(This post contains candid discussion of rape and sexual violence.)
As some of you may know, I experienced two different sexual assaults when I wasn't yet in my teens within just one year of one another. The second time I was assaulted, my experience ticked all of the boxes there currently are in our culture for what is so often -- now, anyway, easily considered a "real" or "bonafide" sexual assault, or what Whoopi Goldberg, to my great disappointment, would call "rape-rape."
I was a girl, and one with body parts universally recognized as "girl parts." My attackers were guys. Even worse when it comes to the rape cliché all too often (misre)presented as universal truth, I was a white girl raped by guys of color. I did not know any of the perpetrators: they were all strangers. It was violent. It was forceful. I said no, I yelled, I tried to run, and I fought, but I lost. I was conscious until I was knocked unconscious. I hadn't been drinking or doing recreational drugs, nor had I ever even tried either. I sustained physical injuries. I wasn't a sex worker. I didn't have mental illness or a developmental disability. I wasn't dressed "provocatively," (despite a police officer's notion that any length shorts were provocative), I wasn't wearing lipstick or high heels, I wasn't on a date or at a bar, and beyond some very rudimentary, fully-clothed juvenile fumbling, I hadn't been sexually active.
The first time around was different: I was much more confused about what had happened. I knew the person who assaulted me: he was the "sweet old man" who cut our hair. I froze in fear and shock: I wasn't able to move or utter a sound, including "no," despite feeling no loudly in my skin. I was wearing, that day, an outfit I thought was a "pretty" outfit. My attacker told me I liked what he was doing, and he said "nice" things to me, rather than calling me names. He told me how pretty I was. I didn't get any injuries. It wasn't violent. I threw up several times when I walked home: I knew it wasn't right, but I didn't know it was wrong, or why. Nor did I know it was sexual violence. I didn't even try to tell anyone.
But shortly after the second assault, it was clear what had happened, both times. I still didn't have and wasn't provided any sound words (nor help) for it at the time, but I knew that first incident was just as wrong as the second; knew they were the same at their core. Once I tried again to tell someone about the second assault a couple years later, I got the information and words I needed to better start to understand I had been raped, and all that could mean. I then realized what should have been obvious: I was raped that first time too, not just the second.
If that second rape had been more like most rapes, and if I had been anyone but someone with a vagina, given so much of the messaging out there then, and, though to a lesser degree, still out there now, I might not have figured out what happened to me until many, many years had passed, something which would have set me back immeasurably, and to my great detriment, in my healing process. I meet survivors like that, any of us who work in support for survivors do: it is so, so much harder for them to heal than it could be, than it should be.
This should all be so far past obvious to anyone by now. Even though some folks still lazily, callously, dangerously and sometimes even maliciously cling to and broadcast myths about sexual violence -- plenty will likely do so in reaction to the terminology change I'm going to talk about -- this should all be clear by now, especially from federal justice agencies who are supposed to support victims, not render them invisible.
There's a lot that's changed for the better around sexual violence and victim advocacy since I was assaulted in the early 80s, and plenty that's changed since I started actively working with survivors over the last ten years. The mere fact that what happened with my second assault would now so readily be classified as assault, and most likely treated so differently than it was by police and everyone else around me speaks volumes. But one thing that really hasn't changed, especially in lowest-common-denominator attitudes, attitudes which were very unfortunately still reflected in the longstanding definition of rape from the FBI, is the notion that only assaults like the second one I experienced were or are "real" rape; that only victims like I was then are "real" victims. That's a strange and hurtful notion for many reasons, but one of the biggest is that that kind of assault is the LEAST common way rape occurs, not the most common. And that's not late-breaking news: data and information has been gathered which makes that clear for decades: millions of survivors have bravely told their stories over the years which illustrates this clearly. And yet.
At the very least, our justice departments should be clear and inclusive about what rape and other kinds of sexual abuse are, and at the very least, those definitions should include and privilege the most common ways and contexts per how rape occurs, not just the least common to the exclusion of all else.
And now, we've finally got some of that important, needed clarity. The FBI finally dumped a definition of rape which had over eight decades of dust on it, and adopted a new, far sounder definition. To say I'm elated and deeply grateful is a pretty serious understatement.
