‘[Do] I Have to Get It in Writing or Something?’ What Happens When Sexuality Education Is Conceptualised Through Consent?

Abstract

Consent education was recently introduced into the Australian curriculum, and has contributed to much of the public discourse for the past few years. However, teens’ accounts of their Relationships and Sexuality Education (RSE) classes indicate that consent is being taught to varying degrees of consistency. Qualitative data collected from 49 semi-structured interviews with 30 Australian teens (aged 11–17), with 19 interviews reprised one year later, involved teens discussing their experiences of RSE, including consent. These data were extended by 4 x teen focus groups with 18 participants. Using thematic analysis, teens’ perspectives and experiences revealed how consent appears to dominate RSE. Teens expressed dissatisfaction with how RSE was delivered and how sex is often framed in a context of safety and risk, where current framings of consent appear to contribute to fear-based messaging. Often, consent was taught as how to seek or give permission for sex or to avoid sexual assault in ways that may not reflect teens’ actual experiences. While the implementation of consent signifies welcome progress in relation to RSE, teens reveal there is still room for improvement. More positive representations of sex and sexuality are needed to balance an emphasis on safety and risk. Support is also required to help educators navigate curriculum changes, while further attention is needed to support teens’ skill development in more holistic and comprehensive aspects of sexuality and relationships.

1. Introduction

Over the past few years, consent education has featured within public discourse about young people’s sexual lives, often dominating discussions about sexual health, wellbeing and violence and education. This dominance has been parallelled by consent education being made mandatory in Australian curricula. In February 2022, it was announced that consent education would be made mandatory and embedded in the national curriculum, a decision that was unanimously supported by state and federal education ministers [1,2]. Up until this point, consent had been taught on an ‘ad hoc’ basis at the discretion of each school as part of Relationships and Sexuality Education (RSE) classes. The new mandate aims to teach students, from pre-primary to year ten, about the importance of consent, ensuring they understand it is an ongoing and enthusiastic agreement between individuals. These changes include information about coercion, power imbalances and gender stereotypes [2,3]. Therefore, this recent policy shift is a major advance in addressing sexual violence and promoting respectful relationships. In the context of this paper, consent education refers to teaching about the importance of the giving and receiving of consent, in relation to personal rights and responsibilities (noting that consent should be freely given and able to be withdrawn at any time) [4,5].

The recent implementation of mandatory consent education has been, in large part, due to the efforts of sex educators, advocates and activists who identified the distinct need for consent education to support the health, wellbeing, and respectful sexual development of young people [6,7,8]. A significant advocate for RSE reform was Chanel Contos, who gained national attention in 2021 when she launched a petition to reform Australian RSE in response to hearing from young women about their experiences of sexual assault and harassment [1,8]. Building on this petition, Contos created Teach Us Consent, a platform that gathered the testimonies of young people’s personal experiences with sexual violence and misconduct. Advocates like Contos recognised the urgent need for change in RSE curriculums and observed that young people frequently lacked the knowledge and skills necessary to navigate the complex and nuanced realities of sexual relationships and situations and as such, failed to understand the importance of consent [9]. This education gap not only left many individuals vulnerable to harmful situations but also perpetuated cycles of misunderstanding and misconduct. Following this advance, however, an examination of the Australian RSE curriculum from kindergarten to year ten potentially demonstrates an (over-)emphasis on consent [3].

While consent education is a vital resource for young people, there is growing criticism of its central and dominating role in RSE discourse [10,11,12,13], particularly in relation to the effectiveness of consent education in reducing sexual violence [11,14]. Specifically, there is an argument that consent education, although important, is a small part of a broader spectrum of educational outcomes that equip young people to understand and navigate relationship dynamics [10,11]. In this sense, consent can be conceptualised as a facet of a larger set of sexual interaction and communication skills that allow young people to engage in sexual exchanges healthily, respectfully and safely, rather than as the primary lens through which to view sex and sexuality. This paper seeks to add teens’ perspectives concerning consent education. It considers the time before, during and after consent education was mandated across the Australian curriculum and offers teen-informed insights and recommendations for improvement at a critical time.

Teens suggest that consent education is essential but delivered to varying degrees of consistency and quality. Indeed, some teens feel consent is so dominant that it excludes attention to other vital skills of equal importance to comprehensive RSE. This overemphasis on consent alongside the increased discussion of risks of unwanted sex and sexual assault, appear to contribute to some young people developing additional fears around sexual activity. Fears especially arise when RSE lacks more positive and balanced representations of sex and sexuality, where much of the existing emphasis is on risk and safety (such as STIs, pregnancy and contraception). This emphasis appears to be exacerbated by discussions being contextualised as seeking permission for sex, which appear to place focus, for some young people, on avoiding being implicated for sexual assault, rather than ensuring ethical, mutually pleasurable sexual experiences. Further, consent education generally fails to capture nuances of consent as these present in a diverse range of sexual scenarios [15]. Additionally, teachers and educators require additional support to navigate the consent curriculum, while also supporting the development of other necessary skills. This paper seeks to assist policymakers, researchers, educators, and advocates by adding teen’ perspectives on consent education during a crucial time, where many indicate that consent is either lacking or has dominated their RSE classes. Thus, this paper explores what happens to RSE when sexuality education is conceptualised through consent.

