Neoliberalism and its Impact on the Women's Movement in Aotearoa/New Zealand: Where Have All the Feminists Gone? 3030955222, 9783030955229

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Neoliberalism and its Impact on the Women’s Movement in Aotearoa/New Zealand Where Have All the Feminists Gone? Julia Schuster

Neoliberalism and its Impact on the Women’s Movement in Aotearoa/New Zealand

Julia Schuster

Neoliberalism and its Impact on the Women’s Movement in Aotearoa/New Zealand Where Have All the Feminists Gone?

Julia Schuster Vienna, Austria

ISBN 978-3-030-95522-9    ISBN 978-3-030-95523-6 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-95523-6 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive licence to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. Cover illustration: © erhui1979 This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG. The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

Acknowledgements

Someone once told me that the acknowledgements of a book show that there is a real person behind all its pages. I want to alter this a little: they show that there are many people behind those pages. This book is based on my PhD project at the University of Auckland. Without the participants of this project’s study, this book would not exist. These 40 amazing women generously shared their experiences and time with me, and for this I am deeply grateful. I was also lucky to have a team of supportive supervisors for my PhD project: Louise Humpage, Maureen Baker and Avril Bell. I also thank my former Sociology PhD colleagues who shared the journey, cake and sunlight-deprivation with me. Jessica Terruhn and Jingjing Zhang, your continuing friendship means a lot. Overall, I thank the Sociology Department for all the support provided during those four years and the University of Auckland for offering me a much-needed scholarship. A few years have gone by since my time in Aotearoa/New Zealand and I am grateful to Helma Lutz for persistently encouraging me to finally turn this work into a book. I am further grateful to the anonymous reviewers of my manuscript for their very helpful suggestions and comments, and to my editors at Palgrave Macmillan. The biggest ‘Thank You’ goes to my parents who supported me in every conceivable way and it hurts that I cannot show the finished book to mum anymore. Last (and also least!), I thank ‘the lions’ for putting things into perspective. v

Contents

1 Introduction  1 Women’s Movements and Their Political Opportunities   4 Conceptualising Women’s Movements   5 Political Opportunities   7 Empirical Foundation   9 Interviews  10 Content Analysis of Websites  11 Content Analysis of Documents  12 Feminism, Neoliberalism and Colonialism in Aotearoa/New Zealand  13 Neoliberalism in Aotearoa/New Zealand  15 Colonialism in Aotearoa/New Zealand  17 Outline of the Book  20 References  21 2 Neoliberalism and its Relationships with Feminism, Intersectionality and Postcolonialism 29 Understanding Neoliberalism  30 Neoliberalism and Feminism  35 Neoliberalism and the Feminist Movement  35 Neoliberalism and the Erasure of Feminism  37 Third Wave Feminism and Neoliberalism  38 Feminist Neoliberalism?  42 Neoliberalism and Intersectionality  43 vii

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Contents

Neoliberalism and Postcolonialism  46 A Triangular Relationship  48 Colonialism and the Feminist Movement  49 Colonialism and Intersectionality  50 References  51 3 The Story so Far 59 The First Wave Movement  60 The Long Fight for Suffrage  61 Māori Women and the Vote  63 The Second Wave Movement  64 From Sisterhood to Fragmentation  65 Diversity Within the Second Wave Movement  68 The Third Wave Movement  70 A Generational Shift  71 State Feminism Until the Mid-2010s  73 State Feminism and Women’s Diversity  77 The Fourth Wave Movement  79 What’s New? The Significance of Digital Feminism  80 A New Political Era  82 Four Waves, One Movement?  82 References  83 4 Feminist Foundations 91 Herstories  92 Growing Up  93 University  94 Male-Dominated Environments  95 Experiences of Violence  96 Influential People and Events  97 Evolving Identities  97 The Meanings of Feminism  99 This Is What a Feminist Looks Like!  99 What Is Feminism? 101 Equality for Whom? 102 Negotiating Differences 104 Inclusiveness 106

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Talking About Generations 107 Difficult Relationships 108 Ungrateful Youth? 109 Online Activism 111 Sex-Positivity 112 Neoliberal Rationality and Feminist Understandings 115 References 118 5 Individualised Feminism121 Forms of Individualised Feminism 122 Feminist Bubbles 124 Self-improvement 126 Educating Others 128 Individualism Within Collective Events: SlutWalk 130 The Personal and the Political 133 Individualised Feminism Under Neoliberalism 137 References 139 6 Organisational Feminism141 Changed Opportunities for Organisations 142 Professionalism and Formalisation 144 Fighting for Funding 146 Between Fragmentation and Inclusiveness 149 Biculturalism, Multiculturalism and Parallel Developments 151 Difficult Differences 153 Neoliberal Effects on Organisational Work 158 References 161 7 State Feminism165 The Difficult Position of State Feminism 168 How Feminists View the Government 168 How Feminists View State Feminism 170 The Work of Government Departments: Gender Mainstreaming? 172 ‘Hidden’ Women 174 The Work of the Ministry of Women’s Affairs 175 Strategic Priorities 176 Acknowledging Differences? 176

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‘Dear Government, Please Do …’ 177 Specific Suggestions 178 Funding Priorities 180 General Wishes 181 State Feminism in a Neoliberal State 182 References 185 8 This Is What a Women’s Movement Looks Like (in Neoliberal Times)187 Neoliberal Struggles 188 Individualisation? 189 Depolitisation? 190 Fragmentation? 191 Hiding the Movement 193 Finding the Movement 196 Mobilising ‘Women’ 196 Sustaining Through Abeyance 198 Making Claims on Women’s Behalf 199 Connecting the Three Levels of the Movement 202 Looking Forwards 204 References 206 Appendix209 Glossary of Māori Words213 Index215

About the Author

Julia  Schuster  received her PhD in Sociology from the University of Auckland, New Zealand, in 2014. She then moved back to Austria, where she held a post-doctoral position in the Department for Women’s and Gender Studies at the Johannes Kepler University Linz for six years, conducting research in the fields of intersectionality theory and labour market discrimination. Since 2020, she works at Statistics Austria, focussing on migration statistics, while writing in the areas of her expertise.

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Abbreviations

ACC Accident Compensation Corporation Afem Anarcha-feminist ALRANZ Abortion Law Reform Association ANZUS Australia, New Zealand, United States Security Treaty AWC Auckland Women’s Centre BBC British Broadcasting Corporation CEDAW United Nations Committee on the Elimination of Discrimination against Women CEO Chief Executive Officer CPAG Child Poverty Action Group CREDS Central Region Eating Disorder Services DIY Do it Yourself EDEN Eating Difficulties Education Network EEO Equal Employment Opportunities FPP First-past-the-post representation KLWV Kapiti Living Without Violence LWC Labour Women’s Council MBIE Ministry of Business, Innovation and Employment MMP Mixed-member-proportional representation MoH Ministry of Health MPIA Ministry of Pacific Island Affairs MSD Ministry of Social Development MVS Maximum variation sampling MWA Ministry of Women’s Affairs NACEW National Advisory Council on the Employment of Women NCWNZ National Council of Women NGO Nongovernment organisation xiii

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ABBREVIATIONS

NZNO New Zealand Nurses Organisation NZPC New Zealand Prostitute Collective NZWIMA NZ Division of Women’s International Motorcycling Association OMWWL Māori Women’s Welfare League (Opotiki) PACIFICA Pacific Allied (Women’s) Council Inspires Faith in Ideals Concerning All RWNZ Rural Women in New Zealand STEM Science, Technology, Engineering, Mathematics TPK Te Puni Kōkiri; Ministry of Māori Affairs TVNZ Television New Zealand WCTU Women’s Christian Temperance Union WHA Women’s Health Action Trust WSA Women’s Studies Association WYFC Wellington Young Feminist Collective

List of Tables

Table A1 Interview participant characteristics Table A2 Organisations included in the website analysis Table A3 Focus, clientele and feminist characteristics according to the organisations’ websites

209 210 210

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CHAPTER 1

Introduction

The relationship between neoliberalism and Western women’s movements is complicated because neither of them are monolithic nor simplistic phenomena, and they have influenced each other in multiple ways. This book takes a closer look at this relationship and aims at entangling those complications with the purpose of explaining how women’s movements—as social justice movements—work and survive within a political environment that is not in their favour. Aotearoa1/New Zealand is an interesting place for such investigation. Neoliberalism—despite being a heterogeneous project that developed different factettes across different national and historic contexts—affects all feminist movements situated in the Global North and beyond. Aotearoa/New Zealand’s rapid and radical introduction of the neoliberal project in the mid-1980s and its later shift to the ‘Third Way’ (which was claimed to reduce social inequalities produced by neoliberalism but arguably reinforced them) resulted in particularly pronounced changes of the women’s movement’s agency, strategies and challenges. Moreover, being a bicultural nation (i.e., Te Tiriti o Waitangi/the Treaty of Waitangi officially recognises European and Māori culture as equal) that also hosts a large population from the Pacific and  Aotearoa is the Māori name for New Zealand and is commonly translated into ‘long white cloud’. I employ both names in this book. 1

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 J. Schuster, Neoliberalism and its Impact on the Women’s Movement in Aotearoa/New Zealand, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-95523-6_1

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from different parts of Asia, issues of postcolonialism and intersectionality are an inherent part of Aotearoa/New Zealand’s women’s movement’s history and practices. Both postcolonial and intersectional perspectives have become crucial components of analysing any feminist movement situated in the Global North. This book’s case study links intersectional and postcolonial struggles of the movement with its neoliberal opportunities. It also makes use of the current situation, in which Aotearoa/New Zealand’s neoliberal era is, perhaps, not over, but considerably slowed down. The change in government in 2017 represented a political cut that promised to move away from and undo (some) neoliberal policy making of the previous three decades. Thus, I can offer a tentative retrospective that takes stock of the effects neoliberalism had on the women’s movement to this point. My aim to investigate Aotearoa/New Zealand’s women’s movement under neoliberalism takes a broad approach. There are multiple dynamics that have changed the political opportunities and the character of feminist work in Aotearoa/New Zealand on several levels, and I intend to address them by looking at the movement on several interconnected levels: the micro-level of individual feminists, the meso-level of women’s organisations and the macro-level of state feminism. Such an approach does not allow a detailed examination of each of these levels but that is not my intention. Other authors have already provided useful in-depth studies of various selected aspects of Aotearoa/New Zealand’s women’s movement during neoliberalism. For example, Grey (2008a, 2009) explored developments of feminist grassroots activism and its changes between the late 1960s until 2000, and Vanderpyl (2004) and Aimers (2011) explained women’s organisations’ struggles to maintain autonomy in neoliberal times. Aotearoa/New Zealand’s state feminism has been discussed by Hyman (2010) and Curtin (2008), who provided insight into the work of the Ministry of Women’s Affairs (MWA)2 and the importance of the Labour Women’s Council (see also Curtin & Teghtsoonian, 2010), and Teghtsoonian (2004) analysed the opportunities of gender mainstreaming. Simon-Kumar (2011) and Kahu and Morgan (2007) investigated the feminist character of neoliberal policy, and while McMillan et al. (2009) 2  In 2014, the Ministry’s name was changed to Ministry for Women. For consistency reasons, I will use the old name throughout the book, as it was the official name during the time of my study and therefore, also my empirical sources refer to it as the Ministry of Women’s Affairs.

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offered an insightful account of women’s political involvement ranging from activism to representation in Parliament, they primarily focussed on the institutionalised side of feminism. Rather than replicating this work I want to provide a comprehensive perspective on Aotearoa/New Zealand’s women’s movement during the neoliberal era that discusses individualised, organisational and state feminism as well as the relationships between them and to offer an explanation as to how feminist activities on the three levels complement each other. My approach of investigating the macro-, meso- and micro-level simultaneously allows a discussion of the different roles that these levels have in the women’s movement. As I will show, feminist activities on all three levels were shaped by challenges and opportunities within their specific contexts and only a perspective that examines all three levels can unpack how they, together, constituted a women’s movement that persevered through neoliberal times. Yet, the story is more complex than a narration of how neoliberalism limited the opportunities for feminism and co-opted feminist attempts to change politics. Using Wendy Brown’s (2006, 2015) concept of neoliberal rationality, I will also argue that, over the course of 30 years, neoliberal values have become hegemonic in Aotearoa/New Zealand, infiltrating all of society, including feminist circles. Rather than a simple neoliberal co-option of feminism, my study shows that feminists have battled against neoliberal challenges but they also have taken some aspects of neoliberal rationality and re-applied them for their purposes. On the one hand, the women’s movement struggled to withstand the challenges posed by a neoliberal political environment, which limited feminist agency and advocacy mainly at the meso- and macro-levels of the movement (e.g., restricted funding and outcome-specific government contracts silenced the political voice of women’s organisations). On the other hand, neoliberal values also encouraged individualised approaches to feminist engagement and they shaped the strategies feminists themselves applied to tackle challenges based, for instance, on the acknowledgement of differences among women. Aotearoa/New Zealand’s colonial heritage and the way that neoliberal approaches dealt with this heritage, added to these challenges for the movement. In conclusion, I will suggest that the women’s movement in Aotearoa/New Zealand became fragmented and appeared to be ‘invisible’ under neoliberalism; however, according to Sawer’s (2010) definition of women’s movements, these changes did not end the movement, they just altered its ways.

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Before this book delves into its main discussion, this introductory chapter sets the scene for my analysis. It clarifies what a women’s movement is on a theoretical level and it discusses how political opportunities can be understood to impact on a movement’s rise and decline as well as on the strategies social movement actors apply to achieve their goals. It also introduces the empirical study on which my findings are based. Subsequently, this chapter offers a brief summary of Aotearoa/New Zealand’s history of neoliberalism and colonialism, because the latter is important to understand the impact of the former on feminism in Aotearoa/New Zealand.

Women’s Movements and Their Political Opportunities Women’s movements vary significantly in the ways they are constituted, organised and do their work, and it is hard to squeeze them all into one definition. Some scholars distinguish between women’s movements and feminist movements (Beckwith 2001; Dann, 1985; Lovenduski, 2008) and argue that women’s movements are those which promote women’s issues and are under women’s leadership. Theoretically, these movements can have any kinds of women’s issues as their goals, including right-wing and anti-feminist ones. Women-led pro-life movements are examples of such anti-feminist women’s movements. According to this approach, feminist movements are only those subsets of women’s movements that are informed by feminist beliefs and pursue the goal of challenging or even abolishing patriarchy. I do not subscribe to this differentiation between women’s movements and feminist movements because I firmly believe that the aims and goals of women’s movements are always feminist. Anti-feminist movements do not have the interests of women at heart, some only claim to do so. Pro-­ life movements, for instance, defend the assumed interests of the foetus, not of women. Moreover, a definitional distinction between women’s and feminist movements fails to acknowledge the well-documented reluctance of many women to identify with feminism while supporting the pursuit of gender equality (Baumgardner & Richards, 2003; Baumgartner & Morris, 2010; Buschman & Lenart, 1996; Kamen, 1991; Riley et  al., 2010; Williams & Wittig, 1997). ‘Feminism’ is a loaded term that is not used across cultures and is sometimes misinterpreted to carry connotations of extremism and hatred of men (Bulbeck, 2006; Edelstein, 2007).

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Consequently, an explicitly feminist label will be rejected by some women’s movements that challenge patriarchy even though they still meet the criteria of being feminist on a theoretical level. Therefore, I follow authors such as Rosas and Wilson (2003) and apply the terms ‘women’s movement’ and ‘feminist movement’ for the purpose of this book interchangeably. The fact that the term ‘women’ does not include all people active in feminist movements is, admittedly, problematic. Men and other genders are not excluded from (most) feminist communities, they are feminists and do valuable work in the fields of women’s empowerment and gender equality. Most importantly, there are also feminist movements that are not women’s movements (e.g., queer movements). Yet, for the purpose of this book, I was only interested in the perspective of women on women’s movements. The movement was started by women trying to liberate and empower women, and I was interested in the opinion and views of women about this movement because their political interests were historically at the heart of the movement. To be clear, when this book refers to ‘women’, everyone identifying as a woman is referred to, irrespectively of their biological sex. While other perspectives and perspectives on other feminist movements would without doubt have offered additional and interesting insights, they were not in the focus of this project. Conceptualising Women’s Movements Lovenduski (2008, p.  175) stated that women’s movements are constituted by both ‘a form of collective behaviour and the ideas that inspire that behaviour’. This is quite a broad description but I use it as a starting point that suggests a women’s movement consists of people engaging in actions that aim for social change and of some form of ideology (feminism) that guides this behaviour. Sawer (2010) offered a more detailed definition that I find useful for my purpose because it provides a clear structure to guide my assessment of the neoliberal impact on the women’s movement. She identified three characteristics of women’s movements: first, they are mobilisations of collective identity as women; second, they sustain the challenge of women-centred discourses even through periods of abeyance; and third, they make claims on behalf of women. When related to Lovenduski’s definition, this third part of Sawer’s definition suggests that making claims on behalf of women includes achieving social change through collective behaviour that is in the interest of women.

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Sawer’s way of framing this point does not imply that all claims are made on behalf of all women at the same time, which acknowledges different needs among women. Neither does it suggest that only women can make such claims, which opens women’s movements to participants of all genders. The second part of Sawer’s definition—sustaining women-centred discourse through periods of abeyance—is important for Aotearoa/New Zealand’s women’s movement under neoliberalism because it clarifies that a movement still exists as a movement even though it may be in abeyance. It establishes the idea that keeping women’s issues on the political agenda is part of the work of a women’s movement. While women’s issues are difficult to define, I follow Sapiro (1981) who suggested three categories of women’s issues: those in which women have more interest than they have in other issues, issues in which women have more interest than men (or other genders) do and issues in which women have a special interest because of their particular viewpoint. Of course, not all women share all their interests. Thus, it is important to understand these varying interests in relation to the first part of Sawer’s definition of women’s movements— the mobilisation of collective identity as women—because this relationship clarifies how a diverse group of women can share a common identity. Collective identities are a crucial component of political mobilisation (Katzenstein, 1990; Melucci, 1989; Whittier, 1995, 1997). Whittier (1995) explained, for example, that a feminist identity is a collective identity. Through adopting such an identity, a group creates a distinction between insiders and outsiders and takes on a certain political consciousness. While their meanings can change over time, collective identities can only exist when individuals agree and act on them. Thus, conceptualising a collective identity is a political process in itself, because it determines who belongs to a group and who does not (Bacchi, 1999; Ferree & Mueller, 2003; Whittier, 1995). Drawing on this conceptualisation, I understand the collective identity of women as a political category. It reflects those political interests that women share as women. This does not imply that all political interests of all women overlap. Nor does it deny the many instances when political interests of women as women are considered less important than, or contradict, political interests of women as individuals who hold other collective identities, for example those based on race, ethnicity, age or class. But it does assume that some political claims can be made on behalf of women because they are structurally disadvantaged in many social areas.

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Returning to Lovenduski’s approach of conceptualising women’s movements, I need to add some final qualifications to the understanding of collective behaviour. So far, I have addressed the actors of a movement as individuals. But within women’s movements, individuals also organise themselves into groups, formal organisations and within government institutions. Ideally, they form alliances between these levels and build interpersonal networks (Dobrowolsky, 1998; Ferree & Mueller, 2003; Katzenstein, 1990; Sawer, 2010). Aotearoa/New Zealand scholars have confirmed that a feminist presence on all three levels is vital for the survival of feminism (Curtin, 2008; Hyman, 1994). Therefore, I understand women’s movements to situate their collective behaviour within the micro- (individual), meso- (groups and organisations) and macro-levels (government and state) of society. Political Opportunities The development of social movements can be explained through different theoretical lenses. As I am interested in the influence of neoliberalism on the women’s movement, I need an approach that takes the political context of the movement into account. This can be achieved using the political opportunity structure model (Meyer, 2004; Peoples, 2019), which situates and explains the rise and decline of a social movement as well as its choice of strategies within the political climate created by institutional politics. This theory assumes that movements use windows of political opportunity that are available to them at a given time for their purposes. They adapt to their environment. This explains, for example, why the suffragists chose institutionalised strategies like petitions to influence Parliament (because those were the most promising political strategies available to women at the time) or why the Second Wave movement lost force after failing to win ground on the hoped-for abortion law reform (because it was demotivating to see a window of opportunity closing). Most importantly for my purpose, this theory allows for taking into account the effects of neoliberalism on the development of Aotearoa/ New Zealand’s women’s movement after 1984. The political opportunity structure model belongs to social movement theories that understand movements as ‘contentious politics’. This school of thought first developed the ‘resource mobilisation model’, which argues that movements are not driven by unreasonable and emotional motivations, as earlier theories suggested, but represent rational political

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intentions and it asks how and under what circumstances enough financial and human resources are mobilised to address social conflict through a social movement (Dahlerup, 2013; Edelman, 2001; Jenkins, 1983; Kuumba, 2001; McCarthy & Zald, 1977; McDonald, 2002; Melucci & Avritzer, 2000). ‘Political process’ scholars (e.g., McAdam, 1982; Tarrow, 2011) adopted these ideas and argued that movement activists choose their goals and strategies within a given political context that is determined by mainstream political actors (Della Porta & Diani, 1999; Kuumba, 2001; Meyer, 2004). McAdam (1982, p.  20), however, defined social movements as ‘rational attempts by excluded groups to mobilise sufficient political leverage to advance collective interests through noninstitutionalized means’. This definition stands in contrast to earlier resource mobilisation approaches since it emphasises political activities outside of institutions. Similarly, Tilly (1984, p.  306) defined social movements as a ‘sustained series of interactions between power holders and persons successfully claiming to speak on behalf of a constituency lacking formal representation’. Pointing towards these interactions, Tilly highlighted the reciprocity between activists or organisations and mainstream political actors. Eisinger (1973) developed this theory further and was the first to use a ‘political opportunity’ framework, which examines the political climate created by political institutions in a similar way to political process approaches (Meyer, 2004). However, this theory argues that the willingness with which political institutions and governments respond to the demands of a social movement and political dissent helps or hinders the movement’s development. Thus, the political opportunity framework evaluates how much impact collective action can or will have in a given political context (Eisinger, 1973; Staggenborg, 1998; Tarrow, 2011). According to this model, movements will form, if and when there is an opportunity for it to be successful. This does not mean, however, that social movements only form when the political environment is friendly towards its aims. People engage in forms of protest precisely when their political demands are not met by institutionalised politics. Put simply, when there is an abundance of political opportunity, there is no need for a movement. Yet, when there is no chance to be successful, emerging protests will not get enough support to form a new or maintain an existing movement. Thus, according to the political opportunity structure model, it ‘is in the middle realm—some political opportunity, but not unfettered access—in which social movements are most likely to form and have success’ (Peoples, 2019, p. 27).

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Political opportunity theory and its predecessor, the political process model, have received some criticism (Meyer & Minkoff, 2004). Several scholars argued that these theories explain how political environments create or inhibit opportunities for social movements but leave the question ‘opportunity for what?’ unanswered (Cornwall et al., 2007). Others have argued that the ‘political opportunities’ concept has been stretched to become synonymous with ‘environment’ or given so many different meanings, that the concept has become empty (Goodwin & Jasper, 1999). Addressing the first concern, I am interested in the political opportunities of a women’s movement in neoliberal Aotearoa/New Zealand for surviving and for creating new approaches of feminist activism, despite adverse conditions. In relation to the second critique, I can clarify that the political opportunities I describe refer to the avenues and possibilities for feminists to pursue their political agenda. These opportunities differ for individual women, women’s organisations and state feminist institutions because of their different work priorities as well as their different positions in relation to political institutions and government. However, for all three of these levels, neoliberal rationality adopted by institutional entities such as government and the mainstream media has shaped these opportunities considerably. Framing such changes in a positive way, Newman (2012, p. 139) even argued for the British context that under the influence of neoliberalism, feminists ‘generated new things: new pathways, new policies, new public conversations, new organizational practices, new governance foci, and new ways of understanding and practising politics’.

Empirical Foundation This book is based on my dissertation project, which I conducted between 2010 and 2014 at the University of Auckland. At the time of the project, I did not know that the Fifth National Government would be replaced by the Sixth Labour Government in 2017, changing the course from neoliberal to more welfare-orientated politics. As I am finishing this book, I do not know for how long this type of governance will last. What I do know is that my empirical work was conducted during the early period of Aotearoa/New Zealand’s Third Wave movement. For the purpose of this book, this was an ideal time, as generational and ideological shifts between the Second and Third Waves could be observed in detail and the impact of neoliberalism (and the Third Way) on the movement had reached its peak.

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My study rests on three empirical data sources. First, it incorporates diverse feminist voices via 40 qualitative interviews with members of Aotearoa/New Zealand’s women’s movement. Second, it draws on insights from a content analysis of websites of 20 Aotearoa/New Zealand feminist/women’s groups and organisations, and, as a third data source, on a content analysis of seven documents that were issued by Aotearoa/ New Zealand government departments. Combining these data sources allows relating individual, organisational and state feminist perspectives to each other. Together, they offer personal points of view as well as official representations of organisations and institutions. It is my aim to connect those levels with one another. Interviews As my main method of collecting empirical data, I interviewed 40 self-­ identified women,3 who either called themselves feminist, engaged in political activities focused on or related to women’s issues of any kind, and/or worked for an organisation/group/institution involved in work concerned with women’s issues. For reasons I explained earlier, I only interviewed women. Still, diversity was a main aim in selecting interview participants. The final group of 40 women interviewed consisted of 28 Pākehā4 women, 8 Asian women, 5 Māori women, 4 women of other European decent (e.g., recent immigrants) and 1 Samoan woman.5 They were between the ages of 20 and 70 (although 28 of them were younger than 40 years). I did not ask about the women’s sexual identities, but 38 of the participants referred to it themselves during the interview. Most (25) identified as heterosexual, 7 as queer, 5 as lesbian and 1 as bisexual. The Appendix offers a table of my participants’ occupations and involvement with women’s institutions, organisations and groups (Table A.1). I adopted a slightly altered version of qualitative ‘problem-centred’ interviews, a concept developed by Witzel (2000). In this interview format, participants are invited to narrate their views but, in contrast to 3  The group of participants consisted mainly, but not exclusively of cis-women, that is, people who identify as female and are biologically female. 4  New Zealander of European descent. 5  These numbers add up to over 40 because some of the women identified with two or more ethnic groups.

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narrative interviews, researchers guide the interviews back to the ‘problem’ that is the focus of the research (Kurz et al., 2007). In my case, this ‘problem’ was contemporary feminism and the women’s movement in Aotearoa/New Zealand and in the interviews, we talked about the participants’ understanding of feminism and the importance of ethnicity, sexuality and generational differences in this understanding. I asked about the women’s stories of becoming interested in feminist issues, and how (and why) they were involved with feminist activities, activism or work on women’s issues. I was particularly interested in aspects of such engagement they found rewarding and frustrating. If they were part of a group or organisation with relevance to the research topic, I asked questions about the work/activities of this organisation, its networks and funding situation. Other questions related to the participants’ views on whether Aotearoa/New Zealand currently had a women’s movement. Furthermore, I was interested in the participants’ opinions on the government’s care of women’s issues, as well as the role of academia for feminism. Content Analysis of Websites My second approach to collecting empirical data was an analysis of the content of women’s organisations’ websites. This was an important data source for my discussion of the meso-level of feminist activity in Aotearoa/ New Zealand because such websites are designed to capture the ‘identity’ of organisations (Oliver, 2007). They are put online to show what an organisation stands for, what aims it pursues and what services it provides. Although I asked interview participants about the organisations they were involved with, I never addressed the women as official representatives of these organisations. Thus, their answers reflected their personal views only. The analysis of websites, however, enabled me to interpret how organisations position themselves within Aotearoa/New Zealand’s feminist communities. It allowed, for instance, for identifying how the organisations officially addressed issues of gender, bi- and multiculturalism, or whether they described the organisations as ‘feminist’. They showed the work foci and the type of services they provided, and most of them also offered insights into their funding sources. Diversity was not only a key element for selecting my interview participants but also for choosing organisations. I made sure I selected organisations that worked in the interest of women of different ethnicities and generations, and included advocacy groups, service providers, grassroots

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activist groups and unions. The selected organisations also focussed in their work on a broad range of issues, including, for example, abortion law, poverty, violence, employment and recreation. The final list of the 20 organisations included in this website-analysis can be found in the Appendix (Table A.2). Content Analysis of Documents As a third data source, I analysed a number of documents produced by Aotearoa/New Zealand government departments. By analysing these documents, I aimed to collect information about the work of state feminism. According to Lovenduski (2008), documents recording the process of policy making reflect whether and how feminist voices participate in decision making. Therefore, they are a more suitable information source for my project than documents presenting final policy because the latter does not often incorporate demands by women’s movements directly. I selected a total of seven documents for my analysis, all available from the Ministries’ websites. They consisted of annual reports by six government departments, including the Ministry of Business, Innovation and Employment (MBIE) (2013), the Ministry of Health (MoH) (2013), the Ministry of Social Development (MSD) (2013), the Ministry of Women’s Affairs (MWA) (2013), the Ministry of Pacific Island Affairs (MPIA) (2013) and Te Puni Kōkiri (the Ministry of Māori Development; TPK) (2013). All reports related to the year ending 30 June 2013 and were the most recent reports available at the time of the analysis. This covered the time period following the interviews, which enabled me to compare which political issues were relevant for the interview participants and also discussed within these documents. The rationale for selecting the reports of these specific six Ministries was to cover those institutions mainly responsible for addressing issues important for women’s lives on a policy level: community support, violence prevention, health, paid work and poverty. The underlying intention of annual reports as publications is to inform government and the public about the year’s work of the respective Ministry. The reports show the progress of the respective Ministry’s work in comparison to their targets and outcomes for that specific year and allow insight into where they placed women’s interests within their priorities. The MWA’s work, of course, focuses solely on issues relevant to women, but its report provides information on the priorities among such issues and its approach to instructing policy makers in other institutions

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and departments on the implementation of a gender analysis in their programmes. My main interest in analysing the five reports of the other departments was to examine how well the MWA’s advice was adopted and reflected in the respective departments’ work. The seventh document included in the content analysis was the MWA’s Briefing to the Incoming Minister (MWA, 2011). This document was written to inform Jo Goodhew, the—at the time—newly appointed Minister of Women’s Affairs, about the department’s work after the 2011 general election. This document was included because the MWA is the most important institution of state feminism. Similar to the annual report by the MWA, this document explains the work foci of the Ministry but from a different angle: while the annual reports inform government (and the public) about the work and achievements of the MWA, the briefing document mainly addresses the new Minister of Women’s Affairs and suggests the direction the Ministry should take during the following legislation period. Thus, it offered greater detail regarding the Ministry’s work priorities than the annual report because it covered issues that are not on the general agenda of the overall government.

Feminism, Neoliberalism and Colonialism in Aotearoa/New Zealand Aotearoa/New Zealand has a lot to be proud of in terms of feminist successes. It was the first nation in the world to grant women the right to vote in national elections (1893), and so far, Aotearoa/New Zealand’s governments have been headed by three female Prime Ministers: Jenny Shipley (1997–1999, National Party), Helen Clark (1999–2008, Labour Party) and Jacinda Ardern (2017 until today, Labour Party). However, this does not mean that the women’s movement is or was always flourishing. Since the 1980s, when the peak of the Second Wave women’s movement ended and neoliberalism rolled out across the Western world, feminist scholars have debated the status of women’s movements internationally. For instance, Staggenborg and Taylor (2005, p.  37) wanted to know Whatever Happened to the Women’s Movement in the United States, Einhorn (1991, p.  16) asked Where Have All the Women Gone? in East Central Europe, Nash (2002, p. 311) inquired Is There a Women’s Movement in England Today? and Grey and Sawer (2008) collected accounts of several women’s movements from Canada to South Korea, questioning whether

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they were Flourishing or in Abeyance. Such debates were also apparent in Aotearoa/New Zealand. Coney (1993, p. 54) declared in the early 1990s that ‘it is hardly possible to talk of a [women’s] “movement”, as the term implies breadth, activity and some commonality of purpose’. Later, during the early 2000s, the movement’s state was described as a ‘trough’ between waves but still ongoing (Munro cited in Grey, 2008a). When Grey (2008a) investigated Aotearoa/New Zealand’s women’s movement in the 2000s, she acknowledged the existence of feminist activism, but described it as problematically invisible. A similar conclusion was made for feminist activism in many Western countries between the 1980s and the 2010s (Maddison, 2004; Sawer, 2004; Walby, 2002). While feminist and social movement scholars demonstrated that this invisibility did not necessarily equate with nonexistence, the question arose whether an invisible women’s movement is in fact a movement that has the potential to ignite social change. The reasons for the women’s movement’s apparent invisibility are complex. Yet, one central aspect is that political and economic leaders in Aotearoa/New Zealand adopted a neoliberal ideology during the 1980s that changed the political opportunities for women’s movements significantly (Maddison & Jung, 2008; True, 2008), and created a hostile environment for feminist activism similar to developments in Australia and Canada (Andrew, 2008; Maddison & Martin, 2010; Rosas & Wilson, 2003). Following these changes, many activists moved from the streets to careers in government, unions, professional women’s organisations and other institutions that gave them the opportunity to challenge patriarchal structures from within ‘the system’ (Andrew, 2010; Grey, 2008a, 2009; Hill, 1994; Maddison & Martin, 2010; Rosas & Wilson, 2003; Sawer, 2004; True, 2008). This institutionalisation of feminist work and the rise of state feminism were characterised by the replacement of visible forms of mass protests with less disruptive, less radical and more defensive efforts that are often slower moving in their promotion of women’s rights (Andrew & Maddison, 2010; Coney, 1993; Grey, 2009; Maddison & Jung, 2008). Such work is not only ‘hidden’ inside institutions and government bodies as opposed to being out on the streets, it also gets less media coverage than loud and (from a media perspective) potentially conflictual protests and rallies (Bagguley, 2010; Staggenborg & Taylor, 2005; Walby, 2002). Consequently, the media predicted the movement’s imminent death and announced the rise of postfeminism. Over-emphasising the successes

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of individual women—for instance the achievements of Aotearoa/New Zealand’s former Prime Minister Helen Clark (1999–2008)—it was claimed that feminism was no longer needed (see McLeod, 2013). Increasing discussions of postfeminism also manifested themselves in many young women of the 2000s who valued gender equality but did not identify as feminist (Budgeon, 2001; McRobbie, 2007; Olson et al., 2008; Rich, 2005). Feminist values were still alive among this young generation, but without the label of ‘feminism’ they were harder to be recognised as such. Those young women who still identified as feminists often did so in an individualised way: they rejected essentialist perceptions of ‘women’ to such an extent that shared understandings of feminist aims became difficult to define among large and/or diverse groups of women. Thus, feminist activities became increasingly private—and ‘invisible’ (Maddison, 2002). The decline of women’s movements and feminist identification during this time is often associated with the impact of neoliberalism on political activism, not only in Aotearoa/New Zealand but also in Australia (Maddison & Martin, 2010; Sawer, 1996, 2007) or Canada (Dobrowolsky, 1998; Dobrowolsky & Jenson, 2004; Teghtsoonian, 2005), for instance. In Aotearoa/New Zealand, Grey (2008b) has discussed the impact of neoliberalism on social movements and political activism by explaining the political climate that led to the police raids6 under the Terrorism Suppression Act in 2007. She also argued elsewhere (Grey, 2008a, 2009) that the increasing institutionalisation of women’s organisations in neoliberal times has seen the overall women’s movement adopt a more formalised approach, focussed less on grassroots activism. Hyman (1994) also documented the influence of neoliberal policy on feminist activity in her account of the women’s movement from 1984 until the early 1990s. While these assessments were made during the era of neoliberalism, this book looks back at this era from today’s viewpoint. But first, it is necessary to recapitulate how neoliberalism developed in Aotearoa/New Zealand. Neoliberalism in Aotearoa/New Zealand Before the mid-1980s, Aotearoa/New Zealand’s policy regimes were, despite changing governments, dominated by a social democratic Keynesianism that, overall, supported social welfare politics (Roper, 2015). 6  Applying terrorism legislation, police raided homes of Māori rights and anarchist activists across Aotearoa/New Zealand on 15 October 2007. For more information, see Small (2011).

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The subsequent introduction of neoliberalism to Aotearoa/New Zealand was a response to Britain joining the European Economic Community, the global oil price shock of the 1970s and the following economic crisis, which slowed Aotearoa/New Zealand’s economic growth and increased unemployment (Craig & Porter, 2006; Peet, 2012). Contrary to the United States or the United Kingdom, where similar developments led to neoliberal reforms by conservative governments, Aotearoa/New Zealand’s neoliberalism was a project initially pursued by the centre-left Fourth Labour Government (elected 1984), which presented deregulation and privatisation as necessary and apolitical solutions for the economic crisis (Redden et  al., 2020). Their speedy shift from a previous heavily state-­ regulated welfare system to an economic and political governmental approach was based on the principal of competition (Larner, 1997; Nagel, 1998) and the rapidness and intensity with which the new type of policies were adopted have been called a ‘“blitzkrieg approach” to policymaking’ that was ‘out-Thatchering Mrs. Thatcher’ (Redden et al., 2020, p. 71). Besides the promotion of a free market, the new political programme reduced government spending, introduced a strict fiscal discipline as well as direct foreign investment and trade liberalisations and removed constraints on businesses regarding employee and consumer interests. It also restructured the public sector by contracting out public services to nongovernmental organisations in a competitive process (Smits, 2014). The 1990s witnessed, however, growing concern about some of the outcomes of neoliberalism in Aotearoa/New Zealand: income inequality had grown faster than in other advanced industrial countries, poverty rates—including those of children—were high and many people struggled with unemployment (Humpage, 2017). The Fifth Labour Government (1999–2008), headed by Prime Minister Helen Clark, found answers to those concerns in the emerging Third Way, also named ‘roll out neoliberalism’ (Peck & Tickell, 2002, p.  384), the ‘social investment state’ (Giddens, 2000, p. 99) and ‘inclusive liberalism’ (Porter & Craig, 2004, p. 394). Indeed, some authors argued that this strategy moved Aotearoa/ New Zealand into a ‘post-neoliberal’ era (Challies & Murray, 2008; Simon-Kumar, 2011) because it increased its focus on partnerships with community organisations and strategic social investment (e.g., improving childcare services and implementing paid parental leave). However, because such investments were motivated by national interests and economic growth (Lister, 2006), other authors have argued that instead of ending neoliberalism, the Third Way approach might have slowed down

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the initial quick pace of the neoliberal roll-out, but it re-embedded the neoliberal agenda more deeply (Craig & Porter, 2006; Humpage, 2017; Roper, 2015). The 2008 election, which was won by the National Party, coincided with the global financial crisis accompanied by a recession, to which the Fifth National Government responded with extension of the neoliberal approach (Roper, 2015). Those thirty years of explicit neoliberal governance were put on hold in 2017, when Labour won the election and the new Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern articulated that neoliberalism might have failed (Redden et al., 2020). It is, however, too early to know if political changes introduced by her government will alter the course of Aotearoa/New Zealand’s political regime sustainably. Colonialism in Aotearoa/New Zealand The heritage of the country’s colonial history is very alive until today. Aotearoa/New Zealand’s colonialisation by the British in the nineteenth century created a ‘settler society’, in which increasingly large numbers of British citizens were encouraged to emigrate to Aotearoa/New Zealand and ultimately achieved dominance over the indigenous Māori population. This process involved violence, land alienations, the withdrawal of rights, the suppression of language and culture and the introduction of diseases (Wynyard, 2017). Although in 1840, Māori representatives from different iwi (tribes) signed Te Tiriti o Waitangi (the Treaty of Waitangi), giving the British Crown the right to purchase Māori land while guaranteeing Māori the right to retain any land they wanted, conflicts escalated in the Aotearoa/New Zealand land wars in the 1860s and 1870s, leading to even more land confiscations and a decimated Māori population (Smith, 2007; Wynyard, 2017). The end of these wars did not end the land dispossessions: the Native Land Court forced the conversion of communally held land into individual property, effectively confiscating Māori land for Pākehā buyers, and the Liberal Government (1891–1912) introduced their land-buying programme, which was another legalised way of dispossessing Māori land (Wynyard, 2017). This form of colonialisation, grounded in the exploitation of indigenous resources, took away the basis for a self-determined livelihood and had a lasting effect on the well-being of the Māori population, which consequently is, until today, overrepresented ‘in any manner of negative social statistics from incarceration rates, to unemployment, to poorer physical and mental health’ (Wynyard, 2017, p. 24).

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As social inequalities between Māori and Pākehā were never resolved, Māori did not equally benefit from the policies of the Aotearoa/New Zealand welfare state that introduced social security reforms and renewed the education and healthcare systems from the mid-1930s onwards. Those programmes have improved the lives of many New Zealanders, but they did not shake off the racist structures on which the colonial nation was built. It is therefore not surprising that many Māori were initially sympathetic to the introduction of neoliberalism to Aotearoa/New Zealand, because it promised less dependency on welfare and more reliance on personal choices (Smith, 2007). Yet, neoliberal rationality and values inscribed into traditional Māori culture contradict each other heavily. While the former views the individual as self-interested, competitive and responsible for themselves, the latter perceives individuals as members of various social collectives, including small and intergenerational/extended families, regional communities and genealogical networks. Within traditional Māoridom, individuals are accountable to and dependent on those collectives (Smith, 2007). Despite those contradictions, some overlap between neoliberalism and traditional Māori values can also be identified (Humpage, 2018), manifested, for instance, in the coalition government formed by the National Party with the Māori Party after the election in 2008 (lasting until 2017) (Humpage, 2018). Such liaison between neoliberal and Māori politics were based on several grounds. The introduction of neoliberalism to Aotearoa/New Zealand coincided with a major political success for Māori in 1985, as the Waitangi Tribunal was given the power to investigate claims relating to breaches of Te Tiriti o Waitangi dating back to 1840. This success was an outcome of a political struggle, in which Māori fought for an acknowledgement of Māori sovereignty, the Treaty and respect for the bicultural character of Aotearoa/New Zealand’s society since the 1970s (Larner & Spoonley, 1995; Spoonley, 1989). The neoliberal government was not entirely opposed to those claims, as they could be related to the intent of reducing state responsibilities for Māori communities and advancing personal responsibilities. For instance, the call of communities for more self-­ determination was met with contracts between government departments and Māori organisations, to outsource the provision of social services to Māori communities themselves. This was a welcomed development as it meant less dependency on paternalistic government services and the new contracts seemed to offer more decision-making autonomy to the providers (Kymlicka, 2013; Smith, 2007).

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However, the relationship between neoliberalism and Māoridom was not harmonic. Māori initiatives to establish schools with a focus on Māori language in the 1980s were not met with state support. The neoliberal government expected parents to send their children out of self-interest to so-called quality schools rather than to those teaching the Māori language (Smith, 2007). Moreover, when the negative social effects of neoliberal reforms showed in high unemployment and poverty rates in the 1990s, Māori were disproportionally affected. Contracted social service providers, tasked with easing some of those effects, were increasingly expected to provide their services more effectively and to compete against each other for government contracts based on their economic performance. This limited the possibilities of Māori organisations to actually improve the lives of their communities profoundly. It was realised that the ‘devolution of responsibility and accountability [came] without the devolution of real power’ (Smith, 2007, p. 344). Yet, one aspect of Māoridom that was particularly advantageous for the neoliberal agenda was the appropriation of Māori culture, both for commercialisation and for national branding. Since the 1980s, when Māori claims for more recognition were fruitful and biculturalism re-emerged in the public and political discourse, Māori language, ceremonies, symbols and designs became more present (Smits, 2014). This presence was visible in the marketing of Aotearoa/New Zealand products and tourism and at international sporting events, where a specific form of the haka (a type of dance) became a trade mark for Aotearoa/New Zealand teams. But government departments and state institutions also adopted bilingual names, and Māori ceremonies such as pōwhiri (a welcoming ceremony) became common at official events and state visits. While this official form of biculturalism became more present, critics interpreted this visibility of Māori symbols rather as tokenism than as a sign of a level playing field for both cultures. Smits (2014) argued that the support of Māori practices by the neoliberal state was a strategy to present Aotearoa/New Zealand’s national identity as a unique and independent global player on the international market, that, until then, perceived Aotearoa/New Zealand only as a small part of the ANZUS (the Australia, New Zealand, United States Security Treaty). Aotearoa/New Zealand neoliberalism lacked the ability to create a national branding, but the appropriation of indigenous culture could be used to fill this gap. There was, of course, Māori resistance against those developments. In 2005 for instance, the Māori Party called for a review of the use of tikanga

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(Māori customs) across the state sector (Scoop, 2005). Moreover, in 2011, the Waitangi Tribunal (2011) recommended that Māori keep ownership over their cultural practices and criticised current laws that ‘allow others to use traditional Māori knowledge without consent or acknowledgement. They [the laws] provide little or no protection against offensive or derogatory uses of Māori artistic and cultural works.’ Yet, the co-­ optation of Māori culture is alive and well today. Difficulties in cultural relations between Māori and Pākehā that are rooted in the colonial past have not circumvented the women’s movement because power inequalities are omnipresent. As this book will show, this history is important to keep in mind in discussions about women’s ethnic diversity within Aotearoa/New Zealand’s women’s movement.

Outline of the Book Following this introduction, Chap. 2 explores the theoretical underpinnings of this book’s discussion. Grasping the effect of neoliberalism on the women’s movement first requires the clarification of neoliberalism as a theoretical concept. The focus of this chapter is on explaining neoliberalism, in particular Wendy Brown’s (2006, 2015) concept of neoliberal rationality, and on how it relates to feminism, intersectionality and postcolonialism. Chapter 3 is devoted to exploring the history of feminism and the women’s movement in Aotearoa/New Zealand from the First Wave in the late nineteenth century to the present. For this purpose, I focus on four periods of feminism, reflecting the four waves of the women’s movement. I summarise historic events, draw attention to the role of Māori and lesbian women within these movements, explain the importance of state feminism within the Third Wave movement and look into current developments during the ongoing Fourth Wave. Overall, this historic account is intended to contextualise more recent developments of the women’s movement with its history. Chapter 4 opens the discussion of my empirical findings with a presentation of my participants’ understandings of feminism and feminist identities, and it discusses how they relate to neoliberal values. This includes an exploration of the women’s ‘herstories’, which made them interested in feminism, and an analysis of the intergenerational relationship among feminists in Aotearoa/New Zealand.

