MIND Graduate Essay Prize 2017: Samia Hesni

MIND Graduate Essay Prize 2017
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We are delighted to include in this issue of MIND the winning entry
for the first MIND Graduate Essay Prize, by Samia Hesni. This is
followed by two other entries, by Chong-Ming Lim and Polly
Mitchell, each of which was deemed worthy of publication. We offer
all three authors our warm congratulations. The topic for this prize
was ‘Social and Political Philosophy ’. The topic for the next Graduate
Essay Prize, details of which will be announced in due course, is to be
‘The Phenomenological Tradition’.
A.W. Moore and Lucy O’Brien

Joint Editors
Illocutionary Frustration
Samia Hesni
Massachusetts Institute of Technology
shes@mit.edu
This paper proposes a new category of linguistic harm: that of illocutionary frus-
tration. I argue against Jennifer Hornsby and Rae Langton’s notion of illocutionary
silencing by challenging their claim that silencing occurs when there is a lack of
uptake of the speaker’s illocutionary act. I look at two scenarios that their view
treats differently and argue that these scenarios warrant the same kind of analysis;
Hornsby and Langton’s notion of silencing can’t capture the purported difference
they want it to capture. I propose that we should look instead to standing to explain
the phenomenon that illocutionary silencing intends to explain. I explicate the role
of standing in terms of illocutionary frustration, then consider street harassment as
an example of a linguistic interaction that is best explained by my proposed view.
1. Silencing
As many have noted, J.L. Austin’s speech act analysis is a helpful way to
talk about language that degrades and harms. Specifically, following
Mind, Vol. 127 . 508 . October 2018 ß Hesni 2018

doi:10.1093/mind/fzy033 Advance Access publication 11 October 2018
948 Samia Hesni
Rae Langton (1993, 2009), Jennifer Hornsby (1998), and others, it is a

helpful way to talk about language that silences.
We can think of silencing in many ways. Many colloquial descrip-
tions of silencing involve one person cutting off another, or other-
wise not letting them speak. Of recent notoriety, we can think of

United States Senator Elizabeth Warren being cut off by Senate
Majority Leader Mitch McConnell on the senate floor in February
2016. During the confirmation hearings for (then) Attorney General
nominee Jeff Sessions, McConnell sent Warren to her seat for at-
tempting to read the testimony of Coretta Scott King. As the
media put it, Warren was silenced by McConnell. But, as Langton
points out, there are more subtle ways of silencing that require more
nuanced analyses. Illocutionary silencing, for Langton, is what hap-
pens when a speaker is able to utter certain words without those
words constituting action in the relevant sense: ‘[A]lthough the ap-
propriate words can be uttered, those utterances fail to count as the
actions they were intended to be’ (Langton 1993, p. 299). Less infor-
mally, illocutionary silencing occurs when there is failed uptake by
the hearer of the speaker’s illocutionary intentions; the hearer does
not recognize what the speaker is trying to do with her words, so the
speech act fails.
Let’s go back to the Warren-McConnell exchange. There is locu-
tionary silencing in this exchange, as described above: Warren is lit-
erally made unable to speak. But there is illocutionary silencing as well:
Warren: And this is what it said: ‘They are mothers, daughters, sisters,
fathers, sons, and brothers. They are —’
McConnell: — Mr. President… Mr. President.
Senate President: The Majority Leader.
McConnell: The Senator impugns the motive and conduct of our colleague
from Alabama. As warned by the chair… I call the Senator to order under
the provisions of Rule 19.
Warren: Mr President, I am surprised that the words of Coretta Scott King
are not suitable for debate in the United States Senate. I ask leave of the
Senate to continue my remarks.
Senate President: Is there an objection?
Floor: Objection.
Warren: I appeal the ruling —

Illocutionary Frustration 949
Senate President: — Obj, Objection is heard. The Senator will take her
seat.1
As was well documented by the media, the Senate President silenced
Warren: he sent her to her seat and rendered her unable to continue
speaking. But we can make the case that there was illocutionary silen-

cing here, too. Recall that the last thing Warren said before being cut
off was: ‘I appeal the ruling’. According to Austin, uttering such words
in the right circumstances should result in performing the speech act
of appealing. But Warren was not able to appeal the ruling. She
uttered the words and so performed the locutionary act, yet because
there was no uptake by the Senate President, she did not perform the
act of appealing. So she was also illocutionarily silenced. As summed
up in the words of Langton: ‘Let them speak. Let them say whatever
they like to whomever they like, but stop that speech from counting as
an action. More specifically, stop it from counting as the action it was
intended to be’ (1993, p. 299).
In this paper, I present a new way of framing linguistic harms, one
that is more general than illocutionary silencing and that avoids many
of its disadvantages. I call this harm illocutionary frustration and char-
acterize it as the phenomenon of a hearer treating a speaker as though
she does not have standing to perform the speech act she intends to
perform. This paper makes three main claims. First, Langton’s (1993,
2009) and Hornsby and Langton’s (1998) notion of illocutionary silen-
cing falls prey to an internal incoherence on a common neo-Gricean
view of nonliteral speech. Second, a better concept for understanding
the distinct linguistic and communicative harm in the cases that mo-
tivate the silencing literature is that of illocutionary frustration. Third,
we can further understand the pervasiveness of illocutionary frustra-
tion by looking at instances of failed leave-taking: instances in which a
speaker tries and fails to disengage from a linguistic interaction. A
classic case of this, which I analyse in the final section of this paper,
is that of a targeted individual responding to an instance of street
harassment.2
1
‘Mitch McConnell Cuts Off Elizabeth Warren’s Speech & Has Her Silenced’. YouTube.
8 February, 2017. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f3IL7oL50WY.
2
One way to think about failed leave-taking is to think about instances of failed conver-
sation ending: instances in which one person tries to end a conversation, but the other person
doesn’t let her. I choose to talk about ‘leave-taking’ rather than ‘conversation ending’ because
there are some interpretations on which conversation ending (and initiating) is a mutual
endeavour. Like others who theorize about speech acts and the kinds of silencing associated

950 Samia Hesni
2. Pornography and refusal

Langton and Hornsby’s central case of illocutionary silencing is that of
a woman trying and failing to refuse a sexual advance, as enabled and
encouraged by the social influence of pornography. Their claim is that

pornography silences — or at least is complicit in silencing — women
by perpetuating the myth that ‘no’ does not constitute a refusal in the
context of sexual interactions. In this section, I will present two prob-
lems for their analysis of illocutionary silencing: one primarily moral,
and one primarily conceptual. In each case, I will begin by addressing
Langton’s (1993) proposal, and then explain how my claims extend to
Hornsby and Langton’s (1998) proposals. My primary aim in this
section is to show that Hornsby and Langton’s notion of illocutionary
silencing runs into internal difficulties. On their view, an exchange in
which there is no uptake of a speaker’s refusal counts as illocutionary
silencing, whereas an otherwise identical exchange that involves
uptake followed by the hearer’s ignoring or disavowing the refusal
does not count as illocutionary silencing. So if an individual does
not consent to sex but is interpreted by her interlocutor as consenting,
this counts as an instance of illocutionary silencing. But if an individ-
ual does not consent to sex, is interpreted by her interlocutor as
refusing, and then ignored, then this does not count as an instance
of illocutionary silencing (although it does constitute a wrong).
My claim in this section rests on a discussion of two kinds of failed
refusal. There are at least two different failure-of-‘no’-as-a-refusal
scenarios that Hornsby and Langton distinguish between: first,
instances in which there is no uptake of the intended refusal (illocut-
ionary silencing); and second, instances in which there is uptake and
the offender ‘fails to obey ’ the refusal (perlocutionary silencing).
Hornsby and Langton think we have good reason to distinguish be-
tween these two scenarios; while they are both instances of silencing,
only the former counts as genuine illocutionary silencing — in which
the speaker fails to perform the speech act of refusal at all.3 In what
follows, I make two claims about this distinction. The first is that the
distinction is harmful; it matters for many victims of rape and sexual
assault that they did refuse, even if their refusal was not acknowledged
with them, I am particularly interested in what happens when a speaker is hindered from
performing a certain speech act on her own.
3
This is the view in Langton (1993) and, as I understand it, Langton (2009). Hornsby and
Langton (1998) allow that a partial refusal may have occurred in the former scenario. I will say
more about this in § 2.1.

