Discussion List for campus-based and allied personnel working to end gender-based violence on campus.

["Kaplan, Claire (cnk2r)" <>]

Dear SAPC Members:
Here's an important article about our colleague and sister, Ruth Anne 
Koenick.  Bob gave me permission to forward it to the list.
Claire

Claire N. Kaplan, Ph.D.
Director, Sexual & Domestic Violence Services
Manager, Sexual Assault Program Coordinators List
UVA Women's Center
PO Box 800588
Charlottesville VA 22908-0588
http://womenscenter.virginia.edu/sdvs
434-982-2774 / 434-982-2361

________________________________
From: Robert Jensen 
[mailto:]
Sent: Monday, September 15, 2008 11:05 AM
To: Kaplan, Claire (cnk2r)
Subject: Ruth Anne Koenick interview, "Still riding the Second Wave: 
Reflections on feminist struggles"

http://www.ourfuture.org/blog-entry/2008093815/still-riding-second-wave-reflections-feminist-struggles

Still riding the Second Wave: Reflections on feminist struggles

by Robert Jensen, interviewing Ruth Anne Koenick

I met Ruth Anne Koenick at a dinner before my talk on the feminist critique 
of pornography at Rutgers University in 1997. I had been doing public 
presentations on that issue for several years, but that was the first time an 
institution had paid my plane fare to give a lecture. As a young professor, I 
was a bit nervous but also was feeling pretty self-important.

Koenick, director of Rutgers' Department of Sexual Assault Services and Crime 
Victim Assistance, was seated next to me, and when I introduced myself she 
said, "I've seen a lot of men who've figured out how to make money off of 
women's pain. Are you one of them?"

I admit that I was taken aback, but the question was important and 
appropriate. I was getting a modest honorarium for the talk, but as a 
full-time academic who is paid a reasonable salary by my university, I could 
live without it. Independent writers and artists typically need the support 
that comes from speaking fees to survive, but I can easily donate that money 
to activist groups. So, I asked if she thought it would be appropriate for me 
to sign over the speaking fee to her center, and Koenick accepted.

I will forever be indebted to her for that in-your-face comment. In my first 
attempt at being an "expert," Koenick reminded me of all the wrong ways I 
could use my privilege as a white guy with a university position to put 
myself above the feminist anti-violence movement, from which I had learned 
most of what I knew. Koenick later told me she regretted being 
inappropriately rude, but I suggested it wasn't necessary to apologize for 
asking the right question.

Ever since that night I have stayed in touch with Koenick, continuing to be 
impressed by (1) the great work she and her staff were doing, and (2) how 
little she seemed to recognize her own accomplishments. As we have talked 
about her experience in the feminist anti-violence movement -- and as the 
dominant culture increasingly has pretended to be "post-feminist" -- I began 
to nag her about putting her insights down on paper. Each time she insisted 
that her life wasn't interesting enough and that she didn't have anything 
insightful to say. Eventually I wore her down, persuading her that women like 
her from the "second wave" of feminism should not stay silent, and we finally 
conducted an interview.

The term second-wave feminism is used to mark the U.S. women's movement that 
emerged in the 1960s, distinct from the women's suffrage movement -- the 
first wave -- that won the vote in 1920. In the 1990s, the idea of third-wave 
feminism became popular, though it has never been clear why the crucial 
insights of the second wave had become irrelevant or why the political work 
that second-wavers had initiated was somehow magically over. Nowhere is this 
clearer than in the public-health crisis of epidemic levels of men's violence 
against women, where the brutality of patriarchy is so obvious and the 
analysis and activism of second-wave feminists remains more needed than ever.

The stories of women such as Koenick are more important than ever for all of 
us -- women and men -- to hear.

----------------

Robert Jensen: Can you recall the first time you understood what feminism 
meant and identified as a feminist yourself?

