Harvey Mansfield on Manliness
Femininity and women “are not self-standing subjects,” declared Professor Harvey Mansfield, in criticizing the College’s Committee on the Study of Women, Gender and Sexuality. Yet, earlier last year, he published a book solely on their traditional counterpart: manliness. On March 17, 2006, he gave a talk at the Harvard Book Store to discuss his book, thoughtfully titled Manliness.
Well-known on the Harvard campus for his inflammatory remarks on every hot topic—from feminism to affirmative action—and a knack for attracting press attention, the Kenan Professor of Government does not have a habit of leaving his audience indifferent. In the talks he gave surrounding the release of his new book, he did not disappoint. “Women and men should relate to each other in public the way a husband and wife relate,” he asserted. “The man should be assertive and constructive, and the woman should be nurturing and critical.” A female audience member challenged that characterization of wives, but Mansfield just smiled. “There you go. That’s the best part of a husband-wife relationship. The man creates, and the woman tweaks. And that’s how women and men should behave in the workplace.”
As a firm believer in “separate virtues” for men and women, he sees the book as his response to an increasingly gender-neutral society. “Manliness,” he argues, is a dying virtue, one that is necessary to the success of the Western state, but also one that is currently endangered by feminism and the influx of women into the workplace and higher education. According to Mansfield, manliness is “confidence in the face of risk,” a quality which is most common in men, although it can be found in some women as well. He argues that this devaluation of manliness is the root of many societal problems—including rape on campus. In response to a rise in campus sexual assaults and rapes a few years ago, he famously asserted that the solution was a “return to female chastity and male chivalry.”
The conversation often strayed to Professor Mansfield’s other interests. One student challenged him to defend his famous affinity for Aristotle. “Was Aristotle always right?” demanded the student.
“Always,” was the immediate response. Professor Mansfield looked around the room for more questions, but the student pressed on.
“But he supported slavery.”
“That’s not true,” the professor corrected. “He said that some men are natural-born slaves. And that is certainly true.”
The only topic on which Professor Mansfield declined to give an opinion was one that came up almost immediately: “Do you consider yourself a manly man?”
The audience shifted uncomfortably and laughed.
“That’s not for me to decide,” he evaded. “That’s for others to determine.”
Well-known on the Harvard campus for his inflammatory remarks on every hot topic—from feminism to affirmative action—and a knack for attracting press attention, the Kenan Professor of Government does not have a habit of leaving his audience indifferent. In the talks he gave surrounding the release of his new book, he did not disappoint. “Women and men should relate to each other in public the way a husband and wife relate,” he asserted. “The man should be assertive and constructive, and the woman should be nurturing and critical.” A female audience member challenged that characterization of wives, but Mansfield just smiled. “There you go. That’s the best part of a husband-wife relationship. The man creates, and the woman tweaks. And that’s how women and men should behave in the workplace.”
As a firm believer in “separate virtues” for men and women, he sees the book as his response to an increasingly gender-neutral society. “Manliness,” he argues, is a dying virtue, one that is necessary to the success of the Western state, but also one that is currently endangered by feminism and the influx of women into the workplace and higher education. According to Mansfield, manliness is “confidence in the face of risk,” a quality which is most common in men, although it can be found in some women as well. He argues that this devaluation of manliness is the root of many societal problems—including rape on campus. In response to a rise in campus sexual assaults and rapes a few years ago, he famously asserted that the solution was a “return to female chastity and male chivalry.”
The conversation often strayed to Professor Mansfield’s other interests. One student challenged him to defend his famous affinity for Aristotle. “Was Aristotle always right?” demanded the student.
“Always,” was the immediate response. Professor Mansfield looked around the room for more questions, but the student pressed on.
“But he supported slavery.”
“That’s not true,” the professor corrected. “He said that some men are natural-born slaves. And that is certainly true.”
The only topic on which Professor Mansfield declined to give an opinion was one that came up almost immediately: “Do you consider yourself a manly man?”
The audience shifted uncomfortably and laughed.
“That’s not for me to decide,” he evaded. “That’s for others to determine.”
Revisiting the Revolution: The Ninth Annual Black Arts Festival
“Black Art has been an essential component to the formation of all American art. And if art can generally be said to speak that which a people cannot express about themselves, then to understand American art is crucial to America’s self-understanding" (from “Notes from the Margin: Broadcasting the Revolution,” by Phillip Atiba Goff ’99).
In spring of 1998, the Kuumba Singers of Harvard College hosted the first annual Black Arts Festival (BAF), a weekend of original theater, panel discussions, and performances. That inaugural festival brought together students, alumni, and faculty in a celebration of black art, culture, and history. Nine years later, the Black Arts Festival has become a Kuumba tradition, and its underlying goal remains the same: to entertain and enlighten the Harvard community about the Black experience, while promoting an understanding of the importance and diversity of Black Art in a variety of contexts.
But amid the entertainment and enlightenment that it promises, is there also a measure of alienation about the Black Arts Festival? How can one event mediate between the many dynamic and conflicting conceptions of blackness, and allow each to be expressed? Nine years ago, the Black Arts Festival was seen as a revolutionary step forward in the exploration of black culture and identity at Harvard. What has the revolution accomplished since that time, and what is left to be done?
Diversity & Distinction sat down to speak with Ofole Mgbako ’08, Festival and Forum Chair of the Ninth Annual Black Arts Festival, about his experience with the festival and his vision for the future of black expression at Harvard.
D&D: In your opinion, what is black art? How did the board and planners define ‘black art’ and ‘blackness’ itself in planning the program?
OM: Black art refers to the creative cultural production that comes from individuals or communities participating within the black tradition. However, one must define “black” if one accepts this definition. The beauty of the term “black” is that it confounds explanation because of its amazing diversity. Black people worldwide live completely differently and experience blackness in such diverse contexts. Yet I believe what connects black people worldwide is a common struggle and a global connectedness that has grown out of that struggle. This is my personal approach. As a board, we didn’t think it was important to define “black art” or “blackness.” Rather, we chose to apply the most general definitions so that members of the Harvard community can wrestle with notions of blackness.
D&D: How did you originally become involved with the Black Arts Festival? What did you hope to gain from the experience?
OM: I got involved in BAF because of my love for the Kuumba Singers of Harvard College. The Black Arts Festival was started by Kuumba and strives to achieve the same goals as the choir, which is reflected in the greater Harvard black community. I hoped to help fulfill the mission of Kuumba of leaving a space (in this case, the Harvard campus) better than when you found it, and learn and express my own vision of and appreciation for black art.
D&D: What is the mission of the BAF, and has it changed over the last nine years? Have subsequent boards—and yours in particular—felt the need to change the format of the festival?
OM: The mission of BAF has remained the same throughout the years—in general terms, mobilize the campus, bring in talented students at Harvard and artists from Boston and around the nation, and try to engage a comprehensive notion of blackness. The performing arts showcase is the staple every year.
D&D: Why isn’t the BAF held as a part of Arts First [the weeklong annual arts festival held in May]?
OM: No specific reason exists why BAF doesn’t exist within ARTS First, but the founders most likely felt they needed the freedom to create something original and wonderful outside of the restrictions of being within one bigger festival. A possible reason could have been that the Black Arts Festival truly speaks to so many diverse issues that having it under ARTS First may saturate that weekend, rather than allowing both to be explored equally.
D&D: Personally, what do you see as the purpose or mission of activities like the BAF? What is the relationship between black art and American identity? What can blacks at Harvard learn from black art that they have not already learned in a core class on slavery?
OM: BAF serves to showcase and celebrate the talents of artists within the black tradition, to educate our community about the history of black art, and to encourage individuals to find the art within themselves. The relationship between black art and the American community is interesting. Part of the expression of black art in BAF is the assertion of an authentic American tradition, rather than a “black” tradition that is marginalized from the American experience. Black art tradition is not owned by anyone. For example, if we take jazz, we see a musical phenomenon of hybridity, born out of both European and African elements. For both black people and non-black people, black art should serve as a unifying ground, where we acknowledge that the “black” tradition speaks to all of us, as a human community.
D&D: What would you say to the claim that black art, defined and presented as something uniquely black and largely unattainable for whites, alienates blacks and black culture from the mainstream?
OM: That debate came up in our panel for BAF entitled, “Redemption Songs: Black Art and Activism in the 21st Century.” We discussed who is a black artist, and what claiming a uniquely black art does to the goal of interracial understanding. Perhaps the greatest response to that dealt with the idea that while non-blacks understand that the cultural production labeled as black art excludes them at some level, it should encourage imaginative ways to think of a world without racial barriers. Also, non-blacks should understand that there is an experience, specific to black people, in which they cannot fully participate; however, this does not mean they do not search for ways to connect to the art, the culture, the community. This search is actually essential to discovering the connections that exist between communities.
Art or Other?
By Tess Hamilton
Some people experience black art in visceral personal and emotional terms as something that reflects their life experience and makes them feel a part of a larger community. Others think of black art as an outlet to understand a tortured and difficult past and to combat lingering complacency and ignorance. Yet others view black art as simply something to be celebrated.
In whatever way it is viewed, black art is often a source of discovery and enlightenment, and a means of finding values and inspiration.
Activism, Education, Affirmation, Identity: This Is Black Art
Black art implies a unique black experience. And a uniquely black experience, however diverse it may be, is still distinct from the mainstream. The unavoidable truth is that there is a black experience—a reality that is statistically, anecdotally, and socially different from that of any other race. Race is so conspicuous, so damaging, so unavoidable that we will always come back to our racial identity as the common denominator of black experience. Creating art, then, becomes a tricky proposition for minorities, an inherently political, demonstrative, and public act that has large ramifications. Black artists, in every medium, walk a fine line of political expression and self-awareness.
What do we as black artists, writers, poets, photographers, playwrights, or choreographers want to show the rest of the world? How do we control and negotiate our identity as a distinct, but heterogeneous, group? Art for art’s sake is impossible in this racial context. Where white artists are able to abstract from race and may choose to emphasize or address their ethnicity at will, those who identify as minority artists cannot so easily choose their vantage point. Though the black experience is by no means monolithic, being black informs one’s outlook, experiences, and even life chances. No one can fully abstract from such a far-reaching aspect of identity. Even the refusal to make art that incorporates one’s own racial identity is in itself a politically charged act.
As black artists, it is easy to follow one of two paths: either tell it like it is, bringing into our work all of the disparity and disillusionment and instability that characterizes the diaspora; or adopt a colorblind outlook, downplaying or ignoring some of the darker realities.
The former allows us to get closer to the hard truths that many of us—blacks and non-blacks, policymakers and citizens alike—still need to see and understand. Here is where we build a sense of community and identity out of a shared history too often characterized by obstacle. But while the formation of a community may bring people together, it may also lead its members to withdraw from the larger society. Group identity can create self-pity and hopelessness, potentially leading to either extremism or apathy. In the case of the black community, it’s easy for the legacy of the abuses suffered in our history to influence black attitudes towards whites and the larger society. It is also all too easy for non-blacks to respond in kind; to exclude, stereotype, and fear blacks and to resent or be overwhelmed by their grievances. Too much race-consciousness may become disconcerting, and may be perceived as hostile.
In contrast, if we choose the latter route, and consciously take our racial identity out of the art we make and join the race-neutral mainstream, we may be able to overcome this persistent history of “otherness.” After all, detaching ourselves from racial dynamics might allow us to find our commonalities with other groups. But in a way, such an attempt would ring false. If we use art to pretend that race doesn’t matter and allow ourselves to be known as artists instead of “black artists,” we would alienate ourselves from both our own experiences and from other blacks. “Turning off” our racial identity whenever possible might make the larger society more comfortable, but we would be perpetuating a lie. We would be encouraging ignorance and stifling debate on social justice and identity.
Whichever route we choose, we risk losing something. The challenge, then, is to make art a vehicle for education, uplift, and mobilization, without making the group identity too oppressive, or the social commentary too anemic.
How can we present history and reality in a way that inspires people of all races to work towards something better for the future? The annual Black Arts Festival at Harvard illuminates the conflicts inherent in black art as a social tool. Going into its tenth year as a staple of the Harvard arts scene, the Black Arts Festival strives to be a source of enlightenment and motivation for both blacks and non-blacks alike. The planning of the event brings together many black and other minority students on campus for cultural exchange, enrichment, and inspiration. But for all of its events, productions, and panels, the Black Arts Festival still reaches a limited and largely black audience. Moreover, it does not appear that the festival brings black students closer to the rest of the college community. It seems that there are real obstacles to cultural understanding and integration, and they exist both within and beyond the Harvard bubble. Black art and culture are still conceived of as “other” in the sea of Harvard cultural events. It is a conception that neither blacks nor most other students protest.
What Is The Solution?
