Fair warning: this post is probably NSFW. Unless you have a very interesting job.
So this is a huge pile of bollocks.
I’ve mentioned in the past that sex education (or the lack thereof) in Britain is of huge personal concern to me, but before I go into why the coalition policies in this field are bullshit I should probably reiterate my personal experience with its failings. I offer my apologies to anyone who has already heard this story, and a warning to those of a delicate disposition that it will include a fairly detailed description of my penis.
Anyone still reading? Alright then…
When I was a young(er) man of twenty-one summers, I discovered that my foreskin didn’t retract properly, particularly when erect (a condition referred to in fancy Greek-talk as phimosis [NSFW!!!]). I was still a virgin at the time, and was informed by a surgeon with entirely too much money that there was a danger that my foreskin could tear if I engaged in sexual intercourse, which is generally something to avoid, or so I am told. It also meant that condoms wouldn’t fit me correctly, and that the head of my penis would be extremely vulnerable if it were to become exposed. The upshot of this is that I needed to have a circumcision.
The operation itself was quick, but in the aftermath I’m sure you could appreciate I was in a certain (but manageable) degree of pain for a period of weeks. I also had to have the operation performed privately, since I was still at and it would have been disruptive to myself and to others if the issue were not resolved swiftly. Consequently it was not cheap, and I have never been more grateful to my mother than when she agreed to pay the frankly exorbitant fee for an operation a good rabbi would have performed for free (I was slightly more concerned to discover my mum had also googled “self-circumcision” on her desktop, mind).
Now this is not a procedure I would have wished upon anyone without good religious or medical reason. There’s a reason Jewish and Muslim boys are circumcised at a young age, so that (1) they don’t have any memory of the procedure and (2) any scarring is less likely to be permanent, as mine was (and is). As with any surgery there are risks, and had it not been medically necessary I do not think I would have undergone the procedure in a thousand years.
But I did need it, and the truth is that it would have been best had I had it at a young age. It would have probably been asking a bit much of the poor (Catholic) priest who baptised me to have lopped off part of my dick whilst I was naked anyway, but certainly it should, ideally, have been dealt with at the onset of my adolescence. It wasn’t, and though I am relieved to report that my undercarriage now works fine (as far as I know), there is still some rather unsightly scarring that might have been avoided had I received the procedure when I should have.
The point of this unavoidably explicit story is this: why did I not discover there was something wrong with me until I was an adult, when it should have been reported years earlier? Why was it that I had to discover this sensitive detail from someone else (whom I shall not name, but to whom I shall be forever grateful for their delicate sympathy), instead of learning it for myself, which would have meant considerably less embarrassment.
The answer is simple: no one had ever told me- let alone showed me- what an erect penis was supposed to look like.
I’m sure it seems ridiculous that an adult male had no idea how his penis was supposed to work. Honestly, I find it a little preposterous myself with hindsight. I am not a stupid person. Well, I am, in many ways, but I’m not an ignorant person. I pride myself on knowing things, I hate not being knowledgeable about anything. The idea that I couldn’t have known what a dick was supposed to look like is, quite frankly, laughable.
Nonetheless, it is true: I simply didn’t realise there was anything wrong with me. As far as I knew, everyone’s penis was the same: the foreskin wasn’t meant to retract, but was meant to hug the head of the penis like bacon around a Christmas chipolata. You can imagine that I had some very strange ideas about what circumcision actually involved: let’s just say I pitied the Jewish boys at school and leave it at that.
Here’s the bit where I Blame Society For My Misfortune: the reason I thought my condition was the norm was because no one had told me otherwise. Not once in two decades had anyone ever thought fit to tell me that the foreskin is meant to retract behind the head of the penis. Why would they? But the thing that gets to me is that I never had the opportunity to discover that something was wrong with me. I was taught about sex primarily by my mother, who was always open, direct and honest, but I’m sure you can appreciate there were subjects I dare not broach with her. My father had died when I was thirteen, so I was perhaps lacking a male figure with whom I could converse on such matters, but even had he lived I can’t imagine bringing the subject up with him. My “official” education on the subject consisted primarily of old men at school showing clinical videos about the differences between men and women, without ever actually showing sexual intercourse in practice. My unofficial education… well, I grew up in the nineties. There were plenty of exciting sensual delights on Channel 5 in those carefree days, but it was forbidden to show a man with an erection on television, and in an age before broadband, actual pornography was not as accessible to curious teenage minds as it is now.
The closest I ever saw to an actual stiffy was a terrible sex-ed video in RE at the age of fifteen in which a thermal image of a semi-erect penis was slowly revealed to the accompaniment of Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus. I am seriously not making this up.* The first and only time I have seen an erection that wasn’t may own, and it was presented in fuzzy Technicolour on a tiny monitor with exclamations of the Rapture in the background. How the hell was I going to learn anything from that?
Anyway, to sum up the key points of my rambling, I earnestly believe that British sex education let me down. I feel that a culture in which middle-aged men in tweed suits nervously explain to curious teens that they shouldn’t ever have sex ever or they will get pregnant and die is the wrong approach. I feel that there is a culture of ignorance that permeates traditional sex education, where people are barely given enough information to propagate the species, let alone emerge from their first experience with their sanity and their self-respect intact. I believe there is a tendency to treat sexual activity as shameful, to present sexually active people as immoral even whilst society places pressure on them to be sexually active as soon as possible. I believe that ignorance helps nobody, that keeping information from young people and failing to deal with their concerns seriously fucks them up, emotionally and physically, and is a tantamount to a form of abuse that will stay with them the rest of their lives. I believe my own experience is the thin end of the wedge: I was lucky to have my problem eventually solved. There are many thousands of people who will face far greater sexual problems that will not be so fortunate. I believe that bad sex education does a greater disservice to the young than people realise.