Before you look at the new definition, take a look at the old one: The previous definition was "The carnal knowledge of a female, forcibly and against her will." "Carnal knowledge" is a term that expressly and exclusively means penis-in-vagina intercourse.
Who didn't that include? Often, people assaulted by those known to them, even closest to them, which accounts for the majority of sexual assaults of all people and most commonly doesn't involve physical force, but coercion and other kinds of manipulation. Men and boys. Women who were not assigned female sex at birth. Women sexually assaulted by other women. People whose assaults did not involve vaginal intercourse. People who were assaulted sexually in such a way that did not involve a penis. People who were not conscious or fully conscious when assaulted. People who did not give their consent, or whose nonconsent was ignored. All of these victims and survivors and more were not included in the previous definition. That old definition didn't include the majority of people who have been raped.
As someone who educates, counsels and supports a wide range of rape survivors every week, I all too often hear from survivors who can't even get started healing because they feel they have "no right" to call their assault what it was, mostly either because they fear they'll invalidate the experiences of "real" survivors and victims, because they do not want to hold someone else responsible for something they are not responsible for, and/or because one or both of those concerns dovetail all too nicely with victim-blaming, rape-enabling mentalities the world is plastered with. I'll sometimes pull out my own experiences and say that I believe them, that I don't feel invalidated because we did not have the same experiences with rape, and as someone who has experienced rape in different ways, I know all too well rape is rape is rape. But I shouldn't have to do that, and no one should need me to, especially when I'm saying what I am to counter not just what they hear from uneducated people, but from justice agencies, who know all of this better than anyone.
Now it seems I just might need to have discussions like that a lot less, or have them only when backing up what our federal justice bureau says themselves.
The penetration, no matter how slight, of the vagina or anus with any body part or object, or oral penetration by a sex organ of another person, without the consent of the victim.
As the FBI explains (bolding mine):
The revised definition includes any gender of victim or perpetrator, and includes instances in which the victim is incapable of giving consent because of temporary or permanent mental or physical incapacity, including due to the influence of drugs or alcohol or because of age. The ability of the victim to give consent must be determined in accordance with state statute. Physical resistance from the victim is not required to demonstrate lack of consent.
"The revised definition of rape sends an important message to the broad range of rape victims that they are supported and to perpetrators that they will be held accountable," said Justice Department Director of the Office on Violence Against Women Susan B. Carbon. "We are grateful for the dedicated work of all those involved in making and implementing the changes that reflect more accurately the devastating crime of rape."
The new definition is more inclusive, better reflects state criminal codes and focuses on the various forms of sexual penetration understood to be rape.
"These long overdue updates to the definition of rape will help ensure justice for those whose lives have been devastated by sexual violence and reflect the Department of Justice’s commitment to standing with rape victims," Attorney General Holder said. "This new, more inclusive definition will provide us with a more accurate understanding of the scope and volume of these crimes."
Police departments submit data on reported crimes and arrests to the UCR. The UCR data are reported nationally and used to measure and understand crime trends. In addition, the UCR program will also collect data based on the historical definition of rape, enabling law enforcement to track consistent trend data until the statistical differences between the old and new definitions are more fully understood. The revised definition of rape is within FBI’s UCR Summary Reporting System Program. The new definition is supported by leading law enforcement agencies and advocates and reflects the work of the FBI’s CJIS Advisory Policy Board.
It's still not perfect, but it is so, so, very much closer then we have ever had before, and fine-tuning it from here should be a lot easier than it was getting from the old definition to this new one.
Not knowing something has happened to you when it has is often awful, especially with something like rape where feelings of confusion on the part of a victim are so often used to dismiss or deny assault. Feeling like you can't even voice what happened to you or express what you're feeling because your assault, compared to the rarest kind of assault so often seen as the only "real" kind is a horrible way to feel. Healing from abuse and assault is often a long, demanding and challenging process, but you can't even really get started until you have some basic words for and sense of what was done to you, a clarity that what someone chose to do to you was a serious crime, a crime where you were a victim.
