The media succumbed to yet another case of Kennedy fascination this spring, due to charges that over Easter weekend William Kennedy Smith raped a woman at the family estate in Palm Beach, Florida. In the process, the news spotlight landed on a question that's been simmering in some circles for years. In the effort to achieve a society free of rape, and in the effort to free women from a blame-the-victim experience in prosecuting rapists, is there anything to be gained from publishing the name of the woman reporting the rape as well as that of the alleged rapist? And what's to be lost?
Unfortunately, other questions about rape have surfaced again as a result of this case, indicating that many people still think of rape primarily as a sexual crime and overlook the violence involved. Let's set the record straight: It just doesn't matter whether the woman knows the man or not, what she was wearing or looks like, or even how he or she conducts his or her life and relationships. If a man overpowers a woman and violates her sexually without her consent, he has committed a violent crime.
In raising consciousness about rape, it has been important to educate police, the courts, the media, and the general public that rape is violence and not sex. The media, which have a large part to play in perceptions created about the individuals involved in a rape, have in turn traditionally acknowledged the intimate nature of violation by rape -- a difference from other violent crimes -- by withholding the identity of the woman. This has helped to prevent the phenomenon of formerly private lives being transformed overnight into topics of public conversation, a protection that many rape survivors have said was critical to their healing.
But a few news outlets couldn't resist naming the accuser in this very public case involving a Kennedy. The storm of controversy launched by this disclosure, first in the Globe (a "supermarket tabloid") and then on NBC News and in The New York Times, was heightened by outrage at some of the "background information" about the woman that The Times deemed relevant. Aside from media blunders and sensationalizing in this case, however, many people are suggesting that the secrecy around the Florida woman's identity -- and the withholding of any rape victim's identity -- contributes to the sense of shame and stigma that is, ironically, so much a part of the woman's inevitable need for emotional healing.
Therein lies the debate. Feminists and survivors of rape are split on what is the best means to achieve long-term change in public attitudes toward rape, and how to deal with the apparent conflict in values of public perception and personal privacy. All agree that current attitudes make rape survivors feel victimized a second time when they go public, which leads some to say it's time to try something different.
ON ONE SIDE OF the debate are those who feel the choice of disclosing identity must lie with the woman herself. Public discussion of the Kennedy case has provoked many letters on opinion pages from women explaining that going public about being raped was a very important step in their healing, but only at a time of their choosing. For some women, that time is many years after the crime.
In some cases, publicizing the women's identity risks her safety following the rape. Threats of further violence, especially after the accusation and trial, are more possible when the name of the victim (which might otherwise be unknown to the rapist) are revealed in the press. And finally, if the result of a change in current name-disclosure practices were to cause fewer women to report cases of rape, the goal of ending the silence about violence against women would be defeated almost entirely.
On the other side, one group in favor of rape-victim name disclosure seems especially concerned that, famous or not, men should not be subject to the potential stigma brought on by an accusation of rape while the woman is protected. This perspective rings with the tone of male backlash, placing more emphasis on the rights of the alleged rapist than on the woman making the accusation, as if the risk of stigma is somehow greater for men.
However, perhaps a compelling argument for name disclosure is that it combats the unfair perception of rape victims as "damaged goods" and of rape cases as something to be covered up. But it seems harsh to tell a woman who has been raped that she should risk her anonymity, privacy, safety, and eventual healing for the uncertain possibility of changing the societal circumstances that allow rape to occur. When she's ready, however, we must do everything possible to provide a safe environment for her to be as public and outspoken as she desires.
Our primary focus must be on the prevention of rape in the first place. We hope and pray for a society in which any violence against women is unthinkable. Consideration of the tactic of name disclosure gives us all, including many as yet unnamed survivors of rape, clues as to how we might achieve that end, and for some women disclosure may seem to be a viable option. But we cannot force disclosure on those who desire to remain anonymous. And we must not interpret women's desire for protection as an excuse for the rest of us to be silent.
Karen Lattea is the Vice President of Human Resources of Sojourners.
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