On the inherent misogyny and racism in heterosexual internet porn consumption
One of the most interesting conversations I come across in academic circles is the thin line between the erotic and the pornographic. Whether we’re talking about Audre Lorde’s seminal essay “Uses of the Erotic” or we’re analyzing the often over-looked pear-tree/masturbation scene in Zora Neale Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God or the scandalous and somewhat explicit carriage sex scene in Flaubert’s Madame Bovary, the relationship between the explicit utilization of human sexuality for artistic expression and the commodification of the human body for sexual exploration lies on the frontier of a greater conversation of the relationship between consumers and the worlds which their texts seek to reproduce. Issues of sex, having become only in the 20th century somewhat normalized to the point of being even considered for discussion in academic circles, still remain somewhat relegated to intellectual niches because of the ways we are socialized to shrink from such conversations. We talk vividly about our sexual encounters with one another in private, but in the professionalized space of the seminar room, conversations on the implications of sexuality and sexual expression are often considered inappropriate.
Yet, there is so much to be discussed in this area, in particular in the area of media and cultural studies. Through the globalizing media of television, film and the Internet, sexuality is becoming more and more a part of our everyday lives, our happenstance conversations in passing, the ways by which we judge our character and self-worth as individuals. We are becoming increasingly cognizant of the impacts of sexual violence and harassment, are having more and more conversations on the implications of sexual advances on those who do not or cannot offer their consent, and are all around growing towards dispelling a general theme at the heart of the heterosexual experience – the male domination of women.
alterity [n.] the state of being “other” within a collective imagination.
I didn’t realize I was other until I got to high school, and even then, the otherness I experienced was somewhat unorthodox. Blackness, as it is often constructed within the homogenizing gaze of whiteness, is synonymous with poverty. The black experience, as we see it on television, is the experience of rags-to-riches drug dealers, elite athletes from Compton and exceptional intellectuals cradled by violence. These are not fallacies – these are archetypes which exist, which are real and hold legitimacy, but they are also the authentic images. These are the images which are believed to be the truth of Blackness – Blackness as poverty, Blackness as economic dilapidation. Authenticity is a strange phenomenon, for no one really gets to say what is and is not authentic. Yet still, there seems to be this notion that one image – that of the Wire, for example – is real, while other images – those of the Cosby Show or Blackish – are not. Within this framework, I became aware of the fact that I was not as I appeared. I was exceptional because I hailed from a two-parent household in a suburban upper-middle class neighborhood in New Jersey. I carried with me throughout high school a bitterness which I could not describe or understand, for in that bitterness was a constant sense of conflict whose roots lie in my own ambivalence, in my own irreconcilability.
It wasn’t until I got to college when I realized that the metrics used to determine what Blackness is and should be are entirely hegemonic, entirely constructed and entirely dangerous. It was also in college – perhaps the furthest away I was from everyday contact with working-class Blacks, to be quite honest – that I realized that the perception of the Black experience was not a racist presumption with stereotypes, although the American imagination is often riddled with false and base interpretations of the realities of the subaltern. Millions of Black people lived in poverty, a reality I did not experience until I got to college, a reality I did not have to experience because it was so removed. But I have talked about this already, and talking about it more is only stroking a patchy beard.
The source of otherness comes from an established understanding of normality in the public imagination. The phrase “imagination” is important here, for we are all part of a collective imagination through which ideas and images are constructed, encoded, decoded and deconstructed as a community effort. This effort transcends race, gender, ethnicity and religion. We all play our part in the collective imagination of the United States, whether we consider ourselves Americans or not.