Closets and Such

So, as part of their violence against women prevention/awareness week my college showed The Price of Pleasure a couple weeks ago.  The presentation was put on by the Women's Studies Advisory Committee, which is essentially code for my advisor who runs the Women's Studies program (I am a math major now, but I used to be a women's studies major and I did not change advisors).  There was a brief discussion (about 45 minutes to an hour) following the film.  I went into it expecting to be at least slightly annoyed, but I wasn't quite prepared for how angry and uncomfortable I became.

The thing is, most of my current social circle is fairly kink-friendly; I generally don't have to deal with any sort of real anti-kink attitudes in real life (online is a different story).  As a result I just wasn't prepared for people's reactions to the content of the film, particularly the more explicitly BDSM imagery.  The film in no way addresses the differences between consensually negotiated BDSM and actual violence/degradation, in fact it tends to conflate the two.  Essentially, in addition to being fairly explicitly anti-porn the film has a strong unstated anti-kink message as well.  

So I just sat there watching these people, some of whom I know fairly well and otherwise like, recoil in horror, shaking their heads in disgust as I silently fumed in the corner.  Fundamentally, it wasn't actually the disgust or the horror that really bothered me, I can at least somewhat understand that, it was the obvious sense of moral superiority that accompanied it; the room was filled with an overwhelming sense of distain.  My few attempts at addressing this were either ignored or treated with thinly veiled contempt.

I don't really know what to say about the experience.  It was extremely unpleasant, of course, but that wasn't really the worst part.  I left that discussion feeling ashamed, slightly dirty.  Some part of me really wishes that I had been brave enough to say what I was really thinking.  I wanted to stand up and point out that as wonderful as all their theory was this was my real life they were talking about.  I wanted to scream.  I wanted to tell them that it wasn't porn, it was ideas like theirs that had seeped into my unconscious to warp and poison my sexuality.  I wanted to tell them how hard I had to fight to find myself again.  Most of all I wanted to point out exactly how dangerous their words could be.

But I didn't.  I didn't say much of anything once it became obvious that they wouldn't listen.  I chose self-preservation over truth, and while I know that choice was the right one, I still couldn't help feeling slightly bad about it.