While writing this post this morning, I saw that Tosh has apologized for his remarks.  I’m not a fan of forced apology; telling me that you regret losing your shit and resorting to racial epithets is nowhere near as meaningful as simply not saying it in the first place.  This is doubly true when I consider that such apologies are almost always the result of a consumer or viewer backlash, and not any actual contrition.  Additionally, such an apology allows the audience to give the performer (or the athlete, politician, or other public figure) the benefit of the doubt and continue to enjoy his or her work.  In the eyes of the general public, all is forgiven but nothing actually changes.  Note that while I may be unequivocally in favor of a performer’s right to free expression – after all, an incitement to violence doesn’t work if the audience isn’t already prone to violence – that doesn’t mean I’m going to refrain from calling you an asshole after you put your foot in your mouth.

The difference between the Daniel Tosh incident and the Michael Richards and Tracy Morgan incidents lies in the public perception of their hypothetical victims.  If anyone other than Michael Richards thought it was a good idea to stand on a stage and shout the word “nigger” in the presence of an audience, they were either unrepentant white supremacists, or too ashamed of their position to stand with him.  And in the wake of a well-publicized spate of physical and emotional violence against LGBT individuals, there was no chance that Tracy Morgan’s comments would be taken as a joke by society at large.

There is no “It Gets Better” project for rape survivors.  Instead, our society trumpets an inexcusable, widespread “blame the victim” policy, and seems far too preoccupied with what a rape victim may have done to make the rapist rape her, or him, than it is with punishing, or even rehabilitating, those who rape.  That a woman may be hesitant to report an incident of sexual violence for fear that she will be judged, belittled, or even penalized for having been a victim is a set of circumstances that I cannot bear.  When someone reports a car theft, the police don’t suggest that this is what happens when one owns a nice car.  Likewise, “What were you wearing?” should never be uttered by a detective investigating a rape.

I don’t necessarily blame Daniel Tosh, at least not primarily; while it’s true that unfunny comedians have no choice but to attempt to shock their audience, I believe that he was influenced the unfeeling reactions of an entitled, male-dominated society that has long stopped pretending to care about the rights of women.  And I don’t necessarily blame his audience, who I’m guessing turned against the offended woman in the hopes that Tosh would invite them all backstage after his set.  While their actions may have been insensitive and even cruel, they are to an extent victims of an all too unfortunate misogynistic standard that society – American society at least – seems determined to retain.  But that doesn’t make them any less culpable.

When Dharun Ravi was found guilty in the Rutgers University webcam case that led to the suicide of his roommate Tyler Clementi, columnist Dan Savage and other gay rights advocates cited blame-shifting, likened Ravi to a scapegoat, and said that society as a whole was complicit in Clementi’s death.  While having a sexual encounter broadcast via webcam – and being forcefully outed at the same time – was a horrible violation, it was likely a lifetime of adversity that drove Clementi to suicide.  The point made by Savage, et. al was that by making an example of Ravi, society could alleviate its own guilt.  To an extent, I get the same sense from Tosh’s rape joke.  Yes, he said something that I believe transcends poor taste.  But he was emboldened to do so by a society that apparently considers rape no big deal.

In the wake of the Tracy Morgan incident, Louis CK, a comedian I highly respect, defended Morgan and lamented the fact that by attacking him, LGBT individuals squandered an opportunity to open a dialogue not only on LGBT issues, but also traditional views of masculinity.  He’s right; while offended parties are within their rights to voice their opinion of a comedian – or any artist – and his or her material, engaging in a sensible dialogue will benefit society in the long run as it may reshape long-held attitudes in need of changing.  I’m not optimistic, but I hope that Daniel Tosh’s rape joke will not result in a squandered  opportunity.

Update, 4.27.20: Obviously I no longer respect Louis CK. Anyone who still does following the numerous accusations of sexual misconduct against women (and the comedian’s subsequent admission thereof) probably stopped reading this post a couple paragraphs in.

Not long before this post was written and published, I’d mentioned my enjoyment of Louis CK’s comedy to a friend, who in an attempt to dissuade me said she’d “heard things” about him but wouldn’t elaborate as to the specifics. As she was a woman of color, I assumed she was talking about his casual use of the N-word – or various other words that straight white guys shouldn’t want to say – as part of his edgy persona, and I’m sorry to say I largely disregarded her concerns as I found his comedy relatable, especially what he had to say about parenting.

I could have googled it, but honestly I had no idea that it was anything more alarming than that. (I admittedly did find CK’s use of such language problematic, just not enough to abandon him.) Granted, I was well aware that masturbation made up as much of his comedy as it does my tweets, but the thought that he was the kind of malformed, inadequate person who needed to inflict himself on women by forcing them to watch? No way. It wouldn’t have occurred to me in a million years.

Except of course it should have occurred to me because less than a year earlier his F/X show Louie featured a scene wherein the comedian faced off against an anti-masturbation activist on a panel discussion show about the topic. Exasperated by her puritanical views, he tells her that masturbation keeps him sane, and enables him to be a good person. “I’m a good father,” he says. “I recycle and I masturbate. And I’m proud of it. And God’s happy.” All rational, salient points with which I certainly can’t find fault.

He continues: “And later I’m going to masturbate, and I’m going to think about you, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” Cue needle scratch. I get feeling threatened by someone who believes that something that makes you happy, that makes you you, is morally wrong. I get wanting to push back against them. But when you wag your dick in their face, literally or figuratively, that’s when I get off the bus.

Because is it me, or does telling someone something like that come off as assault? Not physical assault, obviously, but anyone who gives the subject any considerable thought must realize that lack of physical contact doesn’t preclude trauma. It’s not unlike the tweets I occasionally see wherein people call out kinksters for, say, performing an elaborate D/s routine on a crowded subway car; if you involve someone in your sex life who hasn’t consented to be a part of it, you are potentially doing harm to that person. And as opposed as I am to the anti-masturbation activist’s position that self-pleasure is harmful – and I recognize that she is a fictional character played by an actor – she didn’t deserve to be harmed. As CK said moments earlier, nobody gets hurt by masturbation. Which is ironic considering the amount of people Louie CK hurt by masturbation.

I’m at a point in my life where I am actively trying to do better. Not necessarily better than other people, just better than I was the day before, or in this case several years before. And part of doing better involves not making excuses for people who do shitty things.

Also, I should point out that the guest  speaker to whom I refer in the second paragraph was wrong: Men sometimes have vaginas. Granted, I’ll wager that his ignorance stemmed less from willful transphobia and more from ignorance; it was 1993 or 1994, and though I don’t wish to speak for all cisgender people, I can say with complete candor that as a cisgender teenager who thought he knew everything about sex, I knew little if anything about what being transgender meant.