#MeToo,the ICTY,and Intersectionality in Postsocialist Global Capitalism

Postsocialist Theory

After the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989, Eastern Europe underwent a transition from centrally planned socialist economies to capitalism. Simply labeled “the transition,” changes to everyday life were felt by all in formerly socialist nations on micro and macro levels (Ghodsee, 2018). Fukuyama (1989) infamously declared the fall of the Berlin Wall as the inauguration of a new world order of global capitalism. Gibson-Graham (2006) explains that the end of socialism triggered globalization that continues to operate under the impending “violation and eventual death of ‘other’ noncapitalist forms of economy” (p. 125). The obliteration of all potential other forms of socioeconomic systems by capital lended renewed importance to property and the power of ownership. Fundamental to the transition was a reordering of one’s relationship to property and the meaning of property (Zenovich, 2016). Property was no longer something held in common but rather something one needed in order to live; it became a cultural measure of worth and the means to engage in the economy (Verdery & Humphrey, 2004).

In the transition, women were no longer required by the state to work in the public sphere and were fired by men who now owned private businesses and saw women as unreliable (potentially pregnant) workers (Gal & Kligman, 2000). Social safety nets (maternity leave, free health care, laundromats) evaporated and relegated women to the private sphere, although some readily left the workforce—sick of work mandated by the state. While patriarchy did not disappear in the practice of socialism (as Engels and some socialists might have idealistically hoped), some have noted that the transition saw a resurgence of traditional, heteronormative, and rigid gender roles (Ramet, 1999). Papić (1999) argues that the retraditionalization and nationalization of gender roles further engrained women’s precarity in an unstable economy. The division of labor in the home was reinforced in public by patriarchal discourses of value, women’s lack of employment in the public sphere (Glass, 2008), and the undesirability of women/women’s bodies in the labor force. These economic and social factors made it difficult, if not impossible, for women to amass property or capital or to become independent of their wage-earning partners. In addition, some women in the former Yugoslavia either by law or by tradition could not inherit property or own property sans patriarchal approval (Zenovich, 2016).

Taking the aforementioned into account, it is clear that one way privatization of capital is achieved in the postsocialist space is through the dispossession of classes of people (women) and the continuance of unpaid reproductive domestic labor to produce the workers (men), a critique that socialist feminists of the 1970s levied on heteronormative nuclear families in capitalist societies (Chodorow, 1979; Hartstock, 1997). The intersecting forces of capitalism and patriarchy forge what Eisenstein (1979) and other socialist feminists call the “dual oppression” of women. Dual oppression is exacted at the meeting points of capital and patriarchal power. The Combahee River Collective (1997) and Crenshaw (1991) advance this theory by explaining that women of color often experience triple or quadruple oppressions (dispossessions) in capitalist patriarchy as a result of the intersection of racism with classism and sexism.

Dispossession in the former Yugoslavia occurs not only in the “singular” instance of rupture from socialism but continually in the everyday increasingly gendered, classed, ethnicized, and nationalized living of the transition from socialism to capitalism. In this way, marginalization, alienation, and injustice become intersectional. We are not saying that socialism was free of patriarchy or oppression; in fact, most really existing socialism was deeply patriarchal (see Daskalova, 2007). However, the transition uniquely clarifies how patriarchy and capitalism are linked at and reinforce their power through the denial of ownership (over oneself, of property, of capital) to women. This form of precarity makes women vulnerable to violence in a system that is dependent upon their relative disempowerment, and the transition explicitly marks how capital exploits bodies at the intersections (ethnicity, class, gender, religion) of their marginality (see Atanasoski, 2013; Suchland, 2015; Zenovich & Cooks, 2018b).

Transition redrew national borders and reinvested identity boundaries with significance liminally crafted out of historical traces and the impending capitalist future (where value and meanings could potentially become inverted, especially the meanings of property and ownership). Women’s intersectional bodies were read anew in relation to interlocking discourses of power that shaped those meanings. For example, a Muslim woman and a Christian Orthodox woman living in Bosnia may have previously (even if tenuously) signified fellow citizen or comrade. In the transition, the value of their bodies was reinvigorated by nationalist and religious histories of conflict and mutual stereotyping. These interpretations were mobilized by state media (Corrin, 1999), validated by governments (Ramet, 2005), enacted by paramilitary groups (Coulson, 1993), and used as justification for rape and murder (Copelon, 1994; Milić, 1993). It is this construction of identity politics that continues to be necessary to justify the exploitation of particular people’s labor or to enact violence upon a group that is a hallmark of capital. Given the particular histories of power, conflict, and embodiment in the former Yugoslavia, capital easily forms alliance with dominant identity groups, surfacing underlying differences that intersect with ownership.

