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Porn Studies
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To cite this article: Kristen L. Cole (2014) Pornography, censorship, and public sex: exploring
feminist and queer perspectives of (public) pornography through the case of Pornotopia, Porn
Studies, 1:3, 243-257, DOI: 10.1080/23268743.2014.927708
To link to this article: http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/23268743.2014.927708
Introduction
Erotic and pornographic film festivals occur in major cities throughout the United
States each year. These range in scope and overall agenda: from those that focus on
mainstream productions with the aim of selling products and distributing awards
(e.g. the AVN Adult Film Expo occurring annually in Las Vegas, Nevada since
1984), to those that highlight independent and/or short productions for artistic
recognition (e.g. HUMP!, occurring annually in Seattle, Washington and Portland,
Oregon since 2005; or Good Vibrations Independent erotic film festival [IXFF],
occurring annually in San Francisco, California since 2006), or to those that showcase niche productions for visibility and awareness (e.g. Bike Porn film festival
occurring annually in Milwaukee, Wisconsin since 2007). The public nature of
pornography film festivals suggests that they exist in spaces of open and collaborative consumption, not restricted to private spaces such as the home or to personal
or intimate encounters. This openness also allows for the scrutiny of the function of
pornography film festivals as community service or community nuisance. One
particular erotic film festival that received local and national news media attention,
leading to its subsequent cancellation in 2010, is Pornotopia an annual festival held
in Albuquerque, New Mexico, hosted by self-identified sex-positive feminists and
owners of a local sexuality resource centre and sex shop, Self Serve.
*Email: colek@denison.edu
2014 Taylor & Francis
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K.L. Cole
The cancellation of the 2010 Pornotopia film festival was provoked by city
zoning restrictions and elicited public controversy, debate, and conflict about
pornography, censorship, zoning ordinances, and sex-positive education. Through
a rhetorical analysis of the argument structures and strategies present in 10 news
articles from local and national sources, including the Alibi, KOTA News, KRQE
News, AVN, SEXIS, Psychology Today, and The Stranger, I seek to illuminate the
larger pornography debate in feminist literature. I do so by questioning the moral
orders assumptions guiding and influencing communication, behaviour, and the
construction of social worlds during conflict as constructed, represented, and
evoked by two opposing perspectives and their embodiment in this public
controversy.
I argue that the Pornotopia debate is motivated by parallel moral orders and
grammars that do not respond to one another. Perspectives represented by Pornotopia organizers and community supporters are based in feminist pro-pornography/
anti-censorship moral orders and assumptions. These are motivated by claims to
rights, particularly the right to free speech through critiques of representation and
sexual culture. Perspectives represented by the city are based in anti-public sex
(rather than anti-pornography) moral orders. These are motivated by claims to
responsibility, specifically the responsibility of the city to impose institutional zoning
regulations for the protection of neighbourhoods (families), churches, and children
from anything defined as adult entertainment.
In using the Pornotopia debate as a case study, I reveal how the moral orders of
liberal feminist pro-pornography/anti-censorship perspectives, although often equated with sex-positive feminist perspectives, actually run parallel to sex-positivity.
Liberal feminist perspectives, which I define here specifically as those in support of
pornography through rights-based claims and appeals to free speech, are also limited
in accounting for issues of public sex that are central to public pornography festivals.
I suggest that arguments in favour of venues such as Pornotopia might be able to
transform conflict and be more productive for (feminist) sex-positive agendas
through an understanding of moral orders evoked by (queer) public sex perspectives.
Sex-positivity is used here and throughout this article to refer to possibilities for
openly and publicly embracing, exploring, and educating communities about diverse
sex, sexualities, desires, and relationships as complex, dynamic, and potentially
positive experiences of everyday life. Therefore, a call for systemic shifts in
institutional zoning regulations that limit expressions of queer sexuality, based in
pro-public sex and sex-positive perspectives rather than an anti-censorship perspective, would allow for nuanced and effective argumentation in favour of community
education and outreach work.
