Abstract
Efforts to involve men as allies in domestic and sexual violence work are expanding, marking a shift for these historically women-led movements. Although this shift is beneficial, it also generates new challenges. From a multi-method qualitative study, this article presents descriptive findings about the internal tensions accompanying the “men as allies” development, namely the gender inequality and male privilege reproduced within movement organizations. I draw on sociological theorizing about men in female-dominated professions to explain the reproduction of gender inequality within movement spaces. I also examine how people are dealing with these tensions by developing a discourse around “men’s accountability.” My findings suggest that, although discourse about accountability has been successfully integrated into the culture of domestic and sexual violence work, there are key challenges that hinder effective accountability practices. I end by offering suggestions for implementing accountability practices at the organizational level. This study contributes important empirical and theoretical insights currently missing from the literature on male allies, which can be used to inform men’s growing involvement in anti-violence work.
We are on the brink of a major cultural shift, as men’s involvement in gender-justice work proliferates across the globe. No longer considered “women’s work” only, men are emerging as visible allies and leaders in the fight for gender equality. Perhaps nowhere is this shift more apparent than within anti-domestic and sexual violence work, where efforts to recruit men have grown since the early 2000s (Flood, 2011; Katz, 2006; Macomber, 2012; Messner, Greenberg, & Peretz, 2015). Local, state, and federal funding initiatives allocated for “engaging men” programs are now common, and although women still comprise the majority of people working to end men’s violence against women, men’s involvement is no longer considered exceptional (Atherton-Zeman, 2009; Flood, 2003, 2011; Katz, 2006; Macomber, 2012; Messner et al., 2015). Men are redefining anti-violence work as “men’s work” and emerging as key figures in violence prevention education (Flood, 2003, 2011; Funk, 1993; Kivel, 1992; Macomber, 2012; Messner et al., 2015).
Indeed, the “men as allies” development is one of the most significant changes the anti-violence movement has undergone in recent decades, along with the passing of the original Violence Against Women Act in 1994, the focus on primary prevention, and growing attention to the intersection of violence against women with other forms of oppression. How is this shift impacting these historically women-led movements? And, how are activists responding to this new development? These are the quesitons that drive this research.
Concerns About Men’s Involvement: Past and Present
When the rape crisis and battered women’s movements formed in the 1970s, there were few men involved. Men’s involvement as “allies” to women during these early days of grassroots organizing was shaped largely by women’s skepticism and mistrust (Kivel, 1992; Schechter, 1982). In fact, it was common for women activists—many of whom were survivors of men’s violence—to define men as “the enemy” (Schechter, 1983). It was a contentious alliance fraught with tension and apprehension. Men who were involved often became involved because their female partners were already in the movement and they supported the ideas and efforts of the women’s movement (Katz, 2006; Kivel, 1992). Some men got involved by working with abusive men and some of the early batterer intervention programs set the groundwork for the batter intervention movement that took shape in the 1980s (Katz, 2006).
Riding the wave of the women’s movement, pro-feminist men had formed anti-sexist and anti-violence groups and organizations across the country (Kimmel & Mosmiller, 1992). Some of these initial organizations included the National Organization for Changing Men (later renamed the National Organization for Men Against Sexism), the Oakland Men’s Project, Men Against Violence, DC Men Against Rape (later renamed Men Can Stop Rape), and Real Men. These pro-feminist men critiqued traditional notions of masculinity based on emotional stoicism, aggression, and domination over women. These men wanted to rewrite the gender script they were expected to follow and were inspired by the idea that they could, as author John Stoltenberg (1989) urged, “refuse to be men.”
A notable development was the male-led White Ribbon Campaign (WRC), which was launched by a group of Canadian men in 1991 in response to the “Montreal massacre,” when 25-year-old Marc Lépine killed 14 women students at the École Polytechnique. The WRC has since become the largest global initiative to end men’s violence against women, spanning 60 countries. By the time the Violence Against Women Act of 1994 passed, the men’s organizations mentioned above were entering their second decade, and individual men were emerging as visible figures in anti-violence work. Men’s involvement was increasing and gaining momentum (Flood, 2003; Katz, 2006; Pease, 1997).
As men’s involvement and visibility grew, concerns over the nature of men’s involvement intensified. In Men’s Work, Paul Kivel (1992) wrote,
We found that when we made mistakes, said the wrong things, or acted out our own sexism inadvertently, women got angry at us. Having invited their trust, we ended up hurting them. Sometimes this made us very cautious. We were reluctant to antagonize women or to be incorrect. (p. 165)
As Kivel explained, forming good relationships between women and men within the movement was challenging. As more men got involved, their interactions with women and their behaviors within movement spaces raised red flags for women. Women were concerned about how men would shape the direction of the movement. Women grew skeptical not only about why men wanted to be involved but also about what their involvement would look like. Did men want to be of service to women and support the groundwork they worked so hard to create? Or would they co-opt and take over this historically women-led movement? As men’s involvement continued to grow, the nature of men’s involvement—in relation to women’s leadership—became a central concern (Macomber, 2012).
Although concerns surrounding men’s involvement are longstanding, there is an important distinction between men’s past and present involvement, a distinction that, I argue, has exacerbated these concerns. In the past, many male-identified activists were highly politicized men who aligned themselves with the women’s movement and other social justice causes. This is not the case today. The new strategy across much of “engaging men” work is to get all men involved. This means that college athletes, fraternity members, military soldiers, coaches, fathers, and “Average Joes” are targeted and recruited as “allies” to help end men’s violence against women. Although this strategic shift holds promise for bringing anti-violence education and messaging to wider audiences outside feminist and pro-feminist circles, this shift also intensifies concerns about the nature of men’s involvement—namely, the sexism and male privilege men bring into movement spaces (Casey, 2010; Flood, 2003; Macomber, 2012; Messner et al., 2015).
