Asexuality and phobias
May. 28th, 2011 10:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mystiri_1 posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
asexualityI was taking part in a discussion on facebook's asexual. group page where somebody asked why a man she talked to reacted in such an angry, hostile way to her saying that she was asexual. She didn't understand what he found so threatening about her asexuality. There's also a lot of online wank at the moment regarding whether aces qualify as queer or not. But here's my take on why people may find our sexuality - or lack of it - threatening.
Society pushes sex at you from every angle, and for men, the idea that sexual perfomance is the basis of masculinity. It's very similar, in its way, to traditional homophobia: men who are afraid that the positive feelings they have towards other men somehow threatens their heterosexual orientation even if those feelings aren't sexual in nature, and the lingering idea that homosexual men are somehow emasculated by their sexual practices.
'Real' men are supposed to have sex, and lots of it. It's all a load of bullshit, of course, but stereotypes usually are. Asexuals aren't sexually attracted to them - therefore they are somehow failing, regardless of the fact that it has nothing to do with them personally. Or possibly somebody has had sex with them in the past and failed to enjoy it - again, a threat to their own sexual identity and masculine confidence. Perhaps they don't feel a burning desire to go out and have sex all the time (the way 'real' men should), and it has them worrying that they are suffering from some kind of sexual dysfunction, and you just have to watch one ad for male erectile dysfunction to know how utterly disastrous this is. (Nothing like making you feel bad to get you to buy something.)
For women, it's the idea that our value lies in our attractiveness to the other sex. It doesn't matter how much we 'know' that this is shallow, objectifying and degrading behaviour: we want to be sexually attractive, because society judges us on those merits in the absence of its ability to see others - like intelligence, caring, personality - at a glance.
Feminism has both helped and hindered. We are supposed to be sexually active and enjoying it, these days; it is our right as liberated women. But asexuals don't want this, and some of the old stereotypes creep through - 'frigid', 'spinster', that sort of thing. 'Left on the shelf' is one of my favourites, because it is wonderfully descriptive of the negative connotations of not being in a relationship - nobody wants you. We don't necessarily want to be alone, but if sex is the basis for most modern relationships, then we don't have anything to offer. The idea of other reasons for a relationship - companionship, affection, support - all seem to pale in the absence of sex, because that is what modern society tells us we should want.
Ironically, a lot of this still holds true for non-heterosexual communities. The LGBT community has been fighting for a long time to be recognised, to have the same rights as everybody else. Some of them object to the fact that asexuals have 'passing privilege': we can have hetero-romantic relationships, and therefore are 'straight' - but we're not. We're not sexually attracted to the opposite gender; we're not sexually attracted to the same gender. They can still find us threatening to their own sexual identities just as much as the hetero-normative majority can. And because we're outside their norm, too.
A hetero-romantic asexual has some of the rights that they want - legally recognised marriage, for example - but may or may not choose to exercise them. A hetero-romantic or aromantic asexual will not have to deal with the persecution that comes with being in a relationship with somebody of the same gender. A homo-romantic or bi-romantic asexual still doesn't necessarily want to have sex with someone of the same gender - a state which may impact their own feelings of sexual attractiveness. At the same time, some may feel that it calls into question the long campaign for them to be allowed to have sex with somebody of their own gender without fear of religious, legal or societal persecution.
In the end, it's not that different from any other minority-based phobia or prejudice: it's because we're different. And in being different, we make others worry about how they are different, or what we might take away from them because of our differences.
Society pushes sex at you from every angle, and for men, the idea that sexual perfomance is the basis of masculinity. It's very similar, in its way, to traditional homophobia: men who are afraid that the positive feelings they have towards other men somehow threatens their heterosexual orientation even if those feelings aren't sexual in nature, and the lingering idea that homosexual men are somehow emasculated by their sexual practices.
'Real' men are supposed to have sex, and lots of it. It's all a load of bullshit, of course, but stereotypes usually are. Asexuals aren't sexually attracted to them - therefore they are somehow failing, regardless of the fact that it has nothing to do with them personally. Or possibly somebody has had sex with them in the past and failed to enjoy it - again, a threat to their own sexual identity and masculine confidence. Perhaps they don't feel a burning desire to go out and have sex all the time (the way 'real' men should), and it has them worrying that they are suffering from some kind of sexual dysfunction, and you just have to watch one ad for male erectile dysfunction to know how utterly disastrous this is. (Nothing like making you feel bad to get you to buy something.)
