I May Destroy You: Gender, Rape Culture, and Intersectionality (2024)

Michaela Coel is a lead actor, writer, producer, and co-director of I May Destroy You (IMDY; 2020), a TV series established on the premise of consent, rape culture, intersectionality, trauma, and gender relations. The juxtaposition of drama and comedy invites us to explore multifacet stories surrounding rape, such as the aftermath and recovery, while narrating through a subtheme of friendship. The show follows three main characters–Arabella, Terry, and Kwame–who experience different forms of sexual assault mediated by their gender, sexuality, race, and, class, providing nuance for storytelling. Their rape stories do not merely define each character, but they are portrayed as complex, dynamic, and almost authentic to real-world survivors. The lead character Arabella is a black British millennial author who gained fame through Twitter and her debut book, ‘Chronicle of Fed-Up Millennial.’ As the deadline for her second book approached, Arabella decided to take a break and temporarily escape the hectic pace of her life by going to a bar. Unfortunately, she was drugged and raped in the bar toilet stall, leaving her in a drug-induced fugue state with an elusive memory of the assault. She wakes up the following day in the publisher’s office with a bleeding injury on her forehead and a broken phone, barely remembering anything, and trying to convince herself that the images in her head are just imagination. However, the more she denies it, the more it becomes clear that something has happened to her without her knowledge.

One prominent theme of IMDY is how it complicates the notion of consent, both obvious and ambiguous. The show tries to “shine a torch” on the ‘gray areas’ of consent violations where it is maybe indefinite whether a crime has been committed, but consent still seems to be violated (Blake, 2020). For instance, when Terry was deceived into having a threesome with two conspiratorial men, when Kwame was being humped nonconsensually after just consensually doing it, or when Arabella’s peer writer Zain stealthed — a nonconsensual removal of a condom — her. This allows the audience to see the manifestation and recovery of post-traumatic disorders (PTSD) that are so common for sexual violence survivors (Gold et al., 2007; Van der Kolk, 2000). Furthermore, these cases of sexual assault elucidate how rape culture, an atmosphere in which sexual violence is facilitated and permitted to exist, is so normalized and universalized (Harding, 2015; Wade & Marx Ferree, 2019). By situating all of these assaults in a particular social setting, IMDY dramatizes the way in which rape culture operates systematically, making a vibrant echo that rape is never a personal problem. Also, rape culture fabricates particular qualifications for rape victims, thus, resulting in engendering the concept of victim blaming and ideal/perfect victim (Stubbs-Richardson et al., 2018). Victim blaming is the belief that an individual gets victimized because of their doings, and the ideal/perfect victim refers to the most vulnerable individual who is worthy of sympathy and legitimacy of victimhood (Long, 2021; Wade & Marx Ferree, 2019).

The very existence of rape culture is a byproduct of the social construction in which a particular set of social, cultural, and historical beliefs are based on what people perceive as a reality which means that rape culture is not manifest by itself but has been channeled through people’s beliefs. This means that rape culture is manufactured through a process of constructing a reality (Sobieraj, 1998) in which a new reality is created and accepted by people, not inherently objective or natural. Therefore, the heart of dismantling rape culture is to change people’s perspective toward rape, starting from the personal level (internalization stage) to the public level (externalization stage), then to the systematic level (objectivation stage). Additionally, rape culture is closely associated with the reproduction of rape myths, which are constantly perpetuated by the media (Kahlor & Eastin, 2011). Indeed, IMDY can be interpreted as resistance against rape culture, as it shows how rotten is the reality we are living in, and debunks many rape myths that are intertwined with race, gender, sexuality, and class on a macro-level (Edwards et al., 2011). While trying to dismantle rape culture, IMDY demonstrates that sexual assault disrupts the victim’s life since it forces them to undergo the triggering and time-consuming rape trial procedure (Skinnider et al., 2017) as we can when Arabella spent months trying to heal herself. All of this invites the audience to ponder how victims of sexual assault may receive different responses and sympathy from the legal system. For example, when Kwame decides to report his assault, a male police officer gives him a hom*ophobic reaction, questions how gay people have sex, unable to comprehend how Kwame lets it happens, thus, perpetuating the pervasive rape myths (Dietzel, 2021; Shaw et al., 2017). This illustrates how the lived reality of male-on-male rape victims went unacknowledged, was underreported, stigmatized, and even disqualified from meeting the criteria for victimhood since the media repetitively trivializes male rape stories as a comedic device (Gustafsson-Wood, 2019; Sarkar, 2020; Turchik & Edwards, 2012). Kwame’s rape aftermath is depicted in a way to be sympathized with, but more importantly, to demonstrate how rape survivors are frequently subjected to victim-blaming when consulting with untrained law enforcement personnel who possess a limited view of sexuality (Alaggia & Wang, 2020; Campbell et al., 2009)

