Aziz Ansari: why date pressure is real and dangerous

Oh Aziz. I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed.

Wait – hold up. I’m furious.

This subtle tale of gender power dynamics has been an interesting challenge to those who struggle with getting their head around ‘sexual abuse: the basics’. The #Metoo campaign started by outing a version of sexual violence that most of the public can accept and, to a degree, sympathise with, ie ‘straightforward’ rape.

Ugly, unsympathetic man + power + woman who says no + penetrative sex.

Minimal need for victim blaming there (although, of course, there are always some helpful comments from Men Who Know Best). Next it became a ‘witch hunt’ – as if the National Lottery giant finger could be poking its way through any innocent man’s curtains to proclaim ‘It’s You’.

Then there was Louis CK and the waters got even murkier. He was less hateable than Harvey Weinstein (not a difficult challenge) and this was the type of assault that people find harder to compute, ie non-penetrative sex. [Why do women ‘let it happen’? Why don’t they run screaming? Why don’t they come forward immediately? When does flirting become sexual violence? - Just imagine these questions posed as badly spelled statements, all in caps, and feel free to pepper with the phrases ‘I suppose we can’t even talk to women now’ and ‘#notallmen’.]

This is why there’s an issue with Aziz Ansari. We’ve gone straight from talking ‘textbook’ rape, to scratching the surface of the power imbalances in our society. It’s like going to a sewing for beginners course and being asked to replicate the Bayeux tapestry on night one. In the dark. With your toes. But for what it’s worth, here’s my take on the event, and the subsequent coverage and comments.

As I’m sure you know, the event involved Aziz and a woman called Grace, who recently came out on feminist website Babe to say she had sex with the comedian but under duress. She states he ignored ‘non-verbal cues’ and that it was one of the worst nights of her life, leaving her crying on the way home.

Personally, I believe there are two ways of looking at the story (well, three, but I’m ignoring the victim blaming option):

One – she was assaulted by him deliberately, as he consciously chose to ignore the fact that she wasn’t enjoying herself.

Two – she was assaulted by him without him being aware of it, because of the screwed-up culture we live in, where men (and women) are told that sex is a power game, designed to be ‘won’ when a man wears down a woman’s resistance.

This last point is summarised brilliantly on Twitter by @Rrrrnessa:

She goes on to say:

This isn’t new. Men have been raised to believe that they can break women down into having sex with them. They can get us drunk enough. They can plead and guilt us into it. They can chase us and exhaust us until we do what they want. It’s in almost every romantic movie ever.

And she has a point. When I’ve spoken to my friends about dating we all have a story that involves feeling pressured, and not wanting to spoil a nice evening or a happy memory by making a big deal of our discomfort. Between us we’ve agreed to agonisingly long nights out, sent naked photos we’ve regretted, been kissed by those we’d rather refuse and had sex to be polite (even when so drunk we’re passing out). I’m not saying that this is necessarily abuse (although the last example most certainly IS) and that there wasn’t consent of some form or another, but what I am saying is that dating is – and always was – a man’s game. It’s all about the thrill of the chase, and this is a message that’s reinforced time and time again, through films, books, ‘locker room banter’ of both presidential and non-presidential standards, and just about every other medium. Girls are told, from their first formative sexual experiences onwards, that it’s easier to be nice than happy.

Of course, there is a spectrum of sexual violence, and the Ansari case is a much trickier arena than the ‘classic’ rape. I can see why men may feel edgy at the idea that they might be subconsciously abusing their inherent power over women –  but that’s a good thing. This must be one of the first times women have been able to talk about this properly – the Ansari story means that we have space in the media to start sharing these stories, that have as much right to be heard as rape stories. (That’s why it’s SO frustrating when this opportunity is wasted by journalists who use their voice for victim blaming instead of opening out a conversation).

Men should question themselves and, more importantly, the women they date about what is enjoyable and what isn’t; to learn to drop it if she seems reluctant; to learn that a hug and a conversation isn’t a consolation prize. That sex is not their god given right.