I begin with an overview of Pornotopia, including Self Serves commitment to
feminist pornography and sex-positive education and the city of Albuquerques
zoning ordinances that prompted the controversy. I then move into a discussion of
rhetorical analysis, using moral conflict as the theoretical lens and explanatory
schema. I provide a review of pro-pornography/anti-censorship perspectives in
feminist literature and public sex perspectives in queer theory literature to situate the
perspectives employed in the Pornotopia debate. I then turn to the findings of my
analysis and a discussion of the implications of this analysis for pro-sex community
work, meaning work that is geared toward encouraging education on and expression
of diverse sexual choices, preferences, and activities. I suggest that the publicness of
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pornography its existence within a shared space that is open to the community
might serve as a catalyst for transforming the focus of the Pornotopia debate in order
to reconcile the incommensurate moral orders represented by each side. I also
suggest that publicness might serve as a mechanism to broaden pro-pornography/
anti-censorship grammars and possibilities for sex-positive community outreach.
The case: Pornotopia
Pornotopia is an annual pornographic film festival held in Albuquerque, New
Mexico, created by Molly Adler and Matie Fricker, who are co-owners of Self Serve.
According to their website, Self Serve is a sex-positive retail store and sex education
centre that supports women, lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer (LGBTQ) people,
and anyone seeking healthy, positive sexual attitudes and perspectives, and sensual
pleasure in everyday life (Self Serve 2011). As part of this philosophy, beginning
in 2007, Molly and Matie developed and organized Pornotopia as an event where
people could come together to publicly experience feminist, gay, queer, transgender,
and BDSM erotic films as sites of pleasure, education, and artistic expression in an
open and positive environment.
Films that were scheduled to appear in the festival in 2010 included feministproduced titles such as Life, Love, Lust, written and directed by Erica Lust. Lusts
work speaks about sex, lust, and passion ... with a feminine, aesthetic and
innovative approach and is about making love, not porn (Life Love Lust 2011).
Other feminist-produced films included several titles by director Courtney Trouble,
whose work speaks to an extremely fluid, authentic, and hardcore version of
graphic sexual imagery (Courtney Trouble 2011). Some of the queer-produced
films scheduled to appear were from Reel Queer Productions, which aims at
documenting authentic, edgy, queer sex and culture with relevant, intelligent films
inclusive of the many sexualities that identify as queer (Good Releasing 2011), and
Trannywood films, which is a safe sex, educational and porn production company
bringing together a diversity of trans and other queer men (Trannywood Pictures
Theater 2011).1
As the diversity of these independent film titles and descriptions may indicate,
through Pornotopia Self Serve is committed to constructing a public venue where
those interested in feminist and queer renderings of pleasure in film can come
together in a like-minded and judgement-free space. As Penley et al. (2013, 9) have
indicated, feminist and queer pornography movements are strongly influenced by
other social movements in the realm of sexuality, like the sex-positive, LGBT rights,
and sex workers rights movements. As such, feminist and queer pornographies
often contest and complicate dominant representations of gender, sexuality, race,
ethnicity, class, ability, age, body type, and other identity markers in order to
include and account for pleasure within and across inequality, in the face of
injustice, and against the limits of gender hierarchy and both heteronormativity and
homonormativity (2013, 910). In doing so, feminist and queer pornographies can
be important sites where traditionally marginalized groups come to recognize and
understand their sexual desires and identities (Dyer 1985; Waugh 1985) and they are
also important sites to build community, to expand liberal views on gender and
sexuality, and to educate and empower performers and audiences (Penley et al.
2013, 15). In other words, feminist and queer pornography offer narrative and
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visual forms of pleasure and sex that work to disrupt dominant orientations toward
sexuality, desire, and identity that performers and audiences are often situated
within.
Pornotopia and other venues with similar intent are unique in their potential to
break down stigma, account for diversity through representation and visibility, and
offer a practice of consumption that allows for dialogue collaboratively and openly,
without shame, and open conversations about pleasure in all of its diverse
instantiations. Therefore, Self Serves service to the community through Pornotopia
is important for promoting feminist, queer, and sex-positive support and education,
which is vital to many people who are part of the city of Albuquerques population.
