary to achieve these heteronormative attractiveness standards, so that women’s bodies become centrally situated in achieving a sense of success and identity (Riley et al, 2017). Gill (2007) connects these shifts to how a postfeminist sensibility shapes women’s meaning making of gender and appearance.

But what happens for women when these culturally ingrained postfeminist beauty expectations meet an environment where women are socially penalised for having an attractive or traditionally feminine appearance?

Early research into prison work identified that women constantly battle gender stereotypes which construct all women, but particularly feminine appearing women, as incapable, and a risk when working with male prisoners (Jurik, 1988). Indeed, despite Australia’s long penal history, women have only been allowed to work in male prisons since the 1970s (O’Toole, 2006). More recent research found that women prison workers use strategies to manage their marginalisation such as crafting their looks to reduce markers of femininity within their appearance, and behaving in ways understood to be masculine (Burdett et al, 2018; Ricciardelli & McKendy, 2020).

I myself had experienced these prejudices, after stepping into an Australian men’s prison for the first time as a 24-year-old cis-gendered woman commencing her career in prison work. I had always worn two layers of mascara to leave the house, but was it worth the risk of colleagues assuming I was trying to flirt with the prisoners or with them? Would my mascara prevent me being taken seriously?

Many years later, Professor Sarah Riley, Professor Christine Stephens, Dr Alice Beban, and I (all of Massey University, Aotearoa New Zealand) examined the discourses used by women working in Australian men’s prisons to make sense of their appearance, the implications of contradictory postfeminist and prison expectations for women’s sense of self, and how women prison workers enacted agency.

We used a cooperative inquiry method, which is a form of participatory action research involving co-learning with a small group of others in cycles of action and reflection, over an issue of mutual concern (Riley & Reason, 2024). Sixteen women between the ages of 25 to 60 took part, across four inquiry groups and six different high security correctional centres. Each group met five to six times, engaging in actions within their workplaces (for example, changing something about their appearance) which were then discussed during meetings. Distinctions between researchers and participants are collapsed in cooperative inquiry, and as a fellow woman working in prisons, I both facilitated and engaged in the inquiry. With permission from the participants, we used the data from these groups to complete a Foucauldian informed thematic analysis.

When asking how women made sense of their appearance and identity in prison work, we identified three overarching patterns of talk. The first was a ‘look good, feel good, be good’ discourse, where female prison workers of all age groups linked beauty work to personal confidence and professional ability. The women not only engaged in beauty work to feel more confident while at work, but paid careful attention to their uniformed appearance, including neat hairstyles, polished boots, and ironing. Here, postfeminist imperatives to look attractive were complemented by organisational discourses to appear ‘sharp’ while in their para-military uniforms.

Most often however, postfeminist and organisational discourses clashed. To negotiate conflicting postfeminist and prison appearance expectations, in the second pattern of talk, participants linked their beauty practices to their identity, drawing on postfeminist constructions of beauty work as choiceful and pleasurable. Again, this pattern of talk occurred across participants of all ages. This enabled participants to discursively legitimise their continued beauty work within an environment where it is often seen as problematic.

In the third pattern of talk, participants further negotiated conflicting postfeminist and prison appearance expectations through a ‘look good, but not too good’ argument, which allowed them to engage in some elements of beauty work (for example, “neutral” makeup), so long as they also engaged in extensive monitoring of their appearance and body language to avoid looking overly attractive or sexy. Younger women, whose age connected them more to sexualising discourses, were particularly careful to regulate their appearance in this way.

The power of postfeminist discourses is particularly notable in this prison workplace, where normative beauty standards remained a priority to participants despite conflicting occupational discourses that devalued all types of femininity. Although the participants’ accounts were heavily shaped by social and organisational discourses, our findings demonstrated that agency can be enacted within existing power structures. Participants drew on available discursive resources to find strategies which helped them to succeed. Despite the individualised nature of these strategies, we found that women’s presence in men’s prisons and motivation to succeed represents a level of resistance to status quo. Although this article has focussed on discursive restraints for female prison workers, our work opens the door to examine further possibilities for wider, structural forms of resistance.

