“Women with nothing to lose”

Women’s Studies International Forum, Vol. 25, No. 3, pp. 287 – 300, 2002 Copyright D 2002 Elsevier Science Ltd Printed in the USA. All rights reserved 0277-5395/02/$ – see front matter

PII S0277-5395(02)00255-8

‘‘WOMEN WITH NOTHING TO LOSE’’ MARRIAGEABILITY AND WOMEN’S PERCEPTIONS OF RAPE AND CONSENT IN CONTEMPORARY BEIRUT Samantha Wehbi School of Social Work, McGill University, 3506 University Street, Montreal, Quebec, Canada H3A 2A7

Synopsis — Despite growing theoretical recognition that perceptions of rape and other social phenomena are best understood by examining the impact of social relations, there are very few studies that have attempted such an exploration. Moreover, most research on perceptions of rape has neglected the realities of women and men in non-Western contexts. The combination of both of these concerns underlies a recent study undertaken in Beirut, Lebanon. Through in-depth interviews with activists, key community figures and women not involved in activism, as well as participant observation in social and professional settings, this study sought to ascertain the links between social relations and perceptions of rape. Relying on an intersectional approach to analysis, this article offers insight into the main finding of this study, namely, that perceptions of rape are strongly shaped by the centrality of marriage and the construction of marriageability within the contemporary Beiruti context. D 2002 Elsevier Science Ltd. All rights reserved.

INTRODUCTION Despite growing theoretical recognition that perceptions of rape and other social phenomena are best understood by examining the impact of social relations, there are very few studies that have attempted such an exploration (Bourque, 1989; DiMaria & DiNuovo, 1986; Wyatt, 1992). Moreover, most research has neglected the realities of women and men in non-Western contexts (Bannerji, 1993; Joseph, 1983, 1993; Kadi, 1994; Mohanty, 1991b; Narayan, 1997). More specifically, research on rape perceptions has been conducted with supposedly generic women—white, middle-class women—while assumed to represent the reality of all women (Landrine, Klonoff, & Brown-Collins, 1992; Trotman Reid & Kelly, 1994; Wyatt, 1992). Furthermore, while there exists a handful of fictional and journalistic writings on rape in the Lebanese context, authors and activists have begun to argue for the need to conduct empirical investigations as not much is known about this and other forms of violence against women, increasingly being reported in Beirut and in Lebanese society in general (AbuHabib, 1998; Abul-Husn, 1994; Faour, 1995; Maksoud, 1996; Tabbara & A’assayran, 1994). The combination of these concerns underlies a recent (1999) study I undertook in Beirut, Lebanon. Through in-depth interviews with activists, key com287

munity figures and women not involved in activism, as well as participant observation in social and professional settings, this study sought to ascertain the links between social relations and conceptions of rape and consensual sex. Relying on an intersectional approach to analysis (see p. 2), this article offers insight into the main finding of this study, namely, that conceptions of rape and consensual sex are strongly shaped by the centrality of marriage and the construction of marriageability within contemporary Beiruti context. One of the processes by which the link between social relations and conceptions of rape and consensual sex occurs is through the construction of differentiated womanhoods and perceived marriageability that impact on which unmarried women are perceived to be consenting to sex and those more likely to be seen as rape victims; this argument will be amply illustrated with data from the Beirut study.1

THEORETICAL FRAMEWORK AND LITERATURE REVIEW Several feminist authors and researchers argue that dominant conceptions of rape have been based on the experiences of one group of women in western contexts but have been assumed to apply universally (Brand, 1993; Clark Hine, 1989; Crenshaw, 1995; Johnson-Odim, 1991; Smith, 1990). This assumed

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commonality of definitions has generated solutions that have been assumed to be universal but which have failed to live up to that promise—e.g., rape crisis centres in Quebec, Canada, that are beginning to acknowledge the inaccessibility of their services to women from ethnic minority groups, and have yet to address this issue (Vandal, 1997). Spelman (1988) contends that while women may have commonalities in their experiences, this cannot be assumed and must be empirically ascertained. Moreover, while not denying the importance of a gender analysis of rape, several feminist authors assert the importance of taking into account the impact of elements such as race and class, and their links to the broader social context, on conceptions of the phenomenon (Baines, 1997; Brand, 1993; Clark Hine, 1989; Hill Collins, 1990, 1993/1997, 1997; Hooks, 1981; Johnson-Odim, 1991; O’Toole & Schiffman, 1997; Smith, 1990; Wriggins, 1996). A similar point is made with regard to empirical research about conceptions of rape. There has been a growing critique of research approaches to the study of rape adopting a singular focus that privileges the impact of individual and situational factors. Concretely, this has translated into research focusing on the impact of variables such as: the use of force (e.g., Bergen, 1996; Day, 1994; Kanekar, Shaherwalla, Franco, Kunju, & Pinto, 1991; Roberts, Grossman, & Gebotys, 1996; Sawyer, Pinciaro, & Jessell, 1998); alcohol consumption by the woman/victim (e.g., Abbey & Harnish, 1995; DeSouza, Pierce, Zanelli, & Hutz, 1992; Norris, Nurius, & Dimeff, 1996; Scronce & Corcoran, 1995); and whether the incident involved strangers or acquaintances (e.g., Bell, Kuriloff, & Lottes, 1994; Hammock & Richardson, 1997; Johnson & Jackson, 1988; Johnson & Russ, 1989; Kanekar et al., 1991; Kopper, 1996). A much less frequent yet also explored theme is the impact of a woman’s actions on perceptions of rape and her credibility (e.g., Abbey & Harnish, 1995; DeSouza et al., 1992; Kanekar et al., 1991; Schneider, 1992). The almost exclusive focus on individual/situational variables has been criticized for paying cursory, if any, attention to the impact of categories of analysis such as gender, race, ethnicity and religion, that may shape conceptions of rape. Some researchers have responded by adopting an alternative focus on these categories in research about this issue (Bourque, 1989; DiMaria and DiNuovo, 1986; George, Winfield, & Blazer, 1992; Giuffre & Williams, 1994; Wyatt, 1992). In addressing criticisms to both theoretical and empirical treatments of rape, several authors have proposed a theoretical approach, sometimes referred