The reason I have presented this rather personal confession is to highlight the reasons why I believe that good sex education is absolutely vital to ensure the physical and psychological wellbeing of future generations of adults. I also want to stress just how flawed this legislation is, and why I believe that Nadine Dorries is a dangerous cunt.
It is because of people like Dorries that the culture of embarrassed ignorance permeates British society at every level. It is because of legislation like this that I was kept from learning something I should have learned when I was fourteen.
Put crudely (and somewhat melodramatically): if people like Dorries had their way, I would have literally had my knob ripped off as soon as I had sex for the first time.
Some of the obvious criticisms of her policy- like the fact that it is sexist and won’t work- have already been pointed out, and needn’t be reiterated here. What I will say is that abstinence is not the answer. I’m not opposed to abstinence per se, nor am I opposed to empowering women to say no to sex (though God knows Nadine Dorries has precisely zero interest in empowering women, judging by her record). I have been largely abstinent myself now for some time (though whether by choice or circumstance, I could not say), and one of the things I find most grating about modern society is it’s constant expectation that sexual activity is the norm and sexual inactivity is somehow freakishly aberrant, a view perpetuated by trendy sitcoms set in New York. In fact, I believe Dorries could go further in her message and extend it to boys, who often face a similar pressure- albeit from their peers- to engage in premature sexual activity.
But the fact that Dorries is a neo-Victorian misogynist is tangential to my main point, which is that abstinence training is dangerous. Not only because it manifestly doesn’t work, since telling young people not to have sex is about as effective as telling the rain not to fall or getting Nick Clegg to promise not to raise tuition fees, but because it adds to the confused and contradictory message that young people already receive about sex. They want to have it, but they mustn’t do it. It’s cool to have sex, but it’s cool to say no. I wouldn’t even begin to describe the psychological harm such a policy must have. People are hard-wired to want to have sex all the time, a trait they share with every living creature to have ever walked the earth, apart from pandas and Tories. That doesn’t mean they have to do it all the time, but it certainly doesn’t mean they should be told that they are guilty of some moral failing if they choose to have sex, for whatever reason.
The most sinister aspect of abstinence based “education” is that it is often used as a cheap means for the conservatives (small “c”) in society to avoid proper sex education altogether, and option that must seem particularly attractive to the current government and their policy of cutting funding to anyone without a knighthood. And if I have learned anything from my own experience with sex education, it is that more education is needed, not less. Really, can anyone think of any aspect of human endeavour where more information about a topic is not immeasurably preferable to less?
The last thing I want is for other people to go through what I had to go through, not least because I imagine their experiences might be much more severe and much more permanent. Denying people education- wilfully leaving them ignorant- is quite possibly one of the worst things they will do. If sex education is replaced with abstinent programs, where will young people learn about sex? From their parents? They might not be willing or comfortably talking about sex with their children. From trendy Channel 4 documentaries? Sure, so long as one is happy that children learn more about how to staple mithril to their fannies than about sex, health or relationships? From pornography, which bears about as much resemblance to the reality of teenage sexual relations as Twilight does? No, the truth is that young people will probably be left on their own to figure what goes where, when they inevitably do have sex, with predictably disastrous consequences.
But more than that, I believe that my experience came about because of a culture of ignorance and embarrassment about sexual health. And I believe that part of the reason I emerged from it healthier is that I learned not to feel embarrassed about it. Rather than hiding the reason why I was off work, I told people the truth, and to a man my co-workers were all sympathetic I talked about my problem. I made jokes about it: my favourite was telling Daily Mail readers I was getting circumcised in order to convert to Islam (the looks of horror on their faces were priceless). The point is that I owned it; I drew strength from it. Far from being a subject of shame and embarrassment, it became a point of pride for me that I has undergone a painful and sensitive experience and emerged the better for it. I felt more confident in my own skin, better able to talk about myself, and my feelings, even about intimately. To this day I still talk about my circumcision more than I really should, even on Twitter and, it would seem, on blogposts that will be read by literally half-dozens of people! I probably shouldn’t. It’s not what one does in polite society. But I honestly think that being honest, open and transparent about this aspect of myself has been immensely beneficial. I want to live in a society where human sexuality is not a big deal, where people are encouraged to talk about their problems so that they can handle them with maturity and optimism, instead of feeling dirty and ashamed of their own bodies or feelings.
Doesn’t it seem healthier to encourage young people to talk more about sex, instead of telling them not to do it? Hell, they’re going to do it no matter what you say, so you might as well ensure the experience is positive, fulfilling and healthy, instead of stigmatising it, just like everything else fun that teenagers like to do.
*It might not have been the Hallelujah chorus, but it was certainly religious and Handel-esque. It was, at any rate, hideously inappropriate.
Showing posts with label Sex Education. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sex Education. Show all posts
Thursday, 5 May 2011
Saturday, 12 February 2011
Channel 4's response to the response to The Joy of Teen Sex.
I've received a response to to my comments about The Joy of Teen Sex from Channel 4's spokesman.
Dear Mr Welsh,
Thank you for contacting Channel 4 Viewer Enquiries regarding THE JOY OF TEEN SEX.
We are sorry to hear that you feel the programme proliferates unhelpful myths about sex and that you think we should reconsider the format and tone.
While the programme respects the decisions of individuals in regards to how they conduct their sex lives, it also has to deal with modern sexual relationships. The fact is that many young people in today?s society do not wait until marriage to have sex. Therefore, the purpose of the programmes is to say, if you are going to make the decision to have a sexual relationship with someone, this is the kind of information you should have knowledge to. The purpose of the programme is not to encourage young people into sexual relationships, it is to provide them with information that they should know about, such as contraceptive options, STI?s, pregnancy and personal hygiene.
