Edited by Kerry Lobel. Seal Press
(3131 Western Ave., Suite 40, Seattle, Washington, 98121), 1986. $10.95
{Review published in Off Our Backs, February 1987.)
I'm still not sure whether or not I want to write this review, or am ready to. One deadline has already passed, and I find it hard to believe that this will ever get into print. Since I've been asked to write this review, I haven't stopped thinking about it and the issues which this book presents. I've been thinking, but not doing, spending hours reading and rereading the book, writing pages of journal entries for each page of notes taken for this article. Throughout the entire process I've resisted feelings of shame and denial -- that the issue upon which this book is based -- lesbian battering -- is one which I have lived.
Naming the Violence: Speaking Out About Lesbian Battering has drawn me into its controversy, its rage and its determination to educate the lesbian and feminist communities about an issue which few lesbians would like to admit exists. Because it affects me personally, it is a difficult issue for me to write about. I feel solidarity with the brave women who have contributed both personal accounts and articles to the anthology, some not using their real names, all of them women at risk from reprisal from their batterers and/or stigmatization by their communities. Having read their stories has given me the strength and confidence to review this book, to help educate the lesbian and feminist communities of yet another divisive but crucially important issue.
The issue of battering in lesbian relationships is a controversial one namely because the very existence of lesbian battering shatters the utopian belief that women are inherently non-violent. Up until recently, violence has generally been considered to be something that men inflict upon women and each other. Naming the Violence is bravely challenging this concept, proving that women (and feminists) are not immune to violence among ourselves, and that lesbian batterers must be held accountable for their violence as male batterers are expected to be. Until recently, the entire issue of lesbian battering has been relatively unacknowledged. That this anthology is necessary is particularly evident by the discoveries made while it was being put together. Editor Kerry Lobel states shocking evidence of the extent of lesbian battering when describing that " for every contribution that was actually submitted [over eighty], there were four phone calls or letters of inquiry from lesbians seeking support services..." . Furthermore, evidence of how the myth of a lesbian utopia is harmful in conjunction with this issue is evident when Kobel reports that " not every woman felt safe enough to tell her story publicly, even anonymously, fearing reprisal from her batterer or exclusion from her community -- a community often unwilling to provide support and safe space." Thus, Naming the Violence helps " break the silence " surrounding a controversial issue much in the same way as did books like Lesbian Nuns : Breaking Silence and With the Power of Each Breath: A Disabled Women's Anthology. The notable difference, however, is the the controversy towards this issue comes from within the lesbian and feminist communities, not from mainstream society.
The contributors to Naming the Violence explore the issues relating to lesbian battering consistently and extensively, emphasizing their importance as well as the ways in which the lesbian and feminist communities can become involved. One of the most important issues addressed is challenging the myth of the " lesbian/feminist utopia ". This concept is pervasive throughout the lesbian and feminist communities. I personally subscribed to the faith in women above all else to create a society blissful, creative, and non-violent -- to be accomplished largely without the negative influence of patriarchal or " male " influence. The underlying belief is that women are inherently non-violent, that it is men who perpetuate violence and consequently deep society from evolving into a healthier, nurturing state. Yet I must also admit that, in large part, this belief kept me from seeing what was happening in the abusive relationship I was in. I refused to believe that I could be a " battered woman " like some of my sisters in abusive heterosexual relationships. Similarly, Naming the Violence lists examples of situations where battered lesbians have been stigmatized or unbelieved as a direct result of the influence of this myth. In the preface, for example, Barbara Hart states that as lesbians we identify with the power, control and anger of lesbians who batter, identifying more strongly with them because we deny our vulnerability (p.14). Rather than holding the abuser accountable, we blame the victim of the abuse, construing her situation as evidence of a kind of weakness on her part (p. 11). Often, the battered lesbian is not taken seriously. Numerous examples of this abound. Blair Northwood mentions that when seeking support from lesbians who have not been battered, " no one responds " or " seemed interested " in her story. She recounts that " Most of my women friends either didn't understand at all; tried to trivialize it as though it wasn't that bad, or just couldn't believe my lover had acted like that and thought I must have ` misunderstood ' or be making it up for some reason " (p. 151-2).