to as intersectionality (Creese & Stasiulis, 1996; Crenshaw, 1995; Hill Collins, 1990, 1997; Hooks, 1981; Yuval-Davis, 1998). This approach, which has not been restricted to analyses of rape, is characterized by two main tenets. First, intersectionality considers categories such as gender, ethnicity, religion and sexual orientation, not as individual characteristics or variables, but as categories of analysis which signify social locations in society, and which are continuously being negotiated and shaped within everyday relationships (England & Stiell, 1997; Fuss, 1989; Hill Collins, 1990, 1997; Hooks, 1981; YuvalDavis, 1998). In the intersectional approach, the interlocking categories of, for example, gender, race and religion, as opposed to a single category, determine one’s social location. Furthermore, social locations are not seen to be solely imposed by society or structures external to people’s experiences, but are understood to be reinforced and negotiated in everyday relationships (Butler, 1990; Devor, 1989; Moore, 1994). The second main tenet of the intersectional approach is that these social locations reflect and reinforce the operation of power within social relations embedded in a particular social context. In this approach, power is understood as a fluid dynamic that operates in everyday social relations at the intersection of various elements of social location (Creese & Stasiulis, 1996; Kelly, 1988; Mohanty, 1991a; Moore, 1994; Narayan, 1997). Power operates in such a way as to reinforce dominant relations of oppression and privilege, and these impact on the construction of social phenomenon such as rape (Baines, 1997; Hill Collins, 1990, 1997; Hooks, 1981; Moore, 1994). However, this does not imply that all women sharing the same social location will share similar experiences or conceptions of a phenomenon. Instead, what is implied is that examining individual women’s lives provides an insight into the operation of power in the construction of phenomena in any given social context. By adopting the latter exploration as the focus of social science inquiry, much can be learned about how oppression is constructed, lived and challenged, and this is seen as a first and necessary step towards changing oppressive social relations (Bannerji, 1993; Harvey & Gow, 1994; Kelly, 1988; Lather, 1991; Mohanty, 1991b; Narayan, 1997). An illustration of this approach is evident in the study by Giuffre and Williams (1994). The authors explored the gap between experiencing and labeling behaviours as ‘‘sexual harassment.’’ The study, conducted in Texas, was based on interviews with a sample of 18 restaurant employees diverse in terms of sexual orientation, race, ethnicity, class and gender. The results indicated that there are ‘‘complex double

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standards’’ as to when the same behaviour is labeled as sexual harassment and when it is not. The general finding was that a behaviour is labeled sexual harassment if it takes place between co-workers in similar hierarchical positions but who differ in terms of ethnicity, race, class or sexual orientation. The authors draw links between this general finding and ‘‘the dominant social construction of pleasure’’ which defines only heterosexual, intra-racial relationships as acceptable; relationships that fall outside the bounds of this acceptability are more likely to be labeled ‘‘sexual harassment.’’ A study by George et al. (1992) demonstrates similar theoretical observations. In an attempt to assess the impact of social relations on perceptions of sexual assault, the authors compared two representative samples of 1157 women in rural and urban regions of the United States. Their findings indicated that there were clear links between women’s conceptions of sexual assault and the geographic region within which they lived. They concluded that: [S]ociocultural factors may help account for differing definitions of sexual assault and different correlates of acknowledged vs. unacknowledged rape. This issue clearly merits additional research. (George et al., 1992 p. 122) Finally, a study by Wyatt (1992) explored the impact of race, class and gender on differences of conceptions of rape in a sample of 55 Black and White women living in Los Angeles. The researcher concluded that socio-political elements—e.g., the present-day impact of a history of slavery in the United States—play an important role in women’s conceptions/experiences of rape and access to services such as rape crisis centres. To elaborate, the author argues that racism has constructed Black women as ‘‘sexually voracious.’’ In turn, Black women are not seen as likely rape victims, in that they are believed to always be willing to engage in sex. This construction, which has its roots in the history of slavery, undermines the credibility of Black women victims of rape. Wyatt’s analysis leads her to urge other researchers to consider the impact of racism on women’s conceptions/experiences of rape. As will become apparent in this article, intersectionality is a useful theoretical framework for understanding constructions of rape and consent within the Beiruti context. Indeed, while this study rests on the theoretical foundation of intersectionality elaborated by feminists of colour in western contexts, the findings reported in this article enrich this framework by providing a concrete example of the impact of social

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relations on conceptions of rape within an Arabic society. While these feminist authors focused primarily on the impact of race and ethnicity on conceptions of rape, this article focuses on three other elements of social location which appeared to be of most salience in understanding the link between social relations and constructions of rape and consent within the Beiruti context: marital and socioeconomic status and physical dis/ability.2