as such. Treating the fact of the refusal as out of the victim’s control
deprives her of agency and legal standing. My second and more central
claim is that once we spell out what constitutes uptake of a refusal, the
two kinds of scenarios turn out to be similar in important and relevant
respects — so important and relevant that we should rethink the

significance of the distinction. The conclusion of both claims is that
we have reason to think that we should not be giving the two scenarios
differential treatment.
2.1 On harms to the victim

Here is a more concrete way of spelling out the two scenarios.
Scenario 1: A and B are in B’s room. B wants to have sex. A doesn’t.
B initiates sex. A says ‘no’. In doing so, A takes herself to be refusing.
B thinks that A means that she does want to have sex with B. B does
not recognize that A is trying to refuse. A intends that B believe that
she is refusing. B does not believe that A intends that B believe that
she is refusing. B does not recognize A’s intention to refuse. There is
no uptake of the refusal.
Scenario 2: A and B are in B’s room. B wants to have sex. A doesn’t.
B initiates sex. A says ‘no’. In doing so, A takes herself to be refusing.
B recognizes that A is trying and intending to refuse, but thinks that
deep down she wants to have sex with him. A intends that B believe
that she is refusing. B does not believe that A intends that B believe
that she is refusing, although B recognizes A’s intention to refuse.
After all, she is in his room. B decides to ignore A’s refusal. There is
uptake of the refusal followed by a decision to act as though A
hasn’t refused.
Recall that according to Hornsby and Langton, Scenario 1 is an
instance of illocutionary silencing and Scenario 2 is not.4
Specifically, A is illocutionarily silenced in Scenario 1 but not in
Scenario 2. According to Langton (1993), this means that A has refused
in Scenario 2, but not in Scenario 1.
First, a brief motivating point regarding the claim that it is harmful
to the victim to treat these two scenarios differently. There are many
iterations of Scenarios 1 and 2 where there isn’t much, if any, differ-
ence between the two scenarios on the part of A. That is, for many
instances of these scenarios, A cannot tell whether she is in Scenario 1
4
We can say, however, that Scenario 2 is an instance of sincerity silencing, following
McGowan (2014). Scenario 2 is similar to West’s (2003) Case 2.

952 Samia Hesni
or Scenario 2.5 In both cases, she is harmed. In both cases, she is raped.
In both cases, saying ‘no’ fails to make B withdraw his sexual advances.
On these three points, Langton and I are in agreement.
Here’s where we differ: I maintain that it would be wrong to then say
to A that she refused in Scenario 2 but not in Scenario 1, given that in

many cases the scenarios are indistinguishable to her. The baseline in-
tuition is that the hearer’s uptake (or failure thereof ) should not deter-
mine whether or not A refused. That should be up to A. The intuition,
as Daniel Jacobson puts it, is that ‘to deny this would be to hold the
performance of an illocutionary act hostage to the perversity of one’s
audience’ (1995, p. 74). Others (including Bauer 2015, Bird 2002) have
argued similar points in depth, so I will not belabour the intuition here.
In response to Jacobson and others, Hornsby and Langton (1998)
clarify this issue, suggesting instead that the speaker might not have
‘fully successfully ’ refused in Scenario 1, given that she tried to refuse
and performed the appropriate locutionary act.6 This is an improve-
ment, but it still entails that different linguistic harms are committed
against the speaker in Scenarios 1 and 2. As I hope to show in the next
section, there’s something distinctly linguistic going on in Scenario 2,
and it’s sufficiently similar to what’s going on in Scenario 1 that the
two should be categorized as the same kind of linguistic harm. In both
scenarios, because of some failure on the part of the interlocutor, the
speaker’s words aren’t being taken to mean what she is entitled to
expect them to mean. Something about the interlocutor’s behaviour is
preventing the speaker’s words from doing what she intends them to
do.
2.2 On the incoherence of ‘uptake’

My central argument against Hornsby and Langton’s notion of silen-
cing is that once we spell out what it is for someone to interpret ‘no’ as
a consent move (following Langton 1993) or a lack of refusal (follow-
ing Hornsby and Langton 1998), their view doesn’t sufficiently distin-
guish between Scenarios 1 and 2. So not only do we have moral reasons
to reject this distinction; it is also untenable. Above, I claimed that
5
Lois Pineau (1989) discusses the (still in effect) mens rea requirement on rape and sexual
assault and the harms such a requirement imposes on victims of sexual violence. Pineau details
the ways in which sexual offenders are acquitted so long as they can convince a jury that they
thought their victims were consenting. This points to the harm of treating Scenarios 1 and 2 as
having differing moral significance.
6
It is worth noting that the terminology of ‘fully successfully ’ refusing is absent in
Langton’s (2009) (co-authored with Hornsby) updated version of the paper.

Scenarios 1 and 2 should be treated in the same way because they are
indistinguishable to the speaker, and the downstream effects of that
indistinguishability warrant the speaker to truly say she has refused in
both scenarios. Now I will argue that Scenarios 1 and 2 should be given
the same treatment because they are similar with respect to the hearer.

The alleged failure of uptake case is not sufficiently different from the
case in which the hearer understands that the speaker is refusing, but
thinks the speaker is interested in him and so decides not to treat the
refusal as such. I argue this by appealing to one way in which a hearer
can interpret indirect speech — specifically, by looking at the mech-
anism by which B comes to interpret ‘no’ as meaning something other
than a refusal.
One of the ways in which pornography subordinates and silences,
according to Langton, is by depicting women who consent by saying
‘no’; uttering ‘no’ in the context of pornography is a ‘consent move’
(Langton 1993, p. 324). This trickles down from pornography into
society, so that men are then encouraged to take utterances of ‘no’
out of context and interpret these utterances as indicating consent in
their own sexual encounters.
But Langton doesn’t give us the details of how B hears ‘no’ and under-
stands it to mean yes. We need to fill that in to figure out the difference
that she is committed to between Scenarios 1 and 2. More explicitly, we
need a theory of how ‘no’ comes to mean yes for B in Scenario 1. When
we flesh that out in detail, we will find that Scenarios 1 and 2 are really not
very different at all. The illocutionary silencing by failure of uptake case is
not that different from the uptake and override case.
I should note here that Langton does not deny that what happens in
Scenario 2 is a form of silencing. She would label this type of case
perlocutionary silencing — A’s words don’t have their intended effect,
although, unlike in Scenario 1, her words do count as a refusal. So I am
not making the weaker claim that silencing occurs in Scenarios 1 and 2.
I am making the stronger claim that the same kind of silencing occurs
in both.7
7
Others (Bauer 2015) have argued that the victim did refuse in scenarios like Scenario 1.
I am sympathetic towards this view, though I am agnostic about whether the presence of
refusal means there was no illocutionary silencing; or whether there is an understanding of
illocutionary silencing to be developed that is consistent with the victim’s having refused. (See
Maitra 2004, 2009 and McGowan 2009, among others) for views of silencing that are consist-
ent with the speaker’s having refused.) My preferred conclusion is that this points to internal
difficulties with the notion of illocutionary silencing, and that there are better notions out
there that capture the phenomenon in question.