An additional reason for ignoring battered lesbians and supporting the myth of a " lesbian/feminist utopia " is the homophobic fear that the straight community will find out about lesbian battering and use it as evidence to reinforce negative stereotypes about lesbian relationships and lesbianism. Northwood states bluntly,
Naming lesbian violence for what it is seems to be a taboo among us, the great breakers of taboo. Turning to the straight world for help -- and thus admitting that lesbians batter lesbians -- is high treason. Lesbian battering threatens to shatter our fondest theories about women, lesbians, ourselves. It shakes the fragile foundations of our communities. (p. 162)
Mindy Benowitz establishes the close connection between internalized homophobia and the myth of the " lesbian/feminist utopia " by describing how some lesbians, to encourage self-acceptance, believe lesbians are somehow superior to others, and that, thus, we don't have the problems that straight people do. But these " ` lesbian utopia ' notions " as Benowitz describes, only backfire, serving to raise lesbians' expectations of themselves and reactively putting us on the defensive towards a homophobic society. We always want to present ourselves as " better " to try to disprove homophobic stereotypes, yet this effort also succeeds in " leading us to perceive that lesbian battering is non-existent or minimal " because " we often feel a need to present a ` together lesbian ' image, so as to promote acceptance of ourselves and of the lesbian communities we are seen to represent. " (p. 201)
But, as the contributors to Naming the Violence so heartily agree, the belief in this myth dangerously undermines the validity of the battered lesbian's experiences and helps silence her as well as disregarding any physical danger from her batterer she might still be in. Jeanne Cormier relates a chilling example of blatant disregard for her safety:
Another time, my fragile sense of safety was unexpectedly broken at a holiday potluck with friends. An acquaintance who knew of the abuse -- someone I called a friend -- lightheartedly and loudly talked to the small gathering about my former lover. She described her voice and how attractive she looked on a recent night. She brought my lover/abuser's body and voice into the room. She spoke of her as one of their community, as one they cared for. It was no coincidence she was talking about my lover/abuser; she was doing so because I was there. I felt stung. I wanted to cry out, ` Can't you see how this hurts me? Why do I have to explain? My life has been endangered repeatedly, intentionally, by this woman. ' I cannot even imagine a heterosexual battered woman being subjected to such insensitivity at a social gathering with friends. It felt cruel to have a lesbian woman take away my sense of safety. (p. 128)
Cormier also mentions that one friend " implied I had asked for it " (p. 127). Naming the Violence reveals how battered lesbians have been stigmatized or unbelieved as a direct result of the influence of this myth. In the preface, for example, Barbara Hart states that as lesbians we identify with the power, control, and ager of lesbians who batter, identifying more strongly with them because we deny our vulnerability (p. 14). Rather than holding the abuser accountable, we blame the victim, construing her situation as evidence of a kind of weakness on her part (p.1). Often, the battered lesbian is not taken seriously. For example, Blair Northwood mentions that when seeking support from lesbians who have not been battered, "no one responded" or "seemed interested" in her story. She recounts that "Most of my women friends either didn't understand at all, tried to trivialize it as though it wasn't that bad, or just couldn't believe my lover had acted like that and thought I must have 'misunderstood' or be making it up for some reason" (p. 151-2).
