Shared Perspectives: A Correspondence on Male Victimization

Mickaël : 

Hi Kharoll-Ann,
I think you of all people would know this; it’s in your book, Le privilege de dénoncer—which I very much enjoyed –it’s difficult for people to see themselves as victims, in general, and even more so for men.  It’s even harder to confront the guilty parties, because it requires returning to the past, to violence, sharing our feelings with them, showing them our scars and wounds, evoking our traumas.

That’s often because, as you point out, speaking out comes with a cost. It puts us, strangely enough, in a vulnerable, dangerous position, although victims have every reason to receive support and to have justice on their side.

There’s even something “unnatural” about the men who report abuse. I’m putting that word in quotes because I don’t think there’s really anything natural or unnatural in all of this, but according to societal expectations, men “aren’t supposed to” be sexually assaulted.

According to the traditional western model of masculinity, a man should be “strong” enough to defend himself. A man should be “powerful” enough to reverse such a situation. A man should be “solid” enough to remain unaffected. A man should be sufficiently “independent” to get over it by himself.

This raises many questions for our society.  It creates many problems. The subject becomes particularly taboo. How many victims are there? Difficult to say, as many don’t dare talk about it. Worse, many question whether what they experienced actually constituted a sexual assault. And very often, when one realizes that yes, in fact, one has experienced a sexual assault, there’s the next step of figuring out what one “does” with this experience. Who to speak to about it, and how? Should I file a complaint? How do I “recover” from this experience?

When I think about how some people find the ratio not that high, I wonder: what would the threshold have to be for us, as a society, to consider it a problem? Does this also imply that there is an acceptable rate? It’s perhaps utopian to say to ourselves that one day there will be no more crimes, no more violence at all, but could we aim for zero victims? At least as a matter of principle? Consider each victim to be one too many.

Given that sexual assaults affect everyone, I feel one of the larger issues is to debunk the myth of the rotten apple, this idea that assault, and even the whole problem, is only about individual cases or “monsters.” Because it ends all conversation about our society, whereas this violence is a collective problem. Moreover, as far as I’m concerned, the main problem is the behaviour itself, behaviour that has an impact on everyone and is transmitted like a virus. A virus that wreaks havoc for the victims, who often live with trauma their whole lives. Some victims, unfortunately, never recover. We must remember that violent behaviour is learned, often at home, but also reinforced, and sometimes even normalized by society. We only need to recall how, for a long time, conjugal violence used to be socially and even legally acceptable.

And masculine stereotypes concern all of us, of all genders. Every time someone implies that a man only thinks about sex. Every time someone says, “Be a man,” like an exhortation to suppress all vulnerability, we support this collective image of men who should be able to overcome anything, who don’t need to ask for help, that a “real” man doesn’t suffer; he controls. As members of society, to different degrees, we are all complicit in this problem and responsible for the consequences.

If we keep that image of the rotten apple, well, no one would tolerate an orchard that produced so many rotten apples. The orchard has a problem.

Kharoll-Ann :

Hello Mickaël, these questions you’re asking are excellent. I like what you say about certain behaviours being transmitted like a virus, because indeed, in my view, sexual violence constitutes a major public health crisis. Moreover, UN Women have used the expression “phantom pandemic”¹ to describe the rise in violence (whether of a sexual, conjugal and/or physical nature) committed against women worldwide during the time of COVID-19. Even if it has been widely established that most sexual violence targets women, it is nonetheless true that men can also be the victims of sexual violence suffered during their childhoods. For example, the many class-action suits against religious congregations tend to be carried out by male victims and the effects on these latter should not be minimized.² Also, there have been cases (many of which have been well-publicized in the media) of male public figures accused of sexual assault by other men. In the world of sports, notably hockey, many other cases have made headlines. They’ve allowed us to put a face on a reality that’s rarely been discussed in public, that’s been a taboo. 

Nevertheless, we know little about the reality of male victims of sexual violence in other contexts. Generally speaking, there are a myriad of barriers that block victims and survivors from reporting and/or revealing this type of violence. As you have mentioned, for many men the taboo seems even greater because of the prejudices and myths which specifically harm them. Also, certain media and commentators have presented #metoo as being against men who find themselves unjustly accused. Yet its founder, Tarana Burke, has consistently stated in various interviews with the media that #metoo is both a movement which seeks to combat sexual violence, and a movement of solidarity and “empowerment through empathy” for survivors. It therefore includes everyone who has experienced sexual violence. #metoo has also given many men the courage to seek help. That said, many organizations and their personnel have sometimes closed the door to male victims because their services were reserved for women; they were not expecting requests for help from men. This illustrates the scarcity of resources for sexually abused men in Québec. The fear of “false accusations” against men receives a lot of attention, but I’m of the opinion that a man is much more likely to be a victim of sexual violence than to be falsely accused of having committed it.