As black artists, we have already proven our ability to render the nuances of black culture and history on film, canvas, and stage. The new priority must be accessibility. Black artists must make a conscious effort to connect with the mainstream. However unfair it may be, it becomes our responsibility to be inclusive, because we can’t afford to wait for those who don’t share our cultural/racial/ethnic/historical identity to seek us out and hear our message. We can’t be afraid of bringing up the big issues that get to the heart of each of our black experiences. We also have to understand, however, that cross-cultural understanding is a difficult goal that cannot be achieved through isolated, unilateral explorations of black culture.
It is important to make art with everyone in mind. It is important to illuminate black concerns and experiences while recognizing and emphasizing that our outlook, though distinct, is not alien. On campus, one answer may lie in meaningful co-sponsorship of artistic events in which we combine resources and creativity to explore our commonalities. Outside our gates, an answer is even harder to find. With a wider span of experiences, situations, prejudices, and identities, but no Harvard Foundation or Black Students Association, how do we even start in our search for a solution?
It is up to this generation of black artists to figure it out.
Some people experience black art in visceral personal and emotional terms as something that reflects their life experience and makes them feel a part of a larger community. Others think of black art as an outlet to understand a tortured and difficult past and to combat lingering complacency and ignorance. Yet others view black art as simply something to be celebrated.
In whatever way it is viewed, black art is often a source of discovery and enlightenment, and a means of finding values and inspiration.
Activism, Education, Affirmation, Identity: This Is Black Art
Black art implies a unique black experience. And a uniquely black experience, however diverse it may be, is still distinct from the mainstream. The unavoidable truth is that there is a black experience—a reality that is statistically, anecdotally, and socially different from that of any other race. Race is so conspicuous, so damaging, so unavoidable that we will always come back to our racial identity as the common denominator of black experience. Creating art, then, becomes a tricky proposition for minorities, an inherently political, demonstrative, and public act that has large ramifications. Black artists, in every medium, walk a fine line of political expression and self-awareness.
What do we as black artists, writers, poets, photographers, playwrights, or choreographers want to show the rest of the world? How do we control and negotiate our identity as a distinct, but heterogeneous, group? Art for art’s sake is impossible in this racial context. Where white artists are able to abstract from race and may choose to emphasize or address their ethnicity at will, those who identify as minority artists cannot so easily choose their vantage point. Though the black experience is by no means monolithic, being black informs one’s outlook, experiences, and even life chances. No one can fully abstract from such a far-reaching aspect of identity. Even the refusal to make art that incorporates one’s own racial identity is in itself a politically charged act.
As black artists, it is easy to follow one of two paths: either tell it like it is, bringing into our work all of the disparity and disillusionment and instability that characterizes the diaspora; or adopt a colorblind outlook, downplaying or ignoring some of the darker realities.
The former allows us to get closer to the hard truths that many of us—blacks and non-blacks, policymakers and citizens alike—still need to see and understand. Here is where we build a sense of community and identity out of a shared history too often characterized by obstacle. But while the formation of a community may bring people together, it may also lead its members to withdraw from the larger society. Group identity can create self-pity and hopelessness, potentially leading to either extremism or apathy. In the case of the black community, it’s easy for the legacy of the abuses suffered in our history to influence black attitudes towards whites and the larger society. It is also all too easy for non-blacks to respond in kind; to exclude, stereotype, and fear blacks and to resent or be overwhelmed by their grievances. Too much race-consciousness may become disconcerting, and may be perceived as hostile.
In contrast, if we choose the latter route, and consciously take our racial identity out of the art we make and join the race-neutral mainstream, we may be able to overcome this persistent history of “otherness.” After all, detaching ourselves from racial dynamics might allow us to find our commonalities with other groups. But in a way, such an attempt would ring false. If we use art to pretend that race doesn’t matter and allow ourselves to be known as artists instead of “black artists,” we would alienate ourselves from both our own experiences and from other blacks. “Turning off” our racial identity whenever possible might make the larger society more comfortable, but we would be perpetuating a lie. We would be encouraging ignorance and stifling debate on social justice and identity.
Whichever route we choose, we risk losing something. The challenge, then, is to make art a vehicle for education, uplift, and mobilization, without making the group identity too oppressive, or the social commentary too anemic.
How can we present history and reality in a way that inspires people of all races to work towards something better for the future? The annual Black Arts Festival at Harvard illuminates the conflicts inherent in black art as a social tool. Going into its tenth year as a staple of the Harvard arts scene, the Black Arts Festival strives to be a source of enlightenment and motivation for both blacks and non-blacks alike. The planning of the event brings together many black and other minority students on campus for cultural exchange, enrichment, and inspiration. But for all of its events, productions, and panels, the Black Arts Festival still reaches a limited and largely black audience. Moreover, it does not appear that the festival brings black students closer to the rest of the college community. It seems that there are real obstacles to cultural understanding and integration, and they exist both within and beyond the Harvard bubble. Black art and culture are still conceived of as “other” in the sea of Harvard cultural events. It is a conception that neither blacks nor most other students protest.
What Is The Solution?
As black artists, we have already proven our ability to render the nuances of black culture and history on film, canvas, and stage. The new priority must be accessibility. Black artists must make a conscious effort to connect with the mainstream. However unfair it may be, it becomes our responsibility to be inclusive, because we can’t afford to wait for those who don’t share our cultural/racial/ethnic/historical identity to seek us out and hear our message. We can’t be afraid of bringing up the big issues that get to the heart of each of our black experiences. We also have to understand, however, that cross-cultural understanding is a difficult goal that cannot be achieved through isolated, unilateral explorations of black culture.
It is important to make art with everyone in mind. It is important to illuminate black concerns and experiences while recognizing and emphasizing that our outlook, though distinct, is not alien. On campus, one answer may lie in meaningful co-sponsorship of artistic events in which we combine resources and creativity to explore our commonalities. Outside our gates, an answer is even harder to find. With a wider span of experiences, situations, prejudices, and identities, but no Harvard Foundation or Black Students Association, how do we even start in our search for a solution?
It is up to this generation of black artists to figure it out.
Protecting Authenticity: The Future of Civil Rights?
By Elise Wang
The era of civil rights law is over. The innovation of Thurgood Marshall, the fire of Clarence Darrow, and the perseverance of Julius Chambers are long past. Echoes of their arguments and of their passion can be heard occasionally in the rhetoric of politicians who try to evoke the ethos of these men, but all those efforts produce are worn slogans and a whiff of nostalgia. Current civil rights scholarship builds off of the foundation that was laid in that era, but attempts to recreate that fervor of invention often end up treading the same, tired ground.
For those reasons, Kenji Yoshino’s new book, Covering: The Hidden Assault on Our Civil Rights (Random House, 2006) comes like a bolt from the blue. His manifesto—for that is what it is—does not follow the familiar path of most current civil rights scholarship by building arguments off of a framework built thirty years ago. Instead, it carves out a new battlefield for civil rights legislation by focusing on the societal and legal pressure on minority individuals to “cover” their differences in front of others.
Say, for example, a black, gay lawyer is fired from his job after ten years of loyal service. According to traditional civil rights precedent, if this decision was made because he was black, he has ample grounds to sue the company. Recent cases even give him precedent to sue if he was fired because he came out to his coworkers. In contrast, he has no legal recourse if he was fired because he did not “act straight enough.” Yoshino argues, however, that this pressure should be grounds for a legal challenge. In his argument, race and sexual orientation and gender are not just things that one is. Rather, they are also things that one does. While blatant denial of equal treatment on the basis of race or sexual orientation are obviously more egregious transgressions on a person’s civil rights, Yoshino contends that the pressure to cover can also constitute a breach of the 14th amendment.
Yoshino lays out his case meticulously, and with some success. He takes us through three steps of civil rights evolution: conversion, passing, and covering. In the first step, current civil rights law prohibits discrimination and unequal treatment on the basis of attributes that one cannot change. Race, gender, ethnicity and, we believe, religion, all fall into that class of attributes from which we cannot expect “conversion.” Following that model, gay legal activists have therefore been forced to make the argument that homosexuality is not a mutable characteristic before claiming protection under the current system.
However, Yoshino argues that immutability should not be the basis for protection because such a claim leaves open the possibility of countless loopholes. Moreover, this system implicitly suggests that characteristics that are considered mutable do not deserve similar protection. Thus, under this framework, our gay lawyer might be allowed to work, as long as he successfully hides his offensive characteristic and “passes” (as in the army’s policy of ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell’). A woman may be hired to a prestigious job, as long as she doesn’t “act too feminine.” An Asian man might be tolerated at an exclusive club, as long as he doesn’t have an accent. As Yoshino ironically notes, “Times have changed, and I suppose you could call it progress that a Chinaman, too, may now aspire to whiteness.”
While this pressure is more nebulous and harder to identify than blatant denial of rights on the basis of race or sexuality, Yoshino makes an effort to meticulously define what “covering” is and how demands for it have hurt individuals. For example, the Supreme Court ruled that discrimination against a pregnant woman because of her pregnant status is not sex discrimination. The rationale was that, unlike her sex, she chose her pregnancy. The Georgia State Supreme Court ruled that a lesbian could be fired from her job not for being a lesbian, but for flaunting her sexuality by coming out to her coworkers.
Yoshino’s next step stands on more tenuous ground. He calls for legal action on the basis of the pressure that individuals face to cover, but he is unclear about how we should define such pressure. Is it pressure to cover when a lesbian woman is expected not to talk about her partner? What about talking about what they do in bed? While most of us can recognize the distinction, in trying to pin it down, we run the risk of making another catastrophic definition based on the “I know it when I see it” standard.
Yoshino also chooses not to make his argument in purely political and legal terms, but rather, to blend memoir and argument. This decision enriches the argument in some ways and detracts from it in others. For example, he describes the stages of civil rights law by chronicling his own life, in an attempt to find the universal in the particular. Parts of Covering read like a cathartic confession of past sins and betrayals, which, while interesting, sometimes distracts from the argument. But perhaps it is just that I, too, have bought into the societal directive that says the academic integrity of a woman writing about gender discrimination or of a gay man writing about sexual orientation discrimination should be subject to greater scrutiny than the white man writing about anything.
One of Yoshino’s most salient points is that in passing or covering, minorities are making a contract with white, straight male society. The terms of the contract are restrictive: If you will let me into the chambers of power, I will not act too ethnic. If I do not have an accent, you will accept me at prestigious institutions. If you allow me to become a producer of culture, I will not mind the whiteness of television casts. In this way, Yoshino strikes at the heart of why it feels somehow dirty to pass and to cover. It feels like a deal with the devil.
When I found myself (much more thoroughly than usual) picking up every point Yoshino made, examining all sides of it, shaking it to see if it rattled, and pulling at it to see if it would disintegrate, I realized that I was doing this because I wanted him to be right. I wanted him to be able to protect me from being forced to act feminine but not too feminine, Asian but not all Asian, white but not as though I actually were, in order to succeed in my life.
I don’t know if Yoshino’s sort of argument will hold up in court, but if the legacy of civil rights law can provide any clues, it will at the very least take a lot of time. In an era where we are still fighting open discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation, gender, and even race, a time when our right to act our identities freely will be protected under the law seems a long way off. Yet whether or not our current society will find sympathy for Yoshino’s argument now, what governs his opinion gets right to the heart of any struggle for human rights: “a desire for authenticity, our common human wish to express ourselves.”
The era of civil rights law is over. The innovation of Thurgood Marshall, the fire of Clarence Darrow, and the perseverance of Julius Chambers are long past. Echoes of their arguments and of their passion can be heard occasionally in the rhetoric of politicians who try to evoke the ethos of these men, but all those efforts produce are worn slogans and a whiff of nostalgia. Current civil rights scholarship builds off of the foundation that was laid in that era, but attempts to recreate that fervor of invention often end up treading the same, tired ground.
For those reasons, Kenji Yoshino’s new book, Covering: The Hidden Assault on Our Civil Rights (Random House, 2006) comes like a bolt from the blue. His manifesto—for that is what it is—does not follow the familiar path of most current civil rights scholarship by building arguments off of a framework built thirty years ago. Instead, it carves out a new battlefield for civil rights legislation by focusing on the societal and legal pressure on minority individuals to “cover” their differences in front of others.
Say, for example, a black, gay lawyer is fired from his job after ten years of loyal service. According to traditional civil rights precedent, if this decision was made because he was black, he has ample grounds to sue the company. Recent cases even give him precedent to sue if he was fired because he came out to his coworkers. In contrast, he has no legal recourse if he was fired because he did not “act straight enough.” Yoshino argues, however, that this pressure should be grounds for a legal challenge. In his argument, race and sexual orientation and gender are not just things that one is. Rather, they are also things that one does. While blatant denial of equal treatment on the basis of race or sexual orientation are obviously more egregious transgressions on a person’s civil rights, Yoshino contends that the pressure to cover can also constitute a breach of the 14th amendment.
Yoshino lays out his case meticulously, and with some success. He takes us through three steps of civil rights evolution: conversion, passing, and covering. In the first step, current civil rights law prohibits discrimination and unequal treatment on the basis of attributes that one cannot change. Race, gender, ethnicity and, we believe, religion, all fall into that class of attributes from which we cannot expect “conversion.” Following that model, gay legal activists have therefore been forced to make the argument that homosexuality is not a mutable characteristic before claiming protection under the current system.
