Lesbian relationships in Britain were regulated and silenced for centuries, through the courts and though wider patriarchal structures. In an interview with Anna D’Alton (LSE Review of Books), Caroline Derry speaks about research from her book, Lesbianism and the Criminal Law: Three centuries of regulation in England and Wales (2020) and what the portrayal of same-sex relationships in Agatha Christie’s novels reveals about attitudes towards homosexuality – and specifically lesbianism – in post-war Britain.

Caroline Derry will speak at a hybrid event hosted by LSE Library, Agatha Christie, lesbians, and criminal courts on Thursday 15 February at 6.00 pm.

Q: In your book, Lesbianism and the Criminal Law: Three Centuries of Legal Regulation in England and Wales, you speak of lesbianism being silenced in upper-class British society “because of acute anxieties about female sexual autonomy.” Where did these anxieties stem from? 

Women’s autonomy posed a profound threat to patriarchal structures. Marriage, particularly for elite men, was central to maintaining those structures: transfer of property, inheritance, and control over their household all depended upon it. Legally, the wife’s existence was subsumed in her husband’s, giving him power over her property, actions, and sexuality. This was not only true in the 18th century, when the book begins; it persisted through the 19th century and has only slowly been dismantled over the past century and a half. For example, the legal rule that a man could not be convicted of raping his wife was finally abolished in 1991.

There was anxiety that if women ‘discovered’ lesbianism, both individual marriages and the institution itself would be undermined.

There was anxiety that if women “discovered” lesbianism, both individual marriages and the institution itself would be undermined. That was explicitly stated by lawmakers at various points in history. In 1811, Scottish judge Lord Meadowbank said that “the virtues, the comforts, and the freedom of domestic intercourse, mainly depend on the purity of female manners”.  In 1921, judge and MP Sir Ernest Wild asserted in Parliament that “it is a well-known fact that any woman who indulges in this vice will have nothing whatever to do with the other sex”. And the 1957 Wolfenden Report, which proposed reform of the law on male homosexuality, spoke of lesbianism as damaging to “the basic unit of society”, marriage.

Q: Why do you write in Lesbianism and the Criminal Law that “Patriarchal oppression […] made the criminalisation of lesbianism almost redundant”? 

There were many other ways of regulating women’s lives and relationships that could offer more effective control and less public scandal. These included economic constraints: in the 18th and 19th centuries, married women of all classes had little or no legal control of their own money. Single women without private incomes were little better off. For example, servants’ employers regulated most aspects of their lives under threat of dismissal without a reference.

Social norms set strict limits for unmarried women’s behaviour and gave families a great deal of control over them – although this could sometimes be evaded, as we know from Anne Lister’s diaries! Religious regulation of moral conduct was important, while medicalisation became more significant from the 19th century. Lesbian relationships were pathologised as a symptom of mental illness and the consequences could be awful: an extreme example was the use of clitoridectomy by surgeon Dr Isaac Baker Brown in the 1860s. In the 20th century, “treatments” included aversion therapies and even brain surgery. And until relatively recently, the courts themselves had the power to detain young women in “moral danger”.

Q: Although lesbianism may not have been strictly outlawed, you refer to a “regulation by silencing” of lesbianism within the British court systems. How did this operate? 

Legal silencing was based on the assumption that if women – particularly “respectable”, higher class, white, British women – were not told that lesbianism existed, they probably wouldn’t try it. Eighteenth-century models of sexuality assumed women craved men’s greater “heat”, while 19th-century models (which still influence today’s courts) emphasised women’s passivity and lack of independent desire. It was unlikely that two passive and desireless creatures would discover lesbian sex for themselves.

19th-century models (which still influence today’s courts) emphasised women’s passivity and lack of independent desire.

In the criminal courts, silencing worked in several ways. The most obvious was to avoid criminal prosecutions altogether, because court hearings are public and could be reported in the press. So, there has never been a specific offence criminalising sex between women (unlike sex between men, which was wholly illegal until 1967). However, when a prosecution did seem necessary, silencing could be maintained by choosing an offence which concealed the sexual element of the case. There is a long history of prosecutions for fraud where one partner presented as male (cases relevant to both lesbian and transgender history). In the 18th century, this was supposed financial fraud to obtain a “wife’s” possessions; in the later 19th and 20th centuries, making false statements on official documents. And throughout these periods, women have been brought before magistrates for disorderly behaviour and breach of the peace – although few records survive.

Q: What does analysis of the defamation case Woods and Pirie v. Cumming Gordon (1810-1812) reveal about how legal discourses defined morality in relation to race and class? 

This Scottish case offers a really potent example of those discourses. A half-Scottish, half-Indian teenager, Jane Cumming, told her grandmother Lady Helen Cumming Gordon that her schoolmistresses were having a sexual relationship. Cumming Gordon urged other families to withdraw their daughters, forcing the school to close, and the teachers brought a defamation claim for their lost livelihood.

