Fergus Finlay: We men must have moral courage to learn about consent

The Dublin Rape Crisis Centre's "We-consent" campaign is a conversation we don’t just need to have — we have to have it. Especially men.

Noeline Blackwell (Dublin Rape Crisis Centre), with panellists Chris Rooke, Dr Caroline Kelleher (RCSI), Louise McSharry, comedian Jarlath Regan, Denise Charlton (CFI) and DRCC staff and stakeholders at the launch of DRCC's "We-Consent" campaign. When you look at We-Consent, one of the things you realise is that there’s a lot to learn. Picture: Keith Arkins Media. 

There are two words that go to the heart of abuse. The sort of abuse that men (and their institutions), all too often, inflict on women and children. The sort of abuse that is all too often doubled and trebled by the way the same institutions hide and ignore the damage they allow to be done.

But those same two words are also at the heart of recovery, of growth and maturity, of healthier, happier lifestyles. Except they’re in conflict with each other, these two words. Replace one with the other, and the entire world would be a better place. Not easy. But doable.

The two words are consent, and impunity.

I’ll come back to consent in a minute. But I can’t begin without saying that the work of the Women of Honour in our Defence Forces has been a shining light, illuminated by a host of individual and collective acts of courage and moral authority. And it has been a remarkable public service.

When I wrote about the Women of Honour about 18 months ago, I was struck by the references to moral courage on the Irish Defence Forces’ website. It singled out moral courage among a set of values that demand professionalism, selflessness and courage from those who join. The reference to moral courage is spelled out in a sentence. “You must do what you know is right, not what is easier or popular”.

The Women of Honour are the ones with that moral courage. When you hear about the loneliness and isolation, the discrimination and harassment, the physical and emotional consequences for women in a particularly brutal male-dominated environment, you realise that calls by our Defence Forces for moral courage have fallen on a lot of deaf male ears.

I said at the time that “when you realise that these women of honour have largely been forced out of their careers, and that little or no negative consequences have fallen on the men who perpetrated abuse on them, you can only conclude that calls for moral courage not only fell on deaf ears but may have been uttered with forked tongues in the first place”.

The courage of the Women of Honour led to an independent review. It was pretty clear that the Women of Honour had serious misgivings about whether that would lead to anything, but it made damning findings. At best, it said: “The Defence Forces barely tolerates women, and, at its worst, verbally, physically, sexually and psychologically abuses women in its ranks.” 

There’s now to be a further enquiry, and I confess to a sense that this is being unmercifully dragged out. There is a major shake-up to be done, and it will involve the removal of bad actors from the Defence Forces. There will be no change if that doesn’t happen.

Because what has to change is a culture. It’s not a culture of abuse or wrongdoing or intolerance I’m talking about. Those things happen in a lot of organisations.

Women of Honour members Karina Molloy, Honor Murphy, Diane Byrne and Yvonne O'Rourke. They are the ones with moral courage. File picture: Gareth Chaney/Collins Photos

It’s impunity. The only thing that allows abuse to happen on a systemic basis in any organisation is impunity. I’ll do it because others are doing it. I’ll keep doing it because I’m unlikely to get caught. And if I do get caught, it’s pretty certain that I’ll be protected, not punished.

It’s true of the Defence Forces just as it’s true of the Church, just as it’s true in schools. Just as it was true in Magdalene laundries and mother and baby homes. Where there is impunity there is always corruption and abuse.

Where there is consent, there isn’t. But where consent doesn’t exist, in any individual relationship, there is all the potential for abuse too. That’s why the new campaign just launched by the Dublin Rape Crisis Centre is so fundamentally important. (I have to declare an interest because I do some voluntary work with the centre.) 

They’re going to give it time and energy and scarce resources. The reasons? Because most of us are at sea when it comes to consent. Seven out of every 10 of us think we have a problem with consent, and three out of every 10 of us are embarrassed to talk about it. 

The vast majority of us — despite what some would like you to think — want age-appropriate sex education in schools, and most parents want their children to understand consent and what it means from an early age.

And the second reason why consent is so important is simple. Its absence does terrible damage. Sexual violence destroys lives, and its prevalence in Ireland is far greater than we care to admit. High-profile cases of abuse may make the news, but it’s estimated that up to a third of us have been directly affected by abuse in one form or another.

We can all learn more when it comes to consent & healthy relationships! 🖥️

Learn more today by visiting the We~Consent resource hub https://t.co/pFwHG6QP1k 💬#WeConsent pic.twitter.com/Mp9mKRX289

— We-Consent (@WeConsentIRL) April 6, 2023

There’s a third reason. Consent is healthy. It’s positive. It enhances life and relationships. One of the slogans I hope you’ll see as part of the Consent campaign says “Sex, possibly. Fun, hopefully. Consent, always.” 

I’ve written here before – and got into some trouble for it — that the problem is all men. I believe that. I know in my time I’ve been guilty of tittering at sexist jokes, or I haven’t stood up to be counted in the face of it. Whether we like it or not, this is a conversation that has to involve all men.

And all boys too. We live in a world where misogyny, especially online, can be very seductive. It takes all sorts of forms, from intellectual posturing to pornography. It’s pervasive and debasing. And it’s not sufficiently countered where it matters most.

So this is an unashamed plug. Go to we-consent.ie, or just google the phrase “we consent”. Search for it on Facebook or your preferred social media channel. And get stuck in. On Facebook, the campaign’s message is simple and direct. It wants to show consent as an equal agreement between people. Consent — “it’s ongoing, playful, sexy, fun and real”, it says.

I thought I knew this stuff, or a lot of it anyway. But when you look at we-consent, one of the things you realise is that there’s a lot to learn. Luckily (for me anyway) there’s a lot of easy reading to learn from. How to talk to your kids and grandkids; how to support others; what toxic masculinity is, how to recognise it and how to challenge it. And a host of other things.

This is a conversation we don’t just need to have — we have to have it. I look around, and every young person I meet is streets ahead of where I was at their age. They’re smarter, more confident, more at ease with themselves than I ever was. But they’re also far more pressured. Conflicting messages come at them from all sides, and it’s not uncommon to meet a lot of confusion about the right thing to do.

We-consent is part of the antidote to that. So is open, honest discussion, education that’s geared to where young people are (and not just where we’d like them to be), and an ability to get around the embarrassment many of us are capable of. That’s not a lot to ask, right?