Do we really have to revisit this?

Yes. As many times as necessary.

Hey, friends. Welcome back. I hope this finds you well.

Before we get going today, I want to point you toward some lists to help folks in L.A., where acres and acres are still burning (hat tip to Anne Helen Peterson, who first posted them in Culture Study), if you are able:

A list of GoFundMes for Displaced Black Families

A list of GoFundMes for Displaced Latine Families, similarly organized

A list of GoFundMes for Displaced Fillipino Familes, similarly organized

A list of GoFundMes for Displaced Musicians

A list of GoFundMes for Displaced Disabled People

It’s also worth remembering that folks are still deep in recovery mode in North Carolina after the devastation following hurricane flooding there earlier this fall. I know it can feel like disaster whack-a-mole these days, but for those affected directly it can also feel like the latest disaster causes everyone to forget yours, long before you can afford to be forgotten.

If you want to support ongoing recovery efforts in North Carolina, Beloved Asheville is at the heart of things and has been for 15 years now.

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I really hope someday we won’t have to revisit the topic of consent endlessly. That everyone, regardless of gender or economic status or any other position in relationship to systems of power, will come to understand that engaging in non-consensual behavior, be it sexual or otherwise, is the textbook definition of NOT OKAY.

We all get to be fallible human beings. Misunderstanding someone’s willingness to participate in a given activity or relationship can happen. Like, once. Then, when you realize or are informed that you’ve made a mistake, potentially done some lasting harm, you apologize (without excuses) and commit to doing better in the future.

If, however, you don’t apologize and commit to doing better in future, instead repeatedly running roughshod over other people’s sovereignty in pursuit of getting your needs met, (not to put too fine a point on it, but…) that makes you an asshole. In the realm of sexual activity, it makes you a predator. You are actively seeking out other people, not to share in a mutually satisfying experience, but to consume them.

Why are we revisiting this topic of consent and predation again now? Because it’s recently come to light that millionaire fantasy author Neil Gaiman is, and has been for some time, using his influence and power as a staging ground for preying on multiple women.

Word was on the street about Gaiman awhile ago following the release of a podcast about his history of predation. But things really exploded earlier this week, after Vulture released a detailed (and surprisingly nuanced, given the themes of BDSM involved) accounting of the experience of some of his victims. Writer Lila Shapiro presented receipts, and it’s a harrowing portrait.

BDSM, for those of you who don’t know, stands for “bondage and discipline, dominance and submission, and sadomasochism.” Kink, in other words.

Gaiman stayed silent after the release of the podcast, but has now come forward to issue a statement denying all the accusations, which is predictable, if disappointing, given his history of calling himself a feminist and champion of women. What really struck me, though, and brings us here today is that in his statement, quoted in a piece by the New York Times (gift link, if you’re interested), he says that his relationships with his accusers were “entirely consensual sexual relationships” and “seemed positive and happy on both sides.”

It’s that word “seemed” that’s crucial here because it indicates a reliance on implicit consent. As I wrote in the above newsletter, “Implicit consent means if you’re breathing and not actively saying no to something, then everything must be okay. Within the context of implicit consent, silence implies consent to continue. This is the variety of consent, assuming we think about sexual consent at all, that most of us utilize in our sexual encounters with other people.”

It’s worth noting that according to accounts, in Gaiman’s case, there was a lot of “actively saying no” which he repeatedly ignored. But that’s where the complications of BDSM come into play. Within a given kink scenario between consenting parties, saying no can be part of the play. But since there’s an understanding about the potential for physical and emotional/psychological harm in that sort of play, kinky folks evolved the idea of enthusiastic consent.

Enthusiastic consent describes “the affirmative, verbal negotiation and agreement that any and all participants have to engage in both before and during play in order to keep everybody safe.” Everyone involved has to be actively communicating throughout, sharing the understanding that at any point any participant, but particularly the submissive one, gets to tap out. Period.

You must be in control of, and able to revoke, your consent at all times for that consent to remain valid.

When there is a vast power imbalance between parties, which predators tend to seek out for their benefit, BDSM or no, and was clearly repeatedly the case in Gaiman’s relationships with women, it’s impossible to guarantee that the party with lesser power is in constant control of their ability to revoke their consent. Even if there’s no imminent threat of violent harm, there can be implicit, or explicit, threat of economic repercussions, loss of safety, or access to belonging.

We also have to understand that the standard of enthusiastic consent extends beyond the bedroom into every aspect of our relationships with other people if we want to practice integrity. On an interpersonal level, for instance, any time we withhold information from others that would change the trajectory of their life and choices then we are engaging in non-consensual behavior.

Publicly, I can’t think of any better recent example than the incoming administration’s insistence that they have a “sweeping mandate” to make vast changes to our political system and federal infrastructure, despite the fact that Donald Trump won less than 50% of the electorate. It’s the political equivalent of “everything seemed positive and happy on both sides”, except, of course, Trump and his cronies know they’re lying.

Gaiman probably does, too. He just doesn’t care about the actual experience of the women he harmed, any more than the incoming administration cares about the 50+% the electorate who didn’t vote for Trump. They’ve worked hard—gerrymandering and billionaire tax cuts, anyone?— to amass power vastly disproportionate to their support so they don’t need enthusiastic consent from the majority of Americans to do what they want. In the immortal words of our Predator-in-Chief, “[W]hen you’re a star, they let you do it. You can do anything.”

Functioning within the restrictions of enthusiastic consent isn’t always easy, no matter the nature of the relationship. It requires tremendous humility and self-knowledge. But it’s absolutely worth the work, personally and politically:

Doing the work has allowed me to build the most amazing, resilient, enfolding community of chosen family that lifts me up even when life is harder than I anticipated. They steady me when I get in my own way and stumble, and when I occasionally go ass-over-tea-kettle into a ditch they climb down in there with me and keep me loving company until I figure out how to climb out.

We are a joyful coalition of powerful, sovereign souls that enthusiastically choose each other over and over again. I wish the same for you. I wish the same for everyone.

Are you pursuing enthusiastic consent in your relationships?

How do you revoke your consent personally or politically?