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Article • Revenge Porn: Pornography That Just Isn't Porn

4 September 2019
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Translated by Manon Defrasne

Since most studies on revenge porn concern heterosexual relationships — analyzing the “male aggressor/female victim” phenomenon from a feminist perspective — the language in this article mainly alludes to this gender combination. That is why the word “aggressor” will remain masculine in this article1. This choice does not exclude the fact that women, non-binary people or people in non-heterosexual relationships can perpetrate revenge porn.

In November 2017, in Australia, Facebook tested a controversial system to combat revenge porn: users were asked to send the explicit pictures they owned so that they would be spotted if ever they were to be shared without their consent (Radio-Canada, 2017). Since May 2018, the pilot project has been implemented in Canada, the United States, and the United Kingdom (Radio-Canada, 2018).

Revenge porn has become increasingly problematic over the past several years. Each week in Quebec, an adult is accused of having resorted to revenge porn (Maheu, 2017). Given this rapid expansion, it is essential to question the impacts on victims of this particular sexual violence. This article aims to better understand this topical phenomenon, by focusing on the realities of cis and trans adult women, since women are more likely to experience sexual violence (Statistics Canada, 2010). The case of underage people will not be discussed here since different laws apply to them (Criminal Code, LRC, 1985, ch. C-46, art. 163.1). For example, an explicit image of a teenager is regarded as child pornography, regardless of whether sharing was consentual or not (Éducaloi, 2019).

Neither Pornography nor Revenge

The term “revenge porn” (also “involuntary porn,” “non-consensual pornography,” or “cyber rape”) refers to the sharing of sexually explicit pictures of someone without their consent (Citron and Franks, 2014; Henry and Powell, 2016; McGlynn and Rackley, 2017; McGlynn et al., 2017; Salter, 2013; Scheller, 2014; Sirianni, 2015). While there seems to be a tacit agreement on the definition, there is no consensus on exactly what acts count as revenge porn. Some authors, for example, include all intimate images, whether taken with the victim’s consent and knowledge or without; while others specify the voluntary aspect of the image’s creation (Citron and Franks, 2014; McGlynn and Rackley, 2017; McGlynn et al., 2017; Salter, 2013; Scheller, 2014; Siranni, 2015). Furthermore, the appellation revenge porn is sometimes criticized.

Indeed, it suggests a specific motive—revenge—and by referring to pornography and that focusing rather on the aggressor than on the violent nature of the act, it overshadows the victim and the consequences she suffers (Franks, 2015; McGlynn and Rackley, 2017; McGlynn et al., 2017).

To resolve this dilemma, some authors propose using the expression “image-based sexual abuse.” This broader expression allows for a better definition of revenge porn, placing it on a continuum of sexual violence and refocusing the issue from the point of view of the victim (McGlynn and Rackley, 2017; McGlynn et al., 2017). Similarly, Canadian law states of “publication of intimate images without consent”:

[Anyone] who knowingly publishes, distributes, transmits, sells, makes available or advertises an intimate image of a person, knowing that the person depicted in the image did not give their consent to that conduct, or being reckless as to whether or not that person gave their consent to that conduct […]. In this section, intimate image means a visual recording of a person made by any means, including a photographic, film or video recording, in which the person is nude, is exposing his or her genital organs or anal region or her breasts or is engaged in explicit sexual activity; in respect of which, at the time of the recording, there were circumstances that gave rise to a reasonable expectation of privacy; and in respect of which the person depicted retains a reasonable expectation of privacy at the time the offence is committed. (Criminal Code, LRC, 1985, ch. C-46, art. 162.1)

The term ‘revenge porn’ will be used in this article, but the above definition from the Canadian Criminal Code will predominate throughout the text.

A Phenomenon in Need of Statistics

Although many researchers are interested in studying revenge porn, a scarce amount of data exists. In the United States, more than a third of adults make and share naked and revealing pictures of themselves on the Internet (Jayson, 2008). According to a study conducted in Australia, one in five people experience aggression related to the sharing of their images, online or offline (Henry et al., 2017). Men are more likely to share pornographic content of themselves to others, and women are usually more afraid of possible repercussions of such sharing (Henry et al., 2017; McAfee, 2013).

