A
Letter from the Front For the last thirty years, men
have been blessed with an ever-increasing supply of advice from women on how we
should adapt to the new world of gender equity. All the media and every institution have been at the service of
the re-education of men. That this
re-education has been necessary I do not question. No sane person would argue against the proposition that much change
was past due and that much has been for the better. On the other hand, most women would not argue with my assertion
that much current advice from women to men is contradictory or just plain
silly. The solving of any great problem
requires many theories, only a few of which will ultimately be tenable, and it
is no great surprise that we have had to wade through some fairly turbid
waters. What I question here is the problem of the
re-education of women. The
dialogue has been almost completely one-sided up to now, men being allowed to
add only silent embarrassment and a dull acquiescence (that or ostracism from
"good" society). Men have
been left an opinion page on sexual matters only in Playboy, and this is
easily dismissed. Disbelievers in
current ideology, whatever it may be, are banished to the far right, whether
they belong there or not, and their sexual privileges are revoked. Men cannot even defend themselves without
inciting further unrest, and without the mouth of Camille Paglia, one assumes
we would be toothless. Women are left to
re-educate themselves, with no input from men. This isolationism has encouraged
a kind of reverse sexism, and many women now allow themselves a prejudice
against men, an overt attitude of superiority that would never be accepted from
the new man. A major societal problem,
one concerning both sexes, is being left to one sex only; and this situation is
yet regarded as an advance in fairness.
As if there are no good men, and
nothing good to be expected from men.
But if this is the case, as some women apparently believe, then there is
no solution, and all argument is pointless.
The case will ultimately be decided by arm-wrestling or pistols at dawn,
and all is lost even for the winner.
I grew up in the seventies in a
household that was thoroughly feminist.
When I was fourteen I gave up my room to a visiting Frances (Sissy)
Farenthold, the first woman to be nominated for Vice-President. Five years later my mother ran for US
Congress. So I found it both logical and
desirable that women should be equal.
Not only politically equal, but equal to me. I have always been attracted to intelligent
women. I have had several long-term
relationships that were good and sometimes very good. I have yet to experience a backlash against my upbringing,
although I sometimes consider that my experiences in the last five years would
excuse one. I mention my past, my
childhood experiences and expectations, because I expect most women will not
want to hear what I am about to say, and I want to make it a little harder for
them not to listen. Most, I predict,
will invent a history or a personality for me to explain my stubbornness. That they do not know me at all or that they
have no evidence but my opinion on this one subject to support such a blanket
dismissal will not hinder them, I know.
They will not care that I have supported Dave Foreman and Earth First,
that I consider Noam Chomsky and Ralph Nader and Faye Wattleton and Wendell
Berry heroes, that I am not for GATT or NAFTA or any other economic growth,
that I help frogs to cross the street.
I will nonetheless be considered as one with Jesse Helms and Dinesh
D'souza. I am either friend or foe, and
no friend would dare to argue with them about the sins of patriarchy or the future
of sexual relations. This, in short, is my call: for anyone with
any expectations at all, the dating scene (for lack of a better word) is a
shambles. I can hear the reaction now:
"We try to change the world, and all you can talk about is the 'dating
scene.'" True, I talk of
dreams, which are the children of an idle brain. You dream of equal pay for equal work, I dream of an evening with
an agreeable woman (knowing I will not be allowed that word
"agreeable," I use it anyway).
But surely a large part of this revolution, for you, is the desire for a
more agreeable man: a man with whom you may have a better life than you
were allowed before. If not, if all
this is truly only a material or political issue, I'm not sure I want your
"changed" world. It sounds
all too familiar. I claim that for all men and women with
blood in their veins, the new sexual politics has chilled the air. I claim that
this is important, for men and women.
And not just for those over thirty—for whom it has always been more
difficult—but equally for those in their twenties or teens. Young women have been traumatized, most not
by men but by the milieu. And the more
intelligent, the more sensitive they are, the more they have suffered. Despite all the talk of equality, young
women have not been given much help in defining a positive equal role with a
man. And I don't mean in a business
relationship, or in the public arena, but privately, where it effects us all
the most. We have been taught how to
fight, but not how to get along. The
self-respecting young woman who will not be submissive thinks she must be
dominant, and so she cannot get along with any but the most sheepish men—men
who do not interest her for long. The problem begins early and is
pervasive. It sources are varied, but
some are easier to isolate and gloss.