Gaps in the Literature and Purpose of Study
Research on “engaging men” focuses on how men get involved in anti-violence work (Casey, 2010; Casey & Smith, 2010; Kimball, Edleson, Tolman, Neugut, & Carlson, 2013; Piccigallo, Lilley, & Miller 2012), including barriers and dynamics that shape men’s bystander behavior (Casey & Ohler, 2011). There is also a sizable literature focused on the effectiveness of specific anti-violence programs targeting men and boys (Foubert & Masin, 2012; Gidycz, Orchowski, & Berkowitz, 2011; Lonsway et al., 2009; and for extensive review, see Gibbons, 2013). My research builds more specifically on scholarship focused on the unintended consequences of men’s involvement; namely, how men bring sexism and male privilege into the movement. Michael Flood (2003) argues that men in the movement benefit from “patriarchal privilege” in ways women do not, citing how men’s groups receive more favorable media attention, and how individual men tend to evoke positive reactions, especially from women. Ken Kolb’s (2014) Moral Wages demonstrates how men working in victim advocacy receive what he calls “progressive merit badges,” which are the symbolic rewards male advocates earn because they are granted an elevated moral status. Most recently, Messner et al. (2015) conducted life histories to examine how three cohorts of male allies have shaped the feminist anti-violence movement, including the tensions that have accompanied men’s involvement. Their analysis centers on the dilemmas that anti-activists face as they navigate and negotiate the challenges of male allies going “upstream” into violence prevention work.
Insider activists have also written about the challenges of integrating men into anti-violence work (Atherton-Zeman, 2009; Maier, 2015; Serdahely, 2011). For example, in her 2011 essay, “Expecting More: Perspective of a Woman Working to Engage Men in Ending Male Violence,” former executive director of Men Stopping Violence, Shelley Serdahely, identified one unintended consequence of men’s growing involvement. She writes, “In our excitement, we can overlook the fact that there are all kinds of men, which (among other things) makes engaging them quite challenging” (p. 95). Veteran activist Ben Atherton-Zeman (2009) cautioned against the open invitation for “all men” to join the movement. He claimed that doing so has undermined the movement’s anti-sexist goals:
More and more men are finally joining the movement to end men’s violence against women . . . However, the rush to involve men needs to be tempered with wisdom and caution. Certainly male involvement can be a positive thing . . . But many communities are reporting that we men who label ourselves “allies” are still a large part of the problem—acting our sexism and denying it, refusing to be accountable to women, or even perpetrating violence ourselves. (p. 8)
This collection of academic and activist scholarship adds to our understanding of the nature of “engaging men” work and its impact. Missing from the literature is an understanding of (a) how male privilege is reproduced within the culture of anti-violence work, and (b) how activists are responding to these tensions. The research presented here, which is developed out of a larger study on men’s anti-violence work, contributes to these gaps. As I will illustrate, men make, what I call, “interactional violations,” which are behaviors that violate the collective anti-sexist and anti-violence values of the movement. Interactional violations combined with the glorification and escalation of male activists serves to further entrench gender inequality and male privilege into the movement. I will show how activists are seeking to deal with these tensions by developing a discourse around “men’s accountability.” I identify two challenges that hinder effective accountability practices: the lack of a unified definition of accountability, and men’s reluctance to hold each other accountable. My analysis, thus, highlights a gap between accountability discourse and practice. I end by offering suggestions for improving accountability practices at the organizational level.
Method
In conducting this project, I had three goals in mind. First, I wanted to learn about the personal experiences of women and men doing domestic and sexual violence work, which in-depth interviews helped capture. Second, I wanted to observe social interactions in the movement, which I did through participant observation in different movement settings. Interviews and participant observation provided opportunities to learn the local meanings of movement insiders, but I also wanted to learn about the broader organization of the movement—how the movement is simultaneously shaped by and responding to larger social systems and political arrangements. Archival materials provided a wealth of data to this end.
Participant Observation
I attended eight men’s anti-violence conferences, trainings, and workshops, spanning five different states, including Washington, North Carolina, the District of Columbia, Virginia, and New York. These events were designed specifically to recruit and educate men in anti-violence work, and I was one of the few women present. I also observed a semester-long intimate partner violence peer education course on a college campus, including participation in sexual violence prevention trainings at fraternities. For six months, I observed the weekly campus meetings of a college men’s anti-rape group. I also attended several different activist events, including Take Back the Night rallies, community marches and rallies, and organizational fundraising events.
In some of these settings, I was able to record verbatim dialogue in my field notes. In other, more intimate settings, I recorded jottings and then wrote fuller field notes as soon as I could. From my notes and jottings, I developed descriptive field notes, which are detailed written records of the activities I observed, including the events seen and the people heard. Descriptive field notes include key events and interactions observed within research settings (Lofland & Lofland, 1995).
In-Depth Interviews
I conducted 31 in-depth interviews to explore anti-violence educators’ experiences, perspectives, and feelings. Following approval from the human subjects review committee, I recruited a broad range of activists intended to represent the movement, including executive directors of domestic and sexual violence state coalitions; executive directors of rape crisis centers; advocates and other staff at domestic and sexual violence organizations (including court advocates, crisis hotline workers, community educators, prevention specialists), men who work as educators, trainers, and speakers for men’s anti-violence organizations; women and men who work on college campuses as rape prevention education coordinators; men who are known primarily for speaking on the national lecture circuit; and activists in local anti-violence groups. I interviewed movement veterans in their 50s and 60s who founded national organizations and authored books; activists in their 20s and 30s who are relatively new to the work; and people in between these stages. See Table 1 and Table 2.
Interview Sample
Demographics for Women, Including Position.
Note. Total = 18.
Interview Sample
Interviewee Demographics for Men, Including Position.
Note. Total = 13.