However, Yoshino argues that immutability should not be the basis for protection because such a claim leaves open the possibility of countless loopholes. Moreover, this system implicitly suggests that characteristics that are considered mutable do not deserve similar protection. Thus, under this framework, our gay lawyer might be allowed to work, as long as he successfully hides his offensive characteristic and “passes” (as in the army’s policy of ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell’). A woman may be hired to a prestigious job, as long as she doesn’t “act too feminine.” An Asian man might be tolerated at an exclusive club, as long as he doesn’t have an accent. As Yoshino ironically notes, “Times have changed, and I suppose you could call it progress that a Chinaman, too, may now aspire to whiteness.”
While this pressure is more nebulous and harder to identify than blatant denial of rights on the basis of race or sexuality, Yoshino makes an effort to meticulously define what “covering” is and how demands for it have hurt individuals. For example, the Supreme Court ruled that discrimination against a pregnant woman because of her pregnant status is not sex discrimination. The rationale was that, unlike her sex, she chose her pregnancy. The Georgia State Supreme Court ruled that a lesbian could be fired from her job not for being a lesbian, but for flaunting her sexuality by coming out to her coworkers.
Yoshino’s next step stands on more tenuous ground. He calls for legal action on the basis of the pressure that individuals face to cover, but he is unclear about how we should define such pressure. Is it pressure to cover when a lesbian woman is expected not to talk about her partner? What about talking about what they do in bed? While most of us can recognize the distinction, in trying to pin it down, we run the risk of making another catastrophic definition based on the “I know it when I see it” standard.
Yoshino also chooses not to make his argument in purely political and legal terms, but rather, to blend memoir and argument. This decision enriches the argument in some ways and detracts from it in others. For example, he describes the stages of civil rights law by chronicling his own life, in an attempt to find the universal in the particular. Parts of Covering read like a cathartic confession of past sins and betrayals, which, while interesting, sometimes distracts from the argument. But perhaps it is just that I, too, have bought into the societal directive that says the academic integrity of a woman writing about gender discrimination or of a gay man writing about sexual orientation discrimination should be subject to greater scrutiny than the white man writing about anything.
One of Yoshino’s most salient points is that in passing or covering, minorities are making a contract with white, straight male society. The terms of the contract are restrictive: If you will let me into the chambers of power, I will not act too ethnic. If I do not have an accent, you will accept me at prestigious institutions. If you allow me to become a producer of culture, I will not mind the whiteness of television casts. In this way, Yoshino strikes at the heart of why it feels somehow dirty to pass and to cover. It feels like a deal with the devil.
When I found myself (much more thoroughly than usual) picking up every point Yoshino made, examining all sides of it, shaking it to see if it rattled, and pulling at it to see if it would disintegrate, I realized that I was doing this because I wanted him to be right. I wanted him to be able to protect me from being forced to act feminine but not too feminine, Asian but not all Asian, white but not as though I actually were, in order to succeed in my life.
I don’t know if Yoshino’s sort of argument will hold up in court, but if the legacy of civil rights law can provide any clues, it will at the very least take a lot of time. In an era where we are still fighting open discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation, gender, and even race, a time when our right to act our identities freely will be protected under the law seems a long way off. Yet whether or not our current society will find sympathy for Yoshino’s argument now, what governs his opinion gets right to the heart of any struggle for human rights: “a desire for authenticity, our common human wish to express ourselves.”
The Drag Kingdom: 18 Months in the Life of a Man
By Jessica Harmon
“Getting Started.” “Friendship.” “Sex.” “Love.” “Life.” “Work.” “Self.” “Journey’s End.”
This may all sound a little too much like an eight-step self-help plan, with each step bringing you that much closer to realizing the quest of becoming a new you. And, in a sense, that is precisely what is documented in the eight chapters in Norah Vincent’s Self-Made Man: One Woman’s Journey into Manhood and Back Again (Viking Adult, 2006): the process of becoming a new person. Only, in Ms. Vincent’s case, that process involves her living 18 months of her life in drag as a man named Ned.
Vincent’s ambitious undertaking arises from her attempt to understand firsthand what life is like for men and culminates in what is, for the most part, an interesting and engaging book. While the book affirms certain stereotypes about men, Vincent also provides new insight into the complexity of men, explaining both the basis and the implications of these stereotypes. In her investigation of manhood, Vincent comes to realize that behind the popular image of the brash, self-confident, and (of course) heterosexual “manly man,” there exists the Everyman, who is struggling to live up to the masculine mystique both men and women have created.
Entering Manhood
What would it be like to be something other than what I am?
While many of us have pondered this question, it is likely that few have been as proactive as Vincent, who got her first hint of how life might be different for men and women when she decided to walk the streets of New York in drag with a friend one night. After a quick change of clothes and the addition of a brushed-on beard and baseball cap, Vincent ventured into the streets, where she quickly learned that “people accept what you convey to them, if you convey it convincingly enough.”
Apparently, Vincent’s disguise conveyed her manhood convincingly enough, as the men who had once stared brazenly at her now avoided her “manly gaze.” The newfound sense of power that Vincent experienced as a man led her to wonder what kind of insight she might gain into the world of men if she were to present herself as a man, not just for one night, but rather, for an extended period of time. And so the idea to live for 18 months as “Ned” was born. Vincent found that while she herself was constantly aware of her femaleness during that time, men accepted her into their world.
To transform into Ned, Vincent turned, not to surgery, but rather, to a group of friends and teachers who taught her how to look, walk, talk, and act the part of a convincing Ned. In order to attain a stouter, less curvy shape, Vincent flattened her chest with tight sports bras, went to the gym, and added on a few pounds. To make her facial features appear more masculine, she wore glasses and got a box haircut. Finally, to make the look complete, she outfitted Ned with a new wardrobe.
Bowling for Knowledge
Vincent’s integration into the world of men began with her joining a male bowling team, thus affording her the opportunity to understand male camaraderie. To her surprise, Vincent found the men in the bowling league inviting and accommodating from the very beginning. In contrast, the women that she had played with in the past had all been very competitive. Vincent notes that there is a definite competitive aspect among the men, but that they were all supportive of her, the lowest scorer on the team. Vincent’s interpretation is that, unlike women, the men were only interested in competing against equally-matched opponents. Thus, the men did not derive any satisfaction or confidence boost from beating her, the poorest player. Instead, concludes Vincent, the true glory for men comes from beating someone who is considered a worthy rival.
While on the team, Vincent observed the interaction between one of her teammates and his pre-teen son. She saw how the father would ridicule and make fun of his son, and even let other teammates do the same. All the men were trying to make the boy learn to “fend for himself” among men. From this, Vincent concludes that, for boys, part of growing up and maturing into a man requires falling on your face and being put in your place. Indeed, it’s these humiliations that probably make men want to compete and climb up in the male social world to steadily build upon that ever important quality of confidence.
The Power of Women
Vincent’s goal in embarking on her experiment was to learn about the contemporary state of manhood. But in the process, she also learns about women and the influence they can exercise over men. Vincent’s first discovery of the power of women came in the most unlikely of places: the strip club. On the nights she went out with her “fellow men” to a strip club, Vincent noticed that although the men were supposedly in a position of power—ogling women and throwing money at them as they disrobed—they felt oddly dehumanized by the experience as well. Though the men relished in their superior status while inside the club, once outside the club, they were ashamed and worried that “respectable” women would find out about their trips.
Men’s dependence on women to determine their own self-worth carries over into the world of dating too. As Ned, Vincent experienced firsthand the power that women wield. As a woman, Vincent was used to being gauged by men on the basis of her attractiveness relative to other women. But as Ned, she found that she was expected by her female dates to be domineering but accommodating, and strong but sensitive. For failing to live up to the masculine mystique, Ned found himself at the receiving end of multiple rejections.
The Final Straw
Vincent’s adventures as Ned eventually led her to the final testing ground: the modern men’s movement. The movement, which started in 1990 with the goal of reconnecting men to their inner “Wild Man,” offers a space for men to open up and discuss the societal pressures they feel. Here, for the first time, Vincent found herself with a group of men who could, like her, reflect upon and verbalize the modern state of manliness. These men were upfront about the anger and frustration they felt at being born into a system of male detachment and judgment that expects them to fend for themselves. This frustration was perhaps best expressed at a retreat where the men were asked to draw their superhero. A few of the men draw Atlas, the mythological character who bears the burden of the earth on his shoulders. Like Atlas, these men felt the weight of having to live up to the male mystique, a compromising position that left them vulnerable to attack. As one participant put it, “See, Atlas can’t protect himself in that position. Anybody could just walk right up to him and kick him in the balls.”
The insights and personal outcries that Vincent encountered while on the retreat caused her to experience deep pangs of guilt. As she puts it in the book: “How do you reconcile genuine interpersonal connection and potentially valuable insights into human behavior with false pretenses?” It is only after a difficult period of readjusting to life as a woman that Vincent is eventually able to reconnect with her own self. Living as an imposter for so long had inhibited her true self from expressing itself.
During the 18 months that Vincent spent as Ned, she had to constantly be aware of what she was doing and saying, or else risk being looked down upon as less of a man, and having her secret revealed. But just as Ned had to “pass” as a man for 18 months, so it is that actual men have to “pass” as manly enough every day of their lives. Through her experiences, Vincent is able to catch a glimpse of the issues that men grapple with on a daily basis. This begs the question: For how long will men be “men” enough to deal with those pressures?
“Getting Started.” “Friendship.” “Sex.” “Love.” “Life.” “Work.” “Self.” “Journey’s End.”
This may all sound a little too much like an eight-step self-help plan, with each step bringing you that much closer to realizing the quest of becoming a new you. And, in a sense, that is precisely what is documented in the eight chapters in Norah Vincent’s Self-Made Man: One Woman’s Journey into Manhood and Back Again (Viking Adult, 2006): the process of becoming a new person. Only, in Ms. Vincent’s case, that process involves her living 18 months of her life in drag as a man named Ned.
Vincent’s ambitious undertaking arises from her attempt to understand firsthand what life is like for men and culminates in what is, for the most part, an interesting and engaging book. While the book affirms certain stereotypes about men, Vincent also provides new insight into the complexity of men, explaining both the basis and the implications of these stereotypes. In her investigation of manhood, Vincent comes to realize that behind the popular image of the brash, self-confident, and (of course) heterosexual “manly man,” there exists the Everyman, who is struggling to live up to the masculine mystique both men and women have created.
Entering Manhood
What would it be like to be something other than what I am?
While many of us have pondered this question, it is likely that few have been as proactive as Vincent, who got her first hint of how life might be different for men and women when she decided to walk the streets of New York in drag with a friend one night. After a quick change of clothes and the addition of a brushed-on beard and baseball cap, Vincent ventured into the streets, where she quickly learned that “people accept what you convey to them, if you convey it convincingly enough.”
Apparently, Vincent’s disguise conveyed her manhood convincingly enough, as the men who had once stared brazenly at her now avoided her “manly gaze.” The newfound sense of power that Vincent experienced as a man led her to wonder what kind of insight she might gain into the world of men if she were to present herself as a man, not just for one night, but rather, for an extended period of time. And so the idea to live for 18 months as “Ned” was born. Vincent found that while she herself was constantly aware of her femaleness during that time, men accepted her into their world.
To transform into Ned, Vincent turned, not to surgery, but rather, to a group of friends and teachers who taught her how to look, walk, talk, and act the part of a convincing Ned. In order to attain a stouter, less curvy shape, Vincent flattened her chest with tight sports bras, went to the gym, and added on a few pounds. To make her facial features appear more masculine, she wore glasses and got a box haircut. Finally, to make the look complete, she outfitted Ned with a new wardrobe.
Bowling for Knowledge
Vincent’s integration into the world of men began with her joining a male bowling team, thus affording her the opportunity to understand male camaraderie. To her surprise, Vincent found the men in the bowling league inviting and accommodating from the very beginning. In contrast, the women that she had played with in the past had all been very competitive. Vincent notes that there is a definite competitive aspect among the men, but that they were all supportive of her, the lowest scorer on the team. Vincent’s interpretation is that, unlike women, the men were only interested in competing against equally-matched opponents. Thus, the men did not derive any satisfaction or confidence boost from beating her, the poorest player. Instead, concludes Vincent, the true glory for men comes from beating someone who is considered a worthy rival.
While on the team, Vincent observed the interaction between one of her teammates and his pre-teen son. She saw how the father would ridicule and make fun of his son, and even let other teammates do the same. All the men were trying to make the boy learn to “fend for himself” among men. From this, Vincent concludes that, for boys, part of growing up and maturing into a man requires falling on your face and being put in your place. Indeed, it’s these humiliations that probably make men want to compete and climb up in the male social world to steadily build upon that ever important quality of confidence.
