Caught in the religious crossfire of a sex-crazed society
- Julie Moon Fjell
- Feb 24, 2017
- 7 min read
"Life should be like a romantic comedy, not a porno”.
The sparky life motto of a Jewish mother is seemingly competing with the modern-day ideas of sexuality. With explicit, X-rated content flourishing amongst young people, the lines distinguishing healthy choices regarding sexuality seem to be fading. For religious people however, these lines could in 2017 be all increasingly stifling, particularly in the context of sexual activity versus abstinence.
In the basement of St. Marks Church, on Old Marylebone Road in North West London, Christian youth worker Hilary Walker eases her petite frame into a grand, charcoal couch. Her work day has been abruptly cut short by back aches and hopeful, little kicks. Hilary leans back on the couch, her hand gently caressing her ripening, rounded belly. The dimly lit low November sun sneaks its way through the stained glass windows, and flashes across her face. Hilary exudes London. Vibrant and fun, with bright pink lips and a neon coloured fringe. It’s easy to envision her at an outdoor pub, craft beer in hand, swaying to live music and chatting loudly. Below the surface of her metropole look, Hilary is a devoted Christian, who abstained from premarital sex. As a happily married 28-year-old, her university years catch up with her this November-afternoon. She recalls the struggle of living in a flat-share with non-religious people who constantly challenged her abstinence. Triumphantly, she lifts her chin, straightens her back and proclaims: “I fiercely defended that decision.”
“They thought I was crazy for not sleeping with my boyfriend, so I was forced to make that choice over and over again,” she says, and falls silent. Hilary protectively wraps a knitted jumper around her belly, her mind resting in those yesterdays. She leans forward, pulling her face out of the evening sunlight. A few, thoughtful moments later, she says: “It was tough because abstaining from sex was a strong personal conviction. I truly felt that sex marries you to a person physically and sexually, and the decision I made was not forced on me.”
Hilary represents a portion of the British public that is experiencing first-hand a societal shift that is transforming large religious communities into minorities. According to a British Social Attitudes survey conducted by NatCen Social Research and published in 2016, the number of non-religious people in the UK is rapidly escalating. Whilst in 2011, 46 per cent of the respondents defined themselves as non-religious, in 2016 this number had increased to 48.5 per cent. This clearly outweighs the 43.8 per cent of the respondents who identify as Christians. At the same time a qualitative research study conducted by the NSPCC proves that 1 in 4 teenage schoolgirls in the UK have experienced sexual coercion. “We experience much more peer pressure. I have often thought about what I should be doing and what is deemed normal, rather than what I want,” Hilary says.
In the clash between religious and non-religious people it seems that religious youths are drowning in expectations and demands. In a society where sexual content is more accessible and often promoted, religious youths are at risk of being caught in the crossfire; their religion and morals on one side, and their society and sexuality on the other.
Catherine Loewenthal, Professor of the Psychology of Religion at the Royal Holloway University, describes the increased graphic and sexual content in the media as massively impactful, particularly regarding young religious people. With the bible in one hand, and an iPhone with sexually explicit photographs in the other the right choice could be lost in confusion. “So much on television and in the media endorses a code of sexual morality that is different to what is endorsed in the religion. Adolescence is a time when people decide how religious they want to be, and with social media and electronic communications adolescents are literally encouraged to be sexual,” Professor Loewenthal says.
In an exclusive survey on religious youths in the UK, Blatant found that over a third of the 32 respondents felt that they had to choose between sex and their religion during their teenage years. A young Muslim girl explained that her religion and her culture were in direct conflict: “My culture tells me to embrace my sexuality as a woman, and my religion tells me to guard my modesty.” William Kay, Professor of Theology at Glyndwyr University in Wrexham, explains that this conflict between religion and culture can have harsh emotional consequences. Professor Kay goes so far as to claim that religious girls could end up feeling “blackmailed into sexual relations” with non-religious boys. “Becoming emotionally involved can make it difficult to rationally analyse whether or not the situation is suitable according to their religion,” Kay says.