References

Burdett, F., Gouliquer, L., & Poulin, C. (2018). Culture of corrections: The experiences of women correctional officers. Feminist Criminology, 13(3), 329–349. https://doi.org/10.1177/1557085118767974

Elias, A. S., Gill, R., & Scharff, C. (2017). Aesthetic labour: Beauty politics in neoliberalism. In A. S. Elias, R. Gill, & C. Scharff (Eds.), Aesthetic labour: Rethinking beauty politics in neoliberalism (pp. 167–181). Palgrave Macmillan UK. https://doi.org/10.1057/978-1-137-47765-1

Gill, R. (2007). Postfeminist media culture: Elements of a sensibility. European Journal of Cultural Studies, 10(2), 147–166. https://doi.org/10.1177/1367549407075898

Jurik, N. C. (1988). Striking a balance: Female correctional officers, gender role stereotypes, and male prisons. Sociological Inquiry, 58(3), 291–305. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1475-682X.1988.tb01063.x

O’Toole, S. (2006). The history of Australian corrections. UNSW Press.

Ricciardelli, R., & McKendy, L. (2020). Gender and prison work: The experience of female provincial correctional officers in Canada. The Prison Journal, 100(5), 617–639. https://doi.org/10.1177/0032885520956394

Riley, S., Evans, A., Elliott, S., Rice, C., & Marecek, J. (2017). A critical review of postfeminist sensibility. Social and Personality Psychology Compass, 11(12), e12367. https://doi.org/10.1111/spc3.12367

Riley, S., & Reason, P. (2024). Cooperative inquiry: An action research practice. In J. Smith (Ed.), Qualitative psychology: A practical guide to research methods (4th ed., pp. 168–292). SAGE Publications Ltd.

 Author bio:

Claudia Walker is completing her doctoral studies in psychology at Massey University. She currently works within the corrective services field, with almost ten years’ experience spanning both men’s and women’s prisons. Her research explores the gendered experiences of correctional officers, including security staff and specialists, through action research methods.

Please find the online F&P manuscript on which this blog was based: "Postfeminism in prison: A discourse analysis of women correctional officers’ accounts of gendered appearance at work" by Walker et al. 2024

Listening to trans and non-binary young adults reflect on their experiences at single-sex schools

By Lauren Donaldson 

As part of my MSc in Counselling Children and Young People, I conducted research into the experiences of trans and non-binary students at single-sex schools. Participants were living in the UK at the time of the research, and all but one had attended a single-sex school in the UK. One participant had been educated in Iran until the age of 16, when they moved to the UK. I carried out this research as a cisgender, heterosexual, white, non-disabled woman. Hugely conscious of my privileged positioning, I followed trans-sensitive research principles, including a two-phase research approach. In phase one, I worked with three trans participants to decide on the format of data collection (they suggested offering participants a choice between an online individual interview and an online focus group) and the questions that should be asked. In phase two, six trans and non-binary participants aged 18-25 shared their experiences through online individual interviews and an online focus group. Two trans men and two non-binary individuals reflected on their experiences at all-girls schools, and two trans women reflected on their experiences at all-boys schools. Feminist Relational Discourse Analysis (Thompson et al., 2018) was used to explore the structures of power and constructs of normativity that existed in the participants’ single-sex schools, and understand how they related to these in both positive and negative ways.

Previous research (Bower-Brown et al., 2021; Davy & Cordoba, 2020; Frohard-Dourlent, 2018; Jones et al., 2016; Mackie et al., 2023a; Mackie et al., 2023b; Schmitt, 2022) had found that trans and non-binary students are amongst the most marginalised and vulnerable in schools, yet within this research, the voices of trans and non-binary students in single-sex schools specifically had rarely been heard. The research highlighted a need for a greater understanding of the lived experiences of trans and non-binary students and for more supportive environments in schools. I therefore hoped my research would contribute to a deeper understanding and help counsellors facilitate more supportive environments for trans and non-binary students in the single-sex schools that they work in.