954 Samia Hesni
The no-means-yes phenomenon that Langton is interested in can be

explicated using a model of nonliteral speech.8 Moreover, it should be
understood using a model of nonliteral speech. This is because, al-
though there may not be standard analyses available for what happens
when someone says ‘no’ and is interpreted to mean yes, there are

analyses available for what happens when someone says ‘p’ and is
interpreted as saying something other than ‘p’. And Langton’s example
is an instance of that.
Here is a general framework for interpreting nonliteral speech that
is found in Harnish and Bach 1979 (on indirect speech) and Egan 2008
(on idioms), among others:9
Nonliteral Speech: S says ‘p’. H hears ‘p’. H first interprets S to mean p. For
some reason or other, that doesn’t make sense. H goes through some other
options for what S could have meant, based on pragmatic/cultural/social
rules and norms and S’s behaviour. H locates q as a meaning for ‘p’. H
concludes that S means q.10,11
8
Maitra and McGowan (2010) argue convincingly that Langton is not advocating a view
on which illocutionary silencing is constituted by a ‘meaning switch’ (where pornography
makes it the case that ‘no’ means ‘yes’). This meaning-switch view is not what I have in
mind when I discuss the ‘no-means-yes’ phenomenon. By ‘no-means-yes’, I mean the pro-
cess by which a speaker who hears an utterance of ‘no’ comes to interpret that utterance to
mean ‘yes’.
9
This view is represented by most Gricean and neo-Gricean accounts of nonliteral mean-
ing in philosophy, but also in psychology and linguistics. (See also Lyons 1977, Horn 1984,
Janus and Bever 1985, and Huang 2010.) Competing views like conventionalism or relevance
theory (Sperber and Wilson, 1986, for example) hold that there is no reasoning process when it
comes to nonliteral speech. Instead of reasoning through alternatives, the hearer immediately
finds the most relevant interpretation of the speaker’s utterance. Others (Camp 2006) point to
psycholinguistic evidence that shows that different kinds of nonliteral meaning involve differ-
ent cognitive interpretive processes. More finessing will have to be done to make my argument
go through if one holds a relevance theory or conventionalist view of nonliteral speech; that is
beyond the scope of this paper. Wieland (2007) gives us reason to believe that a convention-
alist view of nonliteral speech is not relevant to the goals, purposes, and framework of
Hornsby and Langton, which would make that task easier.
10
Another framework for this kind of interpretation of nonliteral speech — called the
‘three-stage model’ — is summarized by Glucksberg and McGlone (2001) as follows:
(1) Derive the literal meaning of an utterance;
(2) Test the derived literal meaning against the context of the utterance;
(3) If the literal meaning makes sense, accept that meaning as the utterance mean-
ing, that is, the speaker’s intended meaning. If it does not make sense, then seek
an alternative, nonliteral meaning that does make sense in the context.
11
We can flesh out this notion in terms of ‘meaning’ or ‘content’, depending on one’s
theoretical commitments. I choose ‘meaning’ here to explicate the idea that ‘no-means-yes’ is

According to Nonliteral Speech, if I ask ‘Can I use your bathroom?’

you would first interpret me as asking you if I had the capacity to use
your bathroom. You quickly realize that such a question doesn’t make
sense; I know how to use a bathroom, and if I didn’t, you would not
be the one to tell me. So you go through your mental database of

cultural, social and linguistic norms about what I could mean when I
say ‘Can I use the bathroom?’; you locate the idiomatic usage of ‘can’
that tends to mean the same as ‘may ’, and you conclude that what I
meant was ‘May I use the bathroom?’ So too, cases of understanding
sarcasm and metaphor can be understood this way.
To recap, neo-Gricean accounts of nonliteral speech agree about the
following: in order to interpret nonliteral speech, the hearer first con-
siders the meaning of the utterance ‘p’ literally, then deliberates about
whether it makes sense for the speaker to mean p. If it doesn’t make
sense, the hearer goes through some reasoning process to figure out
what the speaker actually means. Now, let’s go through what is hap-
pening in Scenario 1 on this view of nonliteral speech.
Let’s accept Langton’s claim that in Scenario 1, B interprets A to
mean yes when A says ‘no’. Let’s assume that this is an instance of B
acting as though A is speaking nonliterally. I think this is a safe as-
sumption to make. All we are assuming is that when B hears A say
‘no’, B does not believe that A is speaking literally.12
Then the hearer in Scenario 1 hears ‘no’, and either knows the
ordinary meaning of ‘no’ in ordinary everyday contexts or knows
that normally an utterance of ‘no’ constitutes a refusal. So the
hearer first considers an interpretation on which the speaker means
no — or the hearer first interprets ‘no’ as a refusal. Then (perhaps
thinking something like ‘Could A really be meaning to say no in saying
“no”?’ or ‘Could A be meaning to refuse?’) the hearer concludes (as a
result of pornography consumption, cultural indoctrination, or any
number of related things) that it wouldn’t make sense for the speaker
to say or mean no or to be refusing. The hearer searches for an alter-
nate meaning of ‘no’. He remembers that pornography represents
women in sexual contexts to say ‘no’ and mean yes. The hearer
the silencing-inducing myth perpetuated by pornography. We can do it in terms of content to

stay truer to a neo-Gricean pragmatics, and then draw out the link between content and
meaning; or keep it as is and say that in this case, meaning is (semantic) content.
12
If we need to spell this out, we can. Langton says that B hears ‘no’ and thinks that ‘no’
means yes’. Then ‘no’ could not mean no. If B thinks that A is speaking literally, then B would
think that A’s utterance of ‘no’ means no. But B does not think that A’s utterance of ‘no’
means no. So B thinks A is not speaking literally.

956 Samia Hesni
concludes that the speaker’s utterance of ‘no’ means yes.13 And therein
lies the failure of uptake.
I hope that now we can see that this isn’t very different from what is
going on in Scenario 2. At the very least, we can pinpoint what the
difference is. In both of these scenarios, the first step on the part of the

