Power to Prevent—the impact of collective advocacy on sexual harassment law reform in Australia

Medicolegal Sidebar: Avoiding Gender-based Inequities During Orthopaedic Training.

Sexual harassment of women and girls in public places is prevalent and well-documented in Egypt. In a 2008 study of about 1,010 women and 1,010 men in Greater Cairo, 83 percent of Egyptian women and 98 percent of foreign women respondents reported they had been sexually harassed (Hassan, Abul Komsan, and Shoukry 2008, 16). A 2013 UN Women study revealed that 99 percent of 2,332 women sampled from seven governorates across rural and urban contexts, including Cairo, Alexandria, Ismailia, Gharbia, Dakahleya, Assiut, and Qena, had been sexually harassed (El-Deeb 2013, 6). Additionally, a 2014 study by HarassMap reported that 95 percent of three hundred women surveyed in Greater Cairo experienced sexual harassment (Fahmy et al. 2014, 6).Collective sexual assault and rape by largely unidentified men were prevalent responses to protests in Tahrir Square between 2011 and 2014 (El-Nadeem et al. 2013; Langohr 2013, 19; Nazra 2014). Such violence added to the existing widespread problem of everyday sexual harassment of women and girls by men and boys in public places, as well as sexual violence against women activists by actors affiliated with state security and police forces (Amar 2011, 309; Hafez 2014, 178; Tadros 2013, 8). In a context characterized by lax security due to the withdrawal of the police from the streets after the 2011 revolution (Ahmad Zaki and Abd Alhamid 2014; Tadros 2013, 7), novel forms of street-level action-oriented initiatives emerged and intensified. These initiatives focused on bystander intervention and self-defense and aimed at changing individual behaviors and attitudes, particularly as sexual assaults against activist and nonactivist women and girls became a regular feature of life. Initiatives against sexual harassment and assault such as HarassMap, OpAntiSH, Tahrir Bodyguard, WenDo Egypt, Shoft Taharrush, Dedd el-Taharrush, and Harakat Bassma relied on large numbers of volunteers and used social media for mobilization (Ahmad Zaki and Abd Alhamid 2014; Langohr 2013, 19; Langohr 2015, 131). Such action-oriented initiatives were facilitated by growing mainstream and social media attention to sexual harassment and violence and the ease of mobilizing creatively on- and offline to expose and shame harassers, name experiences of violence, and discuss them (Langohr 2015, 132).Between 2005 and 2010, in contrast, anti–sexual harassment interventions in Egypt by women’s and feminist nongovernmental organizations had focused largely on raising awareness and improving laws and policies, although there were early efforts at bottom-up approaches that used art, music, and theatrical events; workshops and trainings held at El Sawy Culture Wheel, the Goethe Institute, and the campus of the American University in Cairo (AUC); and interactive information sessions that included the collection of survey data to understand people’s experiences at AUC (Rizzo, Price, and Meyer 2012, 471–72; Pratt 2005, 141). The new initiatives against sexual harassment and assault represent for Hind Ahmad Zaki and Dalia Abd Alhamid (2014) the rise of “an independent social movement” that includes hundreds if not thousands of volunteers. Dalia Abd Alhamid, who works with the Egyptian Initiative for Personal Rights, emphasizes the “tremendous change” that occurred after the revolution as anti–sexual harassment activism moved away from small-scale “workshops, reports, documentation” that reached few people.1In addition to analyzing reports and secondary source material, this article uses fieldwork research we conducted in Cairo to explore the strategies and work of two prominent anti–sexual harassment initiatives, HarassMap, established in October 2010, and WenDo Egypt, established in May 2013.2 HarassMap activists mobilize bystanders to intervene if they witness sexual harassment, and WenDo Egypt trainers offer self-defense courses that encourage women to verbally and physically respond to harassment and assault against themselves and other women. We conducted participant observation and interviews with four activists in HarassMap and four trainers in Wendo Egypt. Participant observation included Abdelmonem working in the HarassMap office and attending unit meetings, trainings, and street outreach between 2013 and 2014. Galán participated in three self-defense workshops organized by WenDo Egypt in 2014 and 2015. We also interviewed six representatives of organizations and initiatives working against sexual harassment and assault, one each from the Egyptian Initiative for Personal Rights, Nazra for Feminist Studies, El-Nadeem Center for Rehabilitation of Victims of Violence, Harakat Bassma, Dedd el-Taharrush, and Tahrir Bodyguard. All interviews were conducted in English.HarassMap was launched in October 2010 by going live with an online crowdmapping system, Ushahidi, a GIS-based technology that asks users to anonymously describe their sexual harassment experience and pinpoint the location of the incident on a Google map (Peuchaud 2014, i115, i118; Skalli 2014, 250).3 The HarassMap cofounders include Rebecca Chiao, a US citizen employed as international relations director between 2004 and 2008 at the Egyptian Center for Women’s Rights (ECWR); Engy Ghozlan, an Egyptian citizen who managed the ECWR anti–sexual harassment program in 2007 and 2008; Sawsan Gad, an independent Egyptian researcher who affiliated with ECWR in 2009; and Amel Fahmy, an Egyptian employee of the UN Population Fund from 2008 to 2011.In late 2008 Chiao and Ghozlan separately left ECWR because, as they report, they each sought other work opportunities and increasingly disagreed with the organization’s political advocacy approach in response to sexual harassment. In 2005 ECWR initiated the “Making Our Streets Safe for Everyone” project to combat sexual harassment. Initially, the initiative centered on bottom-up strategies that engaged local people to raise awareness of sexual harassment as a problem. It was not externally funded and was run by Chiao and unpaid interns and volunteers until 2007, at which point it received a grant from the UN Population Fund (Rizzo, Price, and Myer 2012, 470). With funding, Chiao contends that ECWR moved toward top-down projects, such as conducting research and promoting draft legal amendments to criminalize sexual harassment in Egypt (ECWR 2009; FIDH et al. 2014, 74).4 Within Egypt’s militarized and neoliberal environment, ECWR and other NGOs sought to combat sexual harassment without breaching a variety of legal restrictions on their activities, including the 