I. Just. Don't. Get. It.

How could somebody interpret this as 'egalitarian'?:

Submit to one another out of reverence for Christ.
Wives and Husbands
22Wives, submit to your husbands as to the Lord. 23For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which he is the Savior. 24Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything.

25Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her 26to make her holy, cleansing[b] her by the washing with water through the word, 27and to present her to himself as a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless. 28In this same way, husbands ought to love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself. 29After all, no one ever hated his own body, but he feeds and cares for it, just as Christ does the church— 30for we are members of his body. 31"For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh."[c] 32This is a profound mystery—but I am talking about Christ and the church. 33However, each one of you also must love his wife as he loves himself, and the wife must respect her husband.

I know some of y'all are Xtians out there. Clue me in.

Filed under:Feminism and Religion

On Blaming, and Being the Patriarchy, Part II

I'm harping on this stuff. I know. But it's something (or a bunch of somethings) I can't stop thinking about. I don't want to stop thinking about. Having said that, I know that my thoughts about being a feminist man (who also happens to be white and middle-class and able-bodied and parts of various other opressor groups) are probably ever-evolving, and this is one place where I bounce my ideas around my own head, and the heads of those willing to comment.

Kareem asked in a comment why I care what people think. That is, why do I care that various people and groups don't encourage me (or even want me) around. He's got something of a point there, but I think there are good answers to this question. To some degree, I ought not care. That is, on a personal level, I ought to try to just strive to do what is right, regardless of whether or not others agree with me. But we do not exist in a vacuum (in fact, my flavor of feminism takes this as one of its central ideas); hyperindividualism--the view that one should just do the right thing in one's own life, among other things--is part of what I'm fighting against, as a feminist. The connections we have--I have--with others are important on various levels. First of all, it seems to me that if I want to have a full impact on the world, if sexism is indeed going to be adressed in a way that induces change, it can't just be various individuals acting against sexism. Groups are necessary.

But also, it's important to my mental and emotional states that I have people 'in my corner' in this regard. That doesn't mean they have to agree with me on everything, or such things. Lex and I are disagreeing in some important ways right now, but I still feel she's in my corner in lots of ways, for instance. Thing is, I don't have many feminist friends in my life at all--explicit feminists, at least--and don't have many, then, that are in my corner. And this not only makes dealing with the negative stuff more difficult, but also makes it harder to understand the concepts involved.

On the other hand, I think I've been downplaying the possibility of finding some good feminist men to interact with, and finding some good community there. Part of the reason is just the pervasiveness of the "Men's Rights Movement"--lots of 'mens groups' tend to be right-wing conservative-ish, anti-feminism, misogynist and the like. This is discouraging and sort of depressing. But there are many more profeminist and feminist men out there than I at first thought. One great resource turns out to be Michael Flood, who had a great magazine, XY, that is now a website that has all sorts of thinking about what I'm thinking regarding being a feminist, and being a feminist man. And there's a 'profem' mailing list that Michael Flood created. So I'm getting a bit more hopeful at least at the prospect of understanding what I'm going through as regards being a feminsit man, and even a little hopeful that I might find some more community--even among men, which, frankly, isn't something that I really considered before.

There's even a mailing list! And we all know how many problems mailing lists solve.

In a more serious vein, though, I am coming to terms with a lot of guilt and sadness and alienation that revolves around how my politics and my identity are rejected not only by 'most people', but also by those with whom I would want to be allies. Reading (and rereading) an article from XY written by Victoria Kannen, I begin to be able to articulate my thoughts and feelings about this stuff better.

Kannen says:

Pain has brought many of us to feminism – people of all genders – or it has found us once we are there, but feminist consciousness can bring meaning back to chaos, to loss, and to oppression. To be a critical ally to the feminist movement, one must understand that, “as part of various oppressor groups (white, male, able-bodied, heterosexual, middle or above in the class structure), they did not individually bring the situation about and they cannot just reach out with goodwill and solve it” (Bishop, 2002: 110). Men, who are disillusioned by their problematic expressions of gender and are seeking refuge in a new identity, must not appropriate or ‘pass’ in order to gain feminist ‘cred’, as they would not be reliable allies. Feminist men, then, must take responsibility for helping to solve issues of historical injustice without taking on individual guilt, as it limits constructive and inclusive activism (Bishop, 2002).