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Chapter 5 investigates what I call the micro-level of the women’s movement: the individualised feminist practices among my participants. Exploring the meaning that feminism has in the women’s interpersonal relationships and daily lives, I identify to which extent neoliberal rationality has advanced the individualisation of feminism in this context. I further debate as to whether individualised feminism can be regarded as political. In Chap. 6 I shift the focus towards the meso-level of women’s movements and discuss the work and political agency of women’s groups and organisations within changed political opportunities that encourage organisations to professionalise their structures and create dependencies through funding restrictions. This chapter further explores how neoliberal rationality impacted on perceptions of how women’s diversity is part of the work of women’s organisations. Chapter 7 is the last chapter to present empirical findings. It is devoted to the women’s movement’s macro-level, which I identify as the level of state feminism. I discuss how the MWA, as the major institution of Aotearoa/New Zealand’s state feminism, had opportunities to initiate policy for women and thus did not receive much support from individual feminists. However, I argue that state feminism contributed significantly to feminist work in Aotearoa/New Zealand in neoliberal times. Finally, Chap. 8 summarises the main findings of this book’s study and applies them to political opportunity structure theory. I discuss the effects that neoliberal rationality had on all three levels (the micro-, meso- and macro-level) of the movement and how they relate to each other. The chapter concludes this book with the argument that neoliberalism has changed the character of Aotearoa/New Zealand’s women’s movement significantly, but it has not destroyed it, as feminism still fits into Sawer’s definition of a women’s movement.

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CHAPTER 2

Neoliberalism and its Relationships with Feminism, Intersectionality and Postcolonialism

The shift to neoliberalism (including the subsequent Third Way) had serious consequences for the political opportunities of Aotearoa/New Zealand’s women’s movement. This influence was, however, not a one-­ way street through which neoliberal rationality co-opted feminism into promoting a neoliberal agenda. The relationship between the two, neoliberalism and feminism, is far more complex and goes both ways. Moreover, there are additional dynamics at play that influence this relationship as well. This chapter unpacks those relationships on a theoretical level, which is important to understand how and why the feminist movement in Aotearoa/New Zealand developed the way it did during neoliberal times. Neoliberalism is not a static concept, neither in the ways it has been theorised nor in its practical applications by different governments across the world. In this chapter I first discuss neoliberalism as a theoretical concept itself. For this purpose, I focus on Michel Foucault’s (2008) and, building on it, Wendy Brown’s (2006, 2015) view on neoliberalism and explore how their understandings of neoliberal rationality explain the normalisation of neoliberal values across all social domains. This is followed by a discussion of neoliberalism’s relationship with feminism and I specifically address the way neoliberal values have shaped the development of Western women’s movements since the late 1980s, in particular the rise of Third Wave feminism. As intersectionality theory has become a major part of feminist theory during this time, I subsequently explore which © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 J. Schuster, Neoliberalism and its Impact on the Women’s Movement in Aotearoa/New Zealand, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-95523-6_2

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neoliberal influences can be identified in some forms of this theoretical approach and vice versa. The last theoretical discussion addresses the relationship between neoliberalism and postcolonialism. All of those relationships are characterised by a reciprocal influence on each other.

Understanding Neoliberalism Neoliberalism has become one of those terms that is used to describe a lot of different things. It is a neoclassical economic theory, it is an ideology (both, political and economic), and it is a historical concept. It is also a fighting term by the political left to criticise free-market policies and it is sometimes used synonymously with capitalism, modernity or globalisation (e.g., Garrett, 2018; Prügl, 2014). Overall, all of those understandings have in common that they associate neoliberalism with an economic value set that puts free-market practices, deregulation, competition and little state involvement at its core. Harvey (2005, p. 2), for instance, famously defined neoliberalism as ‘a theory of political economic practices that proposes that human well-being can best be advanced by liberating individual entrepreneurial freedoms and skills within an institutional framework characterised by strong private property rights, free markets, and free trade’. An analysis of the change of the women’s movement during neoliberalism may benefit from a Marxist take on neoliberalism (e.g., O’Connor, 2010). This perspective views neoliberalism as one of many phases in the history of capitalism, which, after World War II, aimed to restructure the political economy, including capitalism’s inherent class relations, institutions of accumulation and organising structures. It further assumes that the mistrust against the state during the post-war era led to the widely shared premises that (a) state interventions undermined market forces, and (b) state involvement in the economy always reflected the needs of the most powerful social groups in the economy (O’Connor, 2010). The latter argument is part of the explanation of why social movements and unions were weakened during neoliberalism, because worker’s needs were not supported by the neoliberal state. Another aspect of this explanation is to be found in neoliberalism’s transformation of workers into competing entrepreneurs who allegedly share no political interests but are individually responsible for their personal economic well-being (Brown, 2015). This stance undermines the development of a class consciousness and solidarity among workers, and it fosters what Marx described as alienation and exploitation of labour (Brown, 2015).

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While these perspectives are helpful for my purpose of exploring the political opportunities of Aotearoa/New Zealand’s women’s movement during the last decades, I build on political scientist Wendy Brown’s (2006, 2015) understanding of neoliberalism as a political rationality. This Foucauldian approach (that also incorporates some aspects of a Marxist analysis) perceives neoliberalism as a broad political reason that is embraced by governance practices and defines the concept of citizenship. Thus, this take on neoliberalism explains how a political rationality is reflected in social relationships and in the practices of individuals, organisations and state institutions, and is more than an explanation for economic market dynamics. Foucault, for whom any form of reason is situated in power relations, uses the term political rationality to describe a normative reason that is based on a certain truth. While political rationality is not produced by the state, it is circulated through the state, it informs the state’s activities, and it forges a specific form of governing (Brown, 2015). One version of political rationality is neoliberal rationality For Foucault, who analysed neoliberalism in his lectures held from 1977 to 1979 at the Collège de France (Foucault, 2008, 2009), neoliberalism is a form of governmentality, different to liberalism, that strives to regulate social life through market principles (Gane, 2012). According to him, neoliberalism is an ‘ensemble formed by institutions, procedures, analyses and reflections’ that ‘has the population as its target, political economy as its major form of knowledge, and apparatuses of security as its essential technical instrument’ (Foucault, 2009, p. 108). Its success relies on both the government of others (subjectification) and the government of one’s self (subjectivation). Subjectification can be understood as a form of governing populations by using disciplinary ways of enacting power (Hamann, 2009). Under neoliberalism, this requires the aforementioned apparatuses of security to be informed by market principles. As this apparatus is organised by the state, neoliberal governance does not imply a full rejection of state interventions, because the state must ensure the market has everything it needs to facilitate economic competition, growth and to economise the social (Brown, 2015). Thus, the state is still active but it is put ‘under supervision of the market’ (Garrett, 2018, p. 3). While subjectivation can take on forms of resistance against hegemonic morals and value-sets, subjectivation in the context of neoliberal governmentality refers to the production of neoliberal subjects who adopt an economic reason, neoliberal morals and assumed truths, as rules of how to

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conduct oneself in all aspects of life (Foucault, 2009; Hamann, 2009). Subjectification and subjectivation are linked to each other. The economic reason which individuals are expected to adopt must be introduced and maintained at all levels of society through governing authorities. Since economic principles (such as the reliance on competition or the individualisation of responsibilities) are not ‘natural’, this form of knowledge has to be established and constantly reinforced to ensure society accepts it as its own (Brown, 2015; Hamann, 2009). This way, market principles gain the status of truth, guiding the ‘true form of all activity’ (Brown, 2015, p. 67). To convince subjects of such truth, discourses, or rather discursive formations—several statements that reflect a certain body of knowledge— circulate such knowledge, turn it through normalisation into common sense and propel the creation of practices and policies in support of market principles. Thus, for Foucault, neoliberalism is not simply an ideology because it is active: it transforms society and its subjects (Brown, 2018). Foucault (2008) further described the adoption of a neoliberal rationality by individuals as the creation of Homo Economicus, a neoliberal subject, driven by self-interest, who is an ‘entrepreneur of himself [sic], being for himself his own capital, being for himself his own producer, being for himself the source of [his] earnings’ (Foucault, 2008, p.  226). Being entrepreneurs of their lives, of their economic success, but also of their education, health and happiness, neoliberal subjects are entirely responsible for themselves. Consequently their successes and failures in life are understood to be based on their personal achievements or deficiencies (Hamann, 2009). Thus, the focus on the self becomes central to neoliberal subjectivation and manifests itself through discipline, control of the self and ‘self-care’. It ‘enters into the everyday world by journal writing, daily meditation, nursing, confessionals, poverty and poor masses surveillance techniques, financial analyses, and bookkeeping forms’ (Cotoi, 2011). Foucault (2008, 2009) asked how neoliberalism rebuilt the modes and structures of politics, including the subject and the social. Wendy Brown drew on his work but was more profoundly concerned with the social and political consequences of those reconstructions (Cornelissen, 2018). She was interested in the effects of neoliberal rationality on democracy (including its subjects, institutions and values); she worried what neoliberalism did to political freedom, justice and equality; and she asked which political discourses have emerged from decades of neoliberal governmentality (Brown, 2005, 2015).

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Based on Foucault, Brown sees neoliberalism as not primarily focused on the economy (Brown, 2005). Rather, it is a ‘peculiar form of reason that configures all aspects of existence in economic terms’ (Brown, 2015, p. 17). This holistic perspective is helpful because it does not locate the relevance of neoliberalism in isolated parts of society such as ‘the economy’, ‘politics’ or ‘civic society’—which are, in fact, not isolated from each other at all. Rather, this approach assumes, when neoliberal values become the guiding principles of political leadership for decades (as it has been the case in Aotearoa/New Zealand), they will—in one way or another— become part of people’s worldviews, personal decisions and social expectations. This does not suggest that there is no room for critical engagement with and opposition to those values. However, if the hegemonic social order is shaped by a neoliberal rationality for 30 years, it is hard to fully escape the normalisation of individualism, privatisation and other neoliberal principles. They will infuse all social spheres. Therefore, Brown (2006) stated that neoliberalism is a political rationality that is not only embodied by government or the state, but also adopted and reproduced by the subject and other social agents. Neoliberal state authorities create a political culture that encourages citizens to make economically rational decisions in all spheres of life, including their education, healthcare, family planning and work life. In contrast to Foucault (2008, 2009), who assumed that those rational decisions are fully guided by self-interest, Brown (2015) argued that individuals also sacrifice their own well-being if it serves the larger purpose of neoliberal rationality. This explains why neoliberal policies, such as cuts of social benefits or modes of political participation, are often supported by those who are negatively affected by them. Yet, overall, under neoliberalism, an individual’s ‘moral autonomy is measured by their capacity for “self-care”’ (Brown, 2006, p.  694). Self-care, from this perspective, aims to increase one’s human capital and this human capital is solely understood as economic, not as ‘knowledge and experience needed for intelligent democratic citizenship’ (Brown, 2015, p. 177). To be able to increase one’s human capital, one must have the freedom to pursue their self-interests, and neoliberal governmentality equips individuals with such freedom: freedom of the market, freedom of choice, freedom of consumerism. While this neoliberal version of freedom is informed by economic principles, it is conditioned and constrained by competition and social insecurity, and it is stripped of any value or political meaning that stands outside of neoliberal rationality. Any other versions of

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freedom, including those that motivate emancipatory and social justice projects, are rejected as threats to liberty because they require a sense of social solidarity, increase state interference and support the redistribution of resources (Brown, 2005; Hamann, 2009). Brown (2015) is highly critical of such depoliticised neoliberal re-definition of freedom, arguing that it constitutes an unprecedented challenge to democracy. When social justice is no longer a value on its own, profitability and productivity become norms for policies, for welfare and for guiding the citizens’ choices (Brown, 2006; Wöhl, 2011). Thus, Brown is concerned that the Homo Economicus has pushed the Homo Politicus—a ‘selfsovereign through collective sovereignty’ (Brown, 2015, p. 95)—aside. While a counter-concept to the neoliberal state—the involved welfare state—used to be a source of collective pride for Aotearoa/New Zealanders in previous decades, the later adoption of a neoliberal rationality ensured the increasing stigmatisation of welfare provisions since the 1980s (Redden et  al., 2020). Since citizens are now seen to be solely responsible and accountable for their life decisions, political and structural problems affecting them are perceived as individual problems that are consequences of their personal failures to make the right life choices, irrespectively of social constraints that may be in place. The neoliberal state may address those problems via market incentives and deterrents, not via social policies (Brown, 2006, 2018). Similarly, representational politics based on gender, race, sexuality or class identities become disconnected from a critical perspective on social power relations (Mohanty, 2013) and the neoliberal culture supports the state in abandoning social equity as a political goal. For instance, resolving unemployment becomes a matter of ‘motivating’ the unemployed to ‘choose employment’ by lowering social benefits. Resolving child poverty becomes a matter of ‘encouraging’ low-income families to have fewer children by scaling childcare benefits to their disadvantage. Resolving the gender pay gap becomes a matter of channelling young women into higher paid STEM fields, without asking why those fields have not been popular among young women so far. In such ways, social policies are not dismantled entirely but rather redefined to adhere to the logic of competition (Garrett, 2018). Within such a neoliberal rationality, feminist institutions, organisations and projects, and individual activists have to find ways of making their causes relevant to political decision makers that have hardly any interest in addressing social inequalities as structural problems. Moreover, as we will see, feminists themselves are not immune to the hegemonic values by which they are surrounded.

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Neoliberalism and Feminism Neoliberalism and feminism, in particular Third Wave feminism—which developed more or less parallel to the adoption of neoliberal governance in many parts of the Western world—have influenced each other in multiple ways. This led, on the one hand, to a neoliberal co-option of some feminist ideas and, on the other hand, to the emergence of neoliberal feminism(s). Both dynamics are somewhat surprising, given the scarce overlap of values on which both ideologies, neoliberalism and feminism, seem to be based. Walby (2011) even argued that the advancement of neoliberalism was mainly of disadvantage for women because (a) its negative impact—cut-backs in public spending and social benefits—affect women disproportionately, and (b) neoliberalism creates a political environment that is hostile to feminist aims of gender equality. Moreover, the ‘rags-to riches’ trope, building on neoliberal principles such as personal responsibility for one’s fortune and the negation of structural social power relations that inhibit some groups of people more than others to succeed in this endeavour, does not sit well with a feminist critique of patriarchy. Neither does the focus on individual agency match the purpose of a collective women’s movement. The neoliberal framing of emancipation and autonomy eroded social bonds and understandings of solidarity that drive social movements altogether (Kymlicka, 2013). Yet, despite such incompatibilities, neoliberalism and feminism have found some common ground. But neither feminism nor neoliberalism are singular entities, they exist in various shades and, as Newman (2013, p. 218) put it, their liaisons are ‘selectively appropriated into mobile configurations or assemblages that are always incomplete’ and full of antagonism. Neoliberalism and the Feminist Movement The reasons why feminism and neoliberalism, at times, seem to appeal to each other relate to the more recent history of Western women’s movements. Nancy Fraser (1995, 2007, 2010, 2013) argued that contemporary feminist (and other social justice) movements address a range of injustices, some of which are in conflict with each other. These conflicts exist because achieving gender justices encompasses efforts in two competing fields: first, a transformation of the political economy to combat a gendered division of labour based on exploitation, and second, a cultural shift to eradicate androcentrism and sexism (Oksala, 2013). Whether the

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two types of struggles are really fully separated from each other may be up for discussion, but Fraser’s analysis shows that this distinction is inherent to advanced capitalism (Oksala, 2013). She explained the differentiation between economic and cultural struggles by distinguishing between issues of redistribution and those of recognition. Redistribution refers to strategies of eliminating economic inequalities and class-based exploitations, central to socialist strands of feminism. Recognition describes modes of identity politics that demand cultural change in androcentric social structures, associated with poststructuralist approaches of feminism. Those two fields of struggles do not always go well together because redistribution causes are based on egalitarian approaches calling for equity and fairness. In simple terms: women deserve equal pay because their work is as valuable as men’s work and gender should not be a criterion to distinguish between workers. Feminist claims of recognition, however, challenge the underrepresentation, non-recognition and disrespect against women and demand women to be heard, seen and respected as women. The underlying argument here is that gender is still a cross-cutting axe of difference and, therefore, has to be addressed by social justice agents as such. What follows is a balancing act, in which feminism needs to argue that people of different genders deserve the same treatment while being recognised in their differing identities. Fraser (1995) argued that while both redistribution and recognition are crucial for feminist projects, identity-based claims of recognition started to dominate feminist movements from the late 1980s onwards. This new emphasis coincided with the rise of neoliberalism and its increased economic inequalities to which, as Fraser (2010) criticised, the movement—occupied with issues of cultural change—had no sufficient answers. According to Fraser’s analysis, the problem here was not the focus on recognition issues per se, but the simultaneous neglect of redistribution issues, which offered neoliberal views on identity politics a way in. Without a thorough critique of capitalist dynamics, gendered labour market inequalities, for instance, were increasingly addressed by feminists in terms of status hierarchies that need to be overcome, and not (or not sufficiently) by addressing the systemic androcentrism and sexism inherent to the labour market. Thus, women’s economic emancipation found support in neoliberal strategies such as increasing the flexibility of work to facilitate the combination of childcare responsibilities with employment, or strengthening women’s (individualised) assertiveness in the labour market (Fraser, 2010). This development was substantiated when the shift from welfare-orientated to neoliberal labour market politics

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offered some opportunities for individual women’s emancipation. Although welfare systems of the 1970s have advanced the social protection of women, wives and mothers, their policies were designed to fit the androcentric norm of male-breadwinner families (Sauer, 2019). Thus, women’s integration in the labour market was slow and partial under welfare governance, but the shift to neoliberalism changed and accelerated this process as women were increasingly encouraged to join the workforce. This increased labour market participation was based on precarious forms of female employment and did not free women from their assigned responsibility for unpaid care work. But it provided a privileged class of women, who could afford to outsource care work to nannies and housekeepers, with career opportunities outside of traditional gender roles (Sauer, 2019). These improvements for some privileged women became labelled as ‘neoliberal feminism’ (Rottenberg, 2014, 2018) that manifested itself in ‘high-­ powered women [who] are publicly and unabashedly espousing feminism’ (Rottenberg, 2014, p. 418). Yet, this elitist form of feminism disregards the issues of women who are less privileged and have fewer social, economic and cultural resources than themselves. According to Rottenberg (2014, 2018) neoliberal feminists are aware and critical of gendered inequalities in society. However, they also embrace an individual’s responsibility for getting out of a disadvantageous situation, and therefore, they favour individual empowerment over the support of a solidaric women’s movement. In line with Brown’s (2006, 2015) assessment of neoliberal rationality, Rottenberg (2014, p. 420) suggested that neoliberal feminism turns gender inequality ‘from a structural problem into an individual affair’. The view that ‘each woman is an island, providing for herself and her own without the assistance of communal solidarities or tax-funded support’ (Weber, 2010, p. 127) is at odds with the idea of a united feminist movement. Neoliberalism and the Erasure of Feminism Neoliberal understandings of emancipation did not only appeal to women with high ambitions for a career. McRobbie (2007) famously explained the ‘new sexual contract’ by which many young women, who believed in the neoliberal promise of a meritocracy that allegedly offers freedom for their individual life choices, are urged to simultaneously become confident consumers, succeed in their education (and later career) and plan their reproduction responsibly. One may argue that there is a form of resistance

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against the patriarchal order inscribed into this approach because the image of the self-reliant female making her own choices and pursuing a career outside of the household is at odds with patriarchal expectations of the dependent and obedient woman. In this way, the logic of neoliberalism reduces the gendered character of the economic subject—at least theoretically (Oksala, 2011). Practically, neoliberal rationality wants to trick (young) women into assuming non-existing equal opportunities for themselves, so they believe they will be successful in all spheres if only they work hard enough. If this trick works, they adopt a postfeminist stance that does not see the struggles of feminist movements applicable to their lives because their understanding of social inequalities and power relations is eroded. McRobbie argued, young women engaging in this new sexual contract are caught up in a consumer culture that is saturated with patriarchal privilege and masculine hegemony and only offers limited freedom to some privileged young women, who—paradoxically—can become successful in this social order if gender inequity remains stable. ‘Young women are able to come forward on condition that feminism fades away’ (McRobbie, 2007, p. 720). While McRobbie articulated her assessment of this postfeminist generation in relation to young women in the U.K. in the early 2000s, Blackett (2016) drew parallels to young women in Aotearoa/New Zealand for the same time period. She argued that the ‘silencing of feminist talk about gender inequality’ (Blackett, 2016, p. 40) allowed predominantly young middle class Pākehā women to enter the public sphere and to be labelled as ‘successful’ by neoliberal standards—which do not take classed or racialised forms of oppression into account. Third Wave Feminism and Neoliberalism There is, however, reason to argue that the postfeminist erasure of feminism did not succeed overall, as the 1990s saw the rise of Third Wave feminism1. Despite much contestation, there have been some attempts to identify characteristics of Third Wave feminism during the 1990s and early 2000s (Budgeon, 2011). Drawing on Mills (Mills, 2002), Baxter (2003, p. 5) 1  I mainly focus on the Third Wave of feminism because this wave was dominantly present during the neoliberal era in Aotearoa/New Zealand (see Chap. 3 for the history of Third Wave feminism in Aotearoa/New Zealand).

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offered a list of six features: (1) acknowledging the diversity and multiplicity of women’s identities, (2) discussing the performativity of gender, (3) focussing on context-specific gender issues rather than general concepts such as patriarchy or sexism, (4) understanding identities to be co-­ constructed through social interactions, (5) recognising the relativity of power and (6) emphasising female resistance to stereotyped subject positions. Most of those characteristics are not new to feminism. Black feminism, postcolonial theory, postmodern theory, intersectionality theory and critical race theory all provided insights into anti-essentialist thought before the 1990s. However, Third Wave feminism particularly built upon such theories and advocated for coalitions that embrace and acknowledge differences among women rather than look for essentialist sameness and equivalence (Budgeon, 2011; Bulbeck, 2006; Dean, 2009; Mann & Huffman, 2005). The importance Third Wave feminism assigns to the recognition of differences among women is visible in its aim to identify the impact of relative privilege among women that systematically benefits some feminist voices and silences others (Harris, 2001). Consequently, it is inherent to Third Wave feminism to actively reflect upon power dynamics within feminism and, therefore, to critique itself (Kinser, 2004). Yet, as Third Wave feminism and neoliberalism have evolved at the same time, it is no coincident that they have influenced each other. Foucault’s analysis of subjectivation, describing how individuals are heavily informed by political rationalities that are imposed on them, is useful to understand how the neoliberal celebration of the independent and self-­ interested individual has entered feminist thought as well (Oksala, 2011). It is, for instance, striking, how much the terminology of neoliberalism and Third Wave feminism overlap. Self-responsibility, empowerment, active citizenship and freedom of choice are inherent concepts of both (Cruikshank, 1999; Gray & Boddy, 2010; Newman, 2012). This is particularly important to note from a Foucauldian perspective that relates the use of language to mechanism of power. Yet, I will show in the following chapters that the use of the same terminology does not necessarily imply the same understandings associated with such terminology. Brown (2018, p. 49) argued that neoliberalism uses certain vocabulary to ‘cloak itself in a liberal democratic discourse’. Third Wave feminists may have reproduced the terminology they were subjected to, but reframed it for their purposes. According to Budgeon (2011), the relationship between neoliberalism and Third Wave feminism manifested itself in a tendency among predominantly young women to celebrate individual freedom rather than adopting

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a collective feminist identity. Third Wave feminism embraced individualism in several ways. Given the acknowledgement of women’s diversity, Third Wave feminism rejected the idea of one homogenous and shared feminist identity. Inspired by intersectionality theory (Mann & Huffman, 2005), it promoted an understanding of identities as having several interconnected layers (e.g., ethnic identity and sexual identity), all of which influence feminist perspectives but differ in their combination for individual feminists. Thus, Third Wave feminism promoted personal approaches to feminism (Garrison, 2000; Sowards & Renegar, 2006) and rejected generalised definitions of feminism: ‘Your feminism is what you want it to be’ (Karp as cited in Mann & Huffman, 2005, p. 74). Individualism not only affected conceptualisations of feminism and feminist identities but also feminist practices. Bail (1996) coined the term ‘DIY (Do It Yourself)-feminism’ to describe such individual practices, which include the production of literature, music, online communication, self-produced zines and videos (Andrew & Maddison, 2010; Bulbeck, 2001; Garrison, 2000; Sowards & Renegar, 2006). Yet, Bail (1996) understood DIY-feminism to be depoliticised acts, motivated by personal challenges and passions rather than expressions of a collective feminist identity (see also Bulbeck, 2006). Closely related to DIY-feminism is the practice of ‘everyday resistance’ (Katzenstein, 1987) and ‘everyday activism’ (Sowards & Renegar, 2006). Budgeon (2001) described how many Third Wavers understand their daily lives as shaped by gendered structures which they challenge in individual and small actions (Harris, 2010). Like DIY-feminism, everyday activism is located in the private rather than the public sphere and therefore seems less suited to the broader mobilisation of a women’s movement (Sowards & Renegar, 2006). However, its intention is to challenge the taken-for-granted gendered aspects of everyday life. Thus, it aims to achieve personal empowerment of individuals, which is an important characteristic of feminist activism (Sowards & Renegar, 2006). Hence, Budgeon (2011, p. 16) argued that Third Wave feminism ‘shifts the attention to the subjective and individualised experiences of women as they develop their own relationship to feminism’. However, the rejection of a collective understanding of feminism and of a shared feminist identity is one of the reasons why Third Wave feminism is often perceived as problematic (see Dahlerup, 2013). For instance, some authors (Dicker & Piepmeier, 2003; Mann & Huffman, 2005; Pinterics, 2001) believe that the DIY approach lacks the level of

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organisation that is necessary for achieving social change and suggest that feminism without transformative potential is politically regressive. Kinser (2004) argued that the focus on everyday practices—which she called ‘false feminism’—leads young women to feel revolutionary without having to engage with and commit to any actually transformative practices. The Third Wave claim that feminism does not need to be organised because it can be found everywhere in daily life has also been criticised as a form of ‘big tent’ feminism. While trying to be inclusive, it fails to differentiate between feminists and women and therefore is too reductive and simplistic (Bulbeck, 2006). The alleged lack of a political underpinning to Third Wave feminism is another major criticism. Guest (1998) argued that the focus on the individual hides systematic oppression that needs to be tackled by a broader movement. This is an argument aligned with Hanisch’s (1970) famous essay, whose title The Personal is Political became a popular slogan for the Second Wave movement. The essay discusses the relationship between the public and the private spheres in women’s lives (Dann, 1985; Einhorn & Sever, 2003; Holmes, 2000) and the Third Wave has adopted this catchphrase to advocate their understanding of everyday feminism. However, reading political value into individual everyday practices is a misinterpretation of Hanisch’s intention (Cullen, 2001; Gillis & Munford, 2004; Mann & Huffman, 2005). For instance, ‘Lipstick feminism’ emphasises femininity through make-up and fashion and interprets them as positive and empowering traits of women. Women no longer have manicured nails because they want to be attractive to men but because manicured nails— and other forms of emphasised femininity—signal individuality, self-care and even professional success (Oksala, 2011). This stance has been discarded by its critics as shallow, vain and a nod to patriarchy (Baumgardner & Richards, 2000; Coney, 1993). According to Ghasedi and Cornell (as cited in Kinser, 2004, p. 144), buying ‘the black instead of the pink nail polish’ is not a feminist act. Sowards and Renegar (2006, p. 67), however, argued that such self-focus of Third Wave feminism should not be understood as narcissistic but rather as a ‘recognition of the complexities of contemporary activism’. While this may be the case, those complexities are fundamentally shaped by neoliberalism as the political hegemony in which Third Wave feminism developed. Oksala (2011) urged that the neoliberal narrative of personal choice and freedom adopted in current versions of feminism is misleading because it masks existing power inequalities and forms of exploitations that are still gendered. According to her, ‘women

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cannot choose power like they can choose between different wedding dresses’ (Oksala, 2011, p. 17). Feminist Neoliberalism? At the same time as feminism became ‘neoliberalised’ (Prügl, 2014), neoliberalism has incorporated feminist ideas via co-option. As co-option is a process in which ‘the [co-opted] concept itself is not rejected, but its initial meaning is transformed and used in the policy discourse for a different purpose than the original one’ (Stratigaki, 2004, p.  36), the neoliberal co-option of feminism is not an erasure of feminist values, it is a way of repurposing them for neoliberal goals. This is different to implementing or adopting feminism into neoliberalism, which would imply that gender equality per se became a desirable goal within a neoliberal rationality. It did not. But gender equality—or at least the neoliberal image of it— became a means to pursuing neoliberal interests. The neoliberal co-option of feminism has many faces. One of them, which illustrates the economic character of neoliberal interests, can be bought in the online shop of the fashion label Dior (n.d.), which sells t-shirts with the print WE SHOULD ALL BE FEMINISTS for 620€. It makes one wonder whether the irony of a commodified call for solidarity that hardly anyone can afford is lost on the designers or whether they do not care, because they are simply trying to make profit out of an elitist Zeitgeist that embraces a superficial form of feminism. But the economic relevance of women’s empowerment can also be found in a different shape under the label of ‘corporate social responsibility’ (Prügl, 2014), which is a business strategy by companies that invest in the advancement of female employees either because it makes the companies look good in the eye of the consumer or because they trust in research that identified increased profit for companies with diverse boards and/or staff (Tinsley et al., 2016; Wang & Kelan, 2013). But there are also political examples of neoliberal co-option of feminism. State feminists, or femocrats—as they are called in Aotearoa/New Zealand and Australia (Sawer, 1996)—work inside mainstream political institutions to pursue political women’s issues. In Aotearoa/New Zealand, the Ministry of Women’s Affairs may be the centre of state feminism. Such institutions are often tolerated by neoliberal governments who know that gender mainstreaming and the advancement of women need to remain a visible item on the political agenda in order to win elections. However, those institutions must continue to demonstrate

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loyalty to the government in place. Therefore, they cannot afford the radicality of autonomous feminist organisations in their policy suggestions and they are often forced into compromises, which is why femocrats are often accused of being co-opted by the government they work for (Sawer, 1996). The political co-option of feminist arguments is further present whenever ‘the emancipation of women’ serves as a pretext and excuse for any political agenda that, in fact, does not pursue the well-being of women. This strategy helped, for instance, to justify the warfare in Iraq and Afghanistan by the U.S.  Administration of George W.  Bush (Ferguson, 2005). European policies to ban or restrict Muslim veiling in schools or public places are similarly often introduced by hiding behind arguments of alleged concerns about women’s freedom in Muslim communities (Schuster, 2021; Weidinger & Werner, 2017). Overall, neoliberal rationality has altered the political opportunities for feminist movements as some forms of feminism have adopted some neoliberal values but also because neoliberalism has co-opted some feminist ideas. Thus, for an assessment of the women’s movement in neoliberal times it is not enough to investigate how feminist projects work against neoliberal reforms that increase gendered inequalities; it is also important to pay attention to the complex reciprocal relationship between feminism and neoliberalism.

Neoliberalism and Intersectionality Although its origin is to be found earlier in Black feminist thought, the wider reception of intersectionality theory was ignited by Kimberlé Crenshaw’s (1989, 1991) articles, which explained clearly, how racism and sexism generate a specific form of oppression for Black women in the U.S. that leads to their invisibility, exclusion and dismissal in and by social institutions. But also feminist and Black justice movements play their parts in this process as they tend to focus on the well-being of white women and Black men. Since Crenshaw, intersectionality theory has travelled through many different contexts and changed its character, arguments and fields of application many times (Davis, 2019; Salem, 2016). Given the timely coincidence of the rise of intersectionality theory in (white) mainstream feminism and of neoliberalism in Western countries, it is not surprising that the two of them have occasionally become entangled with each other. In its core, the intention of intersectionality theory to draw attention to the effects of multiple discrimination goes against the neoliberal

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conviction that discrimination is not a structural but a personal problem. Roberts and Mahtani (2010) argued that neoliberalism’s ideal of a meritocratic society shrugs off racism because an individual’s success is understood to be a result of hard work and not of identity-based biases in social structures. A similar understanding was articulated by Davis (2007, p. 347), who attested neoliberalism a ‘muted racism’ by which personal flaws rather than racial discrimination are made responsible for impediments to success of racial minorities. Thus, neoliberal rationality cannot be expected to care for racism intersecting with other forms of discrimination. Neoliberal rationality not only denies the existence of structural discrimination, it also finds ways of justifying it via an economic logic. For instance, a content analysis of an online discussion about intersectional labour market discrimination against Muslim women wearing headscarves has shown that the exclusion of multiple discriminated women gets rationalised by profit-driven arguments. Those arguments were based on the potential loss of customers who allegedly do not want to interact with staff wearing headscarves or on stereotypes that suggest Muslim women may lack sufficient energy to work during Ramadan (Schuster & Weichselbaumer, 2021). Yet, despite the seemingly incompatibility between intersectionality theory and neoliberalism, some approaches to interpreting intersectionality have also been criticised for liaising with neoliberalism. The first point of critique is based on how the normalisation of the focus on the individual, its responsibilities and accountabilities have informed Third Wave feminists and their way of handling difficulties in relation to inclusivity and diversity: the Third Wave generation grew up knowing that the Second Wave movement had serious problems addressing white heteronormative privilege within the movement (see Chap. 3) and so Third Wavers often had good intentions to not repeat the same problems. The increasing popularity of intersectionality theory in the 1990s and 2000s seemed to offer a tool to solve such problems, because it provided an analytic lens to identify privilege and marginalisation in its nuanced forms. However, those nuanced insights of intersectional marginalisation that existed in feminist circles came along with new challenges, mainly concerning the practical attainability of overcoming marginalisation and achieving intersectional inclusivity (Evans, 2015; Kinser, 2004). In an attempt to not be exclusive or discriminatory against multiple marginalised groups, young white feminists aimed to organise their events, groups and organisations as diverse as possible, but often failed in actually achieving such diversity (Kinser,

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2004). This frustrating experience of wanting to be inclusive but not knowing how to, facilitated the avoidance of collective mobilisation altogether and replaced it with a retreat to individualised forms of feminist participation among many white Third Wavers. If you do not act in a collective, there is no collective that can be accused of being exclusive or discriminatory against minorities. By this logic, individualised practices were labelled as intersectionally aware, which sparked the critique of those who understand intersectionality theory as a tool to tackling multiple marginalisation on a structural level, not as an excuse to circumvent problems (Schuster, 2016). A more systemic critique of the influence of neoliberalism on intersectionality debates is closely linked to new adaptations of intersectionality theory—often applied by white Western feminists—that move away from analysing the experiences of Black women. Although the insights of intersectionality theory are helpful to understand other forms of multiple discrimination (for instance homophobia against lesbian women or Islamophobia against women wearing headscarves), Black feminists are increasingly wary of such analyses that generalise all experiences of multiple discrimination. The problem with such generalisation is that it de-­ contextualises and de-historicises the knowledge developed by Black feminists. ‘This is a kind of neoliberal asset-stripping: appropriating a particular intellectual product of women of colour feminists who used their situated knowledge as the basis for a more fully theorised understanding of universality, and presenting it as the triumphant creation of a racially unmarked (but white) feminism’, said Tomlinson (2017, p.  151). Bilge (2014) equally argued that this whitening of intersectionality is related to the neoliberalisation of feminism and she identified two ways in which intersectionality and neoliberalism have become entangled. First, she criticised the depoliticised use of terms like ‘diversity’ and ‘difference’ in neoliberal cultural politics, and second, she articulated concern that neoliberal rationality has obstructed feminist capacities to analyse the interconnectedness of different power structures that produce intersectional discrimination. Regarding her first concern, Bilge (2014) drew attention to neoliberalism’s relationship with ‘diversity’. Within neoliberal rationality, difference is something that is managed via equity tools, gender- or ethnicity-based monitoring or diversity management and auditing business strategies. Those tools are usually not informed by minority knowledge nor by the aim to reduce discrimination on a structural level. Rather, they intend to

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create diverse environments (e.g., workplaces) that value differences and enable ‘people to work to their full potential in a more creative and productive work environment’ (Wrench, 2005, p. 74), but they lack radicality as they are motivated by an economic, not an anti-discriminatory argument. The associated focus on diversity and difference instead of race and gender has also diverted the discussions away from racism, sexism and their intersections towards a plurality of identities. Those new discussions lack the acknowledgment of structural and historical differences between identity groups regarding their experiences of discrimination. Bilge (2014) and Tomlinson (2017) diagnosed a substantial number of white feminist analyses of intersectionality with a similar use of ‘diversity’ and are consequently concerned about the depolitisation of intersectionality theory that comes along with it. Bilge (2014) is therefore not only concerned by neoliberal impositions by the state and the policy apparatus on feminist and anti-racist social movements but also by social justice agents (individuals, organisations and feminist academia) who adopt a neoliberal rationality and use it to ‘neutralise’ intersectionality.

Neoliberalism and Postcolonialism Postcolonial theory developed in the 1950s and 1960s, most prominently in cultural studies, as a critical approach to deconstructing power relations in the context of (Western) societies that claimed to have overcome their colonial histories, yet continue to base their social fabric on racialised structures. In contemporary (post)colonial Aotearoa/New Zealand, the relationship between indigenous peoples and descendants of the colonisers (see Chap. 3 for a summary of Aotearoa/New Zealand’s colonial history) is additionally shaped by a neoliberal rationality that impacts on how ethnic relations are dealt with on a political level. Similar to the ideological differences between feminism and neoliberalism, parallels between neoliberalism and postcolonialism are not obvious at first. Neoliberal rationality and its focus on individual responsibility either negates the importance of collective experience or commodifies such experience (Mohanty, 2013). This includes collective experiences of colonial oppression and exploitation, which are being dismissed by neoliberalism as a problem of the past without present relevance or, which—in the context of Aotearoa/New Zealand—are redefined as a European heritage of pioneering spirit and Māori warrior culture that can be sold to tourists (see Chap. 1). The neoliberal negation of lasting consequences of

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colonial exploitation that affect indigenous peoples until today is rooted in and justified by the belief in a meritocratic system. This belief supports the illusion of a postcolonial society, where ‘post’ suggests that colonialism has been overcome and the neoliberal system ensures everyone’s equal freedom and opportunities. It ‘privatises’ racism by transferring the state’s responsibility to protect people from discrimination caused by the colonial past to the disadvantaged individuals themselves (Kubota, 2016). The neoliberal prioritisation of economic marketability as an important aspect of such individual responsibility thus legitimises a differentiation between ‘good’ and ‘bad’ minority members without acknowledging that this differentiation is based on privilege and stigma (both of which are not self-­ made but rather a result of an unequal class system). By counting the value of economic contributions to society in absolute terms, ‘good’ minority members become those who defeat their actual odds on the labour market, while the ‘bad’ ones are those who fail to do so and consequently are seen to cause a burden for the neoliberal state (Kubota, 2016). The same rationality is applied to immigrants and refugees, who are expected to be grateful to the host society and show their gratefulness by their willingness to work, in order to be accepted as ‘good’ or ‘model minority’ (Chen & Buell, 2018; Thiruselvam, 2019). Thiruselvam (2019) argues that, in a colonial context, this dynamic puts indigenous peoples in opposition to immigrants and undermines solidarity between their communities because they are expected to out-perform each other. Moreover, bi-culturalism, Aotearoa/New Zealand’s official character documented by Te Tiriti o Waitangi, becomes blurred by a generic understanding of ‘ethnic diversity’ in which the status of Māori as the initial owners of the land is forgotten and only re-emerges when it can be used to sell the trade-mark ‘New Zealand’ on a global market. Policies specifically addressing indigenous peoples are only part of neoliberal governance if they improve the economic outcomes of indigenous communities, or if they ‘relegate them to the sidelines, allowing the game to proceed unperturbed’ (Hale & Millaman, 2005, p. 301). Yet, just as in the relationship of feminism and neoliberalism, neoliberal rationality has found ways to co-opt aspects of postcolonial thought. The deregulation of the market, encouraging mobility, exchange, cosmopolitanism and diversity, is supposedly in line with postcolonial efforts to overcome historically entrenched social inequalities (Kubota, 2016; Mohanty, 2013). The neoliberal approach to dealing with differences between indigenous peoples and descendants of the colonisers morphs the

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anti-racist trope, which demands equality for all ethnic groups, into a claim of colour-blindness (Chen & Buell, 2018; Kubota, 2016; Mohanty, 2013). As skin-colour and cultural membership should not be the reason for social in- or exclusion, neoliberal states pretend that they do not. Again, the myth of meritocracy sustains this ignorance. As neoliberal rationality ignores structural inequalities, it merely focuses on potential differences between cultures that co-exist with allegedly no structural power hierarchies between them. The neoliberal terminology of ‘diversity’ captures this alleged level playing field. In a neoliberal framework, ‘multiculturalism’ is used to describe a social order that acknowledges such diversity without addressing colonial histories. In line with postcolonial standards, it officially promotes institutionalised anti-racism and individual freedom, yet because of its neglect to actively address historically inscribed structural inequalities, those inequalities are being reproduced. The strong belief in individual accountability further sustains the distinction between the privileged and the marginalised because it rationalises it (Kubota, 2016). However, Kymlicka (2013) argued that some marginalised ethnic groups have successfully resisted against the neoliberal politics of multiculturalism via institutionalisation of their own projects. The attachment of indigenous peoples to their cultural goods, like language and tradition, for the purpose of maintaining a cultural identity, go against neoliberal rationality. But, as indicated before, the neoliberal state can appreciate and support those goods as market assets (Kymlicka, 2013). Consequently, ethnic minority projects that frame their agenda in line with neoliberal values because they, for example, enhance competitiveness or defer state responsibility to community groups, can find support through neoliberal policies (Kymlicka, 2013). In Aotearoa/New Zealand, this dynamic has led to numerous service contracts between the neoliberal state and Māori organisations, which partly benefitted Māori communities and partly exploited their willingness to comply with state authorities (see Chap. 1).

A Triangular Relationship The aim of this chapter was to unpack the complicated relationships between neoliberalism and feminism, intersectionality and postcolonialism from a theoretical perspective. Yet, there are also crosslinks between postcolonialism and feminism, feminism and intersectionality, or postcolonialism and intersectionality.

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Colonialism and the Feminist Movement Importantly for Aotearoa/New Zealand’s women’s movement, the historic synchronicity of colonialism and patriarchal androcentrism amounted to the effect that the perpetrators of colonial racism were mainly conceived to be white men, ignoring the role of white women in the exploitation of the colonised (Winkel, 2018). Paradoxically, this dynamic has helped white women to establish the hegemony of white Western feminism within women’s movements in the colonised world (Mohanty, 1988), including Aotearoa/New Zealand. The concept of Western feminism has always dominated the ideological orientation of Aotearoa/New Zealand’s women’s movement, and there was much expectation that Māori women in the movement adopt this ideological framework for themselves. At the same time, there was, overall, little effort on the Pākehā side to understand mana wahine as a similarly important principle. Mana wahine is often perceived as a Māori version of feminism but this is a Westernised simplification. Mana wahine engages with being Māori and female in a much broader sense and has a strong localised and space-related component (Simmonds, 2011). It implies that ‘the struggles for our people, our lands, our worlds, ourselves are struggles that are part of our daily lives as Māori women, they are never just about being Māori or just being women but are about a combination of what those things mean’ (Pihama, 2001, p. 232). In this perception, any form of gender inequality is never just a ‘women’s issue’ but a problem that affects and has to be dealt with by the entire community. Such perspective was hard to understand for many Pākehā feminists, especially during the Second Wave, when these discussions became more overtly discussed in feminist circles. Giving racialised and classed power relations the same importance as gendered forms of oppression, and relating political struggles of Māori sovereignty to feminist issues—as articulated by Donna Awatere (1984)—was at odds with dominant (mainly radical and liberal) versions of Western feminism at the time. Vice versa, the Western feminist approach of a women’s movement working on women’s issues was not necessarily compatible with a mana wahine approach (Larner, 1995). Moreover, pre-colonisation, mana wahine and mana tāne (the male version) were complementary in a way that distinguished between male and female roles in society but in an equal, not a patriarchal/hierarchical order (Simmonds, 2011). As colonialism brought Western patriarchy to

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Aotearoa/New Zealand, it disrupted this balance and increased the negative effects of colonialism for Māori women by jeopardising pre-existing Māori women’s rights (e.g., to own land; see Chap. 3) and the authority assigned to Māori women’s knowledge2 (Simmonds, 2011). Such issues, affecting Māori women specifically, have never been high on the agenda of the Pākehā-dominated feminist movement in Aotearoa/New Zealand. Instead, Pākehā feminists often misinterpreted Māori gender relations through their Western perspectives as particularly misogynistic (Pihama, 2021). Yet, the relationship between Māori and Pākehā feminists changed over time. The First Wave women’s movement did not challenge the racist order of the settler society in any substantial way and showed no interest in supporting Māori communities in their struggles to maintain political power. Contrarily, the mainstream Pākehā movement forced European values on those Māori women who became part of the movement. The Second Wave learnt some valuable lessons about the incompatibility of white privilege and the image of a united sisterhood but was far from creating a level playing field for Māori and Pākehā women within the movement. The anger inscribed in Donna Awatere’s (1984) account of this relationship is a manifestation of how little the colonial past had been resolved by the mid-1980s, when Pākehā feminists still got hardly involved in anti-racist/ decolonial politics—regarding issues of land, language and culture—that were of concern for Māori women at the time (Locke, 2012). The Third and Fourth Waves strengthened their awareness for racist and colonial structures in the movement—still, it’s a work in progress. When Jacinda Ardern is currently characterised as a ‘poster-feminist’ Māori women may rightfully ask how a woman representing the colonising state earned this title (Thiruselvam, 2020) (see Chap. 3 for a detailed historic account of the women’s movement, including its race relations). Colonialism and Intersectionality This history also has a direct impact on what intersectionality means in the context of Aotearoa/New Zealand feminism, where the intersection of racism and sexism does not only affect Māori women, but also Pacifica or 2  For instance, Māori maternal mortality increased in the 1960s after Māori women were forced to abandon their own practices of childbirth and reproductive health care and to adopt European standards (Simmonds, 2011).

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migrant women (or Pākehā women for that matter). Mollett (2017) uses the terminology of ‘postcolonial intersectionality’ to acknowledge the way gendered and racialised processes are bound in a postcolonial genealogy. The criticism by Black feminist scholars of the ‘whitening’ of intersectionality during neoliberal times (Bilge, 2014) needs to be understood in this context as well. Moreover, the simultaneousness of bicultural and multicultural politics—the former initially intended to focus on the rights of the indigenous Māori population and the latter aiming to address growing ethnic diversity based on migration—complicates debates about cultural relations and potentially creates tensions between ethnic minorities (Simon-Kumar, 2020). In particular, the neoliberal depolitisation of ‘diversity’ and its ignorance of historic power inequalities inscribed into ethnic relations of the present erases the grounds for a critical discussion of those relations and hinders neoliberal policies to increase equality. All of this needs to be kept in mind, when the remainder of this book focuses on Aotearoa/New Zealand’s women’s movement. The dominance of white feminism in the movement, the increased individualism among young Third Wave feminists or the difficulties of state feminism to address women as a diverse group, need to be interpreted through the lens of the country’s colonial history. In this way, Aotearoa/New Zealand’s women’s movement qualifies as what Newman (2012) and Pratt (1992, p. 4) described as ‘contact zone’, ‘where disparate cultures meet, clash and grapple with each other’ and which are shaped by power imbalances between those groups. But they are also spaces in which transformation can take place through such close confrontations between dominant and marginalised groups (Newman, 2012). The impact of neoliberalism on Aotearoa/New Zealand’s women’s movement has several layers as it manifests itself in the reciprocal influence of neoliberalism, feminism and ethnic relations. This ‘triangular relationship’ is characterised by both tensions and common grounds between all three.