However, this potential is limited in its scope when events such as Pornotopia are not
taken seriously by city officials.
The City of Albuquerques website states that they are responsible for
administering and implementing the Comprehensive City Zoning Code (City of
Albuquerque 2014). This zoning code includes the regulation of Adult Amusement
Establishments, which are defined as any commercial establishment that features
any kind of performance, act, service, or display that is characterized by an
emphasis on the depiction, description, exposure, or representation of specified
anatomical areas or the conduct or simulation of specified sexual activities (City of
Albuquerque 2014). Establishments that qualify as adult amusement are permitted in
Heavy Commercial Zones or Industrial Park Zones (often located outside or on
the edges of city limits) as long as they are in a completely enclosed building, located
at least 1000 feet from any other adult amusement establishment or adult store, and
at least 500 feet from the nearest residential zone, church, pre-elementary,
elementary, or secondary school. It was the classification of Pornotopia as adult
amusement that led to the legal definition of its hosting establishment as an adult
amusement establishment (regardless of it being held only once per year), which
instigated its eventual cancellation.
In 2007, 2008, and 2009 Pornotopia was held at a small locally owned theatre
called Guild Cinema in Albuquerques Nob Hill area. However, in early 2010 Molly
and Matie were notified by the city of Albuquerque that Pornotopia could no longer
be held at the Guild because it was not zoned to host adult entertainment.
In compliance with this notification, Molly and Matie sought out alternative
establishments that met proper zoning requirements. In October 2010 they
announced the venues new location would be The Sunshine Theater in downtown
Albuquerque. However, soon after this announcement, they were notified by the city
that their chosen venue was not zoned properly for adult entertainment. In order to
accommodate the citys zoning regulations they organized and planned a censored
version of their originally scheduled show, which would include live burlesque,
music, and sexually provocative comedy rather than pornographic videos. However,
on 4 November, just two days before the event was scheduled to occur, Molly and
Matie announced they were cancelling the censored show, stating that they did not
feel safe hosting the event because of the scrutiny that the city was threatening to
enforce (Schwartz 2010). From November 2010 to September 2013 Pornotopia was
cancelled with no indication of future rescheduling. In order to explore the discourses
surrounding the censorship and subsequent cancellation of Pornotopia, I look at the
rhetorical shaping of the event specifically as it is represented through news media
coverage.
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rights because it violates the fundamental principles of the First Amendment (Rubin
1995; Strossen 1995; Hudson 2006). It is important to note that these are by no
means the only feminist perspectives on pornography and censorship. However, the
anti-censorship/pro-pornography perspective is particularly relevant for understanding the rhetorical arguments constructed in the Pornotopia conflict.
Anti-censorship/pro-pornography
Anti-censorship/pro-pornography feminist perspectives are often motivated by
discussions of the right to free speech through critiques of representation and sexual
culture. In response to anti-pornography claims, Rubin (1995, 245) challenges the
assumption that all pornography is violent. She states that very little pornography
actually depicts violent acts, claims pornography is not more violent or sexist
than mainstream media, and states that defining sadomasochism and other nonnormative sexual behaviours as sexist and violent invalidates them as sexual
preferences and delegitimizes the potential pleasure women derive from these
images. In relation to first amendment rights, Hudson (2006, 75) suggests that
arguments about violence contradict the essence of the amendment, which states
that the impact of speech cannot be grounds for the government control of speech.
Enacting censorship policies encourages a totalitarian control on the population by
the government (2006, 75). Censorship and first amendment rights are discussed in
detail in Strossens (1995) work on defending pornography.