The interviews focused on three main themes: men’s recruitment into anti-violence work, the challenges of women and men working together, and women’s reaction to men’s growing involvement. I designed two interview guides; one for interviews with women and one for interviews with men. Example questions of the women’s interview guide include: When you began doing anti-violence work, what was it like working with men in these early days? Now that more men are involved, is anything different? What do you see as the benefits of men’s increasing involvement? What do you see as the challenges of men’s increasing involvement? What does “accountability” mean to you? Example questions of the men’s interview guide include: How did you get involved in anti-violence work? What have your experiences working with women been like? What does “accountability” mean to you? Throughout all interviews, I used probes to identify details and generate deeper discussions, such as: Can you recall a specific instance when that happened? And, how did that impact your organization’s/group’s day-to-day work?
I contacted some interviewees via e-mail to arrange interviews, while others I contacted in person during anti-violence conferences, trainings, and workshops. Attending these events was beneficial for establishing rapport with interviewees before I interviewed them. By building relationships, I gained access to networks within anti-violence work and was able to interview prominent figures. Most interviews lasted at least 2 hr, and several were more than 3 hr. I conducted 30 interviews in person and one by phone. I interviewed activists in their homes, at their offices, in airports, at restaurants and coffee shops, at conference gatherings, and at hotels. I recorded all interviews with a digital voice recorder and transcribed them in full later.
Secondary Archival Data
Secondary archival data allowed me to evaluate and systematically interpret the material culture of anti-violence work. I focused mainly on collecting archival data that were produced by activists and organizations with the purpose of communicating anti-violence messaging and internal issues to movement insiders. I collected a variety of textual and visual materials relevant to anti-violence work, including: organization brochures and pamphlets, anti-violence campaign posters and postcards, flyers that advertise for conferences, PowerPoint presentations from several anti-violence trainings, anti-violence training manuals, organization training videos, Listserv data from anti-violence Listservs, transcripts and text logs from several web conferences, books written by activists and educators, and other literature related to anti-violence work. Decisions over what archival data to collect were based on its availability and relevancy to my research focus on men’s involvement in anti-violence work. Much of the archival data collected was used to help piece together the history of men’s involvement (as noted in the introduction), which was documented in books, essays, and other materials written decades ago.
To organize and manage my data, I developed my own data management system by creating electronic codes and “nodes” for all of my data. This system allowed me to move data segments to different places as my analysis evolved. As the primary coder and data analyst, it was beneficial to create a system that met my needs and preferences, rather than rely on a standardized computer program.
Data Analysis
I analyzed my data using a grounded theory approach (Charmaz, 2007; Glaser & Strauss, 1967), which emphasizes simultaneous data collection and analysis. During the first stage of data analysis, I developed conceptual codes for my data, based on patterns that emerged in my field notes, interview transcripts, and archival data. Conceptual coding involves three basic procedures: identifying relevant phenomena, collecting examples of those phenomena, and analyzing those phenomena to find patterns, differences, and structures (Coffey & Atkinson, 1996). I began with open coding, which involved line-by-line coding of my field notes, interview transcripts, and archival data to identify themes and categories of interest (Esterberg, 2002). For example, two themes/codes that emerged were “women’s complaints about men’s involvement” and “men’s accountability.” Preliminary analysis of early codes informed my research in many ways, confirming how important it is to simultaneously collect and analyze data. For instance, the theme “accountability” kept coming up in my early observations of men’s anti-violence work. During four different participant observations of men’s anti-violence work, male trainers urged other male participants to “show accountability to the women” in the movement. After observing this pattern, I developed interview questions to investigate what men’s accountability means to both women and men. After further analyzing these data, I found that the women I interviewed were not concerned with men being accountable to them. On the contrary, what women activists wanted was for men to hold each other accountable, a finding also supported by data collected from on-line forums.
After I identified reoccurring themes in my data, I moved to focused coding, which is where I focused on the key themes identified during open coding. For example, based on the initial codes “elevating men’s contributions,” and “men dominating work meetings,” I developed an analytically larger code called “male privilege in anti-violence work,” which allowed me to categorize my data and analyze how these different data segments were connected by a broader social process. After I coded my data, I developed “analytic memos,” which is the pivotal theoretical step between collecting data and writing up findings (Charmaz, 2007). Analytic memos are writings that “catch your thoughts, capture the comparisons and connections you make, and crystallize questions and directions for you to pursue” (Charmaz, 2007, p. 162). The process of analytic memo writing is a critical step in between data collection and final data analysis because it prompts the researcher to think theoretically about her/his data early in the research process (Charmaz, 2007). By writing analytic memos, I drew out the theoretical implications of my data by focusing on the most salient categories and themes (Esterberg, 2002). I wrote an analytic memo titled, “The reproduction of gender inequality in anti-violence work,” which is where I developed the analysis for this article. Memos capture the process of theory construction by chronicling what you encountered and learned along the way (Charmaz, 2007). It was during analytic memo writing that I turned my data into theory (Lempert, 2007).
Findings and Analysis
When the Solution Becomes Part of the Problem: The Push to Get “All Men” Involved
Women activists agreed that it was important and necessary to welcome male allies. At the same time, they were also concerned that men’s involvement opened the door to sexism and male privilege within the movement. As many women saw it, men’s involvement undermined the larger goal they aimed to reach: gender equality. For instance, Mel, a community educator for a sexual assault coalition, shared her thoughts on men’s increasing involvement during her interview:
Sure, it’s great that more men are involved now. But with that comes all this sexist bullshit that takes away from what we’re trying to do. We’re trying to change men’s behaviors, right? We’re trying [to] change a culture that devalues women. But yet we’re dealing with this garbage in the movement too? If we can’t do it with men inside the movement, what does that say about the work we’re trying to do? (Emphasis in original)
Similarly, Elsa, who frequently works with male activists through her position at a family violence organization, described how trying to recruit “all men” has both positive and negative impacts:
I think [men’s involvement] is positive, but with it comes some challenges in terms of replicating sexism that we need to address. It seems that in the movement people have just been like, “We need to get men in.” And they’re very excited about getting men, all men, to participate and to be part of it, which is great. I mean, we need all men, definitely, to say that [violence is] not okay. But at the same time, there’s risk in just doing that.
