Consent

When I give public talks about the history of sexual violence, audience members usually ask me about the #MeToo movement and whether things are changing. When I walk into my campus bookstore, I notice glossy book covers that offer scholars’ takes on their encounters with Title IX (Education Amendments of 1972, 20 U.S.C. § 1681 (1976)). I also see my students sitting about the bookstore café and recall their generalized discontent with Title IX processes on our own campus. When I walk a bit farther down the street to the beleaguered indie bookstore that serves my small city, I am faced with parenting books that promise lessons on how to raise “our boys” to be “better men.” As a feminist parent with disposable income, I might grab one of those parenting books, alongside an illustrated one that will speak directly to my toddler about respect and/or bodies and/or being “a boy who dares to be different.” On my drive home, I catch a news story about how teenagers watch a ton of porn. When I settle in for the night, various streaming services pitch shows that fictionalize the very real sexual predation of media men, doctors, coaches, and frat boys. I opt out, going straight to bed. I consider reading my new parenting book, but I’m exhausted, so instead, I pick up a novel; I’m disappointed when I stumble into a scene in which a middle-aged white cis-het guy finds himself naked in a hot tub with a teenager and wonders if it’s appropriate. At this moment in the United States, I can’t go anywhere without encountering consent.