Studies do not agree on the gender prevalence of the victims of revenge porn. One says that men are more likely to be victims of the revenge porn phenomenon (McAfee, 2013). Other reports state that men and women both have equal chances of being victims, while the Cyber Civil Rights Initiative (2014) asserts that women represent 90% of the victims (Henry et al., 2017). Here, we use the data from this study, among others to support the thesis of gender-related victimization. However, it must be noted that the study’s methodology has been criticized (Citron and Franks, 2014; Henry and Powell, 2016; McGlynn and Rackley, 2017). Observations made on websites that facilitate revenge porn allow us to think that women are far more affected than men (Whitmarsh, 2015a, 2015b cited in McGlynn et al., 2017). Some researchers assert that a woman’s experience has a much larger impact on her self-esteem, social status, and sexual life (Citron and Franks, 2014; McGlynn and Rackley, 2017; Scheller, 2014). In this sense, the power dynamic surpasses this particular aggression event and more broadly demonstrates the social inequalities that relate to gender and the control exerted over women’s sexuality. The phenomenon is influenced by a double standard that allows less sexual freedom for women (McGlynn and Rackley, 2017; Citron and Franks, 2014; Scheller, 2014).

Cases of revenge porn often appear associated with other aggression reports, such as threats, harassment, psychological intimidation, or physical attacks (Radio-Canada, 2017). Moreover, according to a survey in Australia, one in two disabled persons, and one in two Aboriginal people reported having been victims of revenge porn in their lifetimes (Henry et al., 2017). This survey also asserts that this kind of sexual violence is more common among lesbians, gays and bisexuals.

Not (Only) Internet’s Fault

Concepts of harassment and threats related to the publication of a non-consenting person’s photo are as old as photography itself (Henry and Powell, 2016; McGlynn and Rackley, 2017; Salter, 2013; Scheller, 2014). The Internet created an additional way to perpetrate violence, and the simplicity to widely share pictures or personal information makes it a preferred means of extortion (Henry and Powell, 2016; McGlynn et al., 2017). The first case of revenge porn to make headlines, long before the democratization of the Internet, was the case of Marilyn Monroe and photographer Tom Kelly in 1949. The young actress had sold naked pictures to Kelly for fifty dollars, before she became famous. Three years later, as Monroe’s career was taking off, he sold the pictures to an erotic magazine, threatening the actress’s professional life. In the end, the event brought Monroe public sympathy, rather than distaste (Scheller, 2014).

Other cases of revenge porn exist outside the Internet. For example, the high-profile case of a man who, in order to take revenge after a breakup, left DVDs of his ex-partner’s sexual relationships (filmed without her consent) on several car windshields in the neighborhood along with her contact details (Citron and Franks, 2014). Even if the dissemination of explicit material without consent is easier with the democratization created by the Internet, sharing the personal information of someone else has been illegal for a long time (Citron and Franks, 2014). In 2010, IsAnybodyUp.com, one of the first websites dedicated to revenge porn, emerged and offered a platform dedicated to the sharing of pictures, videos, but also personal information of victims (Stroud, 2014).

The operator of the website, who was particularly hostile to the victims, responded to their complaints by sharing their pictures again, in a section called “The Daily Hate” (Salter, 2013). Another website, IsAnybodyDown, was able to get personal information on victims by creating a fictional advocacy service that was said to help them. When women asked for help on this advocacy service, the owner of the website requested significant amounts of money to remove their pictures on the website (Salter, 2013).

“She's the one who took pictures of herself.”

Over the last decade, the sexting phenomenon, i.e. texting explicit sexual photos or videos, facilitated by the omnipresence of smartphones, has spread (Henry and Powell, 2016). Men are more likely to share intimate pictures of themselves, while women instead share them with a trusted partner (Bates, 2017; Henry et al., 2017). In cases of aggression, women who produced and shared these pictures are taken less seriously by authorities and are often the ones blamed (Bates, 2017; Citron and Franks, 2014; McGlynn and Rackley, 2017; Salter, 2013). As in many other circumstances, whether relating to revenge porn or not, women who showed sexual autonomy and agency are publicly punished for not respecting social expectations that remind them of their sexual role (McGlynn and Rackley, 2017; McGlynn et al., 2017). This role consists of being “sexuality keepers,” i.e. women in heterosexual contexts have the “privilege” to allow the sexual relationship or not, and this sexual relationship must be dedicated to the monogamous and private relationship (Citron and Franks, 2014). It thus becomes disturbing for women to take control of their sexuality. And when they do, chances of harassment increase (Citron and Franks, 2014).

