Imagining Culturally Competent Consent
India Yasmine Steward
Recently, a flyer for a reggaetón event in my city listed a code of conduct detailing where to park, entry fee, and most importantly: “dont fucking touch anyone without their consent”. While the event planners surely made the statement in good faith, anyone who has gone to a reggaetón, soca, or any Afro-Caribe (short for Afro-Caribbean) function knows that “can I dance with you?” or even “can I touch you here?” is rarely asked. What is more common is a person whines their waist and someone walks up behind them and pushes their crotch onto the other person’s behind. Is this nonconsensual because no one was asked? What are the nonverbal consensual rules Black and Brown folk apply in Afro-Caribe spaces and how do we know when someone has crossed a line?
In order to answer those questions it’s important to know that affirmative consent, when you ask before touching or kissing with someone, entered the mainstream because universities wanted to limit the number of sexual assault cases at their schools. These universities began to include affirmative consent in their freshman orientation in hopes of limiting the amount of sexual assault cases and improving their school’s reputation. Unfortunately,nothing about affirmative consent considers trauma. Many sexual assault survivors are shamed for not saying “no”, as if that would have stopped the attacker in their tracks, nor focuses on healing for survivors. Affirmative consent is of course not all bad, but it does support institutions in their attempts to paint situations and survivors as either angels or devils according to whether or not they explicitly and clearly said “no”.
Furthermore, affirmative consent reinforces the criminal justice system, which fails to prosecute even the most egregious sexual assaults (i.e Brock Turner, the white Stanford student caught in the act of assaulting an unconscious woman but still received no jail time). As Black and Brown radicals, it is our job to think of possibilities for community accountability and care outside of institutions and court rooms. Our work is to make safer and consensual spaces possible for IBPOC of all genders and sexualities.
There are cultural barriers to affirmative consent as well. Black folk across the Americas, in the United States as well as the Afro-Caribbean, dance with our hips close and embrace our sexuality uninhibited. In other words, affirmative consent can feel rigid, awkward, and…white. Does that mean that Black and Brown people should just throw consent out the window? Obviously not, our issue is the lack of discussion around what nonverbal consent and a nonverbal “no” can look like. The Metropolitan Organization to Counter Sexual Assault has created an easy and helpful chart explaining what qualifies as nonverbal consent. While that resource is a great template to build off of, IBPOC consent could be a creolized consent. A creole language is a mix of two languages resulting in the creation of a new and unique way of relating to one another. Creolized consent could include aspects of affirmative consent combined with our own cultural ways of relating to each other. In Kreyol, French is mixed with different African languages that the enslaved Africans spoke before colonization. Decolonizing consent by combining affirmative consent (can I touch you here?) and nonverbal consent may be the way forward.
“Sugar Shack” by Ernie Barnes
There is a painting that hangs in most Black American households called “Sugar Shack” by Ernie Barnes. In this painting, Black folk are shown grinding their hips close in a 70’s juke joint. This piece of art serves as proof that, across the diaspora, even our elders got down and dirty when they danced. It is important to remember that no form of consent is meant to be anti-fun or drive a wedge between us; it’s a way to remain authentically ourselves while respecting each person’s bodily autonomy.
Black sexuality is often stigmatized in dialogues about safe vs. risky sex in sex education. Thus the angel vs. devil binary that many survivors are forced into is unforgivingly brutal to Black women. For instance, the emphasis on pregnancy prevention for Black teenage girls demonizes young Black mothers rather than advocating for free community college in that state or affordable childcare. This culture of sexual shame is virulently anti-Black. Tarana Burke, founder of the #MeToo movement and a survivor herself, has constantly reminded the public about the experiences of Black survivors which were eclipsed by mostly white Hollywood celebrities accounts of sexual assault.
Analyzing consent raises more questions than answers, such as: how has affirmative consent failed Black women in the past and the present? What other common aspects of Afro-Caribe and Black U.S culture are non-consensual (i.e catcalling) and how can we call-in our community members? All of this to say, as radicals we know that the State does not keep us safe. We keep us safe. Nonverbal and affirmative consent should not be reactive conversations instead they must be ongoing so that we can merengue,bachata, and salsa, holding one another close with joy and rhythm, without harm.