References Andrew, M., & Maddison, S. (2010). Damaged but determined: The Australian women’s movement, 1996-2007. Social Movement Studies, 9(2), 171–185. Awatere, D. (1984). Maori sovereignty. Broadsheet. Bail, K. (1996). DIY feminism. Allen & Unwin. Baumgardner, J., & Richards, A. (2000). Manifesta: Young women, feminism, and the future. Farrar, Straus and Giroux.

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CHAPTER 3

The Story so Far

Any attempt to understand Aotearoa/New Zealand’s contemporary women’s movement needs to account for the colourful and complex history of feminist activity and the differing waves within the movement. My aim, though, is not to provide a full narrative of events. Grimshaw (1962, 1987, 1994, 2000) and Hutching (2010) offer excellent summaries of Aotearoa/New Zealand’s suffrage movement, and the history of the Second Wave movement has been well documented by Dann (1985). My aim here is to offer a historic context for feminism in Aotearoa/New Zealand in more recent times. The following will show that current challenges to feminist organising based on women’s diversity have their roots in the history of the women’s movement that has never been homogenous and entirely united. Moreover, Aotearoa/New Zealand’s women’s movement has, since its early days, constantly adapted its methods to pursue feminist aims to fit the political environment in which it operated at a time. The histories of social movements are often narrated in waves. This approach is useful also for my portrayal of Aotearoa/New Zealand’s women’s movement because it eases the comparison of present and past characteristics of feminist activities. However, this metaphor has its pitfalls as the notion of a wave suggests that these periods are unified and homogeneous, obscuring more radical streams within one wave. It also falsely implies that there was no (or hardly any) feminist activity between the

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 J. Schuster, Neoliberalism and its Impact on the Women’s Movement in Aotearoa/New Zealand, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-95523-6_3

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waves (Bulbeck, 2006; Gillis & Munford, 2004; Harnois, 2008; Mann & Huffman, 2005). Further, this metaphor is not very well equipped to describe the simultaneity of different waves (for instance, when the Third Wave began, the Second was not entirely over). For these reasons I propose that the wave metaphor should not be over-interpreted and thus, I understand it simply: the waves describe periods of time during which feminism in Aotearoa/New Zealand has been especially strong and vocal. Feminism did not entirely pause before or between these waves, but it was comparatively slowed down. I start with the First Wave of feminism in Aotearoa/New Zealand leading to women’s suffrage. This is followed by an account of the Second Wave movement of the 1970s and early 1980s and a subsequent section to discuss the Third Wave movement that is divided into a narrative about state feminism and a summary of feminist activism outside state authorities. The Fourth Wave, finally, is more difficult to grasp, but this chapter discusses its distinctive characteristics and the topics the women’s movement was concerned with in most recent years.

The First Wave Movement The international literature usually locates First Wave women’s movements in the Global North between the mid-nineteenth and early twentieth century (e.g., Edelman, 2001). More specifically, Bailey (1997) defined the First Wave in the United States as starting in 1848 with the Seneca Falls Convention and ending with the introduction of women’s suffrage in 1920. Similarly, the Australian ‘Woman Movement’ emerged in the 1880s, formed the Victorian Women’s Suffrage Society in 1884 and won the vote for women state by state between 1894 and 1908 (Magarey, 2001). During this era, internationally and in Aotearoa/New Zealand, a significant number of women gained education and entered the wage-­ economy, which created new opportunities for women’s political agency, independence and feminist ideas (Grimshaw, 1987). The name ‘First Wave feminism’ has been assigned retrospectively to women’s movements that aimed to achieve formal equality between sexes and political rights for women, most prominently manifested in suffrage movements in many (at that time, mainly Western) countries (Edelman, 2001). Overall, the main focus of First Wave feminism was to influence policies and legislations so that they recognised women as independent human beings and not the property of their husbands and fathers (Gray & Boddy, 2010).

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The Long Fight for Suffrage The Electoral Act of 19 September 1893 granted Aotearoa/New Zealand women the right to vote in national elections—earlier than women could vote in any other country. The political struggle of women (and supportive men) to gain this basic right has been named the suffrage movement; however, suffrage was by far not the only topic on its agenda (Hutching, 2010). Some of its initial achievements were in the field of education. In 1877, for instance, comprehensive primary education was granted for girls and Kate Edger graduated as the first woman from an Aotearoa/New Zealand university (Grimshaw, 1987; Orange, 1993). The first documented claim for women’s suffrage published in an essay by Mary Ann Müller in 1869, argued that many women were better educated than many working-class men (who already had the franchise) and that the British Crown itself was headed by a woman, which proved that women were capable of being political agents (Curtin, 2019). A major initial motivation for the suffragists to gain women’s right to vote was their aspiration to be involved in referendums on the issue of prohibition. Given the quantities of alcohol consumed by men in the growing pub culture, many wives had ongoing concerns whether the weeks’ wages would be spent in the pub and physically violent drunk husbands were not uncommon. Divorce was hardly a solution because women were significantly disadvantaged by marriage and divorce laws. When filing a divorce, they needed to prove that they were subjected to serious physical abuse by their husbands and even then, they were likely to lose the property they brought into marriage. Consequently, achieving prohibition became a feminist goal, for which women needed the right to vote in referendums (Grimshaw, 1987; Hutching, 2010; Schuster, 2015, 2017). First attempts to introduce bills to give women ratepayers the right to vote in general elections were made in 1878 and 1879. They were achieved by early Pākehā settler feminists, including Mary Ann Müller, who successfully convinced liberal-leaning parliamentarians to support their cause (Curtin, 2019). However, both bills were dismissed (Hutching, 2010). The suffragists needed more support. In 1885, Mary Leavitt, a representative of the United States Women’s Christian Temperance Union (WCTU), arrived in Aotearoa/New Zealand with the aim of establishing a WCTU branch. The WCTU demanded that women’s votes would increase the moral and reforming character of new laws. Many Aotearoa/New Zealand women, including Kate Edger and

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Kate Sheppard (who became a WCTU leader and is now portrayed on the ten-dollar note), welcomed this principle and soon branches were established throughout the country (Hutching, 2010; Grimshaw, 2000). While a large share of those suffragists came from middle-class families, ties with working-class women were made through the cooperation between the WCTU and the Tailoresses’ Union, led by Harriet Morison (Dalziel, 1994; Orange, 1993). The WCTU managed to excite many women beyond the suffrage issue and raised funds for homeless shelters, ran soup kitchens, supported female prisoners and provided education on food and nutrition. It lobbied for an increased age of consent for girls, a new prostitution law and equal divorce rights for men and women. As more and more women joined the workforce, it also helped to organise pre-school childcare services (Grimshaw, 1987; Schuster, 2015, 2017). Overall, the movement had many successes. In 1884, the Aotearoa/ New Zealand Parliament granted the right for married women to own property and by the end of the 1880s a woman’s right to sit on a committee was extended from schools to liquor licencing committees and charitable aid boards (Grimshaw, 1987). However, the struggle for women’s franchise continued. Kate Sheppard became a leading figure in this campaign (Orange, 1993). She wrote and produced a number of pamphlets (e.g., Ten Reasons Why Women of New Zealand Should Vote), as well as letters to politicians and media statements to lobby for the vote. She organised several petitions to Parliament and gave public speeches to promote the suffrage cause. Embracing a humanitarian ideology, she stated, ‘All that separates, whether of race, class, creed, or sex, is inhuman, and must be overcome’ (Sheppard cited in Orange, 1993, p. 122). Yet, in 1887 and 1890, two further attempts to pass the Women’s Suffrage Bill were defeated in Parliament; however, both efforts witnessed growing support among parliamentarians (Hutching, 2010). The liquor lobby got nervous, began an intense mobilisation against the suffragist movement and initiated a petition to oppose the franchise for women that collected 5000 signatures. The WCTU answered with its own petition, signed by over 20,000 women who supported the Electoral Bill 1892. This bill reached its third reading and produced much discussion both inside Parliament and amongst the public (Hutching, 2010). Anxiously, opponents of the women’s franchise tried to discredit this bill by raising concerns that voting women would not be safe on the way to the voting booth and, even worse, be neglecting their domestic responsibilities. It

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was claimed that only ‘the worst examples of their sex, the harsh, unsexed, “advanced” women’ would make use of their vote, having negative consequences for democracy (Grimshaw, 1987, p. 77). The bill was once again dismissed. However, the suffragists did not give up and tried again in June 1893 with an Electoral Bill that caused significant discussion—and was finally passed in mid-September, granting all adult women in Aotearoa/ New Zealand the right to vote in national elections (Grimshaw, 1987; Hutching, 2010). It is worth noting that the Electoral Act of 19 September 1893 included Māori women in the franchise relatively early compared to other indigenous peoples in the colonised world. European settlers in Aotearoa/New Zealand feared the increasing political power of Māori and had an interest in keeping indigenous participation in elections low. However, Māori men had already gained the franchise with the Constitution Act of 1852. Thus, enfranchising European women strengthened the political position of Europeans but there seemed to be only slight political advantage in denying Māori women the right to vote. The potential but small advantage of Māori women not being able to cast their votes was ultimately outweighed by European fears of further cultural conflicts that the exclusion of Māori women might cause within the population. Therefore, Aotearoa/New Zealand’s early success of the women’s suffrage movement was arguably facilitated by previous cultural negotiations which ensured that European men had already lost their main incentive to keep women out of the voting booth (Grimshaw, 2000). Māori Women and the Vote Adhering to colonial and Eurocentric standards, the common narrative presents the leading suffragists in Aotearoa/New Zealand almost exclusively as Pākehā women, but this is a wrong depiction of history (Ballara, 1993; Orange, 1993). As Māori women shared concerns about alcohol consumption with European women, their signatures are to be found on the franchise petitions (Rei, 1993). Apparently, Māori women also ‘joined the Union in droves’ (Evans, 1994, p. 56) once it was clear that an alliance between Māori and Pākehā women would be the best chance to get the vote. However, this alliance was heavily dominated by European standards to which Māori women were forced to subscribe if they wanted to join European-led organisations. The WCTU even made Māori women pledge to reject tā moko (traditional tattoos) (Rei, 1993).

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Thus, it is hardly surprising that many Māori women did not devote their political energy to this movement, especially when it was needed somewhere else: Māori women fought for active and passive voting rights in Te Kotahitanga, the Māori Parliament (operating 1892–1902). Due to growing concerns about land appropriations and other consequences of colonial domination by Europeans, Te Kotahitanga was established to protect Māori sovereignty. Māori women had a great interest to be represented in this institution because—unlike European women—many owned land, but European law turned it into their husband’s property and many Māori men sold that land to the Crown (Grimshaw, 1987; Rei, 1993). Initially, Māori women who were given authority by their iwi (tribe) were allowed to speak in Te Kotahitanga, a right that (European) women did not have in the Aotearoa/New Zealand Parliament. In 1893, Meri Te Tai Mangakāhia and Ā kenehi Tomoana made use of this right and requested that women be given the franchise, including the right to vote and to stand as members. This request was initially refused but Māori women continued to organise themselves and developed Ngā Komiti Wahine, a strong national network of local Māori women’s committees. This network benefitted greatly from the involvement of Niniwa-i-te-­ rangi, who was a gifted political speaker and treasurer of a committee to support Te Reo Māori newspapers. She played an important role in making Māori women’s voices heard. Following another unsuccessful attempt in 1894, by 1897 Māori women finally succeeded in Te Kotahitanga and were granted the right to vote and stand for Te Kotahitanga (Rei, 1993; Wolfe, 2018). Of course, feminism and the involvement of women in politics did not stop once the vote was gained. The National Council of Women, for instance, only started its work in 1896 (Nicholls, 1993) and it was not until 1919 that women achieved full citizenship rights, when they won the right to stand for Parliament (Wilson, 2001). However, the First Wave of feminism is commonly understood to have ended here.

The Second Wave Movement Western Second Wave movements started around 1968, a time known for its political uprisings and the manifestation of the New Left in Europe and the United States (Holmes, 2000; Whelehan, 1995). Characteristically, they demanded equity in the labour market and the domestic sphere,

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criticised and raised awareness for the gendered impact of social and political structures on personal lives, pursued reproductive rights and educational opportunities for women and demanded access to public childcare services (Edelman, 2001; Gray & Boddy, 2010). Compared to the suffragists, women of the Second Wave generation had on average fewer children, lived longer and were confronted with higher costs of living. Therefore, a smaller part of their adult life was devoted to motherhood while female participation in paid work had increased. More women accessed higher education and had become critical of the existing social and/or familial orders (Duncan, 2004; Nevitte, 2000). These developments provided new opportunities for women’s movements to grow and develop. From Sisterhood to Fragmentation Under the Second National Government in the 1960s and early 1970s, Aotearoa/New Zealand’s low level of unemployment and relative prosperity facilitated the expansion of education. Material affluence provided many citizens with the time to engage critically with global and national politics. Consequently, public protest developed as a way of communicating public concerns, with anti-war and anti-racism issues nurturing the growth of activist communities. However, these left-wing activist groups were equally sexist and male-dominant as the rest of society, causing Aotearoa/New Zealand’s women to organise their own meetings, modelled after North American and European women’s groups. Collectives like the Wellington and Auckland Women’s Liberation Front and Women’s Movement for Freedom became the first women’s liberation groups in 1970 (Cahill & Dann, 1991; Dann, 1985; Holmes, 2000; Schuster, 2015). The issues concerning Aotearoa/New Zealand’s Second Wave feminists were largely the same as those driving their First Wave predecessors: women’s education, employment and health, as well as violence against women. More specifically, women’s liberationists criticised girls’ overrepresentation in high school subjects such as typing and domestic science, which channelled them into poorly paid jobs. They also questioned why women academics were under-represented in all university faculties. A further feminist concern was the gender pay gap that existed despite the Equal Pay Act of 1972. Regarding women’s health issues, Second Wave feminists disapproved of male medical practices and firmly demanded control over their own fertility by promoting free contraception and access to

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abortion services. There were also some ‘new’ issues on the Second Wave’s agenda, including a critique of pornography, sexism in advertising and other media-related issues (Cahill & Dann, 1991; Dann, 1985). Overall, the Second Wave women’s movement profoundly challenged the mainstream social consciousness about gender and sexuality norms (Ackerly & True, 2010; Grimshaw, 1962). Soon, the movement became vibrant and multi-dimensional, offering space to Black, socialist, Marxist, liberal, radical and lesbian feminists (Grey, 2008, 2009; Holmes, 2000; Schuster, 2015). While the first Women’s Liberation Conference in 1972 attracted 200 women (Cahill & Dann, 1991), the biannual New Zealand’s United Women’s Convention organised from 1973 to 1979 was attended by around 1500–2000 participants. Feminists produced a variety of magazines such as the Auckland-­ based Broadsheet (1972–1990), the more radical Bitches, Witches, and Dykes by the Dunedin Collective for Women and the increasingly lesbian feminist magazine Circle (Holmes, 2000). In 1977, the Women’s Studies Association was formed in Hamilton and held its first conference in the following year (Dann, 1985). Over the course of the early 1970s, the number of women’s groups and organisations grew, covering a diversity of interests (Aimers, 2011; Vanderpyl, 2004). However, these groups were constituted predominately by middle-class Pākehā women (Coney, 1993a; Vanderpyl, 2004) who shared an understanding of constituting ‘a sisterhood of women, different from, oppressed by and opposed to men’ (Jones cited in Larner, 1996, p.  164). Much emphasis was put on valuing the shared experiences of women as a political group. Organisations within this ‘sisterhood’ rejected hierarchical structures as a male form of organising (Coney, 1993b). Instead, they formed decentralised, loosely networked organisations (Vanderpyl, 2004) that were rather anarchic in character (Grimshaw, 1987). Despite the adoption of different ideological perspectives (ranging from liberal to radical), the groups and organisations maintained strong networks with each other. Their sense of community was facilitated by Aotearoa/New Zealand’s small population, whereby feminists easily got to know each other (Holmes, 2000). The largely unstructured way of organising was, however, less suitable for the legal and institutionalised pathways for social change as adopted by First Wave feminists (Grimshaw, 1987). Although the Second Wave movement also applied some formal tactics, such as petitions and letters to

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Members of Parliament, the prevailing strategies to draw public attention to their causes were often through dramatic and disruptive grassroots activism and mobilisation via visible and large events such as conferences (Grey, 2009; Grimshaw, 1987). Suffrage Day, the International Women’s Day and Reclaim the Night marches marked annual feminist events, and issue-based demonstrations for safe abortions and in opposition to beauty pageants were common (Coney, 1993b; Grey, 2008, 2009). During the mid-1970s, however, women’s groups started to change in character and to shift their focus from protesting women’s discrimination to providing services ‘by women for women’, including women’s centres, refuges and health centres. Initially, they were mostly run by volunteers and funded by community fundraising activities, although some groups obtained financial support from government institutions (of the third Labour Government, elected 1972) and through the Department of Labour’s temporary employment schemes (Vanderpyl, 2004). The radical character of some of these groups started to fade. This development was reinforced in the late 1970s and early 1980s by women’s organisations becoming increasingly reliant on state funding, which they received for employing staff and offering formerly state-provided services. Most women’s organisations perceived such relationships with the state as empowering, but they also raised concerns about co-option, de-radicalisation and the silencing of the organisations’ political voice (Grey & Sedgwick, 2013; Vanderpyl, 2004). The 1978 Women’s Liberation Conference in Piha constituted a ‘turning point for New Zealand feminism’ (Simpkin, 1994, p.  235) which some authors understand as the beginning of the end of the Second Wave movement (Coney, 1993b). This conference was marked by severe conflicts between different divisions of the women’s movement. Lesbian women criticised heterosexual privileges, working-class women blamed middle-class women for being unaware of their role in oppression, Māori feminists called out Pākehā feminists on their racism and ideological trenches between radical and socialist feminists widened (Coney, 1993b; Jones & Guy, 1992; Schuster, 2015; Simpkin, 1994). In an attempt to explain this crisis, Coney (1993b) argued that unsuccessful efforts to achieve one major goal during the 1970s—improving abortion rights— frustrated many feminists and made the movement more prone to internal conflicts. Additionally, many feminist aims of the Second Wave movement were developed in the early 1970s by predominantly young, middle-class Pākehā women and this agenda had not been sufficiently re-negotiated to

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reflect the experiences of other groups of women. This neglect provoked increasing disagreements within the movement which escalated at Piha. The ‘structurelessness’ of the women’s movement enabled some confident women to dominate these arguments and silenced many other voices. Such an environment was not helpful for solving conflicts and further entrenched the divisions between the factions of the movement (Coney, 1993b). Following the Piha conference, the vibrant and public activism of the women’s liberation movement declined (Grey, 2009) and it arguably turned into a ‘fragmented conglomeration of groups’ (Coney, 1993b, p.  60). While feminist communities continued to exist, the large-scale movement that challenged societal norms disappeared (Devere & Scott, 2001). Diversity Within the Second Wave Movement When the assumption that all women belonged to one ‘sisterhood’ was challenged in the mid-1970s (Coney, 1993b), disagreement over the collective identity of the women’s movement started to grow (Grey, 2009). Although organisations representing different groups of women interacted intensively in Aotearoa/New Zealand (Holmes, 2000), different perspectives increasingly demanded recognition. For instance, in 1971 the Auckland Chinese Women’s League started with about 50 members, building a community for Chinese immigrant women and their families. However, this league remained a largely apolitical organisation. In 1975, PACIFICA, a network for Pacific Island women in Aotearoa/New Zealand, was established and, together with later organisations such as the Pacific Island Women’s Project Aotearoa, created an important space for articulating Pacific women’s demands (Devere & Scott, 2001; Else, 1993). Sole mothers also started to organise separately but received much input, support and involvement from the mainstream women’s movement (Dann, 1985). Two major political interest groups, however, developed strong and (more or less) independent networks: lesbian women and Māori women. Many lesbian feminists joined the Gay Liberation Movement formed in 1972. Others questioned the goal of striving for equality with men, promoted separatism and formed lesbian communities such as ‘Picadilly Street’ in Christchurch (Dominy, 1986). However, a large number of lesbian feminists also remained active in the mainstream women’s liberation

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movement (Vanderpyl, 2004). In the early years of the Second Wave movement, heterosexual feminists were hesitant to engage with homosexual women because they were afraid the media would depict feminists stereotypically as aggressive, man-hating lesbians (Curtin & Devere, 1993). But at the 1975 United Women’s Convention, lesbian women aimed to increase their visibility. For that purpose, they put up a banner that declared a ‘Lesbian Nation’ and organised lesbian workshops attended by 200 women (Dann, 1985; Holmes, 2000). Their voice was also evident in the Circle magazine, which adopted an increasingly explicit lesbian perspective and was renamed the Lesbian Feminist Circle in 1977 (Dann, 1985). Over the following years, lesbian feminists shifted their focus from achieving more visibility to seeking better representation within the women’s liberation movement. They did not want to be viewed as feminists who happened to be lesbians but demanded recognition of the lesbian identity as a political perspective and a threat to patriarchy. This demand was often articulated in a confrontational tone that some heterosexual feminists took as an insult (Holmes, 2000). Consequently, a ‘lesbian-­ straight-­split’ (Krahulik, 2009) was evident at the United Women’s Convention in 1979, which provided a separate lesbian room, separate meetings and workshops. Until the early 1980s, Aotearoa/New Zealand’s lesbian community was strong and offered numerous services such as social and sports clubs, the Lesbian Mother Defence Fund and the Lesbian Line phone helpline (Dann, 1985). Thus, the lesbian faction of feminism was an important part of Aotearoa/New Zealand’s Second Wave women’s movement. Māori women meanwhile had organised themselves on a nation-wide institutional level as early as 1951 when the Māori Women’s Welfare League was founded. When the mainstream Second Wave movement formed 20 years later, relatively few Māori women joined its women’s liberation groups. Possibly, this was because they were already organised. More importantly, however, the connectedness of Māori women’s empowerment and leadership with the broader Māori community (including Māori men) and Māori sovereignty issues was incompatible with some Western approaches to feminism that focussed on the female identity (Simmonds, 2011). Therefore, other political struggles relevant to Māori communities, concerning land ownership for example, were a higher priority for many Māori women (Te Awekotuku cited in Larner, 1996; Mohanram, 1996; Simmonds, 2011). Highly important political events such as the Māori Land March (1975), the occupation of Bastion Point

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(1977–1978), the protests to reclaim the land of the Raglan golf course (1977) and the resistance against the Springbok Tour (1981), all involved strong leadership by Māori women, including Dame Whina Cooper and Eva Rickard (Evans, 1994; Mohanram, 1996). The visibility of Māori women in the mainstream women’s movement increased in the late 1970s and early 1980s. For instance, at the 1979 United Women’s Convention Māori and Pacific Island feminists protested against the Pākehā dominance at this event. One year later, the first National Black Women’s Hui was organised, followed by the first National Māori Women’s Hui. During the 1981 Springbok tour Māori women led feminist protest and were joined by Pākehā feminists (Dann, 1985; Thompson, 1988). Around the same time, Māori women increasingly used the magazine Broadsheet to voice their demand for Māori self-­ determination. This included Donna Awatere’s (Awatere, 1984, first published in 1982) essay collection Māori Sovereignty, in which she criticised Pākehā women for abusing their relative power to define what feminism is supposed to mean for all women in Aotearoa/New Zealand. Not all Māori women agreed with the uncompromising tone of Awatere’s critique (e.g., Szaszy, 1993) and to discuss Awatere’s ideas, an anti-racist group called Women for Aotearoa formed, including women of various ethnic groups (Simpkin, 1994). Since the last years of the Second Wave movement (and beyond) there has been considerable cooperation between Māori and Pākehā feminist groups but this has often been accompanied by struggles and misunderstandings (Dominy, 1986; Simpkin, 1994).

The Third Wave Movement The Third Wave of Western feminism arguably started in the U.S. in the 1990s. In the essay Becoming the Third Wave, in which Rebecca Walker (1992, p. 41) voiced her anger about the mistreatment of Black women in the U.S., she was the first to claim ‘I am the Third Wave’. At the same time, subcultures of young women increasingly developed and incorporated notions of female empowerment, ‘girl power’ and ‘riot grrrl’ into their music, art and DIY projects. Thus, the Third Wave initially was ignited by mainly young women in their teens and twenties, who were too young to have experienced the gender wage gap or inequality with regards to childcare responsibilities, but were eager to address sexism, racism and homophobia in their own youth cultures. Those young feminists who were university students at the time, encountered emerging feminist

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theories of intersectionality (e.g., Crenshaw, 1989) or post-structuralist feminist theory (e.g., Butler, 1990), which increasingly influenced the Third Wave movement. Building on such theories, Third Wave feminists were eager not to repeat the same mistakes regarding inclusivity as the Second Wave movement. Thus, there was much awareness of white privilege and the effects of multiple discrimination among Third Wave feminists. Yet, knowledge of how to put this awareness into an inclusive feminist practice was often not as prevalent among (white) young women. This dilemma of knowing the importance of abolishing privilege and power inequalities but not knowing how produced much anxiety within feminist circles. Facilitated by the emergence of neoliberalism, forms of feminist micropolitics that focussed strongly on individual behaviour offered a way to avoid or circumvent debates about representational politics and therefore became also characteristic of Third Wave feminism (Schuster, 2016). A Generational Shift While the Third Wave gained strength in the U.S. in the 1990s, public debate about feminism declined in Aotearoa/New Zealand during that time. The important feminist magazine Broadsheet disbanded and visible feminist activism disappeared substantially (Grey, 2008, 2009). Coney (1993a) claimed that in the early 1990s the women’s movement had disintegrated into pockets of separate women’s refuges, centres and groups and a few longstanding networks, such as the Māori Women’s Welfare League and the National Council of Women, all of which represented liberal rather than radical perspectives. Although a number of high-profile cases regarding sexual assault by members of the police against (young) women sparked enough outrage for street protests in the late 1990s, overall, feminists increasingly engaged with institutionalised forms of politics and moved into local government, unions and civil society organisations (Aimers, 2011; Devere & Scott, 2001; Grey, 2009), turning ‘state feminism’ into the main form of feminist activity (Holmes, 2000). Thus, Third Wave feminism was not a common term in Aotearoa/New Zealand in the 1990s. Even during the first few years of the 2000s, the women’s movement and feminism was largely discussed in terms of feminist activity within state institutions. Yet, those professional feminist careers were mainly open to feminists with experience in organisational work, which

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was often also a matter of age. It is therefore no wonder that young feminists did not strongly identify with institutionalised state feminism. The Third Wave arrived in Aotearoa/New Zealand more noticeably in the late 2000s and early 2010s. Yet, the individualism inscribed into some of the Third Wave practices—such as ‘everyday feminism’, which was mainly concerned with incorporating feminist values into the personal lives and activities of individuals—was sometimes met with a lack of understanding among the older generation. For instance, Jennifer Coleman (2009, p. 5), an Aotearoa/New Zealand Second Wave feminist journalist and activist, described her bewilderment with the ‘new bunch of feminisms on the block’, by which she meant several forms of Third Wave feminisms, including ‘cyberfeminism’, ‘youth feminism’, ‘power feminism’ and ‘DIY feminism’. Coleman criticised that those new forms were not guided by academic theory, showed little knowledge of feminist historic gains and battles, and instead focussed too much on an ‘individualised experiential version of feminism’. However, in the 2010s, Third Wave feminism also brought other projects to Aotearoa/New Zealand. SlutWalk, for instance, was an international movement that started in 2011  in Toronto by which a series of protest marches were organised in response to a police officer’s advice that female students should not dress like ‘sluts’ in order to avoid sexual harassment (Maddison, 2013). Many of the participating protesters wore revealing clothes on these marches, chanting ‘Whatever we wear, wherever we go, yes means yes, no means no!’ The Aotearoa/New Zealand version of this project, SlutWalk Aotearoa, included marches in several cities in 2011, 2012 and 2013. Another feminist protest march, called Bust Rape Culture, in 2013 was a response to the ‘Roast Busters case’, in which a group of young men were accused of boasting on social media about their sexual encounters with underage girls, including narratives about (group) rape (Blackett, 2016). Both were successful street protests: SlutWalk 2011 brought about 900 protesters to the streets of Auckland and Wellington (Johnston & Robinson, 2011) and Bust Rape Culture had ‘thousands’ of participants throughout the country (TVNZ, 2013). Feminists also employed forms of activism other than street protests. In the aftermath of the ‘Roast Busters case’, Willie Jackson and John Tamihere interviewed an 18-year-old friend of one of the Roast Buster’s victims on their Radio Live show, asking about the girl’s alcohol consumption and suggesting that the Roast Busters were not rapists because some of the victims allegedly found them to be handsome initially (Dougan, 2013). Reacting to this public

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‘victim blaming’, a small number of people formed a Facebook group called Misogyny Busters and successfully pressured large companies such as Countdown and Telecom to withdraw their advertisements from Jackson and Tamihere’s radio show and contributed to the suspension of the show a little later. In another example, Feminist Action, an Auckland-based activist collective, started to engage in a debate with the company DB Breweries about its sexist television advertising for Tui beer in February 2012. This debate was facilitated by media statements and included an open letter to Tui, published in the Auckland Women’s Centre newsletter (Auckland Women’s Centre, 2012). One month later, the activist collective The Queer Avengers protested at Germaine Greer’s book-signing in Wellington by throwing a ‘glitter bomb’ at the Australian author who, in some feminist circles, is heavily criticised for promoting transphobic theories (The New Zealand Herald, 2012). Aotearoa/New Zealand’s feminist activism further demonstrated that raising awareness about an issue through online tools can reach a wide audience. For instance, the Law Revue Girls, a group of University of Auckland law students who shared their video ‘Defined Lines’ via YouTube parodied the sexist pop song Blurred Lines by the American-Canadian singer Robin Thicke and criticised the normalised misogyny of pop music. In its first weekend online (in August 2013) it was viewed 180,000 times and received national and international media coverage (Tait & Tan, 2013; The Independent, 2013). Overall, Third Wave activism took longer to spark in Aotearoa/New Zealand than in the U.S. and relied increasingly on the use of social media to organise and mobilise for events, groups and protests. This move to the internet tended to exclude the older feminist generation, who, to some extent, did not notice those forms of young feminism since they were not active online themselves (Schuster, 2013). Thus, the Third Wave was also characterised by some intergenerational misunderstandings. State Feminism Until the Mid-2010s During the early period of Labour’s neoliberal agenda, Aotearoa/New Zealand’s Labour Women’s Council (LWC) was a major driver behind Labour’s policies for women, covering economic, social and legal issues (Curtin, 2008). Additionally, Labour Members of Parliament such as Helen Clark, Ann Hercus and Margaret Shields ensured the presence of

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strong female voices within the government (Hyman, 2010). Most critically for emerging state feminism, Labour established the Ministry of Women’s Affairs (MWA) in 1985. It was not permitted to develop legislation itself, but it was (and still is) tasked with advising on the gender impact of policies and legislation drafted by other government departments and institutions (Hyman, 2010). Ann Hercus and Mary O’Regan, the MWA’s first Minister and Chief Executive Officer (CEO), enabled the Ministry to adopt an explicitly feminist approach in its practices (Curtin & Teghtsoonian, 2010). This made the MWA a welcomed and promising new institution for many feminists in Aotearoa/New Zealand. Its first successes included contributions to a law reform recognising rape within marriage as a crime, additional financial support for women’s refuges, and it contributed to a policy which introduced permanent part-time positions in government (Curtin & Teghtsoonian, 2010). In 1988, the MWA’s CEO position was assigned to Judith Aitken, a self-identified feminist (Hyman, 2010) who was also an economic rationalist (Sawer, 1996). Causing ‘disquiet among many feminists in the community and some MWA staff’ (Hyman, 2010, p. 34), she restructured the Ministry, placing more emphasis on performance indicators and the MWA’s accountability to the government and reducing MWA practices of community-consultancy (Curtin & Teghtsoonian, 2010). Despite this reduction of the MWA’s feminist agency, some significant political successes for women were achieved during this time. For instance, the Employment Equity Act 1990 was shaped by the MWA’s input and promoted pay equity and equal employment opportunities. Unfortunately, it was immediately repealed by the incoming National Government (1990–1999). National extended the neoliberal project by introducing the Employment Contracts Act of 1991, which enhanced flexibility in the labour market, cut state spending on child care and the Domestic Purpose Benefit and repealed the Universal Family Benefit. These innovations affected economically vulnerable groups including women, Māori and lone parents more than the rest of the population (Curtin & Teghtsoonian, 2010; Sawer, 1996; Uttley, 2000). The Employment Contracts Act also had a gendered impact on the union movement, as it implied a shift from occupational bargaining to enterprise contracts and consequently led to a reorganisation of the union movement by industry instead of occupations. Until then, the number of women active in the union movement was increasing and feminist union strategies, informed by socialist feminist

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theory, were not uncommon. However, women’s disadvantages on the labour market are much defined by occupational gender-segregation of the labour market. Turning away from occupational bargaining, therefore, weakened the voice of women in the movement (Hill, 1994; Larner, 1995). National also threatened to abolish the MWA but Minister of Women’s Affairs, Jenny Shipley, intervened (Hyman, 2010) and the MWA was able to contribute to achieving the Human Rights Act 1993 and the Domestic Violence Act 1995, as well as the change of Aotearoa/New Zealand’s electoral system from a first-past-the-post (FPP) to a mixed-member-­ proportional (MMP) representation electoral system in 1993, which increased the percentage of women in the House of Representatives. In 1996, The Full Picture: Guidelines for Gender Analysis was published by the MWA. This document explained how ‘gender mainstreaming’ across government can implement a routine gender lens for all policy. Theoretically, this approach acknowledged differences between men and women and thus varied from anti-discrimination policy seeking to establish equality with men (True, 2003). However, the successful integration of a gender analysis in policy making was limited. The dominant public management approach made Ministries primarily accountable to their Ministers who had no interest in policy advice if they perceived it to have been ‘captured’ by women’s interests and thus to be a potential interference with the performance of their policy units (Teghtsoonian, 2004). Moreover, staff of most government departments usually had little training in gender analysis (Teghtsoonian & Chappell, 2008). Therefore, responsibility for gender issues was not taken on by all governmental departments but rather by none (Aimers, 2011) and gender mainstreaming in Aotearoa/New Zealand resulted in the adoption of a policy language that largely ignored gender. This dismissal of gender mainstreaming was also increasingly facilitated by the Labour-coalition’s commitment to ‘closing the gaps’ between Māori and non-Māori by investing in Māori capacity building. This contributed to an existing phenomenon whereby inequality was largely framed in terms of ethnicity, not gender or class (Humpage, 2005, 2006). Thus, nongovernment organisations (NGOs) competing as service providers for government funding had to align their work with government priorities (i.e., ethnicity issues rather than gender issues). Overall, the dominance of ethnicity in discussions of social justice made it increasingly difficult to advocate for political women’s interests and a focus on ‘gender’ and ‘women’ was often absent from or marginal in policy.

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Children, by contrast, received increasing attention both in Aotearoa/ New Zealand and internationally (e.g., Blaiklock et al., 2002; Dobrowolsky, 2002; Elizabeth & Larner, 2009; Lister, 2006). They were portrayed as future citizens, workers and consumers (Dobrowolsky, 2002; Dobrowolsky & Jenson, 2004; Elizabeth & Larner, 2009; Simon-Kumar, 2011) and the social investment perspective of this emerging Third Way1 saw a major focus placed on education and erasing inequalities among youth who would grow up to be (hopefully) equal citizens (see Jenson, 2008). The focus on children can arguably be conceived as an attempt to keep some issues relevant to women’s lives on the political agenda when explicit women’s interests were perceived as incompatible with a neoliberal perspective. However, new policies designed to be supportive only of some children—those whose parents engaged in paid work—suggested that the state’s concern lay not only with the well-being of children but also with the disciplining of parents relying on benefits (Dobrowolsky, 2002; Elizabeth & Larner, 2009). Supporting children based on their parent’s employment status reinforced parental responsibilities to participate successfully in the labour market to enable their children a positive future (Clarke, 2006; Elizabeth & Larner, 2009). At the same time, the Labour-led government’s approach of focussing on supporting children (not their families) decoupled them from their mothers (and fathers), as if child poverty existed independently from the poverty of their parents (e.g., Elizabeth & Larner, 2009; Lister, 2006). In this way, poverty among sole mothers was not a political issue, while child poverty became increasingly framed as such through the 2000s. Child-focussed policies failed to acknowledge that peoples’ chances of raising children to become mature and successful citizens are highly gendered, class-based and racialised (e.g., Curtin & Teghtsoonian, 2010; Lister, 2006; Simon-Kumar, 2011). In Aotearoa/New Zealand, Māori and Pacific women, who were overrepresented among the sole mothers receiving the Domestic Purposes Benefit (Uttley, 2000), became especially ‘morally obliged’ to participate in paid work to ensure their children’s 1  The Third Way approach intended to ease inequality and increase community involvement through strategic investment (e.g., improving childcare services and implementing paid parental leave) and developing partnerships with community organisations. However, rather than initiating a ‘post-neoliberal’ era, such investments were motivated by national interests and economic growth (e.g., Lister, 2006). Thus, instead of ending neoliberalism, the Third Way approach ‘resulted in a more deeply embedded form of neoliberalism’ in New Zealand (Kelsey as cited in Teghtsoonian, 2004, p. 280).

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well-being, while the likelihood of their success in the labour market was and remains significantly lower than for most other social groups (Elizabeth & Larner, 2009, p. 152). The MWA maintained a commitment to consult with women’s organisations across the country, documented in its Action Plan for New Zealand Women (MWA, 2004). Yet, this document was criticised for prioritising the interests of women in paid work over the interests of women who chose different life paths (Kahu & Morgan, 2007). Such a hierarchy was evident in many policies of this era but important gains made for women in paid work included the paid parental leave introduced by the Fifth Labour Government in 2002. National won the election in 2008 and, with the support of the Māori Party, ACT and United Future, National’s John Key became Prime Minister. National’s first term coincided with the beginning of a global recession, which led to short-term austerity measures, tax cuts that privileged upper income groups and welfare reforms that were critiqued by several social justice groups (Nicholls, 2011). The previous government’s policy focus on ethnicity had already been weakened and outweighed by a discourse around economic need. National further manifested its disinterest in women’s issues by using the 2011 election to hold a referendum asking whether Aotearoa/New Zealand should keep the MMP electoral system or re-introduce the previous FPP. While this referendum resulted in a vote for MMP, it was criticised for gambling ‘with the gains we have made in women’s political representation’ (Gilling & Grey, 2010, p. 17). The continued welfare reforms of the National Government have further challenged the lives of many Aotearoa/New Zealand women. For instance, the work-testing of recipients of the Domestic Purposes Benefit or Jobseeker Support and constraints placed on the entitlements of beneficiaries who have additional children while on the benefit were all changes that disproportionately impacted sole mothers. National also rejected the Equal Pay Amendment Bill in 2011 and discharged the bill that sought to extend paid parental leave to 26 weeks in 2015. Still, state feminism was able to celebrate a major win during the early 2010s: the Marriage Amendment Act 2013 legalised same-sex marriages. State Feminism and Women’s Diversity Since its emergence in the mid-1980s, state feminism has seemed to struggle with addressing Aotearoa/New Zealand’s women as a diverse group.

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There are some indicators suggesting that institutions such as the MWA tried to recognise different perspectives, experiences and living conditions of women through their work, but had limited success in translating these attempts into practices and experienced constant drawbacks. The MWA’s gender mainstreaming guideline The Full Picture illustrates this dilemma well. It explicitly stressed, for instance, that Māori women had specific needs and generally recognised that ‘women’s lives are not all the same’ (MWA, 1996, p.  7), but the guideline’s ability to create differentiated policy was limited—not least because the translation of this guideline into actual policy depended on other government departments. Because of such difficulties, the MWA and its publications and guidelines for policy makers, overall, have often been criticised for siding with women active in the labour market and neglecting the experiences of other groups (Kahu & Morgan, 2007; Teghtsoonian, 2004). During its first years of existence, the MWA saw itself as a ‘transmission belt’ between women in the communities and the government (Curtin & Teghtsoonian, 2010, p. 552). As such, it made an effort to consult with diverse women’s interest groups and iwi (tribes) by holding meetings throughout the country (Sawer, 1996). Moreover, in its commitment to biculturalism, the Ministry initially established Te Ohu Whakatupu, the Māori Women’s Secretariat, as an autonomous unit. However, only a few years later, when public management and public choice theory advanced the separation of service delivery from funding of services, CEO Aitken diminished the Ministry’s emphasis on community involvement. She also restructured the Ministry with the aim of enhancing its efficiency and eliminated the autonomy of Te Ohu Whakatupu (Curtin & Teghtsoonian, 2010). Nevertheless, in the 1990s the Ministry demonstrated a commitment to acknowledging women’s diversity by hiring a policy analyst who specifically focussed on the interests of Pacific women. Further, Te Ohu Whakatupu was involved in many important initiatives (in cooperation with Te Puni Kōkiri, the Ministry of Māori Development) to develop a policy analysis framework that recognised the interests of Māori women (Curtin & Teghtsoonian, 2010). When the MWA increasingly struggled to justify its existence, the Ministry itself managed to survive; however, in 2000 Te Ohu Whakatupu became subject to further restructuring plans and was merged with the policy unit (Curtin & Teghtsoonian, 2010). Addressing differences among women according to their sexual identities was never a priority for the MWA. However, in its early years, some

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staff tried to establish a routine analysis of policy with regards to lesbian women’s experiences and created a lesbian consultation group. While they achieved some success (e.g., the 1991 Census included categories about ‘living arrangements’ that were also applicable to lesbian relationships), overall, lesbian issues were not given much attention in the work of the MWA (Hyman, 2010). The efforts of the MWA to account for women as a diverse group often seemed to be outweighed by the Ministry’s ongoing struggle to survive as an institution. The neoliberal project tended to neglect the interests of women, which made it difficult for the MWA to attain its goals at all. Thus, the even more marginalised interests of sub-groups of women (e.g., lesbian and/or Pacific women’s interests) were less likely than broader ‘women’s interests’ to be incorporated in any policy agenda. Moreover, supporting such minority interests arguably jeopardised the Ministry being perceived by government as a useful institution. Thus, I argue, the Ministry’s hesitation to address women as a diverse group reflects this dilemma. * * * Following the 2017 election, National could not maintain their position in power. In October 2017, Jacinda Ardern, leader of the Labour Party, became the 40th Prime Minister of Aotearoa/New Zealand, forming a coalition with the Green Party and the right-leaning New Zealand First Party. According to her, neoliberalism had failed in Aotearoa/New Zealand (Redden et  al., 2020), which promised to end the era of state feminist institutions’ constant fight to survive in a neoliberalism context.

The Fourth Wave Movement The transition from Third to Fourth Wave feminism was not a clear cut one. Unlike the end of the First Wave, which was marked by women gaining suffrage, or the decline of the Second Wave in the mid-1980s, the Third Wave did not visibly end or fade out—neither in Aotearoa/New Zealand nor in other parts of the Western world. Still, international discussion about a new, Fourth Wave started in the early 2010s (Baumgardner, 2011; Munro, 2013) and became louder in the second half of that decade (e.g., Looft, 2017; Ray, 2018). Some say, it even started as early as 2008 (Looft, 2017). Similar to the Second and Third Waves, the Third and

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Fourth Waves also overlapped in time, cohorts, aims and methods and it developed with different speed across countries, making an exact starting point hard to determine. What’s New? The Significance of Digital Feminism The use of the internet, in particular the incorporation of social media into feminist projects, is often said to be a defining feature of the Fourth Wave’s characteristics (Looft, 2017; Munro, 2013; Ray, 2018). However, online feminism was not entirely new in the 2010s—the Third Wave already employed online tools such as Facebook or feminist blogs into their works. Yet, the normalisation of using online sites for activist practices has increased during the last five years. Young teenagers in 2017 have not lived in a world without Facebook. With the development of new social media platforms like Twitter, Instagram or TikTok, the available tools and their modes of sharing information diversified rapidly. Also, the use of smartphones among young people spread even more widely during that time. A large share of young people in the Western world has access to the internet wherever and whenever they want. Focussing on its online character for defining the Fourth Wave suggests that it is rather the methods for tackling feminist issues that have changed than the issues themselves. The omnipresence and diversity of social media sites is particularly helpful for connecting internationally and reaching larger audiences (Looft, 2017). Twitter campaigns that address ‘old’ feminist struggles to end rape culture and sexual harassment—for example, #YesAllWomen or #BeenRapedNeverReported (both starting 2014)—were successful, not only in the countries where they were initiated (in the U.S. and Canada, respectively) but on several continents. Munro (2013) further argued that the digital space enabled a feminist ‘call-out’ culture, in which sexism and misogyny can more easily and immediately be challenged because, for instance, one may remain anonymous (if one chooses to). The #MeToo movement is the most prominent example of this feminist practice. In Aotearoa/New Zealand, this movement was supported by the #MeTooNZ campaign (starting 2018), initiated by journalists who committed to investigate cases of sexual misconduct (Hayden, 2020), including the allegations against music icon Jack Body (Mau, 2020). The success of the Aotearoa/New Zealand #MeTooNZ movement also manifested in the six-figure payout a sex worker received in 2020 as part of a

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settlement in her sexual harassment case against a business owner (BBC, 2020). Since online feminism has the ability to ignore national borders and allows everyone with access to the internet to participate, it has been praised as a step towards democratising and decolonialising feminism. It can ‘give voice to the voiceless’ and let ‘people […] speak for themselves’ (Ray, 2018, p. 117). This is particularly appealing to a generation of feminists who came of political age when feminist debates made intersectionality a ‘buzzword’ (Davis, 2008) and awareness of white and heteronormative privilege in feminist communities is high (Munro, 2013). The #SayHerName campaign that highlighted the invisibility of Black women victims of police violence showed how intersectional problems have been picked up by online activism (Brown et al., 2017). Yet, the internet does not hold the magic key to equality. The #MeToo movement, for instance, was initially brought to life on the former platform Myspace in 2006 by Tarana Burke, Black activist and Senior Director of the non-profit organisation Girls for Gender Equity2 that promotes ‘empowerment through empathy’ for women of colour who have been sexually abused. But it was not until 2017, when the white actress Alissa Milano used the hashtag on Twitter in the wake of the Harvey Weinstein Affair, that the movement took off on a large scale (Onwuachi-Willig, 2018). This had not only to do with Milano’s white privilege, but also with the much higher number of Twitter followers a successful actress can reach compared to an activist. It seems as if the online sphere, despite its many positive aspects, still mirrors offline social power inequalities regarding the questions ‘who can speak for whom?’ or ‘whose voice gets heard?’. Luckily, online feminism is not all the Fourth Wave brought to Aotearoa/New Zealand. Showden (2020, p. 69), who analysed feminist sex work activism in Aotearoa/New Zealand, attested that ‘[g]rassroots feminist activism has been reanimated’ by pointing towards earlier actions like SlutWalk, but also to the revival of groups like Thursdays in Black (which re-launched in 2016), as well as to the emergence of high school feminist clubs and the work of feminist-friendly organisations such as the Children’s Poverty Action Group. Given this re-emergence of street protests and feminist organisations, Showden (2020, p. 80) identified potential in the Aotearoa/New Zealand Fourth Wave to reject the apolitical and individualised character often associated with the Third Wave.  www.ggenyc.org.