Sex education is either non-existent, clinical, or designed primarily to
discourage pregnancy and disease: information is skewed heavily toward the
negative, and is more akin to propaganda than to proper preparation for being a
sexual member of society. Sexuality is
equated to drug abuse, and surely nobody has missed the parallels between the
two "just say no" campaigns.
The AIDS scare has been used to full effect in our high schools. Young men, with their daily doses of
testosterone which repeat "just say yes," are often able to overcome
such puritanism. But young women tend
to stay confused much longer from the mixed and spurious information they
receive. Their first few relationships
may be ruined by their fears and coldness, they build walls to protect
themselves from more such pain and loss, the situation snowballs, and many
never recover. We are, in effect,
raising a generation of sexual neurotics, and we are not nearly so far away as
we think from the Victorian attitudes of a century ago. To battle teen pregnancy and disease, we preach the same sermon
to all, sacrificing the good with the bad.
To prevent a certain percentage of sexual mistakes, we stigmatize all
sexual action. But we do not explain
how something that is wrong when you are 17 can be right when you are 18 (or
25, or married, or what have you). And
if teens are often irresponsible (which they are), what of those in their 20's
or 30's? How many truly responsible
people do you know, of any age? Isn't
all sex dangerous, rife with consequences?
The same arguments for abolishing teen sex can be made for sex among
20-somethings, for all sex. And these
arguments, though usually more subtle, are being made. It is felt by many that sex is just too
risky, at any age, physically and emotionally.
It is better to pass. A just
say no attitude is hard to break.
We inherited the belief that it is better to do nothing than to risk an
error from Judeo-Christianity, and it inhibits us still. Of course sex between teens still happens
among the most adventuresome, but "good girls" are less likely to
become sexual in high school, even with steady boyfriends, than they were ten
years ago, or twenty years ago, and they are more likely to consider themselves
better for it. The societal pressure that determines this situation effects
everyone, both those having sex and those not having sex. Those who refrain from sex until college, or
worse, marriage, often become sexual anorexics: having suppressed a natural
appetite for 5-10 years, they find desire may be permanently stunted. Or they may find that redirected or
misdirected sexual energy has created neuroses that are not easily dislodged. Those who do have sex as teenagers are rarely
allowed to feel good about it. For
these there is the danger that sex will become attractive not because it is
good but because it is "wicked."
There is a large contingency of the sexually active who now prefer to
snarl at eachother rather than smile, who find great pleasure in many kinds of
pain. A childhood where natural desire
is defined as sinful develops into an adulthood where only perversity is
pleasant; and we are destroying the sexual innocence of our children—not by
allowing them to become sexual too early (which is absurd) but by forbidding
them a sexuality that is innate and artless.
Since the 70's,
sexuality has been attacked from all sides.
First the backlash against the "hedonism" of the 60's, with
the campaigns of the "moral majority" and the Reagan
conservatives. Then the HIV scare, the
AIDS scare, and the new prevalence of HPV.
And, all along, the ever-increasing power of feminism. Feminism, in my short lifetime, has moved
from the mostly sensible claims of someone like Betty Friedan, to the
breastbeating of Gloria Steinem, to the icy vituperation of Cathleen
McKinnon. The most visible, and some
could argue the most powerful, current of contemporary feminism is created by women
with a grudge. A top-volume,
them-against-us, take-no-prisoners feminism that, despite being mostly
non-sensical, non-factual, and hysterical (and far from the mainstream) yet
somehow manages to garner extensive media coverage and influence policy. Sexual politics, like all other politics
now, is a spectacle, a Machiavellian made-for-TV brawl that no longer even
pretends to transcend agitprop. In the
latest ideology, Adam has replaced Eve as the scapegoat of history. Once Woman was evil, the tempter of Man's
spiritual purity. Now Man is Azazel, the
source of all evil. This sort of hatchet
feminism, added to AIDS and just say no, has all but obliterated an
American sexuality that was never strong.
Young men are (mostly) still willing, of course. But young women are vastly different than
they were 20 years ago, or even 10 years ago, to no ones benefit. I am not happy, obviously. But neither are they. Anyone can see it. Apparently, though, their mothers and grandmothers don't
care. Young women are suffering for the
cause; the entire generation is a martyr.