The contributors to Naming the Violence emphasize the need to eliminate homophobia in battered women's shelters, even if the excuse for its existence is the threat of loss of funding. Battered lesbians often do not seek help form shelters for fear of homophobia; and when some do they often do not receive the support they need: either the staff is homophobic, the shelter residents, or a lesbian counselor on the staff is unable to talk with her openly for fear of losing her job. Homophobia can extend into individual therapy as well. Kim states "...my therapist decided not to see me anymore because she didn't understand.." (p.135)
Contributors also acknowledge the importance of recognizing some homophobic abusive tactics utilized by the batterer, and the internalized homophobia of both the batterer and the victim. Supporting this belief, Suzanne Pharr state that " we cannot begin to understand the effect of the homophobic world upon lesbian violence until we examine internalized homophobia. " (p. 204)
Naming the Violence is divided into four parts of roughly-equal length. Parts I and II are dedicated to personal accounts of lesbian battering, including journal entries and poetry. Parts II and IV contain articles dealing mostly with community organizing strategies, focusing particularly on how to incorporate the experience and resources of the battered women's movement. I feel that the formate of the book supported much of what the contributors were trying to express. Throughout the articles concerning community organizing, contributors consistently called for the need to encourage battered lesbians into leadership roles within the battered lesbian movement. Emphasis is also placed on the importance of listening to battered lesbians' stories.
A common myth concerning lesbian battering is the belief that the violence occurring in the relationship is " mutual " and is only " fighting ". Subscribing to this belief makes it easy to deny the severity of the abuse, and the community which condones such battering as " merely fighting " obviously does not accept its responsibility to explore the issue and try to change the situation.
Most cases of violence in lesbian relationships are not characterized by mutual abuse. To distinguish between mutual abuse and a battering relationship, Hart explains that " violence is not battering unless the effect of violent conduct is to render the perpetrator more powerful and controlling in relation to the recipient. " (p. 183) However, it's common for evidence of a power-struggle to be played down. Counselors, for example, may inadvertently minimize the seriousness of the abuse when directly dealing with victims and/or couples involved, through their belief that lesbian battering is somehow different from heterosexual battering. Lydia Walker discusses at length he discovery of how her approach to counseling victims/couples/batterers was based on assumptions of what lesbian battering is about. She states
While I did not consciously think about [my assumptions], I acted as if violence in lesbian couples was somehow different that violence in heterosexual couples, as if lesbian batterers were less manipulative and more likely than men to choose to control their violence, as if a lesbian batterer had a legitimate " demand " when insisting on seeing a lesbian advocate...and as if my seeing both people individually and in couples work was not a way of the batterer keeping tabs on their partner. (p. 75)
In discovering how her assumptions about the nature of lesbian battering invalidated and minimized the abuse, Walker began to link her feelings to the larger of issues of sexism and the myth of the " lesbian/feminist utopia ". She discovers that, "...some of my unspoken thoughts about lesbian battering came from a self-protective stance: ` not in the women's community '" stating also that "...some of it was pure sexism: seeing women as more controlled, more gentle, better communicators, less violent, and more trustworthy than men ". (p. 75)
Contributors to Naming the Violence also make it clear that even though battered lesbians sometimes strike out at their batterers, this violent behavior does not discount that fact that they are battered women. Often battered lesbians (like heterosexual battered women ) react violently out of self defense, or rage at past violations inflicted on them by the batterer.
The issue of batterer accountability is important for obvious reasons. Several contributors encourage communities to disclose batterers who haven't yet accepted responsibility for their abusiveness, particularly to create safety for the abused lesbian. Hart raises several questions concerning accountability that exemplify its complexity, namely, When can the batterer be trusted? Is service to lesbian victims enough? and, Must all lesbian victims move onto new communities for safety?
