Rethinking the Romanticisation of Community-Based Approaches in Anti-Carceral Feminist Theorisation

Feminist scholarship has long debated appropriate policy responses to violence against women. Second-wave feminism produced supposed legal ‘victories’ by securing harsher punishments for such abuses. Over time, anti-carceral feminists have demonstrated that such policies have only further victimised and criminalised BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, and People of Color) and poor individuals. In response to these surface-level ‘successes’ of white feminists, anti-carceral feminist theorisation has developed and expanded substantially. The anti-carceral (or abolitionist critique) movement injected nuance into feminist literature by considering both violence against women and mass incarceration as equally urgent yet distinct concerns. Abolitionists began to envisage harm-redressal for survivors of violence beyond criminal justice. They asserted that while incarceration is necessary for extreme cases involving repeat offenders, alternative approaches should be prioritised in all other instances. Community-based approaches became a central proposition when proposing said substitutes (see: Goodmark 2018, Goodmark and Nyanzi 2021, Belknap and Grant 2021). Anti-carceral feminists have consistently relied on ‘bringing justice back to the community’ as a predominant alternative to criminal justice. Here, I question the romanticisation of ‘the community’ as an inherently better-placed system of harm redressal and argue that a blind reliance on the community is both problematic and harmful to violence survivors.

Feminists often cite community-based responses to violence against women as more survivor-friendly approaches to criminal justice. On the surface, this appears to be a promising claim. In a context where ineffective policing and legal processes further victimise and criminalise survivors, especially minorities, bringing justice back to the community is appealing. The community can presumably better understand the survivor’s needs, respond swiftly and effectively, offer appropriate support, and devise future steps tailored to the victim’s circumstances. This strikes at the core of many concerns with carceral responses, making community-based solutions appear even more effective. This explains why it remains oft-cited in anti-carceral feminist literature. However, community justice is often portrayed through rose-tinted glasses.

This idealisation of the community is based on a vision of the community as an inherently inclusive and supportive space. Goldson and Cuneen, (writing in the context of restorative justice), rightfully claim that such presumptions are ‘naive’. They distort the reality of communities, which are often fluid, and entrenched in surrounding historical, political, and economic contexts. Communities are not always areas of inclusion, and can often perpetuate inequalities in turn. The relentless push for community justice romanticises an imagined ‘ideal’ community. In doing so, it neglects survivors that find themselves in oppressive, rather than inclusive, actual communities.

Empirical evidence, particularly in the context of violence against women, can help dismantle the romanticised view of community-based solutions. In many contexts, the community itself has invisibilised and silenced violence or become a site of oppression. In Uganda, for instance, family heads and elders often silence victims, restrict them from accessing support channels or approaching the police. They even erase evidence. In many communities where reputation is paramount, survivors who speak out often face blame for ‘staining’ their community’s honour, with some being ostracised from support systems. This fear of social exclusion discourages other women from coming forward, trapping them in cycles of violence. The experiences of survivors who approached organisations like Southall Black Sisters further demonstrate this. The organisation found that many victims turned to the service as a ‘last resort’ after being failed by their ‘family, community, elders—all the classic instruments of support.’ Ethnic minority women, in particular, exist in cultural environments that make recognising and reporting abuse especially difficult. In many cultures, family privacy is prioritised over individual safety, making it clear that speaking out comes at the cost of losing familial ties. For survivors in the Irish Travelling community, for instance, strong collective values and close-knit family structures can keep them trapped in violent relationships. When conservative, patriarchal, and religious values actively uphold abuse, community-based solutions become not only inadequate but dangerous. Unlike state institutions, communities lack formal accountability mechanisms. Assuming that community-led responses are inherently more survivor-friendly than carceral approaches is myopic and dangerous because it ignores these realities.

This is particularly relevant when attempting to southernise or decolonise criminological research on violence against women in the Global South. Existing research on violence is based on Global North perspectives, despite such violence being a global policy concern. For instance, a specific and unique Indian concern vis-a-vis domestic abuse is the involvement of mothers-in-law in violent behaviour. This demonstrates the limits of local community interventions, especially if the very family members inflicting violence are a part of it. However, in certain urban contexts in India, research indicates that community support models can play a meaningful role in assisting survivors. There is no clear answer, therefore, to whether these interventions are effective or ineffective. Societies hold diverse views and beliefs, which, as Goldson and Cunneen demonstrated, deeply shape and influence communities. Rather than broadly advocating for community responses as a universal solution, research should take a context-specific approach, testing community models within particular communities to evaluate impact.

I do not wish to make the case that community justice be dismissed entirely—it should remain one part of a broader, multifaceted response to violence against women. Communities are diverse and wide-ranging, and should not be subject to simplistic categorisation based on the traits of a select few. However, I want to challenge the romanticisation and presentation of community in anti-carceral feminist literature as a utopian alternative to criminal justice. This has far-reaching implications not only for community-based solutions but also for the broader idealisation of alternatives to criminal justice within anti-carceral theory. Anti-carceral feminists must critically engage with both the failings of the criminal justice system and the alternatives proposed in its place. Too often, we become so focused on critiquing the former that we neglect to scrutinise the latter—yet both demand equal attention. Otherwise, we fall into the trap of simply moving survivors from one traumatic process to another.