I really cannot express how grateful I am for this change: grateful to FBI Director Robert Mueller and to the many individuals and initiatives (like The Feminist Majority Foundation, Ms. Magazine and Change.org) who pushed and kept pushing tirelessly for more than ten years for this positive, important change.
Thank you. Thank you.
By all means, how the FBI defines sexual violence can't control how everyone does, nor magically erase myths and misrepresentation of perpetrators and victims. We're still going to all have to keep doing a lot of work to turn around the dangerous and damaging mythology about sexual violence, its perpetrators and its victims. We're still going to have to do a lot of work to keep holding the line when it comes to consent and the necessity of real consent, and for everyone, not just certain individuals or groups: for everyone. We still have a lot to do to address and change bystanding and victim-blaming and a whole bunch of other stuff that's going to take time and the efforts of everyone, not just one big agency or advocacy organizations, but absolutely everyone, to rid our world of rape culture.
However, I think having a standard set like this is going to make all of that much easier. This change is powerful for those who will report and seek justice. It's powerful even for those who do not, but can know that if they choose not to report or press charges, it's not because a crime wasn't committed, but because they are making a choice not to pursue justice for that crime. Powerful because survivors can see, in clear language from a major justice organization, what what has happened to them as exactly what it is, not what those who want to deny it would call it. They can have a sense of what rape is which is current and based on all we know now, not an archaic relic from an era decades before the civil rights movement, and a time when women had only had the right to vote for less than ten years (and when raping a woman you were married to -- including violently -- was legal in every state of the union and not acknowledged as "real" rape at all, because wives were very much considered, legally and socially, the sexual property of their husbands). It's powerful when it comes to doing a better job collecting data on sexual assault so that everyone can begin to have a very real sense of how big a problem rape is and what we need to do to most effectively keep working to end sexual violence. Powerful for anyone, as well, who needs to know how very important and integral consent is, and how very much harm it can do to suggest it's irrelevant, or say nothing about it at all.
And having these words from an authority as powerful as the FBI? That has serious power. The power to answer statements like, "But I didn't say no," "But I didn't fight," "But I was drinking," "But she didn't have a weapon," "But it was my boyfriend/coach/teacher/parent," "But I'm a guy," "But I was wearing a short skirt," "But I froze and didn't do or say anything," and other common statements reflective of a wide range of victims and survivors with a so-about-time definition that makes perfectly clear how none of those things mean that someone who was raped was not.
Earlier this week, in the context of another conversation, one of our users at Scarleteen mentioned that her feelings on abortion had changed to a negative when she learned that her mother's pregnancy had been unplanned, and that her mother considered abortion. She said that upset her, because she really liked existing. She did say she was still pro-choice, but her sentiment bothered me all the same. Some of why it bothered me was political, and also about the work that I do and have done. But in thinking about it, I came to the conclusion that the ways it bothered me most were intensely personal.
The truth is, I envy her. A lot. I envy she was able to have a discussion in which her mother made clear she had the right to choose and she chose to remain pregnant and parent her. She wasn't forced, she wasn't pressured, she didn't do what she did because it was the only thing she could do without risking her life, her health, being locked away or hidden or committing a crime. She chose. She had the freedom to choose. My mother did not.
It's a powerful thing, this choice, any choice; this freedom, any freedom.
I can't express how much I wish I was born under those circumstances myself. I wish I could've had that conversation with my own mother. I wish I had not grown up knowing my mother didn't have the right to choose, including a lack of access to contraception to choose to try and prevent becoming pregnant in the first place. I wish my own mother had not been denied the right and the freedom to make a choice so critical to her own life, first, and mine, secondarily. I wish that the relationship between my mother and I had not been, and will not always be, tainted and strained by the fact that I was effectively forced upon her and not a part of her life that she chose or, at the time, wanted. I can't express how much I wish the relationship between my mother and I had been elective for her.