1958 Emergency Law and Law 84 of 2002, regulating NGOs (Rizzo, Price, and Meyer 2012, 464).HarassMap founders bypassed registration with the Ministry of Social Affairs, a practice that became widespread among anti–sexual harassment initiatives after the revolution.5 Initially, Chiao and Ghozlan worked part-time at other jobs while using their private cars and personal funds for the initiative and meeting with volunteers in cafés.6 They held the first outreach meeting with volunteers in December 2010, although the revolution accelerated their work as people began to speak more freely about sexual violence and the “barrier between people and the street” was removed.7 Amal ElMohandes of Nazra similarly reports that between 2011 and 2013 “public space was very open” and “very promising.”8 She continues: “everyone felt that they own the streets.” Between 2012 and 2013 HarassMap incubated with the capacity-building NGO Nahdat el-Mahrousa, which oversaw the use of funds from the Canadian-based International Development Research Center. HarassMap used these funds to hire staff to coordinate volunteers and pay for the use of a coworking space in Heliopolis. In 2015, given the government’s renewed enforcement of Law 84, HarassMap sought formal NGO status, which was approved in early spring 2016.HarassMap’s mission is to end the “social acceptability” of public sexual harassment and encourage people to stand up against it. Thus the primary focus of their work is to build community outreach teams comprising local people who speak to their neighbors and community kin to promote zero tolerance for sexual harassment and more recently to recruit schools, universities, small businesses, and corporations to become “role models” and devise internal measures—HarassMap calls these “escalation policies”—to manage sexual harassment claims. Initially, HarassMap activists hoped to use their Ushahidi-powered crowdmap to conduct community outreach in “hotspots” of sexual harassment. This idea was discarded soon after the first volunteer training in December 2010, when the cofounders decided that it made more sense to focus instead on the neighborhoods of their growing volunteer pool to more effectively impact the neighbors, friends, and family of participants.9HarassMap comprises several units. At the time this research was conducted, the Community Outreach unit worked with more than fourteen hundred volunteers in twenty-three governorates to coordinate monthly street campaigns. Within each governorate, HarassMap trains volunteers to become “community captains” who are responsible for building, training, and overseeing their own volunteer team to conduct a minimum of one or two outreach days per month to engage people and instill within them a sense of responsibility for solving the problem of sexual harassment and changing cultural sensibilities.10 The Safe Areas unit works with small businesses such as cafés, kiosks, and even taxis. The Safe Corporates unit works with companies such as Uber. The Safe Schools and Universities unit develops campus outreach teams. Additionally, the Marketing and Communications unit streamlines messaging, mediates media presence, and devises campaigns, while the Research unit manages the crowdmap, though this unit is currently being reformulated.Social movement theorists have long noted that social and political change depends on the mobilization of bystander publics, who have been described as “distal spectators” even if they are sympathetic (Snow, Zurcher, and Peters 1981, 31). Social movement actors often seek to sway bystanders to their cause and turn them into movement adherents to build a critical mass that will precipitate change (Benford and Snow 2000, 624). HarassMap seeks to end the bystander effect in relation to sexual harassment by convincing bystanders (al-nas illi waqifa), or those who “play stupid” (iʿmal ʿabit), to view it as a crime that is everyone’s responsibility to counteract. “Play stupid” appeared as a caption in a cartoon circulated on HarassMap’s (2013) Facebook page, showing a faceless woman on a crowded metro car being harassed while others ignored the situation. Bystanders, HarassMap activists argue, contribute to the social acceptability of sexual harassment.In a TedX (2012) talk, Chiao noted that bystanders use myths to excuse sexual harassment, for example by arguing that it happens only to foreign or unveiled women or that harassers are sexually frustrated because of delayed marriage. Referencing a 2007 political campaign poster of a lollipop covered with flies that encouraged women to veil to avoid sexual harassment, Chiao challenged this message, saying: “We believe that the only way that this problem will stop is if all the harassers stop harassing. And the only way they’ll stop is if we stop accepting these reasons. Stop ignoring, stop making excuses for them, and stop tolerating their behavior.” Like other activists, Chiao believes that men bystanders and harassers “actually interpret silence as welcoming.”11HarassMap’s Ebaʾa el-Tamimi argues that bystanders often consider harassers to be “cool” and believe that women want to be sexually harassed.12 To challenge common responses to sexual harassment, HarassMap launched a series of campaigns between 2012 and 2015, including “Byitḥarrash leh?” (“Why Does He Harass?”), “Mesh sakta” (“I Am Not Silent”), “Ṣaliḥha fi dimaghak” (“Get It Right”), “ʿAyyizin siyasa guwwa al-gamaʿa” (“We Want a Policy in the University”), “Di mesh muʿ aksa, da taḥarrush” (“It’s Not Flirtation, It’s Harassment”), and “Al-mutaḥarrish mugrim” (“The Harasser Is a Criminal”). El-Tamimi emphasizes that these campaigns either focus on or direct their message to bystanders:I’m not telling the harasser to stop harassing. I’m not telling him to “stop this long-term behavior that you’ve been doing all your life.” . . . I’m not even talking to him. I’m talking to people in the street who are generally passive and generally sit around and look at something happening, sometimes they even disagree with it. . . . The idea is to activate these people. You can do it on moral grounds, so you can go and do what the community mobilization guys do and talk to people and make eye contact and tell them this happens on your very street under your own nose and you don’t do anything about it.13In their fall 2013 biannual training workshop, called HarassMap Academy, activists conducted a performance activity in which they asked volunteers to compare how bystanders beat thieves and turn them into the police when a woman’s purse is stolen, whereas they are usually silent when a woman’s body or personal space is violated on the street. HarassMap seeks to “transfer the salience” of standing