Nevertheless; please be assured your comments have been logged and noted for the information of those responsible for our programming.
Thank you again for taking the time to contact us. We appreciate all feedback from our viewers.
Regards,
Sandra Carter
Channel 4 Viewer Enquiries
I'm disappointed, but not surprised. It reads like more like a press release than a true response, but I'm not so egotistical as to believe that one complaint merits a personal response (okay, I am, but I'm at least grounded in reality. Mostly). The first part simply regurgitates the last part of my comment that seems intended to prove that my complaint was read but actually suggests they only read the end. The second part looks like it was copy-pasted from the "official" response to complaints about The Joy of Teen Sex, i.e. it's intended to mollify the Daily Mail claim that the programme will turn Britain's chaste youth into strumpets. Which was not my concern at all: I didn't mention marriage, I never suggested young people shouldn't have sex, and I agreed that providing information about sex to young people is important.
But the prepared response is not only intended for a different complaint, but it's fundamentally dishonest. Consider the following claims:
"The programme respects the decisions of individuals in regards to how they conduct their sex lives"
Then why the slut shaming? And what is the purpose of the wretched opinion pieces of that Victorian harridan, Billie JD Porter? Why doesn't she present any facts, instead of an unpleasant diatribe against unconventional sexual activity from the perspective of a smug fashion journalist? Why does she need to initialise her name? Is there another Billie Porter on Channel 4's rolls? Why not just call herself JD Porter? Why wasn't a professional sex educator involved instead? How old is she anyway? Her hideous Myspace page claims she's twenty one, this article claims she's eighteen! Why is her blog so ugly? ARRRRGH?
Next claim: "The fact is that many young people in today?s society do not wait until marriage to have sex".
The statement is undoubtedly true, but irrelevant. I didn't mention marriage once. I actually believe that sex before marriage is not only permissible, but necessary to ensure compatibility. What I did say is that sex must be considered in the context of the individual person's own experience and life situation, their emotional and personal state, and should not be viewed solely in the technical sense with no regard to the nature of the relationship between partners. It's one thing to demand a blowjob from a stranger in a nightclub: it's quite another to ask it of your girlfriend of two years who is still a virgin and finds the thought repulsive.
"The purpose of the programme is not to encourage young people into sexual relationships."
But by presenting sex as universal, it suggests that anyone not having sex is an exception that must be explained, not a valid choice in itself. It adds to the pressure on young people to have sex early because it takes as its default the position that all kids want sex, and want sex more than anything else in their lives.
"The purpose of the programmes [sic] is to say, if you are going to make the decision to have a sexual relationship with someone, this is the kind of information you should have knowledge to [sic]"[I assume they meant "knowledge about".]
Then why discuss vajazzling (did I spell that right?) a practice I have somehow never heard about despite being nearly twenty-six and a Guardian reader? A practice that is a deeply troubling reflection of the power of consumerism in sexual health? Is it really something that anyone about to engage in coitus for the first time needs to know about? I'm not saying young people wouldn't be curious- God knows I'm a little intrigued why anyone would do such a thing to their body. But surely it should be a lower priority than, say, contraception. Or exposing dangerous myths about pregnancy. Or making sure that young men know whether their foreskin retracts properly (not that I'm bitter).
For that matter, if the goal is to help young people make decisions about sex, why did their solution to "a lack of confidence" in young woman include buying frilly underwear? Was it to increase their confidence by having women with established body issues appear on national television in their briefs? Or was it to video a fruity twenty-year-old acting coy in her pants?
"[The progamme seeks] to provide them with information that they should know about, such as contraceptive options, STI's, pregnancy and personal hygiene."
It doesn't provide information, it provides baseless statistics about how 63% of young women want to be glamour models or vague statements about how 60% of young people are concerned about porn without providing any evidence where these stats have come from.
Being unemployed and with nothing better to do, I have naturally sent another email in response to Channel 4's, er, response:
Dear Ms. Carter,
Thank you for replying to my concerns about The Joy of Teen Sex. I appreciate you taking the time to respond to the comments I made.
Unfortunately there seems to have been a misunderstanding about the nature of my concern, for which I can only offer my apologies: I must have been ineloquent in expressing them. Your response seems to imply that my concern was based on the supposition that young people should not have sex before marriage and that your program was encouraging irresponsible promiscuity. I can understand why this may be so, as I've no doubt you have received such comments from some of your viewers, as well as certain corners of the media, but please be assured that I do not agree with them. As I originally stated, I am a great admirer of Channel 4's bold and daring approach to programming, and dearly wish to see more on the subject: I have already recounted my own personal experiences with the failure of British sex education.
My concern is not with the mission of The Joy of Teen Sex, but with its efficacy. I simply do not believe that it is presently able to respond to the concerns of young people about sex. I believe it presented a narrow definition of intercourse and denigrated young people who chose to engage in particular practices. I believe it encouraged the stigma surrounding sex instead of challenging it. I believe it supported the myth of universal teenage promiscuity when it had an obligation to denounce it. I believe, in short, that it does young people a disservice and is further evidence of the failure of British sex education. Put simply, I both expect and demand better from a broadcaster that I greatly admire.
If the purpose of the programme is not to encourage sexual relationships, it should not release unreliable statistics stating the majority of teenagers are sexually active. If the purpose of the programme is to provide information about sex then it should provide useful, factually accurate information, not reiterate tabloid myths about the aspirations for young women to be glamour models. If it wants to convey information that young people should know, it should prioritise information that is relevant, useful and likely to keep them safe, not peddle stories about vaginal decorations. If it wishes to take into account modern sexual relationships then it needs to cover the full range of sexual relations, both heterosexual and homosexual, polygamous and monogamous, long-term and short-term, mainstream or underground, without judgement or comment on the validity or morality of their actions. If it wishes to boost the confidence of young people, it should consider the reasons behind their social discomfort, not parade them in their underwear on national television.