But perhaps it requires the viewpoint of someone with entirely different
motives—that is, a male—to see that the ends do not justify the means. The ends do not even require the
means. Feminism was proceeding just
fine under its own steam before the New Neuroticism began to emerge in the late
80's. I can understand the impatience
of intellectual women: I have seen it in my mother. I admit that it is way past time for men to start acting like
civilized creatures, and that many remain class-A bastards. But I don't understand how
institutionalizing, or attempting to institutionalize, a new Puritanism—based
not on resisting Satan, but on thwarting everything male--could be seen as a
logical "next weapon" in the latest Cold War. Women have always attempted to use sex as a
weapon, and it has never worked for them.
It didn't work when they were supposedly weaker, and it can't work now
that they are supposedly stronger. It
can't work because it is based on the male-created myth that women don't
need sex, or that their desire is much less.
Men invented this myth to allow themselves to do whatever they wanted
with women. As desireless creatures,
women needed to make no decisions about sex.
They were expected to use sex as a tool, just as men were expected to
use their physical strength as a tool.
It was the nature of things. Of course, only for someone for whom sex
meant nothing could it be used as a tool.
Men can never use sex as a tool because it is too important in and of
itself. Everything else is used as a
tool for sex. Sex is the end
(Freud said the only end). Female
historicists now argue that women have advanced beyond the sexual liberation of
the 60's, where they were allowed to feel good about sex. They are now liberated not only from false
societal standards, standards created by men.
They are liberated from men.
If the 60's was about feeling good about having sex, the 90's was about
feeling good about not having sex. Women
don't need sex. Some women need babies,
but these can be got anyhow. Men can go
to the devil. Hah, hah. This is just so much boasting, though, and
the quicker we get past it the better.
If we have learned anything about eachother in the 20th century, it
should be that men do need sex and love, and that women do need love and
sex. Good men demand both, because
sex is not enough. Good women demand
both because love is given form by sex: without sex, love becomes a cold
abstraction that cannot retain its power, either for men or women. Intellectual women are impatient for the
future, and so am I. I am impatient for
intellectual women to become de-Grinched.
I pity my own situation, here in Whoville, but, as fairness demands, I
pity theirs equally. It doesn't take a
psychologist to see that 9/10's of the problems of young women arise from
repressed needs, and that if they could take a man into their confidence, if
they could benefit from a good relationship, much of their anger and fear would
evaporate. Make no mistake, I am not
saying a woman needs a man to solve her problems for her. But I am saying that a woman needs a
man, and that simply having him will resolve many internal conflicts that seem
overriding, but that are mostly peripheral (and many times illusory). The same applies to men, and men who try to
convince themselves that women are evil or unnecessary also redirect much
emotion into self-generating problems. But our sexual
enlightenment hasn't kept up with our progress in the public arena. We get along better at the office at the
cost of getting along worse in the bedroom. Is this a necessary connection, or
only a temporal one? Temporal, I think,
and one that has roots that are very deep.
The licentiousness of the 60's was, for the most part, only a physical
looseness over a spiritual emptiness.
That's why it didn't last. Even
most of the hippies couldn't find a way to feel good about sex, even when it
felt good, in a society still under the umbra of St. Paul and Augustine and
Arthur Dimmesdale, where all flesh is corrupt.
That is why so many "boomers" returned to conservatism in the
80's and 90's. Modern social critics
and art critics are always quoting Nietzsche and pronouncing our century to be
Dionysian—passionate and uncontrolled rather than rational and serene. Hence our art—think of Jackson Pollock; or
our politics—the uncontrolled fury of Hiroshima or the chaos of Vietnam. But this is sheer Newspeak: spin control to
press one agenda or the other. Such
talk in the age of the machine is lunacy.
There is nothing Greek, neither Dionysian nor Apollonian, about culture
in late 20th century America, and it is my belief that Nietzsche would consider
it blasphemous for his "last men" (which is what we are) to even make
the comparison. The Greeks adored the
body, deified the body. Their gods were
immortal, not just in spirit but in flesh. The body itself, its coloration, its curve, its every detail,
defined beauty for the Greek artist.
Likewise, sexuality was a good, in and of itself. Corruptible, yes; but also organic,
necessary, and, like any action, potentially virtuous. For us, we are born
into the sin of flesh and sex, which must be redeemed. For them, a child was born into the natural
virtue of sex, which he retained until he made improper use of it. And art and sex were closely related for the
Greek artist (as for all pre-Modern artists).
The Greeks could have understood the dichotomy of the passionate high
coloration and linear energy of Delacroix (as Dionysian) and the serene highly
controlled color and line of Ingres (as Apollonian). But they could never understand an art, or any other social
construct, that proceeded from sexual pathology. Our art is not Dionysian; it is manic. It is not the expression of an exuberant Id at the expense of Ego
or Superego. It is the neurotic cry of
a depressed Id, of a repressed sexuality.