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A New Political Era In 2017, Jacinda Ardern became Aotearoa/New Zealand’s third female Prime Minister in the Sixth Labour Government. Her cabinet got the largest number of female members Aotearoa/New Zealand had seen: 7 (of 20) seats were taken by women—4 of them by Pākehā, 2 by Pacifica and 1 by a Māori woman (Adams-Hutcheson et al., 2019). Ardern articulated that neoliberalism had failed (Redden, 2017) and called herself a feminist (O’Malley, 2019). Shortly after her government took office, the Parliament passed the Parental Leave and Employment Protection Amendment Bill (2017) to extend paid parental leave entitlement (from 18 weeks) in two stages: first to 22 weeks (2018) and then to 26 weeks (2020). Ardern herself gave birth in 2018 and returned to work after six weeks, while her male partner accompanied her to work with the baby— including to the UN general assembly (The Guardian, 2018)—so she could breastfeed her daughter. More policies to improve the lives of women followed: the new Domestic Violence—Victims’ Protection Act (2018) recognised the role of the workplace for victims of domestic violence and ensured, for example, paid domestic violence leave; the Equal Pay Amendment Bill (2020) that made it easier for workers to initiate a pay equity claim passed its third reading; and the Abortion Legislation (2020) decriminalised terminations of pregnancies within the first 20 weeks. Those events gave hope to the feminist movement that Aotearoa/ New Zealand’s political opportunities have become more favourable to a feminist agenda.

Four Waves, One Movement? As the feminist movement in Aotearoa/New Zealand went through four waves, it adopted different methods at different times to fight for its aims. These varied feminist approaches have been closely related to changes in Aotearoa/New Zealand’s broader political environment. The suffragists made use of formal political pathways, using petitions and lobbying for bills to be introduced to Parliament. They did so because the political agency of women in the nineteenth century was limited and formal channels of achieving political change were most promising to them. The Second Wave of feminism rose during a time when street protests were popular ways of highlighting issues of injustice. The state feminist characteristic of the Third Wave emerged when activist groups adopted

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increasingly formal structures and their opportunities for disruptive activism declined as they accepted government funding to develop women-­ centred programmes. Moreover, the establishment of the MWA in the mid-1980s offered state feminism an opportunity to keep some women’s issues on the political agenda at a time when the dominant political and economic interests shifted in a neoliberal direction. The Fourth Wave made use of technological advances and revived, at least to some extent, forms of collective action when political opportunities had changed once more. Despite these different approaches, there are recurring debates in feminist activity. First, Aotearoa/New Zealand women have always struggled to incorporate issues of diversity within their feminist practices. Pākehā women dominated the mainstream women’s movement in all four waves while Māori women created their own networks and organisations. The women’s movement has always tended to incorporate other struggles for social justice within its work. The WCTU, for example, cared about poverty and Shepard emphasised her overall ‘humanitarian’ approach to justice. The Second Wave movement initially emerged from the broader activist scene on the political left and, thus, many Second Wave feminists associated themselves with anti-capitalist movements (e.g., from a socialist or Marxist perspective) and anti-racism. State feminism often struggled to address social justice issues but discussing child poverty, for instance, offered an opportunity to address poverty among sole mothers. With the most recent change in government, Aotearoa/New Zealand has possibly come out at the other end of the neoliberal era—at least for now. The neoliberal agenda has impacted on the movement considerably, as I will explore in more detail in the following chapters. The Fourth Wave is still ongoing; thus, it remains to be seen how the new political opportunity structures will shape Aotearoa/New Zealand’s women’s movement in the long run.

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CHAPTER 4

Feminist Foundations

‘If we invite every cause and point of view under the purview of feminism, then it is spread so thin that it dis-integrates altogether, coming to mean nothing at all, since it cannot possibly mean everything, and weak feminism will prevail’ (Kinser, 2004, p. 145). This quote pinpoints the problem of defining feminism in the Zeitgeist of the 1990s and early 2000s. Feminists of the Third Wave had emphasised that women are a diverse group with heterogeneous perspectives, problems and privileges, which all needed to be recognised. Yet, what is feminism, if this definition differs between feminists? How did the omnipresent neoliberal rationality impact on this perspective on diversity? In Aotearoa/New Zealand, these discussions were additionally and strongly shaped by ethnic relations. Based on Aotearoa/New Zealand’s colonial history, Awatere (1984), for instance, uncompromisingly highlighted conflicts between Māori and Pākehā understandings of feminism almost 40 years ago. By confronting Pākehā feminists with their ignorance about their colonial past and their privileged position, she made it clear that feminists do not at all pull together as a team. But ethnic diversity is not the only line of differentiation to be witnessed in the women’s movement. Particularly during the era that is in the focus of this book, when the Third Wave of feminists entered the scene and progressing digitalisation altered the modes of activism, generational frictions became evident.

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 J. Schuster, Neoliberalism and its Impact on the Women’s Movement in Aotearoa/New Zealand, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-95523-6_4

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This chapter is the first to draw on empirical findings and it has two aims. It first wants to capture what feminism means to the heterogeneous members of Aotearoa/New Zealand’s women’s movement in neoliberal times, when it was not clear at all, what the women’s movement stood for or who it was represented by. For this purpose, I draw on my interview participants’ understandings of feminism. They engage with the movement at the individual, the organisational and the state levels, and their perceptions of feminism constitute the basis for understanding what motivations drove this diverse movement as a whole. The second aim is to identify how neoliberal rationality was reflected in as well as by the women’s understandings of feminism. I will argue that neoliberal values are to some extent inscribed into their feminist identifications; however, this does not mean they were naïve victims to this influence. The chapter starts by discussing how the women initially became interested in feminism. These ‘herstories’ help to explain their underlying motivations and give insight as to why feminism is important to them personally. I then present their views on feminist identities and relate these to explanations of what feminism means to the women. In doing so, I emphasise the importance of differences among women for their feminist identities. The following section presents feminist generational relations and identifies disagreements related to methods of activism and ways of framing feminist issues. My concluding discussion unpacks this chapter’s discussion of feminism by identifying neoliberal influences on the women’s viewpoints regarding their focus on one’s own identity and their understandings of empowerment and choice. Yet, I will argue that the women in my study did not blindly nor fully submit themselves to the logic of neoliberal rationality.

Herstories hooks (2000, p. 7) claimed that ‘feminists are made, not born’. In the following, I highlight that the journeys that led to my interview participants identifying as feminists (or made them decide against this label) differed according to their life circumstances. There are, however, a number of motifs that reappeared through their narratives. I present these formative experiences of my participants, which offer insight as to the kinds of issues that sparked their feminist interest and, for those who self-identified as a feminist, identification. While the participants ranged in age from 20 to 70, meaning the women grew up, attended university, had first jobs and,

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sadly, experienced abuse at different times and under varying social and political circumstances, their stories did not vary significantly according to their age. Of course, some reasons for their engagement with feminism may have been too personal to disclose in the interviews or too subconscious for the women to reflect upon. Still, their herstories provide much insight into what sparked their feminist identification. Growing Up Many of the women developed an awareness of gender inequality early in life. Comments like ‘I think I’ve always been a little bit feminist’ (Louise, 23, Pākehā)1 were common and participants realised and experienced gender inequalities long before they knew the term ‘feminism’. Sometimes this was because of their young age at the time, sometimes it was because they spent their childhood outside Aotearoa/New Zealand and ‘didn’t know that I was a feminist because there wasn’t that word in my country’ (Nana, 28, Southeast Asian). Gendered family dynamics in their childhood often resulted in an early understanding of gender-based injustice in society. The women reflected on brothers being allowed to do a greater number of or different things than themselves and talked about watching their mothers going through rough times, such as finding work as a sole mother after a divorce or living with a violent husband. One participant explained the analysis she applied as a child to her tragic experiences. While her father was abusive towards her mother, she realised ‘you know, Mum never hit Dad. [….] That just didn’t happen. It was gender violence.’ Although many of the participants were too young to understand the structural implications of such experiences, they recalled how early in their lives they decided to fight the injustices they witnessed while growing up. Other women emphasised how growing up in a female-dominated environment (e.g., they had no brothers, lived with a sole mother, had many aunts and/or went to all-girl schools) influenced their understanding of gender roles. Having many strong female role models taught some participants that women could do anything—independent of whether these strong women identified as feminists or not. For others, the lack of 1  All names of participants are pseudonyms. Because the risk of identification is comparatively low in this and in the following chapter, I provide age and ethnic group for additional information about the quoted women.

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boys and men in their environments meant that they grew up being unaware of gender injustices because there were no males present for comparison. Andrea (33, Pākehā), for instance, said: In an all-girls high school as the oldest of four children with only one brother, [I had] just so little experience with men in the world and misogyny. And no, it wasn’t that you didn’t have any experience with misogyny— you did, but it was really hard to identify what it was.

Overall, seeing gender roles played out within the family and watching how female relatives dealt with gender-based challenges was—even if subconsciously—the first formative influence many of the participants had in their journey of becoming a feminist. University Virginia (26, Pākehā) joked ‘I feel like my story is a little bit cliché in terms of, like, white middle-class girl who came across feminism at university. ‘Cos that is my story [laughs].’ Given most of my participants held a university degree, many of the women across all ethnic groups shared this story and talked about university as an influential factor for shaping their perspectives on gender issues. University was the place where many participants (14) encountered academic feminist theory for the first time. They described how the gaining of this kind of knowledge was empowering because such theory enabled them to explain their personal experiences in the context of systematic social power imbalances. Djamila (21, South Asian), for example, explained: At the beginning of university, I took a couple of Gender Studies papers and I found it really, really interesting. […] I did an Anthropology paper […] and I found it kind of liberating. Yeah, just all of a sudden gender wasn’t really something that I took for granted anymore. It just got me thinking really differently about myself and my own kind of … my goals in life, my ambitions. It got me thinking differently about expectations as well. I started to question some of the things that were expected from me as a woman.

The women also described university as important for exposing them to groups of people they did not have a chance to meet before. ‘University

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was the first time that I encountered people who identified as gay, lesbian, queer, etc.’, said Betty (31, Pākehā). Others found people with whom to discuss feminism and who introduced them to new ideas and perspectives. But university also offered the possibility to engage with student politics and some of the women made use of that to become, for example, Women’s Rights Officer on their campus. All of these experiences resonate with Newman (2012) who described universities, academia and, more broadly, spaces of knowledge-work as places that (can) connect research with political engagement. This can take on many forms: passing on and expanding knowledge, connecting with other like-minded people, getting involved with student/university politics, but also informing policy processes through knowledge. According to Newman (2012), the acquisition of knowledge within an institutionalised setting, such as a university, also helps to understand the rules and language of institutionalised political fields, which is essential for those who want to transform those rules. This is of particular relevance for the many feminists who, after attaining their university degrees, either started to work for women’s organisations (see Chap. 6) or moved into policy and state feminist work (see Chap. 7). Male-Dominated Environments While university was mostly described as a place that supported and re-­ affirmed feminist perspectives, the participants encountered other environments that triggered their development of a gender analysis of society through challenges. For instance, several participants had worked in male-­ dominated occupations and job environments or had male colleagues promoted or favoured over them, which increased their awareness of gender inequalities in the labour market. Gloria (36, Pākehā) described one such situation: I remember a time when I asked him [her boss]: ‘Could you teach me to do something?’ It was a really, really low-level task but it was something that I wasn’t able to do […]. And he actually said to me ‘No, that’s a man’s job’. And I mean, I was still pretty young at that stage. But then you talk to other women and they all have, you know, five similar stories.

Some participants had also been part of activist groups on the political left that were dominated by strong males who did not take female viewpoints

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seriously. For Chen (22, East Asian), this was a frustrating problem: ‘That group had a lot of men that were really dominant and would often silence and shut down women in meetings’. The list goes on: one participant was part of the 1970s hippy scene when she was a young adult and described this culture as ‘very sexist’ (Lily, 51, Pākehā). Another woman had been engaged to a soldier and found the patriarchal structures of the army impacting on her life. Other participants were involved in different music scenes and found their art was judged by ‘the male version of what talent is’ (Nana, 28, Southeast Asian). A woman working in science experienced consistent disrespect for women in her field, while other participants experienced women’s subordination in various aspects of religious life. All of these women found that their frustrations in such environments contributed to the development of their feminist beliefs. Experiences of Violence Alarmingly, 11 of the 40 participants briefly mentioned or shared stories of being a survivor of sexual and/or domestic violence and most of these women said that feminism provided them with strength after such experiences. In some cases, mainly among the older women, feminism offered reassurance that ending an abusive relationship or marriage and living as a single woman was not shameful. For some participants who were subjected to sexual violence at a young age, feminism was a helpful tool for interpreting these experiences. One participant2 said: So, I already experienced how women’s bodies were actually a battlefront of oppression. And I needed somehow to be able to explain that. [….] Because all this stuff is happening in my life, I need to be able to explain that. And [I had] almost a desire of it not to happen in anybody else’s life.

As with this participant, experiencing violence was an important reason for a number of women to start engaging with concepts of women’s empowerment. Feminism was one approach of ‘taking up arms’ to fight back, as one participant framed it.

2  For reasons of confidentiality regarding this sensitive information I do not disclose her pseudonym, age and ethnicity.

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Influential People and Events Many participants (12) mentioned one or more people in their lives who significantly influenced their views on gender issues. Sometimes this was their mother, but other women talked about friends, work colleagues, fellow activists, like-minded women in small and conservative towns, people in organisations they were involved with and partners. Generally, such influential people were older women and a few participants referred to them as mentors. In other cases, mostly with friends, partners and fellow activists, mentors were women of similar age as the participants. In one instance it was the participant’s boyfriend who identified as feminist and shared his ideas with her. Certain events also contributed to shaping the participants’ views about feminism. Such events took on many forms. One woman became a mother at a comparatively young age and started to engage with parenting and family planning issues, which ultimately introduced her to feminist theory. Some women reported that the experience of attending a women-only conference or a similar event (e.g., an afem-hui3) was significant for them. ‘I just remember being blown away by the energy of that many women in one place’, said Sylvia (52, Pākehā) about a conference her mother took her to when she was a teenager. Another woman mentioned that reading an essay about misogyny in Harry Potter books was an eye-opening moment for her. Similarly, one woman felt inspired after watching the movie Clueless. Others got introduced to Riot Grrrl music—a form of feminist punk music—and were impressed by the messages found in its lyrics. Evolving Identities A few of the women interviewed could name one specific point in time or a single event that marked their personal identification with feminism. For instance, Andrea (33, Pākehā) talked about ‘the night that I decided I was a feminist’, while Rosa (28, Māori) ‘had a conversion experience’ taking a specific course at university. Most women, however, gradually adopted a feminist perspective until they eventually identified with the label ‘feminist’. In many cases, this happened during their time at university. 3  ‘Afem’ is an abbreviation of anarcha-feminist, and hui is a Māori term describing a gathering or meeting.

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Once the women identified as feminists, their feminist ideologies continued to be subject to change. Women over 50 were more likely to acknowledge that their feminism had changed or evolved over time. In particular, some participants said that they had ‘mellowed’ and were now less staunch about many aspects of feminism than they used to be. Others explained that their understanding has deepened over the years as they added race and class analyses to their feminism. The inclusion of men in feminism was another theme around which women changed their opinion over time. Some of the older participants said they did not see a function for men within feminism in earlier years, but have since shifted their perspective. Although only in their twenties, a few of the younger women had been active in the feminist scene for years and also spoke about their changing feminist ideas. Typically, they referred to moving away from staunch ‘black and white thinking’ towards a more open-minded approach to the complexities of gender inequalities. One woman also explained how she used to embrace labels such as ‘bitch’ or ‘slut’ in her everyday language but, due to increasing awareness of different cultural views about these terms, she now distances herself from them. Noticeably, queer women tended to explain that feminism was not their first political concern when they developed an interest in social and political issues. Instead, they first engaged with lesbian or queer issues before they combined them with feminist perspectives. A similar dynamic was also true for Asian and Māori participants, whose interest in anti-racism often preceded their feminist identification. However, one Māori woman conversely explained that she had come across Western feminist theory first and initially found it relevant to her life. But because she has engaged more with her whānau (extended family), hapū (clan) and iwi (tribe) during more recent years, she ‘drifted away from it [Western feminism]’ and now had a deeper interest in Māori contributions to feminism and mana wahine. The herstories among the interviewed women show many commonalities, because in one way or another, the women experienced a world that was dominated by a patriarchal order. And even if they did not have the terminology at the time to name it at such, they understood that this order was not aligned with what they perceived as just. When they were introduced to feminism—via university, influential people in their lives, music or other avenues—they were given a tool to make sense of their experiences and found inspiration for how to confront the injustices inscribed

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into them. Since feminism is not a consistent and monolithic concept, it mattered, however, which form of feminism the women found for themselves. This is not strictly a generational issue. University being an important place for introducing so many of my participants to feminism also has an influence on what kind of feminism they are introduced to. Academic feminist theory offers a broad range, yet universities tend to primarily teach canonical works in their fields—which are often Western theories that neglect marginalised voices. Moreover, an academic, theory-based introduction to feminism is different to a practical introduction to feminism via autonomous women’s groups or activism, for example. While women active in the union movement in the 1970s and 1980s often shared socialist feminist views (Hill, 1994), women who got involved with autonomous groups and activism were very likely influenced by the—at the time—dominant thoughts of liberal or radical feminism. The latter brand of feminism focussed much on women’s oppression based on dichotomies: men versus women, heterosexual versus lesbian, Pākehā versus Māori (Larner, 1995). Contrarily, younger feminists, or those who engaged with intersectionality and post-structural theory from the 1990s onwards, tended to see those forms of oppression interlocked with each other. As I will show in the following, such different approaches to feminist analyses also shaped the meanings and aims the women assigned to feminism.

The Meanings of Feminism Having explored how and why (most of) the participants came to identify as feminist, I now turn to their understandings of feminist identities and feminism as an ideology. While they did not all agree with each other, many of those understandings put much emphasis on differences between women. This Is What a Feminist Looks Like! Given my approach of recruiting participants (see Chap. 1), it is not surprising that most of the interviewed women (34) identified as feminists. Four said they would ‘maybe’, ‘sometimes’ or ‘not often’ use the word ‘feminist’ to describe themselves and only two rejected this label entirely. But what makes a feminist a feminist?

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For five women, self-identification was the only answer to this question. Anne (30, Pākehā), for instance, explained, ‘[I]f you self-identify as feminist then you are feminist. I don’t know that there are really any other factors.’ Seven more participants indicated that self-identification was at least important. However, in other women’s statements it became clear that while they said ‘being feminist’ was about self-identification only, and that ‘there is not necessarily a right or wrong way to be a feminist’ (Rebecca, 34, Pākehā), their wider arguments suggested otherwise. Although they would not openly argue that someone who identified as feminist was not (or vice versa), they still seemed to disagree with other women’s self-identification. Betty (31, Pākehā), for instance, initially explained, ‘I come from that school of thought that if you think you are a feminist then you are a feminist. I think that that’s probably the most important thing.’ But later in the interview she added, ‘Sarah Palin4 identi … talked about being a feminist. It’s a bit of a stretch! And I sort of have an issue with that.’ Betty was not the only one who contradicted herself on this issue and despite articulating support for personal definitions of feminist identities, these women still seemed to have an idea, who a feminist was—and who was not. To grasp this idea a bit firmer, I take a closer look at the women’s feminist identities. Greenwood (2008, p. 45) stated that ‘political consciousness does not arise from a single social identity in isolation from all others, but rather from the individual’s multiple, simultaneous, and intersecting memberships in high- and low-power groups’. In situating feminist identities among forms of political consciousness, it is important to relate the participants’ feminist identities to other aspects of their identities. When asked how else—other than a feminist—they described their identity, a large number of characteristics, ideologies and attributes were named: from ethnicities to political views, from sexual identities to religions, from occupations to relations to others (e.g., mother/daughter). Most women named multiple labels and terms. Not all of them were given the same priority as feminism and many described the way these forms of identification informed their feminist beliefs as situational. For instance, ethnic or cultural group identities were given more or less importance depending on the situation or company at a given time (see Shelton & Sellers, 2000 for similar findings in the United States). Nana (28, Southeast Asian) explained what that meant for her: 4

 U.S. politician (Republican)

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I define myself as a feminist generally. However, in some subgroups and in different interactions I change my identities to challenge what feminism means to the people around me. So, for instance, […] when I’m in a predominantly white feminist […] circle then I put myself up as a Muslima. So then, it reminds people that I’m a woman of colour, I’m a women of a different non-mainstream faith background. And [I] remind people that when you talk about feminism that it’s about all women.

Not surprisingly, such statements were most common among women of Asian and Māori background. However, some Pākehā and European participants, who were mainly of younger age, also reflected on the hierarchy they attributed to their layers of identity for their political perspectives. Virginia (26, Pākehā) explained why feminist and queer issues were more relevant to her than anti-racist and anti-classist issues: I probably have the same level of analysis around queer and trans stuff as I do around feminist stuff. And then [for] other areas of life less. But not because I value them less. [….] Probably because I’m in the oppressed groups in both those categories [gender and sexual identity] and I’m white and middle-class. […] It’s that stink thing that you do sometimes where you only look at the stuff where you are getting shit on [laughs].

With such statements, Nana and Virginia as well as other participants articulated how their feminist and political values were shaped by their individual identities and experiences. This shows how the personal situatedness within social structures of inequalities is relevant to an individual interpretation of feminism. In Virginia’s words, the ‘level of analysis’ begins (and is most nuanced) where personal experiences of discrimination come into play. Overall, the participants placed most emphasis on ethnic and cultural issues in this context, but sexual identities—as for Virginia—and age were also important for many women. Given this importance of individual situatedness for one’s feminist identity, the next question arises: what is feminism? What Is Feminism? Anne (30, Pākehā) said, ‘[F]eminism is probably a different thing to many people’, and according to Charlotte (63, European), feminism is ‘just too diverse. [….] You can’t take anything for granted with it, really.’

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Being asked ‘What does feminism mean to you?’, the women gave different types of answers, framing feminism, for example, as an ideological perspective, a certain course of action or a way of analysing the world around them. Three women described feminism as a political stance or position. One woman used the word ‘ideology’, one ‘philosophy’ and another woman ‘kaupapa’.5 The term ‘movement’ was only mentioned twice. Most often (17 times) feminism was described as a form of ‘acknowledgement’ or ‘recognition’ of gender inequalities—terms that imply an understanding of injustice. A few more women (seven) used expressions such as ‘a way of looking at/thinking of/reading’ social circumstances or a ‘lens’ through which the environment is perceived. I understand the latter expressions as having a level of active analysis whereas a focus on acknowledgement and recognition implied a passive understanding. Nine participants explicitly framed feminism as an activity. For instance, Emily (33, Pākehā), who did not identify as feminist, said, ‘[F]eminism […] it’s an action word for me. To be a feminist you have to be taking action on something.’ Others phrased it as a ‘fight’, a ‘struggle’, as ‘working towards’ or ‘creating a sense of mana’ (authority, power, influence). Another 10 women used gentler expressions for action: they talked about ‘attempts’ and ‘advancements’, or about ‘promoting’ ideas. However, in several cases the women used more than one of these terminologies to describe what feminism meant to them. Therefore, for these women feminism can be an acknowledgment of gender inequality as well as an analytical lens, or it can be an ideology and a call for action at the same time. Equality for Whom? Most participants (23) related the concept of feminism to equality, often in a straightforward way such as ‘it means just gender equality’ (Li, 20, East Asian). Others talked about having the ‘same chances in life’ or the ‘same dignity’. Some women elaborated on this idea by specifying that feminism meant achieving ‘equal rights’ and ‘equal possibilities/opportunities’ and having ‘political and economic equality’. This was sometimes illustrated with examples of equal representation in Parliament, pay equity and equal access to education and information. Besides the demand for 5  Māori word for policy, discussion, plan, scheme, proposal, agenda, subject, programme and theme.

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equality, another central theme across the participants’ definitions of feminism was a demand for higher appreciation of women’s contributions to society. That included a general ‘positivity about being a woman’ (Rosa, 28, Māori) as well as putting more value on traditional ‘women’s work’ (both paid and unpaid). Some of the participants, mainly those in the upper age range and therefore more likely to be influenced by radical feminist thought of the 1970s and 1980s, put women as a social group at the centre of their feminism. One woman equated feminism with ‘women’s liberation’ and ten others understood feminism to be the struggle to improve women’s lives, rights, value or status in society. Most commonly this was exemplified by the promotion of reproductive health rights for women or, again, equal treatment of women in employment, but also with the improvement of rights of sex-workers (who are mainly female). One woman, reflecting an understanding of mana wahine, said, ‘[M]y feminism is having strong women leaders’ (Aiono, 45, Samoan/East Asian/European) and referred to all aspects of social life where leaders are needed. While four of the participants who put the emphasis on women made it explicitly clear that their feminism was neither ‘anti-men’ nor meant valuing women over men, one woman identified as a separatist, stating, ‘I guess it [feminism] means giving women priority. And so, for me [pauses] women are a priority’ (Charlotte, 63, European). A large number of mainly young participants did not relate feminism to women specifically but rather to all genders, which mirrored a post-­ structuralist rejection of clear-cut social categories. Phoolan (23, Southeast Asian), who worked for a domestic violence organisation, said, ‘[I]t’s actually about gender issues for me. So that can be male, female or other.’ Like Phoolan, women who shared this perspective tended to indicate that they did not understand gender as a binary category (men/women) but as multifaceted or fluid. However, independently of conceptualising genders as either binary or fluid, for all these women feminism meant recognising the power imbalance between genders and that women were disadvantaged in comparison to men. From this fluid perspective, other genders were also acknowledged as disadvantaged, although women remained an important category for all participants.

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Negotiating Differences Most participants shared an understanding that ‘women’ were not a homogeneous group of people and many found it necessary to acknowledge differences according to race, ethnicity, class, sexual identity, age, ability and so on within their feminism. Li (20, East Asian), for instance, emphasised that ‘systems of oppression are all interrelated and they feed off and reinforce each other’. Lily (51, Pākehā) had ‘a deep suspicion of single-issue politics’ and Judith (21, Pākehā) explained that ‘when I’m fighting for my rights as a bisexual woman, I’m not putting my feminism beside for that. It’s all part of it.’ Thus, many women did not separate an anti-racist or anti-homophobic perspective from their feminist views. Louise (23, Pākehā) clarified this common mind-set: I don’t think you can have feminism without looking at, you know, how ethnicity affects women in different ways. The same with class. I guess in my opinion all these things are central and you can’t separate them. You can’t separate your ethnicity from your gender. You can’t separate your sexuality from your gender.

A high number of the women (12) in their mid-thirties and younger used the word ‘intersectional’ to describe this approach to feminism. While some had learned about this arguably academic concept at university, others came across the term in rather non-academic ways, for instance through Aotearoa/New Zealand-based feminist blogs (e.g., The Hand Mirror) and feminist workshops. Explanations of intersectionality were often shaped by the specific identity of women. For example, Rosa (28, Māori) stated, ‘[F]or me, feminism also involves a lot of the other kaupapa that I support’ and a woman who strongly identified as anarcha-feminist claimed that feminism is ‘addressing not just inequality by sex and gender […] but also inequality to do with race and class, education. And connecting that back […] to capitalism and to colonialization as well’ (Meri, 27, Pākehā/ Māori). This shows how intersectionality, in the Aotearoa/New Zealand context, is linked to the nation’s colonial history. The women not only used intersectionality as a theoretical concept but used it to reflect on more practical aspects of feminism. For instance, Li (20, East Asian), who self-identified as ‘Kiwi6-Chinese’ and was involved with a feminist student collective, noticed: 6

 Colloquial term for New Zealanders.

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I’m always wondering why do I never see as many Asian women students into feminism? Why don’t more of them want to know more about it? It’s a really huge difference between how Asian students think compared to Kiwi students. There’s definitely a huge difference. It’s really hard to explain. But the cultural value is definitely a big factor.

My participants tended to draw two conclusions from their understandings of intersectional feminism. First, feminism needs to consider differences among women because feminist priorities within one particular feminist worldview may be different from another. Second, women of relative privilege needed to reflect on their status, so they did not ignore or silence other groups of women. Two participants illustrated these two points: Just because we’re feminists doesn’t mean we should ignore sexuality-type issues. And just because we’re feminists doesn’t mean we should ignore issues with people of colour. Because white feminists have a huge number of problems but they are not the same as for Black feminists, for example, or Asian feminists or whatever. And we should actually be supporting each other. […] I think that a lot of feminists really need to get their act together in terms of actually appreciating and understanding it [differences], instead of saying [ironically] ‘We are all in it together—can you just shut up and stand behind me? And by the way, you are not allowed to speak.’ (Judith, 21, Pākehā) We have straight women who will campaign for the wage gap, which is terrible and really important—not denying it—and for reproductive freedom, which is a wonderful thing, but who don’t seem to want queer people to get married7 because it’s not as important. […] Getting your own equality on the back of somebody else’s is actually not pushing us any further at all. In fact, it gets us backwards. (Ellen, 24, Pākehā)

As a consequence of these expectations that they should acknowledge such differences, participants with relative privilege, such as young Pākehā women, tended to carefully avoid generalising statements when they felt their background influenced their feminist point of view. For example, Susan (23, Pākehā), a member of feminist and queer groups, reflected very critically on the impact of her ‘whiteness’: 7  The Marriage Amendment Act 2013 legalised same-sex marriages in Aotearoa/New Zealand after the interviews took place.

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Being one of the organisers and decision makers and feeling my ability to make the right feminist decisions was just. … I felt like it had to be examined in the light of white privilege and of making things culturally accessible. […] Since I’ve been involved in some alternative communities I have felt like, yeah, my identity as a white person is problematic sometimes in terms of political stuff.

These two demands for intersectional feminism (consideration of differences and acknowledgment of privilege) led the women interviewed to develop an expectation for their feminism to be inclusive. Inclusiveness Zack (2005) argued that feminism needs to be inclusive of all women in order to reach its goal of improving the lives of women. But: inclusive of whom? The participants repeatedly emphasised that their understanding of feminism was inclusive of all genders, ethnicities, ages and classes, sexual identities, religions and abilities—inclusive of everyone. Some highlighted this view by directly stating ‘my world of feminism is about inclusivity’ (Rosa, 28, Māori). Others mindfully added qualifications to their statements. For example, when Anne (30, Pākehā) explained her definition of feminism, she said ‘[…] it’s quite basic and it’s about having equality for men and women. Yep, or for people of all genders.’ Despite this high relevance associated with inclusiveness, being inclusive of gender in practice proved difficult and several participants were challenged by the question of whether men should be included in feminist work and activism. Some women rejected male participation or were sceptical about it, some saw men as helpful allies but did not want them to take on leading roles in feminist projects and other participants thought men could be feminists in the same way as women. These different stances made it difficult to organise some groups and events based on the question of how to involve men. While the disagreements about men illustrate debates about who should be included, other women faced challenges in making their space attractive to those who should be included. Louise (23, Pākehā), a member of a university feminist collective explained: We [the collective] do tend to be very white or Asian. One of the things we wanna work on next year is to make sure that we are a safe space for Māori

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and Pacific Island women. We are not as diverse as we’d like to be. The core members are, but the wider ones […] coming to the events—they do tend to be more white or Asian. So, it’s not as diverse as we would like.

While this concern was common among the participants, it applied mainly to Pākehā and Europeans. As Susan’s earlier quote about her ‘problematic identity as a white person’ indicated, many of these women were anxious to create or be part of inclusive feminist circles that reflected their appreciation of different perspectives among women. Vanderpyl (2004) confirmed in her study that Pākehā feminists found it hard to claim solidarity based on their ethnic identity which was overshadowed with colonial guilt and privilege. Consequently, and as Louise’s account showed, Pākehādominated feminist circles are interpreted as a personal failure with regards to inclusiveness. However, while Pākehā women had much ambition to create inclusive spaces, they often did not know how to achieve this. Alice (24, Pākehā) started to articulate a tentative idea to solve this issue but ended by raising more doubts: I don’t know … the only way that you can get past that [Pākehā dominance] is either taking feminism out to somewhere … taking it to a marae8 or something like that. And having a discussion there, rather than having this group and expecting [Māori] people to come to you. But then, also, I don’t think you can fit everybody in to a … you can have feminism as an umbrella but so many people have different kinds of ideas of what it means to be.

I will return to this problem and its consequences in Chap. 5. At this point, it is important to understand that those ‘intersectional expectations’ (Schuster, 2016) created some anxieties among feminists to put their aim of being as inclusive as possible into practice.

Talking About Generations The relationship between feminist generations is at times difficult. Gillis and Munford (2004) stated that the ‘generational divide’ between Second and Third Wave feminism was one of the defining characteristics of the movement in the late 1990s and early 2000s. The following explores this intergenerational relationship, its difficulties and its importance. Yet, the  A central space of Māori communities.

8

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first difficulty already occurs in determining, who belongs to which wave, because identifying with the Second or Third Wave is not necessarily (only) a question of age but also one of identifying with the value-sets and kinds of activism associated with each wave. Margaret (48, Pākehā) pondered: Technically, I should be a Second Wave feminist, except that I didn’t really start off from there. I started off from coming in 1999 after the divorce and getting involved with feminists on campus. And getting involved just because of projects that we were running with a bunch of radical feminists9 who were Third Wave girls.

Her identification with Third Wave feminism was based on the kind of activism that she had become involved in and was independent of her age. Other participants were not fond of the wave metaphor at all. For example, Meri (27, Pākehā/Māori) said, ‘I don’t really like the terms Second and Third Wave actually, cos I feel like there’s lots of crossovers and I don’t want to be associated with post-feminism. [….] I can’t identify as either, Second or Third Wave.’ Similarly, Andrea (33, Pākehā) said, ‘I find the entire Third Wave feminism so problematic’. She explained this stance by arguing that the wave metaphor was introduced when people genuinely thought that there was not much feminist activity between the First and the Second Wave. Since this was a false assumption, Andrea found the use of the wave metaphor inappropriate and thus rejected the idea of being part of the Second or Third Wave herself. For the purpose of this book’s discussion, I refer to Third and Second ‘Wavers’ based on where they placed themselves within their own narratives. Difficult Relationships Before exploring how the women experienced the relationship between feminist generations, it is important to mention the extent of intergenerational contact among them. Within their feminist work and activities most participants interacted with feminists of the ‘other’ generation at least sometimes. Some women employed by or volunteering for women’s organisations, especially those working for refuges or other domestic/sexual 9  This does not refer to the 1970s radical feminist theory but rather to a more colloquial use of the term ‘radical’.

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violence organisations, reported that this interaction was linked to these organisations and was regular. Other women occasionally met and worked with older and younger feminists, respectively, during specific events, one-­ off projects or in random situations. Nine women, however, seemed to have little or no experience in this regard. One of them was Chen (22, East Asian), who replied to my question about the relationship between feminists of different generations by saying, ‘To be honest, I haven’t really had that much interaction with older feminists. So yeah, I don’t know how to answer that.’ Others only used examples relating to their own mothers or daughters, which is indicative of little intergenerational feminist interaction outside of their family. Overall, the participants tended to talk respectfully but distantly about the generation that they did not identify with. Many agreed with Rebecca (34, Pākehā), who said that ‘there is a lot we can learn from each other’ and thought that disagreements did not inhibit cooperation and respect for each other’s work. Many, however, across all age groups, regretted that there were too few opportunities for generations of feminists to get together. Ungrateful Youth? Andrea (33, Pākehā) claimed that ‘generational conflicts in Aotearoa/ New Zealand’s feminist movements are massively overplayed’ and a few others interpreted differences rather as a life cycle effect than as a cohort effect. There was also much agreement among the women that differences between generations are normal, as Eva (54, European) explained: I mean, in some ways wouldn’t you expect contemporary feminists would be different from Second Wave feminists anyway because we have moved on, our understandings have changed, the world has changed. We don’t have this sort of stark choice between liberal feminism and radical feminism anymore. Feminism itself has changed. So yeah, there are differences.

Eva is referring to the difference between liberal and radical feminism that strongly shaped feminist discussion in the 1970s—particularly those discussions regarding sexuality and race relations. Liberal and radical feminists disagreed, for example, on the political character of sexual identities and the relevance of Māori sovereignty for feminists aims (e.g., Palmer du Preez et al., 2019). These discussions still exist but are not as prominent anymore, yet, other participants were concerned that young women did

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not appreciate the achievements made by the women’s movement in the past. This concern revolved around two arguments: first, they did not see many young women claiming the word ‘feminist’ for themselves, and second, they argued that young women took the hard-won successes of the Second Wave women’s movement for granted. While most of the younger participants happily and often proudly wore the feminist label, they did reflect on the apparent decline of feminist identification among their peers. Djamila (21, South Asian), who identified as feminist, said, ‘I mean, in the ‘70s feminism was popular. Everyone identified as a feminist. But now it’s really uncool to be a feminist.’ She explained the unpopularity of feminism in terms of societal changes and social pressures rather than with young women’s indifference. Also, some young women defended themselves from the accusation of taking feminist achievements for granted. For example, Judith (21, Pākehā) stated: A lot of the Second Wave feminists that I know or that I have dealt with— and this is very much personal experience—they fought for our rights to choose. So please let us choose! There are a lot of the older generation feminists who think ‘We fought for your right to go out and have a career so you shouldn’t stay at home with your kids’. And I’m kind of, like, no, that’s what choice is all about. Otherwise, we would be just as oppressed as we were before in the other direction.

Thus, Judith argued, while it might seem that, in this instance, young women choosing to become ‘stay-at-home-mums’ waste the opportunities that Second Wave feminists worked hard for, they are—from their point of view—building on them. Another example was explained by Virginia (26, Pākehā). In her role as a community educator, she facilitated a discussion on the use of the word ‘queer’. During that discussion some older women argued that ‘all the young queers are just totally depoliticised because they are not using the word “lesbian” anymore’. They interpreted this rejection of the ‘lesbian’ label as dishonouring past successes of lesbian feminists, which were of particular relevance to radical feminists of the Second Wave. However, when the younger participants explained the term ‘queer’ they often explicitly emphasised the political aspect of it: just as the early lesbian movement fought against heteronormativity, they felt that taking on a queer identity deliberately opposes binary categorisations of sexual identities (hetero- and homosexual). The queer concept assumes sexual identities to be fluid and multiple instead of fixed and binary. Thus, they saw it as an expansion of the lesbian struggle, not a backlash.

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Older participants also struggled with the terminology of the younger generation in another example, as Sylvia (52, Pākehā) explained. Together with a friend she used to run a radio show called ‘The Women’s Show’ when she was in her thirties: This group of young women started coming around the edges and wanting to get involved with the show and they eventually took it over. And the first thing they did was changing it from ‘The Women’s Show’ to ‘The Girlzone Show’. And we were like ‘Oh my God!’, completely horrified. […] It’s like … ‘girl’ was so not acceptable and you had to be a woman. And then it just flipped around and ‘girls’ are ok again. […] So, you know, go on, you [younger women] do what you need to do.

Participants also talked about differences in methods of activism/political work and ways of framing feminist issues, which caused intergenerational difficulties. The following two examples will explain them in more detail: the rise of online activism as an example for changing methods and ‘sex-­ positivity’ as an illustration of a new way of framing feminist issues. Online Activism Many young participants used social media platforms that were popular at the time10, such as Facebook, Twitter or blogs, for their feminist activities to raise awareness, share information and facilitate discussion. They also organised protest marches online and they coordinated activist collectives entirely through Facebook. Since social media is low-cost, flexible in its application and many people use it on a daily basis, this form of organising met the needs of many young feminists. Yet, there seemed to be a generational divide. Susan (23, Pākehā), for example, joined a discussion among abortion law reform activists, reporting: You start talking about Twitter or something and people will be like ‘Oh, I don’t know’, you know. The older women would definitely feel … I think you could notice that they felt excluded from that conversation. Whereas it was something that was quite exciting to those of us who have done online stuff. Which tended to be the younger.

10  As the online sphere is rapidly changing, different social media platforms were popular at the time of the interviews (2011/2012) than they are now.

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Although some older participants were happily using Twitter and Facebook, on the whole women in their early thirties and over were less likely to engage with online activism than the younger participants. As a consequence, the online-based activities of young women were ‘hidden’ from older women. But even when older feminists were aware about online activism many seemed to be a reluctant to count it as a valid form of political participation. For instance, Gabriela (25, Southeast Asian) talked about an encounter her feminist collective had with an older female researcher, who asked them about their ways of working: [We told her that] we do a lot of stuff online and that’s what we do. It was almost like she was invalidating that and being like ‘Ok, I get that you have a Facebook page but what else do you do?’ And we were like ‘Well, the Facebook part is actually the biggest component of the work that we do’.

The young women’s strong reliance on online activism not only hid their work from the older generation, it also decreased the young women’s knowledge of how to connect with older feminists. Betty (31, Pākehā), for instance, said, ‘[A]dmittedly, I have almost no idea how to connect with them now, you know. ‘Cos they are also not easy to find online, ‘cos they are less likely to be online.’ Thus, online activism reinforced perceptions of non-political and anti-­ feminist young women because it ‘hid’ many feminist activities online. However, with increasing digital literacy across the generations during the last decade the visibility of online activism has increased since and the generational divide regarding the use of online platforms has probably narrowed. Sex-Positivity Including the First Wave, female sexuality has always been a focus of Aotearoa/New Zealand’s women’s movement (Brookes, 1993; Holmes, 2000). However, the Third Wave interest in ‘sex-positivity’ goes further than its predecessors’. Sex-positive feminism developed from the late 1980s to highlight women’s sexual agency as a form of empowerment. This form of feminism disagrees vocally that non-reproductive sex for women is objectionable and illegitimate (Dixon, 2008) and opposes the view that female sexuality is a practice that primarily subjects women to violence and oppression (Alfonso & Trigilio, 1997). I mainly address

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sex-­positivity as an understanding that is shared by some of my participants and evident in their feminist practices. Thus, my discussion does not go into the theoretical arguments made in the feminist and queer academic literature. Although not many participants explicitly identified as sex-positive, the issue is a good example of contrasting feminist ideas between the different generations because it is a controversial topic and therefore, the women tended to have strong opinions on it. Five participants mentioned that they identified as ‘sex-positive’ or talked about sexuality in a way that matches Dixon’s definition. All were between 21 and 26 years old. One participant explained, ‘I am a very sex-positive person. That’s just how I’m like. I think having sex is ok, not having sex is ok. That’s what sex-­positivity is all about. Do what makes you feel good. Be safe, be sane, be consensual and it’s all good.’ Another woman said, ‘I love the word “slut”, I identify as a slut. ‘Cos I like to have sex and I think sex is really pleasurable and I think pleasure is good.’ Lipstick feminism (Scanlon, 2009), ‘being sexy’ and looking femme11 were aspects of what my participants regarded as sex-positive feminism. These forms of celebrating femininity felt empowering for the women and were also intended to attribute value to female beauty practices. However, for other women these issues were not part of their understanding of feminism. For example, one woman (31, Pākehā) who generally related well to younger feminists admitted, ‘I see a lot of them [young feminists] fighting around femme-identity, which is kind of cool but because I don’t super-­ identify as a femme, sometimes I’m a little bit like “What?! Why are we talking about this?”’ Sex-positivity is also related to other feminist issues. Through events like SlutWalk, this brand of feminism has promoted the claim that women should be able to dress however they want without fear of social sanctions or sexual harassment. This claim was, once again, met with a lack of understanding among many feminists, especially older women. They articulated safety concerns, with one participant saying, ‘It’s not like, just because you believe you shouldn’t [get harassed when wearing short skirts], it’s not going to happen’. Others also interpreted revealing clothing as a backlash

11  People who identify as femme accentuate their femininity. This concept is often (but not always) related to the lesbian butch/femme dichotomy. For more information see Levitt et al. (2003).

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against women’s emancipation. However, one young woman (26, Pākehā) responded to such criticism as follows: They talk about personal safety and things like that and I get that. […] I can totally see their argument with that. Yeah, and that women shouldn’t be giving in to men’s desire or whatever. And the whole argument with women being objectified. Just that I have absolutely no problem with being objectified. […] [I’m] reclaiming being able to be sexy!

Moreover, another young woman (21, European) stated: This is where I actually find that Second Wave feminists were very heterosexist and still are. If I put on my tight little dress, they are all like ‘Oh dressing up to get attention from men and playing into patriarchy’. And I’m like ‘I actually like women! [laughs] I don’t want the attention of a man, but I wouldn’t mind the attention of a nice girl!’

Sex-positivity relates to more than just clothing. For instance, there are also controversies around prostitution (O’Connell Davidson, 2002) and pornography (Fahs et al., 2018) within feminist circles. One participant, who works as a sex-worker, explained: My view on sex-work is very similar to my views on sex and on porn. And in terms of compatibility with feminism I think that there are always people that will argue these things are inherently non-feminist or inherently anti-­ feminist because quite often there are issues with abusive power and with consent and I think … My view is just that these things aren’t inherently sexist just because sexism can be reflected in them. You know, pornography and sex-work and BDSM is just like television: it’s not inherently sexist but it reflects a lot of society a lot of the time.

Overall, the more traditional stance associated with Second Wave feminism wished to achieve this by removing women’s bodies from the centre of the discussion, arguing that women’s value is based on more than their looks and sexuality. The sex-positive argument, however, put female bodies back in the spotlight, claiming that women should not be ashamed of their sexuality and fondness of their bodies. On the contrary, they understood their bodies as means to women’s empowerment because they challenge social standards of female sexuality. But at the core, both positions supported protecting women’s bodies.

