Good Freaking Grief, no means no, yes means no! The Other McCain explains
Jordan Bosiljevac is a deeply confused sophomore at Claremont McKenna College (annual tuition $47,395) and, like every other college girl, she’s got an opinion about rape culture:
Why Yes Can Mean No
It started with “consent is sexy.” But, of course, there was no point in that—it was like saying rape is just bad sex, instead of a felony. Then there was “consent is mandatory.” It was much better, reminding us that sex is consensual, and everything else is rape. But then there was me, after a party, in a man’s dorm room. And there was “is this ok?” If we are being legal about this, I said ‘yes’ — no coercion, no imminent threat of violence, no inebriation (well, not a lot, anyway). But what I want to talk about is what happened before I said yes, who taught me to say yes, why I thought it was better to say yes, and why I really meant ‘no.’ . . .
(Pause, dear reader, to imagine yourself in the position of the male Claremont McKenna College student who is the other half of this story. You hooked up with Jordan Bosiljevac after a party, and now she’s going to tell everyone who reads the student newspaper why, in fact, she really didn’t want to hook up with you.)
Depending on who you are, it might sound ridiculous: why would anyone ever say yes when they meant no? Honesty is important to any relationship — sexual or otherwise. Besides, the legal definition of rape in the State of California states “rape is an act of sexual intercourse when a person is incapable of” . . .
Honestly, there’s a lot more to it than that for me. At five, relatives used to kiss my cheeks even as I winced and turned away. At the tender age of twelve, I was taught that my bra straps and thighs deserved detention because they distracted boys at school. At sixteen, my boyfriend assured me that most girls liked this — I just needed to relax. So at 20, in someone’s room after a party, ‘no’ was scary and unfamiliar to me. These incidents, unfortunately, are not unique to me. In discussing this experience with friends, we coined the term “raped by rape culture” to describe what it was like to say yes, coerced by the culture that had raised us and the systems of power that worked on us, and to still want ‘no.’ Sometimes, for me, there was obligation from already having gone back to someone’s room, not wanting to ruin a good friendship, loneliness, worry that no one else would ever be interested, a fear that if I did say no, they might not stop, the influence of alcohol, and an understanding that hookups are “supposed” to be fun.
She was “coerced by the culture” and oppressed by “the systems of power,” you see. That dude she hooked up with after the party might have thought she was consenting to have sex with him when, in fact, he was “culture” and raped her. Or something like that.
And please go read it all, but consider what Jordan Bosiljevac thinks of “consent”
For me, and many others like me, consent isn’t easy. Yes doesn’t always mean yes, and we misplaced ‘no’ several years ago. This experience isn’t random, but disproportionately affects oppressed communities. Consent is a privilege, and it was built for wealthy, heterosexual, cis, white, western, able-bodied masculinity. . . .
When you’re poor, disabled, queer, non-white, trans, or feminine, ‘no’ isn’t for you. . . . for me, finding ‘no’ is a process, consent is elusive, and sometimes, even when people don’t mean to — they hurt me.
Like I said CRAZY!