Please send this email to whomever it may concern, along with my regards.
Thank you again for your time and patience.
Regards,
Patrick Welsh
I'll update again if there is another reply. In the meantime, I recommend reading Reni Eddo-Lodge in The Guardian's breakdown of some of the problems with The Joy of Teen Sex, as well as Dr Petra Boynton's observations.
Dear Mr Welsh,
Thank you for contacting Channel 4 Viewer Enquiries regarding THE JOY OF TEEN SEX.
We are sorry to hear that you feel the programme proliferates unhelpful myths about sex and that you think we should reconsider the format and tone.
While the programme respects the decisions of individuals in regards to how they conduct their sex lives, it also has to deal with modern sexual relationships. The fact is that many young people in today?s society do not wait until marriage to have sex. Therefore, the purpose of the programmes is to say, if you are going to make the decision to have a sexual relationship with someone, this is the kind of information you should have knowledge to. The purpose of the programme is not to encourage young people into sexual relationships, it is to provide them with information that they should know about, such as contraceptive options, STI?s, pregnancy and personal hygiene.
Nevertheless; please be assured your comments have been logged and noted for the information of those responsible for our programming.
Thank you again for taking the time to contact us. We appreciate all feedback from our viewers.
Regards,
Sandra Carter
Channel 4 Viewer Enquiries
I'm disappointed, but not surprised. It reads like more like a press release than a true response, but I'm not so egotistical as to believe that one complaint merits a personal response (okay, I am, but I'm at least grounded in reality. Mostly). The first part simply regurgitates the last part of my comment that seems intended to prove that my complaint was read but actually suggests they only read the end. The second part looks like it was copy-pasted from the "official" response to complaints about The Joy of Teen Sex, i.e. it's intended to mollify the Daily Mail claim that the programme will turn Britain's chaste youth into strumpets. Which was not my concern at all: I didn't mention marriage, I never suggested young people shouldn't have sex, and I agreed that providing information about sex to young people is important.
But the prepared response is not only intended for a different complaint, but it's fundamentally dishonest. Consider the following claims:
"The programme respects the decisions of individuals in regards to how they conduct their sex lives"
Then why the slut shaming? And what is the purpose of the wretched opinion pieces of that Victorian harridan, Billie JD Porter? Why doesn't she present any facts, instead of an unpleasant diatribe against unconventional sexual activity from the perspective of a smug fashion journalist? Why does she need to initialise her name? Is there another Billie Porter on Channel 4's rolls? Why not just call herself JD Porter? Why wasn't a professional sex educator involved instead? How old is she anyway? Her hideous Myspace page claims she's twenty one, this article claims she's eighteen! Why is her blog so ugly? ARRRRGH?
Next claim: "The fact is that many young people in today?s society do not wait until marriage to have sex".
The statement is undoubtedly true, but irrelevant. I didn't mention marriage once. I actually believe that sex before marriage is not only permissible, but necessary to ensure compatibility. What I did say is that sex must be considered in the context of the individual person's own experience and life situation, their emotional and personal state, and should not be viewed solely in the technical sense with no regard to the nature of the relationship between partners. It's one thing to demand a blowjob from a stranger in a nightclub: it's quite another to ask it of your girlfriend of two years who is still a virgin and finds the thought repulsive.
"The purpose of the programme is not to encourage young people into sexual relationships."
But by presenting sex as universal, it suggests that anyone not having sex is an exception that must be explained, not a valid choice in itself. It adds to the pressure on young people to have sex early because it takes as its default the position that all kids want sex, and want sex more than anything else in their lives.
"The purpose of the programmes [sic] is to say, if you are going to make the decision to have a sexual relationship with someone, this is the kind of information you should have knowledge to [sic]"[I assume they meant "knowledge about".]
Then why discuss vajazzling (did I spell that right?) a practice I have somehow never heard about despite being nearly twenty-six and a Guardian reader? A practice that is a deeply troubling reflection of the power of consumerism in sexual health? Is it really something that anyone about to engage in coitus for the first time needs to know about? I'm not saying young people wouldn't be curious- God knows I'm a little intrigued why anyone would do such a thing to their body. But surely it should be a lower priority than, say, contraception. Or exposing dangerous myths about pregnancy. Or making sure that young men know whether their foreskin retracts properly (not that I'm bitter).
For that matter, if the goal is to help young people make decisions about sex, why did their solution to "a lack of confidence" in young woman include buying frilly underwear? Was it to increase their confidence by having women with established body issues appear on national television in their briefs? Or was it to video a fruity twenty-year-old acting coy in her pants?
"[The progamme seeks] to provide them with information that they should know about, such as contraceptive options, STI's, pregnancy and personal hygiene."
It doesn't provide information, it provides baseless statistics about how 63% of young women want to be glamour models or vague statements about how 60% of young people are concerned about porn without providing any evidence where these stats have come from.
Being unemployed and with nothing better to do, I have naturally sent another email in response to Channel 4's, er, response:
Dear Ms. Carter,
Thank you for replying to my concerns about The Joy of Teen Sex. I appreciate you taking the time to respond to the comments I made.
Unfortunately there seems to have been a misunderstanding about the nature of my concern, for which I can only offer my apologies: I must have been ineloquent in expressing them. Your response seems to imply that my concern was based on the supposition that young people should not have sex before marriage and that your program was encouraging irresponsible promiscuity. I can understand why this may be so, as I've no doubt you have received such comments from some of your viewers, as well as certain corners of the media, but please be assured that I do not agree with them. As I originally stated, I am a great admirer of Channel 4's bold and daring approach to programming, and dearly wish to see more on the subject: I have already recounted my own personal experiences with the failure of British sex education.
