Despite the violence of his encounter, Kwame hesitates in reporting these events to his friends, instead staying quiet and continuing to support Arabella in her pursuit of justice against her as yet unknown rapist. These scenes are not a sex-negative cautionary tale about Grindr and pleasure-seeking, but rather force us to question who gets to be a ‘victim’ and what safety and justice looks like for us. This is shrouded in ambiguity – it is not clear if Malik is aggressively humping Kwame, or penetrating him to experience the bareback he felt entitled to, and it later becomes clear that Kwame is not even sure himself.įor Black gay men, the ambiguity of sexual assault and our willingness to report it are complicated by our race, gender, and sexuality. After they have had condom protected sex, Kwame tries to leave, and in devastatingly vicious scenes he is sexually assaulted by Malik. Immediately his own words are thrown back at him: “I thought you were into everything?”. But, to Malik, Kwame’s words don’t meet his actions when he rejects being “fucked bareback”. Within the competitive marketplace for sex, gay men may willingly self-objectify themselves as commodities able to satisfy all desires to increase our chances of accessing the sexiest, most desirable men. When Malik asks Kwame “what are you into?” (that dreaded question), Kwame answers, “I’m into everything”. The background music contains homophobic lyrics, “why all these batty boys act like their mothers?”, which visibly distresses Damon, though Malik and Kwame are unbothered, evidencing clear distinctions in sexual confidence, and setting up for Damon’s eventual exit. Malik’s power is optically and sonically confirmed – the room is dominated by a large bed, and the pale green walls and scattered lighting makes the place feel claustrophobic and polluted, hardly bracing us for an arousing sex scene despite the attractiveness of the men involved. The three men in the scene come to represent versatile expressions of Black gay male sexuality Malik as the dominant power, expressed not only by his ownership of the space, but in how he dictates the sexual roles the men must perform, with the more sexually reserved and less-confident Damon, though voluntarily an observer, being instructed to simply watch. For Kwame and Damon to find private space for sexual exploration, they are forced to find a third party who has housing – the cocky, tall, and muscled Malik. Negotiation is a defining feature of the sexual economy for gay men, layered by degrees of consent, sex roles, and individual confidence. The difficulties of finding private space for sex often forces us into more public spaces or negotiations – Kwame cannot ‘host’ as his father is present, and sexual interest Damon lives with his grandmother, so they must get creative. Sex in a public lavatory, otherwise known as ‘cottaging’, is outlawed by the Sexual Offences Act 2003, but in lieu of access to affordable housing in London where gay men can fuck in privacy, these laws are made to be broken. His plot is central to episode four, “That Was Fun” in its opening scenes, Kwame is shopping with his grandmother, and slips away for a low-key frisk in the toilets he’s arranged through Grindr. Rather than presenting a moralising view of ‘hook-up culture’ among gay men, Kwame’s regular use of Grindr makes us think of the sexual politics of public and private space. Coel’s drama analyses the contemporary sexual economy, through as many prisms and ambiguities as artistically possible, and Kwame is crucial for voyaging into the unchartered waters of sexual violence against gay men. Kwame (Paapa Essiedu), the gay male best friend of protagonist Arabella (Coel) and Terry (Weruche Opia), has a narrative arc that is quieter and even more slow burning than theirs. Who gets to be vulnerable? And who is the ‘right kind of victim’ of sexual assault? As a Black gay man, these questions haunt me as I watch Kwame’s odyssey through the sexual and romantic ecosystem so intricately woven in Michaela’s Coel’s twisty, off-beat drama I May Destroy You. Content note: This article contains some spoilers for I May Destroy You, and discusses sexual assault
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