In order to theorize the detrimental effects of capitalism, postsocialist scholars have begun to consider postsocialism as the condition of global capitalism that can offer theoretical insight about operations of power and oppression in capital. Atanasoski and McElroy (2018) explain:

Postsocialism takes the demise of state socialism as the occasion to highlight the entanglement of capitalism with liberal democracy, it is as a theoretical ground aligned with Singh’s call to theorize liberalism as a violent, racial, colonial, and expansionist ideological form. Postsocialism calls attention to the violence of economic and political liberalization even as it asks to make legible other socialist legacies and new modes of envisioning politics. (p. 280)

Postsocialism is not merely a temporal or geographic marker but a critical theoretical orientation useful in similar ways to postcolonialism. Chari and Verdery (2009) explain that by utilizing postcolonial and postsocialist studies, scholars can think “critically about colonial relationships together with market and democratic transitions” (p. 12). Both postsocialist and postcolonial studies seek to mark the insidious and often invisible operations of power (in systems such as imperialism, colonization, slavery, and capitalism) that oppress and provide structural conditions that make particular bodies vulnerable to rape and violence. Like postcolonialism, postsocialism finds its theoretical grounding in the analysis and critique of the violent institution which wrought it, then moves beyond national borders to theorize transnational effects of capitalism (or colonization). Postsocialism is at once a transnational global condition and a useful theoretical standpoint from which to analyze how capital is enabled by precarious relationships to property ownership, and how ownership is predicated on preference for dominant identities (typically White, male, heteronormative). Keeping socialist legacies in mind, heterogeneous in their enactment from nation to nation, postsocialism also does not simply advocate socialism ⁷ as the alternative to capitalism or argue that a socialist future is not possible. Postsocialism attempts to grapple with the violence at the root of capitalism as an added consideration to postcolonial imaginaries of just futures.

Colonization, Lugones (2010) reminds us, similarly is enacted through terrible violence and “brutal access to people’s bodies through unimaginable exploitation, violent sexual violation, control of reproduction, and systematic terror” (p. 744). Postcolonial scholars attempt to deconstruct colonial vestiges in the mind and body by considering questions of national sovereignty and challenging harmful colonial histories embedded within national structures and bodies within the nation. In their shared uses of material and symbolic exploitation and violence, capitalism and colonialism use rape to dominate and have often been theorized through the prism of rape. Gibson-Graham (2006) explains,

[The] dominant script constitutes noncapitalist economic relations as inevitably and only ever sites of potential invasion/envelopment/accumulation, sites that may be recalcitrant but are incapable of retaliation, sites in which cooperation in the act of rape is called for and ultimately obtained. (p. 126)

#MeToo, Rape, and Property

For decades, feminists have tried to name rape, sexual assault, and sexual harassment as intimately existing realities of feminine embodiment (Crenshaw, 1991; MacKinnon, 1994; Moraga & Anzaldúa, 2002; Yuval-Davis, 1997). ⁸ Feminists have also undertaken efforts to prevent, reduce, and educate about rape and sexual assault and reproductive justice (Ross & Solinger, 2017). Nonetheless, after more than 50 years of antirape feminist activism, legislation, and organizing, the statistics on rape and sexual assault remain that one in four women will still experience rape and sexual assault in their lifetime. ⁹ The #MeToo movement has brought renewed attention to the ways in which women (arguably, from culturally dominant groups) are harmed by sexual assault through making both a platform and audience accessible globally to those with the means and ability to post their stories. In doing so, the movement has also made available the opportunity for the cacophanies, dissonances, and outright condemnations to be heard from forces sympathetic, neutral, and in opposition to its process and goals. Nonetheless, through its combination of accessibility, reach, intimacy and potential anonymity, #MeToo has been lauded as a movement that has demonstrated both the exceptional and mundane uses of sexual violence against women as a tool of domination.