My concern is not with the mission of The Joy of Teen Sex, but with its efficacy. I simply do not believe that it is presently able to respond to the concerns of young people about sex. I believe it presented a narrow definition of intercourse and denigrated young people who chose to engage in particular practices. I believe it encouraged the stigma surrounding sex instead of challenging it. I believe it supported the myth of universal teenage promiscuity when it had an obligation to denounce it. I believe, in short, that it does young people a disservice and is further evidence of the failure of British sex education. Put simply, I both expect and demand better from a broadcaster that I greatly admire.
If the purpose of the programme is not to encourage sexual relationships, it should not release unreliable statistics stating the majority of teenagers are sexually active. If the purpose of the programme is to provide information about sex then it should provide useful, factually accurate information, not reiterate tabloid myths about the aspirations for young women to be glamour models. If it wants to convey information that young people should know, it should prioritise information that is relevant, useful and likely to keep them safe, not peddle stories about vaginal decorations. If it wishes to take into account modern sexual relationships then it needs to cover the full range of sexual relations, both heterosexual and homosexual, polygamous and monogamous, long-term and short-term, mainstream or underground, without judgement or comment on the validity or morality of their actions. If it wishes to boost the confidence of young people, it should consider the reasons behind their social discomfort, not parade them in their underwear on national television.
Please send this email to whomever it may concern, along with my regards.
Thank you again for your time and patience.
Regards,
Patrick Welsh
I'll update again if there is another reply. In the meantime, I recommend reading Reni Eddo-Lodge in The Guardian's breakdown of some of the problems with The Joy of Teen Sex, as well as Dr Petra Boynton's observations.
Friday, 11 February 2011
In Which I Talk About (The Joy of Teen) Sex
At the time of writing I have no idea about which direction this blog will go in. Perhaps it will be an erudite examination of the sociopolitical problems of the world around us. Perhaps it'll provide insightful opinions into my favourite games, films and music. Perhaps it will be filled with dumb jokes about willies. I honestly have no idea: it's purpose for now is to provide an opportunity to gain some writing experience. I don't know how often I will update it, or even if I will. So I apologise in advance for its quality if I make a dog's dinner out of it.
It is with some trepidation therefore that my first post should start with a conversation about sex, so please forgive me if things get a bit blue. I will say this now, straight up, first thing: if you are likely to be offended a recounting of how part of my wang was cut off, I recommend you stop reading now and never come back. This probably won't be the blog for you.
Still here? Then you've no one to blame but yourself.
(As an aside, I really wish I would stop bringing up circumcision wherever possible. I really do)
The subject of today's post is Channel 4's execrable The Joy of Teen Sex, which you can watch here, if you are so inclined. But I wouldn't recommend it. It's unlikely to learn anything, and I would hate to be responsible for some poor individual stapling rubies to their labia as a result of watching it. Suffice to say there is a lot wrong with it: so much wrong that I recently composed a letter to Channel 4 outlining some of my concerns, which I shall now share.
Before we begin, I would like to make it clear that I do not think of myself as a prude. To prove it, here are some breasts:
There now, wasn't that nice? Now, on to the letter:
To whom it may concern,
I am writing to you in order to provide some feedback on your recent sex education documentary, The Joy of Teen Sex. Put bluntly I am concerned that the programme in its current form is more likely to create misunderstandings than clear them, and is likely to add to the pressure faced by young people at what is already a stressful time of life.
I am not a healthcare professional or an advocate of conservative prudery: in fact I am of the opinion that sex education needs greater prominence in the national media. Indeed, I m a great admirer of Channel 4, which has never been afraid to tackle difficult or controversial subject matters. My interest in the field of sex education is purely amateur, but motivated by personal experience, since I feel that sex education in schools in particular has failed me on more than one occasion. I must confess I am concerned that The Joy of Teen Sex might be indicative of the direction that Channel 4 wishes to take its sex education programming, that it is focused on repeating persistent sex education myths and presenting a heteronormative view of sexuality that is at once sensationalist, misleading and potentially harmful to the target audience, who themselves are often so lacking in quality sex education.
I should perhaps begin by explaining my own my personal experience with unsatisfactory sex education. When I was at university I needed to have a circumcision performed because my foreskin did not retract properly. I did not discover this fact until I was an adult because I did not know what an erect penis was supposed to look like. The problem was ultimately pointed out to me by my then-partner, and I’m sure you can understand that it was a source of some embarrassment. As a result I was forced to undergo a painful and expensive (around £1700) surgical procedure that resulted in weeks of discomfort and some permanent and unsightly scarring that could have been avoided had I been aware of the problem at a younger age. Unfortunate the education I received was hardly comprehensive, consisting of a small number of lectures delivered on the cusp of my adolescence by middle-aged men who seemed uncomfortable with their responsibilities and relied on outdated tapes to convey most of the relevant information. Given that it is regrettably illegal to show erect penises in most mainstream media, and since no sex education that I encountered media discussed this issue, I had no frame of reference that would have alerted me to my condition. It seems likely that young men- and women- may face similar issues if their sex education is incomplete or inappropriate. I would not wish my experience upon anyone, so I’m sure you can understand my concern that sex education be factual, non-judgemental, comprehensive and accurate, delivered at any early age and without the atmosphere of nervous embarrassment than happens at present. It is for this reason that a programme like The Joy of Teen Sex is not only useful but may be absolutely vital. And it is because I have been so personally marked by my own experience that I am concerned that The Joy of Teen Sex is, in it’s current form, performing a great disservice to its intended (or presumed) audience.