2. Background

Several high-profile rape cases occurring in the early 2020s prompted increased public and media attention to sexual violence in schools, universities and workplaces [8,12], leading to legal reforms around what constitutes consenting sex. At the time of writing, Queensland is the most recent state to implement an affirmative standard of consent in 2024, following similar changes in NSW and the ACT in 2021 and Victoria in 2022 [16]. These reforms generally embed an affirmative standard of consent, defined as a free agreement without the presence of coercion or force, based upon the idea that consent is continual and communicative [16]. These reforms place an onus on those engaged in sexual activity to prove they took active steps to ascertain consent. Media attention prompting these reforms also coincided with high-profile activism campaigns demanding better consent education to combat sexual violence, with a well-documented correlation between increases in media attention to sexual violence and calls for consent education [1,17]. Keddie argues that “whenever sexual misconduct is reported in the media, schools and, in particular, sex and sexuality education are called on to repair these social harms” [17] (p. 504), indicating that schools are often called upon, usually without additional support and despite facing existing challenges of an already overcrowded curriculum.

The centrality of consent in defining sexual violence has translated into the idea that consent prevents sexual violence, heightening its relevance as a pedagogical tool. Marson argues that “because consent is understood to be the transformative fulcrum point of a sexual encounter that determines whether it is sexual violence or not, consent has become the focus of public enquiry about education as a measure to stop people from becoming perpetrators or victims of sexual violence” [18] (p. 163). In other words, consent, a concept from criminal law that marks the distinction between legal sex and rape [19], is translated into consent education’s capacity to prevent rape [20]. As such, consent education is now seen as being at the heart of sexual violence prevention and sex education more broadly [10,11].

Many have critiqued the apparent centrality of consent in understanding sexual violence, pointing instead to the presence of systemic power imbalances, specifically related to gender [11,12,21]. Heterosexual scripts for sex often frame a passive woman as giving permission to a desiring man [12]. As such, consent is given and read amidst relations of gendered power and cannot solely express an individual’s unencumbered desire [22]. At the same time, consent is often framed as a liberal concept that presupposes two equal subjects with free will, decontextualising them from the power dynamics in their environment and relationship [12,20]. Consent as a concept, therefore, fails to interrogate this landscape of gendered power, making it a low standard for ethical sex [12,19]. Thus it becomes necessary to interrogate normative heterosexuality, which tends to be male-centred and constructed in ways that obfuscate sexual violence [11].

The belief that consent education can reduce rates of sexual violence is based on the premise that some sexual violence may occur due to miscommunication between genders [23]. Therefore, the argument infers, that education for women about how to communicate their lack of consent, while teaching men how to read (non)-consent, will improve communication and reduce violence. This understanding may imply that women offer a ‘token no’ to sex in order to maintain a social image of restraint before agreeing to have sex. Naturally, this hypothesis is contested [24]. Women communicate (non)-consent for sex in similar ways to their communication in other areas of social life, with men typically reading these refusals correctly [24,25]. Indeed, there is no clear evidence that consent education actually reduces sexual violence [26,27]. While such education may improve people’s attitudes towards consent, there is limited evidence it prevents sexual violence [11].

Young people may demonstrate high levels of knowledge about consent and sexual communication without necessarily embedding such practices into their own sexual activities as suggested by existing research too [28]. Young Australian people interviewed clearly understood consent’s emphasis on the importance of continually checking-in during sex and paying attention to a partner’s body language. Given that men’s knowledge about consent is high, Waling, James and Moor suggest it is not a lack of knowledge that leads to sexual assault but a sense of entitlement [28]. Given that many consent education programs rely on teaching young people how to understand consent as a concept, to articulate clear verbal consent/lack of consent and what consent is, rather than practical ways to read and navigate dynamic verbal and non-verbal cues, they are unlikely to reduce sexual violence grounded in entitlement.

These findings align with research suggesting that basic information about consent is one of the most prominent issues covered in sexuality education [29]. Indeed, in an older age group, universities’ sexual violence/consent education programs may flatten the notion of consent, positioning it as an easy and unambiguous concept separate from real-world dynamics [30]. The model of enthusiastic consent, often taught in schools, does not leave space for some young people to experience and communicate uncertainty or curiosity with respect to unknown sexual acts [20], and overlooks more nuanced scenarios which are consensual, but may not necessarily be enthusiastic, such as an asexual individual engaging in sexual activity or a couple having sexual intercourse predominantly to reproduce. Yet young people seem to be interested in nuances and grey areas related to consent, including how alcohol, relationship duration, different sexual acts and location all affect consent [31]. Consent alone, as a pedagogical tool, may not be up to this challenge. Mason argues that “consent sets the legal standard for claims of sexual harm between adults but this does not mean it is up to the educational task of challenging the messy and daily reality of unwanted or exploitative sex” [20] (p. 201).

Students themselves are rarely consulted about the RSE curriculum [17]. This often leads to frustration when they are taught content they feel is less relevant, while not offered information they feel they need and desire. There is some resistance to including information about sex and pleasure in school curriculums; however, the language of ‘consent education’, and indeed RSE education itself, is reluctant to use terms like ‘sex’ or ‘sexuality’ [32]. Within the curriculum, sex is only referred to within the context of other aspects, such as sexual health and sexual identity [3]. Likewise, Marson argues that many programs for consent education omit explicit reference to sexual assault or even to the act of sex [18]. This consent-focused language offers a agreeable means of discussing healthy relationships without being explicit about rape or sex [18]. The language of consent education may be more palatable and acceptable—to both the government and the wider public— than the term ‘sexuality education’. While the former is a tool of harm prevention, the latter explicitly links education to sex and could frame sexuality as potentially positive. The palatability of consent education has meant that RSE has been largely reduced to a harm prevention model, distinct from programs focused on developing healthy relationships, sexual or otherwise.