I tend to agree. But how to avoid taking on individual guilt, when not only is one's identity sort of guilty-by-default (at least in part), but also when one's own feminist allies don't often feel like allies? I need and want to have a conversation with others who don't trivialize the effects of this built-in guilt and recognize that (I believe) the causes of this guilt/self-hate come from (in part) systems of patriarchy. This is not to say (once again) that I think I have it in any way as bad as various groups that are systematically oppressed--just that I have to find ways to deal with my oppression, to whatever extent I think I'm oppressed. (And if I ought not call it 'oppression' because that trivializes what others' go through, then tell me what to call it.)

One way men in my position might deal with this, Kannen suggests, is to keep in mind that somebody's identity as a 'man' isn't, of course something unchanging and timeless. Utilizing Judith Butler's analysis of subjecthood, Kannen notes:

Feminist discourse has long attempted to (re)claim what it means to be a woman – what it can mean and how it will be received. A dualistic approach has often been used to understand how women are in relation to men, how the diverse identities of women are somehow essentially different from those of men. Feminist men can challenge this dualism, as they can embody the permeability of gender. In Schmitt’s (2001) personal narrative, Proud to Be a Man?, he states, “[b]ut since we are not profeminists with unspecified gender but specifically profeminist men, we struggle, in fact, against ourselves, against what most persons in our society expect us to be, and against what we were raised to be” (399). I argue that Schmitt is expressing a form of self-conscious partiality, as his male subjecthood and identities do not ‘belong’ to any one feminism or masculinity, but rather exist within a state of continual hybridization.

I'm unsure about this, really, because even if my identity is malleable, that doesn't change the facts that it's not infinitely malleable, that others play a part in creating my identity, and that it takes time/effort both to maintain and/or to change one's identity. Still, I think it is important to keep in mind that I have some say in what it means to be a man, and what it means to be a feminist man and the like.

What Kannen has to say later on gives me some solace, too, because it fits with some of my intuitions about feminist men and our place in the world. She articulates things that I have only begun to articulate for myself:

Many feminist theorists have argued that focusing on the oppression of men further marginalizes women who are oppressed and situates men as the ‘subject’ once again. As an activist for women’s rights, I understand women to experience oppressions that men – as a privileged group – will never experience, but this fact does not negate my advocacy for human rights. To varying degrees, both men and women can be oppressors and oppressed , and as such, my attention here turns to the oppression of feminist men.

Furthermore, Kannen's practical optimism is contagious, for me. Her hope gives me hope:

Butler states, “[f]eminism is about the social transformation of gender relations. Probably we could all agree on that, even if ‘gender’ is not the preferred word for some” (2004:204). This social transformation is happening now – men are resisting oppressive regimes; men are supporting women and women’s spaces; men are renouncing their unearned privileges. I believe this because I see it everyday in my classrooms, in my culture, in my home – I know it is possible.

Filed under:Feminism

Art as Argument

In response to a wee little disagreement about whether some new Frank Miller cover is sexist because of its objectifying nature (or whether it's, you know, the same for men and women in comics, because Superman's chest is often shown covering a whole panel)...

Karen at odditycollector gives us an artistic response that is as clinching (sorry) an argument as any that could be made:

Go to her site to see some more of these arguments.




Filed under:Comics as Life Feminism

On Blaming, and Being, The Patriarchy

My recent discussion with Alexis regarding my myriad feelings around being a white, middle class man who is also a feminist interested in race theory, queer theory and social justice has got me thinking even more about it, trying to formulate how I feel into something a little more clear than I've been able to so far. (One of the joys of being friends with Lex, for me, is that she often encourages me to think more deeply, in different directions about things, even when it's uncomfortable for me; she's also wonderful at pointing out blind spots.) The whole thing started because a Peanuts cartoon reminded me of how some people see me and how, because of this, I sometimes see myself.

Bad Guy
The basic idea is this: I have been told (accused?) that my motives for studying feminism (and race, and class, etc.), for calling myself a feminist, for focusing (at times) on feminist theory and practice (to whatever degree) are in fact merely just window dressing for my actual motive, which is said to be: I don't want to be the bad guy.