I would like to focus my criticism of The Joy of Teen Sex on the following points, if I may:
1. A limited definition of sexual intercourse. When discussing sex, it seemed to focus on vaginal intercourse for heterosexual couples and anal intercourse for homosexual male couples (with, incidentally, rather little coverage of intercourse between women). For example, there is an undue focus on orgasm as the be-all and end-all of intercourse, ignoring the fact that many people (including men, though no mention of male problems achieving orgasm were mentioned) can have satisfying intercourse without achieving orgasm and ignoring their underlining reason why people have difficulty climaxing. Likewise, there was a repeated emphasis on encouraging behaviour with which participants were uncomfortable, such as oral sex. If an individual was uncomfortable with a particular practice, the solution presented invariably involved different sexual techniques without asking why the individual was reticent to perform the action in the first place. The implication is that men and woman must enjoy practices like oral sex, and that any reluctance must be discouraged, when a more positive and holistic approach teach the importance of dialogue with one’s partner about what is or isn’t acceptable and emphasise that at all times both partners have the right to refuse to do anything with which they are not comfortable. Similarly, the solution presented to a gay man who did not enjoy anal sex was to encourage him to investigate other methods of anal penetration without either 1. explaining that he has every right not to engage in any sexual activity if he does not want to, and that 2. other forms of intercourse that he may find more enjoyable are equally valid expressions of sexuality. The issue comes down to the importance of stressing dialogue between sexual partners: taking the view that reluctance to perform is simply an obstacle to be overcome with confidence training or the purchase of a new sex toy is hardly empowering young people to deal with sexual relationships in a mature and positive manner. The result was that The Joy of Teen Sex seemed unduly focused on the mechanics of sexual intercourse when it should also cover its emotional and interpersonal aspect. It seems especially odd to present sexual problems in a vacuum when most of the young people questioned were themselves in relationships that seemed to be generally positive and functional.
2. A judgemental attitude towards young people. Related to the first point, the programme implied that sexual activity outside of vaginal intercourse in the context of a relationship This mainly came to light during the sections presented by the investigative journalist Billie JD Porter, who would investigate and report on a sexual subculture, such as cybersex, recreational drug use or the use of pornography. Unfortunately the way these sections were structured in a manner that seemed to indicate such practices were at unhealthy, illicit and shameful. The individual who claimed to be addicted to pornography was asked why he didn’t have sex with women, as if intercourse were in some way a “better” form of sexual activity and he needed to be ashamed that he was unwilling or unable to find a partner. Participants who engaged in cybersex were ridiculed and mocked for their advanced. Young people imbibing alcohol and taking drugs before having sex were asked why, as if such activity was to be considered deviant The implication seems to be that only valid form of intercourse is penetrative sex between one man and one woman, without regard for the full plethora of sexual activity. . The section was presumably intended to present the view of a young person to contrast with the older sex education professionals, but the end product seemed to contrast the “wholesome” Ms. Porter with those she interviewed, with the former, a well-spoken professional white Anglo-Saxon professional expressing amazement, disgust and disappointment at the activity of the latter. These segments came across as prudish and judgmental when what is needed is an open-minded and understanding approach to unconventional sexual activity. I must also add that, as a proud inhabitant of Newcastle Upon Tyne, I was disappointed to here my home city described as a focal point for drinking, recreational drug use and casual sex, since it now only perpetuates an unfortunate stereotype but also has little basis in fact, at least in my experience.
3. The assumption that sexual activity is ubiquitous amongst young people. The Joy of Teen Sex makes frequent use of statistics to claim that most young people are currently or aspire to be sexually active, and from a young age. I cannot speak for the validity of these claims, since I am neither a sociologist nor a statistician. However, I can say that it seems counter to my own experience growing up. I grew up in the late 90s/early 00s consuming media that assumes sex is ubiquitous among adults. I remember watching an episode of Friends where one character complained that he had not had sex in two months, as if this was a freakishly long period to remain abstinent, for example. This was admittedly a set-up for a joke, but it testifies to the idea that is so prevalent in the media that it is somehow unusual, even deviant, for an individual to abstain from sex for an indefinite period of time. I shouldn’t have to explain the myriad reasons why a young individual might be unwilling or unable to have sex: perhaps are simply not interested, or they feel that there are more important things to worry about than sex, especially given the immense workload of GCSE and A-Level students. It might be that many are simply not comfortable interacting the opposite sex, whether due to lack of confidence, shyness or a simple lack of experience with the opposite sex. Some will not lose their virginity until they are well into adulthood, and some may never have sex at all. Such a position is rarely, if eve, presented in the media, and when it is, it is almost invariably portrayed in a negative light as unusual or antisocial. I worry that The Joy of Teen Sex takes as its default the following position: 1. that all teenagers want sex and 2. all teenagers are currently or soon to be sexually active. Such claims are clearly false; for an ostensibly factual documentary to reiterate that sexual inactivity is unusual, even freakish, is simply adding to the already considerable pressure that young people face to engage in sex prematurely, without adequate preparation and in the wrong mindset, and with potentially devastating consequences. This is to say nothing of the appalling pressure placed upon those who do not have sex, who may feel alienated from their peers at a time of their life that is already emotionally fraught.