The Power of Women
Vincent’s goal in embarking on her experiment was to learn about the contemporary state of manhood. But in the process, she also learns about women and the influence they can exercise over men. Vincent’s first discovery of the power of women came in the most unlikely of places: the strip club. On the nights she went out with her “fellow men” to a strip club, Vincent noticed that although the men were supposedly in a position of power—ogling women and throwing money at them as they disrobed—they felt oddly dehumanized by the experience as well. Though the men relished in their superior status while inside the club, once outside the club, they were ashamed and worried that “respectable” women would find out about their trips.
Men’s dependence on women to determine their own self-worth carries over into the world of dating too. As Ned, Vincent experienced firsthand the power that women wield. As a woman, Vincent was used to being gauged by men on the basis of her attractiveness relative to other women. But as Ned, she found that she was expected by her female dates to be domineering but accommodating, and strong but sensitive. For failing to live up to the masculine mystique, Ned found himself at the receiving end of multiple rejections.
The Final Straw
Vincent’s adventures as Ned eventually led her to the final testing ground: the modern men’s movement. The movement, which started in 1990 with the goal of reconnecting men to their inner “Wild Man,” offers a space for men to open up and discuss the societal pressures they feel. Here, for the first time, Vincent found herself with a group of men who could, like her, reflect upon and verbalize the modern state of manliness. These men were upfront about the anger and frustration they felt at being born into a system of male detachment and judgment that expects them to fend for themselves. This frustration was perhaps best expressed at a retreat where the men were asked to draw their superhero. A few of the men draw Atlas, the mythological character who bears the burden of the earth on his shoulders. Like Atlas, these men felt the weight of having to live up to the male mystique, a compromising position that left them vulnerable to attack. As one participant put it, “See, Atlas can’t protect himself in that position. Anybody could just walk right up to him and kick him in the balls.”
The insights and personal outcries that Vincent encountered while on the retreat caused her to experience deep pangs of guilt. As she puts it in the book: “How do you reconcile genuine interpersonal connection and potentially valuable insights into human behavior with false pretenses?” It is only after a difficult period of readjusting to life as a woman that Vincent is eventually able to reconnect with her own self. Living as an imposter for so long had inhibited her true self from expressing itself.
During the 18 months that Vincent spent as Ned, she had to constantly be aware of what she was doing and saying, or else risk being looked down upon as less of a man, and having her secret revealed. But just as Ned had to “pass” as a man for 18 months, so it is that actual men have to “pass” as manly enough every day of their lives. Through her experiences, Vincent is able to catch a glimpse of the issues that men grapple with on a daily basis. This begs the question: For how long will men be “men” enough to deal with those pressures?
The Churches of Chiapas, Mexico
Like most of Mexico, the southeastern state of Chiapas is predominantly Roman Catholic. The liveliest part of every town is the central square, usually flanked by a church on one side and a city hall on another. The churches are often painted bright colors and decorated with banners and flowers. They are at their most beautiful when the sun illuminates their roofs and the wind sends the banners aflutter.
The Forgotten Race
By John La Rue
Thinking of white as a race or male as a gender is like thinking of grey as a color or water as a flavor. It’s technically accurate, but in our culture, rarely done.
In a political context, a white, straight, male candidate is never identified as “the straight guy” or “the man candidate,” and only becomes “the white candidate” when juxtaposed with a minority opponent. In contrast, minority candidates are identified by their race, a trait that subsumes their campaign platforms and even overshadows party affiliations. Likewise, female candidates must field questions regarding their gender, and gay candidates must defend (or hide) their sexuality. Nobody seems to ask the straight white men comparable questions. So then, how do white males in politics think of themselves, their race, and their gender?
To find out, I spoke with two budding campus politicians: Stephen Dewey ’07 and Eric Lesser ’07, the respective presidents of the Harvard Republican Club and the Harvard College Democrats. Both, like me, are white, male, heterosexual Government concentrators.
Both Dewey and Lesser initially expressed doubts about their ability to comment on race, gender, and politics; the Republican Club suggested that I might want to speak with a female or minority board member instead. Once engaged in discussion, each man at first spoke of race and gender as abstract concepts, applied to others. “You can’t talk about race and gender without politics,” began Lesser, but “I wouldn’t say it consumes every piece of my thought. It’s more at a subconscious level.”
Dewey and Lesser both (independently) explained that they only become actively conscious of race when surrounded by non-white people. “I think it happens when you’re out of your comfort zone, when you feel challenged,” asserted Lesser. As a native of a majority-black city neighborhood, Stephen specified when and why he would feel white: “In Chinatown, I’d feel white, notice I was white. Not if I was in a black area though, because I’m accustomed to it. If I went to Africa, I would notice, but it’s not just racial; it’s cultural, and about relative affluence.”
Similarly, Lesser and Dewey only felt conscious of gender when surrounded by women. Lesser speculated that strong insults attack personal aspects central to a person’s identity. “What makes me who I am is where I come from: my family, my values, my religion, the way I was raised, the town I grew up in. You might say I was fat, but that wouldn’t bother me too much. It might bother some people.” Likewise, Dewey thought that people would most likely mock “the most stereotypical part of a person. Usually with me, it’s some part of my personality or aspects of how I look.” The range of potential insults to a white man suggest that whiteness, maleness, and heterosexuality are wholly auspicious traits. We assert masculinity and heterosexuality in order to remain within the boundaries of these commendable categories.
Whiteness, we never think of. We never have to.
Thinking of white as a race or male as a gender is like thinking of grey as a color or water as a flavor. It’s technically accurate, but in our culture, rarely done.
In a political context, a white, straight, male candidate is never identified as “the straight guy” or “the man candidate,” and only becomes “the white candidate” when juxtaposed with a minority opponent. In contrast, minority candidates are identified by their race, a trait that subsumes their campaign platforms and even overshadows party affiliations. Likewise, female candidates must field questions regarding their gender, and gay candidates must defend (or hide) their sexuality. Nobody seems to ask the straight white men comparable questions. So then, how do white males in politics think of themselves, their race, and their gender?
To find out, I spoke with two budding campus politicians: Stephen Dewey ’07 and Eric Lesser ’07, the respective presidents of the Harvard Republican Club and the Harvard College Democrats. Both, like me, are white, male, heterosexual Government concentrators.
Both Dewey and Lesser initially expressed doubts about their ability to comment on race, gender, and politics; the Republican Club suggested that I might want to speak with a female or minority board member instead. Once engaged in discussion, each man at first spoke of race and gender as abstract concepts, applied to others. “You can’t talk about race and gender without politics,” began Lesser, but “I wouldn’t say it consumes every piece of my thought. It’s more at a subconscious level.”
Dewey and Lesser both (independently) explained that they only become actively conscious of race when surrounded by non-white people. “I think it happens when you’re out of your comfort zone, when you feel challenged,” asserted Lesser. As a native of a majority-black city neighborhood, Stephen specified when and why he would feel white: “In Chinatown, I’d feel white, notice I was white. Not if I was in a black area though, because I’m accustomed to it. If I went to Africa, I would notice, but it’s not just racial; it’s cultural, and about relative affluence.”
Similarly, Lesser and Dewey only felt conscious of gender when surrounded by women. Lesser speculated that strong insults attack personal aspects central to a person’s identity. “What makes me who I am is where I come from: my family, my values, my religion, the way I was raised, the town I grew up in. You might say I was fat, but that wouldn’t bother me too much. It might bother some people.” Likewise, Dewey thought that people would most likely mock “the most stereotypical part of a person. Usually with me, it’s some part of my personality or aspects of how I look.” The range of potential insults to a white man suggest that whiteness, maleness, and heterosexuality are wholly auspicious traits. We assert masculinity and heterosexuality in order to remain within the boundaries of these commendable categories.
Whiteness, we never think of. We never have to.
Racial Castration: The Asian Man
By David Wang
“I already gave my best, and I have no regrets.”
It was not too long ago that these ten words and the ensuing media propaganda immortalized American Idol success story William Hung. But for this pioneer Asian American pop star, glory and fame did not come without an ironic twist; in a society that prizes good looks, suaveness, and appeal, Hung’s spotlight focused instead on his lack of these attributes. Instead of attraction and envy, Hung’s performance spurred amusement, if not outright ridicule. And thousands of Asian Americans laughed alongside their mainstream counterparts, even this small step forward a sacrifice to the status quo.
Under the Shadow
Hung’s case is not unique within the Asian American male experience. In many ways, it embodies the struggle against the dominant culture’s emasculation of Asian males. The Asian American male has not been entirely denied his share of the limelight, but as with Hung, the attention has never been of a wholly favorable nature. Recent Oscar-winning producer Steven Okazaki comments that “whereas Asian women are presented as very powerful, sexual objects, Asian men have no sexuality.” The motion picture industry perpetuates distorted images of Asian males, usually relegating them to roles as either nerdy science losers or martial arts specialists. More objects of fascination than desire, prominent Asian male sex symbols are curiously rare in the media, athletics, and all across the American mainstream. Okazaki explains, “There’s a clear desire for Asian men to not be threatening…they can be attractive sometimes, they can know martial arts, but they still shouldn’t have a penis.”
And yet, in a society that boasts unprejudiced opportunity and acceptance, why is this emasculation occurring in the first place? Okazaki argues that it stems from a historical power struggle and fear of the Asian “other.” “They want to make us small and manageable,” he retorts, “so that we can fit in the box.” Asian immigrants have always been on the periphery of the public eye, safely pushed to the fringes where little is known and even less cared for. Eileen Chow, Assistant Professor of Chinese Literary and Cultural Studies, points out that even in the early 20th century, “anti-miscegenation laws were created to contain the yellow peril.” Moreover, popular icons in the early 1900s featured Fu Manchu, the prototypical Oriental villain, and Charlie Chan, the quirky and harmless gentle-spirit. Even then, as they are now, Asian American males were portrayed through extreme, sexless lenses. Fear of the unknown prevented America from ever acquiring a full understanding of the new immigrant waves, and as time passed, the dominant majority attributed labels to appease their uncomfortable uncertainty. As a result, in an increasingly sex-oriented society, where men are shaped and defined by their perceived masculinity, there has become “something threatening about allowing Asian males to be sexual.” The natural course of action has been for the dominant majority to deny Asian males their sexual capital, to once again safely marginalize them.
Phil Yu of angryasianman.com, a popular online blog that speaks out against Asian emasculation, offers an additional explanation that cultural differences may be a contributing factor in the Asian American male’s emasculation as well. Traditional definitions of masculinity in Asia directly conflict with modern perceived notions of masculinity in America. Cultural prerogative have restricted Asian males to be “more reserved, less aggressive, and less likely to call attention to oneself,” and the same influence is residual through at least a couple of generations of Asian immigrants in the US. “Japanese-Americans like to belong”, admits Okazaki, “[they like] to avoid being outsiders and remain insiders.” Thus, they face intense social pressure to conform and “feel really acquiesced” to the emasculation which surrounds them. Passivity, stoic silence, and non-dissenting conformity are hardly “attributes valued by traditional American alpha-male behavior.” Once taken into account, this alternate standard of masculinity may lead Asian males to be “perceived as less masculine than the average ‘American’ male.” Even if American labels of masculinity are stripped away, then, Asian men may still not be motivated to claim this unwanted image.
Regardless of cause, emasculation of Asian men is not simply an enduring injustice, but a self-perpetuating norm. A racism that has manifested itself into subtleties of everyday life, its silent predominance has only induced further blindness to the issue—on both ends. Okazaki laments, “What’s shocking to me is how many Asian males don’t see the racism around them.” Overbearing prevalence has been responded to with either surrender or apathy, a lackluster passiveness which has defaulted into acceptance. Ubiquitous conditioning has pushed Asian men to “learn to reflect that stereotype, learn to see themselves that way.” For future generations, their predecessors’ acceptance transforms what was once politely tolerated into a precedent taken for granted. Chow remarks, “Identity is a funny thing; it is defined somewhere between how you see yourself and how others see you. Asian Americans inherit a history of stereotypes that they must negotiate with their own sense of self—and sometimes, this self is defined through these stereotypes.” When Asian boys grow up exposed to belittling images and stereotypes of their own, they are no longer even aware of the difference between racism and truth. Expected to be dorky, sexually lame, short, hard-working, quiet, and a variety of other typified traits, they unconsciously self-fulfill this agenda because there are no other available examples to emulate. These illusions, spurred by passive acceptance, are increasingly becoming the reality that new Asian males are born into.
From the perspective of the larger society, inaction in the Asian community is seen as a silent nod of acquiescence. Whereas America has assimilated many aspects of Asian culture, such as fashion, cuisine, and entertainment, in many ways the ignorance towards Asian males has remained stagnant since the early 1900s, who remain misunderstood and misrepresented in the dominant culture. And yet, with no one refuting the norms, American society continues on without knowing otherwise.
Pebbles in the Pond
But not everyone is taking it lying down. Some have demonstrated their dissatisfaction with the status quo, and thus responded in their own ways to the racism around them. However, these fragmented responses have been predominantly misguided and miss the point.