hearer is to consider construing the speaker’s ‘no’ as a refusal. Then
there is some cognitive override because it doesn’t make sense to the
hearer that the speaker would be refusing. Finally, the hearer behaves
as though the speaker hasn’t refused. In the first case, it is because
pornography teaches the hearer that women say ‘no’ when they want
to have sex. In the second case, it is because the hearer believes that the
speaker’s refusal doesn’t entail that she doesn’t want to have sex —
although he doesn’t doubt that she is refusing.14
So the first similarity is that the hearer in both scenarios first con-
siders ‘no’ to be a refusal. The second similarity is that the hearer
undergoes a cognitive process whereby it does not make sense to
him that the speaker refused. The third similarity is that the hearer
behaves in a way that he would have had the speaker not refused. The
reasons for this behaviour are different in the two scenarios. But that is
the crux of the difference. And — given that illocutionary silencing is
primarily a linguistic phenomenon, and that our motivations for deli-
neating such a phenomenon are ethical and political — it should be
unsatisfying that whether or not an act is an act of illocutionary
silencing hangs on the hearer’s motivations for interpreting the
speaker in a certain way.
13
Of course, this is a tedious way of spelling out what, according to Hornsby and Langton
and others, is a split-second process. I agree that most circumstances of people interpreting ‘no’
to mean yes do not involve this explicit, articulated, step-by-step calculation of what the speaker
could mean and what she must mean. But so do proponents of Nonliteral Speech. The way we
understand ‘Can I use the bathroom?’, metaphors, sarcasm, and other nonliteral speech is
similarly split-second. The point is just that similar processes are underlying the split-second
interpretation — and they are specific to this kind of nonliteral speech interpretation. Although
the interpretive act takes mere seconds (or milliseconds), there is some empirical evidence to
suggest that processing of nonliteral speech takes longer than processing of literal speech, which is
evidence in favour of this kind of neo-Gricean framework. Elisabeth Camp summarizes some of
these: ‘Various studies (…) have found that unfamiliar and novel metaphors do take significantly
longer to process than either literal sentences or familiar metaphors. Bowdle and Gentler (2005)
also found that novel similes are processed significantly faster than novel metaphors, suggesting
that it’s not merely the unfamiliar juxtaposition of terms, but the literal sentence meaning itself,
that increases processing time’ (Camp 2006 p. 157).
14
This is not (conceptually) incoherent. I could refuse a job offer even though I really want
the job; I have still refused.

More should be said about what it means for the hearer in Scenario
1 to first interpret or recognize ‘no’ as a refusal. There are various
forms this could take. One option is that the hearer could fully in-
ternalize the refusal, come to believe that the speaker has refused, and
then have that belief generate some internal contradiction such that

the hearer stops believing that she refused.15 A second, similar option
is that first the hearer comes to believe that the speaker intends to
refuse, and then that belief generates some internal contradiction such
that the hearer then stops believing that she intends to refuse. A third
option involves the hearer taking on for purposes of reasoning — or
supposing for the purposes of reasoning — that the speaker is refusing
or intending to refuse, and then following that supposition to see if it
leads to a coherent state of affairs. The relevant difference maker be-
tween Scenarios 1 and 2 will depend on the option we take. On the first
two options, we can say that there was uptake of A’s utterance by B in
Scenario 1. This gives us a reductio of the claim that Scenario 1 does
not involve uptake, while Scenario 2 does. This is the strongest version
of the argument, on which the notion of uptake is conceptually inco-
herent. But even on the third option, the relevant difference maker
will be an unsatisfying way of adjudicating whether A has been illo-
cutionary silenced. So even on the weak version of the argument, the
difference between Scenarios 1 and 2 would be that in Scenario 1 B
reasons as follows: ‘Could she be refusing? No, that doesn’t make
sense. She must mean something else’. In contrast, in Scenario 2 he
reasons as follows: ‘She’s refusing. That doesn’t make sense. She must
mean something else’. I hope I have shown that the hearer’s thought
processes in Scenarios 1 and 2 are sufficiently similar to warrant giving
both scenarios the same diagnosis. So we would do well to think of
Scenarios 1 and 2 as involving the same kind of linguistic harm.
On this neo-Gricean way of fleshing out what it is for a hearer to
interpret ‘no’ as yes, my argument risks resting on an empirical assump-
tion about the hearer’s psychological states. But there are independent
theoretical reasons for adopting Nonliteral Speech. It is not only a thesis
about psychology, but a claim about the distinction between literal and
nonliteral meaning — a claim that holds that the default way we in-
terpret speech is according to its literal meaning (and then, if that fails,
we reinterpret as necessary). There are considerations supporting this
15
Although this is not the standard neo-Gricean view of the initial step, something like this
is espoused by Mandelbaum (2014) and explored in Hasson and Glucksberg (2006), among
others. Thanks to EJ Green for the latter point.

958 Samia Hesni
claim that don’t depend on a hearer’s mind or on what she is thinking,

including theses about language meaning (Lewis 1969, Horn 1984),
communication (Grice 1975, Harnish and Bach 1979), and sociolinguis-
tics (Acton 2016).
The argument above targets the definition of illocutionary silencing

given in Langton (1993), but applies to the modifications set forth in
Hornsby and Langton (1998). Hornsby and Langton (1998) update
their account to say the hearer fails to interpret the speaker’s ‘no’ as
a refusal — rather than interpreting the speaker as giving consent. It is
not crucial for my argument that the hearer interprets the hearer’s ‘no’
as yes, nor is it crucial for Hornsby and Langton’s argument.16 What is
crucial, however, is that the hearer hears the speaker’s ‘no’ and inter-
prets it as meaning something other than no.17 So as long as there is
some sort of recognition by the hearer of the communicative intention
of the speaker, we can run a version of the above argument. According
to Nonliteral Speech, then, there is a kind of minimal uptake that
occurs when the speaker says ‘no’, interprets her to mean such, and
then he fails to believe or recognize that she means to refuse.
There is an interpretation of Hornsby and Langton’s notion of
silencing that would not be apt for analysis on the neo-Gricean view
of nonliteral speech discussed above. This would be an interpretation
where the hearer’s lack of recognition of the speaker’s communicative
intentions takes the form of the hearer’s not recognizing that the
speaker is trying to do anything at all with her words — or at least,
anything communicative.18 Then, Step 1 of the neo-Gricean reasoning
process — in which the hearer first recognizes the literal meaning of
the word ‘no’ — doesn’t occur, because of a radical lack of interpreta-
tion, on the part of the hearer. While this alternative reading is com-
patible with Hornsby and Langton’s account, that kind of scenario can
be described in a multitude of ways. In what follows, I propose an-
other view about what this kind of drastic failure of interpretation
could consist in. For now, I take myself to have engaged with a widely
accepted notion of illocutionary silencing: one according to which the
16
I am grateful to Ishani Maitra and an anonymous reviewer for pointing this out.
17
I take this to be consistent with Hornsby and Langton’s notion of uptake, which ‘consists
in the speaker’s being taken to be performing the very illocutionary act which, in being so
taken, she (the speaker) is performing’ (Langton 2009, p. 78).
18
I am grateful to an anonymous reviewer for suggesting this reading of Hornsby and
Langton (1998).

hearer interprets the speaker as doing something other than what she
intended. And I hope I have given reasons to problematize it.
3. Illocutionary frustration