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Neoliberal Rationality and Feminist Understandings One purpose of this chapter was to explore what feminism meant to my participants. Their viewpoints help to understand the values and opportunities these women see in feminism and to comprehend the challenges these women faced when engaging in feminist activities, discussed in the next chapters. The other purpose of this chapter was to get a first impression of how the women’s understandings of feminism are entangled with a neoliberal rationality. Given the pervasive mechanisms of how subjectivation—as described in Chap. 2—works under neoliberal governance, it would be surprising if feminists had fully escaped them. When defining feminism, the women put much emphasis on personal experiences of discrimination and their feminist identification was strongly related to other layers of their own identities. Their ethnic, sexual or political identities shaped their feminist beliefs and the importance assigned to such identities was often situational. It was a consequence of such identity-­ based feminism to acknowledge that feminism is not one unitary ideology but a matter of personal perspective. Thus, most women shared the belief that women were a heterogeneous group and that experiences of gender inequality varied with different levels of relative privilege and marginalisation among women. There are several reasons for why individual perspectives have become so important for feminists. First, the decline of the Second Wave in Aotearoa/New Zealand (and other parts of the Western world) was accompanied with conflicts within the movement relating to heteronormativity and white privilege (see Chap. 3). These conflicts are far from being solved, but the increased awareness for women’s different identities is a lesson learned from them. Second, the influence of intersectionality and post-structural theory on mainstream feminist theory and conceptualisation has left its mark on the women’s understandings of feminism, not only in theory but also in practices. And third, the individualisation of feminist identification is, of course, in line with a neoliberal rationality that values personal choices and encourages individuals to pursue their own interests as independently as possible. The women’s support of a feminism that addresses women as a heterogeneous group is most likely a result of all three reasons merging. The neoliberal importance of personal autonomy is, for instance, reflected in young women’s hesitation to call other people feminists. One may argue that this hesitation may also have other motifs. Difficulty identifying with the word ‘feminist’ has been the subject of many studies,

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which usually address the phenomenon of the statement ‘I’m not a feminist, but …’ (Olson et al., 2008; Williams & Wittig, 1997; Zucker, 2004). Negative stereotypes associated with feminists are a major reason for this (Schnittker et al., 2003). The wariness with which many of my participants handled this term when it came to applying it to others can partly be explained by the same reason: they did not want to assign a label to others if they might interpret it in a negative way. However, the women were also hesitant to label others as feminists because to do so implied imposing personal definitions on others. Given the importance assigned to individual approaches to feminism, the importance of recognising differences among women and the anxiety that accompanied this importance, such obtrusive behaviour might be interpreted as ignorant and presumptuous within feminist circles and thus needed to be avoided. Thus, the hesitation to define feminist identities was not necessarily a neoliberal effect, but neoliberal rationality celebrating personal self-determination in all contexts of life validated the erasure of any need to define feminist identification. We have also seen from the interviews that the women’s movement became less understood to be constituted by women fighting in unison for their shared aims but rather by individuals who celebrate their diversity and want to ensure that individual perspectives are heard and included. A Marxist perspective might identify this stance as neoliberalism’s effect of undermining class (or in this case: gendered) consciousness and solidarity, which weakens social movements altogether (Brown 2015; O’Connor 2010). My participants did not articulate such an interpretation but they experienced that having everyone’s voices heard equally is a tough task. My participants reported that they were not as successful as they wanted to be in running heterogeneous feminist groups. This is not particularly surprising as generations of feminists before them have failed to some extent to achieve inclusivity within their own spaces. However, some of my younger participants described those difficulties as personal failure, and they questioned their ability to make the right choices or viewed their white identity as problematic and did not ask why those difficulties have accompanied white feminists through centuries. This as well mirrors the embodiment of a neoliberal rationality (Brown 2006) that turns problems rooted in historic and social structures into individual responsibilities and frames any failure as a personal deficiency. The discussion of generational differences revealed how the younger generation who grew up in neoliberal times differed in their perspective

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from the generation before them. Much of those difference is associated with the types of feminist theories the women were politically socialised with, as a radical feminist stance led to a different perspective than a post-­ structural one. Some generational differences, for instance regarding the use of and assigned value to online activism or differing concepts to grasp non-heterosexual identities, were, however, most likely results of social changes over time. Yet, the example of sex-positivity among younger feminists reminds of Oksala’s (2011) critique of misinterpreting the accentuation of femininity via make-up as female empowerment and reflects McRobbie’s (2007) discussion of neoliberalism’s new sexual contract in which the female body is required to remain an object of sexual desire in order to be successful. In line with McRobbie (2007), Fahs et al. (2018) have also argued that neoliberalism promoted the idea that corporations can sell goods and services to women to ‘become’ sexually empowered as an individual achievement and this promotion might have worked with some of my participants. However, I argue that those participants who promoted sex-positivity had a more nuanced understanding of the sexualisation of their bodies than described by Fahs et al. (2018) or McRobbie (2007). They criticised the heteronormative assumption on which a more conservative feminist rejection of women’s sexualisation is based and they analysed the patriarchal influence on mainstream pornography. Thus, they were not naïvely parroting neoliberal topes in their perspectives even though they did not fully escape them. Not only on this issue but overall, I argue that neoliberal rationality, as the hegemonic value-set in which the interviewed women grew up, influenced their thinking but did not entirely co-opt their feminist believes as Foucault’s (2008, 2009) concept of subjectivation would suggest. They still viewed solidaric aims, such as gender equality and equal rights, as central goals of feminism. Their perception of freedom and equality was not determined in economic terms as the freedom of the Homo Economicus (see Chap. 2). My participants’ understanding that experiences of discrimination vary on an individual level was coupled with their conviction that those individually different experiences are a result of structural differences, effecting people differently. Thus, for them, incorporating an understanding of postcolonial relations and of intersectionality, as well as recognising and addressing differences according to ethnic groups, sexual identities, class and so forth, was crucial for contemporary feminism. This is noteworthy because it shows how the women used their individual focus on feminism as a starting point to

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critique social structures which do not offer all individuals the same opportunities in life. They had an understanding of intersectional and colonial effects on social inequalities and they showed an ability to reflect on their own privileges. The presentation of ‘herstories’ has shown that personal experiences in (early) life played an important role in shaping the perceptions of social gender inequalities among the women. The types of gender roles embodied by influential people of their childhood, experiences of violence, the influence of university and being exposed to both male and female-­ dominated environments shaped the women’s ideas of gendered opportunities in life and political women’s issues. This seemed to have constituted a solid ground on which to build feminist believes. Neoliberal rationality entered this ground and my participants were not immune to the forms of knowledge and ‘truths’ about individual responsibility that neoliberalism brought along. Yet, I argue that this influence was messy, partial and left room for resistance. The following three chapters will discuss this influence for each of the three levels of the women’s movement in Aotearoa/ New Zealand.

References Alfonso, R., & Trigilio, J. (1997). Surfing the Third Wave: A dialogue between two Third Wave feminists. Hypatia, 12(3), 7–16. Awatere, D. (1984). Maori sovereignty. Broadsheet. Brookes, B. (1993). A weakness for strong subjects: The women’s movement and sexuality. New Zealand Journal of History, 27(2), 140–156. Dixon, R. (2008). Feminist disagreement (comparatively recast). Harvard Journal of Law & Gender, 31, 277–321. Fahs, B., Swank, E., & McClelland, S. I. (2018). Sexuality, pleasure, power, and danger: Points of tension, contradiction, and conflict. In APA handbook of the psychology of women: History, theory, and battlegrounds (Vol. 1, pp. 229–247). American Psychological Association. https://doi.org/10.1037/0000059-­012 Foucault, M. (2008). The birth of biopolitics. Lectures at the Collège de France, 1978–79. Palgrave Macmillan. Foucault, M. (2009). Security, territory, population. Lectures at the Collège de France, 1977–78. Palgrave Macmillan. Gillis, S., & Munford, R. (2004). Genealogies and generations: The politics and praxis of Third Wave feminism. Women’s History Review, 13(2), 165–182. https://doi.org/10.1080/09612020400200388

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Greenwood, R. M. (2008). Intersectional political consciousness: Appreciation for intra-group differences and solidarity in diverse groups. Psychology of Women Quarterly, 32(1), 36–47. Hill, L. (1994). Feminism and unionism in New Zealand. Hecate, 20(2), 124–139. Holmes, M. (2000). Second Wave feminism and the politics of relationships. Women’s Studies International Journal, 23(2), 235–246. https://doi. org/10.1016/S0277-­5395(00)00072-­8 hooks, B. (2000). Feminism is for everybody. Passionate politics. South End Press. Kinser, A.  E. (2004). Negotiating spaces for/through Third-Wave feminism. Feminist formations, 16(3), 124–153. Larner, W. (1995). Theorising ‘Difference’ in Aotearoa/New Zealand. Gender, Place & Culture: A Journal of Feminist Geography, 2(2), 177–190. https:// doi.org/10.1080/09663699550022008 Levitt, H. M., Gerrish, E. A., & Hiestand, K. R. (2003). The misunderstood gender: A model of modern femme identity. Sex Roles, 48(3–4), 99–113. McRobbie, A. (2007). Top girls? Young women and the post-feminist sexual contract. Cultural Studies, 21(4), 718–737. Newman, J. (2012). Working the spaces of power. Activism, neoliberalism and gendered labour. Bloomsbury Academic. O’Connell Davidson, J. (2002). The rights and wrongs of prostitution. Hypatia, 17(2), 84–98. Oksala, J. (2011). The neoliberal subject of feminism. Journal of the British Society for Phenomenology, 42(1), 104–120. https://doi.org/10.1080/0007177 3.2011.11006733 Olson, L. N., Coffelt, T. A., Ray, E. B., Rudd, J., Botta, R., Ray, G., & Kopfman, J. E. (2008). “I’m all for equal rights, but don’t call me a feminist”: Identity dilemmas in young adults’ discursive representations of being a feminist. Women’s Studies in Communication, 31(1), 104–132. https://doi.org/10.108 0/07491409.2008.10162524 Palmer du Preez, K., Payne, D., & Giddings, L. (2019). A genealogy of lesbian feminisms in New Zealand: Some implications for young lesbian health and wellbeing. Aporia, 11(2), 15–26. Scanlon, J. (2009). Sexy from the start: Anticipatory elements of Second Wave feminism. Women’s Studies, 38(2), 127–150. Schnittker, J., Freese, J., & Powell, B. (2003). Who are feminists and what do they believe? The role of generations. American Sociological Review, 68(4), 607–622. Schuster, J. (2016). Intersectional expectations: Young feminists’ perceived failure at dealing with differences and their retreat to individualism. Women’s Studies International Forum, 58, 1–8. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.wsif.2016.04.007 Shelton, J.  N., & Sellers, R.  M. (2000). Situational stability and variability in African American racial identity. Journal of Black Psychology, 26(1), 27–50.

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Vanderpyl, J. (2004). Aspiring for unity and equality: Dynamics of conflict and change in the ‘by women for women’ feminist service groups, Aotearoa/New Zealand (1970-1999). University of Auckland. Williams, R., & Wittig, M. A. (1997). “I’m not a feminist, but…”: Factors contributing to the discrepancy between pro-feminist orientation and feminist social identity. Sex Roles, 37(11/12), 885–904. Zack, N. (2005). Inclusive Feminism. A Third Wave Theory of Women’s Commonality. Rowman & Littlefield Publishers. Zucker, A. N. (2004). Disavowing social identities: What it means when women say ‘I’m not a feminist, but…’. Psychology of Women Quarterly, 28(4), 423–435.

CHAPTER 5

Individualised Feminism

Having discussed feminist identification and the meaning of feminism overall in the previous chapter, this is the first of three chapters to explore the levels at which women in Aotearoa/New Zealand engaged in feminist activities and practices during neoliberal times. I start by discussing the micro-level, representing individualised forms of feminist engagement. As Chap. 4 has shown, my participants tended to have an individualised understanding of feminism that shaped some of their feminist practices but did not erase all grounds for solidaric aims. The literature particularly characterises Third Wave feminism as dominated by such individual approaches. In her study about young English women’s relationships to feminism, Budgeon (2001, p.  18), for instance, found that her participants ‘had no sense of a collective political tradition but they exercised a politicized agency at the micro-level of everyday social relations’, and also Evans (2015) identified strong individualistic tendencies among Third Wave feminists on the U.K.  She called individualism the perhaps ‘most prevalent and widely embraced value of neoliberalism’ (Evans, 2015, p. 45). Thus, it is one of this chapter’s aims to understand how neoliberal values have shaped feminist engagement on a personal level in Aotearoa/ New Zealand. Following Howard (2007, p. 1), I understand individualisation as an effect of neoliberalism’s rules of conduct through which ‘the individual is widely and increasingly regarded as the fundamental agent of human © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 J. Schuster, Neoliberalism and its Impact on the Women’s Movement in Aotearoa/New Zealand, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-95523-6_5

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action and the ultimate target of governance’. Furthermore, it is characterised by the ‘disintegration of previously existing social forms—for example, the increasing fragility of such categories as class, […] social status, gender roles’ (Beck & Beck-Gernsheim, 2002, p. 2). From this viewpoint, an emphasis on individual choices replaces the need for a collective identity (Budgeon, 2001; Rich, 2005) and people take charge of their lives themselves, rather than expecting institutions or social structures to provide collective solutions. Belonging to social groups continues to play a role in individual experiences, but the meaning attached to such belonging has shifted ‘to a deliberate action or affiliation’ (Howard, 2007, p. 8). As I have shown in the previous chapter, for the women in my study this meant that their personal priorities and their ethnic, sexual or other forms of identification played an important role in shaping their feminist perspectives and they viewed them as individual identities rather than as the collective consciousness of a social group. However, what are individualised feminist activities? How adequate are they for pursuing feminist aims? I discuss these questions by analysing my participants’ approaches to individualised feminism, including the implementation of feminism in their interpersonal relationships and private lives. Since the political value of micro-level feminism is often a point of contestation, this chapter further includes a discussion of my participants’ views on whether individualised activities are, in fact, political. In my final discussion I link my empirical insights back to Brown’s (2006, 2015) theoretical concept and ask how much neoliberal rationality is inscribed into my participants’ individual feminist engagement. Overall, I argue in this chapter that neoliberal values have facilitated the individualisation of feminist activities and have offered individualised ways out of intersectional dilemmas. However, this influence has not removed political significance from individualised feminist practices.

Forms of Individualised Feminism Sowards and Renegar (2006) stated that many Third Wave feminists chose forms of activism that operated in the private sphere, such as creating grassroots models of leadership, using strategic humour, building feminist identities, sharing stories and challenging stereotypes. Harris (2010) and Budgeon (2001) similarly found that young Third Wavers often expressed their ideas of gender equality through everyday life and personal means, sometimes without labelling these activities as ‘feminist’. Bulbeck (2001)

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identified how young feminists in the 1990s focussed on individual practices of feminism and working on personal challenges, as well as expressing feminism through cultural spaces such as zines and all-women music bands. In my study, Alice (24, Pākehā), who was affiliated with various political and feminist groups herself, summarised these general trends towards individualism: Feminism has become increasingly individualistic. So, it’s become less about the collective, so it’s not even about people joining groups now. It’s just people being feminists in their day-to-day lives, you know, which is totally legitimate. It’s just very individualistic.

The women found a broad range of outlets for ‘being feminist in their day-to-day lives’ and these activities covered many aspects, including their education (e.g., choosing feminist topics in their university assignments), their art (e.g., playing in a Riot Grrrl band, writing novels about women) and leisure activities (e.g., reading feminist books, watching or avoiding certain television programmes). Some women’s professional work was also a part of their individual involvement in feminism: one woman, for example, viewed her employment at a sex-toy shop as feminist work because she could help women explore their sexuality, while Kathleen (31, Pākehā) made an effort to engage with the public to ‘be seen as a scientist. I don’t want to be a poster girl but I think it’s necessary to have women out there talking about science.’ Those forms of engagement were not part of any feminist group or women’s organisation, where feminist strategies and approaches were discussed collectively. Here, the women, as individuals, developed ideas on how to integrate their feminist values into their everyday activities. In the following, I discuss some examples of such individualised feminism in more detail. Those examples differ quite significantly in the way individualism plays into the respective form of feminist practices. I start by discussing ‘feminist bubbles’—social networks consisting of feminists—in which many of my participants maintained their personal well-­ being by interacting with like-minded people. The second example shows that the women used their personal relationships with friends or family members to incorporate their own feminist values in the way they interact with and possibly influence people who are close to them. The following section on self-improvement illustrates how many of the participants held themselves accountable for embodying their own feminist values. The last

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example of SlutWalk shows how broader discussions of cultural inclusion are met with individualised solutions to structural problems. Feminist Bubbles Putting their feminist values into practice in personal relationships was perceived as an important way of engaging with feminism at the micro-­ level. For Anne (30, Pākehā), ‘one of the most important ways of bringing around feminist change is just through your interpersonal relationships. You know, that’s where you meet and talk to the most people. Bringing up ideas and discuss them.’ Other women highlighted the importance of having conversations with other women to support each other and of ‘making a difference in an individual life’ (Josephine, 41, Pākehā). The majority of the participants had feminist friends or friends who did not call themselves feminist, but ‘if there was some kind of feminist test, they would pass it’ (Emily, 33, Pākehā). These feminist friendships were valued highly because they allowed the women to have conversations with like-minded people about feminist issues. Betty (31, Pākehā) explained why this was important to her: The best thing is really just feeling like I’m not a weird crazy freak. Because if you are isolated it’s super-easy to feel like you are the only person who thinks this and nothing is ever going to change. By having a feminist community, if I’m having a bad day, I can talk to them and so it’s probably the connection that’s the most powerful thing to me.

Betty used the word ‘powerful’ but some of the participants, including Anne (30, Pākehā), understood feminist friendships to be political: I don’t think that you need to be part of a group in order to make some kind of change. I think that within this house [her home which she shared with feminist flatmates] we have amazing conversations and we are really supportive of each other and we talk about things along gender and sexuality and that’s not part of a group but I think that it’s really political as well.

Some participants talked about having a mixed circle of friends, including some feminists and some who are not interested in feminist topics. Others recognised that they—some purposefully, for others it ‘just happened’— surrounded themselves with what they called their ‘feminist bubble’. They

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understood this ‘bubble’ as their circle of feminist friends who allowed them to avoid interaction with mainstream society. The reason for staying in this ‘sort of echo-chamber’ (Gabriela, 25, Southeast Asian) was ‘mostly because it got very infuriating when I didn’t’ (Judith, 21, Pākehā). Qiu (39, East Asian) explained: I find it really difficult to be outside my bubble in the mainstream society, I find it really difficult. I find it difficult to watch TV without getting extremely angry and shouting at the TV. I find it hard to go to movies and not to get irked by something.

Some women even refused to engage in personal conversations and arguments about feminism with non-feminists. Virginia (26, Pākehā), for instance, explained in colourful language: I try to not have conversations [about feminist issues] in my personal life anymore with people that I don’t know very well who it seems really clear that I’m gonna have a very different perspective to them and I’m gonna have to explain myself. Or they’re gonna say shit and I just can’t be fucked telling them how fucked their idea was.

Virginia was not alone with this stance, as a number of particularly younger women tried to avoid certain situations because, as Anne (30, Pākehā) clarified, they ‘just couldn’t be bothered having the argument or the debate with somebody. You know, sometimes you just can’t be bothered to go into Feminism 101.’ While Anne was one of the women who did see feminist value in conversations with other women, she—at least sometimes—limited them to feminists. This again raises the question as to whether ‘preaching to the converted’ is an appropriate tool for achieving social change. Not all women were entirely convinced about the advantages of a ‘feminist bubble’. Gabriela noted that in such an environment ‘all of your thoughts and views get validated a lot’ and her ideas did not get ‘challenged a lot because I surround myself in that kind of liberal left-­ leaning bubble’. Still there seemed to be an understanding that a feminist network, or bubble, offered the women a social safety net to which to return when the non-feminist world outside became too irritating or exhausting. Some feminist groups were explicitly established to share personal experiences and to provide a support network for the members

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themselves. Nana (28, Southeast Asian) talked about one of the collectives she belonged to, which addressed Asian women only. She explicitly stated that the initial purpose of this group was primarily to support the members themselves, who experienced intersectional marginalisation in their daily lives: ‘we wanted a space where you can go “Oh my God, I know what you mean!” And so, for us it’s also self-fulfilling. It’s not just something we can do for other people. It’s like so we can all feel healthy as feminists [laughs].’ While this collective started as a support group, it has continued to be involved in various types of activism. Phoolan (23, Southeast Asian), who was a member of the same group, explained: That’s quite an informal group. It’s supposed to be social support-based but it’s kind of, I guess, becoming whatever it’s becoming, which is more politically active than the original intention, which was just to share our experiences with being non-male in a Eurocentric society.

It is possible that the initial personal and self-directed focus on supporting Asian feminists was necessary to create a safe environment for the members, which in turn enabled their further political involvement. I address the purposes of feminist organisational work in more detail in the following chapter. However, in the context of this discussion it is important to note that the women’s individualised and personal motives impacted the feminist work done within groups and collectives. Self-improvement The most individualised—and possibly most neoliberal—reason for engaging with feminism is to use it for the purpose of self-improvement (Bulbeck, 2001). Yet, as I will show, this feminist form of self-improvement is not congruent with the neoliberal understanding of self-improvement based on increasing one’s human capital in economic terms. However, it is informed by it. Some of the participants applied a feminist lens to critically reflect on their own situatedness within society and consequently to adjust their view about themselves. Betty (31, Pākehā), for example, said, ‘I’m always examining myself and looking for flaws and trying to improve’, while Li (20, East Asian) acknowledged, ‘I’m more open to ideas and more tolerant of people’s lifestyles and less judgemental. I think it [feminism] made me more empathetic to people. [….] And I feel like I’m less of a pushover

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now because I have feminism on my side.’ One participant emphasised that ‘because of feminism I am able to look at my history of sexual abuse which has felt good. I mean, hard but really empowering.’ Thus, these women used their feminism to personally ‘improve’ on many different levels. Characteristic of all such attempts was the focus on themselves as individual people. This was also true for those women who described a connection between their feminist views and their acceptance of their bodies. Meri (27, Pākehā/Māori), for example, explained how feminism impacted on ‘the way that I see myself, my own body, my friends, my friends’ bodies’. Overall, there seemed to be an expectation that feminists can ignore mainstream society’s beauty standards because of their feminist analysis of gendered norms and the social construction of such standards. However, this expectation did not necessarily reflect the women’s realities. Natasha (22, Pākehā), for example, explained how her feminist values theoretically embraced a body image that regarded all sizes as healthy and dismisses fatphobic ideas. However, she also stated that ‘in practice I’m very critical with myself’. Similarly, Rosa (28, Māori) faced contradictions between what she thought a ‘good feminist’ should look like and her wish to be attractive: Sometimes […] I feel like looking nice. I want to feel attractive. And so, I’ll dress in a way that makes me feel attractive. But I don’t want to look too sexy, you know? It’s kind of always … I’m always judging myself, I guess [laughs]. You know, I want to be a good feminist but I also want to feel attractive—but not too attractive.

Rosa experienced a conflict that many feminists seem to negotiate (Baumgardner & Richards, 2003): whether a ‘good feminist’ is allowed to follow beauty standards that are arguably shaped by the patriarchal male gaze at women. Overall, the form of self-improvement described by the women referred to the betterment of two aspects: to ‘empower’ oneself by developing more confidence (e.g., about body issues but also understanding one’s history of abuse) and to increase one’s embodiment of feminist values (e.g., by becoming less judgemental or by reflecting on social expectations).

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Educating Others While the aim of self-improvement focused on the women themselves, many participants extended their desire to become better feminists to others and wanted to educate people who are close to them on feminist issues. Some of them (6) viewed themselves as ‘feminist mums’, educating their children about a society that is shaped by gender inequalities. It also meant being challenged by contradictions between social expectations regarding their roles as both mothers and feminists. Consequently, some of the women interpreted child-rearing as a feminist activity, even activism. For instance, Margaret (48, Pākehā) said, ‘You can’t do activism by not moving and parenting is probably one of the most moving things I’ve ever done’. Participants like her reflected on the impact that feminism had on the way they raised and educated their children. Whina (35, Māori), for instance, said, ‘[I]t affects the way that I teach my children. [….] Because for me it’s really important that they are fully aware and they are not walking around making ignorant comments.’ Aiono (45, Samoan/East Asian/ European) blamed her own mother for not encouraging her leadership qualities or being a female role model. She explained that she tried to avoid these mistakes with her own daughter, who was a strong and confident young woman: I could have not embraced feminism in all of my cultures and all of the things I do and she [her daughter] would have been a not so significant up-­ and-­coming leader. She would have been very different. She would probably have been a lot more damaged than I am, or I was.

Ellen (24, Pākehā) wanted to make sure her two-year-old daughter knew that gender roles are not inevitable: ‘I spend a lot of time trying to show her that she can be whoever she wants and it’s ok. She doesn’t have to conform to be this little girl in a dress. And yeah, that’s quite hard [laughs].’ Mother-child relationships were not the only relationships that entailed some form of feminist education of others. Notably, all of the participants who articulated the dynamics between feminism and their extended family members to be important parts of their feminist engagement were women from ethnic minority groups. This is possibly because the feminist approach taken by most Māori participants highlighted the importance of whānau (extended family) for the empowerment of women overall, and a number

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of Asian participants encountered conflicts within their families about feminist values in relation to cultural norms. Pākehā participants put less emphasis on their broader family in the interviews. Yet, for some women it was important to take the time to discuss feminist issues with their families. Since Whina (35, Māori) worked for an organisation in the sexual violence sector, her family members often raised certain issues in her presence: There’s always stories they are hearing about someone who’s either been sexually assaulted or raped and they […] will say things like ‘She shouldn’t have worn what she wore!’ and ‘Why did she go to that place at that time of the night?’ [….] They make really flippant comments like that. And I turn around and say something like ‘Yeah but it’s not her! […] How come he didn’t ask for permission first? Where is his responsibility in it?’ And they usually end up being quite interesting conversations, very robust conversations. They happen all the time.

Thus, Whina made an effort to educate her family about the problems of victim blaming. Christine (31, Māori/Pākehā) was less certain about how she should approach sexist comments made by her father, but she also made an effort: It’s hard to know … when do you say something? Because if I every time … like, he is not, what’s the word? Like nastily … He’s just a guy of that age, do you know what I mean? [….] And so, how often are you meant to challenge that?

One major difference between these two participants was that Whina, due to her job at the sexual violence organisation, was used to having conversations that challenged people’s attitudes. In contrast, Christine did not have this kind of experience. Hence, Whina was able to transfer her work skills into her private life. For other participants it was also challenging to discuss feminist issues with their family members (often their fathers), but for different reasons. When referring to a dinner party organised by her father, a Chinese woman (Qiu, 39) explained, ‘And he would be embarrassed, laugh and say “Don’t mind my daughter; she thinks she’s a feminist!” […] That same little line was how my father as a misogynistic Chinese male viewed women.’ While she did not imply that Chinese culture was inherently misogynistic, she found it necessary to highlight her father’s Chinese ethnicity in this

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context. She was not the only participant to do so. Other Asian women emphasised, in similar narratives, that their parents held more conservative views about gender roles than their own generation. Such an issue was sometimes combined with difficulties around language: ‘[M]y family is migrant and their understanding of English language is actually quite limited in itself. So, it [feminism] is just too big of a conversation’ (Phoolan, 23, Southeast Asian). Mainly young Asian women like Phoolan talked about difficulties communicating their feminist values to their parents. In these instances, it was hard to distinguish generational differences from alleged incompatibilities between certain cultures and feminist values. This intersection of cultural and generational differences was manifested in the experience of Gabriela (25, Southeast Asian), who attended a traditional debut ceremony with her father. She felt opposed to certain patriarchal aspects of this event, but she did not confront them at the time. She said: I feel like that’s a part of you, you have to close off at certain things. [….] It’s just not the right time and place to be doing that. Which is a bit different from if I was at home and having dinner with my dad or something, [then] I wouldn’t be afraid to vocalise these sorts of things. But I was with my dad and it was in a big group setting, lots of cultural expectations and a lot of expectations about me and my dad and about our place at the debut so … you know.

This anecdote shows how implementing feminist values into individual lives can be complicated by intersectional issues. This young woman appreciated the importance of the cultural event to her father, although her feminist ideals were not reflected in the ceremony. Weighing her feminist identification against cultural norms resulted in her decision not to speak up at this event but to raise concerns with her father at home. Thus, she did not abandon her feminism but incorporated situational priorities in deciding where and when she articulated her opinions. Individualism Within Collective Events: SlutWalk Interestingly, individualised behaviour also became evident within the context of collective events. SlutWalk (see Chap. 3), for example, was a sex-positive feminist movement with a strong focus on women’s bodies, clothing and reclaiming the word ‘slut’ (O’Keefe, 2011; Savage, 2011).

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As a protest march, it was not an individualised activity in itself, but the way some of my participants negotiated difficulties associated with this event exemplifies individualised practices, or rather, individualised strategies to cope with conflict. Internationally and within Aotearoa/New Zealand, many feminists raised concerns about the promotion of ‘sexy’ clothing and the necessity of reclaiming the word ‘slut’ via SlutWalk. These critics emphasised that there were differences in the severity of stereotypes and stigma women of different backgrounds have to face when they are called a ‘slut’. Therefore, SlutWalk was criticised for mainly reflecting the perspective of privileged, heterosexual, white middle-class women who face less obstacles when identifying as sluts. In the case of SlutWalk Aotearoa, which included marches in several cities, this debate became more complicated because the main organising team was relatively small (four women, according to one of my participants), but nevertheless included one Filipino and one queer woman. The following two quotes, which represent the perspectives of a Māori woman and a Pākehā woman, illustrate how individual women responded differently to such debates, despite both being generally supportive of the cause behind SlutWalk. The Māori woman explained why she did not attend SlutWalk: It is a privilege to be able to dress provocatively and actually not be abused by people. […] People do get victimised when they do dress like that and that’s often stratified by race and ethnicity and other variables. I felt a bit torn by that too because I have … I put in a sexual harassment claim for a lecturer at university and so I didn’t want to be associated with anything that would glorify being a slut because I had been on the receiving end of that […].

Conversely, the Pākehā woman said: I definitely saw a lot of value [in SlutWalk] for myself. I guess I just felt with all the concerns about cultural accessibility and stuff … I put them aside for the day and do something because it was quite significantly personal to me, you know. But it’s a hard one to juggle when you know it’s really empowering, especially as a [sexual violence] survivor […] but there is a problem with cultural exclusion.

Both women were aware of complaints regarding the cultural insensitivity of the SlutWalk movement, and while the Pākehā woman participated in

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SlutWalk, the Māori woman did not. Interestingly, both women acknowledged in the first part of their quotes that they understood the structural dimension of such cultural difficulties, but both women rationalised their decision of whether or not to participate by relating those difficulties to their individual experiences of sexual abuse. Thus, they prioritised personal factors in a debate about cultural inequalities and white privilege. For the Pākehā woman, it was personally important to participate because SlutWalk empowered her in her journey as a survivor of sexual violence. Her (in terms of ethic relations) privileged position enabled her to put her concerns about inclusiveness ‘aside for the day’. The Māori woman, who was in a different position because of her ongoing sexual harassment claim, felt that any association made between herself and the word ‘slut’ would discredit her stand in this claim. As Māori women are even more severely affected by negative stereotypes about promiscuity than Pākehā women, she had to consider the possible effect of her attendance at SlutWalk on her claim. A question that arises from this issue is whether there is value in feminist struggles that are important to privileged women only. Virginia (26, Pākehā) related this question to SlutWalk and said: [The cultural debate around SlutWalk] really ostracises people and then leaves [marginalised] people with the question of should I support these privileged women with their march, ‘cos yeah, it’s a good cause? Or should I say that I’m fucking angry ‘cos I’ve been left out of this and I’m not gonna march with you because you thought it was too complicated to include my perspective in this? So yeah, that’s really difficult.

Virginia’s approach to this dilemma was to frame it as an individual problem and not as one that SlutWalk needed to approach as a movement. Like the two women quoted before, she put the responsibility of deciding whether or not to take part on individual participants of the march, even though the problem reflects power imbalances between privileged and marginalised groups of women on a structural level. Therefore, this discussion of SlutWalk, one of the most prominent projects by Third Wave feminists, has shown that many feminists tend to approach challenges arising within international, large-scale activist projects from an individual perspective. Accepting individualism as a valid strategy to solve difficulties regarding inclusiveness also came the price of representation. Given the

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controversies regarding the lack of inclusiveness of SlutWalk, not all members of a feminist group decided to participate in one of the marches. However, one of them, Nana (28, Southeast Asian), spoke at the final rally—but she spoke solely for herself: I asked everyone [from the group] ‘What do you think, should we say something, I mean we are here?’ It was like six of us who actually came […]. And they were like ‘Yeah but you can’t speak on behalf of the group, you know, that’s not fair’ and I said ‘I know, I know. I’ll just speak for what I think then.’

If Nana and her group had not decided to personalise the perspective of her speech at the rally, she probably would not have spoken at all. Thus, this strategy offers room for those who do not want to impose their points of view on others. However, it can also be argued that it challenges the collective and representational character of feminism.

The Personal and the Political When explaining the individual focus of their feminist practices, some participants used the catchphrase ‘the personal is political’ (Hanisch, 1970) to justify why they understood their personal conversations with friends about feminism, their negotiations of their own body and other personal life choices to be political. However, as one participant pointed out, Hanisch—a radical feminist from the United States—actually argued in her essay the opposite. She discussed how personal women’s issues need to be tackled by a movement rather than the individual because they originate in systematic inequalities that can only be fixed by changes in the political context. Hanisch (1970, p. 77) declared ‘There are no personal solutions at this time. There is only collective action for a collective solution.’ Thus, how can individualised forms of feminist activity be political? The literature defining what constitutes the ‘political’ is enormous and covers a broad range of viewpoints. To pick one, Warren (1999, p. 210) presented an approach that critiqued power relations and viewed the political as institutionally unbound: [A]ny concept of politics must cover the increasing number of actions, relationships, processes, and institutions that in ordinary language we call ‘political’: everything from cultural contest to terrorism, from distributional issues to those of self-identity, and from democratic deliberation to authoritarian imposition.

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Following this broad definition, the examples discussed in this chapter can be interpreted as political. However, rather than measuring my participants’ activities against such a definition, I am interested in exploring the political value the women themselves assigned to their feminist engagements and how strictly feminist activity can be separated from their personal lives. My participants who articulated that individualised feminist activities were political were mainly younger women. They claimed that feminism was a tool for analysing their environments which helped them to understand and challenge gender inequalities in everyday experiences. For them, the line between the private and political spheres was blurred. They indicated that being a feminist and engaging in feminist activities was not confined to certain aspects of their lives. Rather, the women stated that they applied a feminist lens to everything they did. Susan (23, Pākehā) argued, ‘I feel like it almost got to the point where I’ve done feminism for so long that I can’t turn it off’. Nana (28, Southeast Asian) described this mind-set as being a ‘24/7 feminist’: I’m continuously aware and analysing the circumstances around me. Whether it is my interactions with people on a one-to-one basis or if it’s with group identities or group collective networking and stuff like that. So, when I say [I am a] 24/7 feminist it also means that I’m quite analytical about the choices I make in my personal life, in the relationships that I have with people, friends as well as family and in the political work that I do. […] Kind of like ticking, ticking, ticking, 24/7 [laughs].

For some participants, this mind-set was linked to their work. Isabella (28, European), who worked as an educator in the area of sexual violence prevention, explained that she needed to employ the feminist values she taught in her workshops in her personal life: ‘If it’s good enough for the young people [educated by her organisation], we need to be doing that ourselves because otherwise we are just hypocrites. It’s gotta be something that we actually believe in to be able to tell someone else.’ Other women’s statements also suggested that their everyday practices were motivated by broader political aims. Meri (27, Pākehā/Māori), for example, stated, ‘[I]f, in my political ideal, I want to limit as much social inequality as possible, I can practice that in my personal life, you know, simply by … if I’m grumpy not being rude to someone else’. Often participants explained that everyday practices of feminism, such as

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challenging someone on a sexist joke or changing someone’s idea about ‘victim blaming’, counted as valuable achievements for feminism. Josephine (41, Pākehā) elaborated on the importance of this: Small victories often mean the most, making a difference in an individual life. Although the big picture is important, it’s sometimes more difficult to get people motivated in the big picture because it often takes a long time to get it organised or get stuff done. Whereas sometimes it’s easier to focus on a smaller issue first and then slowly move forward.

Many of the women who shared similar views mentioned how rewarding it was to change people’s opinions through individual conversations. Such small victories helped them to remain motivated as feminists. This helped to overcome the frustration associated with the slow and often futile activities of ‘bigger picture’ activism (e.g., advocating law changes and equal pay/pay equity). Therefore, these forms of individualised feminist activities not only aimed for (small) incremental social change, but also served as one way to sustain feminist motivation among the women. Consequently, engaging in individualised feminism did not necessarily mean that feminists were not connected with each other. Most participants in this study were involved in multiple feminist projects. Some participants who were particularly active online were also members of feminist grassroots collectives, while others who valued their ‘feminist bubble’ in their leisure time worked for women’s organisations as their day jobs. Additionally, some participants emphasised that Aotearoa/New Zealand is a small country with an even smaller feminist community. Virginia (26, Pākehā) explained how this enabled an informal way of networking: People know who people are. […] There are multiple ways of how you can connect in but I guess if you don’t find one of those ways then it’s a bit of an abstract collective. So, it might be quite hard to start getting involved with. Then once you are involved a little bit you know people that know people or whatever. […] If some of my friends or someone who I’ve done an action with before wants to do an action […] then someone will call something and people will come together.

Nana (28, Southeast Asia) described the feminist scene in a similar way: People know them, and if you know someone, you know someone. So, it’s quite a sub-culture in a sense but it’s definitely there. And the way I know it

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is because if there is an injustice happening and I need to go somewhere to shout about it, I know who to go to, I know who to find.

However, not all participants thought individualism was beneficial to feminism and some doubted that social change could occur through individual choices or activities. Nana (28, Southeast Asian), for example, worked for a domestic violence organisation and disagreed that day-to-day activities such as having conversations about feminist topics have the ability to raise awareness. She explained: [It is frustrating] how people think that with more awareness things will get better. It doesn’t work that way! Especially when you talk about family violence and you are talking about violence and discrimination against girls and young women. Just because people know that it’s not ok does not necessarily mean that criminal statistics will reduce.

Andrea (33, Pākehā) had a similar dislike for ascribing political value to activities when she thought there was none: Often people think that ‘the personal is political’ means … I don’t know, God knows … there is something political in wearing make-up or not wearing make-up or any of those things. [….] That’s a trend that I really disagree with—the individualism as politics. I don’t think it is politics. […] The way you live your life is about dealing with it and finding the best circumstances and the strongest way forward for you. And politics is when you get together with other people and try to make something better.

Andrea was concerned because some feminists viewed individualised activities as political while she did not. Alice (24, Pākehā) had a similar complaint about feminist activities turning into social events: ‘I worry about some of the feminist stuff that’s coming up that it is so focussed on having fun and having lots of cupcakes and whatever that it gets forgotten that it is a political kind of thing’. The discussion whether individualised forms of feminism are political or not is closely linked to the connection of individualised feminism with neoliberal rationality. Thus, I will unpack this relation in the following.

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Individualised Feminism Under Neoliberalism As this chapter has shown, individualised feminist engagement can take many forms. It may consist of creating a personal ‘feminist bubble’, working on oneself to become a ‘good feminist’, sharing feminist perspectives with friends and family or prioritising personal perspectives even within collective events. Self-care, self-improvement, education and personal choices are all part of neoliberal rationality, and therefore, it is easy to dismiss those individualised approaches to feminism as a feminist embodiment of such neoliberal values. Yet, it is worth taking a closer look at this interplay between feminist and neoliberal demeanour. The purpose of the ‘feminist bubbles’ described by my participants as spaces that are safe from anti-feminist criticism and where the women can ‘feel healthy as feminists’ may qualify as what Rottenberg (2018) discussed as neoliberalism’s expectation for individuals to be responsible for their self-care and well-being. From this perspective, neoliberal subjects cannot expect society to provide an environment that makes them feel accepted; they have to create it themselves. While Rottenberg related the issue of neoliberal self-care to the context of individual women becoming responsible for achieving a happy work-life balance between career and family, this may be translated into neoliberal feminists creating a healthy balance between fighting patriarchy and maintaining their mental health. The problem with the neoliberal version of self-care is, according to Brown (2006, p. 695), that it is ‘divested of any orientation toward the common’ and it is focussed primarily (if not entirely) on increasing one’s human capital in economic terms. The bubbles, as described by my participants, have a different purpose. They help the women to re-charge, not for their economic activities, but for their political. Those bubbles are only problematic if feminists never step out of them and disconnect with the rest of society—which is not the case for my participants. Rather, they used their feminist network to regain strength, to share experiences and to let off steam when the patriarchal world outside their bubble infuriates them. Thus, they did not quit to challenge society or lose orientation towards the common; they simply took breaks from doing so in their bubbles. The neoliberal expectation for self-care is related to the neoliberal value of self-improvement (Evans, 2015). Some of my participants were constantly working on themselves to become ‘a good feminist’, for instance, by trying to shake off mainstream beauty standards or by aiming to become more aware of their own privileges in life. They also wanted to ‘improve’

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others, including their children or parents, by educating them about feminist values. Again, this behaviour can be interpreted through a neoliberal lens. Budgeon (2011, p. 84) saw a form of neoliberal co-optation of the personal inscribed in pursuing ‘freedom through a course of self-­ improvement’. It is, however, important to acknowledge that my participants worked on themselves in order to overcome the normalisation of values they were critical of. They were aware, for instance, that white privilege was a problem within feminist circles and thus, Pākehā feminists ‘looked for flaws’ and ‘tried to improve’ with regards to their own normalisation of colonial injustices. The use of such terminology may suggest that they have not been immune to neoliberal rationality that describes self-improvement as a valuable trait. Yet, they were far from interpreting the need to become a better person in terms of bettering their productive value for a neoliberal society. Similarly, the women’s intent to educate their children, family members and friends on feminist issues was not a form of education aimed at increasing human capital. It aimed at increasing awareness for gendered injustice. Using the example of SlutWalk, I have also shown that individualisation has shaped the way some of my participants handled conflicts inscribed to collective events like protest marches. Some of the women felt uncomfortable with the idea that such marches protest for a specific issue with one homogeneous voice—which fails to represent the diversity among feminists. Retreating to personal standpoints offered them a way to embrace feminism while evading the difficulty of creating inclusive and diverse spaces. It allowed for acknowledging differences among women without having to accommodate them. As the previous chapter has already indicated, high expectations within feminist circles to recognise different perspectives complicate the process of finding a definition of feminism that is shared by all feminists. Yet, on an individual level, such recognition can easily be achieved. Promoting an understanding of feminism that has different meanings to every individual feminist ensures that nobody gets excluded or silenced—or at least it eradicates the grounds for complaining about it because every feminist perspective, statement and action can be justified as a personal approach. It is for such reasons that Third Wave feminism has been critiqued for being ‘politically regressive’ (Mann & Huffman, 2005, p.  74) or post-­ feminist (Kinser, 2004) because of its lack of potential for inducing social change through individualised approaches. Brown (2015) might argue that this is a manifestation of the Homo Politicus disappearing from the

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neoliberalised social realm. But as I have shown, not all of the women’s individualised practices focussed on their personal well-being but were politically motivated in the sense of increasing awareness for and overcoming gendered inequalities. The political potential for achieving social change through such measures might be limited but still, I argue that individualised forms of feminist activity played an important role in the broader women’s movement under neoliberalism because they established a feminist foundation in the women’s lives from which they could expand their feminist engagement. For instance, feminist bubbles helped to maintain personal momentum for individual feminists and created confined spaces in which women felt safe to have discussions and develop feminist ideas. When large and collective feminist events are rare, and major, society-­altering feminist victories even less common, small successes in personal lives were realistically achievable and helped feminists remain motivated to pursue broader political struggles. One participant further pointed out that embracing and incorporating feminist values in everyday life was necessary for becoming a credible feminist role model for others, which was important for her work in an educational organisation. Women like her needed to ‘walk the talk’ in their personal lives as well, not only in the institutions they worked for. Newman (2012) argued that these forms of informal feminism may be excluded from formal politics but they are still connected to it. Women who incorporate feminist values in their personal lives do not leave their ideology at the door when they enter their professional jobs. However, this chapter has also shown that individualised forms of feminist engagement created conflicts and challenges for feminists. Not all participants agreed about the usefulness or the political value of individualised activities and some, particularly those more aligned with Second Wave or radical feminist approaches, criticised them for making feminism ‘too fun’, distracting women from more serious feminist struggles against gender inequalities. This chapter purposefully looked at the individual level of feminist engagement. So even if one agrees with the participants who are more critical of the political value of individualised feminism, it must be kept in mind that this does not cover all of the feminist activities of my participants—as the following two chapters will show.

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References Baumgardner, J., & Richards, A. (2003). The number one question about feminism. Feminist Studies, 29(2), 448–452. Beck, U., & Beck-Gernsheim, E. (2002). Individualization. Sage Publications. Brown, W. (2006). American nightmare. Political Theory, 34(6), 690–714. https://doi.org/10.1177/0090591706293016 Brown, W. (2015). Undoing the demos: Neoliberalism’s stealth revolution. Zone Books. Budgeon, S. (2001). Emergent feminist(?) identities. Young women and the practice of micropolitics. European Journal of Women’s Studies, 8(1), 7–28. https:// doi.org/10.1177/135050680100800102 Budgeon, S. (2011). Third wave feminism and the politics of gender in late modernity. Palgrave Macmillan. Bulbeck, C. (2001). Feminism by any other name? Outskirts Online Journal, 8. Retrieved July 2, 2021, from https://www.outskirts.arts.uwa.edu.au/volumes/volume-­8/bulbeck Evans, E. (2015). The politics of third wave feminisms: Neoliberalism, intersectionality and the state in Britain and the US. Palgrave Macmillan. Hanisch, C. (1970). The personal is political. In S. Firestone & A. Koedt (Eds.), Notes from the second year: Women’s liberation (pp. 76–78). Major writings of the radical feminists. Harris, A. (2010). Mind the gap. Attitudes and emergent feminist politics since the Third Wave. Australian Feminist Studies, 25(66), 475–484. https://doi. org/10.1080/08164649.2010.520684 Howard, C. (Ed.). (2007). Contested individualization. Debates about contemporary personhood. Palgrave Macmillan. Kinser, A.  E. (2004). Negotiating spaces for/through Third-Wave feminism. Feminist formations, 16(3), 124–153. Mann, S. A., & Huffman, D. J. (2005). The decentering of Second Wave feminism and the rise of the Third Wave. Science & Society, 69(1), 56–91. Newman, J. (2012). Working the spaces of power. Activism, neoliberalism and gendered labour. Bloomsbury Academic. O’Keefe, T. (2011). Flaunting our way to freedom? SlutWalks, gendered protest and feminist Futures. Paper presented at the New Agendas in Social Movement Studies. Rich, E. (2005). Young women, feminist identities and neo-liberalism. Women’s Studies International Forum, 28(6), 495–508. Rottenberg, C. (2018). The rise of neoliberal feminism. Oxford University Press. Savage, E. (2011). Politics of Slutwalk. Eureka Street, 21(10), 29–30. Sowards, S. K., & Renegar, V. R. (2006). Reconceptualizing rhetorical activism in contemporary feminist contexts. Howard Journal of Communications, 17(1), 57–74. https://doi.org/10.1080/10646170500487996 Warren, M.  E. (1999). What is political? Journal of Theoretical Politics, 11(2), 207–231. https://doi.org/10.1177/0951692899011002004

CHAPTER 6

Organisational Feminism

Moving from the micro-level discussed in the previous chapter to the meso-level of feminist activity, this chapter investigates the political opportunities of organisations in Aotearoa/New Zealand’s women’s movement under neoliberalism. I will argue that some aspects of organisational work benefitted from some consequences of neoliberal governance, but overall, contracts and partnerships with a neoliberal government gave rise to funding dependencies that significantly dictated many organisations’ work. As this chapter will show, many women’s organisations in Aotearoa/New Zealand had significant limitations to their work dictated by such contracts and partnerships, restricting their political agency (Aimers, 2011; Grey & Sedgwick, 2013a; Vanderpyl, 2004). But as those organisations are situated between the community they serve and the government whose fundings they use (Newman, 2012), they maintain an important space within the women’s movement in which the needs of the community are translated into the priorities of the government. For the purpose of exploring these issues, I draw upon two sources of empirical data. This study’s interview data allowed much insight into the work of the organisations because most of my interview participants were involved with at least one group, organisation or institution. Some were employees of service providers, others volunteered with charitable organisations and further women were members of activist groups. However,

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 J. Schuster, Neoliberalism and its Impact on the Women’s Movement in Aotearoa/New Zealand, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-95523-6_6

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those interview data can only reflect the subjective views of a small number of women. Therefore, I use additional data from a content analysis of 20 organisations’ websites, which focussed on how these organisations present themselves and their work. The organisations1 included in this analysis differ in various ways: in their level of institutionalisation/formalisation, in their political character and in the form of feminism they are informed by (e.g., liberal and radical). But they have in common that they work on women’s issues (see Chap. 1) and a significant part of the organisations’ clientele are women. These two selection criteria allowed some organisations, which are not ‘typical’ women’s organisations (e.g., The Salvation Army) to be included in this study.2 Since the use or the avoidance of the label ‘feminist organisation’ can be a strategic decision which must not necessarily align with whether or not an organisation actually does feminist work, this was not a selection criterion. This chapter first discusses how political conditions for women’s organisations have changed under neoliberalism, in particular regarding necessities for increased professionalism and continuous funding difficulties. The second half of the chapter focuses on how women’s organisations deal with practical issues connected to ethnic and other differences among women. It concludes with a reflection on how neoliberalism has affected the political work of women’s organisations.