And it's not a far reach for me or for others to think this. I don't like being a bad guy--who does? And this feeling does sometimes motivate me in ways that I don't really like. For instance, I've stayed in relationships longer than I ought to have because I was afraid of being the bad guy. (I've even projected this fear onto those who have broken up with me. Sheesh.) I try to not beat myself up that much about this, because I think it's a failing that many/most people have; also, to some degree it really is just some very good intentions gone awry--I think this springs, at least in part, from a very real, sincere desire to just not do harm to people, but that such intentions are of course not enough. It's possible that I let my desire to be thought of as an ally in the big ol' world of feminism override my desire for simply being that ally, and for trying to find justice as regards sexism.

Getting Some
I've also been accused of even more 'base' motivations, which I'm also open to being possible motivations: Wanting to get laid. And, just like not wanting to be a bad guy, who doesn't want to get laid? Also, this is apparently a fairly pervasive problem throughout feminist circles that include men--men who latch onto feminism because, well, that's where a bunch of women are, aren't uncommon, apparently. And this sort of complaint about my possible motivations goes even deeper because of some gender/sexuality issues that I have, where (if you've ever seen the show) it becomes hard for me to watch The L Word simply by virtue of the guy named Lisa(?--I think) who is self-identified as a lesbian, because that caricature of a character hits close enough to home--or to what some people perceive as my home--to make me squirm like Bush Jr. during an unscripted Q and A. Except, y'know, with less smirking.

Womens' Studies, or Studying Women?
Some examples of when I've been taken to task for my possible motivations may be in order. When I was first becoming interested in feminism proper, I started taking some women's studies courses in college. I was excited, dubious and nervous about it, all rolled into one. The first women's studies course that I took was on queer women fiction writers, and it was both lovely and horrific for me. As the only man signed up for the class, I didn't feel particularly welcome, but it was hard to separate my fears and such from any genuine dislike for my being there--though my feelings definitely came from both places. I didn't understand, at that point, any of the nuances of women's-only spaces (though I came to understand it better while in the class) and what they might mean especially to the women in a college class. And actually my experience of such courses in general is that they aren't thought of as women's only spaces in general, and I would imagine that sentiment is even more true now. Still, I didn't understand that my sincere desire to learn amounted to something of an invasion to some of the people in the class, good intentions or not.

Silencio!
During that time, I tried to be as unobtrusive as I could be. I was probably the quietest in that class that I have ever been since I went to college, really. I didn't cut my input down to nothing--I thought at the time that doing so would actually be a negative thing, because then there I am, listening in but not contributing. If I had pressing questions that I thought shouldn't take up class time, I would talk to my gracious prof after class. It did give me a wee little bit of insight as to how one might feel marginalized in a classroom setting by one's gender (and I was able to draw on that experience later in my college life when one of my classmates complained that her profs were sexist regarding who they called on in class--it was more readily apparent to me that she was spot-on in part because of my similar (though not the same) experiences in women's studies classes).

As I took more women's studies classes, I eventually made some friends with people that were in that first class. (It's a pretty small circle, really--or at least it was back then.) I finally got up enough courage to ask some of them about it all, and to a person (ok, there were only two of 'em) they told me they had been pretty much convinced at first that I was there to either cause trouble or to hit on them. So both of these women, who were friends in only the school-chum sort of way, both confided in me that they still weren't sure about me, and about my motives. And it's not as if I blame them--not only have I seen the sort of behavior that they were wary of, I am also wary of such behavior from myself. These two women had clearly had experiences such that they might always question my motives, and this is a fact that I have to accept. This is part of what being who I am (male, white, middle-class and feminist) in this particular patriarchy entails.

What I'm Not Saying
Which is not to say that I think I have it bad, in some sort of absolute way. The cross of the white middle class male feminist is balsa wood, compared with what those who are oppressed by white middle class males have to bear. Their cross is made of heavy oak, full of nails and is 20 feet tall. Oh, and it's on fire.

And I'm not saying that I think it is the feminist community's 'job' to help me feel better about myself.

And I'm not saying that it is any one of my women friend's 'job' to help me understand this better.

And I'm not saying that blaming the patriarchy must include equal parts of 'this sucks for women' and 'this sucks for men'--it clearly sucks more for women.