The experiences shared by the participants in my research revealed how non-normative gender identities can be both regulated by and challenge the curricula, teaching staff and other students in single-sex schools, which all act to silence nonconformity and construct an acceptable truth of cisheteronormativity. Teachers hold the power to determine who belongs and how one expresses one’s gender identity, yet the power to educate others or enact change tends to be held by the trans and non-binary students themselves, all at a cost to their mental health. There were particular discursive realms that these participants had to navigate as trans and non-binary students at single-sex schools; Personal, Social, Health, and Economic education structured around biological essentialism, being held to normative standards of gender expression, and a sense of not belonging and feeling invalidated. For the participants who had attended all-boys schools, navigating cisheteronormativity was particularly limiting and risky, reflective of wider societal problems of transmisogyny. 

My research was always so much more than just a part of my degree. I felt deeply indebted to the trans and non-binary young adults who had allowed a cisgender researcher into their lives and I want their voices heard as widely as possible. I was therefore delighted to win the Feminism & Psychology and BPS POWES Postgraduate Award for a paper I had written based on my dissertation, and to present the paper at the POWES 2024 Conference in July. Underlain by feminist principles, my research aimed to explore power relations, empower marginalised voices and use these stories to enact change. Feminist Relational Discourse Analysis, including through the use of I poems, played a key role on this.

I conducted the interviews and focus groups for my research as the UK’s Conservative Government was preparing guidance for schools in England on “gender questioning children” in 2023. Elements of this guidance had been leaked and participants reflected on it during the individual interviews and focus group.  In December 2023, the draft non-statutory guidance was published and a public consultation was opened for three months. I contributed to this consultation, sharing the experiences of my participants, anonymised and with their permission, in my response. In May 2024, the Conservative government published draft statutory guidance on Relationships, Sex and Health Education, which was open for consultation for two months. Again, I contributed to this consultation, sharing the experiences of my participants, anonymised and with their permission, in my response.

The outcomes of these consultations have yet to be shared by the new Labour government. However, Keeping Children Safe in Education 2024, the government’s statutory guidance on safeguarding children and safer recruitment, which is updated each academic year, leans heavily on the Conservative’s draft ‘Guidance for Schools and Colleges: Gender Questioning Children’. Keeping Children Safe in Education 2024 also references the Cass Review Report, which has been criticised by many LGBT+ experts, support groups and organisations and in July, the British Medical Association even “call[ed] for a pause to the implementation of the Cass Review’s recommendations whilst the task and finish group carries out its work” (British Medical Association, 2024). Trans and Non-Binary Education has written to the DfE regarding these concerns but have yet to receive a response.

Coming from a central place of power in the UK, each one of these pieces of guidance can be viewed as discursive practices aiming to sustain the ability of educational institutions, including single-sex schools, to maintain a unilateral development trajectory for their students. Any agency that children and young people have around self-determination and gender identity is removed. Through the use of language such as “gender questioning children”,  “gender identity ideology” and “contested belief”, each piece of guidance furthers the discursive erasure of transgender children and upholds a cisgenderist discourse.

Counter to this, my research called for trans and non-binary students in single-sex schools to be accepted, have their feelings validated, and be proactively supported through inclusive policies. I suggested that counsellors working in single-sex schools are well positioned to facilitate this. I concluded my research with the words of an 18-year old trans man who had attended an all-girls school since he was 11. He said, “having someone to just listen to you and validate you is just so important”. I would urge anyone reading this blog to listen to the voices of trans and non-binary youth and join them in their advocacy. To learn from a group of young trans people fighting for the rights of young trans people, please visit https://transkidsdeservebetter.org/.

References

Bower-Brown, S., Zadeh, S., & Jadva, V. (2021). Binary-trans, nonbinary and gender-questioning adolescents’ experiences in UK schools. Journal of LGBT Youth, https://doi.org/10.1080/19361653.2021.1873215

British Medical Association. (2024, July 31). BMA to undertake an evaluation of the Cass Review on gender identity services for children and young people. https://www.bma.org.uk/bma-media-centre/bma-to-undertake-an-evaluation-of-the-cass-review-on-gender-identity-services-for-children-and-young-people

Davy, Z., & Cordoba, S. (2020). School Cultures and Trans and Gender-diverse Children: Parents' Perspectives. Journal of GLBT Family Studies, 16(4), 349-367. https://doi.org/10.1080/1550428X.2019.1647810