The court had to wrestle with difficult questions: could two middle-class women of good character have done what was alleged? If not, how did their accuser come to know of such things? At the initial hearings, the judge’s answer was that the story must been invented by a working-class maid. But when witness evidence was heard, it became apparent that the story originated with Jane Cumming. Attention then shifted to her early life in India. The climate, the supposedly immoral culture, her race, or – in a mixture of race and class discourses – the bad influence of “native’” servants were all blamed.

This supposed contrast between Indian immorality and British, Christian morality was no accident. In the early 19th century, there was a shift in justifications of British imperialism.

This supposed contrast between Indian immorality and British, Christian morality was no accident. In the early 19th century, there was a shift in justifications of British imperialism. Greater awareness of the horrors of violence, corruption and exploitation by the East India Company made it difficult to present their activities as legitimate trading. Instead, a moral justification was claimed: that Indian people needed to be rescued from iniquity by the imposition of superior British law and standards, exemplified by virtuous British womanhood. Many of the judges and witnesses in this case had connections to India, so it is unsurprising that these discourses made a particularly powerful appearance here.

Q: What were the legal implications of the 1957 Wolfenden report for homosexual activity in Britain? What did the report (or its omissions) reveal about attitudes towards women’s sexuality? 

The Wolfenden Report recommended partially decriminalising sex between men, but barely acknowledged sex between women. The few mentions implied that lesbianism was “less libidinous” and thus less of a threat to public order. That was important because politically, equality for gay men through full decriminalisation was not attainable at that time. Wolfenden therefore took the pragmatic approach of silencing lesbianism as far as possible, to avoid the question of why women were treated differently by the law, and focusing on arguments specific to male homosexuality. It was successful: Parliament eventually implemented the recommendations in the Sexual Offences Act 1967.

Wolfenden […] took the pragmatic approach of silencing lesbianism as far as possible, to avoid the question of why women were treated differently by the law

Nonetheless, the Report was a watershed event in the legal regulation of lesbianism. Until then, the law had treated male and female sexuality as very different things. Wolfenden introduced the term “homosexuality” into law, and lesbianism became seen as “female homosexuality”. Combined with the Report’s characterisation of lesbians as less sexual than gay men, this meant that lesbianism was treated as a lesser variant of male homosexuality – an attitude that has never gone away.

Q: Was it remarkable that Agatha Christie included or suggested homosexuality in her novels? 

Yes and no. These were not issues that were generally discussed in polite conversation. At the same time, lesbian (and gay) people were a fact of life, even if not directly acknowledged. In 1950, most people knew of women living quietly living together like Miss Hinchcliffe and Miss Murgatroyd in A Murder is Announced. Christie walked a careful line in that book, portraying an intimate and deeply loving relationship but showing nothing explicitly sexual about it.

By 1971, when [Christie] wrote of one woman’s love for another in Nemesis, it was no longer possible to directly silence lesbianism in law or society.

And of course, Christie was a rather more daring writer than people often realise: it’s unfair to treat her as a narrowly conservative author of formulaic novels. By 1971, when she wrote of one woman’s love for another in Nemesis, it was no longer possible to directly silence lesbianism in law or society. But Christie was in any event happy to engage with difficult issues in her work, even quite taboo ones like child murderers.

Q: What insights do these portrayals provide into the criminal justice system’s attitudes to lesbianism in post-war England? 

Christie’s novels reflect wider middle-class attitudes at the specific times they were written, so they offer insights that we can’t get from court reports alone. They also come from a woman’s perspective rather than that of the elite men who mostly made the law, and gender does make a difference here. Men were convinced that respectable women did not know of such things, but women didn’t necessarily agree!

The novels reveal how the extent to which the courts were keeping pace with wider societal attitudes and understandings.

In particular, the novels reveal how the extent to which the courts were keeping pace with wider societal attitudes and understandings. If we look at medical, psychological and sexological work on women’s same-sex relationships in post-war Britain, the courts seem hopelessly old-fashioned in comparison. But Christie’s books show us that outside expert circles, attitudes were indeed decades behind the latest science. In other words, the courts were reflecting and contributing to mainstream opinions, not falling behind them.

Note: This interview gives the views of the author, and not the position of the LSE Review of Books blog, or of the London School of Economics and Political Science.

Image credit: A still from the the episode, “A Murder is Announced” of the BBC Miss Marple series (1984 to 1992), adapted from Agatha Christie’s novels, featuring Joan Hickson as Miss Marple (left) and Paola Dionisotti as Miss Hinchcliffe (right). This image is reproduced under the “Fair Dealing” exception to UK Copyright law.