Anti-censorship perspectives, such as that of Strossen (1995, 20), maintain that
the anti-pornography argument is really an antisex argument, which is detrimental
to womens rights and freedom of speech. Strossen states that procensorship
feminism reflects a deep distrust of sex for women (1995, 20). She goes on to say
that censoring pornography is detrimental to womens free speech regarding sex
education, artistic expression, and political lobbying for sexual rights. As Hudson
(2006, 74-75) puts it, initiatives taken by the anti-pornography feminists [seek] to
regulate acceptable and unacceptable sexual identities. Advocating for government
restriction of certain forms of sexual expression ascribes which types of sexual
behaviors are acceptable (and which are not) (2006, 74-75).
Some anti-censorship proponents imply the need for systemic changes in order to
combat oppression of gender and sexuality. Myers (1995, 269) states that the
distinction between pornography and other modes of sexual representation cannot
rest on the characteristics of the image ... [they] are learned through contextualization: they are not innate. In other words, to understand the impact of pornography
we must account for systemic influences on the interpretation of pornographic
images. Similarly, in a call for synthesizing anti-pornography and anti-censorship
perspectives, Chancer (2000, 82) suggests that feminist efforts be aimed at transforming the institutional contexts. One possibility for transforming institutional contexts,
I suggest, is by challenging notions of sex as private by making pornography public
at venues such as Pornotopia, which can also facilitate new interpretations and
contexts for pornography. As queer theories of public sex suggest, challenging
systemic influences such as institutional zoning restrictions to keep pornography
private confronts interpretations of sex as shameful, lewd, and indecent, which
currently limits the possibilities for the interpretation of pornographic images.
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K.L. Cole
Public sex is a related but distinct discussion to pornography that is often left out of
feminist debates.2
Public sex
Theories about public sex originate from the American gay liberation movements
demand that all sex acts performed in private between consenting adults be
decriminalized (Califia 1994, 71): a response to strict state and federal sodomy
laws that are discriminatory against various minority groups. However, as Califia
(1994, 17) demonstrates, the deregulation of private sex means increased criminalization of public sex. It leads to an increased privatization of sex, which is
detrimental to the queer community and reaffirms queer sexuality as lewd, indecent,
and unnatural, thus detracting from possibilities of sex-positivity. Berlant and
Warner (1998), Bell and Binnie (2000), and Hubbard (2012) expand on the sexual
politics of city zoning laws and point to the connection between public sex, queer
politics, and sex-positivity.
Berlant and Warner (1998, 551553) state that national culture depends on
notions of sex as private. These are built on ideologies of heteronormativity that
translate into the institutional control of sexuality through mechanisms such as
zoning restrictions. For example, cities construct zoning ordinances aimed at
protecting heteronormative relations of private life such as families (i.e. neighbourhoods) and religion (i.e. churches). However, in doing so, adult entertainment
establishments, and particularly queer community establishments, are pushed to the
outskirts of the city. In particular, zoning ordinances target gay bars, adult theatres,
and book stores, including sexuality resource centres. This is problematic, particularly for queer communities because these establishments are how they have learned
to find each other; to map a commonly accessible world; to construct the architecture
of queer space in a homophobic environment; and ... to cultivate a collective ethos of
safer sex (1998, 551553). By establishing and enforcing strict zoning regulations,
intimate life is the endlessly cited elsewhere of political public discourse, a promised
haven that distracts citizens from the unequal conditions of their political and
economic lives (1998, 551553). Berlant and Warners argument reveals a need for
systemic change in the ways sex and intimacy are constructed as private and the
possibility for public showings of pornography to enact this challenge.
Similarly, Hubbard (2012, 16) suggests that zoning restrictions are a strategy of
governmentality used to impose moral urban order, often situated as a citys
responsibility to protect morality. The moral bases of zoning restrictions are revealed
when new adult entertainment businesses in cities are almost always targeted or
banned on the basis that they can pollute, taint or contaminate other land
uses such as schools and churches, and are simply not appropriate in family areas
(2012, 164). As such, zoning normalizes particular sexualities while marginalizing
others (2012, 18), and, as a site of power, the city becomes a place where ideas
about normal and healthy sex are produced and disciplined (2012, 30). Therefore,
zoning is always also about sexual morality, which suggests that disrupting the
discourses and practices of zoning can also serve to disrupt dominant, institutionalized conceptions of sexual morality.