Mickaël :

Your use of these two terms, “victims” and “survivors” makes me think of individual perceptions. Perceptions which constitute the mirror image of masculinity and how we all see ourselves in it. Many men will refuse the “victim” label because of the image of vulnerability and loss of control it seems to imply. On the other hand, some men prefer the term “survivor” to emphasize their strength. Others would rather describe themselves as “having experienced a sexual assault” so as not to reduce themselves to a label.

But the existence of one rallying term is not as important as their ability to speak their truths. If one word or another helps them in their process, so much the better. If they wish to reject both terms, find another or not have any at all, it’s all just as legitimate.

No matter what term is used, one thing is sure: it’s not the victim’s fault, nor that of the survivor. It doesn’t matter whether the assault took place in childhood, in adolescence or later. To cite the words of one man who shared his story: “I’ve opened up because I shouldn’t be feeling ashamed. My attacker is the one who should be carrying this shame.”

Shifting the shame requires talking about it. About assault, but also about expectations around masculinity, about the predominant “traditional model of masculinity” in Canada and in the United States, or at the very least, about toxic behaviour. About rape culture, which concerns everyone, women, men, non-binary people, trans people. Everyone.

Even men who deny the existence of rape culture or who balk at the term “toxic masculinity” prove that it exists by their own reactions. Because these same men will be afraid of finding themselves in a prison shower with other men. Because these same men will distrust all their daughters’ future boyfriends – fearing their daughters will be attacked. Because these same men won’t hesitate for a moment about damning the whole Catholic church, even if it isn’t all priests who have committed atrocities.

It's as if these men didn’t hear themselves: we can’t say on one hand that there is no problem with certain masculine behaviours and values, and on the other hand, worry about these same things threatening our children (or ourselves when in a vulnerable position.)

Kharoll-Ann :

Absolutely. As you say, cases of sexual violence are unfortunately not rare. It isn’t alarmist or an exaggeration to say they are common currency in our society (even in Canada and in Québec) and this, despite the different forms they can take and the different people they can involve, with respect to victims and survivors or the perpetrators. The statistics we have vastly underestimate the phenomenon. This is even more the case for male victims. Personally speaking, I can count the number of people who say they’ve never experienced this type of violence on one hand.  Given what we see happening now, I often tell myself it’s only a question of time before these “exceptions” join the rest; I hope I’m wrong, for their sakes.

As sex sociologist Michel Dorais³ (2008/1997) explains, male victims are more likely to remain silent because of reductive stereotypes of masculinity, which often have to do with strength and virility. In fact, you’ve devoted a whole essay to the issue of toxic masculinity and its derivations.⁴ Author and journalist Liz Plank (2021/2019, p.49) has also examined this issue.⁵ She states, “Masculinity is a thing that one does and not a thing we talk about.” In other words, it’s something we “perform” with a certain ideal in mind of what we imagine it to be. And according to this reductive version, a “real man” doesn’t cry, is independent, cannot be passive, vulnerable or weak. And if he runs into problems, he must resolve them alone, without asking anyone for help.

The late Afro-American author bell hooks,⁶ in a book about Black masculinity, explains that the consequences of slavery and colonization have forced Black men to be strong in order to survive the racism and violence in their daily lives. Nevertheless, she states that the inability to be vulnerable means that they become incapable of experiencing their emotions. And that if you are cut off from your emotions, you cannot really connect to other people on an emotional level.⁷ One consequence is that you become emotionally “illiterate,” unable to really love either yourself and/or other people.

I thought of bell hooks’s words again recently. A few months ago, a Black man I hardly knew asked me why I was interested in the issue of sexual violence. When I told him that I was myself a survivor and that I had published a book on this issue, he told me that he was a survivor of sexual violence too.

His answer surprised me – and also, didn’t. I’m not surprised that this happened to him, in the sense that sexual violence is an epidemic which wreaks havoc everywhere. In fact, I often say that survivors are all around us; we just don’t realize we rub shoulders with them every day. A few years ago, the leader of the NDP, who also happens to be a racialized person, confessed in his autobiography that he’d been sexually assaulted by his taekwondo instructor when he was only 10, reflecting a reality that also affects racialized men.⁸ Regarding the stranger, I was surprised that he confided so spontaneously in me, a Black woman he’d barely known for a few minutes. My surprise also derived from the fact that he’s a man, and men hardly ever speak openly of this sort of thing, for all the reasons you’ve named.

