Review – Consent; Fearful Asymmetry by Nilofer Kaul
Consent might seem like a straightforward issue but it isn’t. This book examines how both parties in a given situation might have differing levels of power that will consciously or unconsciously affect their decisions
Remember the animated short film that states: “If you can understand how completely ludicrous it is to force people to have tea when they don’t want tea, how hard is it to understand when it comes to sex?”
It is a fairly straightforward idea but consent in real life is not “as simple as tea.” Both parties in a given situation might have variable levels of agency and power that will consciously or unconsciously affect their decisions. Someone might just say yes to “tea” if they want to keep the peace, or if they want to avoid the possible consequences of saying “no”. Superficially, then, their consent will appear given when it is not. Nilofer Kaul seeks to explore exactly this in Consent: Fearful Asymmetry. “Consent works well only if the two parties stand in perfect symmetry, a desirable but somewhat utopian situation, symmetry being an extension of a just world,” she states bringing in her training as a psychoanalyst.
About the etymology of “consent”, she writes: “When one agrees to a proposition made by another – verbally or non-verbally – one is supposedly aware of its consequences… It doesn’t just involve coming together on a particular subject, but rather assumes a broader being together.” Kaul focuses on the inherent asymmetry of “gender organisation” where all that is masculine is elevated and all that is feminine is derided. Men, by virtue of their gender, are seen as superior to women who must remain subservient to them. Since the power relationship is skewed, it would be wrong to presume that consent given in such a system is free of constraints. Kaul states: “... [R]egardless of whether the context is sexual or not, terms like consent belong to a register that is based on certain rationalist assumptions.” In its stead, she turns to psychoanalysis to provide a new discursive language.
She starts by explaining that memory is not infallible and is an imperfect repository of the past. Given the slippery nature of remembrance, both the past and the present shape each other. On many occasions, what might appear to be consensual behaviour on our part was either coerced or the result of a hidden lack of agency. It can also be the mind’s way of shielding us from the resulting trauma of such incidents. Kaul also explores instances where there is “incipient violence underlying an apparent consensus” or where the power dynamics are overturned. One example is BDSM (Bondage, Domination, Sadism, and Masochism) where asymmetry is a feature, not a bug, and terms can be set before ‘play’. She states: “The partners ‘consent’ to humiliating and being humiliated… This ‘playing’ keeps them safe and functional… [This] encounter of pain and humiliation is one that allows for a rare kind of intimacy.” Clearly, asymmetry tilts how we look at sexual encounters.
Unfortunately, Kaul’s arguments are limited to a binary understanding of gender relationships. She does not take into account other intersections that can destabilise relations of power between individuals. Caste, class, race and religion are important in contemporary India. A Dalit or a Muslim man does not have more power than a Savarna Hindu woman. Reducing such a complex issue to just biological essentialism, ie men’s “inherent” physical superiority over women where other markers of identity cease to matter, does disservice to it. Kaul also does not really account for queer relationships. What happens with consent when both parties are male or female, if one or both are non-binary, if one or both are trans? Would this model fit them in the same way? There is much that remains uncertain.
Still, Kaul cannot be labelled as someone who takes the male-female divide at face value. She sees them as socioculturally constructed archetypes and not as an innate part of life. For her, masculinity and femininity are not “specific or fixed signifying practices that belong to men and women respectively.” She asserts: “Rigidly divided gender roles do not allow the paternal in the mother and the maternal in the father.” Within the “culturally dominant template of gender relations”, certain values are uniquely coded across the gender divide. Any crossing over is frowned upon. Hence, all individuals must disavow the parts of themselves that do not align with their assigned gender identity. It is this system that disenfranchises what it deems to be “feminine” values and valorises “masculine” values, becoming the bedrock for self-hatred and violence.
If these two artificial categories are viewed as aspirational types, the muddle begins to clear. According to Judith Butler, gendered performance is an act that is imposed through “normative heterosexuality” which demarcates arbitrary boundaries and enables hierarchical relations of power that are fundamentally unequal. How does one make sense of “consent” in such an ethos? For Kaul, “a beginning can only be made when this asymmetry is recognised as underlying every encounter with otherness.” The recognition of asymmetry, as opposed to the assumption of equality, must be then followed by the acceptance of ethical responsibility by the individual who “occupies the favourable position in any power dynamic.” Consent has to be an ongoing, continuous process that is enthusiastic, whether verbal or non-verbal. Space has to be made for refusal and the onus falls on the one who has more power. The conversation begins with working within asymmetry in order to tackle it.
Areeb Ahmad is a Delhi-based freelance writer and literary critic. He is @Bankrupt_Bookworm on Instagram.