When It Comes to Sexual Abuse, We Actually Need to Be Inclusive & Talk About 'Bad Sex'
Let's stop perpetuating abuse by starting better dialogues and creating safer, more inclusive spaces.
By Joanna C. Valente
Being brave isn't easy. Being brave often isn't even a choice. Every day, survivors of sexual abuse are asked to be brave when they make the choice to survive. Survival is difficult for all humans. It has always been difficult to survive on earth, in a world that doesn't always have your best interests at heart - in a world that advocates for no one. How we survive, the choices we make in order to cope, and to cope in ways that make our days not just bearable but beautiful, are all unique to us. There is no right way.
There are no "perfect" survivors. Survivors are survivors are survivors - and they come from all ages, genders, bodies, cultures, religions, locations. The picture of the "perfect" victim, however, can be seen everywhere in the media, often telling the stories of white women. This is not to disparage white women who happen to be survivors, but they are not the only kind of survivors - and that is a myth we need to destroy. Because it silences other kinds of survivors, like women of color, queer people, children, teenagers, the elderly, men.
It is hard to change and challenge narratives, especially when those narratives are so ingrained, we start to believe in them ourselves, rewriting our own stories and silencing our own emotions and experiences and memories. Because it's easier to do that than to fight, but we still fight anyway. This is why, last year, I published an anthology, A Shadow Map: Writing by Survivors of Sexual Assault (CCM, 2017), as a way to raise awareness on trauma and those who experiences trauma (hint: everyone).
Abuse knows no bounds. Abuse often happens in our homes, not behind closed doors, but out in the open, by people who claim to love us. And honestly, a lot of these people really do believe they love us, too. A lot of our abusers are people we love too. This is what makes the telling of our stories so difficult, when you have to call out people who you love, people who you trusted.
This is also why I run a series for sexual abuse survivors here at Yes Poetry. This is I why I write about my own experiences. This is why, just last week, I curated and hosted an event called The Voices of #MeToo at Spoonbill Books at their Bushwick location in Brooklyn, New York in conjunction with these series and books. The event changed my life. The people in the event have changed my life, as a survivor, editor, writer, publisher, human, friend. I’m grateful to have been able to facilitate the event, but more so, I am stunned by everyone’s bravery and willingness to be vulnerable. It makes me hopeful for change, that a safe community can actually exist.
We need physical communities and spaces when we have these dialogues; online communities are beyond valuable, but we need that physical contact and support too, especially when it comes to talking and feeling heard in the present. It would be untrue to say the internet hasn't changed my life and provided me with immense support, but how can we work through our emotions without being fully immersed in the present, at least some of the time? I hope others find and create these physical spaces too, whether it's a private event or a reading or an event on sexual abuse.
And yet, it would also be remiss of me to sugarcoat it all, to make it seem like everything is OK, that our work is done. It is not done. Not when people are still arguing about the merits of movements like #MeToo or #TimesUp, acting as if coming forward about sexual abuse is contributing to toxic call out culture (which are two distinct and different things) - not when a list is made of "shitty women in media" for merely advocating for equal rights (a Medium article which has now been taken down).
Dialogue is necessary for change. We all know this. This is why I was especially grateful for the nuanced dialogue that opened up around the Aziz Ansari scandal, illustrating all the layers at work - and highlighting the idea that sex has many gradients and gray zones. Just because, for instance, something isn't rape doesn't mean we don't talk about it. Because we need to stop toxic behavior that can lead to rape (like trying to coerce someone into having sex with you). Even if you don't force someone, trying to change someone's mind isn't sexy, and it isn't respecting someone else's agency.
Meredith Talusan wrote in Them, for example, that these gray areas are exactly what we need to be talking about for everyone's benefit:
To me, as someone who has known what it’s like to be both a man and a woman, and who has experienced plenty of sex as both a man and a woman, it doesn’t sound like what Aziz Ansari did to Grace was rape. But it sure sounds like what he did was deeply disturbing, immensely insensitive, and — if he was on some level aware that the girl he was with didn't actually want to have sex with him, that she was only conceding to appease him — also deeply unethical. And to me, the reason it’s so disturbing is not just about how individual men and women have been socialized to behave, but how men and women in our society are typically socialized differently, and the negative effects of that differential socialization.
Often times, we don't talk about sex when we talk about sex. It's either all good or all bad. This makes sense in that we see the sex we have as being a reflection on who you are (are you queer, are you kinky, are you empowered, are you in control, are you aware of yourself?) - and to admit we have bad sex at all is to admit we either did something wrong or don't know what we are doing. This, of course, isn't true, especially when we have such a poor sex education in our country, meaning most people don't know what they're doing to no fault of their own. It's incredibly difficult to educate yourself on sex if you don't have the resources. If you feel ashamed to even ask.
The problem is also the fact that our dialogue around sex is controlled by cis-patriarchal views, and by that, I mean, it's usually dominated by what is considered normal by straight white men. This is not to say white men can't be part of a dialogue, but they shouldn't dominate it either. When we talk about assault, we usually picture the stereotype of a young white girl getting drunk at a party and being assaulted by men, when in reality, that's just a very small picture of who is abused and who is an abuser.