I’ve wondered at times if I ought to feel sorry for men – if it really is as tricky as some of them make out to toe the line between romance and abuse. If they all need to go back through their dating histories and question every movement and comment for signs of subconscious dominance. But then I’ve spoken to some of the good men in my life – my fiancé, my male friends – and realised of course it isn’t. If you’re a decent bloke and the woman you’re with seems not as into something as you are, it’s a concern. A turn off. It’s patronising to suggest that men can’t read signals, or tell when a woman is enjoying sex as much as they are. And if, quite honestly you’re worried that you can’t tell the difference between rape and not-rape, then maybe you shouldn’t be dating at all.

So what’s to be done about men who unconsciously behave like this? Should they be held accountable by law in the same way as those who deliberately abuse their power? I honestly don’t know, but the answer certainly isn’t belittling their victims. The more we listen to those hurt, upset and violated, the more we can improve as a society.

The thing that has upset me the most this week isn’t actually the same-old, same-old comments that inevitably mushroom around these stories, but the think piece in the New York Times, in which Grace’s comment: ‘You ignored clear nonverbal clues’ is interpreted as ‘I am angry that you weren’t able to read my mind.’ Woah, that’s a hell of a mistranslation there. Non-verbal cues can be anything from a kick in the balls to a flood of tears; the appearance of bleeding stigmata to a chicken impression – many of which you might consider mood killers. Being serious though, if someone is pulling away, seems hesitant, goes silent or very still, you should be able to stop having sex with them and ask: ‘hey, are you ok? Do you like this? Do you want me to stop?’ Whether or not you’ve written an acclaimed book about the subtle rules of modern dating.

The journalist, Bari Weiss, also claims that Grace’s story is the ‘worst thing to happen to the #Metoo movement since it started’. Urm, note to Bari, the ENTIRE CONCEPT behind #Metoo is that it’s inclusive – it’s opening up a difficult topic to ALL women (and of course men) who have had ANY experience of sexual harassment or violence. It’s about hearing all voices, and a sense of solidarity. It’s not a freaking competition about who gets the most rape points and who has to sit out on the sexual violence bench. I actually think Weiss’ article might be the worst thing to happen to the movement, because it proves exactly what all survivors are afraid of – that you won’t be believed. And worse, you’ll be blamed. Something awful and life-changing happened to you, and somehow you wanted it. In this case, Grace is held responsible for bringing down a worldwide movement that incorporates millions of women and men. That’s some next level victim blaming.

I know that there’s always a stampede for a ‘hot take’ on a story and the NYT was never going to lead with a story about how victims need support, full stop, but this is someone’s actual, real life that’s being pawed over and judged. She’s just a woman who – like so many of us – has been on a date that made her uncomfortable, pressured and sad. Irresponsible journalism around rape stories is a bigger topic for another post, but believe me, (mast)heads will roll.

Of course, this story is massively complicated (and feels like such a blow) because he is a self-styled feminist – a champion of the under-represented and repressed. Ick.

It’s tough when your heroes are ‘outed’ as abusers – definitely ripe for another article – but that isn’t the fault of their victims. In fact, in answer to ‘why does it take women so long to come forward?’ one significant factor in these high-profile cases is exactly that – fear about what legions of fans will think, say or do. Let alone what the ‘hot take’ media will write.

You might disagree with me entirely and that’s of course absolutely fine. But I would ask you to consider Grace herself (and any survivors who are brave enough to speak out). Tread carefully when you question survivors, especially in the public eye. You never know how many women who have been abused are reading your comments and piling guilt and shame on themselves. Your five second thoughts might have a direct bearing on a woman who’s considering speaking out.

I am delighted that Grace felt able to come forward about a very specific type of abuse that is even more common than rape (which is in itself horrifyingly universal). I’m also pleased that more and more people are becoming aware of the scale of the gender power balance problem and how it affects dating, but trying to convince those who still feel that the Weinstein survivors might just have overreacted is a tall order.

That’s not to say we shouldn’t try to explain our experiences of dating and power, but just that we have to develop even thicker skins when dealing with comments and also, sadly, expect to have to educate even some of the most ‘woke’ people in our lives. I know it shouldn’t hurt, but seeing smart women bashing sexual abuse victims bothers me even more than the male ones. If there was ever a time to hear each other out, and at least try to support one another, it’s now.

• As always, if you need someone to talk to about sexual violence, you can contact Rape Crisis England and Wales