Anti-war activist Sean Middleborough

Palestine Action activist Sean Middleborough was remanded to prison yesterday following his arrest on Sunday morning over an alleged plan to disrupt business at the London Stock Exchange (LSE), charged with ‘conspiracy to commit public nuisance’ under the draconian Police, Crime, Sentencing and Courts Act 2022, after appearing at Wirral Magistrates Court. Five other activists were released from police custody without charges pending further investigation. 

On his way into the custody van, Middlebrough was heard to shout “Free Palestine”. Lawyers will be submitting an application for immediate granting of bail.

Middleborough and five other activists are accused of having planned to blockade the LSE, which through its trading in bonds and shares plays a significant role in facilitating the occupation of Palestine. The LSE has raised over over £4.73 billion in bond sales for the apartheid state of Israel in the past six years. The exchange describes itself as “a key partner to Israeli businesses, by enabling them to raise capital internationally” and trades shares in weapons manufacturers arming Israel’s regime. 

A meeting on 8 February 2022 between UK government and Israeli investors, which included representatives from Israeli weapons companies Elbit Systems and Rafael, noted that “The London Stock Exchange has a strong and important relationship with Israel”. This includes the LSE holding capital market conferences in Israel and hosting Israeli business on the exchange with a combined market capital of $14.7 billion. 

The arrests came after a Daily Express ‘journalist’ spied on the group in order to report on activities and hand information on alleged plans to the police. Most of the UK press and broadcast media have ignored Israel’s crimes and worked to manufacture consent for its ongoing genocide of Palestinians, which so far has killed almost 32,000 Palestinians, mostly women and children, according to the latest Euro-Med Monitor report. If failing to report even the basic facts of Israel’s crimes – including against its own people on 7 October – wasn’t bad enough, ‘reporters’ have now gone as far as acting on behalf of the state to criminalise direct action movement opposing Israel’s war crimes. 

The UK state has been taking ever more draconian measures to try to punish and deter activists who stand on the side of humanity and against genocide. Numerous activists seeking an end to bloodshed have found themselves detained by the British state and often charged, with varying levels of state success. Palestine Action has stated repeatedly that it will not be diverted from the struggle for Palestinian liberation and the ending of all UK arms production and shipments to apartheid Israel. 

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In More than a Glitch: Confronting Race, Gender, and Ability Bias in Tech, Meredith Broussard scrutinises bias encoded into a range of technologies and argues that their eradication should be prioritised as governments develop AI regulation policy. Broussard’s rigorous analysis spotlights the far-reaching impacts of invisible biases on citizens globally and offers practical policy measures to tackle the problem, writes Fabian Lütz.

More than a Glitch: Confronting Race, Gender, and Ability Bias in Tech. Meredith Broussard. MIT Press. 2023. 

Find this book: 

As the world witnesses advancements in the use of Artificial Intelligence (AI) and new technologies, governments around the world such as the UK and US the EU and international organisations are slowly starting to propose concrete measures, regulation and AI bodies to mitigate any potential negative effects of AI on humans. Against this background, More than a Glitch offers a timely and relevant contribution to the current AI regulatory debate. It provides a balanced look at biases and discriminatory outcomes of technologies, focusing on race, gender and ability bias, topics that tend to receive less attention in public policy discussions. The author’s academic and computer sciences background as well as her previous book Artificial Unintelligence – How Computers Misunderstand the World make her an ideal author to delve into this important societal topic. The book addresses algorithmic biases and algorithmic discrimination which not only receives increasing attention in academic circles but is of practical relevance due to its potential impacts on citizens and considering the choice of regulation in the coming months and years.

[More than a Glitch] provides a balanced look at biases and discriminatory outcomes of technologies, focusing on race, gender and ability bias, topics that tend to receive less attention in public policy discussions

The book’s cornerstone is that technology is not neutral, and therefore racism, sexism and ableism are not mere glitches, but are coded into AI systems.

Broussard argues that “social fairness and mathematical fairness are different. Computers can only calculate mathematical fairness” (2). This paves the way to understand that biases and discriminatory potential are encoded in algorithmic systems, notably by those who have the power to define the models, write the underlying code and decide which datasets to use. She argues that rather than just making technology companies more inclusive, the exclusion of some demographics in the conceptualisation and design of frameworks needs to stop. The main themes of the book, which spans eleven short chapters, are machine bias, facial recognition, fairness and justice systems, student grading by algorithms, ability bias, gender, racism, medical algorithms, the creation of public interest technology and options to “reboot” the system and society.

Biases and discriminatory potential are encoded in algorithmic systems, notably by those who have the power to define the models, write the underlying code and decide which datasets to use.

Two chapters stand out in Broussard’s attempt to make sense of the problems at hand: Chapter Two, “Understanding Machine Bias” and more specifically Chapter Seven “Gender Rights and Databases”. Both illustrate the author’s compelling storytelling skills and her ability to explain complex problems and decipher the key issues surrounding biases and discrimination.