The issue of batterer-accountability is complicated in that lesbian batterers are learning to gain community sympathy and support. Often, lesbian batterers will identify as victims, making it difficult to determine who needs safety from whom. Linda and Avreayl explain that lesbian batterers often feel that " having been victimized in the past is ... an excuse for current behaviors (p. 109). Similarly, Hart describes how batterers can disrupt and intimidate victims within the community, and thus believes that batterers not yet accountable to the person battered and to the community at large "... should not attend gatherings to work on ending violence against women nor should they be permitted to have a forum in any battered women's movement literature or activity. " (p. 96)
Although it may seem difficult to decide, within the context of lesbian
relationships only, the nature and validity of the battering, when
comparisons between the situation of both lesbian and heterosexual victims
are made, it is clear that battered lesbians deserve the same validation
and support for their experiences as do heterosexual battered women. Hart
points out that " when men have said to us that the victims of their
violence have been violent, we have not concluded then that violence was
mutual or that the woman had not been battered. "(p. 187) Thus,
contributors to Naming the Violence encourage individuals and
communities to question their assumptions about lesbian battering. Walker
raises several good questions regarding this issue, such as why lesbian
batterers are more " believable " when blaming their partner,
and why self-defense on the part of the victim is seen as evidence of
mutual abuse (p. 76). Unless communities think of these issues and
question stereotypes and biases, progress will be slow, dangerously slow
for the battered lesbian.
As one of the first books dealing with lesbian battering, Naming the Violence is a ready sourcebook of community coping strategies. After reading, I felt that Naming the Violence did a good job presenting lesbian battering and organizing strategies for the community, though I also found myself wishing that the book used an approach that spoke directly to battered lesbians on how to cope with our situation, in addition to the validation of our experiences it provides through the personal accounts. This approach is evident in Getting Free, a handbook for heterosexual battered women, which has a very personal style, taking the reader step-by-step towards ways of dealing with abusive relationships -- before and after. However, I can also see why the subject is approached here in the way it is. Currently, there are very few resources for battered lesbians, whether these resources mean non-homophobic counselors, trained counselors, or support groups. Right now the battered lesbian movement is dealing with ways to educate the community, and is still at the stage where studies are being conducted to determine as much as possible about lesbian battering.
Many of the the contributors to Naming the Violence feel that the best way to begin gathering and disseminating information and organizing services is by listening to battered lesbians and allowing us to take leadership of the movement. This grass-roots approach is comparable to the development of the heterosexual battered women's and rape awareness movements. Although myths about rape and battering are still widespread in society, progress has still been make over the last ten-fifteen years, greatly due to the speaking out of rape victims and battered women.
In addition to focusing on the leadership of battered lesbians, strategies on how to conduct homophobia workshops in shelters ( and in the lesbian/feminist communities) are also discussed. Suggestions range from development of a referral list of trained counselors and therapists, to the definite need for holding abusers accountable (and providing rehabilitation programs for them), and the development of crisis intervention strategies. Emphasis is placed on taking what has been learned from the heterosexual battered women's movement. Sue Knollenberg, Nancy Hammond, and Brenda Douville stress the importance of self-help/support groups so that dependence is not placed on therapy and the battered lesbian gains confidence through the validation of her peers. is self-help groups are form so that dependence is not placed on therapy and the battered lesbian gains confidence through the validation of her peers. Although it acknowledges the importance of considering the lesbian batterer, Naming the Violence encourages beginning programs to focus on the empowerment and safety of the battered lesbian.
Complicated issues in the organizing process inevitably arise, however.
Linda and Avreayl of LAIN discuss the special problems of confidentiality
within the often small lesbian community, the problems faced in having to
risk job loss and child custody when forced to come out during courtroom
proceedings, and how to handle cases where the batterer's children may
also be abused by the batterer. As difficult issues arise, contributors
admit to not having ready answers, and encourage readers to get involved
and make suggestions.
Throughout all discussion and explanation of lesbian battering I heard the voices of battered lesbians telling their stories, illustrating the concepts described in Parts II and IV with the reality of lesbian violence. Although I realized the importance of the other sections on community organizing, as a battered lesbian, these personal accounts were incredibly empowering. Before finding this book, I had little knowledge of the dynamics of abusive lesbian relationships, and had little validation for what had happened to me. Throughout each story I heard my own fears, my own strengths, and my own voice, as well.