up to theft to standing up to sexual harassment (Von Atteveldt, Ruigrok, and Kliennijenhuis 2006, 2). As HarassMap’s former director of Community Outreach Hussein El-Shafei (2013) explained to volunteers in a training workshop held in Fayoum in October 2013, the initiative’s work depends on street awareness campaigns that gain people’s trust, transform their perceptions of sexual harassment, and obtain their agreement to speak up as witnesses in order to reshape the “social mentality” (al-ʿaqliyya al-igtimaʿiyya).The focus on bystanders and individual responsibility to stop harassment in a community avoids demonizing or alienating young lower-class men who are usually identified as harassers in popular discourse (Amar 2011, 317). This approach to combating gender-based violence has been criticized for shifting blame to bystanders, encouraging vigilantism, and endangering those who intervene (Elk and Devereaux 2014). These criticisms, however, do not address bystander approaches focused on producing social pressure that changes harassing behavior and creates new community norms, which is HarassMap’s goal.WenDo Egypt was established in May 2013 by Schirin Salem, a former gender project manager at the German Agency for International Cooperation. Being “half-Egyptian, half-German,” as she describes herself, influenced Salem’s decision to bring to Cairo WenDo, a women’s self-defense method created in Canada in the 1970s.14 “I have been coming to Egypt since my early childhood and always saw harassment,” notes Salem.15 She was surprised that her cousins and friends “never reacted” when harassed. Salem learned of WenDo when she attended a self-defense course as a thirteen-year-old in Germany. She recalls this experience as greatly increasing her self-confidence. Many years later she still remembered many self-defense techniques she learned. After she moved back to Egypt in the aftermath of the January 25 Revolution, she became certified as a WenDo trainer and decided to adapt this “Western concept” to the safety concerns of Egyptian women and girls.16 Salem trained weekly with a group of Egyptian women, practicing the exercises and modifying them to their needs and demands.WenDo self-defense training is addressed to women and girls of all ages, shapes, sizes, and abilities. It focuses on increasing women’s self-confidence and assertiveness in public places and on teaching women how to react against everyday sexual harassment through a wide range of strategies. The goal is to increase the number of women who walk confidently on the streets and react effectively and assertively to stop sexual harassment. Salem emphasizes that WenDo Egypt allows her to “see an effect right after” a training instead of waiting years for change.17WenDo Egypt basic training includes ten hours divided into two blocks. In the first, women learn how to enforce their boundaries through the look, voice, and body language. In the second block, they practice easy-to-perform kicks and punches that target vulnerable areas of a man’s anatomy. Since 2014 Salem has trained twenty-six new instructors from Cairo and Mansoura. WenDo trainers offer private self-defense courses to Egyptian and foreign women who can afford the lessons, which cost two hundred Egyptian pounds (about twenty-two US dollars), but they also train underprivileged women and girls on a voluntary basis in collaboration with children’s organizations, refugee service centers, and youth centers. Salem reported that by May 2015 around a thousand women and girls had been trained by WenDo Egypt, about seven hundred of them for free.18 Additionally, WenDo Egypt co-organized four igmadi (“be strong”) events, which combine self-defense, Zumba classes and awareness-raising sessions in cooperation with HarassMap, Nazra, and El-Nadeem. These events were attended by an average of 325 women and girls.19 Beginning in May 2015, WenDo courses are offered in youth centers across the country and new Training of Trainers courses have been planned in partnership with the Egyptian Ministry of Youth and Sports and the German Agency for International Cooperation, which provide funding to WenDo Egypt.Feminist scholarship on self-defense has demonstrated that norms of respectable femininity prescribe passive, helpless, compliant female bodies in need of male or state protection (De Welde 2003, 256; McCaughey 1997, 37). In public places, this gendered often into of rape and and 1981, of sexual harassment in Egypt that women respond to everyday and for of the into (Fahmy et al. 2014, Abul Komsan, and Shoukry 2008, they avoid public places, more and from or making eye contact with (Fahmy et al. 2014, trainer notes that women that if they look at they a . . . so they to by this of 1981, 2008, while women’s and awareness of WenDo Egypt in contrast, that women look up when on the street if back at the harasser into In the WenDo are up in and asked to at each other in a an that as to the exercises are to other and a look, voice, and convincing at the of a training, or raising their is to be so notes one of the after an that is or WenDo trainers the of using the to a message and for a space is to the WenDo their experiences of harassment without they will be for sexual They learn to a critical In addition to the look, voice, and body the of the WenDo training are to increase women’s self-confidence on the WenDo trainer emphasizes that women only need to use the voice, look, and self-confidence of the training to it is very to self-defense go from the training that . . . she can in the it such into practice in that of harassment while waiting for a on the or in the Trainers consider this one of the exercises because experiences and to them on their is voluntary and to others their they The harassed woman in a can the and for at The trainer often asks of the was and be in order to and With all manage to stop the who is by the This is very . . . that changes something them, because of them are very to of the and very and very of the end of the basic training, a with their using one of the learned the This more will than and as a of that the of which is in the that with and as a of their and Salem contends that WenDo to the of social that make sexual harassment by encouraging women to react against these sexual and other women who challenge sexual harassment on the 2008 Egyptian nongovernmental organizations the Sexual among other that sexual harassment be a The also called for the of and in the because the first the of rape to of a by a and the second to sexual assault as a of 2011, These which included article to and after the January 25 but have been ignored by the et al. 2014, a at El-Nadeem Center for Rehabilitation of Victims of Violence, emphasizes the of changing legal which do not consider by other than a to be as or men as of 2013, under the of the Ministry of the police a unit responsible for violence against women. 