Mel’s and Elsa’s accounts are representative of how many other women activists I interviewed identified the pros and cons of men’s involvement. Therefore, although increasing men’s involvement is an important step, it cannot be the end goal. The nature of men’s involvement remains critical. Although men’s increasing involvement and leadership is strategically important for ending domestic and sexual violence, it also poses new challenges as men bring deeply entrenched aspects of male-dominated culture into movement spaces.
Confronting Sexism Within Movement Spaces: Men’s Interactional Violations
Activists frequently referred to the “mistakes” men made. In fact, I found that men’s mistakes, or what I have come to call “interactional violations,” have become an expected part of men’s growing involvement. Interactional violations are things men do and/or say that violate the movement’s anti-sexist and anti-violence values. When veteran male activists talked about men’s mistakes, they often referred to how they messed up a lot when they were new to the movement, but that they had “learned over the years.” During a men’s anti-violence conference, for example, a prominent male activist explained how men will inevitably make mistakes:
As men, you will make mistakes. You will, because for your whole life, you have been socialized to act a certain way, and to be a certain way. You don’t just wake up one day, and poof, it’s gone because you do this work. You have to work at it. I still work at it. I’ve been doing this work for over twenty years now, and I still make mistakes. It’s a constant process.
Brandon, a prominent anti-sexist and anti-violence educator and activist, said,
If we’re going to try and engage men in anti-sexist work you have to acknowledge that men are men in a sexist culture. We’re gonna have—whether it’s up front, or residual, or covert—sexism. That’s just part of the package.
The notion that men’s involvement is a “process” serves as a buffer in the event of a mishap.
Examples of men’s interactional violations take numerous forms; however, some patterns are clear. A violation that is frequently talked about is “when men take up too much space.” In interviews, women activists described occasions when men talked too much, interrupted women, and/or took control during presentations co-facilitated with women. Andrea described one such occasion:
Dennis was the only man that came to our regional conference last fall, and he dominated the entire thing. He talked over every woman. He just goes on and on without making connections. And we [the women] were all very much aware of it. He had no sort of awareness at all. I see this everywhere I go . . . this is ridiculous.
Another interactional violation that women activists frequently note is the “expert syndrome.” Women use this term to describe the tendency for relatively inexperienced male-identified activists to present themselves as subject matter experts. Donna cautioned against the expert syndrome, suggesting that
although well-intentioned, many men have not done their homework. They think they know how to solve the problem, so they go out and they work in complete isolation, away from women and away from the years of experience and expertise women have accumulated.
Tensions over claims to expertise serve as reminders that gendered power differentials exist not only outside the movement, but inside it as well.
A related interactional violation is the tendency for men to dominate and control work meetings. This behavior upset Sheila, the executive director of a rape crisis center, who explained what happened when a man who was hired by a men’s anti-violence organization dominated their inter-organizational meeting:
He doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground . . . I mean, this was his second week there, and I was sitting in meetings with him, doing program planning with one of our major funders, and he’s dominating the meeting. It’s me and three other executive directors from domestic violence organizations who have been in this field for years. And he’s dominating the entire meeting. I’m like, will you just sit down and shut up and listen and learn something? I don’t do well with large displays of testosterone.
In this instance, a man’s domineering behavior had consequences not only for him as an individual, but also for his organization. Prior to this man’s hire, the rape crisis center collaborated regularly with the men’s organization he represented. However, shortly after that meeting, Sheila terminated involvement with the organization: “I have no confidence left in [them] whatsoever. Zero. We don’t donate to them anymore as an agency.”
Another interactional violation that many female activists report confronting is men’s sexual objectification of women. During my interviews with three different activists, I was made aware of an especially troubling incident that occurred during a national men’s anti-violence conference. Angela, a lifelong advocate and educator, was the session moderator at the conference and told me what happened:
We were [at a men’s anti-violence conference] and there were a group of women who had witnessed men who were attending the conference, and who had given their word about working on their sexism, who were spending their evening in [the local] brothels. And women came forward and said, “This is offensive beyond belief.”
By participating in the sexual exploitation of women, these men created tensions at the conference and ultimately disrupted the conference agenda. The conference organizers felt it was necessary to address the men’s behaviors during the conference, which they did the next day. I address the implications of this violation more fully in the section “The Emphasis on Men’s Accountability.”
Riding the Glass Escalator: Male Privilege and the Glorification of Male Activists
Sociologists who study gender in the workplace have found that when men enter female-dominated workplaces, their gender helps them attain leadership positions. Williams (1992, 2013) refers to this as the “glass escalator.” In contrast, when women enter male-dominated workplaces, they encounter a series of institutional obstacles limiting their opportunities for advancement—what is known as the “glass ceiling” (Padavic & Reskin, 2002). The glass-escalator effect can also be seen in sexual and domestic violence work. Despite their numerical minority status and the devaluation of “women’s work,” men’s gender increases the legitimacy of their anti-violence work, and their status in the work. In Kolb’s (2014) study of the emotional dilemmas experienced by domestic and sexual violence advocates, he argued that male advocates earned “progressive merit badges,” which afforded them symbolic rewards not experienced by women advocates who are simply doing “women’s work.” Having men involved in anti-violence work enhances the value of the work. Male privilege also enhances the status and prestige of men in the movement, or what Messner et al. (2015) refer to as the “pedestal effect.”
As members of the dominant group, men are seen as possessing leadership qualities and are, therefore, more likely to be promoted to leadership positions, even if they lack experience relative to their female counterparts (Williams, 1992). As one activist noted during a conference panel,
Men are used to being in charge and they’re used to telling people what to do. Women are used to seeing men in charge and are used to men telling them what to do. I’m seeing that dynamic get translated into the movement, and it worries me.
It is this concern—that men will dominate and co-opt the movement—that shapes men’s expanding role in anti-violence work.