One popular reaction against emasculation has been un-channeled uprisings of anger. In Okazaki’s documentary, American Sons, second-generation Asian American Mitchell, a product of his environment, fumes, “Racism made me the way I look, the way I walk, the way I talk.” He recalls how he has been pigeon-holed into the man he has become by society. Likewise, Yu cites that he has “noticed a backlash against Asian females and white men” by angry Asian men. Random acts of hatred, big or small, active or subliminal, have not helped to combat ignorance. Rather, this blind outrage against white authority has only further strained relations by creating more misunderstandings, and has ultimately lead to more unedifying stereotypes. Additionally, displacement of anger into an overcompensating machismo against Asian women has resulted in alienation and division within their own communities. Thus far, unconstructive anger is a venue that has only served to create new problems, not resolve existing ones.
Other Asian males retreat to the comfort of self-segregated communities where they can thrive and assert their individuality in a niche removed from domineering social pressures. These are found in cities as well as suburbs, campuses as well as workplaces, equally amongst the old and the young, male and female. Here, members define their identity as Asian-American, a hybrid of two cultures hyphenated by order of importance. What sets these ethnic communities apart is that in these niches, Asians can evolve their own definitions of masculinity through microscopic competition, a masculinity that is notably their own and not undermined by mainstream standards. It is, in a sense, a whole other parallel world, fully functional and comfortably safe. Nevertheless, Asians did not come to America to live in self-selecting exclusive ghettos; electing into such a compromise, they are forsaking their ability and right to participate in the community at large, forsaking both the benefits they might receive as well as those they could offer.
Another response, particularly by newer Asian generations, has been to distinguish themselves from other faces in the sea, due to their disgust with the media’s images of them and a dire fear of falling into that ever-dislikeable fold themselves. Others go even so far as to hate their own kind. Yu asserts that “a lot of people—men and women—reject their Asian identity to try to fit in.” Of particular notoriety is the dismissal of Asian men by Asian women on grounds of race alone, fueled by shame or retaliatory superiority over media’s emasculated projection of their own males, which in turn only instigates increased resentment and anger in the male population. Tragically, for rising generations of Asian Americans, their individual identity has become involuntarily homogenized; many are doing whatever they can to fight it, without even knowing what they are fighting for. Breaking free from the puzzle-piece phenomenon may or may not promise individual “liberation”, but ultimately does little to further racial equality.
The alternatives to passivity have thus far been unattractive and fragmented, their efficacy underwhelming and direction misguided. Many voices are speaking, but who are they speaking to, and whom are they speaking for? What is required is a unified response; a declaration of action instead of words, of progress and not retaliation.
Standing Up
There is a pressing need to adopt a more proactive, definitive resistance against the dominant trend. Okazaki passionately calls for nothing less than a collective outcry, but one clearly and consistently directed towards oppression whenever it shows its ugly face. “We haven’t been angry enough,” he fumes, “we should scream back and knock it back everytime.” In his opinion, Asian Americans have, for too long, acquiesced to racism. The time has come for them to stop tolerating it. Asian Americans quietly excelling in niche professions over the last hundred years have perhaps garnered respect, but not yet acceptance. Politeness has been tried and failed; a more direct approach is needed. Their actions, their words, their expressions—every venue of response must proclaim, “I don’t like that shit. Don’t put it on me.” Okazaki insists this is a daily struggle, and that change will only arrive if Asian Americans actively pursue that end.
Okazaki points to the civil rights movement, which seems alien to the Asian American experience. In his view, the success of black Americans can be attributed to two victories: in their actions and in their minds. The million-man march, prolific sit-ins, even the riots: all were manifestations of a united belief that injustice is best combated with widespread publicity. Similarly, Okazaki applauds the response of Asian communities to the Adam Carolla radio broadcast in January 2006 in which Carolla ridiculed the Asian Excellence Awards with slurs and open mockery. Communities around the nation transformed their insulted outrage into an inundation of protest letters—and they were heard. Okazaki believes the Asian community needs more of this. All Asian American who care about their place in American society need to “raise their voice, show their numbers.” Despite how Asian civil rights organizations have become increasingly docile and complacent, individuals still have power to “call others out” on these everyday injustices. That is how America responds: to protest, to action.
Similarly, Chow praises the Asian commu-nity’s response to the controversial Aber-crombie t-shirt incident of just a few years ago. Normally cynical of media protest because of its potential to become unbridled, Chow believes humor to be the most effective instrument in forcing reassessment of stereotypes from both sides, such as the recent movie, Harold and Kumar. However, she does believe this particular campaign against Abercrombie was remarkably successful. The success, however, was not defined by forcing a corporate apology and the termination of shirt production. It was, instead, about igniting open dialogue about issues of racism and tolerance among those who never would have thought twice; it was, at its most basic, about education.
Okazaki cites a second strength behind black America’s success to be their self-perception. “It’s the ‘don’t-fuck-with-me’ attitude that has elevated black Americans above the persistent norm of subtle oppression. They didn’t listen to that shit popular culture tried to put on them then, and they aren’t listening now.” It’s a scrappy fight, one in which no ground can be surrendered. Okazaki recognizes this tenacity may clash with traditional Asian values, but in America, one must play by American rules to win. It is not only encouraged, but crucial to realize one’s own self worth and rebut those who deny it.
Likewise, Phil Yu shares a similar sentiment, calling first for change from within. Reconciliation is an active process, and the first step requires having peace with yourself, your own identity. “Asian American men just have to stop caring about what others think about them,” says Yu. “There has to be an elimination of this distinction between ‘American’ and ‘Asian.’ Hell, I’m American. It’s the other people who can’t see that.” Yu urges a mentality shift among Asian American males not to abandon their identity, but to convince themselves that the playing field is level; they must know themselves to be greater than they are told. Equality is first a state of mind, then a plan of action. Like Okazaki and Chow, Yu calls for “a progressive dialogue—not just amongst Asian American men, but dialogue across communities.” Whether the battle is fought individually or collectively on fragmented fronts, Asian Americans must stand united in their purpose.
Reconciliation is not only an attainable dream, but also an imperative endeavor. In order for it to succeed, both parties must be motivated to act. Waiting has proven ineffective, as hopes and dreams alone do not move mountains. Asian American males must stand up, both for themselves and one another, peacefully but actively resisting the silent racism of a white hegemony’s rule.
“I already gave my best, and I have no regrets.”
It was not too long ago that these ten words and the ensuing media propaganda immortalized American Idol success story William Hung. But for this pioneer Asian American pop star, glory and fame did not come without an ironic twist; in a society that prizes good looks, suaveness, and appeal, Hung’s spotlight focused instead on his lack of these attributes. Instead of attraction and envy, Hung’s performance spurred amusement, if not outright ridicule. And thousands of Asian Americans laughed alongside their mainstream counterparts, even this small step forward a sacrifice to the status quo.
Under the Shadow
Hung’s case is not unique within the Asian American male experience. In many ways, it embodies the struggle against the dominant culture’s emasculation of Asian males. The Asian American male has not been entirely denied his share of the limelight, but as with Hung, the attention has never been of a wholly favorable nature. Recent Oscar-winning producer Steven Okazaki comments that “whereas Asian women are presented as very powerful, sexual objects, Asian men have no sexuality.” The motion picture industry perpetuates distorted images of Asian males, usually relegating them to roles as either nerdy science losers or martial arts specialists. More objects of fascination than desire, prominent Asian male sex symbols are curiously rare in the media, athletics, and all across the American mainstream. Okazaki explains, “There’s a clear desire for Asian men to not be threatening…they can be attractive sometimes, they can know martial arts, but they still shouldn’t have a penis.”
And yet, in a society that boasts unprejudiced opportunity and acceptance, why is this emasculation occurring in the first place? Okazaki argues that it stems from a historical power struggle and fear of the Asian “other.” “They want to make us small and manageable,” he retorts, “so that we can fit in the box.” Asian immigrants have always been on the periphery of the public eye, safely pushed to the fringes where little is known and even less cared for. Eileen Chow, Assistant Professor of Chinese Literary and Cultural Studies, points out that even in the early 20th century, “anti-miscegenation laws were created to contain the yellow peril.” Moreover, popular icons in the early 1900s featured Fu Manchu, the prototypical Oriental villain, and Charlie Chan, the quirky and harmless gentle-spirit. Even then, as they are now, Asian American males were portrayed through extreme, sexless lenses. Fear of the unknown prevented America from ever acquiring a full understanding of the new immigrant waves, and as time passed, the dominant majority attributed labels to appease their uncomfortable uncertainty. As a result, in an increasingly sex-oriented society, where men are shaped and defined by their perceived masculinity, there has become “something threatening about allowing Asian males to be sexual.” The natural course of action has been for the dominant majority to deny Asian males their sexual capital, to once again safely marginalize them.
Phil Yu of angryasianman.com, a popular online blog that speaks out against Asian emasculation, offers an additional explanation that cultural differences may be a contributing factor in the Asian American male’s emasculation as well. Traditional definitions of masculinity in Asia directly conflict with modern perceived notions of masculinity in America. Cultural prerogative have restricted Asian males to be “more reserved, less aggressive, and less likely to call attention to oneself,” and the same influence is residual through at least a couple of generations of Asian immigrants in the US. “Japanese-Americans like to belong”, admits Okazaki, “[they like] to avoid being outsiders and remain insiders.” Thus, they face intense social pressure to conform and “feel really acquiesced” to the emasculation which surrounds them. Passivity, stoic silence, and non-dissenting conformity are hardly “attributes valued by traditional American alpha-male behavior.” Once taken into account, this alternate standard of masculinity may lead Asian males to be “perceived as less masculine than the average ‘American’ male.” Even if American labels of masculinity are stripped away, then, Asian men may still not be motivated to claim this unwanted image.
Regardless of cause, emasculation of Asian men is not simply an enduring injustice, but a self-perpetuating norm. A racism that has manifested itself into subtleties of everyday life, its silent predominance has only induced further blindness to the issue—on both ends. Okazaki laments, “What’s shocking to me is how many Asian males don’t see the racism around them.” Overbearing prevalence has been responded to with either surrender or apathy, a lackluster passiveness which has defaulted into acceptance. Ubiquitous conditioning has pushed Asian men to “learn to reflect that stereotype, learn to see themselves that way.” For future generations, their predecessors’ acceptance transforms what was once politely tolerated into a precedent taken for granted. Chow remarks, “Identity is a funny thing; it is defined somewhere between how you see yourself and how others see you. Asian Americans inherit a history of stereotypes that they must negotiate with their own sense of self—and sometimes, this self is defined through these stereotypes.” When Asian boys grow up exposed to belittling images and stereotypes of their own, they are no longer even aware of the difference between racism and truth. Expected to be dorky, sexually lame, short, hard-working, quiet, and a variety of other typified traits, they unconsciously self-fulfill this agenda because there are no other available examples to emulate. These illusions, spurred by passive acceptance, are increasingly becoming the reality that new Asian males are born into.
From the perspective of the larger society, inaction in the Asian community is seen as a silent nod of acquiescence. Whereas America has assimilated many aspects of Asian culture, such as fashion, cuisine, and entertainment, in many ways the ignorance towards Asian males has remained stagnant since the early 1900s, who remain misunderstood and misrepresented in the dominant culture. And yet, with no one refuting the norms, American society continues on without knowing otherwise.
Pebbles in the Pond
But not everyone is taking it lying down. Some have demonstrated their dissatisfaction with the status quo, and thus responded in their own ways to the racism around them. However, these fragmented responses have been predominantly misguided and miss the point.
One popular reaction against emasculation has been un-channeled uprisings of anger. In Okazaki’s documentary, American Sons, second-generation Asian American Mitchell, a product of his environment, fumes, “Racism made me the way I look, the way I walk, the way I talk.” He recalls how he has been pigeon-holed into the man he has become by society. Likewise, Yu cites that he has “noticed a backlash against Asian females and white men” by angry Asian men. Random acts of hatred, big or small, active or subliminal, have not helped to combat ignorance. Rather, this blind outrage against white authority has only further strained relations by creating more misunderstandings, and has ultimately lead to more unedifying stereotypes. Additionally, displacement of anger into an overcompensating machismo against Asian women has resulted in alienation and division within their own communities. Thus far, unconstructive anger is a venue that has only served to create new problems, not resolve existing ones.
Other Asian males retreat to the comfort of self-segregated communities where they can thrive and assert their individuality in a niche removed from domineering social pressures. These are found in cities as well as suburbs, campuses as well as workplaces, equally amongst the old and the young, male and female. Here, members define their identity as Asian-American, a hybrid of two cultures hyphenated by order of importance. What sets these ethnic communities apart is that in these niches, Asians can evolve their own definitions of masculinity through microscopic competition, a masculinity that is notably their own and not undermined by mainstream standards. It is, in a sense, a whole other parallel world, fully functional and comfortably safe. Nevertheless, Asians did not come to America to live in self-selecting exclusive ghettos; electing into such a compromise, they are forsaking their ability and right to participate in the community at large, forsaking both the benefits they might receive as well as those they could offer.