I envy this user on my own behalf. I envy her clear, unquestioning knowledge that she was wanted and chosen; that her mother chose to be her mother. If she, unlike me, grew up without overhearing or knowing about conversations and comments family members had or made about her being a punishment, a consequence, a sin made only slightly less terrible by being born, then I envy her. If she, unlike me, grew up without seeing the ways not having that choice unraveled or stymied the lives of people she loved, or brought about pain, abuse or neglect in her own upbringing, I envy her.
Even more, I envy her mother on my mother's behalf. However difficult and painful so much of my relationship with my own mother has been, I love her ferociously. The fact that she was denied the right to such a massive choice hurts me tremendously, as would any basic human right denied to anyone I loved -- anyone at all -- would. That's not what I would want for my mother: for anyone's mother.
Now, I don't feel certain as this user does, and so many people seem to, that if my mother had the right to choose and had terminated that I'd not exist. I have no idea what the deal is with how and if any of us wind up here in life. I think it's possible that if I was meant to be on this earth, I'd be here no matter whose womb I came through, no matter who my biological mother was. But not only can I not know what would have happened in that respect, I find it irrelevant, because the fact of the matter is that my mother was a whole person before I was, one separate from me; my mother had a life before me and a life she wanted before and without me, and my mother's life and her dreams mattered then, matter now, and I know for a fact it would have been radically different for her, and better for her (and me), if she had had the freedom and right to choose for herself. I know her life would have been radically different even if she hadn't have had a choice to make but simply grew up with the knowledge and confidence that she had those choices and freedoms. I know because I talk to young women like she was then who do have those choices, but also to those who don't. They are markedly different, in ways impossible to ignore.
As the years go by, I increasingly realize how like so many young women in or just out of their teens my mother was. It ever staggers and upsets me to realize I'm counseling someone who is the age she was, who knows as little as she did, who is as overwhelmed and unsupported as she was, who still doesn't have the agency she also didn't have. I can't possibly think of myself first before her and young women like her. To do that, I'd have to stop listening, stop feeling, stop understanding. To do that, I'd have to ignore, dehumanize or objectify the person sitting right in front of me or writing to me, and focus instead on someone who may or may not ever exist, even if a given person chooses to remain pregnant. To do that, I'd have to deny the privilege I had and have that my mother didn't and some young women still don't. I also often talk to a young woman who, instead, is in a place my mother could have been if she'd had information, choice and agency she did not. While listening to and talking with the young woman my mother could have been is often far more pleasant and hopeful, in another respect, it is painful and bitter, because this is what I would have wanted for her. This is what anyone who loved her and respected her and who cared about the quality of anyone's life, especially hers, should have wanted for her. But didn't.
If it is so that my own agency must be at the expense of someone else, especially the person who was already here and whole before I was even an idea, let alone a person, the person had to labor to bring me into this world, no less, I have a hard time seeing that as any kind of gift at all, nor as any kind of agency for anyone, including me. If I could turn back the clock and give my mother the choices she should have had, and she had chosen to terminate and that did mean she got to have the life she wanted and I didn't get this one at all, I'm good with that. Better that than the alternative. I love my mother, and all women, too much, and know too much about the life of my mother, and the lives of all women, to enjoy the conceit that is thinking my life and my agency are more valuable or meaningful than hers or that of anyone else.
It's a powerful thing, this choice, any choice; this freedom, any freedom.
The older I get, the more I find reproductive rights, justice and choice run a million red, pulsing threads through my life and my heart. I have cared deeply about the right to choose for as far back as I can remember, and with every year that passes -- even as it becomes highly unlikely given my age that I will ever make another major reproductive choice myself -- I care more and more deeply. Even as reproductive choice becomes less about me personally and more about others, it impacts me and influences me deeply, and perhaps even more so because of that fact.
I cared from the get-go because of the circumstances of my own life and family. I cared early because of my own reproductive and sexual choices, including those I was denied myself, and those I witnessed around me, and because when I got to the point in my life where I had those choices to make, I was acutely aware I had access to a level of choice other women had not or did not. I cared early on because I cared about human rights; because I cared about people having power and agency in and for their own lives. Then I cared more because of working as a teacher, and seeing the diversity of the lives of children and young people; how much of an impact parents have, both for good and for ill. Then I cared some more because of working in sex education, sexual health and with young people just starting to try and navigate all of these choices, as well as all the other choices in their lives; I cared even more working with young people who didn't have all the same choices others do. Then I cared even more when working in abortion directly. I keep caring for all of those reasons, and my care continues to amplify, deepen, diversify and cement. So does my sadness and my anger; so does my awareness of all of what having real choices can mean and what not having them can mean, too.