“Me Too” was founded by Tarana Burke in 2006 for girls of color ¹⁰ who experienced sexual assault and rape to write “Me too” and share their stories with other survivors on the MySpace social media platform. However, the movement came to international consciousness when highly prominent and recognized White males were accused of rape by White women movie stars via Twitter. Burke has remained adamant that the movement must recenter women of color, aim to shift rape culture, and provide solidarity for survivors to speak their truths. ¹¹ Testimony of sexual assault can be empowering to both author and audience when there is recognition of voice/authorship, empathy, and understanding of harms done. For women of color, especially, authorship and ownership over one’s body remain contested, as evidenced in legal policies that disproportionately criminalize women of color for abortion, miscarriages, and stillbirths (Paltrow & Flavin, 2013). Harris (1993) argues that U.S. courts view people of color as property to be owned and Whiteness as ownership of the institutions that mark Whiteness as valuable and integral to national identity. In another article, we argue that Whiteness and capitalism travel together across national borders to disposess bodies marked other from vital forms of ownership (of one’s own body, land, of justice). In postsocialist global capitalism, one’s relationship to Whiteness and maleness afford relative guarantees about ensuring the legal protection of one’s properties. These converging privileges, for those not male and White, constitute overlapping forms of oppression (Crenshaw, 1991).

Fundamentally, rape and sexual assault ab/use other’s bodies as property and, in so doing, claim intimate ownership of those bodies. Proclaiming territoriality over bodies, rape is at the core of all domination (of identities, property, etc.) acquired through violence. Theorizing that White supremacist imperialist capitalism (Hooks, 1997) begins with rape (Deer, 2015), or that it is maintained through its articulation to patriarchy (Hartmann, 1997; Rubin, 1997), rape culture (Marcus, 1992), and general male dominance (Ferguson, 1989) is not new. However, in light of the remarkable media coverage of #MeToo, we return to a critical feminist analysis of the entanglement of rape and capitalism as a discourse of masculine power that exercises this power by controlling and harming feminine bodies. Both access to justice and inability to access justice are mediated by the corporeal intersections of identity and the structural and interlocking meanings placed on bodies. While the ICTY did not bring all the rapists to justice nor did it vindicate all the survivors, it was an important precursor to #MeToo. The trial established precedent for international humanitarian law, deciding that mass rape during war constituted genocide and crimes against humanity and attempted to hold leaders, no matter their level of authority, accountable. Although the expressed intent of the decision was to charge individuals guilty of war crimes rather than placing responsibility on entire communities (United Nations, n.d.), the trial determined punishment for rapes enacted against bodies that crossed cultural and national identities and raised provocative theoretical and practical questions regarding justice.

Rape Theory and Geopolitics

There are crucial questions that highlight the normalization of rape as both pervasive and hidden. Is there war without rape? (Brownmiller, 1976). Or, is it assumed that there will be rape in war? (Marcus, 1992). Are there transformations of national boundaries or sovereignty without rape? (Puar, 2007; Riley, Talpade Mohanty, & Pratt, 2008). Is there capital without rape? (Davis, 1983). Literally and symbolically there is ever persistent and mundane rape everywhere in the world.

While one can potentially hold #MeToo and the ICTY intellectually separate, ¹² they are products of relational and historically situated discourses vested in expansion (be that capitalist, imperialist, colonialist, or the often misnomered “democratic” expansion). Although the Rwandan genocide and the judgments of that trial are outside the scope of this article, Code (2009) reminds us that the Rwandan and Yugoslavian International Tribunals “underscore the fact that the harms raped women suffer are relational, whether they are cast as the harms humanity suffers (in [the Yugoslav case]) or (in [the Rwandan case]) as harms against people” (p. 335). The spectacle of sensational rape (in war or the ICTY) performs to normalize the everyday rape that is attested to in #MeToo. By comparing the sensational rape in war with instances where consent was not given, the latter is minimized, not seen as a crime to be punished, and does not meet the criteria of force required for recognition of a rape (see Whisnant, 2017). The ICTY lifts us out of the hidden prevalence of the ordinary to contemplate the horror of rape and #MeToo attests to how ordinary rape is. Butler’s (1999) oft critiqued example of drag queens as a way to examine the performativity of gender is useful to think through the performativity of rape and rape’s meanings. Butler’s claim is that stylized, ritualized, embodied, and repeated behavior affects the impression of material gender. The everyday performance of gender is distinct from the actual drag stage. However, both instances do identity and power in a similar manner, by rendering the meanings of the body intelligible within that particular context. Extending Butler’s theory to rape, we claim that the performativity of rape holds particular meanings within capital that are conditioned by the language of ownership and property in the context of global postsocialist capitalism.