3.1 Characterizing illocutionary frustration
We can propose an alternative concept to capture, among other
things, the similarity between Scenarios 1 and 2. In what follows, I
claim that what’s going on in these cases has to do with standing.
Specifically, in both cases, B is acting as though A does not have
standing to refuse. In Austinian terms, we might say he is treating
her as though she does not meet the felicity conditions to perform
such an act.19 Thinking about standing gives us a way in to thinking
about what I call illocutionary frustration. To explicate this, let’s con-
sider two ways of characterizing illocutionary frustration:
Option 1: The hearer denies the speaker the standing to perform the speech
act.
This option goes something like this: the hearer behaves in such a way
as to deny the speaker the standing to perform a speech act. In
Scenarios 1 and 2, the hearer might behave as though by virtue of
something or other — for example, her being in his room, leaving
with him, being a woman — A doesn’t meet the preconditions, or
felicity conditions, for refusing. This is different from saying that A in
fact does not have the standing to refuse.20 It is to say that the hearer
believes this and acts as though it is the case.21
19
Kukla (2014) gives us one example of such an account.
20
One similar way to put this is in terms of Maitra’s (2004) role-based conversational rules,
according to which a hearer may (mistakenly) believe that a role-based conversational rule is
in play. So in this example, B would have the false belief that ‘When a woman refuses, take her
to be consenting’ in mind as a role-based conversational rule in the context of his bedroom.
21
This might go something like the following (Langton 1993): ‘[T]he crucial feature of
verdictive and execrative illocutions is their sensitivity to the speaker’s authority, and we
can accordingly group them together under the label authoritative illocutions: actions whose
felicity conditions require that the speaker occupy a position of authority in a relevant
domain’, emphasis in original. The suggestion that there be an authority condition is taken
up in McGowan (2009), who offers a notion of authority silencing: the kind of silencing that
occurs when ‘a woman says “No” in response to sexual advances intending to refuse; the man
recognizes her intention to refuse, but he falsely believes that she does not have the authority
to do so’ (p. 492). If we understand standing to be synonymous with (or dependent on) some
kind of speaker authority, then my proposal and McGowan’s have much in common.
However, I take authority and standing to come apart. For example, a speaker who has the
authority to f may not have standing to do so if she is not in the right circumstances. For

960 Samia Hesni
There is something like a lack of uptake by the hearer here, but the
reason for it is different. It’s not that the lack of uptake has anything to
do with the specific contours of ‘no’ meaning yes — instead, it’s about
the way B treats A, and how he views her as a speaker and an agent: as
not being able successfully to refuse regardless of the words she chooses.

This is one way in which understanding the linguistic harm of failed
sexual refusal in terms of illocutionary frustration is consistent with
Langton’s view. But there will also be instances of illocutionary frustra-
tion that don’t involve Langtonian uptake — instances like Scenario 2.
This brings us to Option 2 — a second way of fleshing out illocut-
ionary frustration:
Option 2: The hearer deems the speaker not to have the authority to
perform the speech act (and behaves accordingly).
Here, the hearer just refuses to acknowledge the speech act even
though he recognizes the intention of the speaker to perform the
illocutionary act.22 This may sound strange, but it is not too uncom-
mon. Most instances of one person ignoring another fit this descrip-
tion. For example, imagine a parent ignoring a child who demands
dessert before dinner (where we might say the child is performing the
speech act of demanding). There’s recognition of the intention of the
child’s demand, but there is also a refusal to take it seriously or to act
in accordance with it. And while, in this case, the child does in fact
perform the speech act of demanding, the effect is as though she
hasn’t. Option 2 describes Scenarios 1 and 2 in this way: the hearer
recognizes that the speaker intends to perform the speech act of refusal
but refuses to acknowledge the refusal. This is a way to capture the
similarity between Scenarios 1 and 2 while allowing that whether or
not an individual refused a sexual advance is up to her.
Does Option 2 just reduce to perlocutionary silencing? I think not. I
think we can truly say there is some unaccounted for middle territory
between cases of perlocutionary frustration and cases of Langtonian
illocutionary silencing. For one thing, illocutionary frustration allows
the speaker to have performed the speech act, albeit unsuccessfully
(where, contra Hornsby and Langton (1998), success isn’t constitutive
example, an ordained minister may not have the standing to officiate a wedding ceremony if
she is the guest, despite having the authority to marry two individuals. More importantly,
hearer perceptions of authority and hearer perceptions of standing can come apart. As a result,
illocutionary frustration can occur without authority silencing.
22
This might be ruled out by Gricean analyses of uptake like Harnish and Bach’s (1979) or
Maitra’s (2009) that take recognition of the speaker’s intention to be a condition for uptake.

of performing the act, but is constitutive of the act’s having its in-
tended effects). This still captures the harm of silencing; the no-
means-yes myth prevents a woman from refusing successfully. But it
also accounts for the influence of other cultural and social scripts and
myths about women and sex.23

We would do better to think more broadly of the harm involved in
illocutionary silencing in terms of illocutionary frustration because the
latter avoids certain moral and conceptual pitfalls around the notion
of uptake.24 In addition I hope I have shown that if we actually spell
out what it is for a hearer to understand ‘no’ as yes, the hearer does go
through a stage where there is uptake of the refusal (at least on a
common interpretation of nonliteral speech). Thinking about illocut-
ionary frustration helps us avoid this incoherence. We can also ac-
count for the problem of justice to the victim. Even though she has
not been heard, she has still refused. This distinguishes our notion of
illocutionary frustration from Hornsby and Langton’s view of silen-
cing. When Langton (1993) describes illocutionary silencing in terms
of felicity conditions, she holds that the felicity conditions stop the
refusal from counting as a refusal at all — whereas I maintain that the
hearer’s beliefs and behaviour merely prevent him from taking the
refusal seriously.25
3.2 Testimonial and discursive injustices

The phenomenon we’ve been describing — a hearer’s refusing to ac-
knowledge the speaker’s standing to perform the speech act she is by
all objective or reasonable metrics licensed to perform — shares simi-
larities with Kristie Dotson (2011), Patricia Hill Collins (2000), and
23
See Marcus (2002) and Tannen (1996) for more on scripts.
24
For taxonomical purposes, I would be happy to consider illocutionary frustration as a
kind of silencing — I choose to use the word ‘frustration’ rather than ‘silencing’ to avoid the
connotation that the speaker has not spoken or has not performed the speech act she intended
to perform (although see Maitra (2009) among others for accounts of silencing that do not
have this connotation).
25
This is another reason to think of illocutionary frustration in terms of standing instead
of felicity conditions. Future work involves saying more about ‘uptake’ and what is required
for it. The literature on silencing and pornography since Langton involves many different takes
and modifications on ‘uptake’. Maitra (2009), for example, proposes a Gricean model of
silencing on which uptake involves the hearer’s recognition of the speaker’s intention to per-
form a certain speech act (and not a recognition of the speech act itself ). On her view, there is
still uptake in cases where the hearer doesn’t believe that the speaker has or can perform the
speech act. On other views (Harnish and Bach 1979, for example) uptake involves even less: the
hearer’s recognition that the speaker intends for the hearer to recognize the hearer’s intention.

962 Samia Hesni
Miranda Fricker’s (2003, 2011) documentations of testimonial injustice,

as well as Rebecca Kukla’s (2014) notion of discursive injustice. In
instances of testimonial injustice, hearers fail to take speakers to be
relevant epistemic authorities — or to trust speakers’ testimony on the
topic of their assertions. (See also McGowan 2009 on authority silen-

