Let’s Talk About Sex: Policing, Pleasure, and Power at Spelman

By: Makayla Rivera

 We stood packed in a tight line that wrapped all the way around King's Chapel. One in front of the other, in our white dresses and black heels, like dolls on a conveyor belt, awaiting our release from the factory. My cream colored tights stuck to me like tape. Feeling suffocated by the obligatory pantyhose and relentless heat, I couldn’t breathe.

 I itched and scratched at the tights, tearing runs down my thighs. I had no problem with tradition. I relished in following in the footsteps of generations of women who made the honorable choice to change the world. It was the itch of the tights and the lack of choice that was bothersome.  

Loaded into the chapel one by one to take photos with our right hands up and pray to a god I didn’t believe in, I wondered, is this what I signed up for? 

As I moved through my freshman and sophomore years at Spelman, I developed an understanding of the unique social culture of my institution and the Atlanta University Center as a whole. Much of it was new to me. I’d grown up in a liberal town up North, far removed from conservatism, Christianity, and purity culture. My new environment, however, seemed to be poisoned with ideas of modesty, respectability politics, and slut-shaming. How was I to explore and discover my sexual pleasure and empowerment in a space that made those things feel like dirty secrets?  

Other Spelman students seemed to have similar concerns. Briyana Targete, a sophomore from Boston, offered her thoughts on the matter. “Hook-up culture at Spelman is so taboo. No one likes to talk about it because Spelman puts a lot of emphasis on purity culture. That can be seen within most of our traditions and the way that we talk about sex. People view their sexuality as something they have to conceal because we’re so focused on our reputations and trying to keep it demure at all times. We’re trying to make sure that everyone is on ten toes, very sophisticated and very elegant.” When asked why she thinks this purity culture is so prominent, Briyana pointed to the infamous Jezebel trope. 

The Making of the Jezebel

The Jezebel trope is an anti-Black sexual archetype that depicts Black women as sexually lewd and inherently promiscuous. This trope emerged from the racial ethnocentrism of the 17th century, when white Europeans misinterpreted African clothing, tribal dances, and polygamous relationships as proof of uncontrollable lust. European writers, like William Smith, described African women as "hot constitution'd Ladies" who "are continually contriving stratagems how to gain a lover" (White, 1999, p. 29). 

The idea that Black women were naturally and inevitably sexually promiscuous was reinforced relentlessly by the institution of slavery. The slavery-era Jezebel, it was claimed, desired sexual relations with white men; therefore, excusing the rape endured by Black women. James Redpath (1859), an abolitionist of the time, wrote that enslaved women were "gratified by the criminal advances of Saxons" (p. 141).

 Major periodicals shared articles detailing prime conditions under which bonded women were known to reproduce, and the merits of a particular "breeder" were often the topic of parlor or dinner table conversations. Once reproduction became a topic of public conversation, so did the enslaved woman's sexual activities. (White, 1999, p. 31) For Black women, then, their personal and private sexual interactions were taken out of their hands and placed into those of their oppressors. 

Further, nakedness among women in the 18th and 19th centuries implied a lack of civility, morality, and sexual restraint. During this time, the enslaved were often stripped naked and physically examined, both on the auction block or the plantation. Many of them often wore few clothes, or clothes so ragged that their body parts were exposed. Conversely, white people, especially white women, wore clothing over most of their bodies. The contrast between the clothing reinforced the beliefs that white women were civilized, modest, and sexually pure, whereas black women were uncivilized, immodest, and sexually aberrant, despite the fact that their nudity was often forced. 

Unfortunately, emancipation and reconstruction did not put an end to the sexual victimization of Black women. From the end of the Civil War to the mid-1960s, no Southern white male was convicted of raping or attempting to rape a Black woman; yet, the crime was common (White, 1999, p. 188). Additionally, many Black women were hesitant to report their sexual assault instances against Black men, out of fear that they would be lynched. 

Beyond this, the portrayal of Black women as Jezebel whores extended into the Jim Crow period and has remained prominent in American media and culture today. Through mainstream movies that repetitively feature Black women as prostitutes, the explicit anti-black stereotyping within pornography, and the portrayal of Black women within televised music videos and music, this archetype has been kept alive and continues to plague our communities. 

The Policing of the Spelman Woman 

Spelman, as an institution committed to producing empowered and successful Black women, is well aware of this brutal history. However, in their attempt to counteract it, they may be further stripping us of our sexual agency and freedom. 

The “Community & Off-Campus Settings” section of the Spelman Student Handbook and Resource guide from 2016-2017 reads as follows: “We ask that you remember that you represent the College at all times. Consequently, two things are especially important – how you look and what you say…Students at service locations should dress in appropriate casual clothing that does not expose any private parts. See-through, clingy, and/or provocative clothing is not acceptable”. 

