Learning from tears
Recently I was confronted with the reality of the nature of men's violence against women.
The truth is that I absolutely cannot know what it's like to be a woman and I absolutely cannot presume to speak about this issue as if I might have some answers until I open my mind and heart to listen.
As an educator I am immersed in the culture of the young as it manifests itself in a school. I can give the facts about men's violence against women and I can exhort my male students not to be one of those attackers. I can expose boys to the truth of their actions and confront them with the effects their unconscious attitudes have on their female friends. But unless these young men are brought up to see women as their equals, to respect their right to make their own choices, to more deeply understand their own male psyche and then to stand up against other males' misogyny, violence, manipulation, attitudes of power and control, lack of empathy and victimisation, men will continue to kill, injure, control, harass, stalk, troll, torture and degrade the women in their lives.
The other day I heard a woman on a television panel program suggest that, if a man saw a lone woman walking towards him along a street, he should, out of respect for that woman, cross to the other side of the road so as not to scare her. I felt confronted by this and became angry that I had been characterised in this way, that I, a male, could be seen as a possible attacker. It felt like yet another woman was 'bashing' men.
I consider myself pretty open-minded, ready to listen and willing to engage in discussing the "big questions". So I raised this woman's opinion in a discussion I was a part of the other day. As I was speaking, I felt I was completely justified in saying that I thought this idea was ridiculous. I objected to being painted as some prowler or woman-hater. To my utter surprise and, later, shame, the two women in the group tore me to shreds. It took me a while to understand what they were telling me.
If a man were to take this action, to make this decision, he would be telling that woman that he understood that she might be feeling unsafe and scared, that it is a constant fear for a woman to walk in a public space, particularly when there are few people about, that she might spend her public time looking over her shoulder, that she might spend her days hyper-vigilant until she finally locks her door behind her (and even then she may not be safe). With this one act - a very small and relatively effortless act in the greater scheme of things - this man would express his solidarity with that woman, and so with all women. And this man would allow this woman to feel a little less afraid of him, and so of all men.
The younger woman in the group was in tears as she spoke of the devastating impact men's violence against women actually causes. I felt her anger and her pain. It shocked my heart open. It forced me to face my own deeper, long-held biases and "leanings" and admit that I had reacted to the panelists suggestion as a man, and not as a fellow human being. I don't belong to the more than half of our population who have suffered multiple generations of suppression, abuse, cat-calls, on-line vitriol, physical, emotional, psychological and religious oppression. How could I know what this feels like and what it would do to me?
So what would I really know? And how could I really understand?
Some days I am ashamed to be a man.
When a man says: "I don't hit women," what does he really mean?
When a man says: "This is my latest" when referring to a new 'partner', what remains hidden?
When a man says: "I didn't really mean it. I'm sorry, honey", what lies behind and underneath?
When a man wolf-whistles a woman, is he singing to a dangerously different tune?
When a man or a woman suggests: "Boys will be boys", what are they teaching our boys and what are they avoiding?
When a woman says: "It's okay. He'll change. I know it", what does she mean and what will it eventually take for her to really know?
When a woman says: "This is my story," men must listen with clear eyes and hearts wide open.
The truth is that I absolutely cannot know what it's like to be a woman and I absolutely cannot presume to speak about this issue as if I might have some answers until I open my mind and heart to listen.
As an educator I am immersed in the culture of the young as it manifests itself in a school. I can give the facts about men's violence against women and I can exhort my male students not to be one of those attackers. I can expose boys to the truth of their actions and confront them with the effects their unconscious attitudes have on their female friends. But unless these young men are brought up to see women as their equals, to respect their right to make their own choices, to more deeply understand their own male psyche and then to stand up against other males' misogyny, violence, manipulation, attitudes of power and control, lack of empathy and victimisation, men will continue to kill, injure, control, harass, stalk, troll, torture and degrade the women in their lives.
I consider myself pretty open-minded, ready to listen and willing to engage in discussing the "big questions". So I raised this woman's opinion in a discussion I was a part of the other day. As I was speaking, I felt I was completely justified in saying that I thought this idea was ridiculous. I objected to being painted as some prowler or woman-hater. To my utter surprise and, later, shame, the two women in the group tore me to shreds. It took me a while to understand what they were telling me.
If a man were to take this action, to make this decision, he would be telling that woman that he understood that she might be feeling unsafe and scared, that it is a constant fear for a woman to walk in a public space, particularly when there are few people about, that she might spend her public time looking over her shoulder, that she might spend her days hyper-vigilant until she finally locks her door behind her (and even then she may not be safe). With this one act - a very small and relatively effortless act in the greater scheme of things - this man would express his solidarity with that woman, and so with all women. And this man would allow this woman to feel a little less afraid of him, and so of all men.
The younger woman in the group was in tears as she spoke of the devastating impact men's violence against women actually causes. I felt her anger and her pain. It shocked my heart open. It forced me to face my own deeper, long-held biases and "leanings" and admit that I had reacted to the panelists suggestion as a man, and not as a fellow human being. I don't belong to the more than half of our population who have suffered multiple generations of suppression, abuse, cat-calls, on-line vitriol, physical, emotional, psychological and religious oppression. How could I know what this feels like and what it would do to me?
So what would I really know? And how could I really understand?
Some days I am ashamed to be a man.
When a man says: "I don't hit women," what does he really mean?
When a man says: "This is my latest" when referring to a new 'partner', what remains hidden?
When a man says: "I didn't really mean it. I'm sorry, honey", what lies behind and underneath?
When a man wolf-whistles a woman, is he singing to a dangerously different tune?
When a man or a woman suggests: "Boys will be boys", what are they teaching our boys and what are they avoiding?
When a woman says: "It's okay. He'll change. I know it", what does she mean and what will it eventually take for her to really know?
When a woman says: "This is my story," men must listen with clear eyes and hearts wide open.
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