Frohard-Dourlent, H. (2018). “The student drives the car, right?”: trans students and narratives of decision-making in schools. Sex Education, 18(4), 328–344. https://doi.org/10.1080/14681811.2017.1393745

Jones, T., Smith, E., Ward, R.,  Dixon, J., Hillier, L., & Mitchell A. (2016). School experiences of transgender and gender diverse students in Australia. Sex Education, 16(2), 156-171. https://doi.org/10.1080/14681811.2015.1080678

Mackie, G., Lambert, K., & Patlamazoglou, L. (2023a). The experiences of psychologists working with transgender young people in school counselling: an Australian sample. Counselling Psychology Quarterly, 36(1), 1–24. https://doi.org/10.1080/09515070.2021.2001313

Mackie, G., Patlamazoglou, L., & Lambert, K. (2023b). The experiences of Australian transgender young people in school counseling: An interpretative phenomenological analysis. Psychology of Sexual Orientation and Gender Diversity, 10(2), 337–349. https://doi.org/10.1037/sgd0000544

Schmitt, I. (2022). Transgressing purity: Intersectional negotiations of gender identity in Swedish schools. Journal of LGBT Youth. https://doi.org/10.1080/19361653.2022.2103609

Thompson, L. Rickett, B., & Day, K. (2018). Feminist Relational Discourse Analysis: putting the personal in the political in feminist research. Qualitative Research in Psychology, 15(1), 93–115. https://doi.org/10.1080/14780887.2017.1393586

About the author:

Lauren Donaldson (she/her) is a Counsellor for Children and Young People. She completed her MSc in Counselling Children and Young People at the University of Northampton in the UK, and works as a counsellor in primary and secondary schools in southeast England.

 

Addressing power and context in “contested” chronic illness: Encounters between critical feminist psychologies and disability

By Joanne Hunt

My interest in critical feminist psychologies has arisen from living with a longstanding diagnosis of myalgic encephalomyelitis/chronic fatigue syndrome (ME/CFS) and working with people with the condition in psychological settings. At the same time, I am aware of historically dominant constructions of ME/CFS implicated in intersectional oppressions. Though I term these constructions “historical," they not only persist but are central to an ever-expanding social narrative of  "undeserving" forms of impairment and disability.

In the UK, where I live, the National Health Service (NHS) continues to classify ME/CFS among "medically unexplained symptoms”. This psy-manufactured construct perpetuates the view that ME/CFS is rooted in maladaptive individual psychology and requires correction through individualistic psychosocial interventions (typically cognitive-behavioural). This social narrative continues despite health bodies in the UK and beyond removing recommendations of psychological interventions as clinical treatments for ME/CFS owing to lacking evidence and a multitude of reported harm.

To date, mainstream critique of the psycho-pathologisation of ME/CFS and "medically unexplained symptoms" has understandably focused on paradigmatic conflicts between a (preferred) biomedical and (heavily critiqued) biopsychosocial model. Biomedical proponents argue that social misrepresentation and medical neglect of ME/CFS is driven mainly by bad science. They promote greater allegiance to the (Western) scientific method as a route to emancipation from (bio)psychosocial dominance.

While hegemonic science is important in this arena (e.g., for developing pharmacological interventions that can improve quality of life), there is a risk of minimising the bigger picture, including (1) how power differentials, cultural representations, and socio-political context also impact health and life outcomes, and (2) how other epistemologies can offer valuable pathways to knowledge production and social change.

In contrast, critical feminist theory engages deeply with questions of power and context: how power is deployed, by whom, in whose interests, and with what impact. Moreover, feminist praxis is unapologetically partisan, committed to challenging oppressive power relations and promoting social change. ME/CFS could undoubtedly benefit from psychologically supportive approaches that integrate a feminist ethos. The diagnosis has long occupied a site of scientific, corporate, (bio)political and intersectionally oppressive powerplays, with these powerplays reproduced in clinical encounters.