When I was working at the clinic, sometimes we had to tell women they didn't have choices they wanted to have; they should have had. We had to tell them it took them too long to save up the money or get the support to terminate, that they were now past the time when they could. We had to tell them there was nothing we could do to help them access more money to pay for an abortion procedure, and tell them that knowing a woman without enough money to pay for an abortion doesn't have close to the resources she needs to raise a child, even if she wanted to. Sometimes providers have to tell them that even though they have more children than they can care for, because of money, timing or some other restriction that unless they can arrange an adoption, they're going to have to try and parent one more, even if they know they don't want to and can't serve a child well. Sometimes providers have to tell them that without someone else's permission, because of their age or other reduced status in the world, they are not allowed to make their own choices.
No one ever wanted to be the bearer of this news, including me. Sitting down with someone and opening a conversation by telling them they do not have a choice they should have is one of the worst things in my life I have ever had to do. Watching someone who feels trapped in something no one should ever be trapped in is soul-crushing. I had to once give that news to a 15-year-old girl who had come all the way from Canada. She had to go the long way back home knowing that once she got there, she was going to get kicked out with nowhere to go and I couldn't stop crying or picturing her so alone in the world for my two hour commute on the bus home. Even though it wasn't my fault she was in that spot, and there was nothing I could have done to change things for her, I cried all the more because I had to be part of denying someone something I would never, ever want to deny them.
At Scarleteen, particularly when talking to young women who live outside nations or areas where they have the right to choose or have full freedom in choosing, we've had to tell some women they don't have the legal right to make a choice, or counsel young women feeling suicidal because of a possible pregnancy because they already know that if they become pregnant, it will have to mean they remain pregnant which they do not want to be. We've had to talk young people out of trying to terminate their own pregnancies, talk them out of using things so many people don't realize some people even still think about or try: coat hangers, coke bottles, pencils, knitting needles, drug overdoses, getting in car accidents on purpose.
On the flip side, one of my favorite parts of the work I do has been providing all-options counseling and support for all reproductive choices. The days that I get to do that work, no matter how difficult it can be, how challenging for myself and the women involved, are always some of my best days. To be able to start a conversation by telling a person, especially a young person, that she has choices is powerful for both of us. Being able to tell a woman that she has these vital choices and freedoms, that you support any of them she feels is most right for her, and that you will do your best to provide support for those choices now and whenever else she should need it is one of the most wonderful statements to be able to make to someone else. Sadly, the reaction one often gets to a statement like that also so often makes it clear how rare it still is, how unusual an experience it is for many women to find themselves in the position of being unilaterally supported, particularly around their bodies and reproduction. It can also tell us how tenuous those rights still feel for so many women, mostly likely because they are.
These conversations, and these choices in life, period, no matter what choice a woman makes, often make way for many other powerful lightbulbs and choices. When you work with women around reproduction and have unconditionally supportive conversations at these crucial times you have to ask and talk about the whole of their lives, and the context of their lives is part of all of this. So you're often part of decisions like leaving unhealthy or abusive relationships, choosing to put more energy into pursuing life goals and dreams, changing family or community in a way to be surrounded by more people who are supportive, changing how any one woman sees and understands all other women, sometimes even the women she has the hardest time understanding or sympathizing with. And if and when someone is freely able to choose to be someone's parent, fully able to choose, you see a person going into that endeavor in a radically different way than someone who does not have a choice, and you know their life and the life of any of their children will always be all the better for it.