Activists’ fears about male privilege are also reflected in the belief that prominent male activists earn more money than women activists. As women activists frequently noted, men get paid well to deliver the same message that women have been delivering for 30 years. Although I could not verify the alleged differences in speaking fees, the perceptions that men are paid more than women are widespread. Some men suggested that they out-earned women simply because there are fewer of them, or what activists refer to as “the supply and demand effect.” No such effect is evident, however, when women enter male-dominated professions (Padavic & Reskin, 2002).
Several women activists I interviewed noted how “men are put on pedestals” and “receive undue praise.” Women frequently used terms such as “heroes,” “superheroes,” and “knights in shining armor,” to describe the elevated status male activists enjoyed. Ruby, a violence prevention educator, explained how men in the movement generated more favorable attention than women activists:
Getting men involved as allies, even though it’s been going on for a while, it’s one of those new, cool things . . . Because it’s a hot new thing to do, a lot of attention is being paid to men who are involved . . . People are like, “Oh, come and speak here and come and speak there!” It puts them on a pedestal even though those exact same things have been happening for years and years and years—but mainly by women, so it’s not as important because it’s women’s work. I’m sure as hell not putting any man on a pedestal.
Sheila, a lifelong activist and executive director of a rape crisis center, shared similar sentiments:
When it’s women involved in anti-violence against women work, it’s like, “Please, I’m falling asleep, this is so boring.” Men involved in anti-violence against women work? Oh my god! Awards, recognition, media attention, money. It’s the perfect example of how sexism works in our society: the men get all of this attention for facing something they’ve been fucking up since humanity started.
By connecting men’s elevated status in the movement to the dynamics of male power and privilege outside the movement, Sheila identifies the contradictory nature of men’s involvement—it brings more attention to the movement—which is good—but it also further entrenches men’s higher social status. It also raises the status of individual men who are considered heroic for helping end men’s violence against women.
Most male activists are well aware of their elevated status in the movement, and many of them talked about it in their interviews. Lane said, “A lot of women fawn over the men in the movement, and, honestly, sometimes it makes me really, really uncomfortable.” Tim, too, noted that he
used to really like the attention I got from women. I still do . . . I wish I didn’t, but I do. But now I am more aware about it happening and often say, “If I say something smart today, a feminist woman taught me it.”
Greg, an anti-violence educator, shared a similar moment, retelling the time a woman asked, “How did you get to be so amazing?” during the question-and-answer portion of his presentation, to which he replied, “I have had the pleasure of learning from amazing women who taught me so much.” Although not all-male activists are as self-reflective as Lane, Tim, and Greg, they are aware that they receive favorable attention from women.
The Emphasis on “Men’s Accountability”
The term “accountability” has been embraced within sexual and domestic violence work for decades. In the 1970s, advocates pushed for “offender accountability” to hold violent men responsible for their use of violence against women. In the 1980s, advocates worked to build institutional accountability to hold social institutions responsible for ensuring that survivors received the services they needed. By the 1990s, men’s anti-violence groups and organizations expanded throughout the country and activists extended their use of the term to include holding men responsible for their behaviors within the movement. As Donna explained:
Accountability was about men realizing that being involved was not enough. It’s how they got involved that really mattered. Are you following women’s leadership and expertise? Are you responsive to women’s criticisms to your work? (Emphasis in original)
Defining accountability in these terms resonated with many women activists, especially those who were initially reluctant to work with men. Angela, for instance, explained how she was reluctant to work with men but was eventually persuaded by an advocate who convinced her that men in the movement should be guided by her leadership:
It was with great trepidation that I decided to work with men. It was just not something I wanted to do. But one day Sheryl called me and wanted me to work with some men who were doing work with batterers. I said, “I don’t know why you’re calling me. I don’t work with men and I don’t want to work with men. Someone has to do that work, but it’s not my work.” And she said, “Well, actually, Angela, it kind of is your work. Because what it means for men to do work that’s accountable and ethical is to do work with the leadership of women, and particularly women who have been in this movement and who have experienced abuse in their lives . . . They need to be able to hear your voice and accept critique from that place.” And I thought about it. And she was right.
Women were not the only ones who emphasized men’s accountability. Male activists identified accountability as a guiding principle for their own organizing. As anti-violence educator Greg said, “Accountability is recognizing that what we do as men in this work is part of something much larger than ourselves.” In Stopping Rape: A Challenge for Men, Rus Ervin Funk (1993) wrote,
I define [accountability] as listening to [women’s] concerns, being responsible for our actions, communicating on an ongoing basis, and being willing to acknowledge when we make mistakes. Being accountable means being willing to take an accounting of our behaviors and take responsibility for our choices. It means being responsive to the women in our life and the women we are working with, as well as to the women and women’s groups that are working most directly with survivors of men’s violence. (p. 132)
This kind of discourse about accountability has become common within men’s anti-violence activism.
The Pitfalls of Accountability: Discourse Versus Practice
Activists have worked hard to integrate discourse about “men’s accountability” into the culture of domestic and sexual violence work. In fact, it is nearly impossible to be involved in sexual and domestic violence work today without hearing “accountability” defined as a cornerstone of men’s activism (Cohen, 2000). There are entire conferences, sessions within conferences, webinars, task forces, and activist working groups organized to address men’s expanding role in the movement, where discussions of “men’s accountability” are central.