I have already mentioned that I feel sex education in the UK is inadequate, and that I feel it has let me down personally. Growing up I felt a great deal of pressure to have sex early and often. As an adult I realised such pressures were pointless, that there is more to life than sex and that satisfying intercourse is not necessary or even conducive to a happy, healthy lifestyle. As a result I was able to put off having sex until I felt that I was ready, both physically and emotionally, and I look back on the experience positively and without regret. It is my dearest wish that all young people will not have to face the same issues I did growing up, that they will receive good sex education and relationship advice that emphasises their empowerment, and their right to only partake in activity with which they are comfortable, without fear of judgement and without causing offence, and that any problems they have will be tackled with the help of professionals who act with tact, dignity and understanding. Unfortunately, I feel that The Joy of Teen Sex, in its current form, proliferates several unhelpful myths about sex, focuses on the mechanical aspects at the expense of the emotional and adds to the pressure young people face about sex, whilst providing a narrow definition of valid intercourse that excludes all non-valid activity as dangerous or deviant. Put simply, I believe The Joy of Teen Sex, far from it its billing as a bold and revolutionary new approach to teenage sexuality, is in fact representative of the worst trends in British sex education
I would very dearly like to see a series that provides good advice on sex and relationships, not only to young people to a whole range of demographics who are interested, worried or concerned about sex. But I do not believe it can fulfil its mandate in its current form. I hope that you will listen to the advice of sex education professionals and reconsider the format and tone of the programme.
I dearly hope you will take my comments on board for future programming.
Regards,
Patrick Welsh
Hopefully I'll be hearing from Channel 4 soon, but given that The Joy of Teen Sex is apparently a ratings success, it doesn't seem likely it will change much. But if you want to actually learn something about sex education, there are plenty of other resources available.
It is with some trepidation therefore that my first post should start with a conversation about sex, so please forgive me if things get a bit blue. I will say this now, straight up, first thing: if you are likely to be offended a recounting of how part of my wang was cut off, I recommend you stop reading now and never come back. This probably won't be the blog for you.
Still here? Then you've no one to blame but yourself.
(As an aside, I really wish I would stop bringing up circumcision wherever possible. I really do)
The subject of today's post is Channel 4's execrable The Joy of Teen Sex, which you can watch here, if you are so inclined. But I wouldn't recommend it. It's unlikely to learn anything, and I would hate to be responsible for some poor individual stapling rubies to their labia as a result of watching it. Suffice to say there is a lot wrong with it: so much wrong that I recently composed a letter to Channel 4 outlining some of my concerns, which I shall now share.
Before we begin, I would like to make it clear that I do not think of myself as a prude. To prove it, here are some breasts:
There now, wasn't that nice? Now, on to the letter:
To whom it may concern,
I am writing to you in order to provide some feedback on your recent sex education documentary, The Joy of Teen Sex. Put bluntly I am concerned that the programme in its current form is more likely to create misunderstandings than clear them, and is likely to add to the pressure faced by young people at what is already a stressful time of life.
I am not a healthcare professional or an advocate of conservative prudery: in fact I am of the opinion that sex education needs greater prominence in the national media. Indeed, I m a great admirer of Channel 4, which has never been afraid to tackle difficult or controversial subject matters. My interest in the field of sex education is purely amateur, but motivated by personal experience, since I feel that sex education in schools in particular has failed me on more than one occasion. I must confess I am concerned that The Joy of Teen Sex might be indicative of the direction that Channel 4 wishes to take its sex education programming, that it is focused on repeating persistent sex education myths and presenting a heteronormative view of sexuality that is at once sensationalist, misleading and potentially harmful to the target audience, who themselves are often so lacking in quality sex education.
I should perhaps begin by explaining my own my personal experience with unsatisfactory sex education. When I was at university I needed to have a circumcision performed because my foreskin did not retract properly. I did not discover this fact until I was an adult because I did not know what an erect penis was supposed to look like. The problem was ultimately pointed out to me by my then-partner, and I’m sure you can understand that it was a source of some embarrassment. As a result I was forced to undergo a painful and expensive (around £1700) surgical procedure that resulted in weeks of discomfort and some permanent and unsightly scarring that could have been avoided had I been aware of the problem at a younger age. Unfortunate the education I received was hardly comprehensive, consisting of a small number of lectures delivered on the cusp of my adolescence by middle-aged men who seemed uncomfortable with their responsibilities and relied on outdated tapes to convey most of the relevant information. Given that it is regrettably illegal to show erect penises in most mainstream media, and since no sex education that I encountered media discussed this issue, I had no frame of reference that would have alerted me to my condition. It seems likely that young men- and women- may face similar issues if their sex education is incomplete or inappropriate. I would not wish my experience upon anyone, so I’m sure you can understand my concern that sex education be factual, non-judgemental, comprehensive and accurate, delivered at any early age and without the atmosphere of nervous embarrassment than happens at present. It is for this reason that a programme like The Joy of Teen Sex is not only useful but may be absolutely vital. And it is because I have been so personally marked by my own experience that I am concerned that The Joy of Teen Sex is, in it’s current form, performing a great disservice to its intended (or presumed) audience.
I would like to focus my criticism of The Joy of Teen Sex on the following points, if I may:
1. A limited definition of sexual intercourse. When discussing sex, it seemed to focus on vaginal intercourse for heterosexual couples and anal intercourse for homosexual male couples (with, incidentally, rather little coverage of intercourse between women). For example, there is an undue focus on orgasm as the be-all and end-all of intercourse, ignoring the fact that many people (including men, though no mention of male problems achieving orgasm were mentioned) can have satisfying intercourse without achieving orgasm and ignoring their underlining reason why people have difficulty climaxing. Likewise, there was a repeated emphasis on encouraging behaviour with which participants were uncomfortable, such as oral sex. If an individual was uncomfortable with a particular practice, the solution presented invariably involved different sexual techniques without asking why the individual was reticent to perform the action in the first place. The implication is that men and woman must enjoy practices like oral sex, and that any reluctance must be discouraged, when a more positive and holistic approach teach the importance of dialogue with one’s partner about what is or isn’t acceptable and emphasise that at all times both partners have the right to refuse to do anything with which they are not comfortable. Similarly, the solution presented to a gay man who did not enjoy anal sex was to encourage him to investigate other methods of anal penetration without either 1. explaining that he has every right not to engage in any sexual activity if he does not want to, and that 2. other forms of intercourse that he may find more enjoyable are equally valid expressions of sexuality. The issue comes down to the importance of stressing dialogue between sexual partners: taking the view that reluctance to perform is simply an obstacle to be overcome with confidence training or the purchase of a new sex toy is hardly empowering young people to deal with sexual relationships in a mature and positive manner. The result was that The Joy of Teen Sex seemed unduly focused on the mechanics of sexual intercourse when it should also cover its emotional and interpersonal aspect. It seems especially odd to present sexual problems in a vacuum when most of the young people questioned were themselves in relationships that seemed to be generally positive and functional.