Even though rape culture may be so universalized, each survivor’s experiences are not. As we can see that Arabella, Terry, and Kwame experience different manifestations of sexual assaults, making their rape trauma discrete and creating a spectrum of struggle (Dunk-West & Brook, 2015). The individuality of trauma is congruent with each character’s intersectionality: the way in which oppression manifests itself in multiple forms, layers, variations, and directions on an individual’s identity (Crenshaw, 1989). In Arabella’s arc, she struggles to process her assault and instead starts thinking about the more significant social issues, “There are hungry children. There’s a war in Syria. Not everyone has a cell phone.” This may be her coping mechanism, but it stops her from healing. Eventually, to learn how to live after the assault, Arabella reassembles with a neglected aspect of her identity: being a woman. As written in one of the drafts for her second book, “I never noticed being a woman. I was too busy being poor and black.” illustrates how the intersectionality of race and class inhibits her from noticing the struggle caused by her gender and sexuality. After noticing, she learns that she needs to reconcile her intersectionality to heal herself. She tries coloring, seeking therapy, and quitting drinking, but none of them help her better, and she still struggles with sleeping and fatigue, common symptoms of a rape survivor (Temesgen & Wilkinson, 2022; Van der Kolk, 2000). She loses control of her life trajectory, gets fired from her only job, and runs out of money–depicting the authentic lived experience of rape survivors who need time and space to reexamine what happened to them, interrupting their whole life and thus their financial security (Loya, 2015). The assault makes her powerless even in her own narrative.

After that, Arabella seeks asylum using social media, Twitter, to regain her sense of identity and share her rape story with people. She has even denounced Zain, the second rapist who stealthed her, at the book event, which goes viral on social media. Arabella’s bloating on Twitter becomes the mechanism of her therapy as she receives tons of affirmative and sympathetic comments, which comforts her temporarily. This resonates with the #MeToo movement, which heavily exploded on social media in 2017. However, Arabella goes extreme with her social media addiction and feels obligated to advocate against every social injustice while her sexual trauma is not yet recovered. She joins digital feminism movement and tries to “shine a torch” on rape culture, thus fostering solidarity with other rape victims (Keller et al., 2016). While what Arabella does is good for society, it makes her feel more pressured to speak up for someone else, becoming a double-edged sword and causing her recovery to be difficult. Later on, Arabella eventually seeks therapy, and the therapist asks her if she needs social media to heal her; it is at that moment that she realizes she does not. Arabella’s recovery arc continues, and she diligently processes her trauma. Her rape case ended up as a cold case with no further investigation, reflecting how many sexual assault cases in the real world remains unresolved and many rapists remain on the loose (Bean & Phillips, 2022; Bird, 2022; Kilander, 2022).

Likewise, Terry had never suspected her time in Italy when she got approached by two men and ended up consensually having a threesome with them. However, she saw them laughing together when they left her, implying that they knew each other and planned to seduce her in the first place. Terry recalls this only after she learns about what happens to Arabella and Kwame, realizes that it may be considered sexual assault, and starts working on her therapy. Not long after that, she arranges to date a musician Kai, who she only realizes later that he is a transgender man. After finding out, Terry is shocked and Kai tells her that he has a vagin*. Again, Terry is in shock and speechless. This reaction may seem harmless, but it shows the ingrained belief of cis-heteronormativity, which makes Terry assume that everyone is cisgender while ignoring the existence of transgender individuals. Although many transgender people indeed choose to disclose their identity with their date for safety reasons (Fernandez & Birnholtz, 2019), Terry’s response should still be considered transphobic. Transgender people, people in the LGBTQIAN+ community, or even cisgender heterosexual people have never owned anyone a disclosure of their gender or sexual identity.