Without choice and freedom, we don't get to own and truly claim our lives; neither do our mothers, sisters, daughters, friends. Without them, we can't say we made a choice at all, nor can we, or others, get to take real pride in or responsibility for our choices. There's a critical difference between making the best of your circumstances when you didn't have a choice and making the circumstances yourself that are best for yourself. Both are laudable, and yet we can only take real ownership of the latter. I am proud of my mother for all that she was able to do and has done given her circumstances, and I know she is proud of herself, but I hate that my mother was denied the privilege to be as proud of herself as she could be had she been allowed to truly own and make her own choices; I hate that I have that power while my mother did not.
Without choice and freedom -- and without having to engage in any fantasy or speculation about whether I'd be here or not -- I know my life would not be like my life at all. It would have likely been more like some of the worst parts of my mother's life. With them, her life could have been a lot more like the very best parts of mine. People chose to deny her that freedom; people can and do still choose to deny or try to deny it to some people still. People chose to allow me that freedom and to allow and protect it for many of you; people can and do still choose to do their -- hopefully our -- damnedest to allow it to and protect it for all people.
It's a powerful thing, this choice, any choice; this freedom, any freedom.
Me and my boyfriend want to get me birth control pills, as we've had the condom break three times on us already, and we're really fearful of pregnancy. I've already seen on this site a question on how to get birth control, but I have more questions than were answered. I'm 16, as is my boyfriend. Neither of us are able to drive yet because we didn't get our permits at the correct time (though we can take a cab to get somewhere), my mom would be highly unsupportive of the fact me and him are having sex (and even more unsupportive of me being pregnant), but we don't want to stop or anything, we just want more ways to protect ourselves against pregnancy. So, I need a way to get birth control without my mom's know. In the question I've read, you guys said that the doctor would ask for my name, address, phone number, and social security number. By giving them any of these things, would my mom be able to know I had seen the doctor? One of my main fears of getting birth control is my mom finding out somehow. Also, I don’t know where my mom keeps my social security card, and I haven’t memorized the number, so how can I find it out? Can I not have to tell the doctor?
Me and my boyfriend have been together for 9 months. I'm 17 and he's 22. Everything is going great! We never really fight and my family likes him, too, which is rare. Only problem is he travels a lot for work, he will be gone for 2 weeks at at time. I don't mind, but he asked me to help make his trip better...he wanted me to take nude pictures of myself. I said I would but only because I do love and care about him a lot and thought it would be good for the both of us. But I HATE pictures as it is...I tried to take them for him but I HATE every picture I take and it makes me feel even more self-conscious than I do already. I would rather walk around naked for him all day then take pictures of myself. I know it sounds stupid, but it's just really hard for me. I trust him and know he wouldn't do anything with those pictures but it's hard explaining to him why I don't like pictures, he doesn't get it...should I just suck it up and take em?
I want to know what the government considers sex. When they say age of consent what kind of sex are they talking about?
Four years ago, Joseph Rocha was a committed and ambitious 18-year-old Navy recruit sure of two things: his love for his country and the corresponding desire to serve it in the Armed Forces, as well as his sexual orientation as a gay man. Unfortunately, the latter was very much in conflict with the former.
With everyone talking about it so much lately, thought I'd reprise the topic with some questions Tracy Clark-Flory of Salon.com asked me about sexting a few months ago, and the whole of my answers. To see her finished piece, you can meander over here.
Q: Where does "sexting" -- or for that matter, taking nude self- portraits or videos that they may or may not share with a significant other, friends or a crush -- fall within teenage sexual development?
I'd lump television in with the 'net and other new media when I say that with the media presence being what it has become, the need or desire to seen -- already a typical part of young adult development as well as human existence -- has become huge. And that's not just about sex, but because sexual development and exploration is also a big part of being a teen, as well as a part of life, period, and something that's still treated as provocative, particularly when in any way public, sex enters into this.
You're asking about teens using these kinds of media in terms of sex, but we could just as easily be talking about anything else. Teens tend to be creative and expressive, and teens often feel invisible in many ways, so doing things to be more visible has always been typical. When it comes to sex, this is hardly the first time we've seen young people publicize their sexuality: before we had this media, we had video cameras, before that film cameras, before that the written word, and all throughout, public or semi-public sex, ways of proclaiming to peers that one is sexually active, available to become so OR that a person is simply a sexual person, even if they've not intent of engaging in sexual activities with others. I'd say this is pretty normal behavior when it actually happens: teens just using the current media at hand to do the kinds of things young people exploring their sexuality and sexual identities have always done.