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Finally, Bell and Binnie (2000, 17) point to how arguments for the publicness of
queer sex are linked to sex-positivity. They claim that in reaction to the sexnegativity of state health campaigns in the wake of the AIDS crisis, queer politics
came out as proudly pro-sex. In particular, enacting sexuality in public space
space marked as heterosexual became a tactic of embodied political resistance.
However, they caution against rights-based claims that seek to secure space to be a
sexual citizen because these kinds of interventions can serve to inscribe a new (even
if queer) kind of sexual privatization and propriety. Therefore, examining the
Pornotopia conflict reveals how shifting liberal feminist pro-pornography claims
away from rights-based appeals, such as those based in ideologies of free speech, can
open up conversations that address sex-positivity as public and community practice
rather than an institutionalization of space.
Overall, arguments for public sex reveal possibilities for destabilizing sexual
boundaries through a removal of heterosexual relationships as a normative referent,
challenging dominant conceptions of sexual morality, and facilitating sex-positive
education campaigns. This is a positive goal for both feminist and queer perspectives
that aim to disrupt normative conceptions of gender and sexuality within public and
community spaces. It is also a goal that Pornotopia has the potential to push for, the
city has the opportunity to stand for, and liberal leaning perspectives on pornography
have the potential to embrace and evoke in order to facilitate sex-positivity. As will
become clear in my analysis, discourses surrounding Pornotopia reveal that public
sex is a distinct and important theoretical perspective, especially in the ways it
accounts for the public showing of pornography.
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whereas Self Serve specifically appeals to the emotional positivity of nudity through
love and romance.
Through these definitions, the city enacts a very conservative and institutional
stance reminiscent of anti-public sex advocacy whereas Self Serve reveals a more
liberal tendency. Additionally, it is implied that this debate hinges on matters of
public displays of sex and nudity. However, beyond basic definitions of pornography, argumentative grounds, or reasoning, reveal each sides allegiance to their
particular moral order.
Argumentative grounds: reasoning and grammars
In the process of debating Pornotopia, the city explicitly employs argumentative
strategies that forefront the publicness of the venue, thus arguing that its cancellation
is a zoning issue. The city suggests that Pornotopia can still happen but it needs to be
held outside the metropolitan area. Throughout the media coverage of Pornotopia
the city evokes a strong position of regulating publicness, claiming adherence to
zoning laws. It states that they are simply enforcing the law (Gutierrez 2010) and
journalists reaffirm the laws supremacy by taking direct blame away from the city in
statements such as restrictive zoning regulations have effectively banned the festival
(Hymes 2010). When challenged by Pornotopia, they respond by showing a zoning
map of where organizers can and cannot hold the venue or suggesting that
Pornotopia go underground in peoples homes (TinaV 2010). It is clear that the
city has developed this zoning response as a stock and rigid grammar; one that is
challenged by Self Serve, but through their own grammar of pro-pornography,
including censorship claims that do not account for challenges to zoning publics.
Pornotopias argumentative reasoning is based in appeals to freedom of speech
and censorship, which is a strategic argument in feminist anti-pornography debates.
Pornotopia constructs an anti-censorship argument in ways that mirror the anticensorship/pro-pornography feminist perspective. They argue that Pornotopia is not
worse than mainstream media, suggest it is a positive source of pleasure for women,
and claim that Pornotopia is art (and thus protected by free speech).
Organizers of Pornotopia state: Just a couple of blocks away from where
Pornotopia was going to be held, theres a theater showing Jackass 3D, which
features full-frontal nudity (TinaV 2010). Pornotopia is also juxtaposed positively to
mainstream depictions of violence; for example, Molly Adler states in an interview
that its fascinating that body parts are so heavily regulated when violence isnt,
and goes on to suggest that if people are murdering each other violently, its
probably not even necessarily rated R (Demarco 2010). Additionally, Pornotopia is
consistently compared with Knockouts, a gentlemens club across the street from the
film festivals proposed venue. It is stated that it is not fair for Knockouts to
operate but for Pornotopia to be shut down, when the film festival is no more
sexually explicit than a strip club. This better-than-mainstream-media argument is a
clear appeal to one side of the anti-pornography/anti-censorship debate.
