Confessions of a Porn Researcher

Guest blogger, Gail Dines

When people ask about my occupation, my answer is usually a conversation stopper. They do not expect to hear that I research porn, and, after the inevitable jokes, most people are actually fascinated to hear what I have to say about the harms of porn. Of course, not everybody agrees with me, and what often follows is a spirited and lively conversation. It is amazing how many people have stories to tell. Some tend to reveal too much and then regret it. My former dentist, for example, told me about how he liked to spank his wife but then, at my next visit, terminated me as a patient because he said I had a “difficult mouth to work with”! I have had complete strangers write long letters to me about their masturbation history, and one even cc’d the president of my university.

Some of these letters are actually very moving, because they are from men who feel that their porn use is out of control and they don’t know how to stop. Others tell me how porn led to divorce or bankruptcy. And then there are the women who write to say that their partner’s use of porn is a form of betrayal. My suggestion to them to seek help feels inadequate in light of the desperation these people are feeling.

There are also those who enjoy throwing insults at me, but after twenty years I have grown used to this. I have been accused of being a man-hating feminist, a prude, anti-sex, and a book-burning zealot who wants to control how people have sex. What makes dealing with these insults difficult is that a good proportion of these critics have never read my work. Debate and disagreement are the lifeblood of scholarship, but how can I engage with someone who is basing his or her arguments not on my actual work, but on what they think anti-porn feminists have to say? And of course the most likely source of these stereotypes is the media.

The media often caricature us as angry feminists who think that every man who reads porn is going to turn into a rapist. No anti-porn feminist I know would ever make such a claim, because we believe that the effects of porn are often subtle, even barely detectable. But in order to make this case to the public, we need airtime—and for anti-porn feminists this is a rare commodity indeed. I was once a guest on a show on MSNBC that was self-described as an investigative account of the porn industry. For 50 minutes they offered up a glamorous version of the porn industry, but when they came to me in the last 10 minutes, I was swiftly dispatched because I said the show was an example of shoddy journalism.

All of these negative reactions, however, are far outweighed by positive ones. I get emails from people all over the world thanking me for taking on the porn industry and being willing to speak publicly about a topic that generates so much emotion. I am very grateful for these emails. But—to be honest, and knowing what I know about porn—I have no choice but to keep speaking out. Silence would mean capitulation, and as long as there is a porn industry, I will be an anti-porn feminist.

Gail Dines is a professor of sociology and women’s studies at Wheelock College in Boston. She has been researching and speaking about the porn industry for over 20 years. For more information on her new book, Pornland: How Porn Has Hijacked Our Sexuality, please visit her website at: http://www.gaildines.com/.

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