Changed Opportunities for Organisations The organisations discussed in this chapter existed during the neoliberal era in Aotearoa/New Zealand. Some of them have existed before the mid-­1980s, and a few do not exist anymore today. However, all had to negotiate a space for their work within the political opportunities under neoliberalism. During this time, many women’s organisations adopted increasingly hierarchical and centralised structures and bureaucratic working styles (Grey, 2009; Vanderpyl, 2004). Such changes were consequences of a shift in the nature of government funding for women’s organisations. The dominant political view in the 1990s (shaped by the State Sector Act in 1988) was influenced by public choice theory and a 1  See Appendix for a list of those organisations (Table A2), their clientele and work foci (Table A3). 2  To include such non-typical organisations ensured that also those organisations are covered, which work on women’s issues but are not labelled as women’s organisations.

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public management approach that encouraged the separation between institutions that provide funding and organisations that deliver social services to the community. This separation should avoid bureaucratic ‘capture’ and improve the efficiency of service providers through offering clients a choice of several providers and establishing competition between them (Cheyne et al., 2008; Grey, 2008; Teghtsoonian, 2004). In this context, community and voluntary organisations across all sectors were contracted by government to deliver social services. In the context of women’s organisations this included, for instance, reproductive health services and anti-violence work. To become eligible for such contracts, organisations had to meet standards of professionalism and be able to deliver defined outputs efficiently. Moreover, such funding was not available to politically vocal organisations and only tailored to those providing services, not advocacy work relating to marginalised groups. Not only did this restrict the work content of the contracted organisations, it also contributed to silencing the political voice of women’s organisations (Grey & Sedgwick, 2013b; Vanderpyl, 2004). Applying for such contracts was, therefore, no option for groups and organisations which perceived themselves as primarily political and wanted to maintain this character. For organisations informed by a socialist or radical feminist perspective, this was more often than case than for liberal groups. The Third Way approach, adopted by the Labour Government in 1999 due to increasing critique of neoliberalism’s effect on social inequalities, modified the relationship between the state and community organisations. It moved its focus from contractualism to ‘partnerships’. This new form of contractual arrangements between central government agencies, local authorities, iwi (tribes) and community groups (including many women’s organisations) aimed to achieve community development through ‘bottom-­up’ approaches. Unlike previous ‘top-down’ contracts dictated by the government, partnerships were supposed to build on the knowledge of the communities (Larner, 2005; Larner & Butler, 2005; Larner & Craig, 2005; Panelli & Larner, 2010). Thus, the partnership model arguably offered more political agency to organisations than contractualism and addressed social issues that were not responsive to top-down solutions (Taylor, 2006). They also had the advantage of allowing relatively junior actors to compete against more established organisations in gaining such partnerships (Newman, 2012). However, the contractual relationships dominating partnerships still meant the state held considerable control to define the outputs and services offered. Thus, in reality, the new approach

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did not establish equal relationships between the state and community organisations, as the terminology of partnerships suggested (Grey, 2008; Grey & Sedgwick, 2013a). In the following I address some of these developments more closely and I highlight the challenges they brought for the women’s movement as identified in my empirical data. Professionalism and Formalisation While many Second Wave women’s organisations initially evolved from a radical feminist approach focusing on women supporting other women with similar experiences (e.g., gendered violence and care responsibilities), this approach of ‘women organising for women’ seemed to have changed with the Third Wave. Only a few organisations included in my study were still primarily run by women who shared similar characteristics or experiences (referring to those relevant for the organisation’s work focus) with their clientele. One of them, Rainbow Youth, stated on its website ‘We are run by youth, for youth, and have a board made up of people under the age of 28’. The New Zealand Prostitute Collective similarly explained that it ‘was formed in 1987 by sex workers as an organisation determined to seek equal rights for sex workers’. Also, organisations which explicitly engaged with specific ethnic groups tended to share ethnic identities across staff and clientele. Opotiki’s Māori Women’s Welfare League (OMWWL), for example, is run by and for Māori women. Shakti’s website also emphasised that the organisation was ‘founded by Farida Sultana and 7 other Asian women’ as an organisation ‘by ethnic women for ethnic women’. While the terms ‘Asian’ and ‘ethnic’ are broad, the organisation offers people who visit the website a more detailed explanations of who runs the organisation and whose interests it represents. The Central Region Eating Disorder Services (CREDS) ‘was set up by a group of women who had themselves recovered from eating disorders’; however, the organisation’s website also reported on the increasing numbers of paid and professional staff during the 1990s: ‘The service then grew to employ over 19 staff, including a Dietician, a Psychiatrist and a team of therapists’. Similarly, the work of many of the organisations— mainly the advocacy groups—required a relatively high level of education to conduct research or provide professional counselling. In such cases (e.g., Child Poverty Action Group and organisations working to prevent violence), recruiting staff based on their expertise seemed to be logical. An

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additional reason was provided by a participant3 (thirties, East Asian), who worked at a women’s organisation in the community: Participant: So originally [the organisation] would have been volunteer run and collective run as well. But things changed about ten, fifteen years ago where we had [to employ] paid staff and get more and more paid staff. And we’ve gone from like a collective driven organisation to having a collective who governs the manager who then governs us, who manages us. Julia: Ok, why do you think did this change happen? Participant: I think it’s necessary, to be honest. […] I think in order for us to flourish and get bigger and do more we needed to have strong leadership and I think we also needed to have people who were in paid employment to be committed, to carry these things through. Increasing formalisation came along with more professional staff. One member (twenties, Pākehā) of the Wellington Young Feminist Collective (WYFC), a relatively new grassroots group, stated that the collective was ‘planning to become an incorporated society next year. So that will involve having a constitutional document.’ For this woman the main advantage of having such a constitutional document was providing a ‘sense of direction for the group’. Given the grassroots character of this group, the level of formalisation is still low, yet also other participants named a range of positive factors when talking about formalised aspects of their groups and organisations. The ability to work in a structured way, greater opportunities to be heard by policy makers and more avenues for funding (which will be discussed below) were among those advantages. Two participants also suggested that it was easier for a formal organisation to be inclusive of other ethnic groups. One of them (twenties, Pākehā) explained this perspective with the example of inviting guest speakers to events:

3  Many of my participants were employed by the organisations they talked about in their interviews. Since the information they offered was often critical towards their employers, this chapter provides less personal information (e.g., only broad age) and omits the use of pseudonyms.

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Because there is this formal thing of inviting people to speak, you can look at your list of people you are inviting and be like ‘Oh God, we haven’t … All of our speakers are white women, we actually need to bring in some diversity!’ Whereas with informal groups there is no record of meetings or anything like that. And it’s so informal that you do get this lack in diversity. Inadvertently, obviously not deliberately, but yeah.

Not all participants agreed that increased formalisation was positive and, in particular, a number of women highlighted drawbacks of the extra bureaucracy it brought. For example, one woman complained about the long and formalised process of joining the Auckland branch of the National Council of Women as an individual member, and another participant involved in feminist student politics criticised the bureaucracy on campus: ‘There are a lot of times when you just want to go ahead and do something but you have to get it signed off by people and people don’t reply for ages’ (twenties, Pākehā). A similar perspective was shared by a woman who demanded that activism needed to be easily accessible rather than involving tedious administrative barriers. Fighting for Funding Most of the websites indicated that the respective organisation was funded through more than one source. This mainly included private donations, fundraising and membership fees. In most cases, however, these three types of funding were not sufficient to sustain the organisation. Thus, a significant share of organisations regularly applied for grants from charitable and philanthropic trusts and/or relied on government for funding. A few indicated that businesses sponsored the respective organisations and one organisation ran its own online merchandise store. Additionally, my interview participants listed fundraising events such as the International Women’s Day breakfast hosted by the United Nations Women’s Committee and the lounge party of the Wellington Young Feminist Collective (WYFC). Small, new and often informal organisations (e.g., Eats on Feets, Mothers for Choice) commonly had individual members pay for certain expenses from their private pockets. According to my participants most organisations were under-funded in relation to their workload and they faced an ongoing struggle to secure long-term funding. The women experienced this as frustrating for a range of reasons. Apart from concerns about being able to survive as an

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organisation, acquiring grants and funding became a central and laborious part of the workload. Some organisations had to put one of their few paid staff members in charge of acquiring funding, which reduced the amount of work they could do elsewhere. Many organisations working in the area of violence against women could not pay enough employees (if any) and relied heavily on volunteers. However, paying employees little and volunteers nothing often resulted in exploitative working conditions, as two participants explained: You can pay them [employees] for 10 hours a week so they work 10 hours on top [of their other job]. And what ends up happening is they burn out. ‘Cos they need to actually, you know, [to] fund their own lifestyle as well so they are working full time while volunteering out of control hours. (Twenties, Southeast Asian) [Volunteers] go on the roster and you are expected to do, I think it’s four [shifts] a month, [….] and that’s the base that you are supposed to commit. What happened to me, because I’m a bit of a soft-touch, is because [the organisation] is under-funded and has way, way too much work for it, you can get sucked in and you can be doing everything. (Thirties, Pākehā)

As a result of such conditions, many volunteers quickly felt overburdened, and so, organisations faced a high turnover. This created even more work for the organisations because new volunteers needed to be recruited and trained. Funding from governmental bodies was, as explained before, often tied to a contract to deliver certain services. This affected the work of these organisations in several ways, as my participants explained. One woman (twenties, Southeast Asian), who worked at an organisation with a focus on domestic violence, stated: It [a contract] can be quite limiting. But then again, because you are limited like that you can also stop yourself from being too stretched and kind of being more defined in what you do. That’s really important. ‘Cos that’s what I struggle with. There are so many issues that I would like to address but sometimes it’s nice to have something else that’s a barrier, that gives you boundaries.

This woman referred to the organisation being under-staffed and under-­ funded and she found the externally defined limitations of the contract helpful to keep her from working on too many issues with too few

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resources. This ‘advantage’, of course, only pointed to the fact that too much work needed to be done by too few people. Most participants criticised the restrictions of government contracts. Such contracts were often limited to six months or one year, which was too short for most projects. Participants who worked in the area of violence prevention emphasised that effective prevention programmes depend on establishing a trusting relationship with a particular community, which was not possible within the given amount of time. Several women explained that financial dependence on the government also limited the organisation’s political agency: ‘we can’t be in street protests or be doing things because we need to have a relationship with the government’. Contract-based funding was often tied to specific services for specific target groups, which also meant that it stopped when those services could not be delivered. In the case of a women’s community centre, this resulted in a yearly battle for their health services that also reflected government’s prioritisation on economic need and ethnicity over women’s issues: We did have cervical screening here at the centre regularly […]. And then they lost their funding because apparently this area is too affluent now4 […] And they recently got funding again to be here but we couldn’t get enough members through because their target market was Pacific Island, Māori and Asian between 25–60 who hadn’t been screened in 3 years. And those were the only [ones] who were allowed to get it. So, it was hard to get minimum numbers for their funding. (Thirties, East Asian)

A number of participants agreed that cuts to government funding were particularly severe for organisations working in the sector of violence against women. Even within this sector there seemed to be a hierarchy, as one of my participants (thirties, Māori) explained: Look at the area of sexual violence and we are like family violence’s poor cousin. Family violence gets all the funding and we get no funding. […] And although they integrate a lot, there are still very separate effects that happen.

Another participant (twenties, European) had a similar view:

4

 This centre is located in a relatively affluent district of Auckland.

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Probably the most frustrating thing on a government level is the fact of money actually given to this sector. So, for two years sexual violence was just given one million dollars for the whole country. […] Domestic violence seems to get on the agenda whereas sexual violence doesn’t because it is even more uncomfortable to talk about. People don’t like talking about it.

The limitation of funding available to address sexual violence also created competition between organisations in the field: We are all working for the same thing, to end sexual violence, but at the same time we have to compete for money from different places and that makes it more difficult. […] We are competing with colleagues and agencies. I mean, the sexual violence sector is severely under-funded and so it just has promoted that competition. (Thirties, Pākehā)

Thus, organisations working in similar areas had little incentive to cooperate with each other because they were, to some extent, business rivals. Smith (2001) found a similar development when researching domestic violence organisations in the United States. She claimed that ‘what was once a collaborative network that functioned for the good of clients became fragmented and competitive’ (Smith, 2001, p. 440). Overall, many organisations—in particular those working on sexual violence issues—found themselves in a position where they had to adapt to the requirements of government bodies in order to be eligible for their funding contracts. These adaptations (e.g., increased bureaucratisation and professionalisation), however, created more costs for the organisations, making them even more dependent on government funding.

Between Fragmentation and Inclusiveness Fragmentation and the lack of networking among women’s organisations were not only caused by new forms of competition. For instance, one participant (twenties, European) who immigrated to Aotearoa/New Zealand a few years ago stated: I think in general in New Zealand everything is fragmented [laughs] and doesn’t network very much! […] I think that’s a very Kiwi thing of here, ‘I’m doing my thing and I can do it’. [There is a] very strong independence and a high social anxiety to actually go and talk to someone [laughs] and have a conversation and actually be able to network.

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Although this participant was the only one to frame it as a national characteristic, many interview participants agreed that feminist activity in Aotearoa/New Zealand was fragmented, scattered and not unified through organisations or activist collectives working with each other. However, this was not always perceived as a flaw: I definitely think there is more fragmenting but I don’t think that that makes it [the women’s movement] weaker. It just means that we are recognising a wider array of things and the whole intersectionality thing. I think it’s just realising more that there is more to it than just, you know, all women want the same thing […]. Yeah, I don’t think that it makes them weaker. I think it’s a good thing, it just shows the diversity that is out there. (Twenties, Pākehā)

Recognising and reacting to different needs among women was, in line with individual forms of feminist activity (see Chap. 5), a major concern for the work of women’s organisations. The main clientele of most organisations in my analysis was limited to specific groups (see Appendix Table A3), including Māori women, nurses and Asian women with experiences of violence. Thus, the services of these organisations did not aim to include all women. However, these limitations were mostly still broad enough to allow diversity within their clientele group (e.g., there are older, younger, hetero- and homosexual nurses). Therefore, the websites of many organisations additionally promoted special programmes for specific groups within their clientele. For instance, three organisations offered services explicitly directed at clients with non-heterosexual identities: the New Zealand Nurses Organisation (NZNO) provided information on ‘Out@ work’, the ‘Council of Trade Union’s network for lesbian, gay, takatāpui,5 bisexual, intersex, transgender and fa’afafine6 union members’; Shine’s website promoted ‘You, Me, Us—Our People, Our Relationships’ as an initiative they ran together with OUTLINE NZ and Rainbow Youth; and, finally, the Women’s Refuge talked of its consultation services and advocacy by wāhine takatāpui, lesbian and queer women. Seven other organisations did not offer such services but addressed the diverse sexual identities among their clientele with varying degrees of importance and visibility on their websites. The Kapiti Living Without  Māori term used for homosexual, also spelled takataapui.   Samoans who are born biologically male and adopt feminised gender identities (Schmidt, 2003). 5 6

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Violence (KLWV) website, for example, acknowledged in its mission statement that the organisation took ‘account of […] sexual preference’ and the Women’s Health Action Trust (WHA) provided several articles on health issues relevant to lesbian women. The Salvation Army was the only organisation which articulated an exclusionary and discriminatory position on this issue. Its website informed readers in an extensive discussion about the organisations’ views on homosexuality and Christianity, and concluded that ‘the position adopted is that homosexual orientation is not blameworthy but that homosexual behaviour disqualifies one from soldiership or leadership in The Salvation Army’. Biculturalism, Multiculturalism and Parallel Developments Reflecting Aotearoa/New Zealand’s official policy of biculturalism, the recognition of Māori culture and Māori perspectives was given prominent space on the websites of many organisations, with eight acknowledging Te Tiriti o Waitangi (see Chap. 1). KLWV, for example, stated ‘KLWV is guided by Te Tiriti o Waitangi and recognises Māori People as Tangata Whenua’.7 The Child Poverty Action Group (CPAG), the New Zealand Prostitute Collective (NZPC), the NZNO, the Salvation Army, WHA, Women’s Refuge and the Women’s Studies Association (WSA) all provided similar statements. The website of the WSA offered further explanations: ‘This means we have a particular responsibility to address their oppression among our work and activities’. Either in addition to such acknowledgement (CPAG, NZPC, WHA) or instead of it (CREDS, NACEW, NCWNZ), a few websites paid tribute to cultural and ethnic differences among their clientele through broader statements, demonstrating recognition of not only biculturalism but also multiculturalism. For example, CPAG’s website stated that one of the organisation’s core objectives was ‘to ensure all activities and decisions respect other cultural perspectives’. These acknowledgements were translated into a number of specific services for key ethnic groups. For example, the NZNO’s website introduced a Pacific Nursing Section and Te Rau Kōkiri as a ‘campaign to achieve pay parity for Māori and Iwi health workers’. The Salvation Army’s website offered multi-faith events and promoted Māori Ministries. Both the RWNZ and CPAG websites informed readers about policy submissions 7

 Tangata whenua is the Māori term for indigenous people of the land.

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made by the organisations that aimed to specifically serve the interests of Māori communities. Women’s Refuge not only explained that it ran separate refuges for Māori, Pacific, migrant and refugee women, but that it was committed to ‘parallel development’ of the organisation: The model of parallel development at Women’s Refuge is a system based on partnership consistent with Te Tiriti o Waitangi. It means that tangata whenua and tauiwi8 develop equally side-by-side; resources are shared equitably; we offer culturally appropriate services; and we have an organisational structure consistent with our feminist, women-based orientation.

While this excerpt from the organisation’s website explained how Women’s Refuge translated its cultural awareness into practice, three other organisations barely mentioned cultural or ethnic appropriateness on their website. The New Zealand Division of Women’s International Motorcycling Association (NZWIMA), for example, only provided the general statement that it arrived to be a ‘network of friends and support for women from all walks of life’. Similarly, the small and rather informal Wellington Webgrrls did not discuss ethnic diversity on their website, apart from offering a ‘welcome’ in four languages on their homepage. This lack of cultural consideration seems to be more surprising for the third organisation, the Abortion Law Reform Association. While a few discussions on diversity and intersectionality were included in some of its electronic newsletters, the website itself offered no recognition that its staff or clientele may be culturally diverse. One of my interview participants (twenties, Pākehā), who was involved with abortion law reform groups, offered her view as to why recognition of ethnic diversity might not have priority in this field: Participant: Pacific Island communities won’t necessarily get on board. But there’d be a relatively high percentage of Māori women as well and Asian women, a relatively high percentage of those that we are fighting for. So yeah, Catch 22. Julia: Why do you think it would be hard to get them on board? Participant: Especially Pacific Island women, you know, they suffer much more stigma around abortion than Pākehā women do and even Māori women as well. The emphasis is placed so 8

 Māori term for the non-Māori people of Aotearoa/New Zealand.

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much more on the whānau [extended family] than on the individual. This statement indicated that it can be difficult for organisations to appropriately accommodate for cultural differences. This is particularly the case for organisations working on sensitive issues such as abortion (Le Grice & Braun, 2017), but it applies to others as well. The following section elaborates on the tensions and challenges organisations faced in this context. Difficult Differences Just because (some) organisations aimed to be inclusive of different perspectives and provide services for a diverse clientele, this did not necessarily mean that those services were accepted and that diverse groups actively participated in an organisation’s work. While a large body of literature has discussed how organisations try to ‘manage diversity’ and to implement cross-cultural cooperation within organisations (e.g., Cox, 1991; Cox & Blake, 1991), Jones et al. (2000) argued that most of this literature reflects the North American context and cannot directly be applied to bicultural Aotearoa/New Zealand. However, research conducted for Aotearoa/ New Zealand also confirmed the challenges in creating and maintaining ethnically diverse women’s organisations (Henry & Pringle, 1996; Mulvey et al., 2000; Vanderpyl, 2004). Drawing on the experiences of my interview participants, I discuss how these women experienced such challenges. One participant (twenties, Southeast Asian) commented on the genuine attempt of an organisation to implement Māori perspectives into its structure: They recently developed a kaupapa Māori [Māori policy/programme] kind of practice model. And they help support—what was their name— Hohourongo,9 I think. Which is … it does the same kind of work but employs specific Māori key workers and social workers in their organisation. […] And they have a Māori advisory group and, you know, your induction into the team is you get a pōwhiri [welcome ceremony], things like that and a whakatau [welcome speech] and they use lingo as a lot of places are trying to do now. Yeah, but at the end of the day there is one Māori person in the organisation. 9

 See https://www.nzfvc.org.nz/news/launch-hohourongo-programme

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This was a widespread problem. Among the 40 women interviewed, 15 criticised some of the groups and organisations to which they belonged for being either completely or dominantly run by Pākehā or European women. Notably, Pākehā and European women themselves tended to be particularly critical of their organisations’ ‘whiteness’ and concerned with issues of inclusiveness, reflecting the arguments I presented in Chap. 4. While such criticism was articulated by staff of the organisations and their clientele (e.g., visitors of feminist student events and users of the AWC library), perceptions differed between individuals. For example, the ethnic composition of one specific feminist grassroots collective was described differently by various participants; some were positive about the teamwork of Pākehā and Asian women, while others described the collective as ‘mainly white’. One Pākehā member of another feminist organisation proudly mentioned that its founding members were ethnically diverse, while another member (twenties, Southeast Asian) of the same organisation stated, ‘It’s really hard to say that women from different cultural backgrounds are working together because of all the, like, meetings and rallies and things that I have attended I am—without a fail—usually the only Asian person there’. It seemed that Pākehā members of the same organisation tended to overplay the involvement of individual non-Pākehā members to make the organisation look more inclusive. Elaborating on the role often assigned to individual members as representatives of entire groups, Yoder (1989) and Scott (2005) discussed the effect of tokenism in organisations and stated that being the only (or one of few) members outside the dominant group increases the likelihood that this person will eventually leave the organisation. This was the experience of one of my participants (twenties, East Asian), who was part of an organisation where she felt other members viewed her as the token ‘young Asian woman’. She eventually left this group due to her frustration: ‘it’s good if I’m visible and I’m there but whenever I say anything it doesn’t get valued or doesn’t get listened to’. When discussing the lack of ethnic diversity in organisations, a commonly shared perspective among Pākehā women was that they wished to stop dominating proceedings, but they were uncertain about how to do this. As one participant (twenties, Pākehā) said about the feminist organisation she belonged to: ‘Yeah, it’s very white […] I would like to have more voices from different, diverse groups. That would be awesome. How we go about doing this? I don’t know.’

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Practical strategies to deal with the dominance of Pākehā women within some organisations were mainly focussed on increasing the input of diverse voices through external means. The MUSE magazine, for example, tried to balance the dominance of Pākehā contributors to the magazine by printing interviews with Māori women and covering topics regarded as relevant to women from across different ethnic groups. Other organisations invited guest speakers to their events who represented perspectives from a broad range of cultures and ethnic groups. Such strategies, however, did not change the underlying reasons why mainly Pākehā women belonged to the organisation. Women often explained this situation by referring to broader problems in Aotearoa/New Zealand society (such as institutionalised racism and the patronising behaviour of white women) which they perceived to be reflected at an organisational level. Others offered more specific arguments. One woman, who worked at the Ministry of Women’s Affairs (MWA),10 noted: That’s [diversity] very challenging for the MWA. There are some [non-­ Pākehā women] but we are a small Ministry. We’ve got around, I think, 30 people who work there. So yes, we do have some people who are Māori, we have a woman with an Asian background […] and we have men who work there as well. I think one of the challenges in government as I understand it in terms of diversity—and this is something that we give a lot of thought to—is finding people from diverse backgrounds who actually have the skills that are needed for the work that we do. I think that’s one of the barriers to having a more diverse workforce. And that’s across the public service generally. And within our agency it’s the fact that we are so small. So, you are looking for people who are interested first of all in the agency and the work and who have the skills. You know, yeah, we would probably like to do better but I think we are doing not too badly in terms of our size.

This participant’s argument mirrored the discussion about consequences of increased professionalisation within women’s organisations presented earlier in this chapter. This same argument is also articulated within the ‘diversity management’ literature (Cox, 1991), which acknowledges that socio-economic disadvantages of some ethnic groups lead to their 10  The MWA is a state feminist institution (see Chap. 7) rather than a women’s organisation. However, difficulties regarding inclusiveness are shared across these categories and are particularly relevant for agency groups who require well-educated staff.

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underrepresentation among tertiary students. This is also the case for Māori in the Aotearoa/New Zealand context (Marie et al., 2008). This might explain the underrepresentation of Māori in the MWA and other organisations needing high-skilled employees. But this argument was heavily criticised by Grahame (1998). She suggested that discussion of failed inclusivity by dominantly ‘white organisations’ requires a shift in perspective. In her study of feminist organisations in the United States, Grahame (1998) found that non-white women often felt excluded from the decision-­making power within organisations and thus had little interest themselves in joining them. As one of Grahame’s (1998, p. 390) participants put it, ‘Until they [white women] decide to take leadership from us, we don’t want to be a part of their organizations’. Maddison (2004, 2013) discussed a similar rationale for Aboriginal women being absent from Australian feminist programmes. Therefore, the absence of Māori, Pacific and Asian women in many Aotearoa/New Zealand women’s organisations is arguably a greater problem for Pākehā and European women than for Māori, Pacific and Asian women: while the latter groups have little reason to join, the former groups often aspire inclusiveness to ease their own feelings of colonial guilt and white privilege (Jones, 2001; Vanderpyl, 2004). Conflicts arising from inefficient and belated attempts at sharing power were also reflected in the experiences of participants involved in the organisation of SlutWalk Aotearoa in 2011. Although the collective that organised it was small and included at least one non-Pākehā woman, it was heavily criticised for its alleged demonstration of white privilege (see Chap. 5). One participant (twenties, European), for instance, commented: The organisers organised it and then kind of invited people along. Especially when you work in the New Zealand context where colonisation is such a strong part of the reality of our society, that can be perceived as very lopsided. And also, for lots of women of colour or marginalised women identifying with the term ‘slut’ was a tough one. And that could have potentially been resolved with a meeting beforehand or inviting everyone to be part of it and going ‘What do we want to call it here in Aotearoa?’

This comment reflects Grahame’s (1998) critique: rather than including women in an organisation with pre-existing power dynamics, inclusiveness requires equal involvement in leadership and decision making from an

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early stage. However, this approach of equal leadership does not guarantee successful inclusiveness, as another experience by one of my participants illustrated. She helped found a women’s organisation that focussed on educational issues and aspired to include Pākehā and Māori members. Some of the Māori women wanted to have either a female (kuia) or male (kaumātua) elder person present at events to make them culturally safe spaces. My participant (thirties, Pākehā) further explained the situation: [That] didn’t mean that they wanted them to be present all the time necessarily but they needed the ability. And for other women in the group the idea—including one person who was a Māori woman—the idea of having any men present […] wasn’t something that they were prepared to do. And for them to be involved in the group that was the bottom line. And for the Māori women—some of the Māori women in the group—that was the bottom line too. [The Pākehā women asked] ‘Can you guarantee it was a kuia [and not a kaumatua]?’ and they were like ‘No that’s not appropriate for you to make that call actually’ […]. And so, the group just melted down. We couldn’t come to … you know, there was no compromise.

In this case, differences in priorities were so severe that the group did not find a way to overcome them. Although this occurred in the late 1990s, the participant ended the story with a resigned ‘I still can’t think of a way that we could have resolved that’. Inscribed into this problem is, of course, the difference between a (Western) radical feminist approach that did not want to include men in a women’s event, and a mana wahine approach that emphasised the value of cultural adequacy and the unified struggle with and not against Māori men. Those values should not be abandoned to accommodate Pākehā women’s expectations, but Māori women’s requirement to work with Māori men stood ‘outside the dominant paradigms of Pākehā feminism’ (Larner, 1995, p. 182). There was no solution found. The lack of diversity within many organisations may, at least sometimes, be the result of arguably well-intentioned but inadequate and belated invitations to members of minority groups, as well as of the limited interest of minority group members in being used as tokens. As this last example showed, differences around basic principles of organising may add to such difficulties.

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Neoliberal Effects on Organisational Work Drawing on Foucault’s lectures on biopolitics, Gane (2012) developed a typology of neoliberal governmentality. He uses this typology to describe neoliberal governmentality on a macro-level that is concerned with the relationship between the state, the market and citizens. It can, however, also be applied to explain the rationale behind the partnership model that women’s organisations in Aotearoa/New Zealand had to submit themselves to in order to survive neoliberalism. The typology includes four aspects of neoliberal governmentality: (1) surveillance and discipline, (2) surveillance and control, (3) interactivity and (4) the promotion of competition. The first, governmentality through surveillance and discipline, is based on the idea of the Panopticon (Foucault, 1975), in which the mere act of being watched is enough to discipline subjects to behave in a desired way. In the context of the women’s organisations discussed in this chapter, such surveillance was executed via the partnership model. Organisations knew that their work was monitored and evaluated by the funding institutions that decided which organisation was offered which partnership contract. Becoming eligible for government contracts at all not only required that the organisations reduced their political involvement, they also had to formally adapt. In order to show government partners their ability and suitability to provide adequate services, women’s organisations had to become more professionalised and formalised than the grassroots organisations of the 1970s women’s movement. They needed to employ staff with formal, professional expertise, not only lived experience. While this professionalism benefitted some of the organisations—in some contexts the expertise of trained psychologists or medical staff cannot be replaced by pure lived experiences—this became another cost factor and solidified the dependency on funding and it potentially distanced the organisations from the community they intended to serve (Newman, 2012). The services themselves also became more regulated and surveilled by government expectations. As one of my participants pointed out, her organisation had to consider that a work focus to combat domestic violence was more likely to receive funding than work in the sector of sexual violence—because government had a stronger interest in the former. And once a focus was defined by a contract, it was hard to change it, as the example of the cervical screening service, that was tied to the clientele’s ethnicity, demonstrated. While such enforced specialisation may arguably

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be in line with feminism’s increased recognition of differences among women—as some of my participants have pointed out—it also led to the defunding of services for minority groups. Moreover, women’s organisations were usually not founded to be neutral service providers but often came from a political context and were involved in advocacy work. Organisations working in the field of ending gendered violence, for example, were situated in the tradition of women’s refuges and rape crisis centres. In Aotearoa/New Zealand, as in other parts of the world, those organisations emerged in the 1970s as a response of (radical) feminists to the unwillingness and inability of state authorities at the time to provide quick and effective help for abused women. Their work was inherently political. Yet, being funded by state authorities made it necessary to tone down the political aspect of their work. As the discussion in this chapter has shown, this meant that representatives of those organisations became hesitant to attend political protests and they had to reduce their political advocacy work. Second, governmentality through surveillance and control is similar to governmentality through discipline as it also relies on ‘watching’ the behaviour of governed subjects. However, here, state institutions apply further mechanisms of tracking and monitoring this behaviour. As Newman (2012) argued in her study, contracts between state agencies and women’s organisations replaced grant aid with a focus on service delivery and established performance and accountability regimes in which organisations had to meet defined targets. This chapter has shown that some of the women’s organisations invested much time and energy in fulfilling all formal criteria and meeting such targets, as government contracts and partnerships created a major bureaucratic overload for the organisations (see also Simon-Kumar, 2018). Third, governmentality through interactivity builds on the diversion of power from the state to the individual, yet this diversion does not imply that subjects are now ‘watching’ the state or gain power to act as they pleased. Rather, it meant that they are expected to orient themselves and their behaviour on the market and rid the state from being responsible for their well-being. The neoliberal approach of contracting the provision of services out to community organisation initially promised to delegate more decision-making power to those organisations. For women’s organisations offering reproductive health services or support for victims of violence, this could have been an opportunity to acquire state funding for their much-needed work. Yet, as this chapter has shown, this form of

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funding came at the cost of having to adjust the organisations’ services to become more economically efficient. This reduced their actual decision-­ making powers considerably. Thus, mere terminology of ‘community empowerment’ through ‘partnerships’ did not actually change structural factors to achieve such partnerships on eye-level (Newman, 2012). Finally, the fourth type connects neoliberal regulation and competition. Due to the constant fight for funding, organisations, which might benefit from co-operating because they offer similar services, found themselves to be competing against each other for government contracts. Understanding neoliberal rationality, this was an intended effect. Government contracts were not primarily based on community involvement because of the value that is assigned to the community organisations’ experiences nor their closeness to the community. Rather there is an expectation that the organisations’ competition for funding increases their efficiency (i.e., cost reduction) in delivering those the services. Consequently, there was an incentive for organisations to cut costs wherever possible to underbid the competition. Work overload and high staff turnover were reported by my participants to be the result of such tight funding plans—all at the risk of losing the contract in the next allocation round. But neoliberal governmentality was not only visible in the how the organisations had to change their work. The way some of the organisations dealt with ethnic and cultural diversity also showed a neoliberal accent. Several participants pointed out that it was important to their organisations to show awareness for biculturalism and the colonial history of Aotearoa/New Zealand. Yet, as I have shown in Chaps. 4 and 5, there was much insecurity among Aotearoa/New Zealand’s feminists regarding how to approach such issues in practice. This did not seem to be easier on the organisational level. This chapter illustrated that some organisations struggled to address Māori women as clients as well as staff members. Several participants reported that their efforts to adhere to Te Tiriti o Waitangi were mainly successful on a formal level (e.g., via pōwhiri and other ceremonies). Given the national strategy of the neoliberal government to use Māori symbols and ceremonies on a merely superficial level to signify adherence to Aotearoa/New Zealand’s biculturalism (see Chap. 1) and the lack of resources organisations had in general, it is not surprising that those organisations applying for state contracts chose a similar strategy regarding the use of Māori symbols to attain government funding. Thus, this analysis of the meso-level of the women’s movement in Aotearoa/New Zealand has shown that neoliberalism affected women’s

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organisations severely. In order to survive financially, many adjusted their work to the requirements of the government, which showed little interest in sufficiently funding services for women. The women working for those organisations were, overall, critical of this development but saw no alternative. However, these developments did not mean that feminists working in organisations had to fully surrender to neoliberal expectations. Newman (2012) has shown that audit and monitoring systems can be used by women’s organisations to draw public attention to inequalities. Women working in organisations have further extended their skills in negotiating political requirements and government partnerships, and they found ways of weaving their work priorities into the focus of their funding contracts. Newman (2012) sees such acts as ways of retaining a form of radicalism, or as Larner and Craig (2002, p. 9) put it by referring to organisations in Aotearoa/New Zealand: ‘the gaining of professional and technical expertise was complemented by hearty political engagement, powerfully motivated by anger over the impact of neoliberalism’.

References Aimers, J. (2011). The impact of New Zealand `Third Way’ style government on women in community development. Community Development Journal, 46(3), 302–314. Cheyne, C., O’Brien, M., & Belgrave, M. (2008). Social policy in Aotearoa/New Zealand (4th ed.). Oxford University Press. Cox, T., Jr. (1991). The multicultural organization. The Executive, 5(2), 34–47. Cox, T.  H., & Blake, S. (1991). Managing cultural diversity: Implications for organizational competitiveness. The Executive, 5(3), 45–56. Foucault, M. (1975). Discipline and punish. The birth of the prison. Vintage Books. Gane, N. (2012). The governmentalities of neoliberalism: Panopticism, post-­ panopticism and beyond. The Sociological Review, 60(4), 611–634. https:// doi.org/10.1111/j.1467-­954X.2012.02126.x Grahame, K. (1998). Feminist organizing and the politics of inclusion. Human Studies, 21(4), 377–393. Grey, S. (2008). Regulating dissent in Aotearoa/New Zealand. Paper presented at the 43rd Annual Meeting of the Canadian Sociological Association, Vancouver. Grey, S. (2009). Women, politics, and protest: Rethinking women’s liberation activism in New Zealand. In K.  McMillan, J.  Leslie, & E.  McLeay (Eds.), Rethinking women and politics: New Zealand and comparative perspectives (pp. 34–61). Victoria University Press.

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Grey, S., & Sedgwick, C. (2013a). Fears, constraints, and contracts. The democratic reality for New Zealand’s community and voluntary sector. A report presented at the Community and Voluntary Sector Forum, Victoria University of Wellington. Grey, S., & Sedgwick, C. (2013b). The contract state and constrained democracy the community and voluntary sector under threat. Policy Quarterly, 9(3), 3–10. Henry, E., & Pringle, J. (1996). Making voices, being heard in Aotearoa/New Zealand. Organizations, 3(4), 534–540. Jones, A. (2001). Cross-cultural pedagogy and the passion for ignorance. Feminism & Psychology, 11(3), 279–292. Jones, D., Pringle, J., & Shepherd, D. (2000). “Managing diversity” meets Aotearoa/New Zealand. Personnel Review, 29(3), 364–380. Larner, W. (1995). Theorising ‘Difference’ in Aotearoa/New Zealand. Gender, Place & Culture: A Journal of Feminist Geography, 2(2), 177–190. https:// doi.org/10.1080/09663699550022008 Larner, W. (2005). Neoliberalism in (regional) theory and practice: The stronger communities action fund in New Zealand. Geographical Research, 43(1), 9–18. Larner, W., & Butler, M. (2005). Governmentalities of local partnerships: The rise of a “partnering state” in New Zealand. Studies in Political Economy, 75, 85–108. Larner, W., & Craig, D. (2002). After Neo-liberalism? Local partnerships and social governance in Aotearoa New Zealand. Working Paper 6 prepared for the Annual Meeting of the American Political Science Association, Boston, August 2002. Larner, W., & Craig, D. (2005). After neoliberalism? Community activism and local partnerships in Aotearoa/New Zealand. In N. Laurie & L. Bondi (Eds.), Working the spaces of neoliberalism (pp. 9–31). Blackwell Publishing. Le Grice, J. S., & Braun, V. (2017). Indigenous (Māori) perspectives on abortion in New Zealand. Feminism & Psychology, 27(2), 144–162. https://doi. org/10.1177/0959353517701491 Maddison, S. (2004). “A part of living feminism”: Intergenerational feminism in a working class Area. Journal of Interdisciplinary Gender Studies, 8(1/2), 38–54. Maddison, S. (2013). Discursive politics: Changing the talk and raising expectations. In S.  Maddison & M.  Sawer (Eds.), The women’s movement in protest, institutions and the internet. Australia in transnational perspective (pp. 37–53). Routledge. Marie, D., Fergusson, D. M., & Boden, J. M. (2008). Educational achievement in Māori: The roles of cultural identity and social disadvantage. Australian Journal of Education, 52(2), 183–196. Mulvey, A., Terenzino, M., Hill, J., Huygens, I., Hamerton, H.  R., & Cahill, S. (2000). Stories of relative privilege: Power and social change in feminist community psychology. American Journal of Community Psychology, 28(6), 883–911. Newman, J. (2012). Working the spaces of power. Activism, neoliberalism and gendered labour. Bloomsbury Academic.

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Panelli, R., & Larner, W. (2010). Timely partnerships? Contrasting geographies of activism in New Zealand and Australia. Urban Studies, 47(6), 1343–1366. Schmidt, J. (2003). Paradise lost? Social change and Fa’afafine in Samoa. Current Sociology, 51(3-4), 417–432. Scott, E.  K. (2005). Beyond tokenism: The making of racially diverse feminist organizations. Social Problems, 52(2), 232–254. Simon-Kumar, R. (2018). Translating inclusion into influence in New Zealand: The conundrum of engaging gender organizations in public policy. Journal of Women, Politics & Policy, 39(2), 151–176. https://doi.org/10.108 0/1554477X.2018.1449525 Smith, S. E. (2001). A wolf in sheep’s clothes? How welfare reform may threaten domestic violence services. Affilia, 16(4), 432–446. Taylor, M. (2006). Communities in partnership: Developing a strategic voice. Social Policy and Society, 5(02), 269–279. Teghtsoonian, K. (2004). Neoliberalism and gender analysis mainstreaming in Aotearoa/New Zealand. Australian Journal of Political Science, 39(2), 267–284. Vanderpyl, J. (2004). Aspiring for unity and equality: Dynamics of conflict and change in the `by women for women’ feminist service groups, Aotearoa/New Zealand (1970–1999). University of Auckland. Yoder, J. D. (1989). Women at West Point: Lessons for token women in male-­ dominated occupations. In J.  Freeman (Ed.), Women: A feminist perspective (pp. 523–537). Mayfield Press.

CHAPTER 7

State Feminism

Defined as ‘institutions and policy measures to achieve gender equality’ (Hyman, 2010, p. 33) and as ‘advocacy of women’s movement demands from inside the state in advanced industrial democracies’ (Lovenduski, 2008, p. 179), state feminism’s task is to ensure that the needs of women are an inherent component of institutionalised politics and to keep women’s issues on the policy agenda of the government. However, the role of state feminism within women’s movements is contested, as it can be considered to be part of ‘the system’ that women’s movements often criticise for maintaining patriarchal and in the context of Aotearoa/New Zealand also colonial structures. Thus, the ability of state feminists to create social change is debatable and some authors remained sceptical about how effectively feminism can push its agenda and achieve progress for women from within the state (Curtin, 2008; Teghtsoonian, 2000). However, Sawer (1996, p. ii) pointed out that the ‘women’s policy machinery is the daughter of the women’s movement’ and several other authors claimed that a women’s movement needs policy work within the boundaries of the state to be successful (e.g., Dobrowolsky, 1998; Hyman, 2010). During the Second Wave of Aotearoa/New Zealand feminism (see Chap. 3), many women deliberately engaged with formal political institutions and government. This was often a result of the lack of funding in the autonomous scene and community sector, but it offered new opportunities and resources to place and keep women’s issues on the policy agenda © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 J. Schuster, Neoliberalism and its Impact on the Women’s Movement in Aotearoa/New Zealand, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-95523-6_7

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(Newman, 2012; Uttley, 2000). This chapter argues that Aotearoa/New Zealand’s state feminism—more specifically the work of the Ministry of Women’s Affairs (MWA)—played a crucial part in the empowerment of women during the neoliberal era as it translated (parts of) a feminist agenda into the language of neoliberal rationality (Newman, 2012), and thus was (and is) an important pillar of the women’s movement in this country. As state feminism is located within institutionalised politics, it is, of course, affected by the political ideology of the government in place at any time. During Aotearoa/New Zealand’s neoliberal era, feminists working for the MWA had to adjust to the political rationality of the government, which created further tensions between state feminists and the broader movement. In this chapter, I investigate state feminism, which I understand to represent the macro-level of Aotearoa/New Zealand’s feminist activity. I explore its relationship with other feminist actors, and I discuss how its difficult position in those relationships has been intensified by the influence of neoliberalism. I argue, however, that state feminist institutions remained important allies for less institutionalised feminist actors of the women’s movement—at least for some aspects of the movement’s struggles. While this chapter’s focus is largely on the MWA, this is certainly not the only institution that accommodates Aotearoa/New Zealand’s state feminists. As gender mainstreaming intended to integrate policies to advance gender equality across all government departments from the mid-­1990s onwards, this chapter also asks how well implemented state feminism was in other Ministries. Moreover, the Labour Women’s Council and the National Advisory Council on the Employment of Women (NACEW) are further important examples for state feminist institutions and femocrats can also be found among Members of Parliament, party members and political lobbyists. The MWA, however, is the major advisory institution for gender issues in Aotearoa/New Zealand policy making. As two interview participants who worked at the MWA confirmed, not all its staff members identify as feminists. However, one of them1 said, ‘[B]ut even those who don’t call themselves feminists, I think, have a keen interest in women’s status. So, you know, I think you just couldn’t work there if you didn’t have that.’ Thus, while I include the work of other 1  Since this chapter contains some critical opinions articulated by two employees of the MWA, I do not provide identifying information about these two participants.