As mentioned earlier, the ICTY conducted landmark trials wherein rape was tried and found as a war crime and a crime against humanity for the first time. For this ruling to be granted, 16 survivors took to the stand to recount their horrific experiences in front of their abusers. The ICTY required real-time translation of proceedings in multiple languages on witness-protected closed-circuit television for anonymous testimony that oftentimes failed, jeopardized witness safety, and resulted in death threats. Collectively, women at the ICTY said “me too” before #MeToo in order to seek justice from an international court that oftentimes reinforced liberal notions of the subject/citizen in favor of an androcentric neocolonial capitalist international order (Atanasoski, 2018; Zenovich & Cooks, 2018a). Marcus (1992) explains, “Courtroom trials assert first and foremost their own legitimacy and power to judge events, and only grant power to the vindicated party on the condition that the court’s power be acknowledged” (p. 388). The Kunarac case proceedings were made internationally legitimate via international broadcasting. Knowing how monumental the case was, the prosecution remarked,

No sentence this Court can possibly devise will adequately deal with the injustices that the victims suffered at the hands of these men. Yet the International Community will expect that not only will justice be done, but that it will also be seen to be done. (Kunarac, 1998–2001, p. 6331)

Whereas the mediated testimony of the ICTY presented both opportunity for voice and the vulnerability of public staging and viewing, the #MeToo movement hopes to reconfigure the relationship between testimony and justice by changing the dynamics of public testimony. By challenging the power of access and audience through social media, and not without its own history of White privilege garnering both, #MeToo has attempted to alter the power relations that undergird the (spectacular) embodiment of victimhood in the sheer numbers of testimonials posted around the world. #MeToo has fought to change the performativity of public visibility, by demonstrating the everyday mundaneness of rape, and through this public and commonly shared experience of violence, to stage a public and embodied justice that could exist in other than legal institutional spaces. However, justice to be done remains a societal obligation to be yet fulfilled, and so it is to the particular history of division and transition to capitalist economies that this article turns. Next, we look to the ICTY to theorize the ways in which rape and testimony about rape are mediated by postsocialist capitalist relations of property and how these relationships in turn mediate #MeToo.

Postsocialist Rape Trial on an International Stage

In the following, we focus on an excerpt from the closing statement of the defense of Kunarac and then analyze the implications in relation to capital and #MeToo. The defense is asking the court to consider mitigating factors for a lesser sentence for Kunarac:

Kunarac throughout the time of the armed conflict complied with the rules and laws of war, even when, with other soldiers, he encountered horrifying scenes of the suffering of civilians, their mutilation, and the destruction of their homes. All these circumstances indicate the special character of the accused Kunarac which must be taken into account when judging the degree of his responsibility, should the Trial Chamber decide that he should be held accountable for crimes. The accused Kunarac was wounded in the military conflict, and his health was seriously damaged by the consequences of his injury because he practically lost an elbow into which an artificial prosthesis has been inserted. His injury should be seen as a mitigating circumstance when deciding on a possible sentence. The accused Kunarac is the father of three underaged children. His wife is unemployed, and the financial situation of the family is very difficult. This circumstance should also be taken into account as a significant mitigating circumstance. (p. 6448)

This discursive potential to pardon the violence that men have enacted upon women is the performative establishment of women’s bodies, once damaged in some literal or symbolic manner, as disposable. The fact that the defense employed this narrative in their closing remarks exemplifies the political cache men have within the neocolonial androcentric juridical model as well as the influence that men from dominant identity groups enjoy in media representations of citizenry. The presence of Kunarac, the subject, could be represented in the trial discourse as well as in his performance on camera. The CCTV videos of Kunarac were important to the defense’s mission to humanize (and arguably hero-ise) him, to show the damage done physically. The accusers, however, were hidden in another room, had their voices altered through a computer, were referred to as numbers or letters, and had the video of their testimony digitized and scrambled. Their absent bodies and voices reinforced the absence of their identities during the trial—their stories becoming the disembodied fragments objectified by society, the legal process and, ultimately, the war. In these ways, the proceedings of justice done maintained focus on Kunarac’s potential dispossession as a greater national sacrifice than the harms already protracted on the invisible women.