The Voice: Journal for Battered Women published a special issue on accountability. That issue included an article by Ben Atherton-Zeman titled “Minimizing the Damage: Male Accountability in Stopping Men’s Violence Against Women,” in which he argued that “keeping [men] accountable” can minimize some of the “damage” that comes with men’s involvement. In this same issue, an anonymous male author published an essay titled “Men’s Involvement in Violence Prevention: The Need for Accountability.” This essay contended that men can work against male privilege by “honestly and continually questioning [their] actions.” To judge from this discourse, accountability is taken very seriously. As more men become involved, however, the emphasis is shifting from men being accountable to women to men holding each other accountable. For example, at a men’s anti-violence conference I attended, the conference facilitator stressed how important it is for men to hold each other accountable:
We, as men, need to step up. We need to be willing to say to another man, to one of our brothers, to our friend, to the guy next to us, “What you just said is not ok. It’s not ok, and here’s why.” And by holding each other accountable in that way, we are doing the real work. That is the work. (Emphasis in original)
The emphasis on men holding each other accountable signifies an important shift in the movement’s micro-politics. By asking men to hold each other accountable, or as activists often refer to it, “call each other out,” men are expected to abandon their (patriarchal) allegiance to other men. As Linda, the executive director of a rape crisis center, noted,
If we are going to accept men as leaders in our work to end violence against women, then that means they’ll have to do the dirty work of telling other men when it’s time to step back. If you can’t confront other men on their sexism and on their homophobia, and if you can’t get other men to reflect on their own privilege, then you shouldn’t be a leader.
Similarly, Chantal said, “To be a male ally, and to be a male leader in this movement, means you’re not afraid to call another man out. Publicly, in front of other men.”
This widespread discourse about “accountability” is intended to address the problem of male privilege and sexism. What I found, however, is that activists’ efforts to turn this discourse into effective practice is limited by two challenges: the lack of a unified definition of accountability and men’s reluctance to hold other men accountable.
Challenge #1: Lack of a unified definition
My findings suggest that a unified and consistent definition of accountability is missing. In fact, with so much emphasis on “men’s accountability” within the movement, I was surprised to discover that the activists I interviewed struggled to define it. I also found that when activists did define it, their definitions varied considerably.
I asked all of my interviewees the same question: “Something I’ve been hearing a lot about lately is men’s accountability. What does that mean to you?” Several activists admitted that they did not know how to define it exactly, adding that it was a “good” and “important” question and, as Tamara said, “a really fundamental concept for us but one that’s hard to define.” Audrey said, “You know, that’s a good question. I think about that a lot and it’s hard to put into words.” Ava said, “I don’t really know exactly how to define it, but I know what it is when I see it.” When I asked Phil, he said, after an extended pause, “Well, that was something we worked really hard on some years ago. Now, I’m not so sure.”
When activists did articulate definitions of accountability, their definitions tended to fall into one of two categories. First, they either described accountability in proactive terms, which meant that men’s involvement should be guided by women’s leadership. As Ray said, “Accountability means that men doing this work need to be advised by women in leadership who are on the front lines doing the work.” Second, they defined it in reactive terms, which stressed the importance of policing individual men and men’s receptivity to criticism. As Robby said, “Being a man who is accountable in this work means that it’s part of our job, as men, to take feedback from women, to hear their criticisms, and to be receptive to that criticism . . . ” Other advocates, however, such as Linda and Sheila, defined accountability in terms of whether men were self-reflective about male privilege. As Linda said, “Men are accountable when they recognize that they bring their privilege into the work.” Similarly, Sheila said, “Accountability is, first and foremost, recognizing that you in fact have male privilege, and then it’s about acknowledging it.”
Thus, while the movement’s discourse about “men’s accountability” is pervasive, a unified and consistent definition of what accountability means in practice is missing. A newcomer’s candid admission via a Listserv reflects the disconnect between accountability “talk” and practice:
As someone who is fairly new to this movement, and at the same time hoping to contribute to the men’s (pro)feminist struggle against gender violence, I have heard the term “accountability” thrown around quite a bit, without really being defined. And quite frankly, people have asked me directly how I am accountable to women and women’s advocates, and I’m not quite sure what to say. I know that I want to be more accountable, yet am not exactly sure how to do so. I am involved in a men’s group at a gender violence prevention organization here . . . Sorry if this is a 101 question, but I think it’s an important one, because men’s accountability [is] a concept I hear about frequently, yet not one that seems to have a clear definition, or—just as importantly—a means to action.
This newcomer’s message illustrates the extent to which “accountability” is part of the movement’s discourse, but without a consistent definition or concrete mode of practice. Without greater definitional clarity, it can be hard to close the gap between discourse and practice.
Challenge #2: Men’s reluctance to hold each other accountable
Another challenge of implementing effective accountability practices is that, despite the widespread emphasis on men holding each other accountable, women generally carry the burden of “calling men out.” Overall, I found that women tend to draw attention to issues of male privilege and sexism in the movement, not men. I also found that women are frustrated by what they see as men’s unwillingness to hold each other accountable. In fact, in the instances when women policed men’s behaviors, they also called attention to how male activists failed to do so, and described these instances as “men dropping the ball,” “men not walking the walk,” and “men not doing their work.”
Audrey admitted that she left her position as a board member of a men’s organization because of how the men failed to hold a particular man accountable when he said “really troubling things.” She said,
The men kind of sat back and bonded. They weren’t willing to take on their male colleague. They weren’t willing to, in a meeting, call him out on things that were happening, and it was just very disappointing. It was the women who took action and demanded some accountability.
Earlier I presented an excerpt from my interview with Angela in which she talked about men “going to brothels” while attending a conference. Later in the interview, Angela described how conference participants responded to this violation. Angela shared how it was the women, rather than the men, who responded by drawing attention to the men’s wrongdoing.
The women came forward and said, “This is offensive beyond belief.” And, the women were at a place where they . . . needed some action. And I said to them, “The action is that the men who have been sitting in this room need to hold them accountable for that. And I am calling you out on that. I know you’ve been getting all the kudos but this is where it gets hard and I need you to stand beside me while that happens . . . ” Then, my challenge was to say to the men, for those of you who have participated in this activity, you owe it to the women in the room to personally apologize to them. Personally say to them that you lacked consciousness and awareness when you partook in those kinds of actions. They had to know [what they were doing was problematic] and I’m not allowing any excuses . . . And we basically made it so that men had to speak up and had to publicly condemn that behavior.
