The consent of the governed

An excerpt from Stormy Daniels’ 60 Minutes interview:

Anderson Cooper: You had dinner in the room?

Stormy Daniels: Yes.

Anderson Cooper: What happened next?

Stormy Daniels: I asked him if I could use his restroom and he said, “Yes, you know, it’s through those– through the bedroom, you’ll see it.” So I– I excused myself and I went to the– the restroom. You know, I was in there for a little bit and came out and he was sitting, you know, on the edge of the bed when I walked out, perched.

Anderson Cooper: And when you saw that, what went through your mind?

Stormy Daniels: I realized exactly what I’d gotten myself into. And I was like, “Ugh, here we go.” (LAUGH) And I just felt like maybe– (LAUGH) it was sort of– I had it coming for making a bad decision for going to someone’s room alone and I just heard the voice in my head, “well, you put yourself in a bad situation and bad things happen, so you deserve this.”

Anderson Cooper: And you had sex with him.

Stormy Daniels: Yes.

Anderson Cooper: You were 27, he was 60. Were you physically attracted to him?

Stormy Daniels: No.

Anderson Cooper: Not at all?

Stormy Daniels: No.

Anderson Cooper: Did you want to have sex with him?

Stormy Daniels: No. But I didn’t– I didn’t say no. I’m not a victim, I’m not–

Anderson Cooper: It was entirely consensual.

Stormy Daniels: Oh, yes, yes.

This is reminiscent of the entirely consensual encounter in last fall’s New Yorker story/internet sensation “Cat Person.”

Margot sat on the bed while Robert took off his shirt and unbuckled his pants, pulling them down to his ankles before realizing that he was still wearing his shoes and bending over to untie them. Looking at him like that, so awkwardly bent, his belly thick and soft and covered with hair, Margot recoiled. But the thought of what it would take to stop what she had set in motion was overwhelming; it would require an amount of tact and gentleness that she felt was impossible to summon. It wasn’t that she was scared he would try to force her to do something against her will but that insisting that they stop now, after everything she’d done to push this forward, would make her seem spoiled and capricious, as if she’d ordered something at a restaurant and then, once the food arrived, had changed her mind and sent it back.

These are both “entirely consensual” encounters in the legal sense, and obviously far from entirely consensual in some other important senses.

Similarly, Stephanie Gregory, who grew up kind of poor in Baton Rouge — her parents divorced when she was four, and she described a childhood “in a really bad neighborhood, ” in “an average, lower-income household… there [were] days without electricity” — made the “entirely consensual” choice to become a stripper and then a pornographic film actress, even though she had been editor of the school newspaper and president of the 4-H club at a magnet high school.

In other words, both the sexual encounter with Trump and the career choice that eventually led to it illustrate the type of “consent” that Andrea Dworkin and Catherine Mackinnon deconstructed so powerfully in their critique of pornography as a form of gender oppression.

George Orwell, Homage to Catalonia:

Practically every building of any size had been seized by the workers and was draped with red flags or with the red and black flag of the Anarchists; every wall was scrawled with the hammer and sickle and with the initials of the revolutionary parties; almost every church had been gutted and its images burnt. Churches here and there were being systematically demolished by gangs of workmen. Every shop and café had an inscription saying that it had been collectivized; even the bootblacks had been collectivized and their boxes painted red and black.
Waiters and shop-walkers looked you in the face and treated you as an equal. Servile and even ceremonial forms of speech had temporarily disappeared. Nobody said '_Señor_' or '_Don_' or even '_Usted_'; everyone called everyone else '_Comrade_' and '_Thou_', and said '_Salud!_' instead of '_Buenos días_'. Tipping was forbidden by law since the time of Primo de Rivera; almost my first experience was receiving a lecture from a hotel manager for trying to tip a lift-boy. There were no private motor-cars, they had all been commandeered, and all the trams and taxis and much of the other transport were painted red and black. The revolutionary posters were everywhere, flaming from the walls in clean reds and blues that made the few remaining advertisements look like daubs of mud. . .

Above all, there was a belief in the revolution and the future, a feeling of having suddenly emerged into an era of equality and freedom. Human beings were trying to behave as human beings and not as cogs in the capitalist machine. In the barbers' shops were Anarchist notices (the barbers were mostly Anarchists) solemnly explaining that barbers were no longer slaves. In the streets were coloured posters appealing to prostitutes to stop being prostitutes.