Chapter Two describes one of the major applications of AI: machine learning which Broussard defines as to take

“..a bunch of historical data and instruct a computer to make a model. The model is a mathematical construct that allows us to predict patterns in the data based on what already exists. Because the model describes the mathematical patterns in the data, patterns that humans can’t easily see, you can use that model to predict or recommend something similar” (12).

The author distinguishes between different forms of training a model and discusses the so called “black box problem” – the fact that AI systems are very often opaque – and explainability of machine decisions. Starting from discriminatory treatment of bank loan applications, for example credit score assessment on the basis of length of employment, income or debt, the author explains with illustrative graphs how algorithms find correlations in datasets which could lead to certain discriminatory outcomes. She explains that contrary to humans, machines have the capacity to analyse huge amounts of datasets with data points which enable for example banks to make predictions on the probability of loan repayment. The mathematics underlying such predictions are based on what similar groups of people with similar variables have done in the past. The complex process often hides underlying biases and potential for discriminations. As Broussard points out,

“Black applicants are turned away more frequently than white applicants [and] are offered mortgages at higher rates than white counterparts with the same data […]” (25).

The book also demonstrates convincingly that the owners or designers of the model wield a powerful tool to shape decisions for society. Broussard sums up the chapter and provides crucial advice for AI developers when she states, advice for AI developers when she states,

“If training data is produced out of a system of inequality, don’t use it to build models that make important social decisions unless you ensure the model doesn’t perpetuate inequality” (28).

Chapter Seven looks at how databases impact gender rights, starting with the example of gender transition which is registered in Official Registers. This example illustrates the limitations of algorithmic systems as compared to humans, not only in light of the traditional binary system for assigning gender as male and female, but more generally the binary system that lies at the heart of computing. Both in the gender binary and computer binary framework, choices need to be made between one or the other leaving no flexibility. Broussard describes the binary system as follows:

“Computers are powered by electricity, and the way they work is that there is a transistor, a kind of gate, through which electricity flows. If the gate is closed, electricity flows through, and that is represented by a 1. If the gate is open, there is no electricity, and that is represented by a 0” (107).

When programmers design an algorithm, they “superimpose human social values onto a mathematical system.” Broussard urges us to ask ourselves, “Whose values are encoded in the system?” (109).

The resulting choices that need to be made within AI systems or forms used in administration often do not adequately represent reality. For people who do not feel represented by the options of male and female, such as gender non-conforming people, they are asked to make the choice in which category they fall even though this would not reflect their gender identity. Here again, Broussard reminds us of the importance of design choices and assumptions of coders which impact people’s everyday life. When programmers design an algorithm, they “superimpose human social values onto a mathematical system.” Broussard urges us to ask ourselves, “Whose values are encoded in the system?” (109). The chapter concludes with the challenge of making “technological systems more inclusive” (116) and argues that computers constitute not only mathematical but sociotechnical systems that need to be updated regularly in order to reflect societal change.

Computers constitute not only mathematical but sociotechnical systems that need to be updated regularly in order to reflect societal change.

The book successfully describes the invisible dangers and impacts of these rapidly advancing technologies in terms of race, gender and ability bias, making these ideas accessible through concrete examples. Ability bias is discussed in Chapter Seven, “Ability and Technology”, where she gives several examples, how technology companies try to provide technology to serve the disabled community in their daily jobs or lives. She gives the example of Apple shops where either sign language interpreters are available or where Apple equips employees with an iPad to communicate with customers. For consumers, she also highlights Voiceover screen reader software, auto-captioning and transcripts of audio or read-aloud functions of newspaper sites. Broussard points both to the advantages and the limitations of those technological solutions.

She also introduces the idea of tackling biases and discrimination with the help of audit systems

Readers are invited to reflect on concrete policy proposals and suggestions, on the basis of some ideas sketched out in last chapter, “Potential Reboot” where she shows her enthusiasm for the EU’s proposed AI Act and the US Algorithmic Accountability Act. She also introduces the idea of tackling biases and discrimination with the help of audit systems and presents a project for one such system based on the regulatory sandbox idea, which is a “safe space for testing algorithms or policies before unleashing them on the world” (175). The reader might wish that Broussard‘s knowledge of technology and awareness of discrimination issues could have informed the ongoing policy debate even further.

In sum, the book will be of interest and use to a wide range of readers, from students, specialised academics, policy makers and AI experts to those new to the field who want to learn more about the impacts of AI on society.

This post gives the views of the author, and not the position of the LSE Review of Books blog, or of the London School of Economics and Political Science. The LSE RB blog may receive a small commission if you choose to make a purchase through the above Amazon affiliate link. This is entirely independent of the coverage of the book on LSE Review of Books.

Image Credit: Vintage Tone on Shutterstock.