2014, after a sexual harassment incident at Cairo University to a public in of the to of the of so that and online sexual harassment be with of between six and years and of up to thousand Egyptian pounds of 2014). the is because it that an to gain a sexual which is to and depends on a In have because contact information is included in police reports, to the of the and often in As a the family of the will often the woman who the and her or so that their the state sexual harassment in response to “tremendous from notes that sexual harassment is the social of as by a series of by the Egyptian between 2014 and In October 2014 the Ministry of a new anti–sexual harassment women’s police the 2014). this unit has been criticized by anti–sexual harassment activists for being against sexual harassers and instead to and of their volunteers In early 2015 that all Egyptian anti–sexual harassment training workshops for who the training for the Ministry of Youth and Sports in 2015, was about the of such trainings given the of information on gender norms and the increasingly political such as Abd Alhamid similarly that the but not have the political will to sexual or make to women’s have legal and interventions do not transform gendered and and can even activate gender or when norms are not 2013, women will often use laws the laws women as who to They also men as men and women from to the 2013, The anti–sexual harassment initiatives that emerged after the revolution direct intervention on the streets as more than legal and political change strategies for gendered norms and although activists also encourage women to seek through and HarassMap activists Chiao and El-Shafei that people who do not the or political will seek to being when a WenDo Egypt’s Salem, the of the is a in the right but change” so that the and consider harassment as a this article we use the action-oriented to to against sexual violence after the on the of Dedd in 2012 to combat sexual harassment the “I had this that need to do something and do an that was the notes in relation to Harakat Bassma with that had . . . He had an idea and to it and had a stand to WenDo trainer and HarassMap Safe Areas reports that her was by a sexual harassment incident by a family The for an response what from Tahrir calls a approach that centers on people’s personal experiences in with the anti–sexual harassment initiatives were when the the on 2013, a and the Emergency Law between and In 2013 the Law and public of teams that had been in Tahrir Square between 2012 and 2013 their because of political in and security concerns in In 2014 the by anti–sexual harassment initiatives to as nongovernmental organizations under Law 84 of or of their the January 25 in Egypt, initiatives were organized or accelerated to combat public sexual violence through HarassMap and WenDo activists that people the changes they in and HarassMap activists that sexual harassment will only end when all people speak up and view it as WenDo trainers that self-defense is an of anti–sexual harassment activism that can bring change when all women react against sexual and each other in this initiatives promote gender and women’s in public places, working to new social with the goal of producing

<p>The aim of this research is to fill a gap in the New Zealand literature which is to investigate whether the sexual harassment legislation is being understood, implemented and monitored in organisations effectively. This thesis explores how organisations in New Zealand are using tick-box compliance when implementing sexual harassment legislation into their employee policies and procedures documents due to the ambiguity of certain words. It looks at the role that Human Resources consultants and trade unions play, and further using the endogeneity model, the thesis explores the effect that tick-box compliance has on the legal consciousness of sexual harassment in organisations and third parties. Data was collected through semi-structured interviews with Human Resources professional at public and private sector organisations, Human Resources consultants as well as trade union representatives who are actively involved with the implementation and management of sexual harassment policies in the workplace. It was found that organisations had implemented sexual harassment policies and procedures several years previously and that these had not been changed significantly due to a lack of change in the law itself. The findings also indicate that the organisations implement sexual harassment polices using a tick-box approach and they do not necessarily fully understand the legislation. It was suggested that the emphasis had shifted from sexual harassment to bullying and that the third parties like trade unions and Human Resources consultants see more cases of this than sexual harassment. The thesis concludes that although organisations have sexual harassment policies and procedures, these are outdated and are not part of the legal consciousness of organisations, trade unions and Human Resources consultants. The ambiguous nature of the wording in the law itself and the lack of guidelines for organisations on how to implement them has resulted in tick-box compliance and organisations do not know if their policies are effective or not. Further the low penalties for sexual harassment behaviour means that there is no incentive for sexual harassment victims to raise complaints.</p>

<p>The aim of this research is to fill a gap in the New Zealand literature which is to investigate whether the sexual harassment legislation is being understood, implemented and monitored in organisations effectively. This thesis explores how organisations in New Zealand are using tick-box compliance when implementing sexual harassment legislation into their employee policies and procedures documents due to the ambiguity of certain words. It looks at the role that Human Resources consultants and trade unions play, and further using the endogeneity model, the thesis explores the effect that tick-box compliance has on the legal consciousness of sexual harassment in organisations and third parties. Data was collected through semi-structured interviews with Human Resources professional at public and private sector organisations, Human Resources consultants as well as trade union representatives who are actively involved with the implementation and management of sexual harassment policies in the workplace. It was found that organisations had implemented sexual harassment