So, when we talk about bad sex, we usually refer to that one picture, redrawing it over and over again, not including the thousands of other pictures that can happen. And do happen over and over again. It's difficult to report on sexual abuse when we are often discouraged, and fear for our identities and wellbeing, because the support is often not there. We often only highlight the experiences of those we deem worthy, as if there is only one type of survivor. When I say "bad sex," it's also fundamental to establish that what I'm calling bad sex is sex that is something where there is an unhealthy power dynamic or pressure or lack of agency on behalf of one or more partners, not sex where two people just weren't "compatible."
Even when there are women and femme editors and reporters and care workers and police officers, it can be incredibly difficult reporting these crimes delicately and accurately. When we report these issues, we not only have to uphold journalistic standards as we would for any crime (confirmable facts, vetted arguments, not dramatizing facts or trying to sway the reader's emotional response), but we also need to do so in a way that isn't triggering for the survivor or the reader.
And that's difficult to do, as Columbia Journalism School writes. The Babe story, for instance, failed journalistic standards in many ways, the first being the fact that Grace wasn't even properly interviewed about her own experience - and didn't even seem like the focus of her own story. The sensationalism of Aziz being in the story seemed far more important than Grace (which was also done poorly, ignoring why Aziz's own racial and feminist identity should be discussed more thoroughly and thoughtfully). But this isn't about the Babe story or where it went wrong, because there are many essays that graciously described why, for instance.
This is about making space for all survivors - and believing survivors when they come forward - but also doing the hard work in order to make it happen in the way survivors deserve. With good reporting, with safe spaces and supportive communities that aren't tokenizing or using someone's trauma in order to better themselves. This is about positive change that will help others and save lives from being destroyed. As we know, many allies wear false masks - allies can be abusers in various ways, even if unintentionally. There are many cases of this (Lena Dunham, for example).
Ashley C. Ford had an amazing thread on Twitter, describing a conversation she had with her college roommate where she learned her roommate didn't have sexual agency. The fact that many marginalized people don't believe in their own sexual freedom and agency, and often don't believe they deserve pleasure from their partners, is a crucial conversation we need to have. Because promoting sex positivity is a way to teach people about consent and how we can protect ourselves. While we are never at fault for someone abusing us, we can learn more about our own needs and wants and desires and boundaries.
One of my favorite parts of college was how much my friends were willing to talk about sex. Like REALLY talk about sex. The good, the bad, the hilarious, and the downright confusing. We talked about it all & there were many times I ended up like 🤔
— Ashley C. Ford (@iSmashFizzle) January 16, 2018
It's easier to say no when you feel empowered enough to say no. There were many times in my life I didn't say no when I wanted to. I didn't feel like I could. I felt scared. I felt like I didn't matter. I have been Grace. Many of us have been Grace. I slowly came to these realizations as I got older, but I wish I had learned this way back in high school or college. There are many people who are like me, who wish this was the case. These conversations can change lives.
The more nuanced and open we allow the conversation to be, the better off we'll all be. We will all be more empathetic and intelligent for it. To feel pressure, to concede to power are pretty common feelings, but they are just feelings and we can combat them, but only if we have the tools. This goes for allies too. If allies understand how to support better, how to be part of a healthy dialogue where we don't bring each other down or pigeonhole race and gender, there will be far less toxic conversations.
Injustices are injustices whether or not we like the abuser or the survivors, or whether or not we agree with everything that happened. Nothing in life is perfect, neither are survivors, and to judge survivors on being "likable" (like Grace) is wrong. If someone steals your wallet, no one judges how likable or perfect you are in order to determine if a crime was committed. That is an absurd illogical argument attached to sexual abuse survivors, because people attach shame to sex, even when it's not in your control.
To ignore cultural and structural institutions that perpetuate abuse in all communities, and why different communities have these problems systemically, is also wrong. Because there are reasons why humans are this way. And it's not just because we're "born this way." It is because abuse is made - and perpetuated by those it benefits (see: all of history).
But we don't have to continue to perpetuate abuse - and become micro-abusers and toxic gatekeepers in our own way. Let's be light bearers instead.
Joanna C. Valente is a human who lives in Brooklyn, New York, and is the author of Sirs & Madams (Aldrich Press, 2014), The Gods Are Dead (Deadly Chaps Press, 2015), Marys of the Sea (The Operating System, 2017), Xenos (Agape Editions, 2016), and Sexting Ghosts (Unknown Press, 2018). They are the editor of A Shadow Map: An Anthology by Survivors of Sexual Assault (CCM, 2017). Joanna received a MFA in writing at Sarah Lawrence College, and is also the founder of Yes, Poetry, a managing editor for Luna Luna Magazine and CCM, as well as an instructor at Brooklyn Poets. Some of their writing has appeared in Brooklyn Magazine, Prelude, Apogee, Spork, The Feminist Wire, BUST, and elsewhere.