METHODOLOGY The feminist intersectional approach that guided this study is coupled with a reliance on the principles of grounded methodology (Glaser & Strauss, 1967; Strauss & Corbin, 1990), where the aim is not to verify theories but to generate theoretical concepts and build theories from empirical data. Grounded methodology was deemed to be appropriate for this study because no research on rape has been conducted with women in Lebanon, thereby permitting the collection of salient concepts useful for building further quantitative or qualitative explorations. As feminist researchers, activists and practitioners have long argued, the credibility of rape survivors has always been in question; therefore, methodologies that work to validate participants’ experiences and conceptions are best suited for this type of research (Bergen, 1996; Davis & Srinivasan, 1995; Dutton, 1996). Data for this study was derived from three main sources: interviews, participant observation, and a review of written documents. These sources were primarily in Arabic with very few participants choosing to communicate in English or French. The first source of data is derived from interviews with 13 adult women who were not formally engaged in activism on the issue of violence against women. This was a highly diverse group of women between the ages of 24 and 42, from various ethnicities, classes, educational backgrounds, physical abilities and religious backgrounds. Table 1 presents selected characteristics of the participants quoted in this article. Throughout these interviews, I relied on a vignette, referred to hereafter as ‘‘the film vignette,’’ which consisted of a scene taken from a popular Arabic film: A young woman (19 or 20 years old) falls in love for the first time with her neighbor. Their relationship involved no more than the occasional holding of hands until one day when the woman’s parents are out of town, and she goes to visit him in his apartment. He lives on the roof and so she climbs up to see him but has not entered his apartment yet.

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Table 1 Selected characteristics of the women interviewed Pseudonym

Age

ET

RE

MS

Josephine Layal Loubna Magida Maha Mervat Samia

43 24 25 40 33 early 30’s 30

Armenian Lebanese Lebanese Lebanese Palestinian Syrian/Egyptian Lebanese

Christian Catholic Druze Unknown Christian Maronite Muslim Sunni Muslim Sunni Muslim Shiite

SE M SI SE SI M SI

DI

Motor

Motor

ED

OC

Bacc II (Grade12) primary school Unknown Unknown B.A. elementary school Bacc I (Grade11)

Secretary Homemaker Fashion designer ESL teacher Marketing agent Sales clerk Unemployed

ET = Ethnicity; RE = Religion; MS = Marital status: M = married, SI = single, E = engaged, SE = Separated; DI = Disability, if declared by participant; ED = Last educational level completed; OC = Self-reported occupation.

He invites her in and she declines at which point he tells her not to be afraid because he loves her. She declines his offer again. He tries to kiss her and she pulls away. He tries again and meets with a similar reaction. She begins to feel cold on the roof so he invites her in and this time she accepts. He tries to kiss her again and she accepts and we see him closing the door behind them. After presenting the vignette, I asked the women what they thought happened behind that closed door. I chose this vignette because it came from a popular and widely accessible medium—television—and because it captured the essence of ambiguity between rape and consensual sex. In addition to women not formally involved in activism, I also interviewed a group of nine volunteers, eight women and one man belonging to the Lebanese Council to Resist Violence against Women (LCRVAW). The final set of interviews was conducted with 16 community professionals who had a direct or indirect relationship to the issue of violence against women, some of them actually being activists on related issues. This group included: a priest, a sheikh, social workers, a school principal, a psychologist, a psychoanalyst, a university professor, a mukhtar,3 an Internal Security Forces officer, and a lawyer, as well as several coordinators of community organizations. Another important part of data collection consisted of observations I recorded throughout my stay in Beirut within the following settings: social places or gatherings; community organizations; and public settings. Being of Beiruti origin,4 my time in Lebanon was spent within pre-established extended family, neighborhood or friendship networks where I was able to conduct much participant observation. Moreover, I became heavily involved in the work of various community organizations dealing with issues closely touching the lives of women—e.g., prostitution, disability, poverty, etc. These settings provided me with informal contact with various community

activists who were quite instrumental throughout the research process. Other sources of data included a review of newspaper articles from three Lebanese newspapers (1996 – 1999) on violence against women, as well as a review of non-confidential organizational documents from various community organizations. In this paper, I rely primarily on data from the interviews with women not involved in activism, and participant observation incidents recorded in my research journal, as well as some newspaper articles.

FINDINGS: LINKING THE CENTRALITY OF MARRIAGE TO CONCEPTIONS OF RAPE The main finding of the Beirut study is that perceptions of rape reflect, reinforce, and are supported by dominant social relations. Concretely, the operation of power within social relations creates differentiated womanhoods and perceived marriageability that impact on which unmarried women are perceived to be consenting to sex and those seen to be likely rape victims. In what follows, I will illustrate this main finding by exploring the link between the construction of women ‘‘with nothing to lose’’ and conceptions of consensual sex and rape. In order to set the stage for this exploration, I begin by illustrating the centrality of marriage with Beiruti society and the consequences of women’s consent to sex outside the bounds of marriage.

The Centrality of Marriage and Consequences of Consent While there is a dearth of available literature that directly addresses marriage in the Beiruti and Lebanese contexts, available studies and theoretical discussions concur that marriage and the family hold a central place in women’s lives (Akl, 1999; Kabbanji & Attat, 1997; Khalaf, 1998; Klat & Khudr, 1984;