cing.) Such failures occur when, for example, a man does not believe a
woman who reports an instance of sexism or sexual harassment. They
are tied to ‘existing habits of response concerning what sorts of people
are trustworthy in what sorts of situations’ (Fricker 2003, p. 161).26
There is a natural way of understanding these cases of sexual-refusal
silencing as instances of testimonial injustice, but there is also more
going on.
One way to apply the concept of testimonial injustice to the case of
sexual refusal is to say that men — thanks to pornography, hetero-
patriarchal norms, or any number of societal features — are habitu-
ated to treat women as though they are not authorities about their
own sexual desire. This is slightly different from Langton’s case —
where ‘no’ is seen as a ‘consent move’—but it does give us a frame-
work within which to understand cases like Scenario 2. Another way to
understand how to apply the above theorists’ work to this kind of case
is to say that (in both cases, but especially in Scenario 2) the credibility
of the speaker is impugned. Her credibility is impugned insofar as she
is thought not to be an expert about her own desires, or about her own
ability to say no; or she’s thought not to be an expert on the felicity
conditions of refusing (for example, she’s not hip to the cultural myth
that she can’t say no if she’s already in his bedroom). We can also
interpret Scenario 2 as different from Scenario 1 solely on the basis of
impoverished interpretive resources of the hearer — his inability to
understand that when women say ‘no’, they in fact mean no. This
would be understanding the exchange in terms of Dotson’s notion of
contributory injustice, that is, ‘an epistemic agent’s situated ignorance,
in the form of willful hermeneutical ignorance, in maintaining and
utilizing structurally prejudiced hermeneutical resources that result in
epistemic harm to the epistemic agency of a knower’ (Dotson 2012,
p. 31).
Kukla’s notion of discursive injustice is directly relevant insofar as it
deals with speech acts and felicity conditions. Kukla is interested in the
26
See Dotson (2011) among others for a discussion of the relationship between epistemic
injustice and silencing. See MacKinnon’s (1987) ‘Desire and Power’ for a discussion of the
narrative that women are not authorities over their own desire.

phenomenon of failed speech in spite of a speaker’s having met all the

standards that under ordinary conditions would suffice for them to
perform the speech act they intend to perform — for example, when a
boss on a factory floor gives an order to her employees that goes
unheeded. According to Kukla, the effect of such a failure is that a

speaker performs a different speech act than the one she intended. In
our example, instead of ordering her employees, she winds up request-
ing that they do what she orders. This happens, for Kukla, based on
the uptake of the employees (they treat her utterance as a request
instead of an order, and behave accordingly), but also because of
the incongruence, in their view, of a woman in a position of authority
over them. It is this latter feature that I think we can talk about in
terms of standing. Because of previously held views about women and
power (and factories), we can say that the employees act as though
their boss doesn’t have standing to perform the speech act of ordering
them to do something.
Kukla’s framework is a nice step away from uptake towards felicity
conditions. But her account still gives us the unsatisfying result that
the speaker in our Scenarios 1 and 2 does not in fact refuse. On Kukla’s
framework, we might say something like: she instead performs the
speech act of trying to refuse; or of mimicking a refusal; or of feigning
a refusal. The trouble is the speech act she in fact winds up performing
still depends on the hearer’s interpretation of her words and
behaviour.
In this way, my suggestion differs from Kukla’s and others’. I think
that an ideal framework holds on to what Kukla says about the sys-
tematic ways in which a speaker is (and is perceived to be) disadvan-
taged and treated as though she has not met the felicity conditions she
does meet by any objective measure. On top of that, it should find a
way to make it the case that the speech act the speaker intends to
perform is in fact the one she performs. One way to do this is to make
a distinction between the actual speech act and the felt speech act
(where ‘felt speech act’ is going to sound more perlocutionary).
Another way is to revisit Hornsby and Langton’s (1998) distinction
between performing a speech act and performing a speech act success-
fully, where the speech act itself relies mostly on felicity conditions,
and its success can incorporate things like uptake and hearers’ inten-
tions and interpretations. A third way to do this — and the way I
endorse — is to understand these harms in a new way: the speaker is
being illocutionarily frustrated by the hearer. Not only does this satisfy

964 Samia Hesni
the above criteria; it also (as we shall see) gives us a way of describing
other similar cases that illocutionary silencing says nothing about.
4. Leave-taking

I’d like to end by discussing a phenomenon that could be understood
as a kind of linguistic harm akin to silencing: that of attempting and
failing to end a conversation. Specifically, I’d like to suggest that such
a failure is difficult to understand on Hornsby and Langton’s view of
illocutionary silencing, but easy to make sense of on a view that places
standing at the centre of the silencing exchange.
It can be difficult to end conversations. The act of ending a con-
versation, or leave-taking, falls under the broad category of a speech
act.27 When someone says ‘Goodbye’ (usually preceded by their saying
something like ‘I have to go’, ‘I should go now’, ‘Well, it’s time to get
to my next appointment’), she usually performs the speech act of
ending the interaction (and conversation) she is engaged with, just
as when someone says ‘Hello’, she usually performs the speech act of
initiating an interaction.28 Successful greetings and leave-takings are
consensual, mutual endeavours. If I leave you hanging or keep walking
when you say ‘Hi’, there is a sense in which I haven’t let you success-
fully initiate an interaction between us. Similarly, if I say ‘Goodbye’
and you keep talking, or follow me, I haven’t successfully ended our
interaction. In neither case has it become impossible to initiate or to
end the conversation — you could follow up your ‘Hello’ with a ‘Hey,
I need to talk to you’ and after saying ‘Goodbye’, I could walk out of
the room while you keep talking or try to get you to stop following
me. But in neither of these cases did the ‘Hello’ or ‘Goodbye’ succeed,
respectively, in initiating or ending the conversation. And in leave-
taking cases, the cost (social, psychological, and in some cases,
physical safety) of continuing to try to leave-take after the initial
speech act attempt has failed is high, burdensome, and sometimes
dangerous.
27
See footnote 2. Bach and Harnish (1979) call leave-taking a kind of salutation. Schegloff
and Sacks (1973) discuss similar phenomena which they call closings of conversation.
28
These are not perfect parallels. Among the asymmetries between the two is the way
people may say ‘Hello’ in passing without initiating much, and without having to formally
end whatever passing interaction they had.

Here are some real-life examples of failed attempts at leave-taking:
Street harassment
Ali is reading a book on a park bench. An older man sits down next to
her and asks her what she is reading. She shows him the cover of her

book. He proceeds to tell her what he thinks of the book. She says ‘I’m
sorry, I have to go; I came out here to read my book and would just
like to read in silence’. He says ‘It’s not like that; I have a wife. I just
want to talk to you about the book’.
Bus stop
It’s night time in the middle of winter, and Cee is waiting for the bus.
There is a bus shelter with no lights and a bench, to shield passengers
from the cold while they wait for the bus. A man inside says ‘Hey
sweetheart, are you waiting for the bus?’ She says ‘Yes’. He says ‘Do
you wanna wait in here with me?’ She says ‘No thank you’. He says
‘Well you’re not going anywhere; we’re getting on the same bus’.
Solo hiker
Jo is hiking alone in the mountains. A man in hiking gear approaches
her and asks her if she is lost. She says no. He says ‘You must really
love nature, huh?’ She says ‘Yes, I like being out here alone. I should be
going now’. He asks ‘Which way are you going?’ She is getting a bit
worried and says ‘I haven’t decided yet. Goodbye’. He asks ‘Can I
come with you?’ She says ‘I don’t mean any offense, but I came out
here to be alone, so I’m going to hike alone’. He gets angry and says
‘Okay, I see how it is’, and storms off. Jo worries for her safety for the
remainder of her hike.
Traffic stop
Michigan state police sergeant Jonathan Frost pulls over 17-year old
Deven Guilford and asks for driver’s license, registration, and proof of
insurance, and says: ‘[I] pulled you over today ‘cause you flashed me,
I didn’t even have my brights on’. Guilford responds ‘[Y]es you did,
Sir… I couldn’t see. I could not see’. Frost proceeds to argue with
Guilford about whether his lights are on. Guilford asks three times if
he is being detained. Frost ignores the first two times and then says
‘[Y]es, you are’. Guilford asks ‘[F]or what crime?’ Frost responds
‘[Y]ou flashed me with your high beams’. Guilford says ‘I have not
committed a crime’. Frost responds ‘Refusing to give me your ID in a
traffic stop is a misdemeanour, right now, you are committing a

