A friend in Puerto Rico invited me to contribute to this online exhibition. I’m grateful to be included, but as I was reading the prospectus and filling in the application form, it looked like submissions were accepted only from “Men and masculinities over 18 years old.” My Spanish is not fluent so I wrote to my friend to ask, “Is this only for men?” He responded that trans-men, non-binary people, and “masculinities” were welcome. My hackles immediately went up, and, too quickly, I sent these questions:
“Does the world really need yet another space where the voices of men are not just amplified, but are the only voices permitted to be heard? Would you and your collaborators consider rewording the call for participation so that it does not, like everything else in our culture, give men privilege over others?”
In other words, I was telling my friend to check his privilege; but perhaps I should have read the call for participation a little more carefully before trying to shame him into a corner. Thankfully he replied, “give me 24 hours so I can respond thoughtfully and with a cool head.” I’ve translated and paraphrased his reply below:
“Thanks for the questions. You gave me the opportunity to think more deeply about the project. Examining masculinities and their complexities is necessary for understanding power dynamics and binary systems of control. Yes, the “male voice” has been predominant — given the most space in philosophy, law, popular culture — but in most cases this voice comes from a hegemonic masculinity (white, straight, conservative, wealthy, and Christian) which silences the voices of others. There are many alternative masculinities whose voices have traditionally been silenced because of their social status, ethnicity, skin color, and gender identity. Our project invites collaborators to celebrate that diversity, to give it a voice. It is an invitation to speak from vulnerabilities, fears, emotional spaces that men are not often given permission to share. We encourage participation by people of functional difference, those who are trans, and anyone who had been made to feel like they have to “hold on, suck it up, and be macho.” This project is a container into which we can empty those feelings, to make them visible, and show how some people have developed strategies to cope with confinement during the lockdown. There has been an increase in domestic violence, anti-trans violence, femicide, and rape. In the absence of other representations, this becomes a singular narrative. Our goal is to create a collective imaginary, a safe space for people to reference other masculinities, to experience the power of vulnerability, and to see the joy in homosocial closeness. It’s a collective project where people voluntarily share images, poetry, and responses. I understand your concern, but this project is part of deeper work we are doing to dismantle toxic masculinity. ”
My tendency toward snark, and my impatience with those who are “not woke” leaves me engaging far too often in negative morality and shaming, especially on social media platforms and via hastily sent messages. This defensiveness is self-protective, and I certainly should not lash out at those who are on the same side with me just because I’m feeling insecure about my own unearned comfort. I’m going to pledge now to be more compassionate, to assume good intent. Judging from a quick read through so many online comment threads, I’m not the only one who needs to do so.
Bad Bunny’s video for Yo Perreo Sola (I Twerk Alone) dropped in late March, just a month after the murder of Alexa Negrón Luciano, and a few weeks after the artist used his appearance on Late Night with Jimmy Fallon to raise awareness of the problem of gender violence. A thoughtful friend raised a series of questions on Facebook, examining the trap artist’s sincerity and calling out his cis-het privilege. In the video, Bad Bunny appears alternately as a red-leather clad dominatrix, a muscular prisoner bound in chains while wearing a skirt, and a more stereotypical hiphop dude, except that everything he’s wearing is pink and he’s dancing on a pink convertible in a sea of flowers. In the song’s bridge, the artist is shown inside of a room illuminated by two neon signs that say, “Las Mujeres Mandan” (Women Rule) and “Ni Una Mas” (Not One [woman] Less). In her post, my friend asks (and I’m translating and paraphrasing):
“When he’s dressed as a woman, is it like when cis-men dress up on Halloween? Isn’t it too easy to take that risk when you know that as soon as you take off your costume you go back to being who you really are?
Men in skirts became popular in the 1980s, so does this really change our perceptions of masculinity? Is there a Bad Bunny because there was a Boy George?
#Niunamenos is inserted into the video like an ad for beer. Does that move the conversation about gendered violence forward, or are they simply looking to be congratulated for raising awareness? ”
Responses in the comment thread were measured. Some were fans of the work, but almost all remained wary of Bad Bunny’s subject position. “I don’t consider him an ally, but I love the video.” Some suggested he was riding current trends of woke-ness to enrich himself. Everyone acknowledged that the artist is modeling a different kind of masculinity for his followers, and that his work is sparking conversations among men who are usually reticent; but the question as always is, who should be allowed to speak for whom?
In hindsight, my suspicion about the call for entry was self-doubt I projected onto my friend. Here in San Juan, I’m reminded of my privilege every time I’m replied to in English, regardless of the fact that I often try to initiate conversations in Spanish. All of our systems are biased to favor people like me. I attended a good public school that prepared me well for college. I had plenty of support and stability at home so that I could concentrate on homework and be inspired to follow creative pursuits. I’ve succeeded at some things, and failed more than a few times, but never did I worry that one bad decision would land me in poverty or jail. It’s not that I haven’t worked really hard, but let me be honest: the successes I’ve enjoyed have not been earned by me alone. I’m lucky, and my privilege goes deeper. I’m a middle-aged, white American. I’m cis-passing (i.e. no one questions whether or not I’m male), straight-passing (till I talk about my partner, I guess), well educated, and middle class. Even in these uncertain times, I have stable employment. I hold a passport and have regular opportunities to travel. On the occasions when I’ve been pulled over for speeding or a broken taillight, I did not fear for my life. I have taken shortcuts, walking through people’s backyards while wearing my hood pulled up over my head, and no one has ever tried to shoot me. I’m never hassled for using a public bathroom.
I believe those of us with privilege must work toward building greater equity, but calling out those who have unfair advantages does little more than shut down dialogue. And questioning the sincerity of someone whose work explicitly seeks to raise awareness is certainly counterproductive. I know it feels good to tell the clueless among us to “check your privilege,” but it achieves little more than to alienate others. Telling someone to check himself fails to effect meaningful change because it suggests that he did nothing to earn his success. As a system of logic, it doesn’t provide a way for the accused to save face without leaving himself open to accusations of classism, ethnocentrism, racism, homophobia, sexism, and all the other-isms. It should come as no surprise that if we publicly shame and guilt people in this way, by suggesting that their careers and lives are invalid, then it is unlikely they will break bread with us to dismantle systemic inequality. The natural reaction to being attacked is to become defensive.
Instead of trying to change people’s hearts and minds through shame, we should consider using positive reinforcement. It’s an effective way to build bridges. We could ask ourselves and each other:
What do we all deserve? What do human beings owe one another?
Is there a moral responsibility that comes with the privilege of having attended good schools, to have gotten an excellent education? To have a comfortable standard of living?
If I have been successful, through a combination of my hard work AND circumstantial opportunities, what is my moral obligation to my neighbors, my community, my city, my country, and the world?
What can I do to improve life for those less fortunate than I? I don’t mean offering charity, but instead, how can I work to effect systemic change so that charity becomes unnecessary?
“I’ll hug you soon, #stayathome,” digital billboard in Miramar, San Juan (photo shot with my phone)
Please check out the virtual exhibition, Poética Masculina del Encierro: Imágenes, Voces y Fortalezas (Male Poetics of sheltering-in-place: Images, Voices, and Strengths). I wrote my entry in Spanish, a language I speak very imperfectly, because as a gringo living in the land my country has colonized, I feel that engaging in Spanish is the least I can do to show respect and assume some of my own moral obligations. The fact that I may often fail, or be mistrusted, is no reason for me not to act in good faith. And if (when) I misstep again, blinded by my own cultural blindspots and privilege, I will do my best to listen deeply and really hear the people who say I need to check myself, because they’ll probably be right.