Ruth Anne Koenick: I am not sure I can define a specific time and, in truth, 
I am not sure that I totally understand it now. I am the youngest of four 
children and I was lucky to be raised to be an independent thinker by both my 
parents. They taught me to question things and that I could be anything I 
wanted to be, that there were no barriers -- I was as good as anyone else, 
male or female. Although there were some specific expectations -- go to 
college, get married and have children -- I was encouraged to have a career 
and to make decisions for myself; I never really felt constricted. My mother 
was an independent woman and, although she did some very traditional things, 
she also clearly had a mind of her own and was in control of her life in a 
way that was unique for someone born at the turn of the 20th century. I think 
some of this came from my father, an immigrant from Russia in 1920 who lived 
through the revolution, WWI, the pogroms -- he really was a hippie before 
there were hippies. He had overcome a lot to make it in this country, and 
nothing was going to keep him or his family second class.

RJ: Was there a defining moment as you got older?

RAK: When I was actively involved in the anti-war movement of the 1960s, I 
had an awakening, almost like the old "click" that feminists talk about, when 
it became clear to me that issues pertaining to women were so intricately 
intertwined in what we were doing. It was also clear that the men "in charge" 
gave only lip service to anything that was of importance to women, that we 
were always at the bottom of the food chain. Like others, I got tired of 
"making coffee and not policy" and began to look at that movement, my 
surroundings, and my life in a very different way.

There were other things, such as hassles my husband and I faced because I 
didn't take his last name. A married couple with different names is not 
unusual today, but in 1973 it presented real challenges -- banks not giving 
us credit or not printing both names on a card, a newspaper printing only his 
name and not mine in my father-in-law's obituary. That was all part of a 
process that got me to look at the broader picture of how our culture 
encourages and rewards the subordination of women.

RJ: So, in 1970 you were a student at the University of Maryland with this 
emerging feminist worldview, and you helped start a rape crisis center on 
campus. How did that come about?

RAK: I was an undergraduate working for residence life, on the cusp of trying 
to decide what I wanted to do when I grew up. I was living on campus when a 
student on my floor was abducted and raped. I went to meet her at the police 
station and then to the hospital, and I felt totally inept, but I knew enough 
to know that she wasn't getting what she needed. I wasn't allowed to talk to 
her, and we were kept in separate rooms. She was all alone and no matter what 
I did, I couldn't talk to her. I realized the system wasn't working for 
victims.

Sometime later, there was a series of abductions and rapes that overwhelmed 
the university, not because people didn't want to help but because we didn't 
know how. It hit the front pages of the Baltimore Sun and Washington Post, 
and it became an even bigger issue. I teamed up with two friends who also 
worked for residence life and were in grad school, Chris Courtois and Debby 
Watts, and worked with folks in student affairs to open a campus rape crisis 
center. It operated on the beg-borrow-and-steal budget, but we got support 
from Dan Bratton, the Vice President for Student Affairs, and others in 
leadership positions, partially because he made them do this and partially 
because some of them knew it was the right thing to do.

We really didn't know much but quickly discovered that we knew more than 
others, and when we started to talk about this publicly, women came out from 
the woodwork to tell us what had happened to them. Eventually we got space in 
the health center, developed training, took overnight shifts, and responded 
to crisis calls. We developed a really good relationship with the university 
police and, in retrospect, worked as a team. This was 1973-74, just before 
the first Burgess and Holmstrom book (Rape: Victims of Crisis) came out in 
1975 and people began to use the term rape-trauma syndrome.

RJ: Can you remember how you came to a feminist consciousness about the 
gender politics of this specific issue, of rape? What was that process by 
which you and your colleagues deepened your understanding of sexual assault?

RAK:  I am one of those people teaching in women and gender studies who has 
never taken a women's studies course, and I'm still not all that well-read in 
academic feminist theory. When I was in college, there weren't any women's 
studies courses, although I do vividly remember demonstrating on campus to 
get them. Most of my knowledge is rooted in experience. In the beginning 
almost everything I learned came from survivors -- their feelings, thoughts, 
beliefs.