966 Samia Hesni
misdemeanour, you have two choices, you can get with the program
and start complying with the traffic stop, or you’re going to be taken
to jail, those are your two choices…’29
Examples of failed conversation-ending (or failed disengaging) in-

clude (as we’ve seen) street harassment and police brutality. They also
include other exchanges between people in different power relations to
each other, for example, exchanges between a professor and a student
or a parent and a child. Next stages of this research would include
seeing whether and how this is a systematic phenomenon, and what
kinds of features (if any) it tracks (for example, gender, race, class,
authority, and so on). For now, I will rely on anecdotal accounts of
disengaging and the research of others. For my current purposes, it
suffices to show that this kind of thing happens and that it shares
important features with other modes of silencing.
Very broadly, I’ll define a generalization of the phenomenon as
follows:
Failed Leave-Taking: S says something that should end the
interaction. H doesn’t act as though the conversation is ending.30
My two main claims here are that: (1) the phenomenon of failed
disengaging intuitively counts as silencing; and (2) the silencing is
better explained by a story about standing or felicity conditions
than about uptake. Here’s why I think the phenomenon of failed
leave-taking intuitively counts as silencing. In each of these instances,
and in the generalized formulation, the speaker utters words that
under ordinary circumstances would enable them to end the conver-
sation. (See Kukla 2014 for more on ordinary circumstances.) So, more
generally, their speech act falls flat because of someone else’s actions.
We should understand failed leave-taking as a harm that involves
standing for familiar reasons: (i) H can recognize exactly what ‘I have
to go’ means in ordinary circumstances and (ii) there is arguably less
of a systematic story to be told in these other kinds of cases. We don’t
29
‘Transcript of Traffic Stop that Led to Fatal Shooting’. Lansing State Journal. 16 June
2015. A better example than being pulled over might be one where someone is stopped on the
street and they don’t realize they can go, so the police exploit the speaker’s ignorance of the
law. Thanks to Philip Yaure for this point. One point that can be made using this example is
that Guilford was initiating steps to end the conversation, and that he could not have ended
the interaction if he had tried.
30
Alternatively, S communicates their intention to end the conversation. H continues the
conversation.

have a pervasive social or cultural narrative that says ‘goodbye’ means

hello — or anything sufficiently similar. These cases don’t depend on
conventional disruptions of ordinary meaning. So there is less of a
case to be made for the claim that the hearer actually does not realize
the speaker’s intentions — or that there is no uptake. Nevertheless, the

speaker is prevented (by the hearer) from successfully performing the
act of ending the conversation.
4.1 Street harassment

In our above examples, Jo, Cee, and Ali all experienced instances of
what has now come to be understood as street harassment. The phe-
nomenon of street harassment has been given much careful treatment
in legal, feminist, and sociolinguistic scholarship. In this section, I will
explicate certain types of street harassment as case studies of failed
leave-taking. Specifically, I will focus on the phenomenon of disen-
gagement from street harassment: what happens when a person is
accosted, catcalled, or otherwise verbally intruded upon in a public
space, and then tries to end the interaction. For various reasons, not
much attention has been devoted to disengagement in the street har-
assment literature.31 I will argue that many cases of failed disengage-
ment from street harassment are instances of illocutionary frustration.
Definitions for street harassment are myriad and evolving. One of
the first sociologists to write on the topic, Micaela di Leonardo, de-
scribes the phenomenon as occurring ‘when one or more strange men
accost one or more women … in a public place which is not the
woman’s / women’s worksite. Through looks, words, or gestures the
man asserts his right to intrude on the woman’s attention, defining
her as a sexual object, and forcing her to interact with him’ (di
Leonardo 1981, pp. 51-52). Though gendered and a bit outdated, this
definition picks up on some key features of street harassment. I will
focus on the offender’s ‘asserting his right to intrude’ and ‘forcing’
interaction.32 Carol Brooks Gardner characterizes street harassment as
31
One notable exception is Mills (2007).
32
A note on the gendering in the definition: more contemporary research still finds that
‘irrespective of the sex of their victims, those who harass others in public spaces are male’
(Logan 2013). It is important to note the pervasiveness of harassment of gay men, 90% of
whom in a 2012 study reported being ‘harassed or made to feel unwelcome in public spaces
because of their perceived sexual orientation’ (McNeil 2012, cited in Logan 2013), and the
prevalence of the street harassment experiences of LGBTQ people. Other factors which can
amplify the experience of harassment are race and class, with women of colour being particu-
larly vulnerable. (Also see Crenshaw 1991.) In one study, researchers found that 68% of women
of colour experienced daily harassment, compared to 55% of white women (Nielsen 2004).

968 Samia Hesni
‘that group of abuses, harryings, and annoyances characteristic of

public places and uniquely facilitated by communication in public
… [which] includes pinching, slapping, hitting, shouted remarks, vul-
garity, insults, sly innuendo, ogling, and stalking …’ (Gardner 1995,
p. 4). The advocacy group Stop Street Harassment defines it as ‘un-

wanted whistling, leering, sexist, homophobic or transphobic slurs,
persistent requests for someone’s name, number or destination after
they ’ve said no, sexual names, comments and demands, following,
flashing, public masturbation, groping, sexual assault, and rape’.33
What these definitions have in common is that (a) the exchange is
unwelcome, (b) the exchange is not voluntary for the victim, and (c) it
occurs in a public place. For the purposes of this paper, I will mostly
focus on the linguistic elements of street harassment.
As mentioned, I want to focus on attempts at disengagement from
street harassment, instances in which, after the interaction is initiated
by the harasser, the recipient tries to disengage. Benjamin Bailey, pre-
senting a case study of street ‘remarks’ in five countries, notes the
dearth of theorizing about disengagement: ‘[T]he lack of verbal re-
sponse to street remarks creates an interpretive difficulty for their
analysis’ (Bailey 2016, p. 592). Olatokunbo Olukemi Laniya, in dis-
cussing the legal power dynamics of street harassments, tells of the
double bind that women on the receiving end of street harassment are
in: ‘Whatever the content of the woman’s response, any affirmative
action she takes disrupts the harasser’s goal of objectifying her, which
may lead to a heightened level of abuse…’ (Laniya 2005, p. 102). If she
says nothing, she opens herself up to further abuse, or appears to
condone the harassment. If she does stand up for herself, she is
likely to escalate the situation.
There is a dearth of non-anecdotal accounts of typical ways to re-
spond to or disengage from street harassment. In a study of one hun-
dred and thirty four encounters of street harassment, Bailey found that
only a few women responded to their harassers. In one documented
response to street harassment, journalist Andrea Kannapell, writing in
Gendering the definition in the above way also leaves out differences of risks related to specific
groups, for example, the harassment-related violence suffered by trans women and trans* and
genderqueer individuals. A full account of street harassment should reflect this. For these
reasons, we should prefer a non-gendered or at least an otherwise more inclusive account
of street harassment. Also see further sources for the particular vulnerability to violence of
trans* women of colour (Townes 2017, Logan 2013, Meyer 2012, Lombardi 2009).
33
‘What Is Street Harassment?’ Stop Street Harassment, 1 March 2015, www.stopstreethar-
assment.org/about/what-is-street-harassment/

a 1989 Village Voice article (cited in Bowman 1993) recounts one

woman’s experience of attempted disengagement:
So I tell them, ‘Look. You look like nice guys. But it’s not nice to comment
on me like I’m just part of the scenery. I’m here for my own purposes.
Okay?’ One answers, ‘You know you’re just a piece of meat to me, bitch’.