The victim-blaming issue is also related to a misunderstanding of what consent is. The fact that a person consents to produce or share pictures with their partner, does not imply that they consent to have their pictures shared with other people (Citron and Franks, 2014).

However, rather than introducing this concept of consent, several interventions for preventing technology-related sexual crimes in young people focus on the potential victims’ behaviour. They mainly orient them towards the importance of not sharing intimate pictures of themselves, which is, by extension, very close to victim-blaming and sexuality control (Ça sexprime, 2012; Mercier, 2017; Quebec Ministry of Public Security, 2012; Pelletier, 2015).

What Kind of Violence Is Revenge Porn: A Lot of Research Is Needed

Few authors have looked into the issue of revenge porn, and the few articles that deal with this subject report from the same sources. This is because of the small number of empirical studies available on the subject, and of the fact that studies only focus on the consequences of sexting among underage people (Henry and Powell, 2016). Moreover, it is hard to understand the prevalence of this phenomenon, since quantitative research has been insubstantial. Moreover, the available data mainly comes from just two online surveys: the survey reported by the Cyber Civil Rights Initiative website (2014) which started the “End Revenge Porn” campaign, and the 2013 study commissioned by McAfee (online interviews). These studies do not take the context of the aggression and its consequences into account (Henry and Powell, 2016). McAfee is a company that sells products against cybercrime and its studies are conducted by the MSI International company, which specialize in marketing research, not in social studies (McAfee, 2013; MSI International, 2018). Its scientific rigour is thus uncertain. Moreover, the absence of consensus for a definition makes it difficult to measure the phenomenon (Henry and Powell, 2016; McGlynn et al., 2017). Several authors draw on newspaper articles or blog posts, which also reveal a lack of scientific rigour.

Overall, studies are made in a heterosexual context highlighting the male aggressor and the female victim, while reality is far more complex. People from the LGBTQ+ communities are not included in the studies or, at least, not specifically mentioned. It is known, however, that LGBTQ+ people are at higher risk of undergoing several types of violence (St-Pierre, 2017). In short, too little information on prevalence, consequences and involved dynamics are available (Citron and Franks, 2014; Henry and Powell, 2016).

It is obvious that more research needs to be done in order to better understand the phenomenon. Some publications highlight the vision of the aggressor, and many others highlight the legal dimension, but few of them deal with the victims’ comprehension of the phenomenon (Brady, 2017; Citron and Franks, 2014; DeKeseredy and Schwartz, 2016; Fiedler, 2013; Franks, 2015; Sirianni, 2015). As previously discussed, several limits—lack of scientific rigour, heteronormative context, emphasis on the aggressors, etc.—are associated with the studies reviewed, and it is now necessary to document the phenomenon from all angles. For example, researchers could study the role of ethnicity, or the role of social class in revenge porn experiences (Bates, 2017). Looking into sociosexual impacts on the victims could also better help target what kind of intervention should be necessary. Documenting and identifying the prevalence of revenge porn could also contribute to assessing the extent of the phenomenon. Talking about the realities of LGBTQ+ people could broaden understanding of revenge porn and adapt interventions. In short, the importance of sexological intervention related to the revenge porn issue should be put forward in order to foster the development of different kinds of interventions. For this purpose, it is necessary to prevent, educate and increase awareness about potential risks of sexting and revenge porn. Raising awareness on victim-blaming brings responsibility to the aggressor, which is fundamental. This could minimize the impacts of rape culture on revenge porn victims. It is important to transmit clear and valid information on laws, procedures for removing images on search engines, and existing resources. It is also important to advocate for the exposure of this issue as an intervenor, and to raise awareness in professional circles so that people can recognize and integrate the revenge porn phenomenon in interventions.

This article was inspired by a paper written for the course SEX3104 — Problématiques sexologiques des violences et des abus sexuels (Sexological Issues of Sexual Violence and Abuse) of the Université du Québec à Montréal during the Winter 2018 Semester. The author would like to thank her colleagues Brenda Aguiar-Cabral, Amélie Bouchard and Ariane Brisson for their precious cooperation.

 

1The original (French) text uses the masculine term "agresseur"

 

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To cite this article:

Gilbert, M. (2019, September 4). Revenge Porn: Pornography That Just Isn't Porn. Les 3 sex*https://les3sex.com/en/news/754/article-revenge-porn-pornography-that-just-isn-t-porn 

revenge porn, consent, internet, victim, violence, law, vengeance, abuse, victim-blaming, sexual crime, involuntary porn, non-consensual pornography, cyber rape

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