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Sabban, 1986). A recent study on working women in Lebanon from a variety of social classes and geographical settings illustrates this importance (Kabbanji & Attat, 1997). In a diverse sample of over 2000 women, 25% of whom were married, 25% indicated that marriage had fulfilled all of their life’s ambitions; over 60% indicated that marriage had partially fulfilled their life’s expectations (Kabbanji & Attat, 1997, pp. 121 – 122). The study also found that over 40% of unmarried women in the sample saw work as a way of meeting potential husbands. A study by Khalaf (1998, p.7) also illustrates the importance accorded to the marital relationship: 53% of the married women interviewed indicated that they would be willing to stop working should their husbands ask them to do so. Based on her many studies on working women in Lebanon, Khalaf concludes that ‘‘family usually has precedence over work’’ (Khalaf, 1998, p. 7) for women in Lebanon. The importance of marriage is also supported by Christian and Muslim religious discourses that tout marriage as an important aspect of devotion to God (Al-Masri, 1989; Birr & Fitnat, 1996). More specifically, the Arab world, and Lebanon is no exception, is predominantly Muslim in composition. Islam has been examined in its complexity by several Arabic feminist authors who point to its influence on women’s lives (Azzam, 1996; Birr & Fitnat, 1996; ElNimr, 1996; El-Solh & Mabro, 1994; Kandiyoti, 1991; Mernissi, 1996). More specifically, these authors have maintained that an understanding of women’s lives and constructions of womanhood in Arabic societies cannot be achieved without accounting for the impact of Islam. One of the impacts of Islam has been the reinforcement of the importance of the family as the basic social unit. Under Islam, women’s roles in the family have been given a higher value than their roles outside the family. Women’s education and employment are encouraged in Islam, but mostly as a way of strengthening the family unit: If they are educated and are contributors to the survival of the family, then they are better mothers and wives. In fact, another related impact of Islam has been the construction of women as wives and mothers, roles in which women are most valued. In addition to the role of religion in reinforcing the centrality of marriage and the family in women’s lives, it has been argued that economic pressures and the unavailability of governmental assistance coupled with the societal expectation that unwed women must remain in their parents’ home, all lead to a situation in which single women are seen as financial burdens on their families (Kabbanji & Attat, 1997; Khalaf, 1998). This has translated into pressure on women to

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get married, sometimes at a very young age. This pressure is eased off in situations where unwed women are employed and are supporting themselves or their families. The importance of the family and the centrality of marriage in Beiruti society was amply confirmed in the Beirut study. Findings indicate that marriage is seen as a way of gaining economic security, providing an acceptable outlet for women’s sexual desires, and serving as protection against the possible sexual transgressions of other men. My aim here is not to delve into the realms of descriptive data illustrating the centrality of marriage. Instead, I wish to illustrate how this centrality is linked to conceptions of consensual sex and rape within women’s accounts. An example of this link is evident in a newspaper article about a woman whose husband was away on a trip. She was raped over a period of many months by a painter who was doing renovations in her home. The article states that he had entered her home in the middle of the night through a window; ‘‘she did not want to cause a scandal so she surrendered to him’’ (Draqible´, 1994, p. 5). In this case, her fear of tarnishing her reputation and by extension the reputation of her marriage and her family in the face of her neighbors prevented her from refusing the painter’s advances. This link between the consequences of the sexual act and women’s conceptions of rape was also evident in my interviews. More specifically, as indicated in these excerpts from my interviews in reaction to the film vignette, conceptions of rape are shaped by the probable consequences of women’s consent to sex: Josephine: He must marry her, if she loves him then it’s not rape, it’s with her will. Not rape . . . But the real issue is whether he marries her or not afterwards. Samia and Loubna: S: I don’t think it’s rape. L: If they love each other? S: They love each other . . . This incident happened with her consent, not against her will. L: Yes, but he must remain loyal to her, remain loyal. He shouldn’t leave her after this has happened. That’s scary. Mervat: No, I don’t think it’s rape. In my opinion it’s not rape. If two people love each other I don’t think it’s so, because she responded to his advances. It’s true that she was refusing in principle, she wants it . . . She refuses not because she doesn’t love him, but because she is scared of society, no more, no less.

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In the above excerpts, an emphasis is made on the consequences of the sexual incident not on the relationship between the two parties at the time of the event. While love between the man and woman is important in the distinction between consensual sex and rape, it is the consequences of the sexual act that matter most. Indeed, the refusal of the girl5 in the film vignette is explained away by referring to ‘‘fear of society’’; she really wants to have sex but she is scared of the consequences. Her agency is governed by constraints and fears that go beyond her individual desires. As the following excerpt from Layal will illustrate, fear of the consequences is closely related to the importance placed on virginity and its links to marriageability. Layal: L: The guy is above reproach whereas the girl, yes she’s reproachable . . . he couldn’t care less, every day he can be with a girl, he couldn’t care less. But the girl, no, she is reproachable. SW: How does this affect her, let’s say if she became a woman [lost her virginity] and she’s not married? L: It affects her later in life if a person proposes to her in marriage and she accepts. Maybe when something is about to happen between them, he’ll discover that she is a woman. Here maybe, you feel that the guy will be somewhat upset . . . Because this happened . . . in a village close to ours, same thing, she met a person, she surrendered herself to him, and then this person left her. Another person came and asked for her hand. When he married her and realized that she was a woman . . . he went to her parents’ and said ‘‘you were supposed to have given me a girl, not a woman’’ . . . So they got a forensic doctor who examined her and it turns out that she was a woman. You know what her brother did? The brother killed his sister over this. He killed his sister and he was going to be put in jail, but his brother-in-law, the guy who was going to marry her, got him out. He [brother-in-law] said that when a guy is defending his honour, it is best that the girl be killed. In Layal’s story, it is apparent that the loss of virginity has consequences that go beyond the girl being labeled ‘‘not good.’’ Her loss of virginity is closely tied to her family’s honour and can lead to the dissolution of her marriage and to her murder. Currently, article 562 of the Lebanese Penal Code provides lighter sentences for a man who kills one of his immediate or extended family members without pre-