3. Materials and Methods

This qualitative study occurred in three data collection phases:

• Phase 1: first-round teen and parent interviews;
• Phase 2: second-round teen interviews (at least a year later);
• Phase 3: teen and parent focus groups.

This paper focuses on the teen data, with all names de-identified and pseudonyms used. In Phase 1 and Phase 2 asked teens about their perceptions of both online sexual content and their RSE.

Consent was mentioned but not explored specifically in the interview schedule, where teens were asked about their experiences concerning their school’s RSE. Consent emerged organically and sometimes as a central topic within these interviews, as teens talked about the messaging in relation to consent, they received in RSE classes.

Phase 1 involved first-round interviews with 24 families. Parents were interviewed concurrently but separately in a different room to teens. Teens were asked to be part of Phase 2, which involved a series of follow-up, second-round interviews at least a year later (n = 19), offering some semi-longitudinal data to evaluate whether views had changed over time (or stayed the same). Most interviews took place in the comfort of their family home; however, participants were also given the option to be interviewed on the grounds of Edith Cowan University or online if need be, via MS teams. Only 4 of the 49 teen interviews occurred online via MS Teams, while the other 45 teen interviews occurred in person in Whadjuk Noongar Boodjar, in Boorloo/Perth (Western Australia). Phase 3 involved focus groups which further explored issues and concepts that arose from the interviews, including consent. All focus groups took place at Edith Cowan University in Boorloo/Perth. Focus groups which occurred between six months to a year after the second-round interviews and featured 2 of the original teens, along with 16 newly recruited teens for a total of n = 18.

In Phase 3, which was funded as part of a linked Teenagers, Consent, and Sex Education project, consent was explored more specifically. The following research questions were considered in relation to the data:

(1)

What does consent education intend for teenagers to learn about sex (and what do teenagers say they learn)?

(2)

How is consent between teenagers represented in popular culture?

(3)

How can consent education be improved, reflecting the real needs of young people?

This paper particularly responds to RQ1 and RQ3, collecting teen perspectives in relation to their consent education.

Teens were approached through their parents, who were recruited via social media platforms (Facebook, Twitter and Instagram) and through school community and parenting groups online. Families known to previous participants were also recruited via the snowball method. Teens received an AUD 30 gift card for their participation in each phase of the research. For Phase 1 of data collection (first-round interviews), remuneration was not advertised, so the gift card was a welcome surprise at the conclusion of the interview. This process reduced any financial motivation to participate in the research. Advertising for the focus groups was shared with a number of online safety, mental health and sexual health organisations, parenting groups and their respective networks. Most participants for the focus group were recruited via paid advertising from Facebook which targeted parents, where financial renumeration was also mentioned.

Data were analysed using NVIVO software (version 15), predominantly coded by HS in conjunction with GW, under the guidance of LG. Through ongoing reflective discussion with the chief investigators, eight thematic codes emerged inductively; the majority of this paper pertains to the code (4) ‘Learning or discussing sex/sexuality, or relationships or sexual content’ theme. A reflexive approach to thematic analysis [33,34] was used to identify key themes and patterns, bearing in mind researchers’ positionality, background and theoretical frameworks. The researchers acknowledge their attitudes and values in relation to sex and sexuality are intertwined with the research, and, as such, reflexive processes were undertaken with a remit to emphasise teens’ voices independently of researcher bias. In addressing positionality, the researchers’ backgrounds include sexology, communications, criminology, sociology, cultural studies, creative research and anthropology. This paper has been co-written with two young authors under the age of 25 (GC and IS) to offer their youth perspectives on the teen data alongside the original research team (GW, HS, and LG). Further, two authors (GW and IS) are trained sexologists/sexuality educators, and it is possible that sex-positive views may be prioritised when relaying data. However, this paper is informed by a social constructionist epistemological viewpoint which recognises that participants co-construct their understandings with others [35]. Thus, participants’ varying perspectives have been acknowledged where possible, to remain faithful to the interviewees’ voices and recognise all views. Parental consent was obtained, in addition to teens agreeing to and subsequently participating in interviews. This study was conducted in accordance with the National Health and Medical Research Council’s National Statement on Ethical Conduct in Human Research (2007), and received the approval of Edith Cowan University’s Human Research Ethics Committee, approval number: 2019-00583-GREEN.

4. Results

This research featured 49 interviews with 30 teens based in and around Boorloo/Perth (aged 11–17). Of the 30 teens interviewed, 15 identified as male, 13 as female, and 2 participants identified as non-binary. Four participants identified as Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander, and three participants were from CaLD (Culturally and Linguistically Diverse) populations. The average age of the first round of interview participants was 13.482. The four focus groups (FGs) were divided into FG1 (mixed genders 14–16), FG2 and FG4 (mixed genders, 12–16), and FG3 (female 14–16, with one participant identifying as more than one gender). The average age of the focus group participants was 14. The focus groups contained a diverse representation of genders and sexual orientations, including teens who identified as gay, straight, bisexual, trans, queer, genderfluid, pansexual and asexual. Two teens did not disclose their gender or sexual identity. Purposive sampling was not used, so the diversity is an incidental but welcome addition to the research. Teens attended a combination of public and private (religious and secular) schools. One teen was homeschooled.