Once we started looking at the issue, it was clear most men don't rape but, 
of course, almost all rapists are men. As we started to understand sexism 
throughout society, we couldn't help but see the reality of rape and sexism. 
Over the years I have learned a lot from colleagues and some key writers -- 
(Andrea) Dworkin, (Susan) Brownmiller, (Ann Wolbert) Holmstrom and (Lynda 
Lytle) Burgess -- but really it has been mostly my clients who have helped me 
understand what they need. When I don't have a clue, they have helped me help 
them.

RJ: You pretty consistently underplay what you know and what you've done. It 
doesn't strike me as just false modesty. Why do you do that?

RAK: As I look back over 38 years, probably like most people in my age group 
who do this work, we went on our instincts and learned by trial and error, 
and the research and writings confirmed our inner feelings. My dear friend 
Chris Courtois was just honored as a distinguished alumni from the University 
of Maryland, and I just received the Wynona M. Lipman Leadership Award for 
the state of New Jersey. Chris and I recognized that what we've accomplished 
was born of our passion long before we had any technical knowledge. I like 
what Drew Gilpin Faust, the president of Harvard University, said: "One of 
the things that I think characterizes my generation...is that I've always 
been surprised by how my life turned out." I am continuously surprised that I 
do what I do and that people see me as having done something special. I think 
what is special is the people who taught me what to do and how to be helpful, 
and that has been a process, not a moment in time. I also need to credit my 
parents who taught me that with privilege comes obligation and that I had an 
obligation to help "repair the world" and to be actively engaged in my 
community.

RJ: What have been the costs and rewards for you in this work?

RAK: In retrospect, the rewards have been far more than can fit in this 
interview -- my experiences have helped shape me as a person, a woman, a wife 
and mother, and a friend.  It has shaped how I see the world and how I see 
myself, and most of the time I feel really good about who I am. But the 
sacrifices have been many. A crisis isn't scheduled, and being on call, 
running a one-person office in the early years, having a commitment to help 
survivors begin their recovery no matter when that happens -- all affected my 
ability to have more time with my children and husband, led to shorter (if 
any) vacations, and were a general interruption into my daily life. I 
remember moving in with my mother during the last days of her life and taking 
phone calls from work about people in need. It may have been the first time I 
told people that I had no more to give, that I couldn't help them while I was 
experiencing this excruciatingly raw and tragic loss.

At another level, hearing so many painful stories helps me keep my life in 
perspective, to see my own problems in the bigger scheme of things. But some 
days, I must admit that I think I can't bear to hear one more story about 
abuse and violence without breaking. Many years ago I worked with a young 
woman who had AIDS and was then raped. Everything I knew about helping 
someone recover went out the window because she had no sense of future. She 
was saying, "All I want to do is live to be 25." Every time she would leave I 
would close the door and cry. I have moments when I say I can't do this one 
more minute, and I weep.

RJ: As you look back at where the feminist movement to confront men's 
violence started, and then reflect on where we are today, are you optimistic? 
Hopeful? Have we made progress or lost ground?

RAK: Answering this almost depends on the day, perhaps hour or even minute 
that you catch me. I have such mixed feelings about where we are, have been, 
and need to go.  Most days I feel like we are fighting many of the same 
battles we fought almost 40 years ago: no dependable funding, poorly paid 
advocates, a culture that is judgmental and victim blaming, a profound fear 
of the dreaded "f" word as a descriptive term of our values, and an 
increasing -- yes, increasing -- acceptability of the desecration and 
degradation of people in general and women in particular. For example, people 
who willingly expose their vulnerabilities for a few moments of canned fame, 
and those who exploit those people for a few dollars, send a clear message 
about how little we value each other. The increased degradation of women and 
overt racism in pornography in the past couple of decades is another example.

I think there are some things that are better, but only at a certain level. 
Yes, there are rape care programs, and there is state and federal funding for 
a small piece of those programs. Maybe the prosecutor and I know each other 
well enough to chat and have lunch, but does that mean that the 
criminal-justice system is any more likely to treat a survivor well, to take 
her seriously today than years ago? The language has changed -- we can say 
"rape" out loud and teach about it in courses -- but has that changed the 
underlying belief system? People don't come out of the womb wanting to be 
rapists nor believing that they are to blame when they are victims, but 
that's where so many end up. What does that say about the culture's belief 
systems?

