Allyship

I think about male touch often. It has intrigued me for a long time but only recently have I
started to think about it critically, with the aim of understanding it, or the lack of it, on a
deeper level.

Someone I live with gave me a massage recently. He is training and needs welcome bodies
to practice on. As far as I can remember, I have never had a massage from a man. This may
be in part due to the fact that I know more female masseuses, but also that I often avoid
men as much as possible. I prefer a female therapist and will often go for a female checkout
clerk or gravitate to female conversations at parties. This is in part, due to the fact that my
response to other men fluctuates between my own disinterest and a genuine fear of
violence.

I experienced male anger from a young age, and as I got older violence became the norm, as
I imagine it does for a lot of, if not all, boys at some point. In my teenage years as I found my
own autonomy, I was subject to continual, often daily threats of physical assault, and one of
the main reasons that I came out relatively unscathed physically was because I was never
proud enough to stick around. I ran, and sometimes I think I ran for my life.
I’ve seen a boy murdered by 20+ assailants over a girl. I’ve seen friends beaten so bad their
face was not visible through the blood, and I’ve been chased down the street with a
machete. My brother who is three years younger than me has a host of similar, sometimes
even more awful stories. We grew up surrounded by violent young boys, and occasionally
grown men.

When myself and Olly started Men Against Patriarchy, it had not occurred to us the full
impact of creating a safe, male presenting only space. Very quickly the conversation with
the group occurred about how we all had rarely if ever felt safe or comfortable in a room
full of men. Since then, every single member has commented about their experiences in
mostly the same way. Rooms full of men can terrify us, and we rarely express this fear.
When we began talking about male touch, my mind instantly went to my youth. I grew up
for a large part, in East London, which was mostly Bengali, Sikh and Gujrati with a mix of
Caribbean, Polish and Irish. In India, it is normal for male friends to hold hands in public. I
could be on the bus, or walking through the park, could be almost anywhere in fact, and
would see groups of men squashed onto a bench or walking down the road linked arm in
arm, hand in hand. At the time, I didn’t understand it, but I could tell it wasn’t sexual. But
honestly, I found it strange.
As an adult, learning about masculinity, feminism and patriarchy, not to mention race, white
supremacy and capitalism, I have come to understand the differences in cultures that don’t
follow the dominate Eurocentric ideas we do. Many places around the world don’t bat an
eye at positive male physical interaction, in fact it is normal. As a white westerner, the
constant patriarchal message I have received from my peers, society and entertainment, is
that male touch is one or a combination of, three things. Violence, domination or of a sexual
nature.

We see this in the ways young boys interact in school, play-fighting or bullying. We see it in
locker rooms where men berate and try to dominate each other, sometimes in very subtle
ways. Male characters in movies good or bad often have a moment or many moments of
violence or aggression. If it’s the hero, their violence is hailed and lauded, if they are the
villain, its usually the hero who puts an end to their violence, with their good form of
violence. Our justice system doles out violence on a regular basis, not to mention our
foreign policy, our attitude towards the homeless and refugees or those at the bottom end
of the economic / class pyramid. In comedy movies male touch is nearly always sexualized
and even though calling someone gay isn’t the easiest joke to make, it is still implied to this
day. On the whole, we do not view male touch in a positive light. Think about the last time
you met another man, what was your physical interaction? More likely than not, it was
either a form of firm handshake, a strong pat on the back or a simple head nod. That being
said, I have noticed a change in younger men, who appear to embrace more and seem more
comfortable being tactile.

As my housemate gently ran his hands up and around my body, I couldn’t help thinking
about how this experience had never happened for me. I am a tactile person and I love
human contact, and the more I have looked head on at my masculinity, the more I actively
hold and embrace my male friends that I love and cherish. As much as I can acknowledge
this, I feel that I have a long way to go. I can’t imagine walking hand in hand with a male
friend down the road in the way that Congolese men do, but then at the same time I
probably wouldn’t do that with a female friend, saving that privilege for my partner or lover.

The journey of anti-patriarchal thinking, is long and complex and needs inspecting from
every angle. Our entire sense of self as men is dictated to us but we can choose to reject
and unlearn these unhelpful parts. Observing one’s feelings around male touch does not
require you to go out and wrap yourselves around the next friend you see. You may just not
be a very tactile person irrespective of the ways in which patriarchy has imprinted itself on
you, but it is important to understand why we all think and behave in certain ways.
Acknowledging our fear, our internalized homophobia or whatever other reason we may
reject male touch is crucial to breaking the barriers of patriarchal masculinity.

We reject the idea of a singular masculinity, instead we try and use the plural, masculinities,
to own the complexity or our experience and our being. We are living and we contain
multitudes.

“All the world is a stage” said Jaques in Shakespeare’s’, ‘as you like it’. In many ways, this
statement has merit. If we think about this in terms of gender and especially masculinity,
we can look at the performance of a socially constructed and encouraged form of
masculinity, one that includes a variety of different masks for different acts, or occasions.

In order for men to fit within a rigid social narrative we are required, at least in part, to use
these prescribed masks to perform our masculinity in situation contingent ways. For
example, if you were to find yourself in an altercation in the street over something as
simple as a parking space, and another man is expressing anger towards you, in order to
maintain a sense of dominance, to protect their ‘honour’ or ‘dignity’, many men would
reach for the aggressor mask. This mask may well not fit with your internal feelings, which
might infact be fear, timidness, or even compassion, but whether you are conscious of it or
not, we are socially conditioned to respond in a performative, dominant way less we be
shamed for being lesser men.