Upon reflection, I believe he felt comfortable telling me such a thing because I’d also made myself vulnerable as I briefly explained my own process. I see this short interaction nicely reflecting the essence of the #metoo movement, in a way: the ability to connect with others affected by this social problem, not just to change things, but to feel less alone.

Moreover, the term “victim,” which is often considered pejorative, but which is crucial to avoid self-blame for the violence experienced, constitutes a flagrant contradiction with this concept of masculinity. Sometimes, the fear of being perceived as homosexual – whether or not true – constitutes another barrier blocking men from saying the unsayable in such a context. Homophobia is in fact an integral aspect of toxic masculinity. The reaction that greets a revelation or denunciation of this type is also crucially important to the process of healing and avoiding what is known as “a second victimization.”

Unfortunately, our society tends to minimize the fact that a man can have experienced this kind of violence. And when it is committed by women – because yes, this is also a possibility -- many people even feel the male victim should consider himself “lucky,” when it is in fact violence and sexual assault. Incidentally, many letters⁹ were published about the series Chouchou, which was televised on Noovo last year, pointing out that it “romanticizes and eroticizes a relationship of sexual exploitation between a 17-year-old youth and his French teacher.”¹⁰

Mickaël's Reply

You bring up such an important point here. There is a kind of myth that men “cannot” be victims of sexual assault perpetrated a woman, because y’know, what man would refuse a chance to have sex?

You can see it in the comments when a female schoolteacher is accused of sexually assaulting a student. Guys will ask if the teacher was good-looking and if the answer is yes, they will consider the young man “lucky,” as you’ve said. And the fantasy of a teenager receiving a “sexual education” from an older woman is alive and well, both in popular culture and in pornography. However, according to the Criminal Code, in every case where there is a relationship of authority between an adult and a child, this constitutes an offence; there is no meaningful consent within such an asymmetrical power relationship.  

This lack of understanding and sympathy can prevent an adolescent from sharing the trauma he might suffer, from speaking of his unease, his shock or his pain, and from perceiving that he was subjected to abuse or to manipulation. He will instead feel the pressure to brag about the experience; he might also feel he “should have” enjoyed and taken advantage of the moment instead of “becoming” a victim. None of this will help him process the event nor heal potential trauma, build healthy sexual relationships with future partners or a balanced sex life.

Growing up in a society that offers such a constrictive image of masculinity clearly perturbed me. I have never been like this image of a man that we’ve been talking about here and even if it seemed obvious to me that it was all unhealthy or toxic behaviour, I still believed I had a problem. That I was the one who wasn’t “normal.”

Having grown up in a violent environment, I also developed a fear of reproducing the very behaviour that I found so profoundly disgusting. I didn’t want to become that. I didn’t want to hurt the people I love. I know that a lot of people who have experienced violence, whether psychological or sexual, also share this fear.

But above all, the result has been that I have never felt comfortable in male circles. I never relate to these groups, and I can’t pretend, so I’ve just avoided these social relationships. I used to have male friends, but since my adolescence, my closest and most important friends have always been women.

Without a doubt, my reflections on masculinity are at the crossroads of my own personal quest –where do I fit? --and of my journalistic gaze – spotting the issues and dissecting them has become a professional distortion of mine.

In fact, it’s journalism which pushed me to come to terms with my values. If, in my youth, I grew up on my friends’ and close family members’ personal stories, once I hit my mid-twenties, it was the stories I covered as a journalist, my interviews with victims, with organizations, teachers, lawyers, and politicians, which reminded me of the importance of this issue. A much deeper issue than how I conceived it as a teen.

And that might be what has helped me stay hopeful. Things rarely change as fast as we want them to, but some things do change.

Even if this behaviour is still too widespread and too common, and there are still too many victims, even if there is a certain backlash and a masculinist discourse is winning some followers, I can affirm that there are more people today who reflect on their actions than when I was young. And it might be only the start of a new awareness, but it’s something.

This new awareness, this discussion we’re having as a society is also helping victims speak out -- through positive role models and stories with happy endings. Public opinion is gradually shifting the shame. I believe that all of that is helping them talk about their experiences, move forward, and find peace.

It’s also important to say so, because if we believe nothing will change, nothing will.