What I Do Want to Say
What I do want to say is more complex than what I am trying to make it clear I don't want to say. I want to say this: That the feelings of alienation and despair that I sometimes feel are as systemic and pervasive as the alienation and despair that others, for different reasons, feel. That my motivations for wanting to end sexism and the like are myriad and complex. That I sometimes doubt myself in the same ways (or similar ones) that the other feminists around me doubt me.

To put it another way: When Lex says this to me...

sure there are some man-hating lesbos who you might like to fuck who don't want to sleep with you, but everyone doesn't hate you. not the way everyone expects you to earn less because your a woman. not the way everyone expects you to be the mugger because you're black. not the way u.s. citizens expect your slave-ish labor without recompense because you are an undocumented worker who is part of the ages of such who are the ones who really have built, cleaned, fed and served this country.

...it really does hurt, because that's exactly the sort of take on my motives and intentions that I can't really blame anybody for, but at the same time I must feel bullied a bit by.

When I complain about the negatives of being a feminist man in a patriarchy, why is it thought that I think my hardships are as bad as those of others?--I don't. But I do have to deal with my hardships.

Why is it thought that I'm 'just having a bad day' when, in fact, I'm trying to address something I think is institutional and systemic?

Though I do have issues with dykes not wanting to sleep with me(or be friends with me, or let me in the club), why are my complaints of alienation as a feminist man in a patriarchy attributed to not getting laid by dykes, when in fact they have to do with not feeling like I have allies in my struggle? So my struggle doesn't measure up to the struggle most others have to endure--I still have to live through the struggle, and I still need people in my life who understand that and might even help me through it.

What to Do
One central problem of being a feminist man is figuring out what to do. That is, there are all sorts of ways to take down the patriarchy, but they aren't always apparent to those of us who are, to whatever degree, in a position of priveledge. And what a lot of this comes down to for me is that I need to figure out ways of dealing with the feelings I feel (just as anybody has to deal with negative feelings), and, unlike other areas of my life where I have something of a community that understands/empathises and is willing to help me, the people I could call on to help me, the people who could understand and empathise, are often the very people from whom I am alienated regarding this stuff.

Perhaps I just need more white, middle-class male friends who identify as feminists? Perhaps.

But that doesn't change the fact that the biggest possible community of people that I could call upon have better things to do (and they do!); to be alienated from the group of people that I want most to identify with isn't the hardest burden to bear, or anywhere close to what others have to deal with; still, it's also not anything to discount by telling me I'm just having a bad day (even though having a bad day is important!) or that I'm just mad because (some) dykes don't want to fuck me. I'm only singling out Lex's comments as an example of what feels alienating to me, as an example of the sort of thing that I hear more often than I think 'is appropriate'; also, I want it clear that I don't think Lex's comments are outright wrong or out of line, any more than I think that the friends I made in my women's studies classes were wrong for suspecting my motives. But: I do think that these comments and the questioning of my motives (even by me!) shows a lack of understanding(/empathy?) about where I'm coming from, and what I have to deal with.

Filed under:Feminism and Therapy

Christ Was, After All, A Guy, Right?

Hugo has an interesting post up about gender roles and (to a great degree) how his unique pro-feminist-Christian stance informs his beliefs on them. One particular part sort of stuck in my craw, though, because I think he does what many Christians do in terms of 'cherry picking' from the bible. This happens most often if somebody brings up the old testament--Christians often point out that this was the old testament, and that Jesus makes everything different. But what's the point of keeping the OT around if Jesus makes everything different? As Sam Harris points out (he wrote The End of Faith), Jesus may be the turn-the-other-cheeck-peace-monger sort of guy, but he is also the guy who (many believe from the bible) is coming back to earth with a freakin' fiery sword to kill those who don't love him.

Hugo says:
As Genesis makes clear, rigid gender roles with their strict complementarianism are a holdover from the Fall, but in Christ all things are made new. To me, that has always meant that as a believer, I can never, ever, ever, ever, say "I'm just a man, I can't help being the way I am." Christ destroys our old nature, including our fearful adherence to narrowly defined categories like "manliness" and "womanliness".

Christ destroys our old nature, so we don't have to create ourselves with those old, narrowly defined categories that, according to Hugo, God Himself laid down (in the OT). I try to take Hugo to task to explain to me why we have to adhere to any of the moral laws that God laid down in the OT then...


Filed under:Feminism and
Religion