The defense’s explanation that Kunarac’s family cannot operate sans the patriarch due to the financial needs of his wife and three children is an attempt to compel the judge to dole out a lesser sentence based on an argument lodged within gendered relations of property in postsocialist global capital. In the closing statements, the defense appeals to the governing patriarchal and liberal capitalist logic of the court. That his wife and family would be in a dire financial situation as a result of the loss of Kunarac’s military salary is probably true, as explained earlier. Because the transition to capitalism reinforced traditional binary gender roles, there was a mass exodus of women from the public sphere, and women rarely owned property or capital of their own. While these mitigating factors did not significantly reduce the sentence for Kunarac, it is here, precisely at this liminal point wherein the scales of justice are contracted by capital to tip in the favor of men. The defense leverages Kunarac’s wife’s impending poverty against the trauma (corporeal, mental, physically) the witnesses suffered at the hands of Kunarac and his men to (1) mark all women involved as his property, (2) doubly mark the rape survivors as objectified property not entitled to such patriarchal benevolence, (3) compel the court to rule that the loss of his property and potential property contributions to his family outweigh crimes committed, and (4) reassert Kunarac’s recognized subjectivity. Kunarac’s defense asks for a lesser sentence not because of the impact of harms ravaged on his victims or the impact of sentencing on his family but because of his valued relationships to property within a capitalist market. To sentence Kunarac harshly, in the defense’s argument, would economically castrate him and create more victims.

The relational and performative silence around rape and sexual assault is also due to the fact that if we were to really confront the harms done, it would require a full reckoning of all fathers, brothers, uncles, grandfathers, and cousins who provide for their families (under contract of capital) and whom we often love (Traister, 2018). Holding abusers accountable for their violence could cause a sort of double violence enacted on/by precarious bodies who depend on abusers for their connection to property and the rights property affords in postsocialist global capitalism. Furthermore, in the United States, women of all races earn less than 80 cents to each dollar earned by White men with the amount on the dollar decreasing significantly for Black and Brown women. ¹³ The wage gap illustrates that dispossession most often occurs at the intersections of multiple interlocking forms of oppression.

The final plea of the defense is not to justice but rather to ensuring the continued transition to capitalism within the former Yugoslavia by returning the wage-earning patriarch to the home to be reproduced for more labor. The defense’s formulation exposes the insidious ways in which capital works to keep women’s bodies in precarity and men in positions of dominance and power. Their final argument proceeds as follows: Even though Kunarac did bad things, if we want the nation to heal, we must allow the patriarch to return to establish order in our broken countries and homes. In other words, the rule of the father is embedded in liberal practices of justice that serve to prop up the continued efficiency of capital within postsocialist global capitalism.

The inconvenience of carrying out justice on men who have violated women is reinforced by corporate media that question the legitimacy and credibility of women while offering contemplative narratives of loss if men are held accountable for their actions. ¹⁴ We see the media return to this ethos of loss of potential over and over again in the #MeToo era with people like Brock Turner, Brett Kavanaugh, and more. ¹⁵ Similarly, men who use media to make art are afforded the luxury of continued voice (via radio, TV, Internet) and a public willingness to hold their art in high regard often in the face of convictions or admittances of rape or sexual assault. ¹⁶ The weighing of the possibilities of justice for survivors as less valuable than men, men’s potential to become good citizens, or men’s art, reinforces the narrative of women’s disposability that the rape produced. The preference for masculine bodies, male dominance, and its protection is reiterated in habituated responses to news of rape and sexual assault and in the judicial process.

At the ICTY, one witness described how everyone knew what happened to the women, that nobody would speak about it, and how it marked her as less valuable. She recounted trying to relay her experience of trauma to her husband:

Q. After all the painful experiences that you had in the period before you gave statements or not, did you talk to anybody close to you, people who had experienced similar things?

The witness’ explanation that “everyone knew” is both similar to and differs from #MeToo narratives about the prevalence of sexual harassment and sexual assault. ¹⁷ The international media platform for survivors to voice their experience in concert with other survivors is an important factor in the power of the #MeToo movement. #MeToo allows people to come into community instead of remaining in isolation over similar experiences of rape, assault, and harassment. As indicated in the excerpt from the trial earlier, however, telling one’s story (willingly) is a relational act, always connected to if and how one is heard. Part of why #MeToo went viral was because almost everyone either had a story about sexual harassment and assault or knew someone who had a story, and these stories were connected, shared, and accumulated evidence of pain and survival.