Another response, particularly by newer Asian generations, has been to distinguish themselves from other faces in the sea, due to their disgust with the media’s images of them and a dire fear of falling into that ever-dislikeable fold themselves. Others go even so far as to hate their own kind. Yu asserts that “a lot of people—men and women—reject their Asian identity to try to fit in.” Of particular notoriety is the dismissal of Asian men by Asian women on grounds of race alone, fueled by shame or retaliatory superiority over media’s emasculated projection of their own males, which in turn only instigates increased resentment and anger in the male population. Tragically, for rising generations of Asian Americans, their individual identity has become involuntarily homogenized; many are doing whatever they can to fight it, without even knowing what they are fighting for. Breaking free from the puzzle-piece phenomenon may or may not promise individual “liberation”, but ultimately does little to further racial equality.
The alternatives to passivity have thus far been unattractive and fragmented, their efficacy underwhelming and direction misguided. Many voices are speaking, but who are they speaking to, and whom are they speaking for? What is required is a unified response; a declaration of action instead of words, of progress and not retaliation.
Standing Up
There is a pressing need to adopt a more proactive, definitive resistance against the dominant trend. Okazaki passionately calls for nothing less than a collective outcry, but one clearly and consistently directed towards oppression whenever it shows its ugly face. “We haven’t been angry enough,” he fumes, “we should scream back and knock it back everytime.” In his opinion, Asian Americans have, for too long, acquiesced to racism. The time has come for them to stop tolerating it. Asian Americans quietly excelling in niche professions over the last hundred years have perhaps garnered respect, but not yet acceptance. Politeness has been tried and failed; a more direct approach is needed. Their actions, their words, their expressions—every venue of response must proclaim, “I don’t like that shit. Don’t put it on me.” Okazaki insists this is a daily struggle, and that change will only arrive if Asian Americans actively pursue that end.
Okazaki points to the civil rights movement, which seems alien to the Asian American experience. In his view, the success of black Americans can be attributed to two victories: in their actions and in their minds. The million-man march, prolific sit-ins, even the riots: all were manifestations of a united belief that injustice is best combated with widespread publicity. Similarly, Okazaki applauds the response of Asian communities to the Adam Carolla radio broadcast in January 2006 in which Carolla ridiculed the Asian Excellence Awards with slurs and open mockery. Communities around the nation transformed their insulted outrage into an inundation of protest letters—and they were heard. Okazaki believes the Asian community needs more of this. All Asian American who care about their place in American society need to “raise their voice, show their numbers.” Despite how Asian civil rights organizations have become increasingly docile and complacent, individuals still have power to “call others out” on these everyday injustices. That is how America responds: to protest, to action.
Similarly, Chow praises the Asian commu-nity’s response to the controversial Aber-crombie t-shirt incident of just a few years ago. Normally cynical of media protest because of its potential to become unbridled, Chow believes humor to be the most effective instrument in forcing reassessment of stereotypes from both sides, such as the recent movie, Harold and Kumar. However, she does believe this particular campaign against Abercrombie was remarkably successful. The success, however, was not defined by forcing a corporate apology and the termination of shirt production. It was, instead, about igniting open dialogue about issues of racism and tolerance among those who never would have thought twice; it was, at its most basic, about education.
Okazaki cites a second strength behind black America’s success to be their self-perception. “It’s the ‘don’t-fuck-with-me’ attitude that has elevated black Americans above the persistent norm of subtle oppression. They didn’t listen to that shit popular culture tried to put on them then, and they aren’t listening now.” It’s a scrappy fight, one in which no ground can be surrendered. Okazaki recognizes this tenacity may clash with traditional Asian values, but in America, one must play by American rules to win. It is not only encouraged, but crucial to realize one’s own self worth and rebut those who deny it.
Likewise, Phil Yu shares a similar sentiment, calling first for change from within. Reconciliation is an active process, and the first step requires having peace with yourself, your own identity. “Asian American men just have to stop caring about what others think about them,” says Yu. “There has to be an elimination of this distinction between ‘American’ and ‘Asian.’ Hell, I’m American. It’s the other people who can’t see that.” Yu urges a mentality shift among Asian American males not to abandon their identity, but to convince themselves that the playing field is level; they must know themselves to be greater than they are told. Equality is first a state of mind, then a plan of action. Like Okazaki and Chow, Yu calls for “a progressive dialogue—not just amongst Asian American men, but dialogue across communities.” Whether the battle is fought individually or collectively on fragmented fronts, Asian Americans must stand united in their purpose.
Reconciliation is not only an attainable dream, but also an imperative endeavor. In order for it to succeed, both parties must be motivated to act. Waiting has proven ineffective, as hopes and dreams alone do not move mountains. Asian American males must stand up, both for themselves and one another, peacefully but actively resisting the silent racism of a white hegemony’s rule.
What is Masculinity? D&D Asks Campus Groups What Masculinity Means to Them
BGLTSA
Response by Ryan Richard Thoreson
Masculinity isn’t a term that anyone can define in an immutable, ahistorical way. Instead, masculinity has always been defined by the norms of particular times and places. It’s also heavily policed, though, and those who don’t fit the social model of masculinity or femininity – whatever those models may be – are subject to all kinds of punishment, from discrimination to harassment to physical and sexual violence.
From a really early age on, children are encouraged by their parents to act in a masculine or feminine manner, and that message is repeated over and over again throughout their lives. Even in the workplace, there’s a pressure to act masculine or feminine, and that pressure extends to specific standards for the way that people dress, act, and behave. For people who don’t necessarily play those roles, the consequences range from disapproval to accusations of immorality to outright punishment, and without protection for gender expression in some non-discrimination codes, that’s often a legal and socially sanctioned response.
The BGLTSA supports the rights of individuals to express their gender however they see fit, without requiring anyone to fit some model of masculinity or femininity that might be arbitrarily imposed in other contexts. Realistically, there’s no reason that the values that some scholars have attributed to masculinity – like dependability, strength, or leadership – are at all related to gender identity and expression. Masculinity is a way that some societies code these values, but it’s not especially compelling or even accurate to base these sorts of attributes on something as individual as someone’s gender.
In spite of the social prescriptions of masculinity and femininity, the way that individuals act out their gender is a highly personal choice, and it has as much to do with the way that people feel comfortable expressing themselves as it does with the social structures that reward or punish them for those expressions. The BGLTSA supports people’s ability to make that choice, and to identify however they feel comfortable identifying, whether it’s male, female, gender-queer, or anything else.
Latino Men’s Collective
Response by Oscar Romano
Strength, boldness, and honor. These are the attributes that all men should seek to have within themselves. Strength: all men should strive to have a strong character and be strong individuals. They should be able to respond well under pressure as well as know when they need to ask for help. Boldness: although there may be dire consequences, some of the greatest rewards in life can only be received by taking large risks. Men should be aware, however, that risks should not be taken carelessly, but rather, as the result of a well thought decision. Honor: men should have honor with regard to themselves, their family, and their culture. They should carry the knowledge that everything they do reflects the nature of their own character, as well as the heritage they represent.
When asked about the best way to promote masculinity, many men may come to realize that they do not have an immediate answer. This is because most men take on the attributes ascribed by society but do not take the time to question the essence of masculinity. By having discussions on a wide range of topics, we feel we can encourage men to reflect on their actions and the societal roles they fulfill. This will allow them to find pride in what they do and strengthen their masculinity through increased awareness. Furthermore, we believe that the best way to promote a more positive view of masculinity is through leadership and example. The Latino Men’s Collective believes that by showing men the attributes of masculinity in which we take pride, we can encourage them to look within themselves and seek a source of honor and dignity.
Masculinity today carries with it a variety of connotations. These may range from the chauvinist “machista” to the Don Juan to that rare breed, the ideal gentleman. The opinions that people have on the subject of masculinity often stem from their experiences with men they have encountered in their own lives. By beginning within our own community, we believe that we can spread the ideals of masculinity across cultures and boundaries. Our goal is for the men of the future to hold strong to the attributes of strength, boldness, and honor so that masculinity may be universally portrayed as an ideal worth reaching for. We aspire to be great fathers, model brothers, loving sons. We strive to be men.
Native Americans at Harvard
Response by Leah Lussier
Masculinity is about taking responsibility, being a good role model, setting high expectations and living up to them, and upholding ideals of strength and integrity. Also, for many American Indian communities and individuals, masculinity is epitomized in the form of leadership and commitment to family and community. Traditional American Indian gender roles do not always parallel those of mainstream society, and therefore masculinity for American Indian communities does not traditionally connote female oppression. In fact, one important role that American Indian masculinity plays is to uphold the sacred attributes of women by respecting and revering their sacred roles as life givers. This still holds true in many communities today, and masculinity continues to reflect traditional leadership and support roles in family and community.
Native Americans at Harvard College (NAHC) promotes masculinity by encouraging American Indian male students to participate in leadership roles within our community. Because it is a reality that American Indian men are heavily underrepresented in higher education, NAHC promotes masculinity by supporting and encouraging American Indian men to further their education, pursue leadership, and eventually give back to their communities. Also, through working with American Indian women in leadership in NAHC, men will understand the importance of women in our communities, as well as the importance of leadership for our people.
For an American Indian man to uphold these virtues in the face of all that stands in his path can be a very difficult endeavor. To realize his goals and beat the “odds” by furthering his education is the best way to demonstrate the most important qualities of masculinity. An American Indian male in higher education can show masculinity best by finishing his education, remaining strong, demonstrating integrity, and by remembering where he is from. These things will allow him to someday give back to his community and people through leadership, and to support his family.
White Men’s Association
Response by Benjamin James Conlee
The truest and healthiest conception of masculinity emphasizes the importance of men as providers, leaders, and protectors. While heterosexuality is most compatible with these traits, it is not absolutely necessary. The traits a man should possess to embody the traits of a provider, leader, and protector include the following: self-confidence, courage, virility, physical and psychological strength, conviction, love, competitiveness, chivalry, resilience, and a team-oriented mindset.
Genetically, the core of masculinity has a crucial element of heterosexuality. As the emphasis on individual rights and humanism has caused more traditional, natural gender roles to be broken down, sexual desire manifests itself in homosexuality and other deviant sexual behaviors. Homosexuality is not characteristically masculine, while male heterosexuality is characteristically masculine. This is partly due to the natural interaction between men, which is for the purpose of building camaraderie and friendship, but is not for sexual gratification. Sexuality, from a pragmatic standpoint, has as its primary purpose the production of offspring. From the standpoint of defining masculinity, pleasure and emotional health are secondary to reproduction as the purpose of sexual intercourse.
Society’s conception of masculinity changes throughout time, and in the past few generations in first-world cultures, the requirement for all men to possess these traits has diminished in some respects, and so has society’s emphasis on these traditional conceptions of masculinity. However, the traits listed above still remain at the core of the true definition of masculinity.
Fundamentally, societies still function much as they have throughout history. For any man to succeed in any society, he must be able to be able to compete against his rivals, work with his friends, and be able to produce offspring. That these skills are key to masculinity derives from the pragmatic nature of the masculine male. A masculine man is successful in his time and place, and regardless of what society dictates, success requires the ability to lead, influence, and produce offspring.
Advice Column
By Teddy Styles
1. I’ve been going out with a really sweet guy for a little more than a month now. The relationship is great, and he treats me well. But every time we go out, he insists on paying the bill. He says he’s simply being chivalrous and old-fashioned. My blockmates think he’s being condescending. How should I bring this up with him?
Before you approach your boyfriend, you’ll need to ask yourself some tough, but necessary, questions. First, who actually finds your boyfriend’s behavior condescending? Your roommates can share gender theory with you all they want, but you know him and you need to decide if they are correct. You can do this by asking the second tough question: what does he mean when he says “old-fashioned?” If old-fashioned means “before women were considered independent in thought and personhood,” then you have bigger problems than your Friday night dinners at Bertucci’s. If old-fashioned means that he shows affection by spending money on you, then you can accept his gesture with grace. Of course, if you feel so inclined, you can return the favor by surprising him with gifts every now and then, or ordering (and paying) for take-out when he has to study.
2. My roommate recently came out to me. I’m not homophobic, and I don’t have problems with gay people... but none of the other people that we’ve blocked with are gay. Should I tell them that my roommate’s gay, so that they know who they’re blocking with?
When I decided to block with the six people that I live with now, I did not “know” everything about them. Over time, I learned about them, their backgrounds, their beliefs, and their experiences. Among other things, I learned that one of my blockmates was gay. Getting to know your blockmates takes time and is a part of the college rooming experience. Your have no duty to tell your blockmates that your roommate is gay. Having said that, you should ask your roommate why he is hiding it from them. Why doesn’t he just tell them, or let you? Because if not now, then when? And if not at Harvard, then where?
