“Be prepared to rip on me,” my friend said to me before I saw him that night. “I have a huge hickey on my neck.” Strange, I thought. I’d just seen him the day before, unbruised. That seemed out of character for him. I couldn’t see anything behind the hood of his sweatshirt when I walked in, and after awhile I forgot to ask about it. He didn’t seem too eager to talk about it, anyway. When it finally did come up, he only shrugged and muttered “she’s crazy.” Then, in a duller and more reticent tone, “never again.” It wasn’t until I pressed him a bit that he got angry.
She was someone he’d known for awhile, someone he’d had a vague interest in, and when she reached out he invited her over. Things progressed. Stuff happened. Afterwards he was happy to keep hanging out with her for awhile, but physically he was done. She, however, kept trying to instigate. At first it was innocuous, he explained to me, and he tried passively to deflect. Progressively she grew more persistent. She climbed on top of him and pinned his hands with her knees, bit the bruises into his neck, scratched the hell out of his back, tickled him incessantly (he is notoriously ticklish, this guy, and after discovering this she abused it).
It’s important to note that this is a formidable guy – over 6 feet, muscular, an athlete, more than capable of defending himself and of physically dominating this person. The girl, he told me, was relatively tiny and would have been easy to assert control over. Though she’d wrapped her legs around his waist and he had to work to extricate himself, she could only do so much to restrain him for long. Eventually he got a grip around her wrists and held them still long enough to shout at her to stop, and in response this girl laughed.
“I know you like it,” she giggled in his face.
Had this scene been written in reverse, had my friend been the one forcing himself in this way, it would be assault, rape, a textbook case. He pointed this out to the girl, told her that were their roles reversed she would feel like a victim, and again she laughed. At no point in all of this did any of his words sink in with this girl, and when he finally got her to leave she was unfazed. The longer he spoke, though, and the more I heard, the more furious it made us both.
He was right when he pointed out the fact that this scene would have been an obvious assault had a man been the aggressor, but what further disempowered him in his reaction was the worry that had he used his full strength and overpowered this person, the ensuing narrative would not have been his. He knew this person, and knew that the moment he picked her up, pulled her away, threw her off of him, the story she told (publicly, loudly) would be one of him getting violent with her. After all, what could she possibly do at her size to force him, right? So he tempered himself and waited for her to heed his repeated No, like so many women who have had to wait it out before getting away.
And before anyone jumps in and asserts that this is one small example of a man being harassed, among a grim history of women enduring assault, it’s important to remember that 1 in 6 men is a victim of sexual abuse – but it’s more important to remember that this is a human issue, not merely a feminist one. It’s not ok when anybody does it to anybody, and giving women a pass is just as egregious and irresponsible as giving men one. There is no license for abuse. Period. End of discussion.
He finished the story and sighed deeply, resigned to regretting the whole experience and refusing to repeat it. We were both angry, but mine was rooted in the fury that yet another facet of rape culture is perpetuated by the myth that it’s not a crime when a woman does it. What alarmed me the most, though, was that after this whole scene, in which this woman aggressively and adamantly forced herself on someone who just as forcefully had to remove her, she went on to ask him for more the next night.
I can’t decide which I find more disconcerting– that this woman was unable to see that what she was doing was in fact sexual assault, or that she also represents a rapidly-growing population of women who have never been taught to get attention any other way but sexually. This person met her partner’s clear refusal, not just with denial but with laughter.
We don’t effectively teach girls to seek and respect consent in the same way that we do boys, because we operate under the myths that men are stronger and can’t be overpowered, that a man doesn’t turn down a woman who throws herself at him.
Girls are so often socialized to downplay intellect, to hypersexualize themselves. This brings into stark focus a dichotomy in how we raise and socialize children from a young age, and we’re all responsible for the fallout. We’re all responsible for the disconnect between a hypersexualized society, and a deep-seeded repression when it comes to actually talking about sexuality. No wonder people don’t know how to act around each other. Do it, society says, you have to. But we won’t tell you how. And you shouldn’t talk about it, either. No wonder some people can’t tell the difference between what was consensual and what was rape.
This is another element of this story that left me outraged, and hugely disappointed. This man was clearly and compassionately communicating to his partner that her advances were not welcome, nor was her aggressive and dismissive behavior, and she was flatly ignoring him, all the while giggling. This is something about our society that makes me nervous: children, youth, adolescents, young adults – hell, GROWN adults are not always taught to have open, honest, thoughtful conversation about matters of sexuality. So many are raised and imparted with a degree of repression and fear, or just plain old squeamishness, and what suffers from that is the ability to own and discuss sexuality with confidence. We need to teach kids that it’s ok to talk about their bodies, and we need to teach youth and adolescents how to have healthy conversations about sex before they’re adults – how to speak, and how to listen. This woman unfortunately knew neither, and the result was a prime and stark example of the illiteracy produced by fear and ignorance.
I was raised by parents who believe in the radical notion that children are humans with valid experiences, and deserve to be given honest answers to good questions (or any questions, really). I was also lucky enough that these parents attended a Unitarian Universalist church, that the UUs have a comprehensive and thorough sex-ed curriculum, and that my parents are trained teachers of this curriculum. My household while I was growing up was open, honest, supportive, and did not shy away from topics, even if they were somewhat uncomfortable (that’s inevitable sometimes). Nothing was taboo or unworthy of discussion, and specific emphasis was placed on the importance of treating everyone in the global community with worth and dignity. From this, I learned the importance of equality in all matters. I also learned that sexuality is valid and inherently personal, and that if you can’t have an open and honest conversation about sex with a partner, you probably have no business having sex with that person. Communication is key. Listening is crucial. Without that, it stops being a partner act.
I called my mother after my friend told me this story and talked to her about how glaring the gaps are in how consent is both taught and sought, and how painfully common it is that people do not know how to view, define, or communicate themselves beyond status as a sexual object. And like I said, this is education, empowerment, enlightenment for which we are all responsible, as a society. More often we are delicate and veiled, or outright dismissive, which does nothing but erode the quality of our partnerships and our education…
Honestly, I could go on. I could quote more statistics and talk on and on about the nuances of this particular example, because they are many. Instead I’d just like to challenge you, whoever you may be, to think long and hard (or just for a few seconds – I’ll take what I can get) about how you’ve had your conversations, and what you’ve passed on in whatever way. Were you kind? Were you honest? Were you listening?
If you weren’t… how could you start to be?
We are all a community. Remember that.
Pen to Prana 