Consent
“If one is not actively anti-patriarchy, then one is a passive misogynist.”
Consent cannot truly exist under patriarchy. It is a word involuntarily given to women as a way for us to be forced to say yes to men when we mean no. It is a lack of choices rather than a choice.
A friend told me about a “consent app”, which has a checklist for what qualifies as consent. Having small square boxes with phrases that describe a black and white reality flattens the complex narratives around sexual violence and sexual harassment. A list should never qualify consent, but complicate this word: having a list sees sexual assault as an individual action instead of a societal reflection of the deep, embedded rape culture we live in. Consequently, because we see sexual violence as an individual action, we do not seek community-based solutions. This is why having a checklist to see if a predator’s actions are consensual is performative and also gaslights the victim and/or survivor. If the man who assaulted me held his phone up to my face, showing that he checked off most of the boxes that justified his actions as consensual (for example, that while I had said no when he first approached me, but a second later squeaked out a yes in fear, and because of that yes, that gave him access to my body) then I would feel shitty, invalidated, and angry.
This is how social justice language—with words such as “consent”—can be weaponized against us. Language is easily co-opted by the people our words are meant for, the ones we wield our analysis at. “Each of us is here now because in one way or another we share a commitment to language and to the power of language,” Audre Lorde states in her Sister Outsider, “and to the reclaiming of that language which has been made to work against us.”
If even frat brothers know what consent is, then we need to rethink this word. Because if the people preaching and defining consent have high rates of accusations of sexual assault, then clearly the word is not meaningless, but a device to mask the opposite actions vocalized and to protect these same people from facing accountability for their actions. (1)
The word “consent” trivializes the gray, overlooked realities of sexual assault. When men tell you and others that their actions were consensual—while your bowels are rocked, unsteady as your skin wishes it were a snake to shed its skin from their touch—you are unable to argue back because if the word “consent” is used by your oppressor, then clearly, yes, their actions must be okay—and you, clearly, are exaggerating or distorting the truth so that now your story is yours to bear in silence; or it turns into a futile conversation of you now trying to fit their actions into the nonconsensual category. This latter counterproductive energy reengages you, the victim and/or survivor, into a debate with your predator about whether their actions fit the definition of consent—and our oppression is neither up for debate nor something to be disregarded after the argument.
Continuously challenging our words by noting who wields them is something we must always exercise. I will not trust a man who has to say aloud that all his endeavors were “consensual.” It is a red flag to me that he not only hunts women, but also hunts our vocabulary. He will impale himself, perhaps, even projecting himself as the hunted, wounded by a previous “crazy, psychotic ex(es)” or tragic encounter(s) that left him traumatized.
When a predator says his actions were consensual and firmly states his reasoning, then we start to not only give him a platform, but also begin to believe him—and not the victim/survivor. We cannot believe both the predator and the victim/survivor, and call ourselves or our spaces survivor-centered. To quote Luke Hart, a UK activist, “abusers rely on [safe spaces] and [for] we [the community] to look for deeper meaning into their abusive behaviors. Equality isn’t about caring for victims AND abusers the same. Equality is about eradicating these categories.”
Consent is a very low bar and is a word given to us to say yes to male violence (Marian Rutigliano). How can there be consent in a patriarchal society (2)? How can consent operate under these restraints? This is a reminder that there is a façade of what seems like choice, when there is really a lack of choices. Rutigliano puts it simply, “The core of consent is to get permission to do something to someone that has negative consequences as well as potentially positive ones. It’s about doing something that someone, by default, would never want you to do to them.”
We need to reframe what consent means. It is based on victim blaming narratives—for consent has us learning to say NO better, rather than teaching men to not assault in the first place (anon).
Notes and clarifications:
I acknowledge the complexities of how frat brothers themselves are both victims and/or survivors and predators. Similarly, the Victim-Offender (VO) intersectionality remains an intricate situation.
This is not to say that “consent” presumes to operate under only a patriarchal society. We must not forget the holy triple of oppression: patriarchy, capitalism, and white supremacy. We must identify the intersections between the norms and forces that oppress us or else we fall throes into “oppression olympics.” This is why learning about multi-systems theory is important if we truly want change to happen: it cannot occur in silos.
I write from my perspective as a woman of color, and my words are woman-centered. My words may not be relatable for everyone, but they are for women. My writings are intended to capture some of our experiences, have us feel connected, and to resonate with you. I want you to feel seen and heard.
When I say women, I refer to gender expansive people (cis, trans, non-binary, gender non-conforming, gender queer people, and/or any girl-identified people).
I acknowledge that male victims and/or survivors may feel differently and interpret my writing differently—paralleling in a similar, yet different vein, how two people can go through a similar and the same experience, and have different interpretations and analysis of the events.
My words are meant to incite critical thinking to not accept language freely and observe how language is used. I believe we can move forward as a society by being able to love and criticize, and have the latter done compassionately and wisely.
About the author:
Riss Myung is a poet and a writer based in the Bay Area, California. She works for an anti-trafficking and anti-sexual assault organization that provides culturally competent services and programs for Southeast Asian young women at-risk of commercial sexual exploitation. Riss is also a member of the SF/Bay Area chapter of AF3IRM.
