How Our Society Enables Sexual Assault

*The content below may be triggering to those affected by assault. 

 

I have trouble discussing violence prevention because of the dangerously thin line between promoting self-defense and promoting rape culture. Necessitating the need for self-defense knowledge can sometimes imply the responsibility to avoid assault falls to survivors as opposed to the assailant.

When I was a senior in high school, I was raped by one of my close friends. For the next few months, I was subject to gossip and rumors, losing sight of myself and my experience. The whole time, it felt like people needed to find an individual to blame, but it is not that simple. After this experience, I took some intensive violence prevention seminars and classes. These classes made me begin to consider if the attack was my fault—if I could have fought back and defended myself further.

I don’t think survivors are ever to blame.

There are more important, realistic, and educated ways to minimize violent sexual behavior in society than blaming survivors. Although conversations on the topic can be uncomfortable, they are important to have. There are people who claim survivors could do more to fight off their attacks. There are people who call survivors of rapes like my own “lazy.” To understand these perspectives and discrepancies around the definitions of rape, I began to critically examine our societal and cultural views of assault.  I have learned that although sex-ed and violence diminishing efforts should involve self-defense, it should also include education about societal structures and cultural power dynamics, and the responsibilities and privileges that come with them.

After an assault takes place, our society often blames the individual rather than the system that promotes their behavior. As we consider society as a whole and the patterns within this, we learn that the individual is not the sole root from which these bad behaviors stem. These behaviors come from a complex web of historical and social constructs that create a system where certain individuals are unequal to others. This system of inequity creates dynamics that enable those with power and privilege to take advantage of those without (or less of) it. This abuse of privilege can come in the form of rape. 

It’s also worth exploring the distinction between sexual assault and ‘bad sex’ and the dialogue around it.

‘Bad sex’ is an experience many of us have, wherein verbal consent may have never been explicitly given, but we don’t really mind. Typically, these interactions aren’t enjoyable and may cause either participant to feel bad afterward. People sometimes refer to these kinds of situations as the grey area of sexual assault, with the assumption that people know better than to label this kind of interaction as rape. I think this is an unfair assumption promotes the viewpoint that rape is only committed by random strangers in dark alleyways.

Rape and ‘bad sex’ are not the same. There is a difference between a sexual encounter where, due to clear or unclear pressures, one member feels as though they cannot express their discomfort and is being forced to continue (rape), and sexual encounters where one person is not fully present and does not care enough or feel like it’s worth speaking up to end a situation (bad sex). It isn’t rape because they weren’t active in the experience.

While bad sex isn’t rape, it comes from the same cultural influence: individuals with power and privilege feel more entitled to do what they want. To remedy this communicative disconnect, people with inherent social and sexual privilege need to understand their standing, and take on the responsibilities that come with it. For example, if one person is passive during sex while another is active, it is the responsibility of the active participant to engage and make sure the passive participant is consenting and enthusiastic about the sex they’re having. The “bad sex” argument is a cop-out for these often avoidable situations. Letting active participants off easy fuels phrases like ‘they’re just men, they don’t know any better’ and ‘boys will be boys.’ 

We need to hold all members of our society accountable, especially those with privilege, and make sure they’re aware of the power system we operate within, the toxic behaviors this system inspires, and ways to prevent these behaviors. That should be the bottom line when considering routes to minimize rape culture, not simply suggesting survivors participate in self-defense courses.

While I do believe self-defense practices are empowering and important, I don’t think they should be the only solution offered. I encourage everyone to ask themselves these difficult questions: why would someone not feel safe enough to express their sexual discomfort? Have you never found yourself in their situation? Am I genuinely considering my partner(s) needs? Am I actively making sure my partner(s) feels comfortable? 

Once you consider the societal structures that produce this kind of behavior it becomes clear that violence prevention is not an individual’s responsibility, but a collective one. This is why the individual blame model does not work. We need to learn about privilege, about compassion, and about what it means to take advantage of our privileges. We need to learn how to be advocates rather than bystanders. We need to learn what consent means, what it sounds like, what it looks like, what it feels like.