3. I’m on a sports team here, and all the guys on the team are buds. We’re around each other a lot, practicing together and competing together. But I’d also like to get to know new people. How do I tell the guys that I want to go out with other people on Friday and Saturday nights?
I am not a varsity athlete, but I do have some friends who are. They don’t “tell” their teammates that they’re hanging out with other people. They just do it. If you’re worried about what will happen when they call you, just use my favorite trick. It never fails. You say, “Where are you going tonight? Really? Oh, I think I might go to the Quad.” Trust me; they won’t tag after you to the Quad.
4. This sounds stupid, but I’m that hapless dude in section who always looks like he just got out of bed. How do I clean up, without looking too metrosexual?
Well, first, let me say that admitting your problem is the first step to fixing it. You are right that there does seem to be some sort of etiquette when it comes to your appearance in smaller sections and tutorials; I actually noticed earlier this year in tutorial that I was the only person wearing t-shirts to class. Your fears of appearing “too metrosexual” may be largely unfounded. Just take a shower and put on dark jeans, a polo, and shoes.
5. Boxers or briefs?
This one is easy. Go to www.americanapparelstore.com. Choose the Sea-Foam Green.
1. I’ve been going out with a really sweet guy for a little more than a month now. The relationship is great, and he treats me well. But every time we go out, he insists on paying the bill. He says he’s simply being chivalrous and old-fashioned. My blockmates think he’s being condescending. How should I bring this up with him?
Before you approach your boyfriend, you’ll need to ask yourself some tough, but necessary, questions. First, who actually finds your boyfriend’s behavior condescending? Your roommates can share gender theory with you all they want, but you know him and you need to decide if they are correct. You can do this by asking the second tough question: what does he mean when he says “old-fashioned?” If old-fashioned means “before women were considered independent in thought and personhood,” then you have bigger problems than your Friday night dinners at Bertucci’s. If old-fashioned means that he shows affection by spending money on you, then you can accept his gesture with grace. Of course, if you feel so inclined, you can return the favor by surprising him with gifts every now and then, or ordering (and paying) for take-out when he has to study.
2. My roommate recently came out to me. I’m not homophobic, and I don’t have problems with gay people... but none of the other people that we’ve blocked with are gay. Should I tell them that my roommate’s gay, so that they know who they’re blocking with?
When I decided to block with the six people that I live with now, I did not “know” everything about them. Over time, I learned about them, their backgrounds, their beliefs, and their experiences. Among other things, I learned that one of my blockmates was gay. Getting to know your blockmates takes time and is a part of the college rooming experience. Your have no duty to tell your blockmates that your roommate is gay. Having said that, you should ask your roommate why he is hiding it from them. Why doesn’t he just tell them, or let you? Because if not now, then when? And if not at Harvard, then where?
3. I’m on a sports team here, and all the guys on the team are buds. We’re around each other a lot, practicing together and competing together. But I’d also like to get to know new people. How do I tell the guys that I want to go out with other people on Friday and Saturday nights?
I am not a varsity athlete, but I do have some friends who are. They don’t “tell” their teammates that they’re hanging out with other people. They just do it. If you’re worried about what will happen when they call you, just use my favorite trick. It never fails. You say, “Where are you going tonight? Really? Oh, I think I might go to the Quad.” Trust me; they won’t tag after you to the Quad.
4. This sounds stupid, but I’m that hapless dude in section who always looks like he just got out of bed. How do I clean up, without looking too metrosexual?
Well, first, let me say that admitting your problem is the first step to fixing it. You are right that there does seem to be some sort of etiquette when it comes to your appearance in smaller sections and tutorials; I actually noticed earlier this year in tutorial that I was the only person wearing t-shirts to class. Your fears of appearing “too metrosexual” may be largely unfounded. Just take a shower and put on dark jeans, a polo, and shoes.
5. Boxers or briefs?
This one is easy. Go to www.americanapparelstore.com. Choose the Sea-Foam Green.
What a Boy Needs: Masculinity in Playboy Magazine, Then and Now
By Elise Wang
Over fifty years after its birth, when most of its contemporary eyebrow-raisers have since fizzled away to “quaint” (think drive-in movies), the magazine Playboy still carries an aura of subversion. First published in December 1953, Playboy began on the dining table of Hugh Hefner and, characterized by its rebellious streak, went on to become one of the most popular and long-lived magazines in American history. Many of the companies represented in its advertisements have come and gone, some of the men interviewed in its pages have passed away, and “Hef” no longer heads the magazine, but its essential form has remained the same: ads, interviews, culture pieces, cartoons, and the infamous centerfold.
Much has been written about Hugh Hefner’s infamous publication, but most of it has been on women. Scholars have lambasted the sexual objectification, the commoditization, and the whitewashing of women’s bodies. Even the Supreme Court has heard evidence that this depiction is harmful to women. But this furor has completely obscured the real targets of Playboy: the predominantly male readership. Does this mean that Playboy doesn’t affect men? Surely a publication has the biggest impact on those who actually read it. So what effect has it had? And what accounts for the longevity of both Playboy’s shock value and its circulation?
While Playboy is a household name in our post-sexual-revolution era, its spirit doesn’t fit with our remembrance of the time from which it sprang. In nostalgic hindsight, the 1950s were a pink and blue era, characterized by Jello, poodle skirts, and girls and boys who knew their places. Mom stayed home, Dad went to work, and when the day was over, they slept in separate twin beds. There’s no room for sex in our airbrushed remembrance of the Eisenhower years.
But apparently, sex there was, at least in its proper place. Contrary to popular belief, Playboy was by no means the only source of nude pictures available. Much more hardcore publications were widely distributed, but none approached the circulation of Playboy, which reached a round million by its sixth year. One possible reason is that sex and women in Playboy were different; Playboy sold women the way it sold any other product: as a lifestyle promise. “Women” were simplified to the generic white model, posed in a studio, and slipped in between an article on the Complete Sports Car Stable and instructions on how to equip a home bar.
In an advertising campaign aimed at both creating a clear picture of Hefner’s desired readership and dispelling any underground flavor the magazine might have, Playboy ran a series of back-page advertisements centered on the theme, “Who is a playboy?” Next to a sketch of an upper class businessman ran the answer: “He can be a sharp-minded young business executive, a worker in the arts, a university professor, an architect or an engineer. A man who can live life to the hilt.”
For Hefner’s playboy, “living life to the hilt” meant high-level consumption. This wasn’t just any everyday life the editors were attempting to link with their publication; it was a middle class lifestyle that was on its way up after the war, with time to kill and money to spend. A researcher at the Kinsey Institute once commented that, “Hefner’s genius was to associate sex with upward mobility.” Through Playboy, Hefner offered men more than an ejaculation; he sold them a way of life.
How did this translate to constructions of masculinity? As Playboy’s name suggests, the magazine touted Hefner’s belief that, “American men experienced their manhood most profoundly when they were boys at play, not men at work,” a radical shift from the manhood of the rugged cowboy and serious soldier that pervaded the first half of the century. By making men into boys and women into shop wares, Playboy separated sexual need from social needs. The woman in the centerfold addressed the reader’s sexual needs, but it was other men, in the interviews, in the articles, and at the famous Hefner parties, that satisfied the reader’s social needs. Most basically, in Playboy’s world, men are forced to choose between either sex or companionship in their relationships with other human beings. Women couldn’t provide both (as Hefner once put it, wives were the “natural enemy of men”), and other men certainly couldn’t (as enforced by Hefner’s rabid homophobia).
It is possible to separate emotional attachment from sex, but at what cost? This compartmentalization, while it rightfully allows space for intense homosociality, artificially compartmentalizes social interactions and stunts human relationships. While its depictions of women have undoubtedly been harmful to women throughout Playboy’s lifetime, the lifestyle directions it gives to men have been equally destructive. Even now, when Playboy’s influence is not so great, such compartmentalization is expected, even encouraged. When the boys came home from World War II, we were poised to redefine masculinity, and the brand Playboy offered was an unapologetic consumerism with severe disjunction in social relationships. It succeeded because Christie Hefner’s quote continues to ring true: “Men buy Playboy for the centerfold and read it for the package.”
Over fifty years after its birth, when most of its contemporary eyebrow-raisers have since fizzled away to “quaint” (think drive-in movies), the magazine Playboy still carries an aura of subversion. First published in December 1953, Playboy began on the dining table of Hugh Hefner and, characterized by its rebellious streak, went on to become one of the most popular and long-lived magazines in American history. Many of the companies represented in its advertisements have come and gone, some of the men interviewed in its pages have passed away, and “Hef” no longer heads the magazine, but its essential form has remained the same: ads, interviews, culture pieces, cartoons, and the infamous centerfold.
Much has been written about Hugh Hefner’s infamous publication, but most of it has been on women. Scholars have lambasted the sexual objectification, the commoditization, and the whitewashing of women’s bodies. Even the Supreme Court has heard evidence that this depiction is harmful to women. But this furor has completely obscured the real targets of Playboy: the predominantly male readership. Does this mean that Playboy doesn’t affect men? Surely a publication has the biggest impact on those who actually read it. So what effect has it had? And what accounts for the longevity of both Playboy’s shock value and its circulation?
While Playboy is a household name in our post-sexual-revolution era, its spirit doesn’t fit with our remembrance of the time from which it sprang. In nostalgic hindsight, the 1950s were a pink and blue era, characterized by Jello, poodle skirts, and girls and boys who knew their places. Mom stayed home, Dad went to work, and when the day was over, they slept in separate twin beds. There’s no room for sex in our airbrushed remembrance of the Eisenhower years.
But apparently, sex there was, at least in its proper place. Contrary to popular belief, Playboy was by no means the only source of nude pictures available. Much more hardcore publications were widely distributed, but none approached the circulation of Playboy, which reached a round million by its sixth year. One possible reason is that sex and women in Playboy were different; Playboy sold women the way it sold any other product: as a lifestyle promise. “Women” were simplified to the generic white model, posed in a studio, and slipped in between an article on the Complete Sports Car Stable and instructions on how to equip a home bar.
In an advertising campaign aimed at both creating a clear picture of Hefner’s desired readership and dispelling any underground flavor the magazine might have, Playboy ran a series of back-page advertisements centered on the theme, “Who is a playboy?” Next to a sketch of an upper class businessman ran the answer: “He can be a sharp-minded young business executive, a worker in the arts, a university professor, an architect or an engineer. A man who can live life to the hilt.”
For Hefner’s playboy, “living life to the hilt” meant high-level consumption. This wasn’t just any everyday life the editors were attempting to link with their publication; it was a middle class lifestyle that was on its way up after the war, with time to kill and money to spend. A researcher at the Kinsey Institute once commented that, “Hefner’s genius was to associate sex with upward mobility.” Through Playboy, Hefner offered men more than an ejaculation; he sold them a way of life.
How did this translate to constructions of masculinity? As Playboy’s name suggests, the magazine touted Hefner’s belief that, “American men experienced their manhood most profoundly when they were boys at play, not men at work,” a radical shift from the manhood of the rugged cowboy and serious soldier that pervaded the first half of the century. By making men into boys and women into shop wares, Playboy separated sexual need from social needs. The woman in the centerfold addressed the reader’s sexual needs, but it was other men, in the interviews, in the articles, and at the famous Hefner parties, that satisfied the reader’s social needs. Most basically, in Playboy’s world, men are forced to choose between either sex or companionship in their relationships with other human beings. Women couldn’t provide both (as Hefner once put it, wives were the “natural enemy of men”), and other men certainly couldn’t (as enforced by Hefner’s rabid homophobia).
It is possible to separate emotional attachment from sex, but at what cost? This compartmentalization, while it rightfully allows space for intense homosociality, artificially compartmentalizes social interactions and stunts human relationships. While its depictions of women have undoubtedly been harmful to women throughout Playboy’s lifetime, the lifestyle directions it gives to men have been equally destructive. Even now, when Playboy’s influence is not so great, such compartmentalization is expected, even encouraged. When the boys came home from World War II, we were poised to redefine masculinity, and the brand Playboy offered was an unapologetic consumerism with severe disjunction in social relationships. It succeeded because Christie Hefner’s quote continues to ring true: “Men buy Playboy for the centerfold and read it for the package.”
Masculinity Defined?
Masculinity (n.)
1: the properties characteristic of the male sex [syn: maleness] [ant: femaleness]
2: the trait of behaving in ways considered typical for men [ant: femininity]
Gender differences are making a comeback.
In recent months, media sources ranging from The New Republic to Newsweek to Oprah have begun to increasingly tout the notion that boys will be boys and girls will be, well, successful. The popular press would have us believe that boys are in a state of crisis: less excited about school, less hopeful for the future, and less likely to attend and graduate from four-year colleges than their sisters and girlfriends. The reasons that have been proffered range from excessive time spent playing video games to underdeveloped verbal skills to the adverse effects of feminism. The author of a December 2005 article in the National Review, for example, notes that “radical feminist academics, theorists, and activists” are “to blame for boys’ alienation from our current schooling regime.”