Moreover, critical feminist psychology’s indictment of how hegemonic Psy individualises, responsibilises, de-politicises, and commodifies suffering in complicity with neoliberal capitalism is highly pertinent to ME/CFS and conditions classified as medically unexplained. Disabled scholar-activists have produced a considerable body of literature locating the marginalisation of many such conditions within a network of interests of a neoliberal-capitalist mode of production and austerity politics. Drawing on such epistemic labours, I have elsewhere suggested that Psy's central role in the apparatus of power relations implicated in this biopolitical project gives rise to a psy-corporate-state complex.

Surely, there are benefits to integrating critical feminist thinking into psychological praxis in this arena. However, feminism has historically struggled to integrate disability as a category of analysis. This lapse is highly pertinent, since ME/CFS and “medically unexplained” conditions represent prime disability rights issues, and are haunted by intersectional power/knowledge hierarchies that position disabled people as Other.  

In this regard, feminist disability studies has much to offer. The field arose from disabled women's and allied scholars' collective recognition that marginally situated knowledges and experiences were being sidelined, both by the (predominantly non-disabled) women's movement and the (predominantly male) disability movement.

As an example of this promise, in {a new article} for a special issue of Feminism & Psychology, I contemplate disability as a feminist issue. I adopt a “feminist disability standpoint”, drawing from the work of disabled feminist scholars and other marginally situated knowledge-producers, to explore how psy might be reimagined in an empowering, socially just and socio-politically cognisant direction in the arena of ME/CFS as conditions labelled as medically unexplained, energy-limiting conditions.

Moving beyond binary and individualistic “biomedical-versus-(bio)psychosocial” debates, a feminist disability standpoint highlights how both models overlook the wider power-laden context that shapes social policies, practices, subjectivities, health and life outcomes. This same context has facilitated the hegemony of (bio)psychosocial explanations of ME/CFS and other stigmatised conditions. This context, historically sidelined by biomedicine and “malestream” psychology, must be acknowledged and addressed within psychological practice.

Addressing power and context does not mean overlooking individual-level phenomena; it is vital to validate biological realities in  ME/CFS and other contested illnesses. While people living with psycho-emotional distress and madness (often called "mental illness") are frequently harmed through psychiatrisation (a form of medicalisation), those with ME/CFS and medically unexplained symptoms are subject to medical neglect and (what might be better termed) 'psychologization'. Therefore, as I discuss in the article, a feminist disability standpoint offers conceptual resources to affirm biological/physical impairment effects in interaction with a social context shaped by oppressive systems of power.

Perhaps most importantly, Psy practitioners should seek to be allies to people living with these health conditions by combining psycho-emotional support, advocacy, empowerment and (where appropriate) information-sharing or "education" while being willing to learn from service users' considerable knowledges. This alliance includes supporting service users in determining their own values and meaning-making, as opposed to values and meaning imposed by society or individual practitioners.

This move, I suspect, requires a radical transformation in dominant practice as well as in the hearts and minds of many practitioners. Integrating a feminist disability standpoint—and its wealth of subjugated knowledges—into psychological theory and practice may offer an in-road towards such transformation.

 

About the author

Joanne Hunt is a disabled researcher and research affiliate at the Department of Women’s and Children’s Health, Uppsala University, Sweden. Her research interests centre on the (bio)politics of stigmatised health conditions, sited at the intersection of critical disability studies, gender studies, critical psychology, and ethics. Particular interests include the psychology of ableism, and challenges and possibilities in developing socio-politically and culturally cognisant, disability-affirmative healthcare.

Twitter/X: @JoElizaHunt @HealthHubris

Find an article related to this blog on the F&P website at: https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/09593535241267091

 

"Troubled" derby subjectivities: Wellbeing and feminist new materialist movements in sport

Moving into derby

Putting on skates for the first time. Standing up, feeling wobbly. Practice, practice, practice. Getting stronger, more stable, faster. Buying gear: bags, pads, patches, helmets, stickers, merch. There is an expansion of possibility. I am becoming-derby as my skates, my pads, my team, the rules and regulations of derby, and the various spaces of training and skating become entangled with my everyday life.