Here's just one example: I watched a youtube piece about the sexism directed 
at Hillary Clinton, 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g-IrhRSwF9U&feature=related and no matter who ;
a person supports for president, this is a reminder of how far we haven't 
come. I have to say that, in those moments, I don't feel very hopeful. I 
still care about the work, which motivates me to sit through countless boring 
meetings that come with that work. I also am surrounded by wonderful 
colleagues, friends and family who make it easier to get through the day. I'm 
grateful for what I get to do, and at the same time I'm counting the days 
until retirement.

RJ: Is it possible that all these things are true? We have made enormous 
strides in forcing the culture to recognize that, after thousands of years of 
patriarchy, contempt for women is woven deeply into the fabric of the society 
and that violence against women is a huge public-health problem. And, at the 
same time, large segments of the population don't want to face that and so 
minimize or deny the problem. In that sense, is it the case that the women of 
your generation pushed the society forward and as a result we see how far we 
have to go? Could we say the same about racism? Is that just our fate at this 
point in history?

RAK: One of my favorite people once said, "Rape is illegal, but the sexual 
ethic that
underlies rape is woven into the fabric of our culture." I just re-read the 
Seneca Falls Declaration of Sentiments and Resolutions written in 1848, and I 
think that great strides have been made, that women have a greater control 
over their lives and their bodies. When I really think about it, at least at 
an intellectual level, I know life has changed in countless ways. But in my 
heart and perhaps in my daily life, I don't see much progress.  Maybe it is 
because of the world I work in or because I'm so aware of how contempt for 
women infiltrates so much that we do in this culture. When I was once accused 
of not having a sense of humor, I responded that I have a great sense of 
humor about things that are funny. But when people in public life laugh at 
comedians who refer to women in degrading terms, it demonstrates how little 
women are valued. When men in leadership positions say they are concerned 
about equality for women because they have daughters, I say shame on you -- 
how could you be so selfish? Why aren't you concerned because it is just 
wrong? The same thing applies to issues of race and sexual orientation -- 
discrimination and degradation are wrong no matter who is in your family, no 
matter how it affects you personally.

Believing that this is all just our fate and can't really be changed is a bit 
on the depressing side. So, I have to find ways to feel good about getting 
out of bed in the morning, and I do. I find ways to not be brought down by 
how our culture devalues a majority of the population. It's a struggle, but I 
find ways.

RJ's last word: Koenick's first reaction to my interest in writing about her 
work had been disbelief. She asked, "What's so special about me?" My answer 
was, "Nothing, and everything." Koenick is one of thousands of women who have 
built and sustained the anti-rape movement, which has helped millions of 
victims and tried to educate the culture. In a time of backlash, when even 
some women mock feminism, understanding the lives of women such as like 
Koenick -- remembering the history and not turning away from the present 
struggle -- is crucial. Her story reminds us that change is possible, even 
against deeply rooted systems of oppression, and that the people who propel 
forward progressive social change are profoundly ordinary and extraordinarily 
remarkable, all at the same time.

--------------------------------

Robert Jensen is a journalism professor at the University of Texas at Austin 
and board member of the Third Coast Activist Resource Center. His latest 
book, All My Bones Shake: Radical Politics in the Prophetic Voice, will be 
published in 2009 by Soft Skull Press. He also is the author of Getting Off: 
Pornography and the End of Masculinity (South End Press, 2007); The Heart of 
Whiteness: Confronting Race, Racism and White Privilege (City Lights, 2005); 
Citizens of the Empire: The Struggle to Claim Our Humanity (City Lights, 
2004); and Writing Dissent: Taking Radical Ideas from the Margins to the 
Mainstream (Peter Lang, 2002). Jensen can be reached at 
<mailto:>
 and his articles can be found online at 
http://uts.cc.utexas.edu/~rjensen/index.html.