Written by: Khalisa Rae and Zora Satchell
For many Brown girls raised in religious homes, faith and tradition shaped everything. Sex education? A distant cousin you barely knew. Abstinence was the only rule. Twenty years ago, Lane Kim from Gilmore Girls embodied this experience. Though rebellious, Lane was punished by the storyline whenever she expressed sexual desire, thanks to her repressive religious upbringing. Thankfully, mainstream TV is now exploring the intersection of sexuality, maturity, race, and religious tradition in healthier ways.
Several Netflix shows are bringing this intersection to the forefront. Teenage Bounty Hunters features two Bible-toting teenage girls who hunt criminals but are also very into boys. The common thread? They’re white, privileged, and free to explore their sexuality. Shows like Never Have I Ever portray the complexities of sex and religion for teen girls of color as they mature and discover themselves.
In Never Have I Ever, faith isn’t just important; the lead character believes it can bring her the “boy of her dreams.” Devi, a first-generation Asian Indian American teenager, believes Krishna is invested in her sex life. This is a huge concept for so many Brown girls. The idea that a deity could bring or create sexual pleasure often clashes with the religious Black and Brown family structures we see on TV.
In one scene, Devi prays to Krishna, asking for popularity, a great body, and a boyfriend. It’s a coming-of-age moment where a Brown lead character openly talks to a deity about sex and identity. Devi’s faith is strong, but she’s unapologetically seeking her first sexual experience. She isn’t looking for love; she wants to lose her virginity and isn’t ashamed.
In contrast, Warrior Nun features Ava, a white-passing young adult in Spain, also coming into her own. Ava finds love while working for a covenant army. Both Devi and Ava, after major trauma, want to explore their desire for love. Unlike Devi, Ava has no real relationship with her god, only animosity and trauma. She doesn’t pray and doesn’t believe, despite having biblical powers. Yet, she navigates her sexuality in the repressive world of the church.
Before joining the heavenly army, Ava was an orphaned paraplegic teenager revived from death by a halo placed in her body. The halo restores her ability to walk and gives her the sight to see demons. What’s relatable is that Ava’s first goal after being revived is to experience life to the fullest. In contrast to the Catholic church she works for, Ava wants to experience all of life’s vices her first day with angelic warrior powers — drugs, drinking, and sex.
Though bound to her duty and the church, Ava’s strongest desire after becoming the “Warrior Nun” is to kiss, make love, and be loved. Despite reprimands from the other nuns to return to the church and discontinue her “holy oats,” Ava proudly resists to have her needs met. We see her as a “warrior” for God while fighting to escape with a boy to another country.
However, Ava can push back against the church because of her perceived whiteness. This is clear in the context of the show, where Ava can be wild and still be embraced by the church. Meanwhile, Sister Mary, a Black queer nun in love with the previous halo bearer, is shunned by her fellow nuns. Sister Mary battles between chastity and her liberal ideals, while Ava feels entitled to act as she pleases, recklessly wielding her power.
There’s a privilege in how white and white-passing families and religious structures engage with sexuality on TV. The openness and acceptance are often unrealistic. Open discussions about sex are often taboo in the African diaspora. Even asking parents or elders about sexual desire is considered disrespectful.
What’s interesting about Puleng and Fikile in Blood and Water is that everything they do around sex and desire is cloaked in bold yet purposeful secrecy. Seventeen-year-old Fikile is having an affair with her swim coach, while Puleng wants to be with a boy previously entangled with Fikile. Beyond desire, Puleng’s family was victimized by child trafficking, heightening feelings of shame within the narrative. Secrecy and restriction permeate Blood and Water.
In comparison, Sex Education stars sexually repressed and confused teens who look to the son of a sex therapist for answers. The lead character’s mother, like in many white teen boy stories, fosters openness and trust around sex and desire. In Never Have I Ever, Devi isn’t allowed to date, and her mother won’t discuss boys, keeping her sheltered. For Ava, the church strives to control her. The common thread? Resistance when exploration is controlled. The nuns want to bring Ava back to the church, against her will, to remind her of her mission to dispel dark forces.
Otis, of Sex Education, is a white teen boy whose only social responsibility is to his peers. His privilege and parental advantages allow open dialogues about sex with his mother, which he shares with his friends. However, Eric, his Black gay best friend, like Sister Mary, can’t experience desire without social, spiritual, and familial consequences. Like Devi, Puleng, Lane, and other characters of color, he must fight against the repression instilled since birth.
Overall, we see more fertile ground for white characters to explore and develop sex and desire. Religion often creates an inhospitable environment for sexual exploration and liberation for teens and adults, enforcing heterosexist rules. These shows share that sex is often forced into secrecy, fostering shame around desire within the community.
Each person’s journey through sexuality and faith is personal, but we must imagine sexual liberation alongside and beyond faith. While white teens are already experiencing this on screen, Black and Brown teens have not. TV isn’t the ultimate source, but it can be a map for reimagining the future.