Moving on

Yeah. I’ve kind of moved on now. It was like a really awesome part of my life. I even have tattoos about it. It was a hugely important part of my life. But it’s not a part of my life anymore. It was a hugely distinct chapter. Like I think, I used to do motorcycle riding. When I was 21 I got rid of a car and got a motorbike, and then I did roller derby, and I still had my motorbike. And I only recently sold my motorbike because I realised I’m just holding on to memories. Because my life isn’t like that anymore. My motorbike doesn’t mean I get to stay up to two o’clock in the morning drinking coffee with a really good group of mates anymore, because they’ve all also had babies. Like, so sometimes you just have to let shit go.

As a writer-scholar-skater-woman (and more!) who ended up doing a feminist ethnography about roller derby, I experienced the joys and thrill of the sport, as well as the tensions, risks and stresses of being part of a ‘new’, full contact sport that was organized completely by volunteers. So many people (mostly women, including trans women, and non-binary people, but also some men) have been attracted to roller derby (including myself) – it’s cool, it’s edgy, it looks fun and retro. We all bought skates and threw ourselves into training and the derby community. For many it was a place of belonging, transformation, ‘soul saving’. It helped women get through grief, break-ups, and domestic violence. It was transformative. This tough, rough and dangerous sporting space was troubling how we think about femininity, care, mental health, and recovery.

But not always. And not for everyone. For some people, even though it might have started out as a place of excitement and community, internal politics, conflict and frustration left them feeling dejected, annoyed, or even enraged and depressed.

How could something so good have turned out so bad?

As a high-risk activity (roller skating while trying to push another person down) roller derby embraces the tensions between multiple, and constant movements. Some of these movements are productive (getting fitter, bodies changing, making friends, feeling a sense of belonging), some destructive (injuries, pressures, bullying, organisational politics). I wanted to know more about these movements and to explore the antithetical (irrational?) relation between care, competitiveness and aggression, that seemed to emerge for women in roller derby. 

During the COVID-19 pandemic I put out a call for participants on Facebook and Twitter, with the only criteria being that they used to play roller derby. The tweet gained traction and was shared around the world. Over 15 women and one non-binary person volunteered to participate. Those who came forward wanted their story heard.

The stories told to me were diverse and powerful. I heard of the ways derby provided a space unlike any other to these women. A space of proximity to other women, of risk and danger and fun and expression. A space to embrace parts of themselves that did not always have room for expression in other sports or other part of their lives. Yet for these particular women who had left roller derby, their time in the sport had ended. Whether they felt bullied or excluded, bored or just felt like their time was done, their experiences of movement – into, through, out of and away from – can tell us something about transformation and wellbeing in women’s lives.

Aggression, violence and competition together describe some of the worst aspects of social life. Yet their power, or force, is sometimes required to break through or free us from certain entanglements or situations. One does not simply ‘leave’ a domestic violent relationship; instead, a person must muster every ounce of their courage and tenacity and summon all their resources to make that ‘break’. For women in particular, being ‘nice’ has been hugely important, yet being nice is not simply being kind or compassionate, but being self-sacrificing, allowing people to treat one (us? them?) as secondary citizens, loading us with labour (physical, cultural, social and emotional labour) and wondering why we are not smiling more.

In the most general sense, the relation between care, competitiveness and aggression is antithetical. Yet what my current work has to a degree demonstrated is that the gendered aspects of competitiveness and aggression in relation to care for the self – and, by extension, others – have useful and productive affects on which the skaters drew for their own subjectivities.

About the author:

Dr Adele Pavlidis is author of Sport, Gender and Power: The Rise of Roller Derby (with Simone Fullagar, Routldge, 2014) and Feminism and a Vital Politics of Depression and Recovery (with Simone Fullagar and Wendy O'Brien, Palgrave Macmillan, 2019). She is currently working on her third book and works as a senior lecturer at Griffith University in Australia where she teaches sociology. She is interested in social, cultural and personal transformation and engages in poststructuralist, new materialist and feminist theories of affect to think and write about bodies, movement and change.

