Abstract
“Like women are expected to be emotionally strong, men are thought to be physically strong. I think the idea of being raped undermines that for some.”
Atta, who was named as one of the most influential LGBT people in the UK by the Independent on Sunday Pink List of 2012, tackles male rape in his new poem, When I Was Raped, published for the first time below. Its gut-wrenching imagery feels like a voyeuristic intrusion into Atta’s personal trauma – an ordeal he got to grips with while writing it.
“It would be quite difficult to write exactly how I felt when it had first happened because it was too jumbled and I had to make sense of it,” he told Index. “So for me, now, I guess I’ve had to edit it and be a bit more forgiving to myself because it’s not my fault. No one has the right to do that. With time, people can see that more and more.”
Going into the process of writing the poem, having only told his therapist and a friend about the incident, Atta knew there was the possibility it would open up a conversation with his loved ones that he was not sure he was ready to have just yet – if ever.
This presented an unusual situation for someone who, in the past, has had no problem sharing his experiences. His book I Am Nobody’s Nigger offered perspectives on race, identity and sexuality and was shortlisted for the Polari First Book Prize in 2014.
“I state in this poem that the person wasn’t necessarily bigger or stronger than me, but I still felt that I had been violated by them,” he said. “We kind of broaden our shoulders and make ourselves bigger in situations where we feel threatened. Fight or flight, that’s it for us. To freeze up is a different response.
Poet Dean Atta
CREDIT: Rosie Gilbey
“We feel like we own our sexuality, but then rape almost feels like – this is just me for myself – a punishment for being a sexual being and the best way to be is to be non-sexual or only sexual within the confines of what you’re told is a relationship or marriage, or something like that. But these things happen in relationships and marriages as well, so it’s a false dichotomy.”
When not writing award-winning poetry, Atta can be found at open mics and running workshops for schoolchildren. He also performs in drag while reading extracts from his recent novel, The Black Flamingo. The coming-of-age story, told in verse, follows a mixed-race gay teen who finds his wings as a drag artist.
Atta, who is of Greek Cypriot and Jamaican descent, is a firm believer that as long as you have a language you can make poetry.
“Whether it’s written or spoken, all you need is a voice of some kind, and that requires some power and entitlement to claim that voice and use it. Once you get to that place it’s yours, and that’s a wonderful thing.”
When I Was Raped
I was in another country for work
And I was lonely. We had spoken briefly
On Grindr, a gay ‘dating’ app
I invited him to my hotel room
I knew as soon as he arrived
That I wasn’t attracted to him
He didn’t look like his picture
But I felt obliged
We went through the motions
That led to penetration
When he was inside of me
I just wanted it to be over
I was lying on my back
With my legs on his shoulders
But I wasn’t making eye contact
He ceased his thrusting
And asked me if I was alright
And I said, No
He asked me if I wanted to stop
And I said, Yes
I thought that would be the end of it
I prepared for him to pull out
Now that my consent had been withdrawn
We were making eye contact now
He said, Just let me finish
And began pounding harder
And faster than before
CREDIT: stereotype/iStock
I don’t know if it hurt now
Because it was meant to have stopped
Or because he was making it hurt
I was hurt
That my feelings had been ignored
That my wishes had been disregarded
I didn’t think, I’m being raped now
I just thought, How fucking dare he?
I pushed him off and out of me
I leapt off the bed and away from him
To stand by the window across the room
He lay on my bed
He asked me to come back
And suck his dick instead
I said, No, you need to go
He asked me to help him finish
I said, No. My back was against the window
He proceeded to masturbate
He ejaculated
He got up and used the en suite bathroom
Returned and got dressed
All the time I just stood with my back against the window
Saying nothing
But thinking, How dare he? How fucking dare he?
When he left I took a screenshot of his Grindr profile
And then deleted my account
He was the fourth guy I’d hooked up with on this trip
I thought to myself, You silly slut
If you’re gonna sleep around, you’re bound
To encounter guys like this eventually
I thought to myself, It could’ve been much worse,
He could’ve been bigger and stronger
And forced you to continue
I thought to myself, It wasn’t that bad
You’re alright
I wasn’t alright. I was blaming myself
I’ve never felt I was able to say, I was raped
Because I invited him to my hotel room to have sex
Because I didn’t say No when he first penetrated me
Because I didn’t say I wanted him to stop until he asked me
Because I didn’t feel physically intimidated by him But it was rape
I withdrew my consent
And he continued fucking me. For a few seconds
Without my consent. It was rape.