People forget that at the turn of the century, in the 20's, in the 50's and 60's, in the 80's and 90's... there has always been something like this, some way young people were expressing or publicizing sexuality that adults were freaking out about, quick to proclaim as abnormal, and quick to state as something new that had never gone on before. Not hardly! I've no doubt we could find dirty telegrams from way back when if we looked for them. People express things through available media. Sex is one thing people may express.
Mind, it may be becoming a little (and I do mean a little) more pervasive, simply because a) the media we have is so much more accessible and easy to distribute than what we have had before b) it's a lot easier to get that 15 minutes of fame for the average Joe or Jane than it has been in the past, and c) the advent of porn available en masse, so easily, as it is now and has been for most of their lives is going to make all of this feel very nonprovocative for some and very common. Then again, it may not: this'd hardly be the first time adults made a big fuss about something they say young people are doing en masse without actually consulting with young people to find out what the real deal is. I think more adults are talking about 9and doing) sexting than young people are.
Q: Can it be a healthy form of teenage sexual self-expression?
I'd say so, but I think when we're looking at whether or not something is healthy, we need to look at and ask about individual motives.
Is someone doing it to freely express themselves or share reciprocal (and I'd say that's important) levels of intimacy with a partner? Is it coming from a place, for them, that feels positive? Does it feel authentic, liberating, freeing? Is it a choice being made informedly when it comes to the risks? Are there some smart boundaries, including firm agreements about privacy? If so, I'd say we're probably looking at healthy behavior.
Or, is someone doing it out of a need to prove something to someone else, to try and earn love or attention? Does it feel like an act or like it's required? Is it being done to try and gain social status or due to peer pressure? Out of a self-injury impulse, to try and do themselves harm or get into trouble? Is it happening in the context of anything exploitive or abusive? If so, I'd say we should consider this may not be healthy.
Q: Is it reasonable or fair to allow that some teenagers will have sex but not that they will engage in this type of sexual experimentation?
Oh, absolutely. Just like it's fair or reasonable to say that a young person who "dresses like" (whatever arbitrary thing that means at the time) she is sexually active or talks about sex (in general, not "I had sex last week,") should not be assumed to be having any kind of partnered sex.
Q: Nowadays, how does the Internet and other technology play a role in teenagers' sexual development?
It's tough to say if it's any more or less than other types of media have in the past, but I think we can say that in a media-saturated culture, this has an impact. For one thing, teens hear and see more and more messages about sex from more and more sources, which is not necessarily negative: that can be positive, negative or neutral, depending on what the messages are, how much meaning they have to a teen, and what kind of protective factors a given teen has to filter those messages through, like intelligence, community or family support and involvement, self-esteem, education.
Another thing to bear in mind is how many teens are having relationships now which are only or partially online, and so sometimes this IS the way they are having sex in those relationships: via photos, webcams, phone or cybersex. Again, while I know that these relationships have their own pitfalls, and adults have fears about them, I think we have to be careful about being too hasty to approach them with fear. After all, those kinds of sex don't present any risks of pregnancy or sexually transmitted infections, and may also involve greater communication than in-person sex does and teens report positive experiences with online relationships just lie with in-person ones.
I think we, as adults, often forget that teens today grew up with these tools: they're not new to them. This is the life they know, and a culture that's familiar.
Q: What are the main dangers of "sexting" and how should parents address concerns about that type of behavior?
We would be remiss not to talk about the law, because it's a big issue.
According to the legal definitions of child pornography, a photograph of a nude minor distributed WILL fall under that umbrella, leaving the teen who made it and distributed it and the others who look at it and distribute it open to very serious criminal charges. These recent cases are not the first time teens have been held responsible in this way.
Obviously, that's a huge danger all by itself: child pornography is nothing close to a misdemeanor. Personally, when I have had teens ask me about this or talk about doing this, my own advice is that given the world that we live in -- both due to the legal ramifications, as well as the fact that we know this stuff can come back to haunt a person, especially women, far later in life than one'd expect, I advise against it, and suggest finding other ways, safer ways, less permanent ways, to express sexuality, especially before one is a legal adult.
