Four days ago, on the International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women, I said nothing. After all, as an ardent feminist, I wholeheartedly support any initiative that is aimed at empowering women and eradicating gender inequality.
More than anything, my backbone had been derailed by the admonishing attitudes of fellow male survivors who saw speaking out and making claims such as, "Men can be victims of violence, too," as out of place and undermining the extent to which their female counterparts faced violence on a global and systematic scale.
But with the 16 Days of Activism Against Gender Violence underway, I thought it was imperative to discuss the dangers in using a gender essentialist approach to orchestrating attempts at curtailing the incidence of rape and sexual violence.
For starters, these negative reactions to male survivors serve a silencing function that has several consequences. In addition to reinforcing self-blame in the survivor, it also leads male survivors to question whether future disclosures will be effective. Furthermore, it reinforces the uncertainty about whether their experiences qualify as rape-an issue that is compounded by the fact that it wasn't until 2012 when the federal definition of rape stopped excluding anatomically male bodies from the statistical reporting of rape nationwide.
Most importantly, this model of sexual violence portrays female survivors as constituents in a societal imbalance of power that subjugates female body autonomy-which is, indisputably, usually the case. However, this same model portrays male survivors as isolated victims of sick and twisted perpetrators, extricated of political context, as far beyond the scope of our comprehension as lightning striking twice in the same spot.
The implications are such that when male survivors encounter dissent to voicing their experiences in spaces that have been traditionally designed for women, and they are offered no alternative space, patriarchy is allowed to perpetuate and safe-guard the injustices that all bodies, regardless of gender, experience on a structural and systematic basis.
Because patriarchy hurts everyone.
Furthermore, by emphasizing gender socialization as the primary determinant of violence, we are allowed to ignore concomitant factors such as socioeconomic status and race. For example, native American women are more likely to be assaulted than their white counterparts, as rape has historically been used as an agent of colonial domination.
Surely, we need to have much more sharply nuanced conversations about rape. As one internet author (Jos) puts it,
"Rape is absolutely a gendered crime. This is true of how it plays out in the real world, and of our concept of rape – both the act and idea of rape are used to perpetuate a patriarchal gender hierarchy. Violence in general is function and gendered, as Eesha Pandit made clear in her powerful theory of violence. We know sexual violence is overwhelmingly perpetrated by men against women. But we don’t actually know how strong the gender disparity is largely because of how gendered our concept of rape is...Because our idea of sexual violence is gendered in such an essentialist way, we don’t actually have a broad picture of the gendered ways these crimes play out in the real world (feministing.com)"
Absolutely. My intention as a trans* identified male survivor of gender based violence is not to steal the show, but rather, to remind others that the world and its stage-and all of the players in it-are both potential aggressors and victims, regardless of gender.
All too often, the very mention of rape reinforces the dreaded gender binary.
I feel that the binary pits my unique gender framework against me. I am disregarded and denied access to the representation that I so badly need on two fronts: my designation as male, and my designation as a trans* male. Both play pivotal roles in shaping my experiences with gender based violence.
Rarely is this intersection of identities considered in discussions of gender based violence. As someone who is readily perceived as a cisgender male, I receive little to no support for my extensive history of emotional, physical, and sexual trauma that has accumulated both as a product of my own lived experiences, as well as those of people who are close to me. It is extraordinarily difficult to find resources that are dedicated to men, or that serve men at all. To put things into perspective, the psychotherapy groups at Rutgers that serve survivors of sexual abuse are female exclusive. Consequently, male identified people with raging cases of PTSD are left to fend for themselves.
Additionally, the fact that I am, quite specifically, a trans* identified man means that I am going to disproportionately experience and be impacted by violence in my immediate community. This violence, intensely personal, visceral, and sexually charged, has been inflicted against me, as well as those close to me, in the form of rape, beatings, harassment, and verbal assault. As a male identified person, I lack access to the support groups and services that would allow me to cope effectively with such traumas. Keep in mind that the eating disorder awareness and advocacy movement, a force that shapes the additional care we might need in the aftermath of sexual trauma, is geared towards cisgender women as well.
However, I am still capable of being denied my male privilege, even during my most vulnerable moments. I'll never forget the outrage that I felt when I was kicked out of an online support group for male survivors of sexual violence after I had divulged my trans* identity.
As a trans* individual, I am subjected to a very specific form of rape culture, as prevalent attitudes and practices condone, excuse, and normalize the invasion and objectification of trans* bodies in everyday conversation. We are seen as something to be examined, critiqued, or deemed valid or invalid by a cis person's decision. Our bodies are appraised, regarded as public domain, and viewed in terms of secondary sex characteristics. The subjugation of our bodies is amplified by the fact that psycho-medical community is literally the gatekeeper of our care. They own our bodies. We are at their mercy.
This mercy is implicated in a unique situation that is often faced by transgender survivors of sexual trauma; we fear that disclosing this abuse to our therapists will lead them to rescind their services as they pertain to our transition related care, as a history of sexual abuse can be used by mental health professionals in order to rationalize our "non-normative" gender identities.
And finally, as a trans* man, I have been actively harmed by misogyny, some of which has certainly constituted abuse. Yet in feminist spaces, I feel as though my male privilege does not entitle me to speak about this deep history, even though it is indeed vital to my voice and life experiences. I always fear that I will be usurping more "authentic" female voices, even while that same female-assignedness and socialization is used to invalidate my gender identity and to strip me of my humanity, never mind my experiences of oppression.
This is the effect of a binaried representation of rape, one that broadly portrays (cisgendered) women as victims and (cisgendered) men as perpetrators. First, the binary strips anyone who doesn't fit this model of their personhood. Then, it strips us of our intimate and deeply personal relationship with violence, sometimes by using that same damning status against us. Being trans* taught me to feel powerless, and being male taught me that I am supposed to be inherently gratification-oriented. It's why I just sat there like a stone castle and said nothing while my female friend persistently stroked my inner thigh in jest even though it made my face break out in a heat of humiliation and triggered my flashbacks of rape.
The point is that while radical feminists and men's rights groups put forth these bellicose circus acts in which they reject the suffering of the other in an effort to promote their own visibility, everyone is hurt. Women are demonized, discredited, knocked off of their pedestals, and accused of false rape allegations. Men are still deprived of resources and support. The most marginalized members in both camps-and that includes individuals who do not fall into either-such as queer people, non-binary individuals, and people of color, fail to be addressed at all.
I will conclude by inserting a quote from the same internet author as before:
"Rape is absolutely a gendered crime, but the act of rape itself doesn’t necessarily follow those rules. We need to be able to hold an understanding of rape as a genderless act at the same time that we recognize it as embedded in a gendered culture of violence. No one said feminism was easy (Jos, feministing.com)"
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