Peer pressure, judgement and emotional blackmail is usually an external influence to a young religious person. Professor Loewenthal expands on the idea of emotional blackmail, explaining that the fear of reactions from within a religious community is so powerful that it could affect a young person’s mental health. In this sense, religious youths are pressured from every corner of their social lives as well as their religious relations. “Sexuality is a pressure that forces young people to stand up for their standards, and either conform of compromise,” she says. Results from BLATANT’s sex and religion study show that one third of the respondents felt they were “worried about their friends and family finding out” about their sexual activity. Only 4 per cent of the respondents felt they could be sexually active and still maintain their faith.
Nice Jewish girls don’t, nasty Jewish girls do. That was the rule East Londoner Debby Lee grew up with. Sitting at a communal table in her Leather Lane townhouse kitchen, Debby has just ended her last phone call of the day, working from home as a marketing consultant in the entertainment business. The walls of her kitchen are painted red and draped with lively posters, quirky quotes and memories made with glamorous Hollywood stars. Debby seems to be full of outrageous, youthful stories, but is haunted by the disappointed she served her parents by not becoming the traditional “nice Jewish housewife”. Now, she is hoping her 14-yearold daughter Lola won’t follow in her footsteps. “When I was young we didn’t have access to all this sexual content, whereas now it’s thrown at them all the time. I worry that it will affect how Lola deals with peer pressure,” Debby says.
But peer pressure is not the only pressure Lola might be faced with. In the Lee household, Debby’s mother still differentiates between “nice and nasty” Jewish girls. Debby herself however, has never considered policing her daughter’s decisions regarding her sexuality. “I do my best to make her see that life should be like a romantic comedy, not a porno. I talk to her about sex, instead of giving her a set of dos and don’ts that will only set her up to fail and disappoint people,” Debby says.
It is those sets of social rules and norms that have ruined Aisha Auddin’s relationship with her religion. The 24-year-old Londoner grew up in a Muslim family, belonging to the Islamic Ahmadiyaa movement. Born into a religious community, Aisha, now a successful personal banker, developed a liberal and almost rebellious behaviour throughout her teenage years. She was sexually active from the age of 17 – a decision that came back to haunt her three years later, when her family arranged for her to marry a 32-year-old man. Aisha has braved the winter-cold long after sunset in order to avoid her mother listening in on the conversation. She boldly opens up about how she came to the conclusion that an arranged marriage simply was not an option. “I was so worried about my fiancé’s thoughts on me not being a virgin that I decided to tell him before the wedding. He immediately tried to force me to sleep with him. I didn’t even know him, and although my family said I would grow to love him, I knew that I never could,” she says.
"My culture tells me to embrace my sexuality as a woman, and my religion tells me to guard my modesty"
Aisha managed to end the engagement, but it came at a cost. Today, most of her family members or the muslim community no longer speak to her. “They are convinced that I ruined the family’s reputation,” Aisha says, adding that even going to the Mosque has become a gruelling experience. “My family has a big reputation in our community. When I show my face in the mosque they make me feel like crap. They have pushed me out,” she says.
For Aisha, the judgement she experienced within her faith community has led to major changes in decisions for her future. “I do not want my children to grow up as Muslims. It is not fair to dictate what they believe, nor do I want to force them into a community with such judgemental social rules and norms,” she says.
Hilary is quick to agree with Aisha’s decision, and condemns the internal pressures within a faith community, that are seemingly far more common and tougher to deal with than external pressures. “There are some Christians that I simply cannot stand. Far too many religious people are judgemental, and that is such a shame as we experience so much judgement elsewhere,” Hilary says.
A sense of worry lingers in the air, as Hilary tastes her words. She looks down on her belly, full of expectations for the future, and breathes heavily. “Our faith community should be a place of encouragement, as opposed to being restrictive and controlling. For my child, I imagine conversations around the dinner table about sex and sexuality. It isn’t ignored or hushed away, or made to be something horrible.”
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