This past week was s-e-x week. GASP!! We pondered the topic of what it meant to be sexually liberated. Initially, I was excited. Surely I could stay awake in our three hour discussion if it were about sex and I did get a kick out of telling my mom that I was going to a sex museum. However, I didn’t really like the museum, or discussing the topic, or watching this really strange one man play we went to go see about a man’s life after he became addicted to porn at the age of eleven. The main character (only character) wore no pants the entire play, was really sweaty the whole time, and about seventy-five percent of the script was made up of offensive pornographic film titles. Most of the girls remarked on how displeased I looked the entire time and even when I did want to smile just for the sake of being a good theater participant, I couldn’t.
No definitions for sexual liberation really suited me that we came up with and I found myself so critical about the topic that I hardly wanted to contribute to group discussion. Personally, I feel like sex is a very private matter. So this week I really felt like the personal became political…and uncomfortably so. It’s not like we were sitting in a circle talking about fantasies and sexual encounters, but when it comes to what sexual liberation looks like mine is completely different from yours. And it’s personal. But it’s political too. SIGH. If this were anything less important I would certainly brush it off. Because sex is so closely linked to health, human rights, and a long spectrum of gender based violence that I am committed to ending, I just can’t give up that easily. But here’s my question. Is there a way to talk about the political without talking about the personal?