The data collection of the interviews occurred between March 2021 and June 2023, while consent education policy was being implemented and or/introduced. The concept of consent remained prominent within public discourse around Australia. During first-round interviews, teens offered their timely firsthand experiences in relation to consent education, just as these changes were mandated. Teens’ experiences indicate that teachings addressing consent were being rolled out to varying degrees upon and around the announcement to make consent education mandatory, rather than waiting until 2023 when official curriculum changes were due to commence. Teens offered their perspectives during what may be considered a transitional period, offering insights for consideration within classroom, community, curriculum and policymaking levels. The majority of second-round interviews occurred once consent education had been implemented within school curriculums and as such, suggested how educators had begun to respond to calls for consent education. Teens were also vigilant towards the lack of consent depicted in pornography, when exploring teens’ firsthand perspectives of online sexual content, possibly due to consent featuring heavily in media discourse and their revised RSE curriculum [33]. The interview data were extended by 4× focus groups which occurred in December 2023 with teens (aged 12–16), where these issues were explored further with teens who had experienced a year of consent being ‘officially’ implemented.

4.1. Mixed Responses on the Rollout of Consent Education

Teens had mixed responses to consent education in schools, with some feeling consent had become disproportionately emphasised in their sexuality education. For instance, Ethan (14) said, “It feels like enough, like they’ve gone through everything, on every scenario really”. Similarly, Lauren (14, Female, second-round interview) said, “It was called healthy relationships, but I reckon [it] should just be called consent ‘cos that’s pretty much all we did the whole term”. However, in Lauren’s first-round interview (at 13), when asked whether she had been taught about consent, said, “I don’t think they really did much because I think, with consent, they just lightly touched on consent, what it is and how consent should be given, and what is not consent”. Lauren’s changing reflections indicate that significant changes in consent education occurred over that 12-month period. The increasing attention paid to consent was referenced by multiple participants. Tiffany (15, Female, second-round interview) shared, “The whole thing is consent, ‘cos that’s such a big thing nowadays […] we haven’t been taught about sex”. Tiffany’s perspective indicates that sex (as an act) is not discussed as in-depth as teens would choose and that consent takes precedence.

Other teens felt consent was not covered in enough detail, nor did discussions acknowledge the complexities of sexual scenarios. Miles’s (16, Male) view was that, “The only things we really get told are ‘make sure it’s consensual’. Nothing around how to actually instigate the conversation or anything like that”. Clearly, further emphasis on communication skills and how to navigate sexual discussions are needed. In Miles’s second interview (17) he said, “I think if people’s knowledge of how to communicate about it and willingness to communicate about it [were increased], it’d be a lot less of a problem.” Miles’ perspective argues for more concrete and practical skills to be taught alongside ‘how to’ consent which, in Miles’s view, is “never actually taught”.

One teen interviewed, Chloe, aged 13 (Female), was not aware of any consent education being taught in her school:

I: “Let me know if your school has covered [the content] or not, so things like consent…”

Chloe: “What’s that?”

I: “Consent is making sure [someone willingly agrees to something] before you do [said activity]”.

Chloe: “Oh then, I think not at school”.

Chloe’s interview indicated that many teens find themselves learning about sexuality, including nuanced information about consent, via avenues such as social media, friends, Google/various websites and, sometimes, pornography. However, Chloe was interviewed in December 2021, prior to consent being made mandatory, which may be why she was unfamiliar with consent as a school topic. Similarly, teens in the focus groups indicated their consent education varied. When asked whether the information they received about consent was sufficient, focus group teens responded in the following ways:

FG1.4: “Yeah”.

FG1.1: “Not at my school, it was like two weeks, like, two hours of just reading out scenarios and saying is this good? Is this bad? Then we move on”.

FG1.2: “Yeah. Also, the scenarios they do, they’re not really that real world”.

I: “Is there anything that’s taught in health or sex ed that you can speak of highly? Any good aspects?”

FG1.3: “I mean they definitely try. Whether it gets through or not is a different matter, but they definitely teach everything that they are supposed to that’s put in the curriculum and even though not a lot is put into the curriculum, they still try”.

(Teens, mixed genders, 14–16)

These interview and focus group insights indicate that consent education is focused upon with varying consistency between different schools. Teens also craved real-life examples and more detail. However, teens also acknowledged that educators face barriers, such as an overcrowded curriculum, which may prevent them from attending to important topics in detail. Teens also suggested that consent and sexuality education could be taught in more engaging ways:

FG1.3: “They’ll touch on consent and the romantic relationship and all that but then the kids aren’t actually absorbing the information”.

FG1.4: “Yeah, they don’t really make it interesting”.

FG1.3: “They don’t make the content engaging so that people won’t listen”.

(Teens, Mixed genders, 14–16)

Such framings may indicate the need for relevant training to support teachers and educators in adapting to additional curriculum changes and to be able to deliver content in a more engaging and memorable way.

