Ok. So you know how I knew I’d been part of rape culture?

It wasn’t that almost the first porn I’d been exposed to, and masturbated vigorously to by the way, was the serial-rape Victorian fantasy “A Man With a Maid.” No, that would have been to obvious and besides, that was “just” about “seduction by other means.” (Yeah, right.) Although that’s certainly about as rape-culture as it gets.

Photo by Flickr user Bicycle Bob.
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And it wasn’t that I liked to play tie-up games with some of my earliest partners… especially since at least one of those partners was seriously into setting up these elaborate, generally bodice-ripper-y roleplaying scenarios. Although that’s certainly about as rape-culture as it gets.

And it wasn’t even that the first time I ever heard the suggestion that someone my age would want sex with someone else my age (4th or 5th grade) when one kid at the next desk over whispered to me “I’d like to rape [so and so.]” Even though, later, when I asked him what the heck that meant anyway, he said, confidently, it meant “make someone fall in love with you.” Although that’s certainly about as rape-culture as it gets.

Because while all that was going on I firmly believed that only the most heinous punishments should be reserved for rapists. Castrations? Sure. Eyes burned out with rusty, salt-encrusted tongs? Why not. Penis nailed to a stump, the stump set on fire, and leaving them with nothing but a hatchet? I didn’t make that one up but I agreed vigorously when it was proposed as “letting them off easy.”

And if I could feel that way about it (all without knowing anyone who had disclosed that she’d been raped) then how could I possibly be part of rape culture?

And then?

And then…

And then in 1981, when I was 26, in a first-year journalism class, I interviewed a campus rape crisis counsellor who brought me up to date (I’d been a peer crisis/sex-ed counsellor ten years earlier but a heck of a lot of thought and action went into issues during that time. And then, partly due to outreach efforts and partly due feminist advocacy for rape prevention policies, women I knew started coming forward with their stories.

And the more I started seeing it as a crime and not sex, and the more I started associating it with real people who’d suffered real violence?

The less I wanted to concoct ever newer, ever more lurid punishments and…

And the more I just wanted it to stop. By any means necessary, sure, but by only those means necessary.

In other words, when rape stopped being a fantasy, ideas about what might constitute deterrent punishment stopped being a fantasy as well.**

Also, when it stopped being a fantasy I started recognizing exactly what kind of crime it is… that it is about power and not about sex. People keep saying “but it is about sex…” but if you’ve spent much time around bullies and their victims (whoo boy!) you begin to notice the seemingly psychic way they’re able to key in to and even thrive on exploiting the worst fears and biggest vulnerabilities. If it’s fat they use that even though they or their friends my be no less fat. Is it “not from around here?” Then it doesn’t matter that other kids are even newer. Unless that’s their vulnerability too they’ll be victimized for something else. The point being that bullying is about power, and the power wielded is about what you fear and what you value or, to be more precise, what your assailant believes is what you fear or value. And if this isn’t too controverted by more recent clinical research, I’m pretty sure that if sexual transgression wasn’t the worst thing society, and individuals in it, could imagine then I’m also pretty sure there’d be a lot less of it and a lot more of… whatever personal transgression we instead most feared and hated.

So that’s what I hear when someone says “it’s a crime of power, not sex.” And it’s how I answer when someone, inevitably says “but it is about sex.” Yes, it’s about the power of sex as leverage, about sex as “the worst thing.” Just as, incidentally, and perhaps tellingly, talk of castration with rusty razors or execution by drawing and quartering and burnt entrails and all that after-the-fact-ery is also about the power of “the worst.”

Anyway, I’m not saying I’m not still part of rape culture because can one ever really escape one’s culture? Completely? I dunno. I do know, though, that bleating little “not me” mea culpas aren’t much help. Instead to the extent it’s possible I can still work the numbers, spread the word, check in with partners to make sure we’re both role-playing, ask strangers first “do you want help,” and otherwise whether or not one ever makes it through to never stop moving towards the exits till you’re through.

And seriously, it does have to stop or be stopped. By the most effective means. Stopping it doesn’t have to be dramatic, as long as it stops. And stopping it doesn’t have to be violent, as long as it stops. An stopping it doesn’t even have to be emotionally satisfying, as long as it stops. It’s just time. People keep getting hurt.

[** Speaking of lurid fantasies, how ‘bout that “let’s send ‘em to prison and let ‘em find out how they like gettin’ raped” fantasy that perpetually spills from the mouths of lightweight comedians and shock jocks? Hmm. How about “that only punishes the first rapist and rewards all the rest?” And how about “that only ratifies rape as a punishment and makes all other discussion just haggling about who ‘deserves it’ or not?” —-fl]

[Oh yeah, and just to be clear? It’s ok to still have fantasies as long as one’s fantasies are distinguished from reality. Playing pirates, or even “jack-booted thugs,” or adult diaper play... or even disproportionate-punishment play is almost always more enjoyable when there’s no plausible threat of the real thing happening to anyone around you. —fl]