The handbook’s use of the word “provocative” is particularly striking in its ambiguity, relying on subjective and often racialized interpretations of Black women’s bodies. Instead of protecting students, this language reinforces respectability politics and echoes the historical Jezebel trope, placing the burden of perception and objectification onto the individual rather than challenging the systems that sexualize them in the first place.

That contradiction is not lost on students. When asked if Spelman really aims to produce “free liberated women” or not, one student pushed back, “Free liberated woman? Neveer that. We will produce them into CEOs and lawyers and doctors, and excellent women. Free and liberated? That's never been the goal.”, Jocelyn Baker (C’27) continued,  “A choice to change the world in the courtroom. We don't want you to change the world of sexual liberation. We want you to change your industry and then write a big check. Free? No. I think being free from the constraints of thinking you're a Black woman without power. I think I've been changed in that way and free from the shackles of white approval and white validation. But then, if that's true, why are we policing people for twerking and having sex? Those are all colonial things. That means that they don't even care about that.” Jocelyn’s response illuminates a deeper conflict within Spelman’s vision of empowerment. One that prioritizes professional achievement while putting sexual autonomy on the back burner. Jocelyn names this policing of sexuality as “colonial”, reframing these expectations not as sole protections but inherited systems of domination that continue to restrict how Black women are allowed to exist. 

Briyana expanded on this conflict, highlighting how institutional expectations are tied to opportunity, “We pride ourselves so much on making sure that we have access to social mobility and to all these spaces that are consistently excluding us. I think that, along with that, to ensure the students can have access to those things, they make sure that we keep our sexuality and our sexual desires on a closed-door basis. But it teaches us to completely hide and be ashamed of sex, our sexuality and our desires., And, it kind of teaches, especially if you're not used to having conversations about sex prior to Spelman, you come in and then you realize that you're like, oh, wait, I shouldn't be having these conversations”. She continued, adding “it creates such a ‘slut-shamey’ culture, which is the opposite of what we're trying to do as a school. We're trying to uplift women as much as we can”. 

Briyana’s reflection points to the fact that this culture is not simply encouraged, but internalized through desires for credibility, access, and respect. Suppression of sexuality then becomes not only an institutional standard but a learned strategy for navigating the world. 

This culture of discretion does not operate in isolation; it is reinforced through a constant sense of visibility. At Spelman, students are not only navigating the average pressures that come with college life, but also a perpetual feeling of being watched. The expectation that students “represent the college at all times” spans beyond formal settings, resulting in a form of institutional surveillance that bleeds into the personal lives of students beyond the gates. This visibility often feels more social than institutional. It shows up in looks of judgment in Lower Manley, in bruised reputations, and in the quiet but suffocating policing of what is considered “appropriate”. 

 In a school heavily centered around elite and exclusive spaces whose acceptance is often tied up with respectability politics, this surveillance can feel and be consequential for eager students. This scrutiny becomes internalized, impacting not only how students present themselves, but how they think about their own desires and bodies. When sexuality is repetitively framed as something to conceal, students bear shame regarding their needs and experiences, viewing them as improper instead of natural. However, a culture that represses dialogue around sex does not eliminate sexual activity; it simply forces it into dark silence where questions go unasked, and boundaries go uncommunicated. 

Responsibility and Risk in the AUC

A student who wishes to remain anonymous recalls a story that exposes the unintended consequences of Spelman’s restrictive sexual culture, “One of my best friends' freshman year was having sex with a guy who lived in Brazil (a Morehouse College dorm). She would go over there, but she wouldn't tell any of us 'cause she thought that we would judge her. It's not like she wasn't going…And what happens a lot of times is that if girls get assaulted at Morehouse, they just get banned from Morehouse. Then, even though they reported the guy in the first place, the first thing that Title IX will ask them is well, ‘how are you getting assaulted in a Morehouse dorm if you have visitation?’ And it's like, okay, well, you put all these parameters up so that people aren't having sex, and then they're doing it anyways in unsafe circumstances because they're sneaking over, not telling any of their friends that they're going. And then if they get assaulted, they feel they can't tell anybody”. 

This blame-placing silencing of victims is not a rare occurrence within Spelman or the criminal justice system as a whole. The sexual abuse to prison pipeline is a perverse aspect of our justice system in which victims of sex trafficking too often get charged with prostitution and unbelieved victims of sexual abuse get charged for false reporting (Georgetown Law Center on Gender Justice and Opportunity). This silencing and criminalization of victims is an issue Spelman should be working to dismantle, not replicate. 

