Like feminists themselves, feminist slogans have a tendency to be misunderstood. There’s “biology isn’t destiny”, for instance. Once understood to mean that being a woman — an adult human female — does not mean performing a feminine role, we’ve since seen it used to mean that women — as “feminine” humans — don’t have to be female at all. Or “her body her choice”. Lifted from the specific context of abortion rights, this has been used to defend all sorts of “choices” (mainly ones that involve the objectification and exploitation of female bodies).
Then there’s “believe women”. This has always been a hostage to fortune since clearly women don’t always tell the truth. Nonetheless, this literal reading overshadows the original intent, which is to address the gender credibility gap. It’s not that all women must always be believed, but that women’s testimonies — especially those regarding sexual assault — have historically been devalued due to myths about us being more manipulative, attention-seeking and weak-minded than men.
The discrediting of a woman can go beyond disbelieving that certain events took place. It can be accepted that something happened to her, but her account can still be denied emotional credibility. It might have happened, but she wanted it really. It might have happened, but her distress is confected. It might have happened, but far from being genuinely upset, she is callously treating it as an opportunity to bring down another person.
It may even be suggested that others — partners, members of her community, feminists —- are encouraging her to misrepresent events in order to serve their own ends. Maybe she’s been brainwashed into thinking something is traumatising when actually, if she only learned to think about it correctly, she’d find it totally fine. During the anti-feminist backlash of the nineties, a common message was that women used to brush themselves down and just get on with life after date rape; their current sense of violation had been whipped up by others.
A culture of disbelief combines with one in which women and girls are trained to #BeKind and put others first. This can lead to a profound sense of disorientation and self-doubt whenever we make complaints. Are we really hurt or are we just out to hurt someone else? And even if we are hurt, is that because we’re human, with boundaries that should be respected, or do we have the wrong expectations? Wouldn’t it be easier for everyone if we learned not to care or, failing that, just kept silent?
Feminism has typically served as a corrective to this way of thinking. “Women,” wrote Andrea Dworkin, “trivialize what we know. Women shrink. Women pull back.” Part of the message of “believe women” is that we should trust ourselves, even when our truths are disruptive. Set against this, however, is an emergent feminism — if one can call it that — which adopts the same patriarchal approach of disbelieving women, if only strategically. Believe women in the abstract, yes, but not when their stories get in the way of your advancement or undermine your most cherished narratives.
One element of the so-called “gender wars” which is underacknowledged is the degree to which it relies on women in positions of power discrediting others. Do those other women really, truly want female-only spaces? Do they really, truly find it distressing to be asked to get changed in front of a man, or to have to call their rapist “she”, or to have to talk about their sexual abuse in a “woman-only” group that includes a male attendee? Are these legitimate feelings, or is this confected unhappiness, yet another manipulative performance driven by spite? Have they been encouraged by others to misdirect permissible upset towards the wrong targets?
It doesn’t matter how much a woman explains herself. Once a pattern of imputing ill-intent to her complaint has been established, her own motivations and emotional life are there for the taking. In her memoir Frankly, and promotional interviews for it, Nicola Sturgeon offers a prime example of this form of “feminist” disbelief of other women. According to her, gender critical women are not interested in having female-only spaces for the same reasons women have always wanted female-only spaces. There is, she claims, a desire to imply that any trans woman is “almost by definition, a sexual predator, a danger to women”:
And for the countless men out there who are predators, rapists, domestic abusers of women, it must have felt like one big ‘get out of jail free’ card, as attention turned away from them and towards a tiny minority, out of which an even tinier minority have ever behaved in such a way.
It is a very big thing, to accuse women — many of whom will have experienced abuse themselves — of enabling “predators, rapists, domestic abusers of women”
I’ve thought about this quote a lot. As others have noted, Sturgeon makes a very basic error in suggesting that such women wish to single out “a tiny minority”, when their actual argument is in favour of treating all male people the same. But what Sturgeon is also accusing gender critical women of is emotional dishonesty — of not really caring about abuse (as ever, the real abusers are elsewhere) and being motivated instead by cruelty.
It is a very big thing, to accuse women — many of whom will have experienced abuse themselves — of enabling “predators, rapists, domestic abusers of women” on the basis that kicking a vulnerable group is just too tempting. What Sturgeon seems to miss is that her response here is no different to the one many women receive when speaking out against the “countless other men” to whom she refers. I am sure Sturgeon is, in theory, very much against abusers. Nonetheless, I see no reason to think she would not draw on the same “you don’t really feel that — you’re just out to get them/him” sentiment in any other situation where the alternative might be political embarrassment.
In a similar vein, Rebecca Don Kennnedy, CEO of Scotland’s Equality Network, uses an interview with the Herald to assert that those who question gender identity ideology must be driven by “concerted MAGA rhetoric”. She speaks of “manufactured fear and anxiety”, as though women who adopt a more consistent line on safeguarding than she does must be stupid, weak-minded or faking it. While this tactic looks specific to “the gender wars”, it’s important to recognise how long-standing it is. That men who claim to be women should not be subject to the same safeguarding measures as other men — and that women should not feel the same sense of threat or violation when such men venture into female-only spaces — is a narrative that functions in much the same way as “our family / community doesn’t have abusive men”. It’s not just a demand for exceptional status, but a story that pre-emptively discredits whistleblowers, positioning them as outsiders. If a woman’s testimony gets in the way of your cherished narrative, sacrifice the woman.
If you only believe women when it comes at no personal cost to you, then you don’t really believe them at all
The point about “believe women” is not that women should be believed about everything all the time, but that women are, on the most basic level, credible witnesses to our own lives and emotions. We are not continually led astray by hysteria and moral panic, nor are we cold, calculating creatures whose stories of fear and abuse are mere performances aimed at bringing down hapless innocents. We are not more or less credible depending on how politically inconvenient it might be to take our needs and feelings seriously.
If you only believe women when it comes at no personal cost to you, then you don’t really believe them at all.