Now to be clear, this is not the case for everyone. Talking in general terms is not always
helpful, yet these common masculine performances are fairly well documented. I have my
own relationship with masculine masks in which I have consciously and subconsciously
forced myself to participate in actions and activities my core beliefs reject. I often do so out
of fear or social exclusion, shame and in some cases, for my own safety.

Although this could be a piece about masculine performativity in general, the focus of this
article is more specific, in considering the question of male feminism, and male allyship.
The question around male feminism has long been one that I struggle with, not in terms of
whether or not I agree with feminism, but rather in terms of whether it is possible for men
to be feminists? In ‘the will to change’, bell hooks writes about the importance of feminist
masculinity as an antidote to patriarchal masculinity. She remarks, “Feminist masculinity
tells men that they become more real through the act of connecting with others, through
building community.” Her chapter, ‘Feminist manhood’ beautifully describes a variety of
reasons why it is important for us to reject patriarchy and accept feminism for the collective
liberation of men. This book had the answer to my question; men can be feminists.

Having accepted the reality that male feminism is essential, the next question was how
might one embody feminism without performing it? As an organisation, this is a question
that we keep coming back to and regularly check in on. It is no good running an anti-
patriarchal group that sits around being self-congratulatory and unaccountable, whilst
signalling to the world that we are on the right side of history. We do not want to collude with individuals that choose to present as ‘good feminist men’ and are constantly looking at
ways in which we can reject the performance of being ‘good feminist men’. Our words
must be backed up by change, and action.

Within the different groups that I help to facilitate, the work that I find most challenging is
that I undertake with perpetrators of domestic violence. I find this work so challenging not
because of the content of our sessions, or even because of the harm that they as
individuals have caused to their partners, but rather as I catch them as they start to utilise
the language of a reformed man. This performance, which often requires certain men in
our groups to suddenly change their language, is usually not hard to spot, and within
perpetrator work, we have the benefit of being in constant communication with the victim
support team. This enables us to hear the reality of what goes on, and show us when the
‘good man’ trope begins to be enacted.

In terms of the wider social-circles we move in, observing and countering performative
allyship is much harder as it is not based in a specific context, such as a controlled group.
To challenge it would also require an element of judgement based on factors one can only
guess at externally. This is not to say there are no signs that someone you know might be
engaging a performance of male feminism, but it is worth being mindful of understanding
the whole story. At the same time, sometimes the disconnect between words and actions
is so cavernous it’s hard not to blurt it out the moment you see it. I am aware of many men
my women friends have had interactions with, where a presentation of understanding and
solidarity with feminism has been surface deep. This often looks like boundaries being
crossed, displays of anger at rejection and sometimes outright aggressive behaviour when
questioned about their intent. Although I have always felt uncomfortable calling myself a
feminist, if I am honest with myself, I can look back throughout my life and see how I have
perpetuated these harmful tropes.

All that being said, I am very aware that this way of thinking can lead to the inflated sense
of superiority over other men that may not know as much, or be on the starting point of a
journey into unlearning patriarchal masculinity. This parallel is part of the complexity of the
problem. Confronting any person on issues that may challenge their internal narrative is
not something to be taken lightly, and should be done in a delicate manner. Calling out
someone on their behaviour, although sometimes needed, and sometimes cathartic, can
have an adverse effect on how they view a situation and may only serve to entrench the
view that we may wish to change. Shame is such a huge part of patriarchal culture and the
shame of being called out can be enough to put men off from ever actively choosing to
address their harmful actions. This does not mean that one should always tread carefully
around men simply because they seem impossibly fragile, but perhaps framing an
engagement from the perspective of what we hope to achieve may be more beneficial. By
calling in, by using curiosity rather than judgement, the threat of attack, shame and
rejection can be minimised, and the person we are engaging with may be far more open to
discussion, reflection and ultimately accountability.

Benevolent or paternal sexism is often partnered with performative allyship. The idea that
women need the good, kind, feminist man to swoop in and save the day from the ‘other’,
the misogynist, the bad man, is a disguised way of sticking to the gendered, sexist, status
quo. It creates a sense of self-righteousness that can be shared on social media, and its
often most used around a current event such as the #metoo movement or the murder of
Sarah Everard. Allyship is not about situating yourself into a position where you come out
looking like a better person, it is about knowing when to step back, stop talking and listen.
As with any form of activism, there is the need to be outspoken and vocal about the issues that concern us, but if we are all talk and no action, then an introspective look to see what
our intentions are is crucial. Being an ally to women, as well as the LGBTQIA+ community
should be centred around addressing your thoughts, opinions and behaviours and taking
accountability for the ones which have the potential to be, or are, harmful.
We do not get it right first time. We do not know this from birth, and being raised by a
single mother does not automatically make you a feminist. To combat misogyny and
patriarchy, we are challenging and unlearning an entire social structure that has been
constructed to keep men as the oppressors. It is not something we can change with a
hashtag, a bell hooks book and a want for us to look good in the eyes of the world. It
requires failure, learning from mistakes, an ability to forgive and love oneself, taking
accountability where it is needed without collapsing into shame, and most importantly, the
openness to listen to women.

If you at any point, think you are one of the ‘good men’, I would urge you to stop and
question what you think that means. The binary of good men vs bad men denotes there is
an end point, once you reach the zenith of ‘good man’. There is no end point, only an
infinite path of learning. If you have solved all the issues of patriarchal masculinity, if you
have defeated white supremacy and ended colonialism, then perhaps you have missed a
few things on the way and need to go back and re look at them.

We cannot undo a system so insidious in our lifetime, but we can try and we can do it
without needing a pat on the back.

Men Against Patriarchy

Male touch

Performative allyship – the pitfalls of male feminism