There Exists No Polarity — A Commentary on Aziz Ansari, Consent, and Power.
The very first time I read Katie Way’s piece on Babe regarding Grace and her “date” with Ansari was nearly 6 hours after it was published, with minimal news coverage and no statement from Ansari or his team. To me, it seemed like one of the most common accounts of a man not understanding how consent works. The only difference between most common accounts of the same and this particular incident is Ansari’s “woke” nature and his “support” for the Time’s Up movement, which leads me to believe he isn’t as “woke” as we’d all like to hope.
To summarise Babe’s article, Grace, a Brooklyn-based photographer, met with Ansari at the 2017 Emmy’s where they bonded over their similar camera models. They flirted over text for a few days post which they went on a date that began at a restaurant and ended with Grace leaving his apartment in tears due to Ansari’s repeated ignorance or unawareness towards her negative verbal and non-verbal reactions to a large part of their sexual encounter, as well as a certain amount of entitlement and power that he exhibited through his words and insistent actions.
The cardinal problem in this incident isn’t Grace’s surreally relatable account of it, or Way’s objective reporting of the incident itself, and nor is it the calm and cordial way in which Grace texted him the next day. The cardinal problem is the lack of understanding Ansari shows about how consent and decency works, as well as the reaction people have to this incident and the idea of consent being revokable.
Aziz Ansari, in this entire encounter, comes across as entitled and purposefully ignorant — after being told that she didn’t “want to feel forced”, he still “instructs” her to go down on him without even saying a word or asking a question. Even after an explicit “no, […] I really don’t think I’m going to do this”, he moves back towards initiating some sort of sexual contact. The facts are clear — he doesn’t understand what ‘no’ means. His ignorance towards her non-verbal or less explicit cues feels deliberate; she turns away from him multiple times, says she wants to take things slow, keeps moving away from him, and doesn’t even sit next to him on the couch. His entitlement reeks through when he remarks that she “doesn’t look like [she] hates [him].”
However, let’s assume Ansari is truly as well-intentioned as he claims he is. In response to Grace’s text, he admits that he “misread things in the moment” and would never intend for anyone to feel the way she did. His apology, unfortunately, contradicts himself when he claims that the sexual activity “by all indications was completely consensual.” His definition of consensual seems heavily one-sided, and his ability to misread indications clearly moves towards him not understanding how consent works. And neither do the people defending him.
Bari Weiss’ piece in The New York Times criticising the backlash Ansari received as a result of Babe’s piece hitting the news is scathing — however, it isn’t directed towards Ansari, but to his victim. She claims in her headline that Ansari is guilty of not being a mind reader — it does not take a mind reader to comprehend the meaning of a ‘no’ (which, in her piece, she mentions and then leaves out his advances post the declaration), nor does it take a mind reader to understand that when someone is moving away from you, they do not appreciate the advances you are making. A man who claims to be a feminist should understand the nuances of sex and consent, which are a part of the battle for equality — it is not a simple polarity wherein you either believe in the equality of men and women, or you don’t. Reducing this explicit narration of a sexual encounter where a man repeatedly tried to have sex with a woman who says she’d like to take it slow, that she doesn’t want to feel forced, and then directly says ‘no’ to “bad sex” is a gross misrepresentation of what happened, but also precisely the embodiment of the internalised misogyny Weiss claims may be insisted upon her because of her opinion. There is a large difference between discomfort caused by “bad sex” and discomfort caused by the lack of clear and vocal consent — this incident was clearly the latter.
This was not just an account of “bad sex” or a “lousy romantic encounter.” This was not the criminalisation of “awkward, gross and entitled sex.” This was assault by a man who did not understand the boundaries of the woman he was with, who also incidentally happened to look up to him. This incident is just as important as all of the incidences brought up through the #metoo movement because it also highlights the possibility that men who consider themselves to be feminists, who stand against sexual harassment and assault, also may not understand the dynamics of consent and power.
In this situation, the power Ansari held over Grace wasn’t professional, but it was certainly present. Through Grace’s recount of their first interaction at the Emmy’s, it’s obvious that she seems interested. She’s “excited” for their date, and they discuss “NYU, comedy, and a new, secret project.” The power he held over her was slightly more abstract — a young woman is in the apartment of a man who has the same interests as her, is influential and notable in his field, and is someone she looks up to. In such a case, as seen in the past with numerous accusations, it’s difficult to immediately refuse anything for the fear of setting a bad precedent for the date, or it ending on a sour note, or Ansari simply disliking her by the end of it. Additionally, Grace was attracted to him — it just so happened that she did not want to move as quickly sexually as Ansari did, and her discomfort is caused by that and the lack of respect he seemed to have for her responses.
In a situation such as this, it is easy for this accusation to be written off as a shitty date. Still, just the fact that Ansari acknowledges that “it’s only fun if we’re both having fun” and then goes on to continue making advances and “instructions” means that there was some element of entitlement to Grace’s consent and body that he held. The pressure she feels is the pressure of doing something just for the sake of getting over with it, as well the expectations that someone she respects (professionally and personally) holds for her.
Consent, just like feminism, does not have poles. A ‘yes’ at the beginning of the date is not set in concrete — it is revocable at any and all points. Absolute consent can be reduced to partial consent at any point. Consent to certain activities is not consent to all activities — and if someone constantly moves away from you at certain points, tells you they don’t want to feel forced after a certain incident, and says they want to take it slow right at the beginning, it forms an admittedly hazy image of the extent of their consent. However, that is not an invitation to test boundaries. It is not an invitation for persuasion or coercion. It is an indication that there’s some miscommunication about boundaries, and it must be cleared up without stepping on anybody’s comfort.
Aziz Ansari is not alone in not recognising this spectrum of consent — many men who want to be feminists may also hold the same misconceptions as him. But that in no way reduces the importance of such an incident being put out into the public sphere for awareness and scrutiny. If anything, it is one of the most important revelations that has come out of our collective fight against sexual misconduct, assault, and harassment — the men who proudly proclaim themselves as feminists also cross boundaries. Does that make them hypocritical? Yes. Does it make them ignorant? Yes. Does this equate them to those who unabashedly ignore the gender inequalities that exist within all spheres of society? No. Which is why while it would be unjust to hold Ansari at the same level as most abusers who have been exposed through the #metoo movement, it does not mean he cannot be held accountable for his actions, as well as for his partial ignorance.