Teens also explored the need to develop other skills in conjunction with consent. Lauren in her second interview (14) said:“When it comes to responding–more focus on examples of other people asking for sex and what [to] do if you were asked to have sex with someone [or] on how to say ‘no’, but [are only taught] in the sense that ‘if you didn’t want to have sex, then just say no’”. Lauren indicates that building skills around communicating and managing rejection and desire in sexual negotiations would be helpful. Similarly, Miles (17), in his second-round interview, argues that consent is poorly defined and more emphasis needs to be placed on what someone is agreeing to during a sexual negotiation: “It’s always broadly talked about, ‘consent’ but it’s never actually talked about what it means and what it actually is. ‘Yes means yes’, not just ‘yeah, alright then’”. Miles suggests a need for more detail and practical skills to be taught alongside broader notions of consent. He indicates that a partner may sometimes agree, despite feeling pressured to do so. Discussions around sexual consent appear to be framed without teens having the opportunity to explore how to be reflective or to check-in with themselves to be certain they genuinely want to participate in sexual activities. Developing interpersonal as well as intrapersonal skills, which include self-reflection and honouring the self, could help counteract these complex challenges. Miles continues,

“Still to this day I hear–often it’s mostly girls saying ‘yeah but my “no” often isn’t as much taken or it’s not really asked’ - they’ll just kind of accept [what happens] which I feel like isn’t really it’s always very heavily talked about like ‘oh, yes’, but it’s never actually taught”.

Miles’s reflections indicate that education that helps young people explore whether they genuinely wish to engage in a sexual act may be of benefit, alongside developing skills around sexual communication. Skills around sexual communication in addition to more general communication skills, could assist young people to navigate sexual encounters in healthy and consensual ways. As Lauren (14, second interview) shared, “I don’t think [there] was much on communication techniques”. Teens in a mixed-gendered focus group had discussed the overuse of worksheets in their classrooms, and further explored the idea of being taught communication skills in more detail:

FG1.2: “They’re taught in a basic stereotypical movie way like ‘no’, ‘stop that’, but they don’t actually teach like real life situations”.

I: “Do you think that’d be useful?”

FG1.3: “Yeah”.

FG1.2: “Especially for non-confrontational people ‘cause my friend, the creepy guy was being really weird to her, and she wouldn’t say anything about it ‘cause she’s so nice and other people had to step up for her because she wouldn’t tell him that she didn’t want it”.

I: “Not through worksheets?

FG1.4: “No”.

FG1.5: “Through actual education [teaching through worksheets] “It’s like ‘listening’ to music with [by reading] music sheets, it’s like wow, [sarcastic] ‘this sounds so good!’”

(Teens, Mixed genders, 14–16)

In a focus group featuring all female-identifying participants, teens recognised the value of consent but felt more detail was needed:

FG3.1: “I know a lot of times that when topics of consent are brought up in school it’s kind of like tiptoed around like ‘make sure to say yes’, and then they just move on”.

FG3.2: “I reckon if the schools had more idea of what and how to deal with consent and how to respect the person and how to make sure both people are all okay with it, there’d be a lot of sexual assault and harassment cases go down because–well they would respect another person a lot more and they’d know”.

I: “Do you think consent solves a lot of these issues?”

FG3.1: “I think it helps a bit. There is a lot of people who do things just because they simply don’t understand what they’re doing […] it’s also good for the victim, not just for the perpetrator, and having a proper understanding of what consent is and knowing how to say ‘no’ and knowing ‘it’s okay to say no’ and stuff like that”.

FG3.2: “I wouldn’t say solve completely, but I’d definitely say it would help a lot”.

(Female focus group (aged 14–16))

Participants suggest that education about consent might assist to reduce sexual violence. However, teens also note that consent education is not sufficient on its own to significantly reduce nor eliminate sexual violence.

4.2. Consent as the Giving and Seeking of Permission for Sex

Given the overwhelming focus on consent in RSE, and the common inferred positioning of consent appears to be as something that sexually dominant identities (predominantly framed as boys and men) seek from sexually submissive identities (mostly framed as girls), some participants were concerned about how they could appropriately navigate sexual negotiations to obtain such permission. For example, Warren (17, Male, second interview):

“My year group, like, my friend group that I hang out with, we’re very big on consent. That’s because we’ve heard of cases where people might not have got consent, then they’ve got in trouble because of it. So, we’re really big on consent, ‘cause we don’t want to get in trouble for doing the wrong thing”.

Warren’s emphasis on consent is seemingly less about the comfort of his sexual partners and more about risk aversion, the fear of consequences and ‘getting in trouble’. In response to discussions about affirmative consent laws, where it must be proven that consent was obtained, Warren responds,

“I don’t know how I’d go about getting it every time, like, if I just invited a girl over, I don’t know how–I don’t know, it’s a hard one, [do] I have to get it in writing or something?”

Some other young people also indicated they needed objective proof and/or a record of consent, rather than mutual negotiation with their sexual partners. Warren went on to suggest ‘consent apps’ or that the signing of a contract, as a way to ensure consent, was obtained:

“We were thinking about that for our group, ‘cause we’re going to leavers [the end of school celebrations] and if we bring girls back, we want them to sign a consent form or something like that. That’s an idea we had”.

Warren’s positioning of consent as a contractual agreement may imply that once written consent has been obtained, the other party loses their right to withdraw, limiting their autonomy and agency when they may no longer wish to participate. Where teens believe they may require a contract for sex, due to fears of the consequences of not gaining consent, they construct their sexual lives in contractual terms. Any framing of consent should also acknowledge what it means to have ethical and caring sexual experiences.