policies and procedures several years previously and that these had not been changed significantly due to a lack of change in the law itself. The findings also indicate that the organisations implement sexual harassment polices using a tick-box approach and they do not necessarily fully understand the legislation. It was suggested that the emphasis had shifted from sexual harassment to bullying and that the third parties like trade unions and Human Resources consultants see more cases of this than sexual harassment. The thesis concludes that although organisations have sexual harassment policies and procedures, these are outdated and are not part of the legal consciousness of organisations, trade unions and Human Resources consultants. The ambiguous nature of the wording in the law itself and the lack of guidelines for organisations on how to implement them has resulted in tick-box compliance and organisations do not know if their policies are effective or not. Further the low penalties for sexual harassment behaviour means that there is no incentive for sexual harassment victims to raise complaints.</p>

The advent of the #MeToo movement and the scale of participation in 85 countries (Gill and Orgad; see Google Trends) has greatly expanded debate about the revival of feminism (Winch Littler and Keeler) and the contribution of digital media to a “reconfiguration” of feminism (Jouet). Insofar as these campaigns are concerned with sexual harassment and related forms of sexual abuse, the longer history of sexual harassment in which this practice was named by women’s movement activists in the 1970s has gone largely unremarked except in the broad sense of the recharging or “techno-echo[es]” (Jouet) of earlier “waves” of feminism. However, #MeToo and its companion movement #TimesUp, and its fighting fund timesupnow.org, stemmed directly from the allegations in 2017 against the media mogul Harvey Weinstein by Hollywood professionals and celebrities. The naming of prominent, powerful men as harassers and the celebrity sphere of activism have become features of #MeToo that warrant comparison with the naming of sexual harassment in the earlier era of feminism.While the practices it named were not new, the term “sexual harassment” was new, and it became a defining issue in second wave feminism that was conceptualised within the continuum of sexual violence. I outline this history, and how it transformed the private, individual experiences of many women into a shared public consciousness about sexual coercion in the workplace, and some of the debate that this generated within the women’s movement at the time. It offers scope to compare the threshold politics of naming names in the 21st century, and its celebrity vanguard which has led to some ambivalence about the lasting impact. For Kathy Davis (in Zarkov and Davis), for instance, it is atypical of the collective goals of second wave feminism.In comparing the two eras, Anita Hill’s claims against Clarence Thomas in the early 1990s is a bridging incident. It dates from closer to the time in which sexual harassment was named, and Hill’s testimony is now recognised as a prototype of the kinds of claims made against powerful men in the #MeToo era. Lauren Berlant’s account of “Diva Citizenship”, formulated in response to Hill’s testimony to the US Senate, now seems prescient of the unfolding spectacle of feminist subjectivities in the digital public sphere and speaks directly to the relation between individual and collective action in making lasting change. The possibility of change, however, descends from the intervention of the women’s movement in naming sexual harassment.The Name Is AllI found my boss in a room ... . He was alone ... . He greeted me ... touched my hair and ... said ... “Come, Ruth, sit down here.” He motioned to his knee. I felt my face flush. I backed away towards the door ... . Then he rose ... and ... put his hand into his pocket, took out a roll of bills, counted off three dollars, and brought it over to me at the door. “Tell your father,” he said, “to find you a new shop for tomorrow morning.” (Cohen 129)Sexual coercion in the workplace, such as referred to in this workplace novel published in 1918, was spoken about among women in subcultures and gossip long before it was named as sexual harassment. But it had no place in public discourse. Women’s knowledge of sexual harassment coalesced in an act of naming that is reputed to have occurred in a consciousness raising group in New York at the height of the second wave women’s movement. Lin Farley lays claim to it in her book, Sexual Shakedown, first published in 1978, in describing the coinage of the term from a workshop on women and work in 1974 at Cornell University. The group of participants was made up, she says, of near equal numbers of black and white women with “economic backgrounds ranging from very affluent to poor” (11). She describes how, “when we had finished, there was an unmistakable pattern to our employment ... . Each one of us had already quit or been fired from a job at least once because we had been made too uncomfortable by the behaviour of men” (11–12). She claims to have later devised the term “sexual harassment” in collaboration with others from this group (12).The naming of sexual harassment has been described as a kind of “discovery” (Leeds TUCRIC 1) and possibly “the only concept of sexual violence to be labelled by women themselves” (Hearn et al. 20). Not everyone agrees that Farley’s group first coined the term (see Herbert 1989) and there is some evidence that it was in use from the early 1970s. Catherine Mackinnon accredits its first use to the Working Women United Institute in New York in connection with the case of Carmita Wood in 1975 (25). Yet Farley’s account gained authority and is cited in several other contemporary radical feminist works (for instance, see Storrie and Dykstra 26; Wise and Stanley 48), and Sexual Shakedown can now be listed among the iconic feminist manifestoes of the second wave era.The key insight of Farley’s book was that sexual coercion in the workplace was more than aberrant behaviour by individual men but was systemic and organised. She suggests how the phrase sexual harassment “is the first verbal description of women’s feelings about this behaviour and it unstintingly conveys a negative perception of male aggression in the workplace” (32). Others followed in seeing it as organised expression of male power that functions “to keep women out of non-traditional occupations and to reinforce their secondary status in the workplace” (Pringle 93), a wisdom that is now widely accepted but seemed radical at the time.A theoretical literature on sexual