meditation and in defense of his own or his family’s honour—compared to higher sentences for murders not fitting this description. It is worth mentioning that beginning with the pioneering work of Laure Moghaizel, the late Lebanese lawyer and activist who aimed to eradicate all Lebanese laws that discriminated against women, activist efforts have challenged the law on ‘‘crimes of honour.’’6 In fact, prior to February 1999, article 562 also included a section that allowed for total acquittal in cases of ‘‘crimes of honour’’ (Moghaizel & Abdel-Sater, 1999). Persistent activist efforts over a period of three decades succeeded in removing this section; efforts continue to remove article 562 in its entirety. Not surprisingly, resistance to removing this article has been attributed to the fear that women will gain sexual freedom if they know that their extra-marital sexual acts will no longer be punished with a legally sanctioned consequence as grave as murder (Moghaizel & Abdel-Sater, 1999). ‘‘Crimes of honour’’ are a primarily rural phenomena occurring in some Lebanese villages and very rare in urban centres (Moghaizel & Abdel-Sater, 1999). In a personal communication (July, 1999), Mirella Abdel-Sater, a lawyer specializing in cases of ‘‘crimes of honour,’’ explained that the tighter knit of family relations and the extensive interdependence of families in rural regions contributes to a situation where women’s sexuality comes under heavy scrutiny. Specifically, tarnishing family honour has grave consequences for relationships with other families in the community, families on which economic, social and emotional support is dependent. This does not however mean that ‘‘crimes of honour’’ do not take place in Beirut, albeit to a much smaller degree. Regardless of where they take place, reports of ‘‘crimes of honour’’ circulate quite rapidly from one part of the country to another due in large part to the fact that Lebanon is a small country connected by an active newspaper and television industry. Moreover, with increasing internal migration from diverse rural regions towards Beirut, such as in the case of Layal, stories are bound to be relocalized. Regardless of their origins, stories about ‘‘crimes of honour’’ present potent examples for women in Beirut about the potential consequences of their pre-marital sexuality. In addition to femicide, a more common consequence of marriageable women’s consent to premarital sex is loss of good reputation. Conceptions of consent are closely tied to the importance placed on the preservation of reputation, which for unwed women is jeopardized by the loss of their virginity. As two volunteers I interviewed at the Lebanese Council to Resist Violence against Women confided, the most effective way to ‘‘ruin someone’’ is to

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tarnish the reputation of a woman in the family. Others also commented on the importance of reputation and its links to virginity and marriage: Psychoanalyst: Another type of abuse that is very common in Lebanon is the parents who are afraid for their daughters’ reputation and virginity, they would prevent them from having a normal social and emotional life. And this could continue up to marriage. Mervat: Sex must happen within a framework, a solid framework [marriage] for the girl’s sake, but also for the guy’s sake. Because, there are guys who say, for example, that the girl that surrenders, he loves her a lot, but when she surrenders herself, he thinks that she isn’t an honourable person. He thinks that she will go with anybody, just like she went with him. Josephine: I have a daughter, I always advise her . . . that she shouldn’t surrender herself. And if she does do anything, then I won’t know, but she would have lost herself, ruined her entire being . . . she should respect herself, respect her dignity. As illustrated in the above excerpts, reputation is of prime importance in Beiruti society. More specifically for women, reputation is tied to respect, dignity, honour, and ultimately to virginity. In turn, compromising one’s virginity is a sure way of jeopardizing marriageability. However, this is not the case for all women regardless of their social location in Beiruti society. The importance of virginity for women’s marriageability is mitigated by socioeconomic status, as illustrated in the following participant observation incidents noted in my research journal: Journal entry: JULY 2, 1999 I met with a close friend today who asked me if I had interviewed any women from the upper classes, to which she herself belongs. She then added that pre-marital sex for these women is not so problematic because they can afford the costly operations to restore their virginity. Journal entry: JULY 27, 1999 At a camp held by a local organization for ‘‘victims of prostitution,’’ I met a young woman, aged 17, who was an orphan. She spoke to me of her brother’s horrific physical and emotional abuse

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that led her to take to the streets. She then told me that she had lost her virginity to a man who ‘‘duped her’’ (her term) into having sex with him by telling her that he would marry her. He never did. She then looked at me innocently and asked: ‘‘Do you think I will ever find someone to marry me now that I am no longer a virgin?’’ She told me about a judge whom she had met through her many court appearances (for minor felonies and custody) who told her that she would be willing to pay for an operation to surgically restore her hymen, since this young woman couldn’t afford to do so herself. It may or may not be true that upper class women engage in pre-marital sex more easily than women of other socioeconomic classes. What is more interesting is that conceptions of consent are tied to socioeconomic status via marriageability. Put differently, the assumption is that a woman who can ensure that her virginity will be restored before marriage or that her financial situation will shield her reputation, has no reason not to ‘‘surrender’’ herself. While my aim is not to ascertain the veracity of women’s generalizations about classes, ethnicities, or other groups, the link between socioeconomic status and virginity may be indeed related to whether women can afford the cost of hymen-restoration operations. The operation is estimated to cost thousands of dollars, which far exceeds the capacities of many women (Mernissi, 1996). Moreover, information about where such operations can be obtained is not widely available. Indeed, such information is perhaps only available to those with the financial means and social status necessary to ‘‘purchase’’ such knowledge. The cost and secretive nature of the operation makes it prohibitive and out of reach for most except a few select group of women. Put differently, fear of society appears to be mitigated by a woman’s social location, especially as it relates to her socioeconomic status. In short, the value placed on virginity and its links to marriage play an important role in shaping conceptions of what is conceived of either as consensual sex or as rape. Considering the importance accorded to marriage within the Beiruti context, a woman who can somehow be free of the negative consequences of having sex outside marriage is almost always seen to be consenting to sex and not as a rape victim—as in the case of women from the upper classes. If consent is perceived to be tied to fear of the consequences, and specifically to becoming unmarriageable, then the corollary to this equation is that women who are conceived of as already unmarri-

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ageable are seen as ‘‘having nothing to lose’’ and hence believed to be consenting to sex. Nowhere is this observation better illustrated than in the case of women with disabilities and separated/divorced women. Because consenting to sex will not jeopardize their chances of getting married, these women are more likely to be seen as willing sexual partners than as rape victims.