Warren’s reflections indicate the current focus on consent within RSE programs, and the messaging consent education carries needs more development. The curriculum and associated programs need to convey that consent is complex and far more nuanced than ‘no means no’ and ‘yes means yes’. Without balanced information about sex, relationships, mutual respect and a duty of care for others, consent risks being positioned as an objective marker of legalistic permission—a mere box-ticking exercise—rather than a mutual exploration of pleasure and ethical sex. For example, Miles (17, Male, second interview) suggests: “Consent is just the permission to do something”. Teens thus focus on the specifics of gaining permission for sex rather than building the communication skills and emotional intelligence needed to engage in ethical, respectful and pleasurable sexual relationships.

4.3. Overwhelming Focus on Consent and Fears About Sex

In the absence of balanced or positive representations of sex, it appears that consent education may contribute to fears around sex for some young people. This assertion reflects teens’ perceptions that consent education and ‘respectful relationships’ programs often discuss sex within the context of unwanted sexual experiences and avoiding sexual assault and rape. For instance, Ruby (13, Female) said,

“Well in my school we talk about sexual assault a lot, and it scares me a lot because the things that happen to people are just no okay. I don’t want to walk on my own in places because I’m scared someone’s going to kidnap [me], or someone’s going to do things to me. I don’t want that to happen and that’s why I never go anywhere by myself, and I always go with my mum or my sister”.

While such information may be useful in keeping young people safe, such framings appear to incite additional fears around sex. While it is important to discuss sexual violence with young people, so they can recognise harmful behaviours, discussions need information about risk, balanced with information regarding how sex can be a positive part of people’s lives. Solely focusing on consent as a means of avoiding unwanted sex, sexual assault and rape risks may create a disillusioned sense of sex, seeding fears about sexual activity and, indeed, safety overall.

When asked if the focus on consent and safety might create fears around sex, Tiffany (15, Female, second-round interview) replied, “Yeah, very much so. I know some of my friends are, like, scared of, like, that sort of like intimacy.” While Tiffany’s reflection may indicate a typical sense of trepidation a teen may experience in relation to thinking about sex in theory, her comment indicates that a risk-focused framing of consent may exacerbate such fears.

While having fears about sex could be seen as a form of protection for young people, teens worried that such fears could have harmful long-term impacts. In exploring the nuance of her feelings, Lauren (14, second interview) said,

“I think the benefits of having the fears, is that I wouldn’t do it at such a young age or anything. But the negatives would probably be, now I am a little bit scared about all that stuff and it’s probably not a good thing that I should be scared”.

Lauren recognises that a fear of sex is not healthy and that such framings could potentially impact her view of sex as she gets older. Lauren continued, “They talk more about sexual violence and sexual assault than they do about sex and the benefits of sex and pleasure”. Arguably, balanced representations of sex as consensual, enjoyable, loving, pleasurable and connective experiences would assist in alleviating these fears. Following on from perceptions like Lauren’s, teens in the focus groups were asked whether pleasure was discussed in schools:

FG4.2: “Not really, it’s more just the basics, as in consent and what it is; and then contraception, and all the forms of it, and how effective each one is, like, what it’s best for and stuff. Then relationships and the basics of that, like, he [the teacher] doesn’t really go into what you get from all those things”.

(Mixed-gendered focus group (aged 12–16))

These comments indicate that further skill development is needed to include topics of importance to teens, such as communication, including how to communicate desire; it is also important that discussions around pleasure occur, where sex can be recognised as an enjoyable act.

Specific training and support to assist teachers, educators and outside agencies to teach sexuality education, an imperative yet sensitive task, is essential. Safety and risk can be discussed alongside more positive aspects of sex and sexuality without condoning or encouraging early sexual experiences. Tiffany believes trusted adults could offer advice to prepare young people and help alleviate concerns:

“If you start, like teaching them from, like a young age, like, ‘hey, this is what it is like, obviously some of you are gonna be doing this younger, but it’s not, like, good to be doing it this young.. ‘it’s better to wait [to] do it with someone special’ or [..] ‘wait till you’re ready’ and ‘when you feel safe’ and ‘when you’re in, like, a safe environment, you’re doing it safely’ like. Those sorts of things”.

Tiffany indicates that more direct conversations about sex and relationships would not necessarily prompt young people to engage in early sexual activity. She also argues that loving, connective aspects of sex could be discussed alongside acknowledging risk:

“OK, there is a lot of risk, but like, sex is like such a beautiful thing because so many, like good things, can come out of it. Like, they don’t always have to focus on all of the negative things”.

At the same time, school RSE classes clearly require positive representations of sex and pleasure so that teens are not solely offered risk-aware and thus, somewhat distorted and detrimental depictions of sex. Having considered adolescents’ comments about the consent education aspects of their RSE classes, this paper now moves to a discussion and conclusion.

5. Discussion

This paper offers insight into teens’ perspectives on their RSE, with a focus on their experiences of consent education. Data were collected between 2021 and 2024, coinciding with consent education becoming mandatory in Australian schools appearing commonly within headlines and public discourse. Students’ perspectives about what they learned about consent and how they felt about their consent education offers valuable insights around future developments for RSE and consent education. Teens who had experienced consent education during this transitional period commonly felt that consent had come to dominate RSE. While most participants recognised the importance of consent, they did not wish for information about consent to occur at the expense of discussions related to practical skills and additional knowledge within RSE. The lone focus on consent as a legal binary also appeared to edge out other crucial discussions and skill development around sex and relationships. Indeed, as Gilbert argues, effective sex education should cover diverse topics and contexts, reflecting the complexities of real-life sexual relationships and situations [10].