Psychologists, sociologists, and activists have, for decades and even centuries, tried to convince the public that gender disparities were the result of a sexist society and pervasive inequality. But the new century finds us subscribing, once more, to theories of “innate differences” and genetic and biological determinism to explain increasingly evident educational disparities between the genders.
While masculinity has historically been affirmed and celebrated, the emerging trend in some circles is that masculinity is now considered a liability, a biologically determined trait that has led to a societal problem of epidemic proportions. Driven by a combination of evolutionary and hormonal influences, boys’ brains develop later than girls’, leaving them disorganized, inattentive, and plagued by poor verbal skills. These traits are only exacerbated by their unwillingness to ask for help. The irony is that, as the men flounder, women are increasingly likely to become powerful, ambitious, high-earning leaders and realize the formerly masculine ideal of success. By all accounts, masculinity is dooming our boys.
Coverage of the ‘boy crisis,’ presented with a combination of surprise, alarm and foreboding, mirrors Betty Friedan’s 1963 expose of the plight of the 1950s housewife and the “problem that has no name.” That constellation of neuroses, unfulfilled expectations, and boredom experienced by so many women was poised to create a social crisis, yet had been largely unaddressed by the larger society. Along with Simone de Beauvoir’s Second Sex, Friedan’s Feminine Mystique played a critical role in launching the offensive against the concept of femininity in the 1950s and 60s. Social theorists exposed the term ‘femininity’ for what it was: not a description so much as a prescription for how women should be. In doing so, they debunked the myth of the joyous and healthy pursuit of perfect femininity. Later activists like bell hooks argued that the perverse ideal of femininity didn’t just curl up in the laps of armchair academics. Rather, it imprisoned women.
But even as activists launched their attack against femininity, they largely ignored femininity’s partner-in-crime: masculinity. Femininity was rejected because it carried the obviously damaging connotations of weakness, ineptitude, and natural inferiority. But masculinity, with its connotations of strength, aptitude, and natural superiority, appeared to be relatively innocuous, if perhaps somewhat exaggerated. And so it was that even as women were able to slough off what had once been the feminine ideal, the masculine ideal continued to impose its flattering but rigid expectations over men for decades to come.
This neglect of the male situation has become painfully evident as the alarm over male educational attainment forces us to finally think about what it means to be male in our modern society. Maleness, which for so long has been regarded as the default, is now being poked and prodded and examined as never before. To what extent is the masculine ideal still superior, or even relevant, in society today?
What used to be seen as exclusively male traits, like competitiveness, leadership ability, economic success, dominance, and power, are no longer so unambiguously male. Other manly stereotypes, like the stoic, self-reliant, and logical thinker, are no longer so clearly superior to stereotypically feminine emotionality and nurture.
Education is perhaps the one area in which the traditional understanding of masculinity has most been challenged and reevaluated. But evolving norms in the domains of sexual behavior, popular culture, and social structure have also blurred the line between feminine and masculine. Just like femininity, masculinity has progressed from being understood as a dichotomy to a continuum, and from a continuum to continua. As gender becomes increasingly divorced from sex and the hierarchy of gender becomes less rigid we are poised to redefine masculinity. A definition like “the properties characteristic of the male sex” now seems distinctly unilluminating.
In this issue’s cover feature, Diversity & Distinction explores the “Masculine Mystique.”
1: the properties characteristic of the male sex [syn: maleness] [ant: femaleness]
2: the trait of behaving in ways considered typical for men [ant: femininity]
Gender differences are making a comeback.
In recent months, media sources ranging from The New Republic to Newsweek to Oprah have begun to increasingly tout the notion that boys will be boys and girls will be, well, successful. The popular press would have us believe that boys are in a state of crisis: less excited about school, less hopeful for the future, and less likely to attend and graduate from four-year colleges than their sisters and girlfriends. The reasons that have been proffered range from excessive time spent playing video games to underdeveloped verbal skills to the adverse effects of feminism. The author of a December 2005 article in the National Review, for example, notes that “radical feminist academics, theorists, and activists” are “to blame for boys’ alienation from our current schooling regime.”
Psychologists, sociologists, and activists have, for decades and even centuries, tried to convince the public that gender disparities were the result of a sexist society and pervasive inequality. But the new century finds us subscribing, once more, to theories of “innate differences” and genetic and biological determinism to explain increasingly evident educational disparities between the genders.
While masculinity has historically been affirmed and celebrated, the emerging trend in some circles is that masculinity is now considered a liability, a biologically determined trait that has led to a societal problem of epidemic proportions. Driven by a combination of evolutionary and hormonal influences, boys’ brains develop later than girls’, leaving them disorganized, inattentive, and plagued by poor verbal skills. These traits are only exacerbated by their unwillingness to ask for help. The irony is that, as the men flounder, women are increasingly likely to become powerful, ambitious, high-earning leaders and realize the formerly masculine ideal of success. By all accounts, masculinity is dooming our boys.
Coverage of the ‘boy crisis,’ presented with a combination of surprise, alarm and foreboding, mirrors Betty Friedan’s 1963 expose of the plight of the 1950s housewife and the “problem that has no name.” That constellation of neuroses, unfulfilled expectations, and boredom experienced by so many women was poised to create a social crisis, yet had been largely unaddressed by the larger society. Along with Simone de Beauvoir’s Second Sex, Friedan’s Feminine Mystique played a critical role in launching the offensive against the concept of femininity in the 1950s and 60s. Social theorists exposed the term ‘femininity’ for what it was: not a description so much as a prescription for how women should be. In doing so, they debunked the myth of the joyous and healthy pursuit of perfect femininity. Later activists like bell hooks argued that the perverse ideal of femininity didn’t just curl up in the laps of armchair academics. Rather, it imprisoned women.
But even as activists launched their attack against femininity, they largely ignored femininity’s partner-in-crime: masculinity. Femininity was rejected because it carried the obviously damaging connotations of weakness, ineptitude, and natural inferiority. But masculinity, with its connotations of strength, aptitude, and natural superiority, appeared to be relatively innocuous, if perhaps somewhat exaggerated. And so it was that even as women were able to slough off what had once been the feminine ideal, the masculine ideal continued to impose its flattering but rigid expectations over men for decades to come.
This neglect of the male situation has become painfully evident as the alarm over male educational attainment forces us to finally think about what it means to be male in our modern society. Maleness, which for so long has been regarded as the default, is now being poked and prodded and examined as never before. To what extent is the masculine ideal still superior, or even relevant, in society today?
What used to be seen as exclusively male traits, like competitiveness, leadership ability, economic success, dominance, and power, are no longer so unambiguously male. Other manly stereotypes, like the stoic, self-reliant, and logical thinker, are no longer so clearly superior to stereotypically feminine emotionality and nurture.
Education is perhaps the one area in which the traditional understanding of masculinity has most been challenged and reevaluated. But evolving norms in the domains of sexual behavior, popular culture, and social structure have also blurred the line between feminine and masculine. Just like femininity, masculinity has progressed from being understood as a dichotomy to a continuum, and from a continuum to continua. As gender becomes increasingly divorced from sex and the hierarchy of gender becomes less rigid we are poised to redefine masculinity. A definition like “the properties characteristic of the male sex” now seems distinctly unilluminating.
In this issue’s cover feature, Diversity & Distinction explores the “Masculine Mystique.”
Etc.
Dear Readers,
“So…can you, like, take off your shirt?” one of us said.
“And, here, put this on,” added the other, reaching into her bag and digging around, before producing a bra.
We were standing awkwardly in the room of this issue’s cover model, trying to appear collected and dignified, holding back the nervous laughter that threatened to erupt as it had just moments earlier in the stairway. Happily for us, our cover model seemed not to notice, gamely doffing his shirt and donning the bra.
He flexed. We shot. It was done.
The whole process took no more than five minutes, and yet it somehow seemed incredibly subversive (and more than a little voyeuristic). What made us smirk at the thought of putting a bra on a man? And why did we squirm as we discussed where and how to take the photograph? The process of orchestrating the photo forced us to examine our own conceptions of masculinity, to find the source of the strange combination of discomfort and excitement that came when those conceptions were challenged.
It is our hope that as you read the magazine behind the man in the bra, you too will examine a little more deeply that idealized stereotype that so often goes unchallenged in all our lives: masculinity.
We first started thinking about putting together an issue on masculinity early last semester. Only days earlier, the alternately celebrated and vilified feminist writer Betty Friedan, best known for her Feminine Mystique, had passed away. And right around that time, one of the more hotly debated topics on campus was the scheduled opening of the Women’s Center in fall 2006. While a lot of recent campus dialogue revolved around women, noticeably absent was a discussion of men, and their changing place on campus and in the world.
In some ways, because men are the authors of so much of the culture that surrounds us, it seems redundant to discuss masculinity further. In academia, men’s studies, while nearly twenty years old, has not gained the momentum of women’s studies, and for good reasons. But by shrouding men and masculinity in silence, we fail to recognize that masculinity is not a static baseline off of which all other gender performances should be judged, but a dynamic force in our society. Masculinity is a force that acts on men, women, and our relationships with one another. The awkwardness surrounding our cover photo revealed that force to us. Even as women are encouraged to step into some traditionally male-dominated spheres, there is still certain ground that is strictly and unquestioningly off-limits to men. In some ways, then, the masculine mystique remains even more inscrutable than its counterpart.
Beyond the cover story, this issue as a whole represents a culmination of a year’s worth of creative changes at D&D. The magazine format has been updated, with a cleaner, leaner design and a novel mix of articles—longer features now share space with a variety of shorter, snappier pieces. Even as D&D updates its look, however, we remain true to our founding mission: to provide a common ground for all students to exchange ideas and promote social justice on and off campus. For example, in compiling the “What is Masculinity?” piece, we contacted the leaders of various student groups on campus to solicit their thoughts on the definition and relevance of masculinity for their members and society as a whole.
Questions? Feedback? Submissions? We’d love to hear from you. Send us an e-mail at diversity.distinction@gmail.com. Or simply drop by our weekly meetings in the Women’s Center conference room in Canaday basement. Writers, photographers, designers, business-people, aspiring cover models: all are welcome.
Sincerely,
Frankie Chen & Elise Wang
“So…can you, like, take off your shirt?” one of us said.
“And, here, put this on,” added the other, reaching into her bag and digging around, before producing a bra.
We were standing awkwardly in the room of this issue’s cover model, trying to appear collected and dignified, holding back the nervous laughter that threatened to erupt as it had just moments earlier in the stairway. Happily for us, our cover model seemed not to notice, gamely doffing his shirt and donning the bra.
He flexed. We shot. It was done.
The whole process took no more than five minutes, and yet it somehow seemed incredibly subversive (and more than a little voyeuristic). What made us smirk at the thought of putting a bra on a man? And why did we squirm as we discussed where and how to take the photograph? The process of orchestrating the photo forced us to examine our own conceptions of masculinity, to find the source of the strange combination of discomfort and excitement that came when those conceptions were challenged.
It is our hope that as you read the magazine behind the man in the bra, you too will examine a little more deeply that idealized stereotype that so often goes unchallenged in all our lives: masculinity.
We first started thinking about putting together an issue on masculinity early last semester. Only days earlier, the alternately celebrated and vilified feminist writer Betty Friedan, best known for her Feminine Mystique, had passed away. And right around that time, one of the more hotly debated topics on campus was the scheduled opening of the Women’s Center in fall 2006. While a lot of recent campus dialogue revolved around women, noticeably absent was a discussion of men, and their changing place on campus and in the world.
In some ways, because men are the authors of so much of the culture that surrounds us, it seems redundant to discuss masculinity further. In academia, men’s studies, while nearly twenty years old, has not gained the momentum of women’s studies, and for good reasons. But by shrouding men and masculinity in silence, we fail to recognize that masculinity is not a static baseline off of which all other gender performances should be judged, but a dynamic force in our society. Masculinity is a force that acts on men, women, and our relationships with one another. The awkwardness surrounding our cover photo revealed that force to us. Even as women are encouraged to step into some traditionally male-dominated spheres, there is still certain ground that is strictly and unquestioningly off-limits to men. In some ways, then, the masculine mystique remains even more inscrutable than its counterpart.
Beyond the cover story, this issue as a whole represents a culmination of a year’s worth of creative changes at D&D. The magazine format has been updated, with a cleaner, leaner design and a novel mix of articles—longer features now share space with a variety of shorter, snappier pieces. Even as D&D updates its look, however, we remain true to our founding mission: to provide a common ground for all students to exchange ideas and promote social justice on and off campus. For example, in compiling the “What is Masculinity?” piece, we contacted the leaders of various student groups on campus to solicit their thoughts on the definition and relevance of masculinity for their members and society as a whole.
Questions? Feedback? Submissions? We’d love to hear from you. Send us an e-mail at diversity.distinction@gmail.com. Or simply drop by our weekly meetings in the Women’s Center conference room in Canaday basement. Writers, photographers, designers, business-people, aspiring cover models: all are welcome.
Sincerely,
Frankie Chen & Elise Wang
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)