Find an article related to this blog on the F&P website at: https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/full/10.1177/09593535221104878 

 

 

Fighting for abortion rights: Strategies aimed at managing stigma in a group of Italian Pro-Choice Activists

Written by: Ilaria Giovannelli¹, Terri Mannarini², Federica Spaccatini³, Maria Giuseppina Pacilli¹

¹Department of Political Science, Università degli Studi di Perugia, Perugia, Italy

²Department of History Society and Human Sciences, University of Salento, Lecce, Italy

³Department of Psychology, University of Milano-Bicocca, Milano, Italy

Pro-choice advocates' voices have echoed around the world in recent decades, both in liberal and legally restrictive abortion contexts. Even at the cost of their own stigmatization, pro-choice activists’ battles have impacted public opinion and achieved crucial political outcomes, such as the legalization of elective abortion and/or the busting of abortion stigma (Staggenborg, 1991). Even though, in Italy, elective abortion was legalized over 40 years ago, several right-wing political parties and anti-choice movements still regard it as an immoral practice, and they frequently dispute the law that protects it (Caruso, 2020). Pro-choice activists are constantly monitoring and countering these threats to abortion rights, and as a result, they are subjected to unfavorable views and denigrator attacks, particularly in public contexts, as they have been in the past (e.g., Macor, 2021).

Given this, in the Italian setting, we investigated abortion stigma toward pro-choice activists in order to shed light on this issue and add to what has previously been documented about stigma toward people who decide to abort and abortion providers (e.g., Kumar et al., 2009; O’Donnell et al., 2011; Pacilli et al., 2018). We conducted a qualitative study to investigate pro-choice activists’ experienced, perceived, and internalized stigma and how they managed it. Our participants consisted of thirty-four Italian cisgender women who are pro-choice activists and are actively and publicly engaged in movements, organizations, or unions that defend people’s reproductive freedom and support abortion rights. We conducted semi-structured interviews which were audio-recorded, and then transcribed and analyzed (Hsieh & Shannon, 2005).

Our study revealed that pro-choice activists faced both blatant and subtle stigma. They reported being the direct victims (or witnesses) of verbal and physical attacks, particularly by members of no-choice or right-wing groups, as well as violent attacks. Participants stated that stigma directed against them also manifested itself in more subtle ways, such as social disapproval or social distancing. Furthermore, our findings revealed that both pro-choice activists who had directly experienced (or witnessed) stigma, and those who had not, had a clear understanding of how others view them.

Even though they were aware that some people regard them as a positive model to follow in the battle against abortion stigma and, more broadly, for reproductive rights, they felt a negative focus on their positionalities and advocacy role surrounding elective abortion in most situations. It’s worth noting, that despite the fact that the majority of participants said they had been stigmatized and felt a devaluing gaze on themselves, they opposed this devaluing view.

Indeed, according to the interview data, pro-choice advocates did not internalize this stigma and asserted their personal, political, and social worth. To counter stigmatization, pro-choice activists who were involved in the study stated that they employed various abortion stigma management strategies, such as speaking openly about their involvement. Speaking openly about their abortion position is a beneficial tactic on a personal level to contrast internalization of stigma, but it is also a useful strategy on a socio-political level because it allows them to combat stigma against elective abortion. The article dives into the argumentative strategies used to combat abortion stigma (e.g., sharing real narratives, critically reflecting on the humanness of the fetus), as well as highlighting, in some cases, pro-choice activists’ opposing viewpoints. Finally, our findings showed examples of strategies that could be useful to all actors involved in abortion activism and revealed several implications and directions for future research.

References

Caruso, E. (2020). Abortion in Italy: forty years on. Feminist Legal Studies, 28(1), 87-96. https://0-doi.org.wam.seals.ac.za/10.1007/s10691-019-09419-w

Hsieh, H. F., & Shannon, S. E. (2005). Three approaches to qualitative content analysis. Qualitative Health Research, 15(9), 1277-1288. https://doi.org/10.1177/1049732305276687

Kumar, A., Hessini, L., & Mitchell, E. M. (2009). Conceptualising abortion stigma. Culture, Health & Sexuality, 11(6), 625-639. https://doi.org./10.1080/13691050902842741

Macor, M. (2021, March 10). Alice, 26 anni: Mi insultano perchè sono la testimonial dell'aborto farmacologico: ma io vado avanti. La Repubblica, Genova.