As Angela described it, the women were the ones who defined the men’s behavior as problematic and who insisted that it be addressed publicly. Men’s failures to do this are a major source of tension in the movement.
Although men’s reluctance to hold other men accountable is a recurrent problem, some people expressed concern about the tendency some men have to “lash out” at other men. George, who did violence prevention work for a dual coalition, explained how men—in trying to prove what good male allies they were—sometimes embarrassed newcomers by “showing how much they know at the expense of another guy.” He referred to these conflicts as “one-upmanships” and “pissing contests.” George later added, “Men in the movement are the worst at that stuff because they want to show that they’re the ok guy. And it ends up becoming this thing like, my anti-sexism penis is bigger than your anti-sexism penis.” George’s reference to men’s behaviors as “one-upmanship” and comparing penis sizes was echoed by other activists who equated competition between male activists to a kind of masculinity test.
In sum, my findings and analysis demonstrate that activists’ attempts to circumvent sexism and male privilege by emphasizing “men’s accountability” are limited by two challenges. One, a collective definition of accountability is missing. Two, despite the emphasis on “men holding each other accountable,” women still carry the burden of recognizing and drawing attention to issues of power and privilege.
Discussion
There are many benefits of expanding men’s involvement in anti-violence work. For one, anti-violence messaging is reaching wider audiences. Second, activists are redefining violence against women as a “men’s issue,” not just a women’s issue or concern. This creates space for men to struggle through difficult conversations about masculinity and power, and about how these dynamics connect to men’s use of violence. Third, men are called upon to be agents of personal and cultural change. As male leaders of this work often say, “Men are part of the problem. We must be part of the solution.” That more men are taking responsibility for helping build more gender equitable societies, communities, and relationships is a critical step.
In contrast, as this study shows, men’s increasing involvement as “allies” does not occur without problems. As scholars have noted, implicit in much ally activism is the reproduction of the very privilege the movement is working to overcome (McAdam, 1988; Myers, 2008; Washington & Evans, 1993). As my findings suggest, because male activists benefit from male privilege, even the most well-intentioned ally might inadvertently co-opt women’s leadership and experience an elevated status in the movement.
Although the glass-escalator concept (Williams, 1992) is most often used to describe men’s experiences in “female professions,” it is also useful for analyzing the reproduction of male privilege in the anti-violence movement. Despite the “mistakes” men make within the movement, they continue to reap the status rewards of being men. In these movements, as in the workplace, men are rewarded more favorably for comparable contributions, and prematurely granted status as experts. Although these are often inadvertent and unintended consequences, they are consequences nonetheless and they serve as constant reminders that gendered power differentials are deeply entrenched. For a movement that connects male power and privilege to men’s use of violence against women, it is problematic that the movement itself has become a site where these patterns of inequality are reproduced.
Given the ubiquity of sexism and the interactional nature of gender inequality (Ridgeway, 2011), it may be inevitable that men’s involvement will continue to bring with it sexism and male privilege, despite men’s greatest intentions. An important question thus remains: How are people dealing with these internal tensions? My analysis illustrated that activists are responding to these tensions by building “men’s accountability” discourse into the culture of domestic and sexual violence work. By endorsing “men’s accountability,” women activists seek to manage their conflicted stance of accepting men as allies, while acknowledging that men’s involvement comes with a price. For men in the movement, emphasizing accountability can be a way to do ally identity work. That is, by publicly demonstrating that they recognize the importance of accountability, men are showing that they “get it.” In a 2013 Technology, Entertainment, and Design (TED) talk, anti-sexist and anti-violence educator Jackson Katz publicly acknowledged men’s elevated status and drew attention to women’s contributions. He said,
Oftentimes, men like myself get a lot of credit and public acclaim for doing the work that women have been doing for a long time. One of the ways we can use the spotlight is to thank women and honor women’s leadership going forward today, tomorrow, and into the future.
This kind of discourse defines men’s involvement vis-à-vis women’s experience and leadership.
My findings indicate, however, that despite the widespread integration of accountability discourse into the culture of anti-violence work, there remains a gap between the discourse and practice. My research identified two challenges that undermine effective accountability practices: definitional inconsistency and men’s unwillingness to hold other men accountable.
For a movement that is highly diversified and that has undergone major changes over the decades, it is understandable that accountability has come to mean different things to different people. There are different generations of activists within anti-violence work—from 1970s-era feminists, to 1990s men’s movement men, to newcomers who embrace the public health model. Messner et al. (2015) identified three distinct cohorts of men’s involvement, with each one shaping the movement in important ways: the movement cohort of the 1970s to 1980s, the bridge cohort of the mid-1980s to 1990s, and the professional cohort of the mid-1990s to present. This diversity has likely led to ambiguity about accountability. As Brandon pointed out, “When people say men must be accountable to women, what women are we supposed to be accountable to? There are lots of different kinds of women.” Despite this diversity within anti-violence work, the emphasis on “men’s accountability” has remained. My findings suggest that a more unified and consistent definition would be beneficial.
My research also shows how men’s reluctance to draw attention to issues of male privilege and their reluctance to hold each other accountable burdens women with these responsibilities and intensifies women’s mistrust of men. For a man to call out another man for saying or doing something sexist means that, in that moment, he has traded his allegiance and bond with other men for an allegiance with women. According to Allan Johnson (2001), men are labeled as “gender traitors” when they stray from the unspoken male bond. That is, men are encouraged to align themselves with other men, not with women. This tendency, combined with a desire not to scare newcomers away, makes it hard for men to confront each other as often as necessary.
Although there are rich insider accounts of sexism and male privilege in anti-violence work, existing scholarship on male allies has lacked a theoretical framework for studying male privilege and accountability. The findings and analysis developed out of this grounded theory approach breaks new ground by offering a theoretical toolkit for future studies to build upon. There are three theoretical and empirical implications for future research: (a) how the ideology of mobilizing male allies is pitted against the practical challenges of integrating men into movement spaces, (b) how male activists’ interactional violations hinder collaborations between women’s and men’s organizations, and (c) the gap between accountability discourse and effective accountability practices. These theoretical developments offer a framework not only for studying the impact of male allies in domestic and sexual violence work, but also the role that dominant group members play in social change work more generally.