Teens presented consent as often framed via a simplistic notion of the giving and receiving of sexual permission. However, that two-dimensional framing overlooks the various complexities of consent in sexual scenarios [8,28]. Carr notes that consent education has been developed via legal understandings of sex, placing a legal emphasis on sexual activities [36]. The positioning of consent in sex education often prioritises legalistic and affirmative consent principles, focusing on risk reduction rather than fostering pleasurable sexual experiences and communication [37,38]. This legalistic perspective, alongside changes in affirmative consent laws, means that some teens read consent as requiring permission for sex, which (at the extreme) may need to be formalised via written agreement. As well as being transactional, a ‘written contract’ perspective does not anticipate that consent for sex can be withdrawn or negated at any time. Such a perspective also means teens may be primarily concerned with avoiding potential legal ramifications rather than prioritising mutual respect and care of their partners. These perspectives are somewhat surprising but also unsurprising given transactional views of consent are also implicit in the Australian curriculum, which lists early consent education (Foundation to Year 4) as focused upon ‘seeking, giving and denying permission’ [3]. This framing is subsequently replaced in later years by ‘seeking, giving and denying consent’ [39]. Such framings focus on individual responsibility for self-care while overlooking the mutual care, respect and ethical considerations important for partnered sex [39]. While consent education remains an important and celebrated addition to the curriculum, further explorations of consent alongside subsequent skill-development are needed to assist young people in navigating differences between legal definitions of consent and the duty of care they owe their sexual partner(s).

Further, by focusing on consent through these legal frameworks, consent is often positioned as a static tick-box agreement rather than a dynamic and continuous process [40,41]. Instead, consent should be understood as an ongoing process that requires consideration of effective communication, emotional state and relationship power dynamics influenced by cultural and social contexts. It is vital that young people are equipped with the understanding that consent is deeply intertwined with power dynamics, communication styles and the ability to express desire and boundaries effectively [42]. This broader perspective highlights the critical importance of agency, the capacity to make informed and voluntary decisions in sexual relationships [41]. Additionally, studies have found that individual subjectivities can impact rates of verbal consent seeking. Szucs and colleagues found differences by race and ethnicity, gender and sexual identity status in asking for sexual consent verbally [43]. They argue that specific sociocultural norms, roles and power dynamics are responsible for these differences [43]. For example, they argue that the disparity between male- and female-identifying participants is influenced by the idea that males, and not females, are responsible for seeking consent and initiating sexual exchanges, which can be attributed to traditional gender-based roles and power dynamics [42]. Szucs et al’s analysis considers how young people’s perceived capacity to consent is influenced by the context in which sexual behaviours occur.

The emphasis on a black-and-white legalistic definition of consent can also lead to a loss of nuance and complexity, while also omitting the social and cultural context of heteronormativity [11]. Even when discussing an individual’s capacity to consent, it is often done through the lens of laws and policies outlining who can legally provide consent [40,41]. This approach can lead to a limited understanding of consent and capacity to consent, which is often framed as a transactional agreement to avoid legal repercussions rather than a collaborative progressive exchange to achieve mutual pleasure [37,38,42]. Jeffery argues that the current consent curriculum is not sufficient on its own to address the broader issues within this dominant cultural context that shapes, and sometimes undermines, understandings about, and the practice of, consent, especially in terms of gendered power dynamics [11]. Ignoring these sociocultural influences may result in ineffective or superficial perspectives on consent which oversimplify real-life situations [11]. The ‘fantasy’ positioning of the two parties in a conventional heterosexual relationship as being equal, argues Couvret, ignores the gendered nature of heterosexual relationships and removes the “morally transformative nature” of consent [12] (p. 11).

This lack of gender-based inclusivity can lead to excluding discussion of, and education around, sexual relationships beyond the heteronormative ideal. The participants of this research included a diverse range of genders and sexualities. While the participants did not explicitly note differences in their attitudes towards consent because of differing sexualities and gender identities, young people of sexual minorities may be influenced by heteronormative scripts [13,22]. For example, Worsdale and Kosenko argue that sexual minorities often face specific challenges when navigating consent (such as societal stigma, discrimination, their sexual or gender identity being misunderstood or disrespected and a lack of comprehensive sex education tailored to their experiences) [13]. Without effective education about relationships, sexual wellbeing and communication, the heteronormative expectations of current consent education can pressure sexual minorities to conform to traditional ideas of consent and relationship dynamics, potentially leading to misunderstandings or conflicts around consent [13,22].

Female and gender-marginalised participants highlighted an exacerbated awareness of risk and tended to express fears around sex based on their consent discussions. This may reflect a gendered response to discussions of consent which tend to discuss sex within the context of unwanted sexual experiences, sexual assault and rape. Indeed, women and girls are often constructed as the gatekeepers of sex, whereas men seek to ‘gain permission for sex’ [28]. Consent education may also position sex as inherently a site of danger [10], reinforced in young women’s perceptions of sex as potentially being risky due to STIs, pregnancy, sexual assault and a possible source of regret [37,44]. Marson warns against framing the need for consent education, or broader RSE education, through this risk lens, which she argues is a deficit model [18]. A broader relationships and sexuality education is concerned with skills development beyond harm prevention. Access to comprehensive sexuality education extends the topic of consent from teaching students about consent as a tool to prevent sexual violence to supporting their right to access nuanced and rounded information about sex, identity and pleasure [18]. A systematic literature review of programs in the US has revealed that many programs focus on the risks associated with sex while promoting personal responsibility to mitigate these risks [43]. Young people rightly identified that they required additional skills to navigate these nuances and complexities.