For some transgender individuals, disclosing their identity means exposing themselves to risk, which puts them at a higher stake of encountering rejection or even prejudice (Fernandez & Birnholtz, 2019). As Kai looks uncomfortable discussing his gender and sexual identity with Terry, he may have been experiencing gender dysphoria and trying to pass himself into a “recognizable form” of masculinity (Wade & Marx Ferree, 2019; West & Zimmerman, 1987). Things get worse when Terry defends herself after Kai asks if she wants to leave “If I leave, people will think I’m transphobic.” Ironically, Terry’s defense clears all ambiguity the audience may have. Several cisgender heterosexual people have no interest in dating transgender people (Blair & Hoskin, 2018), and Terry is likely to be one of them. However, at the end of the show, Terry and Kai seem to readjust their understandings (though Kai has never had a problem with Terry being a cisgender heterosexual woman) and may be continued dating after that. Terry’s arc raises the question of why there is a sloppy inclusion of a single transgender character and minimizes him as a mere plot device, especially after Coel has rewritten almost two hundred drafts (Jung, 2020).

However, Kwame, who also carries stigmatized characteristics of being a black gay man (Wade & Marx Ferree, 2019), is subjected to an even worse aftermath. Soon after Kwame tells Arabella about his assaults, she locks him in a room with another man, Jamal, and encourages them to have sex while she is throwing a party in another room. We can see how triggering and terrifying this situation is for Kwame, especially when he just encountered sexual assault and told to a person he trusts the most. In another episode, after opting not to report his assault, he tries to redefine and regain control over his sexuality by engaging in a sexual encounter with a white woman, Nilufer, without disclosing his sexuality. Unfortunately, Nilufer reveals to fetishizing black men, and after learning that Kwame is gay, she says that she “disgusts” him. This incident is already uncomfortable for Kwame and even more painful when he discusses it with Arabella, but she accuses him of rape just because he did not come out before having sex with Nilufer. Kwame’s arc can be used as an example to challenge the concept of the ideal/perfect victim since he is subjected to be both victim and perpetrator. However, as much as the show aims to present the possibility of victim-turn-rapist, it fails to recognize how the intersectionality of blackness and queerness in Kwame is working in tandem to construct not only his trauma but also his coping mechanism.

Accusing Kwame of being transgressive just because he does not disclose his sexual orientation, Arabella jeopardizes the real-world experience of queer people who are constantly subjected to a fraught expectation to come out on every occasion, whereby the cisgender heterosexual individuals are not expected to the same degree of explicitness (Brownfield et al., 2018; Sunagawa, 2018; Walters, 2014). Arabella’s attitude abundantly exemplifies how heteronormativity has dominated the narrative of today’s society, where hegemonic masculinity is upheld, igniting hom*ophobia against marginalized masculinity identity of Kwame (Bhana & Mayeza, 2016; Connell, 2005; Connell & Messerschmidt, 2005; Wade & Marx Ferree, 2019). It may also reinforce the stigmas toward queer identity, contributing to an apprehension to come out (Barker & Langdridge, 2008). Coel’s decision to make it seems that Kwame is guilty of not unveiling his sexuality, even with someone whom he clearly is not comfortable with, is stigmatizing the experiences of many queer individuals who encounter variations of hardship in their coming out stories (Breakwell & Jaspal, 2021; Legate et al., 2011; Omarzu, 2000). Arguably, when Kwame refers to that intercourse as “an experiment”, it may imperil the identity of, for example, a bisexual or pansexual individual who is already constantly misconceived as being ‘confused’ with their sexual orientation, resulting in the echo of biphobia and panphobia (Curran, 2021; St. George, 2022). Also, it can be argued that Arabella may amplify a hom*ophobic response toward her friend, scrutinizing him for his already suffering state. Moreover, since Michaela Coel, a cisgender woman, has never experienced this layer of persecution, she may never understand the condition, burden, and authenticity of those in the LGBTQIAN+ community when she wrote a narrative about a gay man while still stuck with heterocentrism. Until the last episode, Kwame never has a chance to find any resilences from his traumatic experiences, leaving him suffering in silence as if the gravity of his trauma is unequal to Arabella’s.

Last but not least, in Arabella’s arc, we can see the function of gender relations and how it works dynamically. Arabella is in a long-distance relationship with her Italian drug dealer boyfriend, Biagio, who physically and emotionally abuses her. He blamed her for getting rape, and commented about why she did not watch her drink. Biagio’s behavior to channel blame onto Arabella helps uphold the power relations between her and her rapists since he thinks it was her fault not the rapist’s. We can see Biago’s abusive behavior in plain sight when he locks Arabella out of his home (however, she breaks into it without notifying him). While she is begging for her passport that is left inside his home, he slides it under the door and comes out with a gun to threaten her. Throughout the show, it seems like Biagio has always criticized Arabella’s behavior about drug and alcohol intake while his very same behavior is okay, showing how the patriarchal dividend facilitates men (Biagio) and oppress (Arabella). Biago is not only benefit from patriarchal dividend like many other men, but he is also privileged by his embodiment of hegemonic masculinity (Connell, 2005; Wade & Marx Ferree, 2019). It can constantly be seen how Biago is portrayed to be dominant to Arabella; for example, he does not want to go to London to meet her but insists her to come instead.