Another factor in #MeToo’s viral appeal was/is the relatively open access to claiming #MeToo, access that notably did not or does not guarantee justice, especially for women multiply marginalized by legal institutions due to race, disability, class, education, and so forth. #MeToo, as a forum for hearing and being heard, provides relief from justice systems that do not view women as subjects entitled to protections under the law. However, collective silences surrounding rape and sexual assault performatively establish a hierarchy of value for whose stories matter. The possibilities of having one’s story heard and believed decrease the browner, the poorer, and the younger (among other identities) one is. The bias and discrimination within society is sedimented in legal processes and institutions (even those as resolved to address rape as the ICTY) that cannot address or account for the intersectional identities of women as subjects.

Conclusions

In her instructive Ted Talk on the necessity and urgency of intersectionality, Crenshaw (2016) reminds her audience, “You can’t fix a problem if you cannot see a problem.” Problems seen as inconvenient to or as challenges to maintaining the status quo of power need to be made invisible or silenced for power as such to continue uninterrupted. Although Tarana Burke tried to point out the obvious pervasive sexual assault and rape of young Black women, it took the challenge of a White woman with high amounts of cultural capital to draw the attention of mainstream society to a story of serial rape that also held a high degree of (White) cultural currency. Likewise, the systematic rape of women as genocide in the former Yugoslavia also went unremarked until mediated representations of recognized subjects (European men) with greater cultural capital were shown to be in the midst of genocide at death camps. The success and controversy of the #MeToo movement, like that of the ICTY ruling, has opened up to a worldwide audience discussion of the necessity to prioritize the stories of marginalized women in seeking justice for all.

Throughout this article, we have questioned how capitalism (and the property/propertied relationships and identities it engenders) in its current form as postsocialist and global, structures sexual violence as well as interpretations for justice served for harms done. We have analyzed some of the ways capitalism necessitates sexual violence and questioned whether justice can be realized for rape survivors who seek it in the capitalist systems that produce the violence. One place to look for answers is through the examination of institutional and popular discourses of justice and the various performances of identity permitted and positioned within these narratives. Another is to look to the ways social media movements such as #MeToo both render and disrupt judgment of feminine bodies or agency in sexual assault or rape. Where #MeToo promotes the visibility of some dominant identity narratives at the expense of others, it also expands the opportunities for derivations of those stories and for their critique. #MeToo, the ICTY, and media representations of their proceedings offer performative possibilities to confront and challenge tellings of rape and sexual assault that normalize or that dismiss violent masculine behavior as natural. We must resist the confinement to institutional discourses and determinations of justice through property, bodily or otherwise, when those judgments deny all of our subjectivities. We who “do not see the problem” of violence to marginalized feminine bodies cannot declare the success of #MeToo until we recognize our interdependence on and interconnection with those who we, too, objectify. Rape is an act of relational violence, but if justice is to be done, it too must prioritize our relationality. When the currency of justice and judgment is rooted in property, the positions of perpetrator and victim may be redressed through payment. Inequitable historical and social relations may even be addressed as damages, yet the operations of capital, imperialism, and patriarchy as intersecting structures of power remain intact.

Ultimately, and important to both framing and setting a standard for crime and punishment, the ICTY charged Kunarac as a war criminal and the court ruled that rape was a crime against humanity in this case. While convictions of abusers such as Kunarac (or, e.g., Bill Cosby) can be seen as wins for shifting the discourse of male dominance and the prevalence of sexual harassment and assault, these convictions also isolate particular cases as individual aberrations of men with poor moral character instead of locating the structural conditions that enable and promote sexual violence. Marcus (1992) argues that “The most deep-rooted upheaval of rape culture would revise the idea of female sexuality as an object, as property, and as an inner space” (p. 399). Our claim is that the symbolic and material equation of women/women’s bodies as property is foundational to the operations of capital. With this feminist postsocialist framework in mind, it may be useful to consider how undoing capital may in turn challenge the normalization of women’s precarity, victimization, and, therefore, experiences of sexual violence.