Another of the assumptions, which refutes the anti-pornography perspective, is
the possibility for women to derive pleasure from pornography. Self Serve and
proponents of the Pornotopia debate make reference to this; one article even
exclaims women really do like porn!, supporting this with reference to a behavioural
study that found women react as strongly to porn as men do (Ley 2010). The final
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K.L. Cole
but also the ways that these perspectives limit discussion of sex-positivity, particularly
sex-positive outreach, education, and queer community-building. However, there are
important political contexts to consider. In particular, the citys institutional power
allows for non-response, limited response, and static response to stand as legitimate
forms of communication. As with much community organizing, this, unfortunately,
forces much of the burden for changing the dialogue onto Self Serve and community
supporters of Pornotopia. However, Self Serve and Pornotopia supporters have
already embarked on a campaign for visibility in regards to issues of pornography and
censorship, which could be expanded to account for issues of public sex and sexpositivity, serving as an example of how liberal feminist perspectives on pornography
can be expanded in these ways as well. Being made aware of the incommensurable
moral orders undergirding this conflict can also reveal to the city the limitations of
their self-endowed responsibility to protect as located within rigid and morally skewed
definitions of responsibility. Revealing these limitations is a first step in reconciling
worldviews in order to reach a communicative space that transforms conflict and
begins to yield practical and (sex-)positive changes. The second step is to find ways to
redefine the conflict.
Littlejohn (2004, 2) states: instead of settling a dispute, we need to think of
ways to transform it. Instead of encapsulating a conflict, we need to think of ways
to redefine it. He suggests that when tensions arise and differences cannot be
discussed productively, then the possibility to transform this tension lies in
determining what can be discussed productively and how it should be discussed.
Redirecting the conversation in a way that accomplishes a different but equally
important goal in relation to the overall controversy is one possible way in which
persons who are steeped in their own moral orders can begin to make progress
from an alternative angle. For this particular conflict, the most promising and
under-discussed possibility for transformation seems to be that of recognizing the
needs of the public. Rather than starting with pornography, sex, or zoning, the
conversation needs to address the issue as one occurring in a public space that
affects the persons interacting in and contributing to that space. The interests of
those who would benefit from a venue such as Pornotopia, including women,
LGBTQ persons, and members of the BDSM community, need to become a central
point of discussion. In this way, the controversy could begin to address an issue
that is, hopefully, of equal importance to both sides the community that is
affected.
During Pornotopias cancellation, news discourses began to reveal these
possibilities for transforming current communication through recognition of the
importance of Pornotopia as a local public event. In reflecting on support for
Pornotopia from City Councilor Rey Garduo, an editorial in the Albuquerque
Journal suggests that pornography zoning is a quality of life issue (Pornography
Zoning 2011, A8). The article suggests that although Garduo is trying to respond
to freedom of speech claims by suggesting that Albuquerque set aside one week a
year when pornographic film festivals can be shown in town, this resolution still
excludes certain groups. It might briefly appease some freedom of speech issues but it
still limits the quantity and variety of public pornography venues. This allowance
does not fully account for the lives being oppressed year round by such zoning
regulations and the insistence these restrictions put on the privatization of sex.
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sexual imaginaries and psyches. This argument is not particularly significant to the
Pornotopia conflict because the site of controversy is enclosed and there have been no
explicit concerns or discussions regarding advertisements for the festival. However, Cornell
does implicitly endorse queer discussions of public sex by claiming that public decency
should not be a factor in zoning ordinances, and highlights how imposed sexual shame
severely limits psychic space for free play with ones sexuality (1995, 9).
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