Through these stories come the characteristics of lesbian battering, reasons for why the victims remain in an abusive situation for so long, why some lesbians batter, and the strength and difficulties of battered lesbians dealing with their own recovery. These accounts break stereotypes that battering " could never happen to me ", that all batterers are bigger and stronger, that all victims are weak women. Arlene Ishtar denounces this stereotype, declaring that " Most lesbians I know who have been battered impress me with their presence and strength. " (p. 164) adding that " Do not think that what happened to me could not happen to you."
I do not even know how to begin to describe the actual experiences these brave women relate. Although I read and felt through all of these accounts, I must honestly say that as I write this review I find them difficult to excerpt, not only because of their personal significance, but because I feel that it would be difficult to do justice to the reality of the complex interplays between all the types and subtleties of abuse. Abuse in lesbian relationships, like abuse in heterosexual ones, can include not only physical violence, but emotional, sexual, property and spiritual abuse as well. In addition to kicking, punching, biting, and/or assaulting her lover with a weapon, a lesbian batterer can rape her, deprive her of sleep or food, commit arson, control finances, or " merely " threaten to do the above (p. 188). The list continues, but nowhere so vivid as in the battered lesbians' own words.
In describing how she was emotionally abused, Sarah writes of
Hours and hours of yelling at me, putting me down, accusing me of things I hadn't done, saying she would break up with me, telling me all the things she hated about me, all the things wrong with me. She would yell at me until I cried and then she'd yell at me and make fun of me for crying. (p. 117)
Breeze describes her lovers emotional/sexual abuse of her in calling her " `whore' ", " `slut' ", " `cunt' ", and " `tramp' ", adding that she " accepted her labelling of `cheating' and believed her abuse of me was somehow deserved " (p. 49). Cedar Gentlewind recounts the horrible day that she was beaten by her lover after telling her of her good fortune in being able to rent a house she'd always wanted to live in (p. 41). Even in this horrific account, where Gentlewind was literally fighting for her life, her batterer makes sure to attempt to instill some self-doubt in Gentlewind: as she begins to defend herself, her lover condescendingly smiles and tells her thatshe is the one who must calm down (p. 43).
Especially prominent are examples of how subtle the abuse can be sometimes -- subtle enough to lead the victim to believe that perhaps she isn't being abused. Similarly, Donna Cecere explains, " I allowed her to convince me that I was the one who instigated the abuse. It seems that any time my needs differed from hers I was being abusive. " (p. 26)
Batterers are often experts at using such manipulation to convince the victim that she is the one really perpetuating the abuse. The victim often begins to believe this, which is one of the main reasons she stays in the relationship. Cecere, like Gentelwind, stayed in her relationship because, at the time, she felt she "deserved it anyway" (p.47). Other, very powerful reasons for staying included strong feelings of love on both sides and the feeling of being "understood" by her lover and feeling "safe". Hammond says a battered lesbian may be reluctant to leave her relationship for reasons concerning negative community response. She may not want to seek support for fear of shaming her partner, for fear of not being taken seriously, and for fear that mutual friends would hater her lover's side (p. 194). Feeling guilty, the victims may also "...believe that it is [their] responsibility even as victims of abuse, to support [their] partners and help them to change their violent behavior (p.194). In addition to some of the above reasons, Arlene Ishtar, a rural lesbian, states plainly, "I also stayed because I had nowhere else to go. (p.164)"
What moves a lover to act so violently? What moves a lesbian, who may simultaneously call herself a feminist, to literally dominate and control another woman? Many batterers use the excuse of having been victimized themselves in the past, or of being under incredible stress and pressure from the outside world. It has also been argued that batterers are violent because of their own " communication problems ". Both of these " reasons " are no excuse for any kind of violence. As Hart states, " ...there is no evidence to suggest that the lives of batterers are actually less rich or more fraught with injustice than lesbians who choose not to batter. " (p. 181). Likewise, the " inability to communicate " theory doesn't wash either. If a batterer has difficulty communicating, then how do we explain the existence of emotional manipulation and abuse of the victim?
