By Dr. Gail Stern
A few days ago, my husband gave me a wonderful gift. He had all my precious VHS tapes digitized—which feels like the equivalent of copying cave paintings onto paper—to preserve them. One of those saved videos was Catharsis’ original advertisement for “Sex Signals,” now 25 years old. There were many humbling aspects in that video—my fashion choices, painful scripted dialogue that I was convinced was both hilarious and powerful, a binary approach to gender—but there was a line of narration that rang as true today as it did back then: “Sex Signals” was a show that acted like a conversation.
Back in 2000, this was a radical idea. Sexual assault prevention programs were primarily didactic events, ranging from “spray and pray”—the one-time bombardment of information about resources for survivors—to the campus police officer reciting the laws prohibiting sexual violence—to victim testimonials—powerful messaging to be sure, but again, one-way communication.
When Christian and I first met, I was a recovering victim advocate, having spent seven years on 24-hour call heading the University of Illinois’ Campus Advocacy Network. I was burnt out on direct service and was taking a year off to see if stand-up comedy was a viable career option. We met at a comedic one-act play competition, and my entry focused on the collision of my worlds: the sexism I encountered in my everyday life as a victim advocate, and my need to critique it through humor. Christian’s introspective play about being a privileged White man won, which I then attributed to sexism, not his considerable talent. We then had to perform our shows one after the other over multiple weekends. I very much did not want to like him.
During and following our run of performances, Christian wanted to talk about the work I did, and the way I converted my rage into something accessible to audiences. He wanted to collaborate, which I did not want to do. I viewed him as a member of the enemy camp, having spent the last seven years at war with men who harmed women. He was persistent, arguing that there wasn’t a sexual violence prevention program out there that enabled audiences to hear different perspectives and to have dialogue around them. I needed a lot of convincing to agree to start the process.
It literally took two years of hard conversations to create “Sex Signals.” There was so much I assumed he should have understood, and so much anger I took out on him as a representative of masculinity. It was hard going for both of us, but we persisted with the conversations. “Sex Signals,” in its early iterations, was an origin story of our friendship, and our growing understanding of the complexity and challenges of intimate relationships. The program frequently incorporated arguments (often word-for-word) from those years of debates, modeling what authentic dialogue looked like between two friends. We then used that dialogue as a catalyst to engage audiences in meaningful conversations.
While the program has changed dramatically over the last 25 years, its core premise, that people need to have tough conversations about what matters most—respect, bodily autonomy, and genuine curiosity about what another person wants and feels—has remained the same. Today’s students understand what consent is better than they did 25 years ago, and are much more open to the reality that anyone, regardless of sex, can be a victim or perpetrator. And while some students have been enthusiastic about learning and growing, we knew that not all our audience members would be. The same principles had to apply. Make it a conversation. Allow people to reflect without shame. Give people permission to be courageous and learn through interacting with one another.
It is no secret that the increased use of technology has disrupted, and in some cases, eliminated the opportunity of engaging with others face-to-face. When we engage on incendiary issues, we often do so with signs in our hands, complex concepts reduced to short, angry slogans. We are polarized and isolated, content to reinforce our own beliefs because there is so much to risk by being challenged by others. It also imperils our ability to foster genuine relationships, romantic or otherwise.
I would not be the person I am today without my friendship with Christian Murphy. And that includes every argument we have had. Our friendship challenged me to see him as a person, not as a stereotype, which enabled me to extend my curiosity and patience, not only to my audiences but to others in my life. I want to be clear. While there can be confusion about right and wrong regarding issues surrounding intimacy and sexual violence, there is, emphatically, a right and a wrong. But we cannot scream this at one another. We must reclaim that radical artifact, the conversation. Failing to do so will keep us isolated, instead of making the world as brave as it needs to be to stop sexual violence.
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- sexual violence
Catharsis Productions
Catharsis Productions' mission is to change the world by producing innovative, accessible and research-supported programming that challenges oppressive attitudes and shifts behavior.