O’Donnell, J., Weitz, T. A., & Freedman, L. R. (2011). Resistance and vulnerability to stigmatization in abortion work. Social science & medicine, 73(9), 1357-1364. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.socscimed.2011.08.019

Pacilli, M. G., Giovannelli, I., Spaccatini, F., Vaes, J., & Barbaranelli, C. (2018). Elective abortion predicts the dehumanization of women and men through the mediation of moral outrage. Social Psychology, 49, 287-302. https://doi.org/10.1027/1864-9335/a000351

Staggenborg, S. (1991). The pro-choice movement: Organization and activism in the abortion conflict. Oxford University Press.

 

 Find an article based on this study on the F&P website at: https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/full/10.1177/09593535221106653 

“I don’t have an address”: Housing instability and domestic violence in help-seeking calls to a support service

Many helpline services are available to women with experiences of violence. But what actually happens when these women call for help? Are there small things that could be changed to improve interpersonal communication between service providers and clients? Our research shows that an ordinary question about address could pose difficulties for women experiencing housing instability. Although routinely used by the institution to identify callers, the question sometimes led to personal disclosures of violence which can be retraumatising for women.

The negative impacts of gendered violence, the barriers that prevent women from help-seeking, and the difficulties women face being believed and getting help are well established. However, little is known about what happens in the ‘here and now’ of interactions between support service providers and clients. Our research analyses naturally occurring calls for help which were audio recorded with ethical permission from callers and call-takers. The setting is a victim support helpline in New Zealand. We used conversation analysis to examine in detail the sequential unfolding of talk turn by turn. For women who had experienced violence at home, answering a routine institutional question about address could be difficult. Housing instability is a well-known problem associated with domestic violence and our findings originally highlight how it also creates trouble at the micro level of social interaction with institutions whose role is to help.

A seemingly innocuous question

At face value, the question “what’s your address?” seems innocuous. It’s the kind of question that routinely gets asked in a variety of institutional interactions. On the victim support helpline we studied, call-takers asked the question to confirm callers’ details against their casefiles. Yet our analyses reveal that the question can be difficult to answer. Questions convey presuppositions and communicate values, assumptions, and beliefs about the world. These assumptions are particularly problematic for women experiencing domestic violence and housing instability.

Recurrently, women who had experienced violence were unable to answer the address question straightforwardly. The case below demonstrates how this interactional trouble is visible in the details of the talk. The transcript represents both what was said and how, including features like silences (timed in tenths of a second) and non-lexical sounds like “um”. Capturing this level of detail makes visible what is happening at the micro level of social interaction. For example, the first indication that the question is not straightforward for the caller is the 1.8 seconds of silence that follows (line 12). Usually straightforward answers to questions come without delay. The second indication of trouble is the “um” at the beginning of the caller’s turn (line 13).

The caller responds to the question by describing her living situation. Housing instability is indicated by the reference to time “at the moment” and the description of where she is “staying” (line 13) – which is not a place of permanent residence. In her next turn (line 17), the caller elaborates with an explanation. Accounts like this reveal how people understand and construct their worlds. In this case, the caller treats her living arrangements as non-normative and in need of explanation. The reason that she does not have an address is because, like many women escaping violence, she does not reside where she used to. The term “ex-partner” (line 17) makes it inferentially available that the caller left her home because of violence, which is confirmed later in the call. Thus, a routine institutional question about address is difficult to answer for this caller and occasions an unnecessary – albeit implicit – disclosure of violence.

Unintentional consequences of ordinary actions

Asking for an address is a very ordinary question that does small but important things such as confirming a caller’s identity for institutional purposes. Our research suggests that institutions should carefully consider how routine practices such as asking for address might pose unintended problems for service users in vulnerable circumstances. Analyses of what actually happens in service encounter interactions is important for empirically grounded recommendations for the delivery of socially sensitive support.

In sum, this study shows how a global problem of domestic violence and housing instability also becomes a trouble at the micro level of social interaction.

About the authors

Ann Weatherall is a professor in psychology at Victoria University of Wellington whose work is shaped by conversation analysis, feminism and social psychology. Her current research examines how empowerment self-defence classes teach vocal and embodied strategies to deescalate and deflect violence.

Emma Tennent is a lecturer in psychology with research interests in interpersonal communication, gender and language, and social psychology. Her research examines identity and social relations in both institutional and everyday interactions.