In certain corners of the internet, few topics arouse as much rage as that of relationships between people of significantly different ages. It’s a cyclical controversy, which needs only the tiniest spark to reignite it.
If you’re unfamiliar with the debate, let me drag you down with me: over the past few years, a sizeable segment of the liberal-left has decided that age gaps within relationships (eg a 40-year-old going out with a 23-year-old) are inherently problematic. It’s an attitude which seems to be derived from a confluence of post-MeToo feminism and social justice politics, both of which rightly place an emphasis on caring for the vulnerable. The argument goes that age gaps reflect an imbalance of power and therefore leave young people open to coercion or abuse. The older partner is usually characterised as predatory; the younger partner as having been taken advantage of, even if they are well into their early twenties.
Crucially, accusations of abuse are made even when the person considered the “victim” has alleged no such wrongdoing themselves: for example, journalist Glenn Greenwald was recently criticised for the age-gap between himself and his husband, Brazilian politician David Miranda, despite the fact that Miranda strenuously objected to the implication that there was anything untoward about their relationship. The fact that the couple had been happily married for 15 years was not sufficient to stop online scolds from informing Miranda that he was, in fact, a victim of grooming. More recently, Americans have been debating the ethics of age differences after an episode involving vague accusations of (consensual) relations between a congressional candidate and college instructor, and university students.
It’s an emotive topic for so many people, I think, because it reminds them of painful experiences they had when they were younger. For the most part, the anti-age gap sentiment comes from a sincere desire to safeguard vulnerable people. But, however well-intentioned, it often tips over into an ugly puritanism. This is particularly troubling when it concerns relationships between queer men, given the stereotypes about predatory gay men it plays into. The rhetoric often sounds like the hoariest old homophobia, repackaged for a progressive audience. This is complicated by the fact that much of the criticism comes from within the queer community itself – but queer people are not immune to being sanctimonious.
Despite the liberal gloss, these arguments have some deeply reactionary precedents. In the UK, the notion that young gay men lack the agency to consent was central to the campaign against equalising the age of consent, both in 1994, when it was lowered to 18, and 2000, when parity was finally achieved. During the debates, the notion of young boys being “corrupted” was a dominant theme. Michael Howard, then home secretary, said that “young men” needed to be protected from “activities which their lack of maturity might cause them to regret”. As an article in the Times put it: “Most older homosexual men are not predatory; but some are. Most young teenagers are not vulnerable to such attentions; but some are.”
I’ve seen it insinuated, time and time again, that gay men who argue against the idea that age gaps are inherently exploitative are themselves predators. So, it’s worth stating that, in my late twenties, I remain pathologically resistant to the idea of dating anyone younger than myself. When I’m 70, I’ll be on the hunt for a 78-year-old who’ll treat me like a precious, delicate baby. If I am interested in justifying my own behaviour, it’s from the perspective of the younger partner – even if, for the purposes of this debate, I’m no longer “young”.
But having been so fairly recently, I can say that the encounters I’ve had with older men have been overwhelmingly benign (which isn’t to say they’ve all been enjoyable). Part of the problem with this discussion is the emphasis on “lived experience”, which means that the person most willing to reveal their trauma, and identify as a survivor, is credited with the most authority. While I resent playing into this, it does feel relevant to say that I have experienced violence from men my own age. The fact that I’ve had a comparatively good time with older men is random and idiosyncratic, as people’s personal lives usually are, and proves nothing: my experiences aren’t more representative than anyone else’s. But I don’t think they’re less so either. If we’re to figure out a reasonable ethics for this, we have to consider the whole picture.
A prescriptive, one-size-fits-all rule between consenting adults cannot work because it ignores the complexities of desire. Sometimes we’re attracted to people precisely because they hold some power over us. We are drawn towards those who are more confident or charismatic than we are. It’s possible to find yourself terrorised by someone born within a year of you simply because they have the kind of personality that makes them want to control others. Obsessing over which age gaps are acceptable occludes the wider range of contexts in which abuse occurs.
We should listen to people when their agency is being thwarted by someone else, when they tell us they have been treated badly. “Believe survivors” is a solid maxim, but the left should refrain from moralising about the sex lives of consenting adults. We can find something distasteful or even contemptible, without it being unjust or immoral. We should trust people when they tell us that their relationships are abusive; equally, we should trust when they tell us that they’re fine.
•James Greig writes for Vice, i-D and Huck