Recommendations for Implementing Accountability at the Organizational Level
With the heightened emphasis on “accountability” that surrounds men’s expanding involvement and leadership, it may aid domestic and sexual violence organizations and groups to implement practices that support men’s involvement without reinforcing existing gender inequalities. I offer five concrete suggestions: (a) require newcomers to receive training and education work before stepping into leadership roles, (b) cap men’s speaking fees, (c) link men’s organizations to women’s organizations and groups, (d) institutionalize a process to address issues of privilege internally, and (e) re-conceptualize accountability to include an emphasis on building gender equity. To counteract the “expert syndrome,” which often places male activists in visible leadership positions prematurely, organizations could implement a policy requiring new male activists to receive sufficient training and education before stepping into visible, public positions. Newcomers to men’s organizations could be required to attend a series of women-led trainings. If men’s involvement and exposure is to other men and to “engaging men” work only, then their involvement is detached from women’s voices, women’s efforts, and the groundwork women’s organizations have developed. Attending events dominated by men, and learning only from men’s voices, reduces the likelihood that men will be accountable to women’s leadership. If men are expected to be accountable to women’s leadership, then it is important that they know what women’s leadership looks like—firsthand.
Second, in terms of pay inequities, one way women’s organizations can ensure that male activists are not being paid more than women activists for speaking engagements is to create an organizational policy that states, “No man will be paid more to speak at our events than women.” Despite Lane’s claim that “Men probably get paid more money because they ask for more money,” a policy such as this would eliminate this trend and institutionalize pay equity.
Third, men’s organizations can create women’s advisory groups to inform their decision-making. Such an advisory group could be a collective of women activists and advocates who work for neighboring agencies, or have relevant experience. The point of the advisory group would be to ensure that men are not working in isolation from the direct beneficiaries of the movement’s work. To make their voices heard, marginalized women activists have formed caucuses in women-led organizations. In much the same way, men’s organizations could incorporate women’s caucuses, or advisory groups, into their organizational structure. Indeed, models of this kind of partnership already exist, and future research should explore their effectiveness. Some questions to explore are: What do effective partnerships between women’s organizations and men’s organizations look like? What features make them effective?
Before effective accountability practices can be built into the movements at large, it may be helpful for organizations and groups to create internal processes for people to address privilege and power within their own sites of work. A notable example of this is “the empowerment process,” developed by Phyllis B. Frank, Wayne Morris, and others at VCS, Inc., in New York, where the goal is to create a process that is educational while being sensitive and responsible (Frank & Morris, 1994). It may be helpful to incorporate a process that enables people to expose issues related to privilege and power and to learn from each other (Frank & Morris, 1994). It may also be the case that the better individuals become at addressing issues of privilege and power internally, the better they will be at addressing violations that take place in larger, public settings. While the focus of this article is male privilege, this process can also be used to examine other forms of privilege.
Finally, the term “accountability” may benefit from being reinvented so that its meaning is more transparent and action-oriented. One suggestion is to re-conceptualize the term to include an explicit focus on building gender equity. The phrase build gender equity uses active language, whereas “staying accountable” and “being accountable” uses passive language. The words people use are important because they motivate and incite action. They also shape the kinds of questions asked. Perhaps an emphasis on building gender equity can generate more concrete action steps for the growing numbers of men recruited into these movements, as opposed to the somewhat abstract concept of “being accountable.” If you consider what male activists are expected to do as they work to end violence against women, and if you consider how the partnerships between women and men are expected to look, it seems that one major goal is to build and model gender equity inside the movement. By focusing efforts on how to integrate male activists in ways that build and model gender equity inside the movement, activists can stay more consistent with the movements’ broader goals of dismantling male domination and women’s oppression outside the movement.
Limitations
One of the major limitations of my study is that, because I am a woman, I was not able to observe male activists in all-male settings. On three different occasions, I was denied access to male-only settings that might have provided additional insights. Also, while many of the men whom I interviewed spoke candidly, my identity as a woman may have influenced their answers to my questions about working with women. A male-identified researcher might have had the same experience with women activists. Therefore, future studies of men in anti-violence work may benefit from a mixed gender research team.
Another limitation of this study was that although I strived to recruit a diverse sample, my analysis does not identify any patterns related to age, racial identity, and/or professional position. The only salient categorical differences identified in my data focused on two broad groups: women and men, which are more heterogeneous than represented throughout the analysis. Therefore, future studies can apply an intersectional analysis to analyze how other factors, such as age, race, and professional position, shape men’s growing involvement in (and reactions to) anti-violence work.
Conclusion
The present study examined how domestic and sexual violence work—which is historically women-led work—has been impacted by the increasing efforts to mobilize men as allies. My research contributes important empirical and theoretical detail about how male privilege manifests within movement spaces, which has previously been missing from the literature. I used sociological theorizing about men in female-dominated work to illustrate how men benefit from a glass-escalator effect, which not only shapes men’s experiences, but the alliances and partnerships they are forging with women as well. It is my hope that my research stimulates continued dialogue within anti-violence work about how to integrate men into this work in ways that advance, rather than contradict, the movement’s anti-sexist values and goals. Indeed, these conversations are already taking place, but perhaps will be aided by this sociological examination and analysis.
Footnotes
Acknowledgements
The author would like to thank the following people for their careful review and feedback on earlier versions of this article: Matthew Ezzell, Jen Leuttel-Schweer, Patrick Lemmon, Paul Kivel, Teddy Wright, Sinikka Elliott, Ben Atherton-Zeman, Phyllis Frank, Sarah Epplen, and Michael Schwalbe.
Declaration of Conflicting Interests
The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
Funding
The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.