Providing balanced representations of sex could help alleviate fears. Young people could be encouraged to feel that mutual pleasure is a more important aspect of sexual decision-making than risk [45]. Waling, James and Moor, after interviewing young Australians about their understandings of consent, argue that teaching sexual communication is only effective when coupled with the practicalities of sex and pleasure. Teaching about the specifics of sex and pleasure could potentially contribute to reducing sexual violence (see [46]), if individuals understood that sexual experiences should be both mutually enjoyable and mutually respectful. Marson also argues that “if the topic of consent becomes the focus—isolated from broader lessons about bodies, sex and sexuality, communication and relationships—it will be ineffective, artificial and will not build transferable skills” [28] (p. 166). Yet very few programs provided a rounded overview of sex or focus on positive aspects such as pleasure and intimacy in comparison to consent and safety information (STIs, contraception). Current framings of consent education appear to position the act of sex as an additional site of risk. There was also little indication that teens felt they were learning the skills required to navigate conflict, communicate desire and give (or withhold or withdraw) consent in practice.

When RSE emphasises ethical and mutually-enjoyable sexual experiences, this emphasis can help young people have healthier sexual interactions. Teens seek nuanced information about intimate relationships, sex and love that reflect their realities. Connecting legal and abstract definitions to real-life examples of sexual scenarios, or allowing them to roleplay examples that acknowledge nuance, could assist young people to explore the realities of their everyday lives [37,41]. Encouraging young people to develop skills in assessing whether they genuinely consent to sexual activity - in conjunction with other important skills and values, such as self-confidence, communication, respecting boundaries, navigating conflict and building empathy can help prevent sexual violence and encourage relational wellbeing. Ensuring sexual violence is prevented, as well as equipping young people to have fulfilling, healthy sexual experiences, is an imperative part of a fit-for-purpose comprehensive RSE curriculum.

6. Limitations

This paper draws upon a non-representative sample of sufficient size to explore various perspectives and experiences via qualitative analysis. At the same time, while a small number of participants identified as Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander or South Asian, most participants were from similar middle-class, white Australian backgrounds. Future research could benefit from a larger and more culturally diverse sample to enhance the validity of the results. Similarly, it would be valuable to have a sample that includes and records the perspectives of young people with disability. Further research exploring the needs and wants of consent education specific to people with disability is needed [47].

While all samples within this project may reflect volunteer or selection bias, on the part of both the parents and the young people themselves, this was especially true of the focus groups. The focus groups seem to have disproportionately attracted adolescents with sex-positive views and diverse sexual orientations/queer identities. These young people may be drawn to sensitive research that focuses on sexual topics, and their perspectives may not be representative of the general teenage population. At the same time, an inclusive and holistic RSE curriculum that will meet the needs of gender-diverse participants in addition to the needs of those who identify as heteronormative is vital.

Initially, the research aimed to include a number of focus groups online with participants based around Australia to capture a range of views Australia-wide. However, the offer of financial remuneration in the advertising meant the team were inundated with inauthentic requests. As a result, to ensure authenticity and verify participants, the focus groups also were held in-person. All participants were based in Perth/Boorloo, Western Australia. Further Australia-wide perspectives could be valuable.

It should be noted that while the interviews aimed to understand teens’ perspectives on RSE, the topic of consent was not originally planned as a central focus of discussion, reflecting the heightened public interest in this topic. Some interviews did not explore ideas of consent in any depth or complexity. However, active questions around consent were asked when teen participants indicated they were appropriate. The alignment of the project with the introduction of a consent curriculum meant that the research coincided with a time of change. Students may have experienced consent education during a ‘transitional’ period, when their teachers were still developing their approach. A full investigation of teens’ perspectives on consent therefore requires further research, in additional states and including rural areas. Additional quantitative and qualitative studies could be useful.

7. Conclusions

Recent Australian curriculum updates have added a range of topics to the Health and Physical Education (HPE) curriculum, which generally includes RSE, particularly in relation to aspects of consent [3]. However, no additional training has been provided for educators to support them in navigating and teaching the sensitive and complex topics implicit in a holistic consent pedagogy. The addition of even a basic coverage of consent contributes to an already overcrowded curriculum, making it even more difficult for educators to balance the various aspects that contribute to a well-rounded relationships and sexuality education. At the same time, some educators seem to have responded early to the debates within the public domain, rather than awaiting formal changes in the curriculum to make adjustments to lesson content. This meant that almost all teen interviewees had some experience of consent education that they could share as part of this research. Insights from the integration of consent into the curriculum also indicate that public activism and advocacy are powerful tools for altering curriculum, policy and classroom content.

Our participants’ comments indicate that educators need more support, both in terms of the content they teach and in navigating dis/comfort around discussing topics involving sex and sexuality. Educators should be trained to discuss sex more positively and directly, as per teens’ wants and needs, responding to the questions teens ask and the topics they want covered. Teens argue that they require a nuanced education around healthy relationships, communication and mutual care, with a focus on developing the skills that will help them achieve this for themselves and their (future) partners. While consent forms a foundation for healthy and pleasurable sexual experiences, more needs to be done to move its conceptualisation from that of a straightforward transactional agreement, to positioning consent instead as one part of an enriching, mutually pleasurable, sexual encounter. When this is achieved, the full potential implied in the integration of consent within the RSE curriculum will have been realised.