Further, these dangers are not produced solely by silence or redirected blame. They are kept alive by the environments in which that silence operates. Within the AUC, these risks are exacerbated further by the lack of efficient sexual education among Morehouse students. 

Allheim Devan-Bey, co-president of Morehouse Adodi, spoke on this miseducation, “Few conversations around consent actually show up within the general year, unless there’s a crisis that happens. My freshman year, there was a student who was caught on video, allegedly roofieng a woman. And then a conversation of consent came up, but it's not a regular conversation,” Allheim explained, painting a picture of the education they receive. “They presented it through the context of drinking tea or offering someone tea. They would explain, like, hello, would you like some tea? Okay, that person says, yes, okay, here's some tea. If a person says, oh, I would like tea. And then they change their mind later, or if they say they don’t want any tea, you're not going to try to force them to drink that tea”. Though the simplicity of this analogy makes it easy enough for even a child to follow, for college-level discussions around sexual assault, an explanation of consent that simply relates women’s bodies yet again to an inanimate object is harmfully lackluster. 

 When I asked Allheim if he thinks you can really talk about consent without also talking about the patriarchy, he said, “No. There are gaps in that way, ‘cause you can give these men this metaphor, but if they don't have an understanding of the power dynamics that they automatically have over women and people who are not straight, the problems will still persist”. 

It is not only up to Spelman as a community and institution to work towards cultivating an environment of sexual justice, safety, and positivity, but Morehouse too. They must commit to providing their students with a comprehensive, nuanced, and detailed approach to Black feminism and sexual education.  This looks like dismantling discourse around Spelman and Clark women that stereotypes us as either objects of purity, too inhumanely demure to be sexually autonomous, or sexual deviants undeserving of respect or commitment. It looks like effective preventative measures and education for sexual assault and harassment, and accountability for perpetrators of violence. Until this occurs, the AUC as a whole will continue to suffer from the ignorance and misogynoir too often inflicted on women at the hands of Morehouse men. 

These failures and gaps raise questions about how Spelman as an institution responds when harm or injustice does occur. The brunt of this responsibility falls on the Title IX and Compliance Office, directed by Dr. Jaray Mazique. Broadly, Title IX focuses on anything that falls under sex discrimination, prevention, and response. This containsbut is not limited to, sexual harassment, misconduct, violence, and matters related to pregnancy or related conditions. To find out what is really going on with Title IX, I interviewed Dr. Mazique, who described some of the work Title IX does: “Here at Spelman College, what we do is not only respond when someone reports sex discrimination, more importantly, we are trying to prevent it. Whether that's tabling, partnerships with organizations, doing training, collaborating with other AUC institutions to try and make sure we understand what's happening to our students, and making sure they have a voice in any process, should something happen.” Dr. Mazique outlined the pillars of Title IX’s foundation: preventative education, effective response, and intentional assessment. 

However, despite Title IX’s comprehensive and earnest approach, issues around sexual discrimination, repression, and silencing of victims still plague Spelman’s community. Was this a failure on Title IX’s behalf, or were students just ignoring crucial resources on their campus? 

“Most students will remember having to do the online module and, of course, the in-person one we do during New Student Orientation, and that's often the extent of their engagement, They’re like, well, I did it. It's over. People just don't believe things will happen to them, or they feel disconnected from what's happening. Oftentimes, students go, ‘I don't want to engage with Title IX because that means something happened to me.’” This disengagement does not exist in a vacuum. Conversations around sex at Spelman are tainted by an unspoken culture of surveillance, in which what you wear, who you are seen with, and how you express your sexuality can lead to judgment, exclusion, or labeling. In this environment, engaging with anything related to sex carries a social risk. Seeking out Title IX resources does not just feel unnecessary. It can feel exposing. To engage is to admit vulnerability and sexuality in an environment where sexual reputation is quietly but powerfully policed. 

As I began to share some of this insight with Dr. Mazique, the conversation moved beyond policy and into students’ lived experiences and needs. When questioned about the kinds of sexual experiences and discrimination students often describe, such as slut-shaming, and feeling unheard, unsatisfied, or unable to advocate for their own pleasure, Dr. Mazique initially regarded these concerns as outside of Title IX’s traditional role. As our conversation continued, Dr. Mazique and  I looked at Title IX through an expansive lens, reimagining its scope to more efficiently patch up the holes within Spelman’s sex education. Dr. Mazique shared, “Although that's not our day-to-day, the more we can have open conversations around sexual health, liberation, and feeling empowered in our relationships, that is a part of prevention”. When I prompted her to think about what role Title IX could play in addressing slut shaming, she added, “Some of the language in there is when you start to create stereotypes based on sex. So, ‘women should only do this’ or ‘women should only do that’, that's where we get into the sex stereotypes, which could fall under sex discrimination, because now what you're stating is you are not acting how women are supposed to act.” Real prevention does not only look like conversations around consent, it also looks like dismantling a culture that silences women and punishes them for existing as sexual beings. 

