The Feminist Pervert

I've begun leading a class for people in the Kink/BDSM communities lately called The Feminist Pervert. The subject matter and class style varies somewhat depending on the venue, but essentially the goal of the class is to create a space where people in these communities feel empowered to have guilt-free, brass-tacks conversations about sexism, in order to make their community a more welcoming and safe space for people of all gender identities, sexual orientations, and kink identities.

I taught this class a few days ago at Shibaricon. I was so excited to have the opportunity to teach to that group of kinky people because those people are rope people, and rope people are my people. I'm into lots of crazy, perverted stuff, but when it comes down to it, rope is my desert-island toy. So on the last day of the convention, when everyone was exhausted and wanting to sleep in and trying to check out of the hotel in time, imagine my surprise when a few dozen people showed up and looked really happy. It made me happy and gave me a great sense of solidarity to know that all those people were there because we shared a common interest and concern.

I started out with the ususal introductions and asked the class what they hoped to get out of the discussion. Several things were mentioned: safe spaces; listening; how to respond to sexism; the conflict between being a feminist and engaging in consensual BDSM; a few others. For the first time, I set a goal for the class, which was that I wanted to come up with some "best practices" for engaging non-feminists in our community about how to make it feel safer for everyone. And then we started in on the discussion.

One of the first questions was a man asking about paying women compliments. He asked us: Why was this so hard? Why were some women so offended? He found himself confused, he said. And then he went on to say how it seems like women in the BDSM scene who dress in ways that show off their bodily assets, but get upset when complimented, are sending "mixed messages".

Every hackle in the room went up. You could FEEL it happen. Suddenly, in this space that was supposed to be a safe space for women (among other people) - who often have to have their defenses at least at the ready - everyone felt defensive. If I had not been leading the group, I imagine my reaction would have been remarkably similar.

This was a perfect demonstration of something that is a big puzzle to so many of us in the kinky community - how a question asked honestly - a seemingly innocuous one, to the speaker - could make so many people upset. Standing in front of the class, I found myself able to see a larger picture of that moment. That's not something I'm frequently able to do when discussing sexism, because it affects me so profoundly and so personally. I wanted the women in the class to be able to address this, to be sure. I empathized with them in that moment. But I also found that I could feel compassion for the man asking the question. He had chosen to attend this class - he wanted to be a part of finding answers and solutions to this stuff, too. He had chosen, also, to ask this question - which signaled he was open to listening. And although several of the people in the class had expressed that part of the reason they attended this class was to bypass the "Feminism 101" stuff on which this kind of class sometimes dwells, I wanted to take this opportunity to help gain an ally; rather than shutting this man out of our conversation, I wanted him to join it.

So I asked the class to respond how they truly felt. But first I asked them to respond to this man in this room, who was a person just as we all are, and who did not come into the room with the intention of estranging himself, but rather with allying himself to our conversation.

Immediately 25 hands went up. As I was about to call on someone else, one woman seated on the floor to my left said clearly and straightforwardly:

"That made me uncomfortable."

I realized that one sentence was the strongest thing anyone could have said. Because it didn't carry any kind of loaded message - there was no blame in it, no guilt or secondary emotions, just a statement of truth. So often we engage with other people who don't understand where we're coming from in an antagonistic way, and we end up playing offense or defense in a conversation.

Of course we went on to talk about why she and so many other people had felt that way, and that felt good to have created a safe space in which to do that, without fear of being shot down. The man who had asked the question looked distraught, but didn't try to defend what he'd said - he just engaged with the strong women responding to his question by listening, actively and with the intention of learning truthful answers to his question.

And of course the class went on to talk about other issues, and to come up with some "best practices" - or at least, the beginnings of them - in addressing sexism and in having these conversations in our communities. But that one little statement and the way it was said really stuck with me, and it took me a week to realize why. Here's what I think:

While I know (from experience) it's important sometimes just to stand up for ourselves and exercise our strong voices in conversations like this, I realized that it's equally important to let down our defenses and invite the person we're engaging with to see some of what our defenses are guarding us from - the real discomfort and hurt that sexist language and attitudes and culture can create in real people. If we can be strong enough to address someone who has hurt us with compassion and truth, we are inviting them to have compassion for us in return. That's the place where real understanding and new - shared - perspectives can happen. Where we, as individuals, can make choices not to say or do things that alienate or hurt other individuals. Which is just the very thing that both kinky people and feminists are looking for when we gather together.