Furthermore, Hart's description of a batterer " choosing " to be violent is apt. As she describes, a lover will batter to gain power, especially if she feels entitled to control over her partner, feels that it is permissible/moral, acquire the power, and then realizes that her violence will not have any consequences on her. Yet why would she want the power to begin with? Because, as women and as lesbians, we often feel powerless, especially within the hierarchy of the family. To gain power, it seems logical that the influence of that power-structure, and the methods employed within it (such as violence) to gain compliance and/or maintain order, could extend into lesbian relationships (p.175.)
The dynamics of the abuse often succeed -- leaving the victim feeling powerless [ or actually being powerless if physically threatened ]. Psychologically, the battered lesbian begins to doubt her self-worth, feels guilty and deserving of the abuse, feels shame and a strong hesitancy to trust, whether it is herself or others. She begins to feel like a victim. Cory Dziggel sees how easily one can become a victim, stating,
" I think you are a victim if you are the one who always tries to avoid arguments...if you apologize fro doing wrong when [ you believe otherwise ] but are apologizing in order to...stop an argument. I believe you are a victim when you begin to agree with someone that their truth is truth even when you know it objectively to be falsehood...when you begin to do things that are self-destructive in response to the other person's anger and abuse..." (p. 68)
Sarah acknowledges her unwillingness for intimacy, " I can't imagine ever having a lover again. I can't imagine ever feeling good again. I feel like a rape victim " (p. 119), although she realizes that " some day I will trust again ".
Kresge also emphasizes her own self-doubt in relationship choices:
Now I am paralyzed, unable to cope with women, unwilling to get close, be intimate. I do not trust that this won't happen again, that I won't fall for some woman who takes a fancy to me, proclaims her undying love, then turns on me and blames me for my own self-hate, and abandons me; I do not trust that I won't fall back into the trap of playing victim. " (p. 144)
Often the battered lesbian feels guilty because she feels responsible for the abuse, having been manipulated into believing this by her batterer. She feels shame and yet also protective of her batterer, feeling guilty if she seeks support and thus exposes her lover's actions. Sarah plainly acknowledges, " I still feel guilty for putting these words in print " (p. 114) Fortunately, the guilt and fear that many of the contributors faced didn't win, and they went on to publish their accounts.
With my own sense of shame and guilt, I also am admitting the existence of such violence in my life, and , although talking and writing on this issue has been difficult for me, I can also safely say that reading Naming the Violence made it easier for me to speak out as well. Even though, out of pain, I sometimes refrain from picking it up and thumbing through it, I also agree with Lobel's comments, that:
By discussing these issues openly, we risk further repression. Yet, our only alternative is one of silence, a silence that traps battered lesbians into believing that they are alone and that there are no resources available to them (p. 7).
To be able to begin discussing these issues in an honest, searching way, we, as feminists, must be prepared to examine our myths and fantasies about womens' future, about who we think we are. We must be prepared for initial disillusionment that will come with our discovery in the negative aspects of the myth of the " lesbian/feminist utopia ". As Ishtar states, " I know that I will never again have the same unquestioning faith in womyn or sisterhood or lesbian utopia " (p. 169), yet this does not mean that we have to give up all hope of our positive vision(s). As Kresge emphasizes:
...the very test of our vision is our ability to straddle that distance by acknowledging all the pain and horror it raises in our lives, in ways that heal the old wounds and prepare for that world which we so clearly see. (p. 147)
Therefore, as feminists, we should feel obligated to deal with this difficult and painful issue, not only because we owe battered lesbians safety and but also because out ability to confront problems within the feminist community and effectively deal with them/work through them helps us and feminism become a stronger force. [in changing....???] For, as Hammond et al writes:
Recognizing that lesbians are sometimes violent does not have to signal the end of a dream of a non-violent women's culture. We have all grown up in a sexist and homophobic culture. The seeds of both victimization and violence are dormant in all of us. To realize the dream, we need to recognize these seeds for what they are, to expose them and gently tug them from the roots of our psyches, as they begin to sprout, take hold, and grow. For this work we need everyone's help. (p. 196-7)