harassment grew rapidly from the 1970s in which the definition of sexual harassment was a key element. In Sexual Shakedown, Farley defines it with specific connection to the workplace and a woman’s “function as worker” (33). Some definitions attempted to cover a range of practices that “might threaten a woman’s job security or create a stressful or intimidating working environment” ranging from touching to rape (Sedley and Benn 6). In the wider radical feminist discussion, sexual harassment was located within the “continuum of sexual violence”, a paradigm that highlighted the links between “every day abuses” and “less common experiences labelled as crimes” (Kelly 59). Accordingly, it was seen as a diminished category of rape, termed “little rape” (Bularzik 26), or a means whereby women are “reminded” of the “ever present threat of rape” (Rubinstein 165).The upsurge of research and writing served to document the prevalence and history of sexual harassment. Radical feminist accounts situated the origins in the long-standing patriarchal assumption that economic responsibility for women is ultimately held by men, and how “women forced to earn their own living in the past were believed to be defenceless and possibly immoral” (Rubinstein 166). Various accounts highlighted the intersecting effects of racism and sexism in the experience of black women, and women of colour, in a way that would be now termed intersectional. Jo Dixon discussed black women’s “least advantaged position in the economy coupled with the legacy of slavery” (164), while, in Australia, Linda Rubinstein describes the “sexual exploitation of aboriginal women employed as domestic servants on outback stations” which was “as common as the better documented abuse of slaves in the American South” (166).In The Sexual Harassment of Working Women, Catherine Mackinnon provided a pioneering legal argument that sexual harassment was a form of sex discrimination. She defined two types: the quid pro quo, when “sexual compliance is exchanged, or proposed to be exchanged, for an employment opportunity” (32); and sexual harassment as a “persistent condition of work” that “simply makes the work environment unbearable” (40). Thus the feminist histories of sexual harassment became detailed and strategic. The naming of sexual harassment was a moment of relinquishing women’s experience to the gaze of feminism and the bureaucratic gaze of the state, and, in the legal interventions that followed, it ceased to be exclusively a feminist issue.In Australia, a period of bureaucratisation and state intervention commenced in the late 1970s that corresponded with similar legislative responses abroad. The federal Sex Discrimination Act was amended in 1984 to include a definition of sexual harassment, and State and Territory jurisdictions also framed legislation pertaining to sexual harassment (see Law Council of Australia). The regimes of redress were linked with Equal Opportunity and Affirmative Action frameworks and were of a civil order. Under the law, there was potential for employers to be found vicariously liable for sexual harassment.In the women’s movement, legislative strategies were deemed reformist. Radical and socialist feminists perceived the de-gendering effects of these policies in the workplace that risked collusion with the state. Some argued that naming and defining sexual harassment denies that women constantly deal with a range of harassment anywhere, not only in the workplace (Wise and Stanley 10); while others argued that reformist approaches effectively legitimate other forms of sex discrimination not covered by legislation (Game and Pringle 290). However, in feminism and in the policy realm, the debate concerned sexual harassment in the general workplace. In contrast to #MeToo, it was not led by celebrity voices, nor galvanised by incidents in the sphere of entertainment, nor, by and large, among figures of public office, except for a couple of notable exceptions, including Anita Hill.The “Spectacle of Subjectivity” in the “Scene of Public Life”Through the early 1990s as an MA candidate at the University of Queensland, I studied media coverage of sexual harassment cases, clipping newspapers and noting electronic media reports on a daily basis. These mainly concerned incidents in government sector workplaces or small commercial enterprises. Wh

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Background Sexual harassment is a complex phenomenon and our knowledge is hampered by a lack of consensus on the definition and measurement. However, workplaces need reliable instruments that provide a nuanced understanding of sexual harassment and input for action to mitigate negative consequences. The aim of this project is to help workplaces prevent and manage sexual harassment, which include developing a new and comprehensive instrument to monitor sexual harassment (Inventory of Workplace Sexual Harassment). In this abstract, we explain the process of designing the questionnaire. Methods The design process follows three steps: (1) Identification of a theoretical and conceptual framework, (2) item development and (3) field testing. First, we identified relevant theoretical and conceptual frameworks, which we discussed with an expert group consisting of researchers and stakeholders (employer and trade unions). Second, we developed items based on expert inputs and previous surveys. We adapted the first version of the questionnaire following a feedback round with the expert group. Third, we will complete field testing in 2019-2020. Field testing encompasses cognitive interviews (n = 15) and in-depth interviews with men and women exposed to sexual harassment to assess clarity and relevance (in 2019), and a pilot study at 15 workplaces to assess prevalence and usability (in 2020). Results Based on the theoretical and conceptual model from Fitzgerald et al, we developed a preliminary version, consisting of 22 items that cover three domains: (1) unwanted sexual attention, (2) gender harassment and (2) sexual coercion. The survey draws on questions from SEQ-DoD and Bergen Sexual Harassment Scale. Results from field testing will be available for the conference. Conclusions The Inventory of Workplace Sexual Harassment will provide a comprehensive and validated measurement of workplace sexual harassment and will help workplaces prevent and manage sexual harassment. Key messages Sexual harassment is a complex and multifaceted phenomenon, but our knowledge is hampered by a lack of consensus on the definition and measurement. This study contributes with a new instrument measuring the prevalence of workplace sexual harassment and tools for prevention and management of sexual harassment.