Women with Nothing to Lose Research conducted in Lebanon confirms society’s disregard for women with disabilities, and their minimal chances of getting married (Abu-Habib, 1998). Interviews and participant observation incidents relay a similar observation, linking this disregard to conceptions of consensual sex and rape. The following excerpts are among many that provide typical illustration of this observation: Journal entry: JULY 8, 1999 I went to the grassroots organization for people with disabilities where I volunteered during my stay in Lebanon. I got into a discussion about my research with the President and the Vice President of the organization. They then started telling me the story, which they don’t believe, of a member of the organization who says she was raped as a child and then as an adult by members of a militia. She has also said that she was recently raped by a man whom she was dating. I asked them why they didn’t believe her at which point one of those present answered that 80% of women with disabilities have such a disregard for their bodies, believe that they are unfit for marriage, they are not complete women, that they have basically prostituted themselves exchanging sex for feeling wanted or for an ounce of affection. This woman’s case, they told me, is more likely to be this than rape. Loubna: I notice that there is no attention paid to her at all [woman with a disability]. I mean, that you find her sitting on the side. If she goes down the street, you don’t feel that she attracts anybody’s attention, except with her disability, not like an ordinary girl. They don’t see her as a girl like all other girls, I mean guys. That’s what I notice. Samia: Yes, we know a lot of cases [of men trying to take sexual advantage of disabled women]. She [a disabled woman] has never been out of the house,

and has never gone out, there is usually something missing, affection, she doesn’t want the affection of her mother or the affection of a brother to his sister, a certain type of affection. There are people who try to take advantage of that. Apparent in the above excerpts is the belief that a woman with a disability is unmarriageable because she is in a deformed body that society has taught her to hate. Furthermore, she draws no male attention, the way an ‘‘ordinary girl’’ would. These perceptions reflect the current situation in Lebanon where people with disabilities have yet to be fully integrated into society; women, in particular, have been mostly kept in their homes by over-protective parents or relatives (Abu-Habib, 1998). Hence, having minimal chances of gaining contact with the world outside their home and minimal chances of getting married, women with disabilities are seen as sheltered and isolated women, surrendering their virginity at the first sign of male attention. Being already constructed as unmarriageable in a context that holds high disregard and minimal opportunities of integration for people with disabilities, women with disabilities are seen as having nothing to lose by consenting to sex outside marriage. Consent to sex is the only way to get male attention and affection, which as we saw earlier, is quite important in that it is linked to the centrality of marriage. In the case of women with disabilities, conceptions of consensual sex and rape are tied not only to the woman’s individual desires for affection, but more broadly to society’s disregard for people with disabilities. When she consents, she is believed to have done so because she has internalized society’s disregard for her as a disabled woman. While these conceptions reflect a critical view of social relations at the intersection of dis/ability and gender, they nonetheless reinforce oppressive social relations that define women’s worth through their status as un/marriageable. In addition to rendering invisible a woman’s personal desires in consenting to sex, conceptions of disabled women’s sexuality have the potential of undermining women’s disclosures of rape. While it may be true that some women with disabilities have learned to exchange sex for affection, what I find more interesting is that this belief in disabled women’s need for affection is used to cast doubts on the credibility of disabled women who disclose incidents of rape. In short, a disabled woman’s credibility is undermined by virtue of her social location that has constructed her a priori as unmarriageable, and hence as unrapeable. A similar theme is apparent from the data with regards to divorced/separated women.

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Simply put, a woman who is divorced/separated, is seen as damaged goods because she is no longer a virgin; hence, she has nothing to lose by having sex: Maha: A divorced woman is like a designer item that you buy from a second hand store. While she may have been of repute at some point in time, she is now used goods. Priest: The problem is that if a woman is divorced, all men will covet her, and if anyone says the opposite, tell him ‘‘no, you are lying.’’ Because in society’s view, the divorced woman is an adulteress and the problem in our society is that it is always the woman who is divorced, not the man. The man is a saint no matter what he does! Journal entry: JULY 23, 1999 The owner of the Internet cafe´ where I go to read my e-mail spoke to me at length today about my thesis and about Lebanese society. He stated that if women divorce or separate, they are seen as whores. He told me the story of one of his divorced women clients who uses the Internet til 2 a.m. He said: ‘‘I bet that when she goes back home, people think she’s been sleeping around with a guy, meanwhile it’s only her and I who know how she spent her evening!’’ Speaking about their lives as separated women, Josephine and Magida concurred with Maha’s and the priest’s observations: Josephine: It’s a disaster. It’s a disaster. Because the mere fact that a woman is divorced, she doesn’t have a man, every guy wants to take a bite from here, a bite from there. Nobody’s serious, that is, every guy who goes out with a woman wants to sleep with her, frankly, that is the truth . . . [My boss is] a very nice person . . . Usually the bosses don’t leave a divorced woman like this. That’s why I am putting up with the situation. Okay, so my salary is not very high, but I tell myself, wherever I am going to go work, anybody will try to have an affair with me or to have a date with me. Magida: When I leave the house, they all try to get to me, to sleep with me not for another reason, not because they like me, for example. When the jackass [the husband] is in the house nobody dares