In recent years, Title IX has already begun introducing programming that reflects this expansive understanding of prevention. Spelman’s Title IX partners with the sexual health peer educators (SHAPE), hosts annual sexual health summits, and facilitates small, peer-led conversations around intimacy, desires, and sexual empowerment. These initiatives reflect a growing recognition that prevention extends beyond responding to crisis and must address the culture that shapes how students experience and understand sex. 

Title IX’s effectiveness on Spelman’s campus is dependent on how well it actually engages with the everyday realities of students’ lives. If silence and policing continue to define the discourse around sexuality, even the most comprehensive resources may go underutilized. Title IX must continue to grow in its approach and ensure that the resources and education it provides to students are intentionally sex positive and empowering. 

Student Resistance and Sexual Liberation

Even within a culture stained by surveillance and silence, Spelman students are not passive recipients of these conditions. They are pushing back against these constraints and creating spaces where sexual empowerment thrives. In student-driven environments, conversations surrounding sex, pleasure, queerness, and relationships are unfolding. 

Vice President Angel Ware of Afrekete, a Black feminist and queer collective at Spelman, explained how she creates a safe space where Spelmanites can explore sexuality, pleasure, desire, and the erotic without shame. Angel explained, “That means hosting conversations, programs like ‘Sex in the Dark’ where students feel safe openly asking questions and discussing their lived experiences surrounding pleasure. I have been able to take “Sex in the Dark” to a whole new level by inviting sex educators to be guest speakers and leveraging my connection with Reproductive Justice organizations to provide students with items like emergency contraceptives, dental dams, and condoms. My goal has been to make Afrekete a space where people can feel affirmed in their desires and empowered to exercise their sexual agency”. 

Angel is aware of the culture of shame at Spelman, adding, “Often rooted in conservative Christianity, there can be a lot of sexual policing, whether it’s how people dress, who they date, or how openly they talk about their sexuality. I believe slut shaming and judgment often come from deeply ingrained ideas about respectability and what people think Black women ‘should’ represent or what a Spelman woman ‘should’ be.”

 To combat this, Angel aims for Afrekete to be a space where students welcome and accept their pleasure by having engaging and critical discussions around the messages we’ve been taught about sexuality. “Many of us were raised with notions of respectability politics or remnants of the historic sexual oppression of Black femme bodies,  so part of the work is unpacking those narratives and replacing them with more liberatory notions of sexuality and pleasure. It also means reframing pleasure as something that is healthy and human, and most importantly, natural, rather than something that should be hidden or judged. Community events can be especially useful for this, as it gives students the space to talk about pleasure openly.  This makes it easier to see pleasure as a natural part of self-knowledge and self-care”. 

Spaces like Afrekete on campus point to a powerful solution to sexual repression and shame at Spelman. Events like the Vagina Monologues, Festival of Eccentrics, or Art after Dark provide students with an opportunity to explore themselves and reclaim their sexual autonomy. In these spaces, sexuality is not something to be hidden or managed for respectability. It is something to be understood, expressed, and celebrated. In many ways, these spaces actively resist the narratives that have long restricted Black women’s sexuality, rejecting expectations of purity and the hypersexualization embedded within the Jezebel trope. 

Still, a few sex positive, liberatory spaces are not enough. Spelman prides itself on producing empowered Black women, undaunted and liberated enough to change the world. But power and success without autonomy, over our bodies, our pleasure, and our choices, is not liberation. It is simply a more polished form of control and a tired page from the book of white supremacy that Spelman claims to reject. 

 In this case, it must go further in its approach to sexual education. Spelman must champion an open and consistent dialogue around consent, communication, reproductive health, queer sexuality, safe sex practices, emotional well-being, porn, body-image, masturbation, and pleasure. It must encourage students to own their desires and sexual needs. It must reject notions of slut-shaming or sexual policing, not enforce those harms. 

Spelman students can no longer exist in silence or fear, constantly feeling as though their sexual autonomy may cost them respect and educational prosperity at their beloved institution. Sex positivity and exploration can not be an afterthought or a mere module freshman skip through during NSO week. Internships at Goldman Sachs and acceptances into Ivy League graduate programs do not equal freedom. Spelman should not only aim to make its students wealthy. It must also aim to liberate them. True liberation demands that Black women are free not only in their ambitions, but in their bodies, their desires, and their choices, without apology or pantyhose to confine them.