#MeToo, Sexual Harassment and Accountability: Considering the Role of Restorative Approaches

Existing legal responses to sexual assault and harassment in the military have stagnated or failed. Current approaches emphasize the prevalence of sexual assault and highlight the masculine nature of the military’s statistical composition and institutional culture. Current responses do not, however, incorporate masculinities theory to disentangle the experiences of men as a group from men as individuals. Rather, embedded within contestations of the masculine military culture is the unstated assumption that the culture universally privileges or benefits the individual men that operate within it. This myth is harmful because it tethers masculinities to military efficacy, suppresses the costs of male violence to men, and positions women as perpetual outsiders. Debunking the myth of universal male privilege in heavily masculinized institutions would advance gender equality and shift the law reform focus. It would bring sexual assault, domestic violence, and sexual harassment into the same frame as the military mental health crisis and even mass solidier-on-soldier shootings. This would reveal the gender equality implications of military mental health and disentangle masculinities and military efficacy. Debunking the myth of univeral male privilege would yield more vigilance to how law reforms can exacerbate hyper-masculine violence. It introduces new entry points to gendered violence in the military, expanding the focus from incident-based responses to recruiting and training.

For a long time, criminal law was the main legal tool for combating sexual harassment. Today, the equality and anti-discrimination approach to sexual harassment is rooted in human rights law, EU law and national law. On paper, the equality and non-discrimination approach represents a more accessible and effective legal tool to combat sexual harassment than criminal law. This chapter situates the Norwegian equality and non-discrimination law approach to sexual harassment in its broader historical, legal and political contexts. Insights into law reform, Supreme Court practice and cases from the Discrimination Tribunal uncover ongoing tensions and conflicts between different notions of sexual harassment. These are: the Norwegian equality law’s objective approach, the EU’s dual equality and violation of dignity approach, and criminal law’s fault-based approach. In practice, legal changes that on paper are a step forward often go hand in hand with new setbacks. This shows that the equality approach remains a contested space regarding women’s right to protection against discrimination, harassment and sexual harassment, and the rights of the offender.

Purpose Social procurement is an innovative policy tool that integrates social values in public procurement, while leveraging the power of public procurement to address complex social problems. This study aims to examine the implementation of social procurement within the Ministry of Health through cross-sector collaboration among public, private and third-sector organizations. Specifically, the objectives were to analyze how the procurement process contributes to social value creation, identify the main enablers of collaboration and analyze the potential for optimizing social value–based procurement policies. Design/methodology/approach This research used a descriptive qualitative approach, using a case study design. The data collection used was a thematic analysis, conducted through semistructured interviews, focus group interviews and participatory observation, involving 16 stakeholders from government, businesses, community organizations and universities. Data collection focused on cross-sector collaboration through in-house procurement (Swakelola) type III and procurement through suppliers that meet the criteria of Domestic Products and Micro and Small Enterprises (MSEs) and Cooperatives. These mechanisms were evaluated for their potential to create social value. Findings The results show that collaboration between the Ministry of Health and nonprofit social organizations in the procurement of health services through in-house procurement type III produces direct social value. Meanwhile, collaboration between the Ministry of Health and private sector organizations in the procurement of affirmative action policies for MSEs, as well as cooperatives that produce domestic products, creates indirect social value. Leadership, regulations, procurement systems and trust emerged as the primary factors supporting the implementation of social procurement. The strategy for optimizing social procurement is driven by collaborative leadership, which creates collaborative procurement governance and generates social value. Research limitations/implications The limitations of this study include the limited scope of data exploration, which only involved key stakeholders from the public sector, namely, the Ministry of Health and several partners from the nonprofit, private and higher education sectors, including the National Public Procurement Agency. The perspectives of beneficiaries of social programs or services have not been considered, despite their significant role in evaluating the resulting social impact. Similarly, other secondary stakeholders, such as academics, civil society organizations and donor agencies, as well as other key stakeholders, including oversight bodies, have not been adequately accommodated. These limitations in stakeholder exploration and analysis need to be addressed in further research involving multiple stakeholders in assessing social procurement. Practical implications This study recommends that leaders actively encourage cross-sector collaboration in procurement and integrate social values into procurement strategies. Procurement regulations promote collaborative governance in the early stages. Meanwhile, third-sector leaders focus on building internal capabilities, engaging sector dialogue, establishing trust and pursuing social goals. Social implications This study discusses broadening cross-sector stakeholders’ understanding of the importance of governments in developing countries creating social value through the procurement of goods and services. Originality/value This study bridges the gap in social procurement literature by examining its application in Indonesia, providing insight into cross-sector collaboration dynamics and offering policy recommendations. The result contributes to both theory and practice by demonstrating the potential for social procurement to achieve sustainable development goals through leadership.