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come near me . . .. In Lebanon, when they know that a woman left her husband, they think that you’re waiting for sex. This is their mentality. You can’t change the country’s mentality. As seen from the above excerpts, divorced and separated women are seen as legitimate sexual prey. Having been married, it is assumed that they are no longer virgins and hence are legitimate to advance sexually. Indeed, the official sanctions against advancing women sexually are lower where the victim is not a virgin. In Article 512 of the Lebanese Penal Code, the sentence for a man who committed rape against a virgin is higher than that for a similar rape where the woman involved is not a virgin (Qassim, 1999). A married woman is deemed to be protected from the sexual advances of other men. However, a separated/divorced woman’s loss of virginity combined with loss of husband make her legitimate sexual prey. Implicit in this conception is the idea that rape does not take place in marriage, an observation reinforced by the official state law that does not acknowledge marital rape. Indeed, activists working on the issue of violence against women interviewed for this study referred to this assumption as one of their primary concerns in changing public perceptions regarding rape and the credibility of survivors of marital rape. Other women not involved in activism also made similar observations; for example, as Magida suggests, below, sex in marriage is not always an activity that the wife desires or finds pleasurable. Moreover, within the excerpts, a divorced/separated woman’s socioeconomic status is alluded to as placing her at more risk of being seen as legitimate sexual prey. As Josephine mentions, her financial situation places her at the mercy of potential employers. Josephine, an optometrist by training, settles for the lower paying and lesser-status job of secretary because she feels safe with her current employer, something that she cannot guarantee elsewhere. Once again, a woman’s social location in terms of her socioeconomic status intersects with her marital status to create differing experiences with regards to how she is perceived, in this case as more or less of a legitimate or attainable sexual prey. Furthermore, the excerpts point to a relationship between sex and marital status. In addition to being seen as legitimate sexual prey, divorced/separated women are themselves assumed to be looking for sex. As previously noted, socially acceptable expressions of women’s sexuality are restricted to the bounds of marriage. However, in the case of separated/divorced women, they are believed to be ‘‘waiting’’ for sex, now that they no longer have their usual

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male partner to satisfy their needs. Ironically, as Magida notes, during her 14-year marriage to an emotionally and physically abusive husband, sex for her was a duty, an obligation that she begrudgingly engaged in. Instead of seeking to have sex with other men following her separation from her husband, her negative experiences during marriage shut her off to sex completely: This is the worst form of abuse [sexual]. This torture that I endured for years I put up with him sleeping with me without me feeling anything. I lost my feelings. I don’t feel my body anymore. You know, I became like a machine, like a thing to be used. I stopped feeling. It is not a pleasure . . . He disgusted me. Hence, despite divorced/separated women’s personal feelings about sex, they may be seen to be consenting to sex and may be prone to sexual advances because of their marital status. In this case, women’s consent to sex is seen to be shaped less by her personal desire than by her marital status. Having already lost their virginity, they are seen to have nothing more to lose, indeed, they are seen to be in need of sex because of the belief that marriage unleashes their sexual appetite. This is not to say that some divorced, single or other women may not in actuality have ravenous sexual appetites. What is important is that their marital status is considered a pivotal factor in explaining their consent to sex. In turn, this may shed serious doubts on their credibility should they ever disclose experiences of rape. Put differently, a divorced/separated woman has no reason to fear society’s consequences for consenting to sex outside marriage because she is already unmarriageable and hence unrapeable.

DISCUSSION AND CONCLUSION Through illustrations from the data of a recent study, this article pointed to the existence of a close link between conceptions of rape and consensual sex, and the centrality of marriage within Beiruti society. This link is nowhere more evident than in the case of women who are seen as ‘‘having nothing to lose.’’ These women are deemed as already unmarriageable and hence as more likely to consent to sex. In turn, they are less likely to be seen as victims of rape. The findings of this study are quite consonant with writings by Arabic feminists that emphasize the importance of marriage and virginity for women. It has been suggested that it is not the individual, but the family in its many variations over the years that

is the basic social unit in Arabic societies (El-Solh & Mabro, 1994; Joseph, 1983, 1991, 1993, 1994; Sabbagh, 1996; Tucker, 1993). While not denying the abuses that women may incur at the hands of their family members, the family has long been a source of economic, emotional and social support for both women and men. Both Sabbagh (1996) and Joseph (1994) maintain that the family serves functions similar to those undertaken by the state in the West: [T]he extended family offered each individual all the amenities that the state currently offers its citizens in the West . . .. Unemployment benefits, health insurance, and protection against all forms of disaster were and continue to be offered to women through the extended family. (Sabbagh, 1996, p. xv) This reliance on family members for basic support has led to the development of what Joseph (1983, 1991, 1993, 1994), working in Lebanon, terms as ‘‘connectivity,’’ a state of being where the self is defined in relation to others. Joseph argues that this connectivity is patriarchal in nature, reinforcing inegalitarian connections across age and gender, where women and youths are on the disadvantaged side of these relations. Joseph maintains that the high value placed on connectivity is, to a great extent, responsible for the importance placed on marriage and motherhood as women’s ultimate roles. Crenshaw (1995) maintains that current European and North American feminist conceptions of rape and sexuality, which focus on the individual with concepts such as choice, consent, the body, and personal boundaries, may not adequately portray women’s realities in contexts where the family, and not the individual, is the basic social unit. Considering the importance of the family in providing for both women and men’s social, emotional and economic needs, Sabbagh (1996) asserts that women’s sexuality in Arabic contexts is controlled in order to protect the sanctity of this social unit. Hence, an exploration of rape within Arabic contexts needs to be accompanied by an understanding of the importance of the family. Concretely, this means that consensual sex or rape cannot be conceived of solely in terms of a woman’s individual choice about her body. For even when individualized conceptions are relied upon by study participants, they hold within them implicit and often explicit references to the importance accorded to the self in relation to others—i.e., marriage and marriageability. Moreover, Arabic feminist authors such as AbuOdeh (1996), El-Solh and Mabro (1994), and Mer-

