Childhood

"I was a child and I wanted God to say why it was less bad if I wasn't
a child because I was still the same me if I was or if I wasn't. And for
the first time I didn't want to be grown up because all the adults said
it was less bad. I cried because I didn't see how it could be less bad;
and if I grew up were men going to be putting themselves on me in movies
only it wouldn't be bad because I wouldn't be a child anymore."
Contrary to what seemed to be a popular suggestion in class, I don't
think these lines (which, on a personal note, struck me more than any
other piece of the chapter) were meant to simply declare that there is
no difference between molesting a child and molesting an adult. Rather,
they're intended to beg the question of how we differentiate between the
two and why we do so, and maybe suggest that the differences are not as
profound as we might think.
From a legal perspective, it's easy enough to draw the line, and the
purpose of drawing it is sensible and logical. We can easily rationalize
why we treat those who take advantage of children differently from those
who force themselves on grown women. The separation is not only
meaningful, but clear in its purpose. While adults can give (or choose
not to give) consent, we don't think of children as having those same
faculties, and we don't believe they are entitled to a freedom of choice
because they are not operating with the knowledge and responsibility
that adults are. We differentiate between the two because we acknowledge
what we see as a very clear, important difference in our rational
approach to people exerting their will on one another.
But from a moral perspective, things are much murkier. I do think,
intuitively, we feel an ethical differentiation deserves to be made.
Most people are *not* of the opinion that the man who coerces a woman
into sex should be punished the same way a man who coerces a child into
sex should be. I don't believe they should be subjected to the same
treatment, and I don't think there are many who believe they should be,
Andrea Dworkin included. But it *is* worth assessing why we draw such a
line that goes beyond our rational, law-based justifications.
On one hand, there's a profound difference between children and adults
that drives the very narrative of the first chapter. That is, children
do not have the ability to understand (in part, or perhaps just in its
entirety) the situation they may find themselves forced into. It's not
necessarily a lack of emotional or intellectual development, but rather,
it's the result of fewer experiences and less specific knowledge. They
do not know as much about the topic, and so are not equipped to
understand it or its ramifications. This is not a petty or unimportant
distinction to make between children and adults. It *is* meaningful and
it's the very conflict that lies at the crux of the first chapter of
Mercy.
But there is more at work, and there are forces and ideas worth
questioning. Because the disparity in knowledge is just not the only
reason we feel compelled to differentiate between children in such a
situation and adults in a similar one. There is, I believe, some
stronger intuitive feeling that tends to guide us, and it's a byproduct
of the society we inhabit. Quite simply, the biggest reason we feel this
deep-rooted disgust when faced with the sexual exploitation of children
- a disgust that generally does not fully surface when faced with the
same exploitation of grown adults - is that we so strive to *protect*
our children. They cannot fend for themselves, and we see it as our
responsibility, as adults, to offer them that safety and security that
they would not otherwise have. When someone tries to break that
connection and take advantage of a child, we not only are forced to face
our failures to protect them, but we see the perpetrator as having
destroyed a sacred vow.
And yet, we don't feel that way about adults. Disgust and disapproval
and very strong negative feelings go hand-in-hand with the sexual
exploitation of women, to be sure. But it's not at the same level, and
certainly not of the same type, as those that accompany the exploitation
of children. And what these lines from Mercy prod us to ask is why that
is the case. Why do we not feel as if it's our duty to protect adult
women just as we protect our children? Are adult women really fully
socially equipped to fight off the unwanted advances of men, both as
individuals and as elements of a patricarchal society? Surely they're
not, not with the imperfections in our gender-conscious society, so why
do we not feel that urge to protect them and shield them, why do we not
feel that same disgust? Maybe we should.
That, I believe, is the driving purpose of those lines. And it's not a
question with a clear answer, nor is it a point of thought and
consideration with a clear resolution.