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government departments in my analysis, I refer to the MWA as the most important institution of state feminism in Aotearoa/New Zealand. Multiple empirical sources were used for the following analysis. I draw on my interview data and a content analysis of several key government documents. These documents include the annual reports (for the year ending 30 June 2013) of six government departments, namely the Ministry of Business, Innovation and Employment (MBIE), the Ministry of Health (MoH), the Ministry of Social Development (MSD), the Ministry of Women’s Affairs (MWA), the Ministry of Pacific Island Affairs (MPIA) and Te Puni Kōkiri (the Ministry of Māori Development; TPK). The reports show the progress of the respective Ministry’s work in comparison to their targets and outcomes for that specific year and allow insight into where they place women’s interests within their priorities. Also included in my content analysis is the Briefing to the Incoming Minister of Women’s Affairs (MWA, 2011), which explains the work foci of the Ministry2 as reported by its staff to inform the incoming Minister of Women’s Affairs Jo Goodhew. The 40 interviews were conducted between December 2011 and April 2012, a time when the National Government was led by Prime Minister John Key. Rowena Phair, Kim Ngarimu and Jo Cribb consecutively held the position of the Chief Executive Officers (CEO) of the MWA and both Hekia Parata and Jo Goodhew served as Ministers of Women’s Affairs during this time. These shifting leadership roles need to be kept in mind since the following discussion includes participant references to ‘the government’ and the MWA. Importantly, the interviews in Wellington were conducted between 28 November and 6 December 2011, only a few days after the 2011 election that confirmed the National Government’s second term. Most of these participants were noticeably infuriated or disappointed by this result. This chapter first offers an exploration of my interview participants’ views on the capability of the government generally and the MWA specifically to create positive social change for women. Subsequently, I investigate how several government departments have (or rather have not) implemented requirements of gender mainstreaming and recognition of women’s political needs within their work agenda. I then turn to the MWA’s approach to influencing the policy process and identify its focus on enhancing women’s position on the labour market. Because this focus did 2

 When not otherwise specified, ‘the Ministry’ refers to the MWA.

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not seem to satisfy my interview participants’ expectations of state feminism, I explore the kinds of policy these women would have liked to have seen implemented and compare their ‘wish-list’ to the work programme of the MWA. I suggest that the priorities of my interview participants were not as contrary to the focus of the MWA as it initially seemed. This chapter concludes by discussing that the work of state feminism and of the MWA has been limited by the necessity to accommodate a neoliberal rationality, but it remained a crucial aspect of the women’s movement in Aotearoa/ New Zealand.

The Difficult Position of State Feminism When women moved into central (and local) government positions towards the end of the Second Wave, they became agents of institutionalised politics and professionalism and were accused of complicity with governmental power by feminists who remained in the less formalised spaces of the women’s movement (Newman, 2012). In Aotearoa/New Zealand, the scepticism held by feminists who work outside of institutionalised politics towards state feminism broadly translates into questioning the ability of the MWA and other bodies of the government to enhance gender equality. The following explores how much trust my interview participants had in such feminist work at the government level. Before the discussion turns to state feminism specifically, it establishes the participant’s view on the overall government. How Feminists View the Government Notably, all 40 participants were concerned about the—at the time—current National Government and its approaches to women’s issues. However, their concern ranged in its intensity: while one participant (twenties, Asian), who worked as a policy analyst, said, ‘I guess, as a public servant [laughs], I think they [the government] are doing the best job that they can do under their ideologies’, another woman (fifties, Pākehā) stated, ‘I think that John Key is possibly one of the most evil men I have ever seen in real life’. In some instances, disapproval of the government was not directed against the specific government in power but ‘government’ in general. Three participants said they were not satisfied with earlier Labour-­ led governments either, while two women who identified as anarchists stated that they generally did not recognise either the government or the

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state as legitimate authorities. Four more participants argued that no government was capable of achieving sustainable change for women because its available instruments, such as the implementation of policy and laws, were not suitable to address the complexity of problems related to patriarchy and discrimination against women in society. Those participants saw the most potential for change in organising at a community and grassroots level. One participant (thirties, Pākehā) explained: I think that government can create laws and stuff like that. But I’m not sure how effective that is at actual social change, you know. I think that they have to create an infrastructure that supports that social change but I’m not convinced that government has the weight to fix things.

Most participants directed their dissatisfaction with government at the National Party and the values it stood for. Seven women said that the National Government represented ‘rich white men’ and did ‘not care about women and children at all’, but only ‘about businesses and money’. Other women considered the government’s neglect of women’s issues as part of National’s conscious decision to focus on strengthening the economy. One woman (thirties, Pākehā) explained, ‘[T]hey [National] just wanna make money and it’s in their best interest to have women doing a lot of unpaid work’. However, a few participants offered a different explanation, with one (twenties, Pākehā) stating, ‘I don’t think that they know that there are women’s issues’. This theory was elaborated by another participant (twenties, Pākehā): [The government] is just such an old boys club. […] I think they have one woman in their Top 10. You know, if you want a government without any diverse experiences, […] you gonna have poor decision making in general. [….] I don’t think it’s malicious. It’s not like a war on women like some people have painted it. I think it’s because it’s run by men. They just have no idea about the impact of what their decisions are doing. [….] You know, it’s just completely oblivious to that kind of thing.

John Key and his male colleagues were not the only unpopular personalities within the National Party. Participants also criticised a number of female National politicians. For example, three participants directly addressed Paula Bennett, Minister for Social Development at the time, in their critique of the government. One participant (forties, several

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ethnicities) said, ‘She hasn’t actually thrilled me but she does what she does and she is a strong voice. Sometimes her voice is about as useful as a runaway escalator.’ The Ministers of Women’s Affairs were also disliked, with some participants criticising Hekia Parata and Jo Goodhew3 explicitly. For example, one participant (twenties, Pākehā) stated: Hekia Parata did well in not really doing much but looking like she was doing stuff. And Jo Goodhew has never been supportive of women. She voted to appoint a quite prominent pro-lifer to the abortion supervisory committee. She voted against same-sex adoptions. [….] She is quite conservative and I have no faith in her being a good Minister.

Overall, the women interviewed criticised the lack of government consideration of women’s interests. As such consideration is the core task of the MWA, which is also part of government work. Thus, in the following, I turn to my participants’ opinion of the MWA as the core institution of Aotearoa/New Zealand’s state feminism. How Feminists View State Feminism While most of the women interviewed did not mention the MWA at all in their assessment of the governments’ work on women’s issues, the few women who did talk about it expressed disappointment at the Ministry’s failure to be a strong political voice for women in Aotearoa/New Zealand. One woman (twenties, Asian) articulated: I remember hearing, a few years back after National came in, that they [the government] wanted to do away with the Ministry of Women’s Affairs. [….] Since then, I haven’t heard that they’ve shut down but I haven’t heard much of what they are doing at all.

One participant, who has been an activist since the 1970s, commented on the difficult relationship between state feminism and feminist activism. She did not refer to the MWA explicitly but talked about the time when the MWA was established, when a large number of female activists of her generation moved from activism into government employment. However, she and others did not participate in such a move ‘knowing that we would 3

 Hekai Parata and Jo Goodhew are both members of the National Party.

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have to compromise’ and ‘also we had children to care for and didn’t have enough support to be able to be career women’. This particular participant never regretted her decision of not ‘going into the system’; however, she claimed: The women I can think of who remained as feminist activists outside the system and had been single mothers are now facing not only economic issues but also health issues because that kind of violence that you get as an activist does undermine your immune system in the same kind of way that the other kinds of violence do. [….] So, we are a group of women who might have been very privileged […] but are much less privileged than women who were and are feminists who went into the system. And on a bad day I can feel quite bitter about that.

Her words echo Hyman (1994, pp.  20–21), who stated that given the limited visible impact of ‘femocracy’, feminists outside government employment ‘can reasonably ask if a good income is the main motivation of those within, rather than the attempt to achieve a feminist political agenda’. Thus, women in similar situations may (also) be critical of state feminism for personal rather than purely political reasons. However, there was acknowledgement among some of the interviewed women that the MWA was constrained in its agency. One woman, for example, complained that the government ‘continue[d] to underfund the Ministry of Women’s Affairs’, meaning it did not have the financial capacity needed to work effectively. Further, it was pointed out that the Ministry could only work within the parameters set by the respective government of the time. This was confirmed by a woman who worked at the Ministry: We [the MWA staff] are constrained by the parameters of what the priorities of the government of the day are. […] I can’t come along to a meeting and go ‘I think these are the most important things for women and these are my options for fixing them’ and then debate that as a team and then, you know, then we advise the government. It’s more like we have to work with their priorities and we say ‘Ok, so how can women contribute to that and how can you help women contribute to that?’ Yeah, it’s not necessarily what we as individuals would choose to prioritise.

The constraints this woman spoke of extended to the specific groups of women at the centre of the Ministry’s work. For example, one participant (thirties, Pākehā), who was a policy analyst, said, ‘[T]he government

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doesn’t count lesbians as a group or measure outcomes for them. So, there is no evidence for [the MWA] to do any work. And that just self-perpetuates.’ Another critique that addressed the focus of the Ministry was expressed by a participant who worked in the area of violence against women. She talked about how the change from a Labour-led to a National-led government in 2008 influenced the work foci of the MWA: I think there’s been a shift [in the MWA] away from violence against women, which implicitly includes children—because when women are safe, children are safe—to more of a focus on children’s welfare. So that’s a bit of a concern. And I do think that there has been somewhat of a decreased emphasis on violence against women overall. [….] Now people really don’t want to talk about sexual violence anymore or put money towards it. There is still a task force faction on violence within families but [the MWA is] struggling to keep that on the agenda as a gendered issue.

Consequently, there was little expectation among my participants that the MWA, or the government more generally, would be a driving force behind feminist struggles in Aotearoa/New Zealand. In the following, I explore the grounds for such mistrust, based on the insight’s gained from analysing key government documents.

The Work of Government Departments: Gender Mainstreaming? Intended as a policy instrument to achieve gender equality, gender mainstreaming developed as an international outcome of the 1995 UN World Conference on Women in Beijing. Its overall idea is to the incorporate gender and women’s concerns in policy making across all political fields— from labour market policies to health policies, from environmental policies to education policies. This strategy was supposed to resolve any contradiction between explicit ‘women’s issues’ and ‘regular’ policies, and to place the responsibility for gender equality on all policy makers, not just on those who are tasked with ‘women’s issues’ (Sawer, 2004; Verloo, 2005). The MWA introduced The Full Picture in 1996 as a guideline for gender mainstreaming in Aotearoa/New Zealand. Since then, Aotearoa/New Zealand’s policy institutions have been advised to adhere to its principles

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of implementing a gender analysis throughout their work. The 2011 Briefing to the Incoming Minister of Women’s Affairs addressed the need for gender mainstreaming by reminding the new Minister at the time of her responsibility to bring a gender perspective into the policy process across all government sectors. Therefore, several government Ministries were recipients of the MWA advice regarding the implementation of gender policies. The level of recognition of women’s interests in their work reflected the level of success by the Ministry’s lobbying. Yet, none of the five annual reports analysed in this study gave reason to assume gender mainstreaming was a serious goal for these Ministries. Reflecting Aimers’ (2011) concern that gender mainstreaming resulted in a neglect of gender issues in policy development, women4 were rarely addressed directly in the documents analysed. Te Puni Kōkiri briefly mentioned two measures undertaken to explicitly support Māori women, but did not provide any details. While the Ministry of Health’s annual report offered numerous references to women as a group with different health-related needs to men, it mainly did so by presenting descriptive statistical information about gendered life expectancy rates and the prevalence of several illnesses for men and women. The Ministry of Health’s report also offered information on maternity and breastfeeding services. In such a context, it directly addressed (future) mothers, but it did so mainly with an interest in benefitting the health of their (unborn) children. The annual reports of the Ministry of Pacific Island Affairs and the Ministry of Social Development did not use the term ‘women’ at all when referring to people for whom they developed policy and services. While it can be argued that the absence of ‘women’ in these reports was a result of a conscious use of gender-neutral language, gender mainstreaming, on the contrary, should call for an explicit emphasis of people’s gendered realities (Teghtsoonian, 2004). Nevertheless, the five reports addressed the importance of gender equality when reporting on the respective Ministry as an employer. The Ministry of Business, Innovation and Employment and the Ministry of Health referred to Equal Employment Opportunities (EEO) to contextualise their concern about equality among staff. EEO is a policy that is mandatory in central and local government, intending to increase fairness 4  Given the focus of this chapter, the following discussion of gender mainstreaming concentrates on women as a group, although, overall, I understand the task of gender mainstreaming as considering all genders.

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(mainly regarding numerical representation) for employees of socially marginalised groups (Simon-Kumar, 2008). The other three reports did not explicitly mention a commitment to EEO.  However, the Ministry of Social Development’s report (2013, p. 45) stated, ‘We aim to have a diverse workforce that reflects the whole community’. It further presented statistical information on the proportion of staff who are women, Māori, Pacific and Asian. The Ministry of Health (2013, p. 246) provided similar information and additionally explained its in-house gender pay gap: ‘A major influence is that more female staff work part-time’. Te Puni Kōkiri’s report (2013, p. 56) highlighted that it had ‘one of the lowest gender pay gaps in the Public Service’ and that 50 per cent of its senior management were female. The Ministry of Pacific Island Affairs (2013, p. 29) offered the least insight in this regard, briefly stating ‘we maintain gender balance at all levels of the organisation’. ‘Hidden’ Women The reports analysed hardly addressed women as an interest group, but they explained how the respective government department approached certain issues that are arguably more relevant to women’s lives than to men’s. However, the reports did not label these issues as gendered. For example, explanations of initiatives to address domestic violence, such as the ‘It’s not OK’ campaign or the Taskforce for Action on Violence within Families (MSD, 2013), did not offer a gendered perspective. The terminology used was restricted to ‘family violence’ and did not discuss women as victims/survivors. Similarly, the terminology of ‘vulnerable’ groups was used across the reports in relation to a range of social groups, such as children and youth (MoH, 2013; MSD, 2013; TPK, 2013), Māori and Pacific people (MBIE, 2013; MoH, 2013), family/community/whānau (MoH, 2013; MSD, 2013; TPK, 2013), teen parents (MSD, 2013), people living in areas of high deprivation (MoH, 2013) or in Christchurch’s red zone5 (MBIE, 2013; MSD, 2013). Te Puni Kōkiri’s report (2013) was the only document that referred to women as a vulnerable group. It did so once, when mentioning the Ministry’s support for Women’s Refuge. Compared to women and most other social groups, children and youth received more attention across the five annual reports analysed. The 5  After the calamitous earthquake in 2011, Christchurch’s red zones were those areas that experienced most severe damage.

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reports mainly referred to young people either as victims of poverty and abuse who needed help and support or as future/new participants in the labour market who needed education and training. Often times, children were addressed directly as a target group—without reference to their parents—as the ones who would benefit from government initiatives. For example, speaking about District Health Board services, the Ministry of Health (2013, p. 208) reported that due to the work of this Ministry ‘over 95 percent of children under six years of age have access to free after-hours visits within 60 minutes’ travel time’. Since mothers—in particular sole mothers—are often the primary caretakers who pay for and make time to take children to the doctor, this initiative significantly benefitted them. But when mothers were addressed, this was only in relation to their biological roles as birth-givers and breast-feeders. In all other cases where the emphasis was directed at alleviating the burden of mothers, the gender-­ neutral terms ‘parents’ and ‘caretakers’ were used in the reports. The neglect of gendered considerations in the policy process across Ministries was noticed by my interview participants and was one of the major reasons for the women’s mistrust in the government. Many participants condemned recent cuts to health and childcare services, to financial support of organisations in the sexual violence sector and to social security, which some women referred to as ‘beneficiary bashing’. A few women criticised cuts to the Training Incentive Allowance and some considered tax cuts for ‘rich people’ to be a mistake. While these criticisms addressed a broad range of cuts and reforms, the participants emphasised that these measures had gendered outcomes for society that government did not acknowledge. As one woman (twenties, South Asian) highlighted, ‘[T]he government tends to be sort of gender blind. And they are blind to a lot of different kinds of cultural factors actually. [According to them] we are generic people; we are not, you know, gendered; we are not racialised.’

The Work of the Ministry of Women’s Affairs The above discussion showed that gender mainstreaming did not seem to have much impact on the work of the five government Ministries. Thus, my discussion turns to the MWA and investigates its scope to influence policy making for women. For that purpose, I draw on the content of the annual report of the MWA (2013) and the Briefing to the Incoming Minister (MWA, 2011).

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Strategic Priorities In the opening paragraph of her editorial to the MWA’s annual report (2013, p.  4), which introduced her as the new CEO, Jo Cribb stated, ‘New Zealand will benefit when we are increasing women’s economic independence, increasing the number of women in leadership and increasing women’s safety from violence’. The order of the three goals named in this statement set the tone for the entire report, which emphasises the Ministry’s successes related to increased opportunities for women in the workforce and greater gender diversity in leadership positions. Lower priority was given to the Ministry’s contributions to reducing violence against women, while even less attention was afforded to the Ministry’s fourth emphasis, meeting international obligations (e.g., reporting to the United Nations Committee on the Elimination of Discrimination against Women, CEDAW). The way that the MWA’s report framed the outcomes of its work, in particular those related to economic enhancement, often included a justification highlighting the relevance of such work to the economy and Aotearoa/New Zealand in general. For example, the focus on ‘greater economic independence’ of women was introduced as follows: ‘Increasing opportunities for women to contribute to the workforce to the full extent of their skills and abilities will assist New Zealand to further develop a productive and competitive economy’ (MWA, 2013, p.  5). One of the mentioned ‘initiatives to enable women to succeed in their employment’ was the development of early childhood education policies. While the interpretation of childcare services as supportive of women’s careers was certainly true, it failed to additionally acknowledge the advantages of childcare services to mothers outside the workforce. Neither did it emphasise the benefits of childcare services to the personal lives of mothers. It seemed that the MWA avoided explaining the value of its work in terms that did not focus on economic benefits. Acknowledging Differences? Among the key messages offered to the new Minister, the MWA’s briefing document stated ‘[w]omen are diverse. Women’s experiences, needs and priorities are not all the same. There are significant differences in

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outcomes among women, as well as between men and women’ (MWA, 2011, p.  1). The document continued to point out specific issues that were more relevant for certain groups of women than for women overall. While it did not discuss such issues for all minority and/or vulnerable groups of women in Aotearoa/New Zealand (e.g., there was no reference to lesbian/queer, migrant and refugee women), it addressed a range of groups. It reported, for instance, that Māori women had a lower life expectancy and higher smoking rates than non-Māori women, that suicide rates were particularly high among female youth and that women with disabilities had poorer employment outcomes than women without disabilities. Accordingly, I expected to find the MWA’s annual report which followed this briefing document, to similarly address such diversity among women. However, the annual report of 2013 offered hardly any discussion of differences among women. Māori and Pacific women were only addressed once and young women were referred to twice. One group of women who received some attention within the report were women who experienced intimate partner violence. This was also the only group addressed without an explicit focus on enhancing their opportunities in the labour market. As explained in Chap. 3, state feminism has struggled to incorporate the multiple interests of women within its work foci from its beginnings in the 1980s because of incompatibility with government’s neoliberal agenda. My analysis of the Ministry’s briefing document and annual report suggests that the strategy of focussing on women in the labour market to ensure some women’s issues receive attention was used by Aotearoa/New Zealand’s state feminists in the MWA, but this provided a very narrow scope for this institutions’ work.

‘Dear Government, Please Do …’ Since my interview participants were not satisfied with government’s work on women’s issues, I asked them what policies they would put in place if they were ‘policy-makers themselves for a day’. Their answers covered a broad range of issues. In the following, I provide a summary of the women’s ‘wish-list’ and discuss to what extent these suggestions were, according to the documents analysed, aligned with the MWA’s agenda.

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Specific Suggestions The most commonly named request, voiced by 9 out of the 40 women, was the re-introduction of the Employment Equity Act6 or the implementation of a new version of it. Two more women similarly requested a policy to ensure equal pay and pay equity. A discussion of the Employment Equity Act itself was not evident in the MWA’s documents. However, the gender pay gap was, if only briefly, addressed in both the annual report and the briefing document. Emphasising feminism within the school curriculums and including a feminist approach to sex education (including sexual consent) was the second most popular demand of my participants. The women believed that educating young people about feminist ideas would contribute to creating a society that was more aware of gender inequalities. This aim was not on the future agenda of the MWA. But the briefing document provided the incoming Minister with a list of previous achievements of the Ministry, which included ‘contributing to improving the effectiveness of sexuality education in schools’ (MWA, 2011, p. 10). A policy ensuring free (or at least affordable) quality childcare services that operated outside normal business hours was also on the wish-list of four women. They rationalised this demand by claiming that only such services could create a real choice for women about whether they wanted to stay at home with their children or (re)join the labour market. Offering a similar explanation, two more women requested paid parental leave for fathers.7 This latter request was not discussed in the Ministry’s agenda but as explained earlier, the MWA’s annual report supported an improvement of childcare services as an enabler for women’s employment. While the 2011 briefing document aimed for ‘affordable, quality childcare’ (MWA, 2011, p. 7), two years later the annual report only noted the Ministry’s advice to other government agencies to promote ‘access to childcare’ (MWA, 2013, p. 8)—the focus on the affordability and quality of these services seemed to have been lost along the way. A number of additional policy requests were each named by three participants: a re-introduction of the Training Incentive Allowance for 6  The Employment Equity Act was introduced in 1990 by the Labour Government and promoted pay equity and equal employment opportunities. The subsequent National Government repealed the Act shortly after taking office in the same year. 7  At the time of the interviews, mothers could transfer parts of their entitlement to fathers, but fathers were not entitled to paid parental leave themselves.

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tertiary education, raising the minimum wage and reforming abortion law. The need for a new abortion law8 was explained by a young woman who stated that under the current law abortions were technically still named in the New Zealand’s Crimes Act and that ‘the fact that you have to essentially declare you are mentally unwell to get an abortion is problematic on a number of levels’ (twenties, Pākehā). The MWA did not discuss these issues in either of the two documents analysed. Another law that four participants thought should be changed was the Marriage Act, which restricted marriage to those between men and women at the time of the interviews. Two participants wanted government to allow same-sex marriages in Aotearoa/New Zealand and another two women stated that if they were in charge, they would abolish the institution of marriage altogether and only permit civil unions for everyone (presumably because of the patriarchal connotations associated with marriage). The interviews took place before the implementation of the Marriage Amendment Act 2013, which removed the first request from the wish-list. The abolition of marriage was, unsurprisingly, not on the agenda of the Ministry. Four more participants asked for changes in the family court and the sexual violence court systems. The family court was criticised because participants experienced it as intimidating and believed that judgements were based too heavily on formal criteria. For example, one woman stated, ‘[W]hen a woman is a non-permanent resident and she has children then they see the father as being more fit to care for the children than that woman, especially when the father is white and [a] citizen. Even though he’s been abusive and stuff like that’ (twenties, Asian). With regards to the sexual violence court system, the women wanted changes around how cases were processed. One woman (twenties, European), who worked for an organisation in the sexual violence sector, explained: At the moment they [the courts] are very victim blaming. And there is a jury system and I would strongly like a pool of specialised experts, not a jury, that deal with the court case. And that the victim doesn’t have to be at the court case but just do a video interview […] and the offender actually has to take the stand. Cos at the moment that’s the biggest injustice […], that the victim has to take the stand but the offender can choose to stay silent. So, for 8  At the time of the interviews, abortion was still criminalised in New Zealand. The Abortion Legislation Act 2020 legalised the termination of a pregnancy within its first 20 weeks.

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the victim that means standing in front of her abuser—or his abuser—and saying all of the story and the defence will often pick that apart.

While the annual report of the MWA did not provide details, it reported that the Ministry had advised the Ministry of Justice to review family violence courts. A review of the court system for cases of sexual violence, however, was not mentioned. Funding Priorities Because policy can be a rather complex matter, in many cases the women did not suggest specific policies or law reforms. Instead, they pointed out social issues which they perceived to be neglected by government. Mostly, those suggestions implied an allocation of (more) government funding to support and improve these areas. In such a context, the education system was named by 11 women. The participants wanted to see improvements to educational access overall, while some women specifically referred to adult and early childhood education. Violence prevention and support for survivors of violence, either in the form of counselling or through women’s refuges, were other popular requests, voiced by seven women. Tackling child poverty more efficiently, providing help for sole parents and expanding affordable health services were similarly common issues. As a Ministry unable to allocate government funding, the MWA can only advise other government agencies on potential policy priorities. With regards to early childhood education, the Ministry advised the Ministry of Education to further develop these services, though enhancing adult education was not a priority of the MWA. As explained earlier, increasing safety from violence was the third priority of the MWA discussed in detail in its annual report. Within this priority, family violence was—as the quotes of my participants showed earlier— given more attention than sexual violence. However, the Ministry aimed to ensure its ‘evidence, analysis and advice on preventing and responding to sexual revictimisation of women is incorporated by relevant agencies in their policy and programme development’ (MWA, 2013, p. 15). Thus, the Ministry engaged with the Accident Compensation Corporation (ACC), the Ministry of Justice, the New Zealand Police Adult Sexual Assault Training Review Group and other agencies and organisations for input and peer review of their work. Additionally, the MWA used its report

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Lightning Does Strike Twice: Preventing Sexual Revictimisation (MWA, 2012) to raise awareness about preventing re-occurrence of sexual violence. While the briefing document noted that sole parent households were more likely than other household types to be affected by poverty, the annual report did not indicate that the MWA had picked up on this issue by 2013. Similarly, the importance of healthcare for women was addressed in the briefing document but not in the annual report. Addressing child poverty was not an issue raised in either the MWA’s report or the Briefing to the Incoming Minister. General Wishes Some of the participants’ requests went beyond the policy realm. For instance, five women wanted to see more women in powerful positions across the public and the private sector to act as role models and ensure the creation of women-friendly environments within their respective spheres of power. While the women emphasised that this was not something that they perceived policy as responsible for, the MWA (2013) addressed this issue in its annual report by giving high priority to increasing the number of women in leadership roles. Another participant demanded a change in societal perceptions about stay-at-home fathers in order to increase their numbers and a further woman wished to address and regulate the gendered division of unpaid work. Neither of these issues were included in the annual report of the MWA (2013). The briefing document, however, acknowledged that most unpaid work was done by women. In a slightly different context, one participant (thirties, Māori) criticised the approach of government agencies in addressing social problems at an individual level, which she viewed, at least partly, as a white European strategy that ‘clashed’ with her own perspective. In the past, she was employed in an institution that worked in the area of child support and she said, [For the organisation] it was just about that particular child and what that child needed. And so, as a social worker it was my role to make sure that that child was taken care of. […] Discussions around support that the mother may need in order to care for that child wasn’t spoken of. It was just support for the child. […] So, it was just about talking to the mother or talking to

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the family about what they needed to do in order to help that child. But [they] forgot about resourcing the family enough so that they could do that. […] So yeah, in my experience [the organisation is] just being like a horse with blinds on, only seeing what’s in front of you and not taking into consideration the whole picture.

As a consequence of this experience, this woman wanted to see a more holistic approach adopted by government agencies addressing child- and, therefore, women-related problems. Only9 in the context of increasing women’s safety from violence, did the Briefing to the Incoming Minister (2011, p. 7) note the need for an ‘integrated approach across a range of government systems, including health, housing, education, justice and welfare’. The above comparison of the participants’ ‘wishes’ and the MWA’s agenda showed that while priorities differed, there were some notable overlaps. Moreover, some government departments other than the MWA occasionally took women’s issues on board. Of course, these overlaps were small and I do not intend to overstate them. However, I believe it is important to highlight shared interests across state feminism and individual feminism in Aotearoa/New Zealand because, while the importance of state feminism grew during the neoliberal era, support for such formalised work among individual feminists seems to have declined (Andrew & Maddison, 2010; Bail, 1996; Maddison, 2002).

State Feminism in a Neoliberal State The rise of neoliberalism changed the political opportunities for women’s issues to be raised as political issues. It offered new spaces of power in government arrangements for women, which increased their influence and enabled them to divert resources for promoting social justice projects, even though those success were often small and limited, and they had to negotiate contradictions between their personal politics and the government agenda (Newman, 2012). The impact of this change is reflected in this chapter’s analysis, which showed how Aotearoa/New Zealand’s state 9  However, in 2010 government introduced Whānau Ora, ‘an inclusive approach to providing services and opportunities to families across New Zealand. It empowers families as a whole, rather than focussing separately on individual family members and their problems’ (Te Puni Kōkiri, http://www.tpk.govt.nz/_documents/tpk-faqwhanauora-2010-en.pdf, retrieved 21 January 2014).

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feminists working at the MWA struggled to keep women’s issues on the political agenda while being constrained by the broader government’s neoliberal ideology. I have shown that gender mainstreaming initiatives were seldom apparent within the work of government departments and were only covered through basic and mandatory requirements of EEO.  One paradox of gender mainstreaming is that it may have been implemented by a neoliberal government as it could be used as a tool to monitor and surveil gender politics, its general approach was, however, at odds with a neoliberal agenda. While a neoliberal rationality understands citizens as de-gendered and de-racialised workers and consumers, gender mainstreaming actively addresses gendered social structures and their impact on people’s lives in developing policies (Teghtsoonian, 2004). It is therefore not particularly surprising that women were hardly present in the reports of the five Ministries other than the MWA. In the MWA documents, women were primarily addressed as entrepreneurs, framing women’s interests as economically relevant. When women outside the labour market were referred to, it was only as victims of violence or as a relatively low priority. Women were understood to be Homines Economici, not Homines Politici. Compared to women, children received much greater attention. However, in line with the Third Way (see Chap. 3), they were addressed as Aotearoa/New Zealand’s ‘future citizens’, whose human capital must be increased by investing in their education, health and economic well-being. The social circumstances of parents were, however, neglected in the reports, despite their immense relevance in this context. Focussing on children in this way did not erase women’s politics, but it hid it. This may have been a strategy by the MWA to keep at least some (hidden) women’s issues (e.g., combining care and paid work responsibilities; struggling to live with a low family income) on the political agenda (Holli & Kantola, 2007; Sawer, 1996). A consequence of such a ‘masking’ of women’s issues (Curtin, 2008) was that it reduced the support of many individual feminists, including most of my participants. They were frustrated with the apparent invisibility of women’s issues in policy development and, therefore, had little faith in the capability of government departments to implement policy for women. A Marxist might say, this strategy helped to undermine the solidarity of the movement. But this mistrust is also fuelled by the circumstance that state feminists work for the state—the same colonial state that has not done enough to eradicate the struggles of Māori communities. Expecting Māori women to support this form of feminism is a big ask.

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However, my analysis has shown that there was some common ground between the women’s wishes and the work foci of the MWA. The Briefing to the Incoming Minister often placed a clear emphasis on issues of importance to the women interviewed, including recognition of women’s diversity, the vulnerability of sole mothers and the demand for affordable quality childcare. This finding is important because it highlights that, although the women in my study held a negative opinion of the MWA, in fact there was some overlap in the priorities they articulated. Due to the lack of visible outcomes, my participants certainly had good reason to be distrustful of state feminism and the MWA. But given its role as a policy advisory, the Ministry only has limited agency to politically enforce the implementation of gender guidelines and policy. To determine the importance of state feminism for Aotearoa/New Zealand’s women’s movement, one should not simply evaluate the MWA’s success in influencing policy for women because political opportunity structures significantly limit the scope of such success. More important is the question of whether the Ministry’s agenda and strategies are adjusted to current political opportunities in order to pursue the aim of empowering women within the given limits. The Ministry’s agenda has been adjusted to fit the neoliberal environment, which certainly hindered radical changes made for women by the Ministry. But state feminism was not expected to overcome these barriers of women’s empowerment alone. As Aroha (70, Pākehā/ Māori), who had worked for various women’s institutions and organisations, stated, I always considered myself to be a system’s feminist, which meant that I was willing to work within the system to bring about change. But I also believed in the importance of there being people in all the levels. There also had to be women outside of the system; the women who threw the bricks into the windows so that the rest of us could say: ‘Well, we might not go that far but we believe in the same things that they believe in’.

Employees of the MWA and other state feminists do not (usually) ‘throw bricks’. Instead, their role is to negotiate a political space for women within ‘the system’, which does not prioritise women’s issues. By ‘translating’ feminist aims into the neoliberal language, for instance by focussing on economic issues and on women in employment, state feminists generated spaces to keep at least some of those aims on the agenda (Newman, 2012). Under neoliberalism, state feminists needed to be careful not to be

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so intrusive that the government would close the Ministry down. Many international women’s policy agencies in similar positions have either been abolished entirely or been down-sized to less powerful units under neoliberal governments (Chappell, 2002; Curtin & Teghtsoonian, 2010; Sawer, 2007). From this perspective, the survival of the MWA can be seen as an achievement in itself (Hyman, 2010). By remaining in existence, it has inhibited policy from becoming the domain of ‘rich white men’ alone. Sawer (1996) contended that the accountability of women’s policy units to government makes conflicts within the women’s movement inevitable. I do not deny that the erasure of women as a diverse group within policy is a serious problem. But these conflicts are no reason to ignore the overall importance of state feminism to the broader women’s movement.

References Andrew, M., & Maddison, S. (2010). Damaged but determined: The Australian women’s movement, 1996–2007. Social Movement Studies, 9(2), 171–185. Bail, K. (1996). DIY feminism. St. Allen & Unwin. Chappell, L. (2002). The ‘femocrat’ strategy: Expanding the repertoire of feminist activist. Parliamentary Affairs, 22, 85–98. Curtin, J. (2008). Women, political leadership and substantive representation: The case of New Zealand. Parliamentary Affairs, 61(3), 490–504. Curtin, J., & Teghtsoonian, K. (2010). Analyzing institutional persistence: The case of the Ministry of Women’s Affairs in Aotearoa/New Zealand. Politics & Gender, 6(4), 545–572. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743923X1000036X Dobrowolsky, A. (1998). Of ‘special interest’: Interest, identity and feminist constitutional activism in Canada. Canadian Journal of Political Science/Revue Canadienne de Science Politique, 31(4), 707–742. Holli, A. M., & Kantola, J. (2007). State feminism Finnish style: Strong policies clash with implementation problems. In J.  Outshoorn & J.  Kantola (Eds.), Changing state feminism (pp. 82–101). Palgrave Macmillan. Hyman, P. (1994). New Zealand since 1984: Economic restructuring—Feminist responses, activity and theory. Hecate, 20(2), 9–35. Hyman, P. (2010). The Ministry of Women’s Affairs after 25 Years—Personal reflections on its existence, roles, and effectiveness. Women’s Studies Journal, 24(1), 31–46. Lovenduski, J. (2008). State feminism and women’s movements. West European Politics, 31(1–5), 169–194. Maddison, S. (2002). Young women in the contemporary Australian women’s movement: ANU Research. https://digitalcollections.anu.edu.au/ handle/1885/41081

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Ministry of Business, Innovation and Employment. (2013). Annual report for the year ended 30 June 2013. Retrieved May 3, 2018, from http://www.mbie.govt. nz/about-­us/publications/annual-­report Ministry of Health. (2013). Annual Report for the year ended 30 June 2013. Retrieved May 3, 2018, from http://www.health.govt.nz/about-­ministry/ corporate-­publications/annual-­reports Ministry of Pacific Island Affairs. (2013). Annual Report for the year ended 30 June 2013. Retrieved May 3, 2018, from http://www.mpia.govt.nz/annual-­reports/ Ministry of Social Development. (2013). Annual Report for the year ended 30 June 2013. Retrieved May 3, 2018, from http://www.msd.govt.nz/about-­msd-­ and-­our-­work/publications-­resources/corporate/annual-­report/ Ministry of Women’s Affairs. (1996). The full picture: Guidelines for gender analysis. Ministry of Women’s Affairs. Ministry of Women’s Affairs. (2011). Briefing to the incoming Minister of Women’s Affairs. Retrieved May 3, 2018, from http://mwa.govt.nz/documents/ briefings-­incoming-­minister Ministry of Women’s Affairs. (2012). Lightning does strike twice: Preventing sexual revictimisation. Retrieved July 2, 2018, from http://mwa.govt.nz/documents/lightning-­does-­strike-­twice-­preventing-­sexual-­revictimisation-­2012 Ministry of Women’s Affairs. (2013). Annual report for the year ended 30 June 2013. Retrieved May 3, 2018, from http://mwa.govt.nz/documents/ annual-­report-­2013 Newman, J. (2012). Working the spaces of power. Activism, neoliberalism and gendered labour. Bloomsbury Academic. Sawer, M. (1996). Femocrats and ecocrats: Women’s policy machinery in Australia, Canada and New Zealand. United Nations Research Institute for Social Development. Sawer, M. (2004, November/December). Gender Equality in the age of governing for the mainstream. Paper presented at the United Nations Division for the Advancement of Women, Rome. Sawer, M. (2007). Australia: The fall of the femocrat. In J. Outshoorn & J. Kantola (Eds.), Changing state feminism (pp. 20–40). Palgrave Macmillan. Te Puni Kōkiri. (2013). Annual Report for the year ended 30 June 2013. Retrieved May 3, 2018, from http://www.tpk.govt.nz/en/in-­print/our-­publications/ corporate-­documents/annual-­report-­for-­the-­year-­ended-­30-­june-­2013/ Teghtsoonian, K. (2000). Gendering policy analysis in the government of British Columbia: strategies, possibilities and constraints. Studies in Political Economy, 61(Spring), 105–127. Teghtsoonian, K. (2004). Neoliberalism and gender analysis mainstreaming in Aotearoa/New Zealand. Australian Journal of Political Science, 39(2), 267–284. Uttley, S. (2000). Lone mothers and policy discourse in New Zealand. Journal of Social Policy, 39(3), 441–458. Verloo, M. (2005). Mainstreaming gender equality in Europe. A critical frame analysis approach. The Greek Review of Social Research, 117, 11–34.

CHAPTER 8

This Is What a Women’s Movement Looks Like (in Neoliberal Times)

Much of my initial research motivation was sparked by the literature that identified the end, or at least the abeyance, of Aotearoa/New Zealand’s women’s movement under neoliberalism. This book aimed to demonstrate why I believe this was a misdiagnosis of the movement and I demonstrated that Aotearoa/New Zealand’s women’s movement continued to exist on the macro-, meso- and micro-level. In this last chapter, I elaborate on how these three levels are connected to each other despite this connection’s inherent conflicts and contradictions. I will also argue that the movement changed its character to adapt to altered political opportunities under neoliberalism and those changes might have made the movement appear ‘invisible’ to those who expected the movement to look the same as it did in its heyday in the 1970s and 1980s. This apparent invisibility does, however, not mean that the movement went into abeyance or that feminists have been fully co-opted, or in Foucauldian terminology: subjectivated, by neoliberal rationality. Neoliberal struggles were not the only difficulties the movement was facing. With increasing awareness for issues of intersectionality and a progressing sensitivity for the movement’s own colonial history, feminists also tried to balance inclusivity, relative privilege and cultural sensitivity within their activities, activism and work, but faced many challenges in doing so. The resulting conflicts, disagreements and misunderstandings within feminist circles were serious. © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 J. Schuster, Neoliberalism and its Impact on the Women’s Movement in Aotearoa/New Zealand, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-95523-6_8

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To support my arguments, this chapter concludes the book with a synthesis of the previous discussions and it links my main empirical findings to the theoretical framework of this study. Focussing on three crucial influences of neoliberalism on Aotearoa/New Zealand’s women’s movement— individualisation, depolitisation and fragmentation—I discuss if and how feminist work on the micro-, meso- and macro-level had changed and to what extent neoliberal rationality had been adopted by feminists and their organisations/institutions. I further highlight the strategies which individuals, organisations and state feminist agents applied to navigate the changed political opportunities. This is followed by a discussion of why the changes of the movement during the neoliberal era caused the movement to become somewhat invisible when compared to the outspoken women’s movement of the Second Wave. I then use Sawer’s (2010) definition of a women’s movement (see Chap. 1) to demonstrate that despite this invisibility, Aotearoa/New Zealand’s feminist activity still met all of the criteria that constitute a women’s movement. I extend this discussion by reflecting on the three levels of feminist activity and explain how they related to and complemented each other and conjointly formed the basis of Aotearoa/New Zealand’s women’s movement that sustained through the neoliberal era. In my closing discussion I offer final thoughts on the challenges that the Aotearoa/New Zealand women’s movement faces today.

Neoliberal Struggles The political opportunity structure model (e.g., Peoples, 2019) is a helpful theoretical framework to understand how neoliberal rationality, adopted by political institutions and society at large, considerably shaped opportunities to do feminist work. When a political ideology that focuses on individual responsibility and denies the existence of structural inequalities becomes and remains hegemonic for three decades, this will alter the support of political institutions and of larger society for social justice movements. As social movement actors are not standing outside of society, they are not immune against adopting some aspects of that rationality, its forms of knowledges and truths. There is no reason to assume that feminists can resist against neoliberal subjectivation more than anyone else. Consequently, the predominance of neoliberal rationality had an effect on all three levels of Aotearoa/New Zealand’s women’s movement. On the one hand, it forced feminist agents to apply strategies that navigated

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neoliberal values and priorities, while remaining determined to improve gender relations in Aotearoa/New Zealand. On the other hand, feminists themselves implemented some neoliberal values, knowledges and terminology into their beliefs, which increased individualisation, depolitisation and fragmentation of feminist practices. However, the relationship between the women’s movements and neoliberalism is complicated. Despite severe drawbacks and internal conflicts for the movement, feminism and neoliberalism have found ways to influence each other, and windows of opportunity for the women’s movement have not closed entirely during neoliberalism. Individualisation? The individualisation of articulating political demands in general and of engaging with feminism in particular is one of the main imprints of neoliberalism on feminism (Evans, 2015). As neoliberalism narrowed opportunities for collective mobilisations, disapproved of solidaric forms of social justice work and perpetuated an understanding of ‘freedom’ that focussed on a person’s self-interest and economic liberty, the focus on individual perspectives has influenced feminist behaviour. Among feminists in Aotearoa/New Zealand, this showed in individualised forms of everyday feminism becoming more popular and being assigned greater political relevance. But individualisation also manifested itself, for instance, in a reluctance to pinpoint who a feminist was or to take on the responsibility to represent feminist demands for others. Moreover, the women in this study had an understanding of feminism that was closely related to their own experiences of discrimination and their ethnic and sexual identities strongly shaped their feminist beliefs. However, while their perspectives on feminism and discrimination were individualised and rather personal, the women were absolutely aware of the structural inequalities in society. For them, their individually differing experiences of discrimination were a result of such inequalities that had different consequences for people, depending on a person’s intersectional situatedness within social structures. The women reflected on how those structures were shaped by Aotearoa/New Zealand’s colonial history as well as by patriarchal and heteronormative hegemonies. Thus, the women did not follow a neoliberal rationality that denies the existence of structural inequalities nor did they base their individualism on self-interest.

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Of course, this did not mean that they always knew how to overcome obstacles associated with privilege and marginalisation. Building inclusive feminist groups or organising inclusive events was a challenge for many, particularly for those with relative privilege. This uncertainty is not a specific characteristic of feminism under neoliberalism—those difficulties have accompanied the women’s movement throughout its entire history. However, the way the women dealt with those problems occasionally showed that neoliberal rationality had affected them; for instance, when they viewed their lack of success in creating true inclusivity as a personal failure to manage their privilege, or when they retreated to individual positions to avoid representing collective viewpoints. Hence, the individualisation of feminism under neoliberalism did not undermine feminism’s ability to analyse inequal social structures but it influenced the way feminists engaged with them. Depolitisation? Wendy Brown (2015) warned that neoliberal rationality depoliticises societies by dismantling democratic ideals through the economisation of all social spheres, eroding cultures of political solidarity and prioritising self-­ care over the solidaric care for others. She argued that under neoliberalism, the Homo Politicus gets pushed to the side by the Homo Economicus (Brown, 2015). My analysis of the three levels of the women’s movement has shown that this process seems to work in different ways. For example, on the micro-level, we have seen feminists shying away from articulating collective feminist positions, engaging in individualised ‘everyday practices’ of feminism and creating their ‘feminist bubbles’ as spaces save from political arguments. On the meso-level, women’s organisations were forced into deciding between receiving funding from government via contracts and maintaining a strong political voice. On the macro-level, the Ministry of Women’s Affairs (MWA) had to develop its work foci based on the priorities of the neoliberal government’s agenda, leaving little space for promoting policies to tackle structural inequalities. Davies and Bansel (2010) have described this dynamic as neoliberalism cultivating generic institutions and dismantling their ability to critique. Yet, this is not the whole picture. When political opportunities are unfavourably for outspoken feminist politics but support strategies connected to self-improvement and freedom of choice, feminists, too, will use those avenues. However, in doing so, the interviewed women assigned different

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meanings to ‘self-improvement’ and ‘freedom of choice’ that are not concerned with increasing one’s human capital but to become ‘better feminists’, who are critical, attentive and confident. They still defended solidaric aims as central goals of their feminism. Their everyday feminist practices were not all forms of feminism my participants engaged in, and their ‘feminist bubbles’ mainly served the purpose of regaining strength to keep up their political work outside of those bubbles. Many were members of feminist organisations and/or attended collective forms of activism. A lot of the organisations which made use of government funding initially came from a political context. Although they had to adjust their political outspokenness to the expectations of their contract partners, they were still run by feminists who tried to carve out spaces for remaining true to their beliefs. On the macro-level, the MWA found itself in the difficult position of being part of the neoliberal government, but it played the important role of reminding institutionalised politics in Aotearoa/New Zealand that women’s politics need to remain on the political agenda. Overall, neoliberalism made it hard for politically active feminist agents to continue their work, but fighting to keep small windows of feminist opportunity open is in itself, I argue, a political act. The Feminist Homo Politicus did not go away. Fragmentation? Some of my participants have described Aotearoa/New Zealand’s women’s movement as fragmented and consisting of many different groups and segments that do not necessarily cooperate on a broader scale. The dissolvement of united social movements in general has been a consequence of neoliberalism, because a rationality that counts on one’s own responsibility to create a successful life has no need for and, in fact, opposes collective politics that might ignite some form of class (or gendered) consciousness (Kymlicka, 2013; O’Connor, 2010). This dissolvement of networks became particularly visible with organisations competing against each other for government contracts and funding, despite their shared work foci. Organisations working towards ending violence against women have experienced this dynamic strongly. Differences and mistrust between the macro-level of state feminism on the one side and the micro- and meso-levels of individuals and organisations on the other side have further advanced this fragmentation of the movement.

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However, the women’s movement was never cohesive, given the troubled relationships between Pākehā and Māori women, lesbian and heterosexual women or radical and liberal feminists. As long as the country’s colonial past is not resolved—and this might never fully be the case— racialised power imbalances will continue to exist, also among feminists. The further dissolution of this already cracked cohesion within the movement was not only a consequence of neoliberalism. Having accepted that women are a heterogeneous group with different experiences of discrimination, and building on an understanding of feminism that rejects the idea that white middle-class women can speak for all women, heterogeneity needed to be reflected in the structure of the women’s movement as well. For instance, organisations specialising in providing sexual healthcare services for particular ethnic groups allows for acknowledging that sexual health is a culturally charged topic. Particularly in a country with a colonial history, such a strategy has much potential to erode Eurocentric perspectives on sexuality and health issues. If the political opportunities under neoliberalism support those forms of specialisation, women’s organisations can make use of them. However, this only works for the advantage of the movement, if the specialised organisations still find ways of co-­ operating and mutual support, instead of being turned into competitors. Another form of fragmentation was illustrated via difficulties the women’s movement faced in the compatibility of the different feminist approaches employed by younger and older generations of feminists. This intergenerational divide, that was not just a matter of age but also of different feminist approaches and theories, got much attention within the literature. But I find it interesting how much Third Wave feminism and its Second Wave predecessor actually had in common. My findings suggest that feminists identifying with both waves were concerned with similar issues, such as violence against women, the gender pay gap, queer and lesbian issues and abortion rights. What divided the generations was mostly the framing of these issues and the methods they favoured to address them. Although these generational differences, overall, did not seem to be profound when it came to the content of feminist aims and goals, they created difficulties in the communication between younger and older feminists in Aotearoa/New Zealand. As explained in Chap. 4, such tensions led some Second Wave feminists to think of the Third Wave as dismissive of the past women’s movement’s achievements, while a number of Third Wave feminists perceived the older generation as arrogant towards younger

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women. These perceptions caused tangible conflicts resulting in feminist communities often being divided by age and lacking intergenerational cooperation. Nevertheless, some of my participants perceived such tensions as overplayed. Given that there is a new, Fourth, Wave on the block by now, which probably will not be the last one, the feminist movement is well advised to address generational conflicts by focussing on commonalities.