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nissi (1996) have all pointed to the importance placed on women’s virginity in Arabic societies. Briefly stated, women’s acceptable sexual activity is restricted to the bounds of marriage. For example, within Lebanon and other Arabic countries, extramarital sex (zina) is punishable by civil and religious laws, carries a prison sentence, and is considered haram, an impermissable act against God. In contrast, sex within marriage is revered (Al-Masri, 1989; ElSolh & Mabro, 1994) and a wife’s disobedience and refusal to ‘‘surrender herself’’ to her husband’s rights under marriage is grounds for divorce (Birr & Fitnat, 1996). While sex in marriage is highly revered and holds a privileged place in religious laws, pre-marital sex leading to loss of virginity has dire consequences, ranging from non-marriageability to becoming the victim of a ‘‘crime of honour’’ (Abu-Odeh, 1996; Mernissi, 1996). As Mernissi so aptly phrased it: ‘‘The concepts of honour and virginity locate the prestige of a man between the legs of a woman’’ (Mernissi, 1996, p. 34). Honour-killings belie two important issues. First, it is women who are held responsible for maintaining their virginity. Whether they lose their virginity willingly or through coercion, they place themselves at the risk of being killed or ostracized. Second, as the quote from Mernissi illustrates, a woman’s virginity is not simply a question of her own sexuality or her own body; her actions hold consequences for the men in her family. These consequences relate once again to the economic and social value of the family as a basic social unit (Mernissi, 1996; Sabbagh, 1996). More specifically, the consequence of having a daughter, sister or cousin who has lost her virginity prior to marriage can strain relationships with other families which, as previously explained, are an essential part of a person’s support network. Hence, ‘‘crimes of honour’’ can be partly seen as measures to regulate women’s sexual behaviour so that strain-free relations could be maintained with other families in one’s community. While not wishing to minimize the horrific nature of ‘‘crimes of honour,’’ Sabbagh (1996) notes that while such crimes are frequently discussed in relation to the lives of women in Arabic societies, ‘‘crimes of honour’’ are not widely prevalent. In fact, a more frequent consequence of a woman’s loss of virginity is her becoming unsuitable as a marriage partner. Once again, considering that the family is the basic social unit, unmarriageability has dire consequences for women because they would be cast out of an important system of economic and social support. Mernissi (1996) argues that both the high value placed on virginity as well as the consequences of

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its loss implicitly belie the conception that premarital sex involving coercion or otherwise, is seen as ‘‘defilement’’ and may engender violence. This reflects the criticisms made by Harvey and Gow (1994) and MacKinnon (1995) that sex has all too often been falsely dissociated from violence. Hence, in Arabic contexts, an examination of rape needs to be accompanied by an understanding that in and of itself, some sexual activity (pre-marital) is considered defilement and can be accompanied by violent consequences. The demarcation line between consensual sex and rape is not so much dependent on a woman’s consent but more so on the possible consequences of her sexual activity. Concretely, this implies that an understanding of rape within Arabic contexts needs to be undertaken conjointly with an understanding of the importance placed on virginity, marriage, and the distinction between pre-marital and marital sex. The Beirut study holds implications that go beyond Arabic contexts. As Crenshaw (1995) argues, feminists have long recognized the importance of considering the impact of social relations on women’s experiences and conceptions of rape; yet, there has been a dearth of in-depth investigation into what this means in actuality. By adopting an intersectional approach, the Beirut study offers a concrete illustration of the links between social relations and conceptions of rape and consensual sex. It is important to understand that these links will vary from one context (time and place) to another. Hence, theories and practice strategies need to hold at their centre an understanding of the social relations embedded in the fabric of any particular context in order to better comprehend conceptions of rape and consensual sex. Armed with this knowledge, appropriate and relevant practice strategies can then be devised to address this seemingly resilient form of violence against women. It is this challenge that lies before us as feminist researchers, theorists and activists working in contexts where rape has yet to be uncovered and addressed. ENDNOTES 1. A note of clarification is necessary before proceeding any further: In this article I refer to the ‘‘Beirut study’’in an effort not to generalize to Lebanese society; at times, I do make references to the Lebanese context, when the discussion applies equally to Beirut and to other regions. For example, this is the case when discussing laws in the penal code. 2. Although this is the focus of this article, other findings of this study demonstrate the impact of contemporary ethnic relations on shaping perceptions of sexualized violence: for example, Syrian men, who are a despised ethnicity and who are deemed to be unsuitable marriage partners,

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3.

4.

5. 6.

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are more likely than Lebanese men to be perceived as perpetrators of rape and sexual harassment. ‘‘Mukhtar’’ refers to a particular type of public official responsible for the maintenance and updating of census files, the issuing of identity cards, divorce certificates, birth certificates, etc. These public officials are based in neighborhoods in Beirut and throughout Lebanon and play a pivotal role in neighborhood life. While not discussed in this paper, I am aware of the impact of my positionality as a Lebanese woman on the research process; I will be addressing this issue in another article. Briefly, my positionality as an unwed yet marriageable Lebanese woman generated much descriptive data concerning the centrality of marriage in Beiruti society. Due to space constraints, I do not delve into this descriptive data in the present paper but proceed immediately to the analysis linking this centrality of marriage to conceptions of rape and consent. In colloquial Arabic, a distinction is made between a ‘‘girl’’ (a female child or virgin of marrying age) and a ‘‘woman’’ (a non-virgin). Influenced by the work of Moghaizel and Abdel-Sater (1999), I have chosen to use quotation marks when referring to ‘‘crimes of honour’’: these quotes imply the belief that there is nothing honourable about killing a woman for loss of virginity or other reasons.

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