For women, it's the idea that our value lies in our attractiveness to the other sex. It doesn't matter how much we 'know' that this is shallow, objectifying and degrading behaviour: we want to be sexually attractive, because society judges us on those merits in the absence of its ability to see others - like intelligence, caring, personality - at a glance.
Feminism has both helped and hindered. We are supposed to be sexually active and enjoying it, these days; it is our right as liberated women. But asexuals don't want this, and some of the old stereotypes creep through - 'frigid', 'spinster', that sort of thing. 'Left on the shelf' is one of my favourites, because it is wonderfully descriptive of the negative connotations of not being in a relationship - nobody wants you. We don't necessarily want to be alone, but if sex is the basis for most modern relationships, then we don't have anything to offer. The idea of other reasons for a relationship - companionship, affection, support - all seem to pale in the absence of sex, because that is what modern society tells us we should want.
Ironically, a lot of this still holds true for non-heterosexual communities. The LGBT community has been fighting for a long time to be recognised, to have the same rights as everybody else. Some of them object to the fact that asexuals have 'passing privilege': we can have hetero-romantic relationships, and therefore are 'straight' - but we're not. We're not sexually attracted to the opposite gender; we're not sexually attracted to the same gender. They can still find us threatening to their own sexual identities just as much as the hetero-normative majority can. And because we're outside their norm, too.
A hetero-romantic asexual has some of the rights that they want - legally recognised marriage, for example - but may or may not choose to exercise them. A hetero-romantic or aromantic asexual will not have to deal with the persecution that comes with being in a relationship with somebody of the same gender. A homo-romantic or bi-romantic asexual still doesn't necessarily want to have sex with someone of the same gender - a state which may impact their own feelings of sexual attractiveness. At the same time, some may feel that it calls into question the long campaign for them to be allowed to have sex with somebody of their own gender without fear of religious, legal or societal persecution.
In the end, it's not that different from any other minority-based phobia or prejudice: it's because we're different. And in being different, we make others worry about how they are different, or what we might take away from them because of our differences.
no subject
Date: 2011-05-28 10:59 pm (UTC)As I said in the original post, the fact that we don't necessarily face the same persecution as the LGBT community is one of the things that makes them feel we are a threat to their identity - and their cause. The majority of us certainly aren't in danger of being gay-bashed.
We also aren't completely free of the threat of some form of physical violence, but it takes a rather alarming trend. I was quite disturbed to find one person on my FB group did feel that she was threatened with sexual violence due to making her asexuality known (thankfully from someone no longer in her life). There seems to be a recurring theme of sexual harrassment, but this, too, could be considered something that the victims suffered not because they were asexual, but because they were female and uninterested. That says something rather sorry about how far we haven't come in terms of gender equality, because rape-culture is alive and well.
But the Oppression Olympics is every bit as sad and ridiculous a sporting event as it sounds - I'd really rather not compare them. It seems that it always comes down to 'Who is oppressed more?' when it's not the relevant question. The question is 'Who is oppressed and why?' and it should be followed by 'How can we fix this?' It is not a case of who suffers more. The oppression we do suffer from on a regular basis is erasure, the outright denial that we exist, and this comes at us from many different angles, including from some within the LGBT community.
I personally don't claim any great trauma on the basis of my asexuality, just a long period of confusion and occasional low self-esteem. Learning about asexuality resolved a lot of this for me. If I had been aware of it earlier, it might have helped - which is why I think more awareness is needed. Denying our existence does not further this, because you are denying our right to fix things for future generations.
Ironically, the other discussion that was taking place on FB was 'Do you identify as queer or not?' Queer is an appropriated term, one that the LGBT community reclaimed in order to empower themselves. We do fit the dictionary definition, but it is overwhelmingly linked with a community that is defined primarily by their sexuality - and as asexuals, we don't fit that definition. Some ace are just as offended by the idea of being labeled 'queer' as they are by being labeled 'straight', because they feel these are, at the end of the day, sexual labels that therefore do not fit them. Some LGBT groups are very accepting of us, some are not: sadly, it is up to us to discover which are which the hard way. But prejudice can and does exist within minority groups, and the argument that 'I am oppressed therefore I cannot be a bigot' doesn't really hold water.
I was linked to an article from one LBGT group vehemently denouncing another where the writer, identifying himself as LGBT, declared all asexuals to be mentally ill and sexually dysfunctional people who should stop trying to label themselves queer and seek medical help instead. I would identify myself as queer because I do not fit the norm. But I am not going to argue the point with those who disagree, because I don't think they are worth arguing with. What I will argue is that yes, I am asexual, and yes, we do exist - and anybody who does feel threatened by that should ask themselves why.