Another is the fact that many teens aren't so great about respecting privacy or understanding that intimacy is...well, intimate.
In other words, Judy takes these photos and passes them to her boyfriend Joey. Joey thinks they are so hot and gets such an esteem-rush from Judy doing this for him that he sends them over to his friend, who thinks Judy is actually a big freak or a slut (or whatever a person's sexual pejorative term of choice is) and so sends it to a handful of people. Then the train has left the station and those photos can wind up in everyone's hands very fast.
Too, the velocity of young adult relationship is such that be it with this or any other kind of sex or intimacy, some teens wind up exposing a whole lot very soon, well before they've established if the person they are doing it for or with is trustworthy. Teen relationships also tend to start fast and end fast, so photos given to a partner can quickly belong to an ex, and many of teens don't exactly handle breakups well: some may use old nude photos to retaliate.
So, there is certainly a lot of room for serious betrayal or embarrassment, and something that felt good and liberating when done could really quickly turn into something that leaves the person who did it feeling very bad about themselves or their sexuality.
My advice to parents is pretty much the same no matter what kind of sexual behavior with teens we're talking about: ask questions, try and do so without issuing judgment, and just freaking listen. A parent can ask a teen, for instance, why this is something they're doing, and how they feel it benefits them. They can address the serious legal implications as well as the possible social issues to be sure a teen knows what the real deal is, and even make suggestions as to less risky ways to express sexuality or share intimacy with a partner. A parent can express their concerns and set limits and boundaries without going to a place that's about shaming sexuality or sexual expression, but rather, about helping a teen to make choices that don't derail their lives or put them at serious risk.
Parents might also do well to remember what ways they and/or their friends may have publicly or privately expressed their sexuality.
Q: Is there any difference in the way this behavior potentially impacts girls as opposed to boys?
I'd say so, simply because we still live in a sexist world, and a lot of the archaic double-standards about sex and women still have yet to go away. A girl who does this stuff is still likely to be presented by many as a slut, a boy, a stud, and I'd say you're less likely to see guys doing this in the first place. So far, far more girls are sexting than guys. When we do hear from teens about this who are engaging in this (which is rare), it seems it's much more often women than men, and much more often something women do for men than women do for female partners. I also more often hear young women expressing that this is asked for by male partners than I hear things the other way around.
Suffice it to say, there are more inherent dangers in a young woman appearing to be sexually available or sexual than there are for young men, both interpersonally and socially. The idea that a young woman is putting herself out there sexually -- especially for mass consumption, even if that wasn't her intent -- hasn't stopped carrying any of the same weight or heavy judgment than it has had in the past. If only.
We still are not in the historical or cultural place where a woman can fully express her sexuality for herself, by herself, whatever that may look like, and have that be supported, as supported as it is for men.
Want more from the cutting room floor? Check out The Cutting Room Floor: Masculinity, Gender and Orientation.
Australians let us all rejoice,
For we are young and free.
Not a bad way to start a national anthem, if you ask me. Australians have a long list of reasons to rejoice, when you think about it. Lately though, being young and free hasn't been one of the items on that list. Oh sure, Australia's a first-world democracy, quite wealthy with lovely things like a good education system and mostly public health care. So what am I on about, you might ask, when I say young and free isn't a fitting description?
This may be a bit of a strange question, but my attempts at researching this question have yielded very few results. I'm 16 years old, and the other day, I went into a gas station near my home in Michigan to buy some condoms. I'm on the Pill, but I use condoms every time with my boyfriend due to my paranoia of pregnancy. When I brought the condoms to the counter, the woman behind it informed me that there is a law that forbids the selling of condoms to those under 18. This didn't really sound plausible to me, considering that the age of consent in Michigan is 16 and it would be rather counterproductive to ban condoms for 2 years, however, the woman vehemently refused to sell them to me. Is there any sort of law (in Michigan or a national law) that forbids stores from selling condoms (or pregnancy tests, etc.) to minors?
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