For decades, many feminists have highlighted the harms of pornography. They have argued that pornography incarnates male supremacy, and it not only constitutes male violence against women but it also constitutes the main conduit for such violence.
Experts have long shown the links between pornography, misogyny and sexual violence against women. Research has found that exposure to both violent pornography and non-violent pornography – depicting consensual sexual activity between adults – fosters attitudes supportive of sexual aggression and rape. And that in normalising sexual violence, pornography also fuels it.
Recently, Lucy Emmerson, the director of the Sex Education Forum has warned that “seeing violent sexual acts in pornography is having a knock-on effect on [young people’s] behaviour”. Research has found a correlation among underage boys between frequent consumption of porn and the idea that forcing someone to have sex is ok.
Despite this, porn is only sporadically discussed in connection with violence against women, online and offline. A case in point is Andrew Tate.
Tate was arrested in December 2022 on suspicion of human trafficking and rape and subsequently moved to house arrest in March 2023. The house arrest has been extended as public prosecutors reportedly continue to investigate him and his brother, Tristan, for crimes including sexually exploiting women and, in the case of Tristan Tate, inciting others to violence.
This has seen the influencer receive an incredible amount of media coverage. This has revolved, primarily, around his “deviant” personality, while ignoring the cultural context he operates in: a patriarchal society in which misogynistic violence is routinely encouraged by mainstream pornography. While Tate arguably promotes the same violence, the two are rarely connected in popular discourse.
Tate’s case it not unique. My research shows how representations of perpetrators of sexual violence, from Harvey Weinstein to Jimmy Saville, routinely focus on individual “deviancy”. They fail to make the connection between misogyny and wider social problems, like pornography. The “villain” is typically identified and singled out as an abnormal man. The details of his abuse are discussed ad nauseam in public discourse and every attempt is made to purge society of his presence and move on.
This is a problem. In ignoring the broader socio-cultural factors at play, this narrative fails to connect what appear to be the most severe instances of misogyny with more “mundane” forms, which have been normalised or appear less harmful. As a result, these are allowed to continue undisturbed.
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The mundane misogyny of social media
It is no secret that social media platforms are littered with “mundane” misogyny, from rape apologists to neo-sexist videos which promote the idea that women have achieved equality with men and that men are the “real” victims now.
Men’s podcasts such as Fresh and Fit, Men of Action (MOA), The Viral Way, for example, are unfiltered repositories of sexism and misogyny. Yet, they are nowhere to be found in mainstream discussions on the topic. The recent, sustained focus on the “extreme” misogyny of Tate has effectively shielded other providers of “mundane” misogyny from media scrutiny.
This kind of tunnel-vision narrative also leaves out of the picture the ordinary misogyny of normalised, yet no less harmful, social practices like pornography. Pornographic websites like PornHub, RedTube, and YouPorn, which have been shown to promote violent and misogynistic content, are accessible to anyone, everywhere. Until March 2023, these online platforms were all owned by the same company, MindGeek, and, in 2020, together they reportedly had approximately 4.5 billion monthly visits – that’s almost double that of Google and Facebook combined.
In the UK, the most prolific users of these porn sites are young adults aged 18-24. News reports have highlighted that children as young as seven have been exposed to their content.
Compared to even a generation ago, mobile technology has made pornography widely available and easily accessible. This has caused a major cultural shift whose consequences have not been fully explored or understood yet. Today anyone can watch violent porn with the same ease they can watch cat videos and we don’t fully know what this is doing to us.
If we look at the language of pornography, it is not fundamentally different from the language of Tate. Think, for example, of the similarities between Tate’s obsession with grabbing women by the neck and the popularity of strangulation in online pornography.
Yet, while every second, online pornography broadcasts the same ideas expressed by Tate to millions of people, including children and teenagers, it does not generate the same level of public outrage. On the contrary, pornography is often defended as a sex positive practice and accepted as a work of fiction.
Its role in the spread of misogyny is notably absent from most mainstream discussions of violence against women, including those about Tate. Society is wondering how to talk to children about Tate, yet pornography is still largely absent from sex education.
It’s about the money
The question then is why Tate has been branded an extreme misogynist but pornography is defended as a “sex-positive” practice. Why do we find it abhorrent for Tate to talk about violence against women, but believe that watching it is fine?
The answer lies largely in two factors: money and the patriarchy.
On the one hand, tunnel-vision narratives function as a patriarchal tool that distracts the attention from broader social factors like pornography and protects “ordinary” men. Hashtags such as #himtoo or #notallmen speak precisely to this idea that violence against women is only perpetrated by a tiny minority of men. Most other men are simply being unfairly accused.
On the other hand, the focus on specific individuals distracts the attention from those who profit from pornography. Pornography is an extremely lucrative business. The silence that surrounds it allows it to continue undisturbed. It makes it easier for individuals and companies to escape accountability and avoid public scrutiny. Many of us know, by now, what Andrew Tate looks like. Comparatively few, if any, will know exactly who owns Pornhub.
Pornography constitutes the socio-cultural context within which men like Tate operate. While it is important that we educate young people about Tate, it is also crucial to place his success within the patriarchal context in which his actions and words are normalised.
Any analysis of Tate, or whoever came before him or will come after him, that does not consider the broader pornification of society will never be complete. To join the dots between “mundane” and “extreme” misogyny and move away from the “tunnel-vision”, we need to talk about porn.