The confused and incoherent yawp of smothered desire. Pollock never created his giant canvases in
bacchanalian fits (as might be argued for some of those of Picasso—who was not
and could not have been American).
Pollock paintings were vast therapy sessions that, at least for a while,
took for him the place of alcohol. As it has gone for American 20th century art
so it goes for American 20th century sexuality. Just as postmodern or postcolonial art has deconstructed, so has
the sexuality that grounds it.
Sexuality is mostly undefined now; so is art. Art and sex are both "pluralistic." They are both also highly inflammatory—decidedly
not passionate, but psychotically aggressive, both from the point of the
male and the female. Healthy sex
and art are both unfashionable, and therefore nearly unknown. This is no tenuous academic connection, but
a connection that affects even those who know nothing of art or social
criticism. The highly educated and the
socially aware may be the most confused, but in America, where even the
dullest are raised by the media, there is no residue of innocence. One expects even the Amish will soon create
their own website and chatroom, so that they too may discuss sex in titillating
detail without ever having it. The
pathology of current sexuality is everywhere apparent, from the arthouse film Elizabeth,
where the Virgin Queen herself becomes the latest role model for young women
(lopping off her gorgeous locks and renouncing the traitorous Male, Elizabeth
apotheosizes herself, and saves England in the process) to Ally MacBeal,
an even more influential, and transparent, icon. Ally, who is sex-obsessed, never gets any sex: not because she is
lacking or unlucky but because she is so charmingly neurotic. And the actress who plays her is her:
no steady boyfriend to report and then, surprise, she's anorexic. She's popular because she's symptomatic. She's now standard-issue bright beautiful
girl. A young woman would probably feel
left out of all the wacky glitzy fun if she weren't a sexual mess. This week's number one movie: Crazy/Beautiful. In the 90's, young women graduated from false
AIDS statistics in high school to false date rape statistics in college, so it
is not surprising that their attitudes toward men and sex are
self-defeating. Once men have been
demonized, a ritual cleansing becomes very difficult, and cannot be achieved by
men themselves. But the demonization of
men damns all heterosexual women, too.
Some are beginning to realize this.
They are beginning to recognize that the claims of self-gratification
are vastly overrated. They are noticing
that men's self-esteem does not seem to be effected by admitting that they need
women: why should a woman's confidence be any less secure? And they have noticed that the demand that
they be judged fairly implies that they judge men fairly. It is common knowledge that men have failed utterly
to live up to women's modern expectations.
But for the reconstructed man, women are not very impressive
either. They want to be treated as
equals while still expecting special treatment. In courtship, they do not make an equal effort. They do not risk as much, especially in the
opening stages. They demand to be
impressed while retaining the right to be unimpressive, and not to be called on
it. They are incredibly judgmental,
early and vocally, on the most personal things imaginable; but they may not be
judged. Basically, they now demand the
right to be indulged in all things. To
be equal when it suits them. To be
helpless when it is convenient. To be
dominant one moment and submissive the next.
To be provocatively sexy and untouchably aloof at the same time. To complain of aggression and yet wear
chains and dog collars and painful tattoos.
To bemoan the rapine of nature and yet to purposefully mar themselves. In the end, what is often asked is the right
to act foolish and yet be respected for it.
It is therefore no surprise that most of them who have boyfriends have
boyfriends far beneath them. Men
equally attractive and equally intelligent will not put up with their games,
and so they end up with lesser men who only confirm their low opinions. Men are not infinitely patient, and I do
not think we should be expected to become so, but we do, in general, give a
woman the benefit of the doubt. If a
man is attracted to a woman, he wants to believe that she is also good and
intelligent (or he wants to believe that she has the qualities he desires in a
woman, whatever they are). He therefore
invests her with those qualities in his mind: she has them until she proves
beyond a doubt that she doesn't. She is
on a pedestal until she pushes herself from it. This approach is logically flawed, of course, but at least it
errs on the side of generosity. A woman
is just the opposite. The man is in a
hole until he can dig himself out. He
must prove he is not a bastard like all the rest. Anything can be a source of concern. If he is attractive, he is probably vain, cold, unfaithful,
rakish—at any rate, a risk. If he is
intelligent, he is probably a know-it-all, cold, unexciting, bookish—at any
rate, high maintenance. Talent,
likewise. Money, likewise. If he has any positive traits and yet seems
nice, he is probably snowing you. If he
seems too good to be true, he probably is.