Hiding the Movement As feminists in Aotearoa/New Zealand have navigated their work according to the political opportunities under neoliberalism, they have changed the character of the women’s movement. Those changes were so severe that they seemed to have made the movement unrecognisable for some and it has been argued that the women’s movement disappeared under neoliberalism. Based on my findings I argue that this was not the case, but the movement became somewhat hidden. This had many reasons. While Aotearoa/New Zealand’s Second Wave women’s movement was often visibly marching on the streets, in the late 1980s many Aotearoa/New Zealand feminists involved in grassroots activism moved into formal jobs in women’s organisations and state feminist institutions, expanding the movement on the macro-level. Such move was often motivated by the under-funded community sector which provided few chances for employment, while more feminists gained university degrees, qualifying them for government work. But aside from employment options, feminist also realised that such government work may open up new avenues for political struggles (Newman, 2012). Overall, this formalised path of feminist engagement seemed to offer more opportunities for themselves and for their political aims than disruptive—and publicly visible—activism. Indeed, among the participants of my study, many women of working age had paid jobs in women’s organisations and state-related institutions. Some of these women explained that they consequently avoided attending street protests in their private time, partly because they needed some distance from women’s issues outside working hours. More importantly, while the presence of representatives of women’s organisations and institutions at protests is often helpful for the cause of the protest, some participants argued that representatives of organisations had to be careful not to criticise government decisions publicly because of their organisations’ reliance on government funding. Such caution was often motivated not only by the sentiment

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of ‘don’t bite the hand that feeds you’ but also by gag clauses in their funding contracts that actively prohibited advocacy work by the funded organisations. Despite the Labour-led government’s intention after 1999 to improve the political agency of the NGO-sector, including many women’s organisations, the Third Way did not overcome government’s overall reluctance to address gender inequality because of its perceived incompatibility with a neoliberal agenda. Consequently, many women’s organisations did not directly address women as their target group nor explicitly locate their work in the field of women’s issues. Wanting to address a broader clientele, and/or being dependent on funding from government and thus having to avoid overt advocacy for women’s interest, made the veiling of women’s issues a useful strategy for some women’s organisations. On the micro-level of the women’s movement, feminist activities have also become ‘invisible’. Obviously, feminist activity that is performed individually and within the private sphere is less visible than collective and public events. Many feminists helped to maintain a feminist discourse by bringing women’s concerns into other areas of activism and social justice. In doing so, they paradoxically kept the discourse about such issues alive but weakened the visibility of the women’s movement because these discourses were then embedded within other areas of social justice. Similarly, young women’s use of the internet and social media tools for organising feminist events, holding discussions and sharing information, ‘hid’ these activities in the online sphere. Some members of the older generation were less inclined to engage in such online communities and as a result were not aware of the young women’s work that was organised online. It can be expected that with increasing online practice across all age groups, this problem will lose its relevance. Finally, the fragmentation of the women’s movement has also contributed to its invisibility. Third Wave feminism put particular effort into acknowledging differences between women with various ethnic and sexual identities. Awareness of such differences made it arguably less necessary but also more difficult for feminist groups to cooperate across such divisions. This has facilitated the fragmentation of the movement. While some of my participants perceived such a fragmentation as a benefit, it has also meant the movement became less likely to be noticed as a cohesive entity because only the most vocal factions stand out. All of these developments and characteristics have contributed to the increasing invisibility of Aotearoa/New Zealand’s women’s movement to

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the general public and within feminist circles during the neoliberal era. I agree with Grey’s (2008, p. 76) assertion that ‘the mere fact that it [feminist activism] is hidden from view is problematic’. Yet, the movement moved to different places and different forms than previously and did not cease to exist. These effects of neoliberalism did not only leave their marks in Aotearoa/New Zealand but also on women’s movements in other Western countries. Analysing a similar period in time under neoliberal governance, Maddison and Sawer (2013) stated for the Australia women’s movement: We maintain that the women’s movement is not dead. While the movement has changed and evolved, it has hidden in some unexpected places and taken on new forms, making it unrecognisable to some who are only too happy to proclaim its early death. (Maddison & Sawer, 2013, p. 17)

In their assessment of the women’s movement in the United States, Staggenborg and Taylor (2005, p. 41) arrived at a similar conclusion: The women’s movement survives to the extent that it has developed feminist ‘fields’ in a variety of arenas, devised tactical repertoires that have challenged numerous authorities and cultural and political codes, and permeated other social movements and public consciousness.

Newman’s (2012, 2013) exploration of women’s political spaces in the United Kingdom also involved multiple sites of feminist activity, including the personal involvement of women, the work of women’s organisations and women’s influence on policy in a neoliberal context. She further discussed the role of academic work in her analysis and explored its relationship to activism. Newman emphasised that the political spaces created and used by her participants transgressed these levels, allowing the women to work from inside and outside the state, institutions, paid work and academia at the same time. This is a helpful way to think about the agency of women’s movements because it highlights the flexibility of feminist activity and challenges binary research categories such as state/society, personal/political and autonomous/incorporated.

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Finding the Movement Given the many changes neoliberalism had inflicted on the women’s movement in Aotearoa/New Zealand, one may ask the question if the movement had changed so much that it no longer qualified as a social movement. In Chap. 1, I introduced Sawer’s (2010) conceptualisation of women’s movements as an appropriate approach for examining Aotearoa/ New Zealand’s feminist activity under neoliberalism. The empirical findings of my study demonstrate that feminism, despite its changes, still met all three criteria that Sawer (2010, p.  605) specified as characterising a women’s movement. According to her, a women’s movement (a) mobilises collective identity as women; (b) sustains the challenge of women-centred discourse through periods of abeyance and (c) makes claims on behalf of women. I will discuss each of these criteria in turn. Mobilising ‘Women’ Despite many of my participants emphasising that women are a diverse group of people and the importance given to intersectionality issues, I argue that ‘woman’ as a political category remained an underlying and collective identity for Aotearoa/New Zealand’s feminists as they still placed women as a political category in the centre of their feminist aspirations. I have shown in Chap. 4 that achieving equality between genders was most commonly named as the underlying aim of the women’s understandings of feminism. Older women were more likely to frame this demand as ‘equality between men and women’ while young and queer women more often used the terminology of ‘equality between all genders’. But I suggest that this difference in wording was mainly a matter of generation-specific feminist socialisation rather than a reflection of ideological differences: the idea of fluid gender identities have only become widely shared in feminist circles in the early 1990s (e.g., Butler, 1990). Thus, younger feminists and women who identified as queer were more familiar with alternative gender concepts than older women or those who got politically socialised with radical and liberal feminist theories of the 1970s and 1980s. While some women emphasised that gender

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discrimination did not only affect women negatively, all agreed that women—an identity they all shared—were more disadvantaged by patriarchal structures than men. However, most Māori women and some other participants further explained the importance of including men and the whole community in all struggles for social equality. The concept of a women’s movement, in which women are supposed to be mobilised to solve problems that affect the whole community, was understood by some to be a Pākehā concept. One Māori participant asked during the interview, how a problem like violence against women could be ended by women alone, when the root of the problem was located in and condoned by the entire community. The (mainly) Pākehā approach of focussing on women, instead of on the community, was one of the ways the colonial history of Aotearoa/New Zealand’s women’s movement showed its consequences in the present. In Chap. 5, I also suggested that the individual perceptions of feminism as an ideology held by many participants limited the possibilities for collective representation. This seems contradictory to sharing a collective identity. However, while many women emphasised that their feminist views reflected their personal perspectives only, there was reason for me to assume that many of these women conceived of feminism more broadly. They avoided articulating such wider opinions because they were anxious not to display signs of unreflexive privilege and of dominating feminist discourse with their opinions. Similarly, their feminist activities often reflected an indirect representation of others and many women assigned political and social value to these activities, as elaborated in Chap. 5. While their individual approaches were often oriented towards personal goals, many women simultaneously tried to provoke social change for other women, even if only on a small scale (e.g., within relationships to others, within their personal living environments). Also, large protest marches such as SlutWalk and the Bust Rape Culture march were organised to primarily represent the voices of women and survivors of sexual violence. From this perspective, it is rather ironic (yet, also legitimate) that SlutWalk was criticised for its attempt to represent broad groups of women and for not acknowledging diversity within those groups appropriately. Nevertheless, the emphasis of a collective political identity, such as the identity of women, creates a distinction between insiders and outsiders (Ferree & Mueller, 2003; Whittier, 1995). The different perspectives on queer identities illustrated the relevance of negotiating such a distinction. It further showed that collective identities are, as argued by Whittier

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(1995), subject to change over time. Thus, it is important for the feminist movement to remain critical regarding its emphasis on women as a category. Sustaining Through Abeyance This second characteristic of a women’s movement—keeping a women-­ centred discourse alive in difficult times—suggests that women’s movements go through varying phases of intensity, including abeyance. Indeed, Aotearoa/New Zealand’s women’s movement has been described as having been in abeyance after the late 1980s (Coney, 1993; Grey, 2008). I do not agree with the gravity that is associated with such an account, particularly in relation to the 2010s when feminism regained some strength. But I agree that Aotearoa/New Zealand’s women’s movement has lost visibility and some authority since the 1970s. However, as Sawer’s criterion suggests, the movement has sustained (varying degrees of) momentum and a women-centred discourse remains evident in the twenty-first century. The women in my study did not describe explicit strategies to consciously maintain such a discourse, but they applied several tactics that contributed to its success. At the micro-level of the movement, the activities of everyday feminism, interactions with family and friends, individual artwork, writing blogs and other forms of individualised feminist activity have helped to maintain a feminist discourse. Promoted by individual women, these types of discourse were often contained within small communities, sometimes spread online, but rarely did they cross wider society. Despite the small impact of such activities, my participants valued the small victories they gained from them. For instance, successfully challenging an acquaintance who made a sexist joke, having a fruitful debate on a feminist internet platform and distributing a self-made feminist zine to readers fuelled the women’s motivation and enthusiasm for feminist engagement and kept debate about feminist issues alive. In particular, the creation of alternative media (e.g., zines) and the use of social media provided new spaces to maintain feminist discourse. Shaw (2013) illustrated how Australian feminist bloggers played a significant role in offering platforms where feminists have discussions and develop ideas together. I discussed similar developments in Aotearoa/New Zealand in Chap. 4. The meso-level of the women’s movement offered alternative ways to maintain the feminist discourse. My findings have shown that few

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women’s organisation prioritised feminist terminology and some did not even refer to women specifically. However, their work still focussed on women’s issues such as domestic and sexual violence, poverty among sole parent families and eating disorders (see Chap. 6). Other organisations proudly identified their work as being feminist and openly engaged in a discourse about women’s issues. Such advocacy work was easier to pursue amongst organisations not depending on government funding. A further way of keeping a women-centred discourse alive was to bring feminist debate to other areas of social justice that intersect with a feminist agenda. For example, a few women worked for unions, others were part of activist groups (e.g., with an anti-racist or welfare agenda) that were not exclusively (or even primarily) addressing women’s issues. However, from a feminist perspective, they certainly benefitted from the feminist input provided by the women and helped to maintain a women-centred discourse. The macro-level of state feminism has faced difficulties in keeping a feminist discourse to the fore within government. Women’s policy agencies in Western democracies under neoliberalism tended to have little impact on policy making (Haussmann & Sauer, 2007) and Aotearoa/New Zealand’s MWA constituted unfortunately no exception. Its strong focus on women in leadership and paid work has been criticised by feminists, but it served the purpose of framing women’s issues in a way that is of relevance to a neoliberal-oriented government. While several women’s policy agencies have been abolished in the neoliberal context of other countries, Aotearoa/New Zealand’s Ministry of Women’s Affairs has managed to remain ‘valuable enough’ as a government department to avoid this fate. I believe it is important for the women’s movement to have an institution that continues, even if with little visible success, to raise political women’s issues within the policy process because it helps to keep these issues alive in institutionalised political debates. Making Claims on Women’s Behalf Sawer’s (2010) third characteristic of a women’s movement emphasises the claims made by the movement on behalf of women. In the following, I review the main claims expressed by the participants, the organisations analysed in my study and the MWA. These claims range from specific policy suggestions to comparatively vague demands for changes of social norms. Following this summary of claims, I explain how these demands

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were articulated, because the means through which feminists communicate their claims today are diverse. The meaning of feminism, as expressed by the majority of the women in my study, was to demand equality between genders by improving women’s rights and opportunities in society. This is arguably the main, if somewhat broad, claim of the women’s movement made on behalf of women. Some participants explained this demand in more depth asking, for example, for an improvement in reproductive (e.g., concerning abortion) and employment rights, including equal pay/pay equity. Participants who emphasised the relevance of individualised everyday feminism often did not explicitly express the aims for a women’s movement but rather emphasised the self-directedness of their activities. For instance, I explained in Chap. 5 how self-improvement and the incorporation of feminist values into personal relationships were important aims of many young feminists. However, I also suggested that women engaged in such activities still made claims on behalf of women, if at a different level and on a small scale. For example, they did not accept sexist environments in their personal lives. In challenging such day-to-day inequalities, they reclaimed their personal sphere as a safe space for themselves and by extension for other women entering this space. The claims made by women’s organisations analysed in Chap. 6 were broad, including a demand for law changes (e.g., abortion rights), political recognition of marginalised groups (e.g., the poor, sex workers) and the compliance of employers with workers’ rights (e.g., through union work). Some organisations focussed on supporting specific groups within their communities (e.g., for queer youth, survivors of violence) and others worked on strengthening certain communities overall (e.g., of ethnic groups, rural communities). Not all of these demands were exclusively made on behalf of women, but they were made by groups that were dominantly or significantly female (e.g., sex workers, nurses, sole parents, youth with eating disorder). Finally, at the level of state feminism—as represented by the MWA in my study—claims on behalf of women were made by lobbying within the policy process for women’s interests. Most of these interests represented the needs of women in employment and survivors of violence. However, I showed in Chap. 7 that the MWA tried (with limited success) to cover a broader range of issues. Many of these demands were also articulated by my participants.

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As indicated earlier, the ways in which all these different claims on behalf of women were declared to the public and political authorities were as diverse as the claims themselves. While some conceptualisations of women’s movements offered in the literature suggest that a handful of individual key actors tend to present the movements’ ideas to the public (Haussmann & Sauer, 2007). However, Sawer’s (2010) conceptualisation of a women’s movement does not refer to key individuals and I do not regard them as crucial to the existence of a women’s movement. Also, I did not identify such specific spokespeople in Aotearoa/New Zealand, possibly because they might contradict the identified reluctance of having some privileged women speaking for all. Given that ‘diversity’ is such an important characteristic of contemporary feminism and ‘representation’ has become a difficult concept to implement, it seems inappropriate to look for a small number of key voices to articulate the claims of a women’s movement. The women in my study used a range of avenues to publicise their claims due to the diverse nature of their claims, the different audiences they wanted to reach and the different opportunities available. This range included individual women communicating with people in their personal environments of their daily lives, street protests carrying messages to the media and the public (e.g., SlutWalk, Bust Rape Culture), social media circulating feminist claims within the online sphere (e.g., Misogyny Busters), and petitions raising awareness about the need for political intervention (e.g., to stop the closure of Auckland’s 24/7 sexual violence crisis service). Although often limited in their political agency, some women’s organisations, with expertise on certain issues, spoke out publicly when necessary. The voice of the MWA, meanwhile, was not often heard outside institutionalised environments, but did carry state feminist claims to policy makers. All of these ‘actors’ contributed to making claims on behalf of women in both the public and political spheres. Feminist activity under neoliberalism in Aotearoa/New Zealand, therefore, also met the third criterion of Sawer’s conceptualisation of a women’s movement. Given the high importance of intersectionality issues and the recognition of diversity among my participants, it is important to note that this criterion is not to be interpreted in a way that suggests that all claims made by a women’s movement need to be made on behalf of all women at the same time. Claims that are, for example, exclusively relevant to Māori women, lesbian women, queer women or disabled women are valid claims of a women’s movement. Such a condition does not contradict Sawer’s conceptualisation but rather accommodates an acknowledgement of heterogeneity, which is a key characteristic of Third Wave feminism.

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Connecting the Three Levels of the Movement Throughout this book I have argued that feminist activity in Aotearoa/ New Zealand can be categorised into the micro- (individual), meso(organisational) and macro-level (state) of the women’s movement and that they relate to each other. I do not suggest that the three levels of the women’s movement act as one entity and speak with one voice. Rather, they serve different but complementary purposes for the women’s movement, and this complementation is not without conflicts. Women’s organisations at the meso-level provide vital services to many women, even if the neoliberal project has increased the formalisation of women’s organisations and limited their political voice. Simultaneously, a neoliberal emphasis on individual agency has facilitated the emergence of personal and informal approaches to feminism on the micro-level of the women’s movement, offering feminists new avenues for expressing feminist claims and leaving space for developing feminist ideas without restrictions of institutionalised processes. While individualised feminism lacks the formal character often necessary to initiate changes on a policy level, state feminism provides these structures to the women’s movement. Political opportunities were not favourable for this feminist work on the macro-level and its successes were limited. However, Aotearoa/New Zealand’s state feminists have so far succeeded in maintaining the MWA as a government agency. The three levels are interconnected and remained that way under neoliberalism. The distinction between the individual and organisational level of feminist activity was (and is) somewhat ambiguous. The feminist grassroots scene in Aotearoa/New Zealand hosts small groups of activists, artists and other feminist collectives that operate on an informal level without official membership and constitutional statutes (e.g., Young Asian Feminists Aotearoa, Wellington Craftivism Collective). New social media has enabled the creation of informal collectives that exist only online. Misogyny Busters, for example, is a Facebook group whose main success was to pressure companies into removing their advertisements from Willie Jackson and John Tamihere’s Radio Live show. This was achieved because individual people, who otherwise had no connection to each other, could be mobilised for this specific purpose. In addition, Misogyny Busters and the organising teams of other feminist events such as SlutWalk were temporary or one-off feminist activities. They formed for a specific purpose and disbanded when their goals were achieved. However, this group

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remained active as a Facebook groups that loosely connected individual members until 2016.1 Among the more professionalised women’s organisations who acted as service providers (e.g., Women’s Refuge, Women’s Centres) during the time of my study, many had ties with the MWA because of their roles as consultants to, and stakeholders in government policy. Although the Ministry allowed more space for such relationships in the early years of its existence than in the neoliberal era, it still benefited from the knowledge about the specific needs of women provided by these consulting organisations. Of course, these relationships between the Ministry and women’s organisations were coloured by the unequal power dynamics between them. Some links between the micro- and the macro-level of feminism arguably occurred because these two levels represented different stages of many ‘feminist careers’. One of my participants pointed out that the MWA mainly employed people with high levels of education and/or professional experience, which take time to acquire. Therefore, employees tended to be over a certain age. I have further shown that most forms of individualised feminism are particularly popular among younger women. The same women may move on to jobs in institutions such as at the MWA after they have completed their education or worked in women’s organisations. Other than that, the support of individual feminists for state feminist work is—despite some shared aims between these levels—limited by the neoliberal context of state feminism which sparks mistrust among many feminists working outside of government institutions. This was one of the weaknesses of Aotearoa/New Zealand’s women’s movement and state feminism would certainly benefit from regaining trust and greater support from the feminist grassroots base. In summary, while the three levels of the women’s movement all had and have important tasks to fulfil, they did not act entirely disconnected from each other. Following Newman’s (2012) terminology, the work and energy that goes into maintaining such connections can be seen as ‘boarder work’, bridging, for example, policy work with the claims of feminists outside of state feminism or translating the agenda of women’s organisations into goals that qualify for government funding. Such boarder work faces problems of uneven power balances and runs risk of ditching political claims that do not fit into a neoliberal value-set. But it also opens up new pathways and creates new practices (Newman, 2012, 2013). It glues together the three levels of the Aotearoa/New Zealand’s women’s movement. 1

 The Facebook group still exists but is not active.

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Looking Forwards When Jacinda Ardern took over the role of the Prime Minister of Aotearoa/ New Zealand in 2017, neoliberalism, advanced by her predecessors for decades, did not end abruptly. Even though she announced that the neoliberal policy approach had failed (Redden et al., 2020), a Prime Minister and her government cannot undo 30 years of neoliberal subjectification, that had imprinted itself on political culture and institutions, practices of the economy, cultural hegemonies and social values. To name just one example, it will be interesting to observe whether universities will maintain or abandon neoliberal understandings of how they are organised, administrated, produce knowledge and educate students. And while I imagine that most of my interview participants will have welcomed the change in government and the associated turn away from neoliberalism, neoliberal rationality inscribed in their own approaches to feminism will remain, as they are hard to shake off for everyone. Overall, caution is further indicated, as it still remains to be seen whether the current government’s rejection of neoliberalism is mainly rhetorical or genuine and will translate into actual and sustainable change (Redden et al., 2020). While some signs (e.g., a decreased gender pay gap and new policies) suggest that Aotearoa/New Zealand’s political opportunities may have become more favourable to a feminist agenda, the future will tell what the change in governance means for feminist projects and the women’s movement in the long run. If gender relations are to be improved by the current government, a truly intersectional and decolonial approach to institutionalised women’s politics is needed. State feminism will have to take bicultural relations more seriously. There are signs pointing in the right direction. To name one, in 2019, the MWA established in cooperation with Te Puni Kōkiri (the Ministry of Māori Development) the Mana Wahine unit, which is responsible for government responses to the Mana Wahine Kaupapa Inquiry at the Waitangi Tribunal (see Chap. 1). This shows an acknowledgement of the specificity of Māori women’s claims to treaty breaches by the Crown. But racial hierarchies are hard to overcome, as they are inscribed deeply into social structures and hegemonic values. For, instance, while the decriminalisation of abortion through the Abortion Legislation Act 2020 was a major achievement for women in Aotearoa/New Zealand, discussions about abortion still lack Māori perspectives. A stronger inclusion of Māori voices would, however, be needed for a broader de-­ stigmatisation of abortion experiences (Le Grice & Braun, 2017).

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Also, multiculturalism needs to be reframed and taken seriously. Thiruselvam (2019), for example, criticised Ardern’s reaction to the racist and Islamophobic terror arracks in Christchurch on 15 March 2019. Ardern said that ‘this is not who we are’ (Whyte, 2019), which Thiruselvam (2019) argued to be severely dismissive of experiences of Muslim communities who, in fact, live with the normalisation and acceptance of Islamophobia on a daily basis. It will take more than a dismissal of neoliberal politics to dismantle such normalisations. Ardern and her government are not the only ones responsible or capable to achieve such change. The women’s movement needs to make use of altered political opportunities, articulate its demands clearly and work forcefully towards achieving them. This will have to include the principles of mana wahine, based on an honest engagement with the intersections of racism, sexism and classism, that also takes into account the neoliberal exploitation of colonised communities and land (Pihama, 2021). Heterogeneity within the movement will continue to be a challenge to achieve this. Following 30 years of neoliberalism, Aotearoa/New Zealand’s contemporary women’s movement is not one cohesive and harmonious entity. The fragmented movement still struggles with internal tensions and for external recognition. If it was the aim of feminism to create a movement that articulates uniform demands with one voice, then neoliberalism might have demolished Aotearoa/New Zealand’s women’s movement. But this is not feminism’s aim. The realities of women are complex and so are feminist values and goals. There is a widespread acknowledgement among feminists that different experiences, needs and aims of women with different identities and backgrounds have dissolved the idea of a collective feminist identity and a ‘sisterhood’.2 I suggest that it is this collective appreciation of women’s differences that unites the movement today. While this understanding encourages fragmented feminist communities, individualised activities and issue-based activism, these characteristics of the movement simultaneously ensure that the different perspectives among women receive attention. The resulting conflicts, disagreements and misunderstandings within feminist circles will probably continue, but they keep feminist discussions alive—and when feminist discussions are alive, so is feminism.

2  Arguably, neither of them actually existed in the past, however, their ideas did (see Chap. 3).

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References Brown, W. (2015). Undoing the demos: Neoliberalism’s stealth revolution. Zone Books. Butler, J. (1990). Gender trouble: Feminism and the subversion of identity. Routledge. Coney, S. (1993). Why the women’s movement ran out of steam. In S. Kedgley & M. Varnham (Eds.), Heading nowhere in a navy blue suit and other tales from the feminist revolution (pp. 51–74). Daphne Brasell Associates Press. Davies, B., & Bansel, P. (2010). Governmentality and academic work. Shaping the hearts and minds of academic workers. Journal of Curriculum Theorizing, 26(3), 5–20. Evans, E. (2015). The politics of third wave feminisms: Neoliberalism, intersectionality and the state in Britain and the US. Palgrave Macmillan. Ferree, M. M., & Mueller, C. M. (2003). Feminism and the women’s movement: A global Perspective. In D.  A. Snow, S.  A. Soule, & H.  Kriesi (Eds.), The Blackwell companion to social movements (pp. 576–607). Blackwell Publishing. Grey, S. (2008). Out of sight, out of mind. The New Zealand women’s movement. In S.  Grey & M.  Sawer (Eds.), Women’s movements. Flourishing or in abeyance? (pp. 65–78). Routledge. Haussmann, M., & Sauer, B. (Eds.). (2007). Gendering the State in the Age of Globalisation: Women’s Movements and State Feminism in Post Industrial Democracies. Rowman & Littlefield. Kymlicka, W. (2013). Neoliberal multiculturalism? In P.  A. Hall & M.  Lamont (Eds.), Social resilience in the neo-liberal era (pp.  99–126). Cambridge University Press. Le Grice, J. S., & Braun, V. (2017). Indigenous (Māori) perspectives on abortion in New Zealand. Feminism & Psychology, 27(2), 144–162. https://doi. org/10.1177/0959353517701491 Maddison, S., & Sawer, M. (Eds.). (2013). The women’s movement in protest, institutions and the internet. Australia in transnational perspective. Routledge. Newman, J. (2012). Working the spaces of power. Activism, neoliberalism and gendered labour. Bloomsbury Academic. Newman, J. (2013). Spaces of power: Feminism, neoliberalism and gendered labor. Social Politics: International Studies in Gender, State & Society, 20(2), 200–221. https://doi.org/10.1093/sp/jxt008 O’Connor, J. (2010). Marxism and the three movements of neoliberalism. Critical Sociology, 36(5), 691–715. https://doi.org/10.1177/0896920510371389 Peoples, C. D. (2019). Theoretical, methodological, and historical approaches to social movements, revolutions, and social transformation. In B.  Berberoglu (Ed.), The Palgrave handbook of social movements, revolution, and social transformation (pp. 15–34). Palgrave Macmillan.

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Pihama, L. (2021). Mana Wahine: Decolonising gender in Aotearoa. Australian Feminist Studies, online first. https://doi.org/10.1080/0816464 9.2020.1902270 Redden, G., Phelan, S., & Baker, C. (2020). Different routes up the same mountain? Neoliberalism in Australia and New Zealand. In S. Dawes & M. Lenormand (Eds.), Neoliberalism in context (pp. 61–82). Springer International Publishing. Sawer, M. (2010). Premature obituaries: How can we tell if the women’s movement is over? Politics & Gender, 6(04), 602–609. Shaw, F. (2013). Blogging and the women’s movement: New feminist networks. In S. Maddison & M. Sawer (Eds.), The women’s movement in protest, institutions and the internet. Australia in transnational perspective (pp.  118–131). Routledge. Staggenborg, S., & Taylor, V. (2005). Whatever happened to the women’s movement? Mobilization: An International Quarterly, 10(1), 37–52. Thiruselvam, N. (2019). Care ethics and narratives of the `grateful refugee’ and `model minority’: A postcolonial feminist observation of New Zealand in the wake of the Christchurch terror attacks. Women’s Studies Journal, 33(1/2), 62–70. Whittier, N. (1995). United we stand: The impact of the women’s movement on other social movements. In Feminist Generations. The persistence of the radical women’s movement (pp. 155–190). Temple University Press. Whyte, A. (2019, March 20). ‘This is one of New Zealand’s darkest days’— Prime Minister’s message after Christchurch mass shooting. TVNZ. Retrieved July 3, 2021, from https://www.tvnz.co.nz/one-­news/new-­zealand/ one-­new-­zealands-­darkest-­days-­prime-­ministers-­message-­after-­christchurch-­ mass-­shootings



Appendix

Table A1  Interview participant characteristics N Occupation Community worker (e.g., educators, unionists) Student Private sector employees Public sector employees Freelancer (e.g., artists, sex worker) Benefit recipient Full-time mother Retired Form of feminist engagement (multiple answers possible) Activist/grassroots collective (e.g., anarcha-feminist collective, activist/support group) Service provider (e.g., Women’s Refuge, Women’s Centre) Advocacy group (e.g., National Council of Women, Māori Women’s Welfare League) Non-political women’s group (e.g., Church group, choir) University club/politics (e.g., feminist club, women’s rights office) Government institution, political party (e.g., Ministry of Women’s Affairs)

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 J. Schuster, Neoliberalism and its Impact on the Women’s Movement in Aotearoa/New Zealand, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-95523-6

15 13 6 5 3 2 2 1 19 9 7 7 6 5

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Table A2  Organisations included in the website analysis Name of the organisation

Type

Abortion Law Reform Association Central Region Eating Disorder Services Child Poverty Action Group Kapiti Living Without Violence Māori Women’s Welfare League (Opotiki) National Advisory Council on the Employment of Women National Council of Women New Zealand Nurses Organisation New Zealand Prostitute Collective NZ Division of Women’s International Motorcycling Association Pacific Allied (Women’s) Council Inspires Faith in Ideals Concerning All Rainbow Youth Rural Women in New Zealand

(ALRANZ) (CREDS) (CPAG) (KLWV) (OMWWL) (NACEW)

Advocacy group Service provider Advocacy group Service provider Service provider + network Advocacy group

(NCWNZ) (NZNO) (NZPC) (NZWIMA)

Advocacy group + network Union Union Recreational club + network (PACIFICA) Advocacy group

(RWNZ)

Salvation Army Shakti Shine Wellington Webgrrls Women’s Health Action Trust

(WHA)

Women’s Refuge Women’s Studies Association

(WSA)

Service provider Advocacy group + service provider Service provider Service provider Service provider + advocacy group Network Advocacy group + service provider Service provider Research association

Table A3  Focus, clientele and feminist characteristics according to the organisations’ websites Main focus

Main clientele

Feminist organisation?

ALRANZ

Abortion rights

CREDS

Eating disorders

Individual members portrayed as feminists Not mentioned

CPAG

Child poverty

KLWV

Violence prevention

Abortion is a ‘women’s right’ to choose Women: ‘about 90% of people with eating disorders are females’ Children and their mothers Men as perpetrators; women as survivors

Not mentioned Not mentioned (continued)

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Table A3  (continued) Main focus

Main clientele

OMWWL NACEW

Māori communities Māori women Advises the Ministry of Ministry of Women’s Women’s Affairs Affairs

NCWNZ

Advises the Ministry of Ministry of Women’s Women’s Affairs Affairs Union work Nurses (female-­ dominated profession) Support of sex workers Sex workers (female-­ dominated profession) Support for women in Female motorcyclists a male-dominated hobby Support network for Pacific women Pacific communities Queer/trans* issues Queer youth, including lesbian, trans- and queer women Support network in Women living in rural rural communities areas Poverty Families in poverty; women responsible for household budgets Violence prevention Asian women with framed as assisting experiences of violence migrant/refugee families Violence prevention Survivors of violence Support network for Women engaging with women in a male-­ the internet and dominated community computers Women’s health Women who seek information and support regarding health issues Violence prevention Women as survivors of violence Women’s studies Women: feminist researchersa

NZNO NZPC NZWIMA

PACIFICA Rainbow Youth RWNZ The Salvation Army Shakti

Shine Wellington Webgrrls WHA

Women’s Refuge WSA

Feminist organisation? Not mentioned Published in feminist journals, presented at feminist conferences Promoted feminist projects Referenced feminist literature Not mentioned Not mentioned

Not mentioned Individual members portrayed as feminists Promoted a feminist book Individual members portrayed as feminists Job applicants ‘ideally, have a feminist perspective’ Not mentioned Not mentioned

Referenced feminist literature

Feminism is one of its cornerstones WSA ‘is a feminist organisation’

At the time of the analysis, the WSA and its journal were only open to women and female authors

a

Glossary of Māori Words1

Aotearoa  used as the Māori name for New Zealand haka  performance, posture dance performance, cultural hapū  kinship group, clan, tribe, subtribe—section of a large kinship group and the primary political unit in traditional Māori society hui  gathering, meeting, assembly, seminar, conference iwi  extended kinship group, tribe, nation, people, nationality, race—often refers to a large group of people descended from a common ancestor and associated with a distinct territory kaumātua  adult, elder, elderly man, elderly woman, old man kaupapa  topic, policy, matter for discussion, plan, purpose, scheme, proposal, agenda, subject, programme, theme, issue, initiative Kotahitanga  Māori Parliament, Federated Māori Assembly kuia  elderly woman, grandmother, female elder mana  prestige, authority, control, power, influence, status, spiritual power, charisma marae  courtyard—the open area in front of the wharenui [meeting house], where formal greetings and discussions take place. Often also used to include the complex of buildings around the marae Pākehā  New Zealander of European descent 1

 All explanations are taken from the Māori Dictionary (https://maoridictionary.co.nz/).

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 J. Schuster, Neoliberalism and its Impact on the Women’s Movement in Aotearoa/New Zealand, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-95523-6

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GLOSSARY OF MĀORI WORDS

pōwhiri  invitation, rituals of encounter, welcome ceremony on a marae, welcome Puni Kōkiri  Ministry of Māori Development tā moko  traditional tattooing—Māori tattooing designs on the face or body done under traditional protocols takatāpui (also spelled takataapui)  lesbian, gay, homosexual, gay men and women tangata whenua  local people, hosts, indigenous people tauiwi  foreigner, European, non-Māori, colonist tikanga  correct procedure, custom, habit, lore, method, manner, rule, way, code, meaning, plan, practice, convention, protocol tino rangatiratanga  self-determination, sovereignty, autonomy, self-­ government, domination, rule, control, power Tiriti o Waitangi  Treaty of Waitangi wāhine  women, females, ladies, wives whakatau  official welcome speeches whānau  extended family, family group, a familiar term of address to a number of people—the primary economic unit of traditional Māori society

Index1

NUMBERS AND SYMBOLS #MeToo, 80, 81 A Abeyance, 5, 6, 187, 196, 198–199 Abortion Legislation Act, 179n8, 204 Anarcha-feminist (Afem), 97n3, 104 Ardern, Jacinda, 13, 17, 50, 79, 82, 204, 205 Auckland Chinese Women’s League, 68 Auckland Women’s Centre (AWC), 73, 154 Autonomy, 2, 19, 33, 35, 43, 78, 99, 115, 165, 195 Awatere, Donna, 49, 50, 70, 91 B Bennett, Paula, 169 Biculturalism, 19, 78, 151–153, 160

Black feminist thought, 43 Briefing to the Incoming Minister of Women’s Affairs, 167, 173 British Crown, 17, 61 Broadsheet, 66, 70, 71 Brown, Wendy, 3, 20, 29–34, 37, 39, 116, 122, 137, 138, 190 Bust Rape Culture, 72, 197, 201 C Capitalism, 30, 36, 104 Clark, Helen, 13, 15, 16, 73 Collective events, 130–133, 137, 138 Colonialism, 4, 13–20, 47, 49–51 colonial exploitation, 47 Content analysis of documents, annual reports, 12, 13, 167 of websites, 10–12, 142 Contractualism, 143

 Note: Page numbers followed by ‘n’ refer to notes.

1

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 J. Schuster, Neoliberalism and its Impact on the Women’s Movement in Aotearoa/New Zealand, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-95523-6

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INDEX

Co-option, 3, 35, 42, 43, 67 Crenshaw, Kimberlé, 43, 71 D Depolitisation, 46, 51, 188–191 Difference, 3, 11, 36, 39, 45–48, 75, 78, 92, 99, 104–106, 109, 111, 116, 117, 124, 129–131, 135, 138, 142, 151, 153–157, 159, 176–177, 191, 192, 194, 196, 205 Discipline, 16, 32, 158, 159 Discourse, 5, 6, 19, 32, 39, 42, 77, 194, 196–199 Discursive formation, 32 Diversity, 10, 11, 20, 21, 39, 40, 44–48, 51, 59, 66, 68–70, 77–80, 83, 91, 116, 138, 146, 150, 152, 154, 155, 157, 160, 176, 177, 184, 197, 201 E Edger, Kate, 61 Empowerment, 5, 37, 39, 40, 42, 69, 70, 81, 92, 96, 112, 114, 117, 128, 166, 184 Everyday practices, 41, 134, 190 F Feminism cyberfeminism, 72 digital feminism, 80–81 DIY-feminism, 40, 72 everyday feminism, 41, 72, 189, 198, 200 liberal feminism, 109 lipstick feminism, 41, 113 radical feminism, 99, 109 socialist feminism, 36

state feminism, 2, 3, 12–14, 20, 21, 42, 51, 60, 71–79, 83, 165–185, 191, 199, 200, 202–204 Feminist bubbles, 123–126, 135, 137, 139, 190, 191 Feminist generations, 38, 73, 107, 108 Feminist identification, 15, 92, 93, 98, 110, 115, 116, 121, 130 Feminist institutions, 9, 34, 79, 155n10, 166, 193 Feminist movement, 1, 2, 4, 5, 29, 35–38, 43, 49–50, 82, 109, 130, 193, 198 Femocrats, 42, 43, 166 First Wave, 20, 50, 60–66, 79, 112 Formalisation, 142, 144–146, 202 Foucault, Michel, 29, 31–33, 39, 117, 158 Fourth Wave, 20, 50, 60, 79–83 Fragmentation, 65–68, 149–157, 188, 189, 191–194 Fraser, Nancy, 35, 36 Full Picture, The, 75, 78, 172 Funding, 3, 11, 21, 67, 75, 78, 83, 141–143, 145–149, 158–161, 165, 180–181, 190, 191, 193, 194, 199, 203 G Gender mainstreaming, 2, 42, 75, 78, 166, 167, 172–175, 173n4, 183 Generations, 11, 15, 38, 44, 65, 72, 73, 81, 107–114, 116, 117, 130, 170, 192, 194 generational differences, 11, 116, 117, 130, 192 Governmentality, 31–33, 158–160 Government contracts, 3, 19, 148, 158–160, 191

 INDEX 

H Hanisch, Carol, 41, 133 Hegemony, 38, 41, 49, 189, 204 Herstories, 20, 92–99, 118 Homo Economicus, 32, 34, 117, 190 Homo Politicus, 34, 138, 190 I Identity class identity, 34 ethnic identity, 40, 107, 144 feminist identity, 6, 20, 40, 92, 99–101, 116, 122, 205 sexual identity, 10, 40, 78, 100, 101, 104, 106, 109, 110, 117, 150, 189, 194 Identity politics, 36 Inclusiveness, 106–107, 132, 133, 149–157, 155n10 Inclusivity, 44, 71, 106, 116, 156, 187, 190 Indigenous peoples, 46–48, 63, 151n7 Individualisation, 21, 32, 115, 121, 122, 138, 188–190 Individualised practices, 45, 131, 139 Institutionalisation, 14, 15, 48, 142 Institutionalised politics, 8, 165, 166, 168, 191 Intergenerational divide, 192 Intersectional expectations, 107 Intersectionality, 2, 20, 29–51, 71, 81, 99, 104, 115, 117, 150, 152, 187, 196, 201 intersectionality theory, 29, 39, 40, 43–46 Interviews interview participants, 10–12, 92, 141, 146, 150, 152, 153, 166–168, 175, 177, 204, 209–210 problem centered interviews, 10

217

K Key, John, 77, 167–169 L Labour Government, 67, 143, 178n6 Labour market, 36, 37, 44, 47, 64, 74–78, 95, 167, 172, 175, 177, 178, 183 Labour Party, 13, 79 Land alienations, 17 Lovenduski, Joni, 4, 5, 7, 12, 165 M Macro-level, women’s movement, 3, 7, 21, 187, 188, 193, 202 Mana wahine, 49, 98, 103, 157, 204, 205 Māori Parliament/Te Kotahitanga, 64 Māori Party, 18, 20, 77 Māori sovereignty, 18, 49, 64, 69, 109 Māori Women’s Welfare League, 69, 71, 144 Marriage Amendment Act, 77, 105n7, 179 Marxism/Marxist, 30, 31, 66, 83, 116, 183 McRobbie, Angela, 15, 37, 38, 117 Meritocracy, 37, 48 Meso-level, women’s movement, 3, 7, 21, 141, 160, 187, 188, 198, 202 Micro-level, women’s movement, 3, 7, 21, 141, 187, 188, 194, 202 Ministry of Women’s Affairs (MWA), 2, 2n2, 12, 13, 21, 42, 74, 75, 77–79, 83, 155, 155n10, 156, 166–168, 166n1, 167n2, 170–173, 175–185, 190, 191, 199–204 Müller, Mary Ann, 61

218 

INDEX

Multiculturalism, 11, 48, 151–153, 205 Multiple marginalisation, 45 N National Council of Women, 64, 71, 146 National Government, 9, 17, 65, 74, 77, 167–169, 178n6 National Party, 13, 17, 18, 169, 170n3 Neoliberalism neoliberal governance, 17, 31, 35, 47, 115, 141, 195 neoliberal ideology, 14, 183 neoliberal policy, 2, 15, 33, 48, 51, 204 neoliberal project, 1, 74, 79, 202 neoliberal rationality, 3, 9, 18, 20, 21, 29, 31–34, 37, 38, 42–48, 91, 92, 115–118, 122, 136–138, 160, 166, 168, 183, 187–190, 204 neoliberal values, 3, 20, 29, 33, 43, 48, 92, 121, 122, 137, 189 Ngā Komiti Wahine, 64 Niniwa-i-te-rangi, 64 O Online activism, 81, 111–112, 117 P Pacific Allied (Women’s) Council Inspires Faith in Ideals Concerning, 68 Partnerships, 16, 76n1, 141, 143, 144, 152, 158–161 Patriarchy, 4, 5, 35, 39, 41, 49, 69, 114, 137, 169

Piha, 67, 68 Political agency, 21, 60, 82, 141, 143, 148, 194, 201 Political institutions, 8, 9, 42, 165, 188 Political opportunities, 2, 4–9, 14, 21, 29, 31, 43, 82, 83, 141, 142, 182, 184, 187, 188, 190, 192, 193, 202, 204, 205 political opportunity structure model, 7, 8, 188 Political rationality, 31, 33, 39, 166 Political representation, 77 Postcolonialism, 2, 20, 29–51 postcolonial theory, 39, 46 Post-feminism, 14, 15, 108 Professionalism, 142–146, 158, 168 R Recognition, 19, 36, 39, 41, 68, 69, 102, 138, 151, 152, 159, 167, 173, 184, 200, 201, 205 Redistribution, 36 Riot Grrrl, 97, 123 Roast Busters case, 72 S Sawer, Marian, 3, 5–7, 13–15, 21, 42, 43, 74, 78, 165, 172, 183, 185, 188, 195, 196, 198, 199, 201 Second Wave, 7, 9, 13, 41, 44, 49, 50, 59, 60, 64–72, 79, 82, 83, 107–110, 114, 115, 139, 144, 165, 168, 188, 192, 193 Self-identification, 100 Self-improvement, 123, 126–128, 137, 138, 190, 191, 200 Self-interest, 19, 32, 33, 189 Service providers, 11, 19, 75, 141, 143, 159, 203

 INDEX 

Sex-positivity, 111–114, 117 Sheppard, Kate, 62 Sisterhood, 50, 65–68, 205 SlutWalk, 72, 81, 113, 124, 130–133, 138, 156, 197, 201, 202 Social media, 72, 73, 80, 111, 111n10, 194, 198, 201, 202 Social movements, 4, 7–9, 14, 30, 35, 46, 59, 116, 188, 191, 195, 196 State feminists/state feminism, 2, 3, 9, 10, 12–14, 20, 21, 42, 51, 60, 71–79, 82, 83, 95, 155n10, 165–185, 188, 191, 193, 199–204 Street protests, 71, 72, 81, 82, 148, 193, 201 Subjectification, 31, 32, 204 Subjectivation, 31, 32, 39, 115, 117, 188 Suffragists, 7, 61–63, 65, 82 Surveillance, 32, 158, 159 T Te Tai Mangakāhia, Meri, 64 Third Wave, 9, 20, 29, 35, 38–42, 38n1, 44, 50, 51, 60, 70–82, 91, 107, 108, 112, 121, 122, 132, 138, 144, 192, 194, 201 Third Way, 1, 9, 16, 29, 76, 76n1, 143, 183, 194 Tomoana, Ā kenehi, 64 Treaty of Waitangi/Tiriti o Waitangi, 1, 17, 18, 47, 151, 152, 160 U Union movement, 74, 99

219

V Victim blaming, 73, 129, 135, 179 Violence domestic violence, 82, 96, 103, 136, 147, 149, 158, 174 sexual violence, 96, 108–109, 129, 131, 132, 134, 148, 149, 158, 172, 175, 179–181, 197, 199, 201 W Waitangi Tribunal, 18, 20, 204 Welfare state, 18, 34 Western feminism, 49, 70, 98 Whiteness, 105, 154 White privilege, 50, 71, 81, 106, 115, 132, 138, 156 Women as a political category, 6, 196 Women-centred discourse, 5, 6, 196, 198, 199 Women’s Christian Temperance Union (WCTU), 61–63, 83 Women’s Liberation Conference, 66, 67 Women’s movement, 1–15, 20, 21, 29–31, 35, 37, 40, 43, 49–51, 59, 60, 65–71, 83, 91, 92, 110, 112, 116, 118, 139, 141, 144, 150, 158, 160, 165, 166, 168, 184, 185, 187–205 Women’s organisations, 2, 3, 9, 11, 14, 15, 21, 67, 77, 95, 108, 123, 135, 141–145, 142n2, 149, 150, 153, 155–161, 155n10, 190, 192–195, 199–203 Women’s suffrage, 60, 61, 63