Also, Biago seems able to do whatever he wants and expects Arabella to follow his convenience: he arranges the time and place where he wants to talk or meet her. Furthermore, Arabella falls into a submissive position when she is with him as if her autonomy in the relationship is so limited. For example, we can see how Arabella constantly developed an emotional attachment for Biagio in the flashblack, but he only had a dismissal to any commitment she asked for. By exploiting his patriarchal power, Biago verbally abuses Arabella and threatens her to follow his command. It is evident from the context of their relationship (cis-heteronormative) and how it is depicted that it will follow a similar pattern with most of, if not all, the heterosexual relationships we often see on screen. Clearly, this is not the very empowering arc of the show. Another example of power and emotional relations is in Kwame’s case, for example, when Nilufer projects her fetishization and hom*ophobia onto him after she finds out about his sexuality, or when Arabella demised his behavior as rape. Both are cisgender women who hold their heteronormativity so firmly that it puts Kwame in bigotry. Moreover, this is a clear example of how power operates differently when it comes to a black gay man compared to a white heterosexual man who usually benefits more from the existing social structure (Connell, 2002).

Other aspects of gender relations presented in IMDY is production relations and symbolic relations. While Arabella suffers from coping with PTSD due to her assault, she loses her job because she cannot meet the deadline of her second book and relies on some of her savings and lend from Terry. On the other hand, Zain, who gets publicly exposed as a rapist by Arabella, is still able to work as a renowned writer under a pseudonym, receives every paycheck, and never has to struggle with financial instability like Arabella, who is his victim. This highlights the ingrained systemic disparity which women, especially women of color and rape survivors, have to encounter all the time in their careers, particularly in the publishing industry (Loya, 2015; So & Wezerek, 2020). Also, it can be viewed that Zain was also granted a higher social power through his embodiment of hegemonic masculinity since he has lighter skin color, handsome privilege, and, more importantly, is a cisgender heterosexual man (Connell, 2005; Wade & Marx Ferree, 2019). For symbolic relations, in one fantasies where Arabella imagines to ‘revenge’ her rapist, David, she drugged and murdered him with the help of her friends, and one passing woman says “Boys will be boys”. This is both humorous and powerful since this phrase has long been used as an excuse for men when they commit something bad since such behavior is deemed (externalized) to be normative to their sex category membership (Sobieraj, 1998; West & Zimmerman, 1987) and seeing it uses to ridicule them, is symbolically important for the demolition of the existing gender norms.

To conclude, IMDY does a successful job to explore and targeting rape culture, demostrating that sexual assault encompasses a broader spectrum from personal to political. At the same time, it debunks some rape myths that are constantly perpetuated on screen by portraying many narrative of rape without sugarcoating (Edwards et al., 2011). Coel’s ability to write a story centering on a black woman’s character within the black British community opens a new perspective in which black women are represented. While the majority of the show centering sexual violence is produced by American media within the US context, Coel’s IMDY adds nuance to the genre and introduces us to learn about the universality of sexual violence, trauma, and rape culture, proving that sexual crimes done to human is the same, but also different in context. By illustrating the pictures of vulnerability, especially through Arabella and Terry, IMDY has subverted the overused ‘Strong Black Woman’ trope in which black female characters are expected to be strong, empowering, and, more importantly, show no vulnerability as if they are superwomen (Manke, 2019). Both black female characters, Arabella and Terry, unveil their fragility, open their trauma, and express their weakness to the audience. This helps dismantle the archetype of black women on screen and display them in a more humanized, realistic way. Also, it helps signal that black women can also suffer and go through burdens in their lives, personally and systemically, especially with the interrelation of race and gender (The Take, 2020). Ultimately, it could be said that the ‘gray area’ of consent in IMDY is phenomenal storytelling, while Coel’s writing leaves us with ambiguity, introducing an open-ended conversation. However, the show falls short with Coel’s lazy writing on the representation of the LGBTQIAN+ community by positioning Kwame’s assault story into a sideline, making him seem to be only a ‘gay best friend’ (Staples, 2021); or when depicting Kai’s identity just as a gimmick for the story.

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