(Bowman 1993, p. 523)
In another anecdotal account from a meeting of the Street Harassment
Project in New York in December 2003 (reprinted in Laniya (2005)), a
woman relays her experience of attempted disengagement:
I stepped on the bus cheerily anticipating the experiences of the day,
unaware of the encounter that was about to take place. The bus driver
spoke, ‘Hey cutie’. I explained to him that I was not his ‘cutie’ and did not
desire his unsolicited comments. He snatched my MTA pass, and taunted,
‘Now, you have to say “please” to get it back’. I made several attempts to
grab the card but could not. Feeling as if I had no other options, I was
forced to do as he said. He gave me back my card and grabbed my backside
as I walked towards the back of the bus. No one on the bus said a word.
(Laniya 2005, p. 91)
Note that in both of these anecdotal examples, the response to the
woman’s attempt to take leave is demeaning, punishing, and treats the
woman as though her responses were out of line: demeaning because
(among other things) she is called a piece of meat in the first instance,
and her backside is grabbed in the second; punishing because her card
is taken away and she is forced to acquiesce to a humiliating demand
to get it back; and treated as though her response is out of line because
of the escalation to name calling and physical sexual harassment.
Another thing to note about the second example is that the response
from the bus driver is infantilizing: he says ‘Now, you have to say
“please” to get it back’ in the way that a parent might remind a child
of her manners. These observations all support my claim that in these
two cases (which I take as more or less paradigmatic), as in other cases
of attempted disengagement from street harassment, the speaker is
being illocutionarily frustrated. That is, she is being treated as
though she does not have the standing to end the interaction.
I say this based on the responses of the two men in the above
examples, but also on the basis of the sociological literature about
the status of women in public places. This literature raises points
which are mirrored in activist literature about street harassment.
Kelly Bowman (1993), drawing on work by Carol Gardner, frames
street harassment of women in terms of civil inattention and open

970 Samia Hesni
categories.34 Civil inattention characterizes the tacit agreement among

adults in public that they will, to put it bluntly, leave each other alone
— save for maybe a nod of acknowledgment or a courteous ‘Hello’ in
some societies (Goffman 1963). Street harassment, then, would count
as a breach of civil inattention. Bowman observes that:

Breaches of civil inattention that include a spoken component typically
occur when one encounters a person who is either very unusual (such as an
individual carrying a couch, hopping on one foot, or wearing a costume)
or unusually similar to oneself in some respect … or who is accompanied
by someone or something in an ‘open’ category, such as dogs or children.
Men seem to regard women generally as such ‘open persons’’’. (Bowman
1993, p. 526, emphasis added)
So if we understand women as being treated as though they are ‘open’
categories, this could explain why they are treated as lacking the
standing to disengage from these harassing exchanges. By definition,
open categories are those that are apt for commenting on. Just as a
child or a dog would not have the standing to disengage from such an
interaction — or so the story goes, according to Bowman — so too a
woman would be treated as though she didn’t have such a standing.
Some linguistic harm is occurring in these cases of street harass-
ment. On Hornsby and Langton’s view of illocutionary silencing, what
is happening in all these cases can’t be illocutionary silencing unless
the hearer is truly oblivious as to the speaker’s intended illocutionary
act. If we reframe the harm in terms of illocutionary frustration, then
we can give accounts of more kinds of linguistic phenomena and
harms.
5. Conclusion
I have argued for three interrelated theses. First, the notion of uptake
in illocutionary silencing is problematic when it comes to central cases
like that of sexual refusal. As others have argued, it further harms
victims of sexual assault to tell them that they have not (fully) refused
or that their refusal is out of their control when they have said and
done everything in their power that constitutes a refusal. As I have
argued, the notion of uptake runs into considerable internal
34
Bettcher (2018, 2014, 2012) discusses her concept of interpersonal spaciality — which
characterizes encounters between people more broadly. In doing so, she gives us frameworks
to understand interpersonal boundaries and their transgressions. One could also, following
Bettcher, think about public spaces and harassment in these terms.

difficulties if we adopt a neo-Gricean view of nonliteral speech.

Second, I have proposed a new way of describing the kinds of phe-
nomena that motivate discussions of illocutionary silencing. I call this
illocutionary frustration and argue that it better captures the linguistic
harms of sexual-refusal cases. It can explain the case that is tradition-

ally used as a silencing case, but it can also explain the harm of cases
that are almost identical (save for the interpretive resources of the
hearer). Third, I have shown that illocutionary frustration generalizes,
and can account for other kinds of harms that a notion of illocution-
ary silencing cannot. I have used street harassment as a case study to
begin talking about what happens when people cannot disengage
themselves from an interaction or a conversation.
Illocutionary frustration is a distinct phenomenon from illocution-
ary silencing. It captures many of the harms that illocutionary silen-
cing does, but there may be cases of illocutionary silencing that can’t
be explained in terms of illocutionary frustration (for example, the
radical lack of interpretation case discussed at the end of § 2). I think
there are important cases — certain iterations of Scenarios 1 and 2, for
example — that are better explained by illocutionary frustration than
by illocutionary silencing. I have argued that cases of street harassment
are included among these. And I hope the reader now has a sense of
how this might generalize to other kinds of harassment, conversational
shut downs, and varieties of interruptions and conversational
hijackings.
As we’ve seen in the second section of the paper, there isn’t much in
the way of uptake that distinguishes the cases that Hornsby and
Langton want to distinguish. That is to say, scenarios that on their
view are different have similar architectures. But if this is the case, then
we need a new explanation for why and how illocutionary silencing
occurs. And I suggest that without deviating too far from their ac-
count, we can look at perceived relations of standing between speakers,
and not uptake. This further accounts for the intuition that there is a
power play happening in many of these cases of silencing. Hornsby
and Langton’s theory tells less of a story about why silencing can be so
devastating in some cases and not in others (harmless misunderstand-
ings, for example). It also doesn’t account for the relentless, oppressive
and targeted nature of a lot of the things that we could, should, and
want to think of as instances of silencing. Thinking about these cases
in terms of illocutionary frustration instead — in terms of a hearer

972 Samia Hesni
denying the speaker standing to successfully say something in the first

place — might start to capture it.35

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A.W. Moore and Lucy O’Brien

Mind, Vol. 127 . 508 . October 2018 ß Hesni 2018

Rae Langton (1993, 2009), Jennifer Hornsby (1998), and others, it is a

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2. Pornography and refusal

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2.1 On harms to the victim

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2.2 On the incoherence of ‘uptake’

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The no-means-yes phenomenon that Langton is interested in can be

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(1) Derive the literal meaning of an utterance;

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According to Nonliteral Speech, if I ask ‘Can I use your bathroom?’

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the silencing-inducing myth perpetuated by pornography. We can do it in terms of content to

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claim that don’t depend on a hearer’s mind or on what she is thinking,

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3.2 Testimonial and discursive injustices

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Miranda Fricker’s (2003, 2011) documentations of testimonial injustice,

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phenomenon of failed speech in spite of a speaker’s having met all the

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Here are some real-life examples of failed attempts at leave-taking:

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have a pervasive social or cultural narrative that says ‘goodbye’ means

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