March 27, 2019 |
Aussie Academics Offer New Definition of âPornographyâ Rooted in Consent |
When I first saw the title of a recent post on TheConversation.com co-authored by Australian academics Sarah Ashton and Maggie Kirkman, only part of the workâs title displayed on the news aggregator which linked off to it: âWe need a new definition of pornography.â Ugh, I thought to myself, here we go, again. As I read the post â the full title of which is âWe need a new definition of pornography – with consent at the centreâ â shaking my head with mild, anticipatory irritation quickly transformed into nodding it in full agreement. The crux of Ashton and Kirkmanâs argument in favor of a new definition of pornography is that for far too long, people have been using the words âpornographyâ and âpornâ in connection with things which arenât a form of entertainment, but a form of crime. ââRevenge pornâ is the distribution or publication on a website of sexual material without the consent of the person depicted,â the authors note. This usually follows the ending of an intimate relationship. The vengeful person publicises the images that were assumed by the subject or sender to be confidential.â A few paragraphs later in the piece, the authors address child pornography in similar fashion. âWhen an adult produces or distributes a sexual image of a child, itâs usually called âchild pornâ and is a criminal offence because (among other reasons) children cannot legally give consent. Once images have been shared, they have a perpetual life on the net, maintaining the victimâs experience of abuse. As with revenge porn, there is potential for endless damage to the victim.â Ashton and Kirkman declare it âperplexingâ that âthe terms ârevenge pornâ and âchild pornâ tend to be used without differentiating these inherently violent acts from consensual pornography.â âTo describe them this way normalises sexual violence occurring in the digital realm,â they assert. âWords matter. Disregarding consent by describing acts of non-consensual violence as âpornographyâ has the effect of minimising the significance of consent.â Iâm inclined to agree â and Iâd add that thereâs a corollary to the âwords matterâ axiom: Describing things such as nonconsensual distribution of privately produced erotica and images of the sexual abuse of children as forms of âpornographyâ also serves to sustain the many negative stereotypes and stigmas surrounding legitimate adult entertainment. Thereâs plenty of legitimate criticism of adult entertainment and the adult industry to be had, no doubt. But to equate the products our industry with sexually-explicit materials distributed without the consent of any of the people depicted therein, or with images of child sexual abuse, is akin to comparing a commercially-distributed brand of vodka with methamphetamine produced by someone unknown cook in his backyard lab. The former may be bad for you if you consume it irresponsibly, but at least itâs made in accordance with laws and industry standards. The latter isn’t just patently illegal, it’s also made from God-knows-what. So, what do Ashton and Kirkman propose as the new definition of âpornographyâ? âMaterial deemed sexual, given the context, that has the primary intention of sexually arousing the consumer and is produced and distributed with the consent of all persons involved.â I canât speak for all my peers in the adult industry, or the viewers for whom we produce content, but that definition certainly works for me. It could be expanded upon, sure, by specifying that consent of the persons involved should include their consent to every individual sex act depicted, but I suppose that would fall under the general heading of âproducedâ in the suggested definition. In any event, itâs a definition thatâs a far cry better than âI know it when I see it.â Dictionary stock image by doctor-a |