This is not just a cliché from the most ridiculous books on the best
seller list, it is standard practice, and I have encountered it from women
across the board, no matter their backgrounds, politics, SAT scores, or ages. And so, for a man, the opening ceremonies
have become a time of abuse. An
attractive woman always has lots of men interested in her, so who are you? You are expendable. You may be insulted with impunity. There will be three more calling next week. The woman feels that she is in control, and
so is not required to be thoughtful.
But she is not in control.
Almost without exception, the modern woman does not pursue men. She does not approach men, she does not call
men. She often does not call them back,
even if she likes them. They should be
persistent, she thinks (like her grandmother's grandmother), or they are not
worth knowing. And so it goes. Next week she quickly insults or annoys the
only decent men she may come across, and only the most pathetic continue to
call her. But this sort of control is
hardly worth having a revolution for.
Nor does it seem exactly equal or fair.
Many of you are now shaking your heads,
saying I'm not like that. But
you are like that. I have met many of
you, the PhD candidates and the artists and novelists and poets and
businesswomen and scientists and musicians—beautiful, talented, highly intelligent,
and completely thoughtless. And mostly oblivious. From what we read, very few of you are in
good relationships. The shortage of
good men and all that. The more
exceptional you are the more unhappy you are.
But you make it very difficult for me (let us be specific, and personal,
for a change). Either you do not go
out, or, if you do go out, you go out in a large unapproachable group. You go to a loud place where no one can talk
to you. Or, if you go out by yourself
or with one girlfriend, you do not ever look up. You do not notice anything around you. If you see me, you pretend not to. You, as the woman, obviously cannot be expected to just walk up
to some attractive guy and say hi (although this is precisely what you
expect me to do). But you have
forgotten how to flirt. You will not
catch my eye, and if you do, you will not smile. You will give me no indication that my luck may finally
change. But remember, we are equals: it
is just as hard for me to approach you as it is for you to approach me. I have had my feelings hurt just like you
have, and, because I am expected to take the risk of the first approach, I have
been rejected much more than you have. Not only do you not flirt or give any positive
indications, once I have approached you, you set up obstacles. Even the most progressive of you still play
this old male/female game. Maybe you
think I like jumping over hurdles.
Maybe it is something you do unconsciously, so deeply engrained that it
cannot be suppressed. But it meshes
damned poorly with your other, more modern, demands on me. Being independent and being contrary are not
the same thing. The only time you will
look wistfully at me, staring and smiling, is when you are with another
guy. Then you are safe. Safe from taking a risk, from making a
judgment. It is these times that I
think you deserve the problems you have. You may counter that men are dangerous: you
are not paranoid, you are careful. I
say that this in no way excuses your attitude.
Most men are jerks, granted.
Conversely, most women are a mass of symptoms. Still, we must find eachother.
Your defenses have become so impenetrable, so non-selective, that the
knight in shining armor is being sacrificed with all the miscreants. The man on the white horse riding up to the
castle wall will not appreciate being treated as a peasant; and the loss, fair
one, is yours. Besides, many of the
women who have the lowest opinion of men are the same women who frequent the most
dangerous places in town, who are seen with the biggest losers, whose short
list of boyfriends always seems to include a heroin addict or a recent
parolee. They are in reaction, of
course, throwing themselves away to spite me and mine. But can they possibly have had such a vast
experience of men by the time they are 20 or 25 to justify writing off the
entire male sex? This, mes egals, is called prejudice, no matter how bad it
has been for you. And it is no more a
virtue for you than it is for men. My advice, from someone who needs you, who
needs you to be equal, is to quit shirking your duty in the name of easy
politics and self-indulgent psychology.
Stop pretending you like being alone, that you "need time to find
yourself." Stop pretending to be a
lesbian because it is easier (you know who I am talking to, and who I am not
talking to). I am just as important to
you as you are to me, and it is time to act accordingly. It is time to begin the ritual cleansing of
the primary category I find myself in.
It is time to take responsibility, to take a risk. It is time to look for me. It is time to be nice. If this paper was useful to you in any way, please consider donating a dollar (or more) to the SAVE THE ARTISTS FOUNDATION. This will allow me to continue writing these "unpublishable" things. Don't be confused by paying Melisa Smith--that is just one of my many noms de plume. If you are a Paypal user, there is no fee; so it might be worth your while to become one. Otherwise they will rob us 33 cents for each transaction. |