2. A judgemental attitude towards young people. Related to the first point, the programme implied that sexual activity outside of vaginal intercourse in the context of a relationship This mainly came to light during the sections presented by the investigative journalist Billie JD Porter, who would investigate and report on a sexual subculture, such as cybersex, recreational drug use or the use of pornography. Unfortunately the way these sections were structured in a manner that seemed to indicate such practices were at unhealthy, illicit and shameful. The individual who claimed to be addicted to pornography was asked why he didn’t have sex with women, as if intercourse were in some way a “better” form of sexual activity and he needed to be ashamed that he was unwilling or unable to find a partner. Participants who engaged in cybersex were ridiculed and mocked for their advanced. Young people imbibing alcohol and taking drugs before having sex were asked why, as if such activity was to be considered deviant The implication seems to be that only valid form of intercourse is penetrative sex between one man and one woman, without regard for the full plethora of sexual activity. . The section was presumably intended to present the view of a young person to contrast with the older sex education professionals, but the end product seemed to contrast the “wholesome” Ms. Porter with those she interviewed, with the former, a well-spoken professional white Anglo-Saxon professional expressing amazement, disgust and disappointment at the activity of the latter. These segments came across as prudish and judgmental when what is needed is an open-minded and understanding approach to unconventional sexual activity. I must also add that, as a proud inhabitant of Newcastle Upon Tyne, I was disappointed to here my home city described as a focal point for drinking, recreational drug use and casual sex, since it now only perpetuates an unfortunate stereotype but also has little basis in fact, at least in my experience.
3. The assumption that sexual activity is ubiquitous amongst young people. The Joy of Teen Sex makes frequent use of statistics to claim that most young people are currently or aspire to be sexually active, and from a young age. I cannot speak for the validity of these claims, since I am neither a sociologist nor a statistician. However, I can say that it seems counter to my own experience growing up. I grew up in the late 90s/early 00s consuming media that assumes sex is ubiquitous among adults. I remember watching an episode of Friends where one character complained that he had not had sex in two months, as if this was a freakishly long period to remain abstinent, for example. This was admittedly a set-up for a joke, but it testifies to the idea that is so prevalent in the media that it is somehow unusual, even deviant, for an individual to abstain from sex for an indefinite period of time. I shouldn’t have to explain the myriad reasons why a young individual might be unwilling or unable to have sex: perhaps are simply not interested, or they feel that there are more important things to worry about than sex, especially given the immense workload of GCSE and A-Level students. It might be that many are simply not comfortable interacting the opposite sex, whether due to lack of confidence, shyness or a simple lack of experience with the opposite sex. Some will not lose their virginity until they are well into adulthood, and some may never have sex at all. Such a position is rarely, if eve, presented in the media, and when it is, it is almost invariably portrayed in a negative light as unusual or antisocial. I worry that The Joy of Teen Sex takes as its default the following position: 1. that all teenagers want sex and 2. all teenagers are currently or soon to be sexually active. Such claims are clearly false; for an ostensibly factual documentary to reiterate that sexual inactivity is unusual, even freakish, is simply adding to the already considerable pressure that young people face to engage in sex prematurely, without adequate preparation and in the wrong mindset, and with potentially devastating consequences. This is to say nothing of the appalling pressure placed upon those who do not have sex, who may feel alienated from their peers at a time of their life that is already emotionally fraught.
I have already mentioned that I feel sex education in the UK is inadequate, and that I feel it has let me down personally. Growing up I felt a great deal of pressure to have sex early and often. As an adult I realised such pressures were pointless, that there is more to life than sex and that satisfying intercourse is not necessary or even conducive to a happy, healthy lifestyle. As a result I was able to put off having sex until I felt that I was ready, both physically and emotionally, and I look back on the experience positively and without regret. It is my dearest wish that all young people will not have to face the same issues I did growing up, that they will receive good sex education and relationship advice that emphasises their empowerment, and their right to only partake in activity with which they are comfortable, without fear of judgement and without causing offence, and that any problems they have will be tackled with the help of professionals who act with tact, dignity and understanding. Unfortunately, I feel that The Joy of Teen Sex, in its current form, proliferates several unhelpful myths about sex, focuses on the mechanical aspects at the expense of the emotional and adds to the pressure young people face about sex, whilst providing a narrow definition of valid intercourse that excludes all non-valid activity as dangerous or deviant. Put simply, I believe The Joy of Teen Sex, far from it its billing as a bold and revolutionary new approach to teenage sexuality, is in fact representative of the worst trends in British sex education
I would very dearly like to see a series that provides good advice on sex and relationships, not only to young people to a whole range of demographics who are interested, worried or concerned about sex. But I do not believe it can fulfil its mandate in its current form. I hope that you will listen to the advice of sex education professionals and reconsider the format and tone of the programme.
I dearly hope you will take my comments on board for future programming.
Regards,
Patrick Welsh
Hopefully I'll be hearing from Channel 4 soon, but given that The Joy of Teen Sex is apparently a ratings success, it doesn't seem likely it will change much. But if you want to actually learn something about sex education, there are plenty of other resources available.
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