* Abbreviations: FERPA — : Family Educational Rights and Privacy Act HIPAA — : Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act PHI — : protected health information STI — : sexually transmitted infection In the American Academy of Pediatrics statement “Role of the School Nurse in Providing School Health Services,” the authors acknowledge that misinformation about federal privacy laws can be problematic,1 creating misunderstandings among pediatricians and school nurses that impact student care. Confusion arises when clinicians, covered by the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act (HIPAA), work collaboratively with school nurses, covered by the Family Educational Rights and Privacy Act (FERPA), to conduct health programs. The majority of school nurses report working with their local health department2 but are unsure about what procedures to follow for documenting and communicating health information, and existing federal guidance does not speak adequately to the complications arising from cross-sector collaboration.3 In this article, we use an example of a school-based sexually transmitted infection (STI) screening program to highlight the 2 main federal privacy laws that impact school and health provider collaboration: FERPA and HIPAA. State privacy laws and institutional policies impose restrictions beyond federal law. These local laws and policies vary, as does their intersection with federal law. School and health department collaborators must negotiate this complex web when they plan joint projects. Passed in 1974, FERPA is designed to protect students’ educational records.4 Any educational institution receiving funding from the US Department of Education must allow parents or an eligible student (>18 years of age or has begun postsecondary education) to access the student’s … Address correspondence to Patricia A. Elliott, DrPH, Department of Community Health Sciences, School of Public Health, Boston University, 801 Massachusetts Ave, Room 440, Boston, MA 02118. E-mail: pelliott{at}bu.edu

Toward a New Feminist Theory of Rape

INTERNATIONAL union rights Page 28 Volume 20 Issue 4 2013 FOCUS ❐ RECOGNITION AND BARGAINING SYSTEMS ed and for improving administrative procedures with the Ministry of Labour, the National Civil Services’ Appeal Commission and the Municipal Administrative Career Commissions. The greatest result for beneficiaries has been in negotiating collective agreements, the most recent one being the collective agreement with the Office of the Comptroller General of the Republic where it had never previously been possible to have an agreement registered with the Ministry of Labour Department of Individual and Collective Negotiation. This benefits more than 550 workers at national level. Trade union members who have benefited most from the work of the office have been women. Women are a majority of Nicaragua’s population, comprising more than 53 percent of the national population, yet the state and municipal sector remains very much male-dominated. There is still some way to go, although the position of women is society in Nicaragua is improving. The Sandinista government now insists on a minimum quota of 50 percent for internal party candidates as well as candidates for public office, and there is evidence of a continuing increase of women’s participation in the social and economic life of the country. Another very important achievement of the legal office is the trade union training that is carried out by legal professionals for union leaders at national level. Training has taken place on subjects that include: ■ collective agreements ■ civil service and administrative career law ■ municipal career law and its regulation ■ gender equity law ■ budgetary system law ■ municipal budgetary system law ■ municipal transfers law ■ trade union organisation More recently, the Legal Office has provided invaluable training on the implementation of the new Labour and Social Security Protection Code, which came into effect on 29 May 2013. The Code permits union leaders to represent their members before a judge in the Labour Courts, so it is important that they understand it fully. To this end, a series of workshops for union leaders has taken place around the country in order to inform union leaders about the contents of the new Code. The legal office has also been giving support and legal assistance to other trade union organisations within the national workers’ federation FNT. The achievements of the legal office have been highly positive. The Office deals with an average of 33 cases a month, and has become an essential tool in ensuring the defence of workers’ rights throughout the country. Establishing legal resources in Nicaragua Legal advice and training by qualified lawyers has been a priority for the union for a number of years LOUISE RICHARDS is Trade Union and Communications Co-ordinator at the Nicaragua Solidarity Campaign in London P rior to 2011, the Nicaraguan public sector union UNE had only limited capacity to address attacks on workers’ rights such as arbitrary sackings, denial of state benefits, sexual harassment and health and safety issues. Members, particularly low paid women workers with no resources to pay legal fees, had no recourse to justice . Although the current Sandinista Government is more supportive of trade unions than previous right wing governments, the trade unions are at pains to point out that their first priority is to defend members’ rights. In 2011, thanks to support from UNISON, its UK sister union, UNE was able for the first time ever to set up a legal office not only to address members’ problems, but also to enable UNE to negotiate collective bargaining agreements more effectively and to provide training in employment law for union leaders. UNISON financed the first phase of the office between August 2011 and August 2012 and has since approved further funding from June 2013 until May 2015. The office is now staffed by two lawyers and a legal assistant. One lawyer and the legal assistant are funded by UNISON, the other lawyer by the Spanish trade union CC.OO. The creation of an office providing legal advice and training by qualified lawyers has been a priority for UNE for a number of years. It is seen as an opportunity for not only capacity building but for strengthening and deepening the trade union movement within society, raising its profile, increasing membership...

Australia is witnessing a political, social and cultural renaissance of public debate regarding violence against women, particularly in relation to domestic and family violence (DFV), sexual assault and sexual harassment. Women's voices calling for law reform are central to that renaissance, as they have been to feminist law reform dating back to nineteenth-century campaigns for property and suffrage rights. Although feminist research has explored women’s voices, speaking out and storytelling to highlight the exclusions and limitations of the legal and criminal justice systems in responding to women’s experience, less attention has been paid to how women's voices are elicited, received and listened to, and the forms of response they have received. We argue that three recent public inquiries in Australia reveal an urgent need for a victim-survivor-centred theory of listening to women’s voices in law reform seeking to address violence against women. We offer a nascent theory of a victim-survivor-centred approach grounded in openness, receptivity, attentiveness and responsiveness, and argue that in each of our case studies, law reform actors failed to adequately listen to women by silencing and refusing to listen to them; by hearing them but failing to be open, receptive and attentive; and by selectively hearing and resisting transformation. We argue that these inquiries signal an acute need for attention to the dynamics of listening in law reform processes, and conclude that a victim-survivor-centred theory of listening is a critical foundation for meaningful change to address violence against women.