#DO YOU MATTER, NOT ALL MAN

This article was originally posted on my personal blog on May 25, 2014. This was before #MeToo, before I found out that "incel" is a thing, and before I could have ever imagin that the person mentioned in the first sentence would end up idolized by a movement with that name. Such developments make this modest contribution seem so much smaller now, yet these words bear repeating.

Most of you have already heard of the shooting spree in California carried out by that young man who wrote an anti-woman screed.

I will not have anything to say about him or his murders. I'm more concerned about how we respond -- or, more specifically, how I, as a man, should respond.

First of all, I should direct you this "open letter to all men." Then, I should tell you to do a search for #YesAllWomen on twitter.

At that point, I should just wrap up this post. What else is there to say?

~~~

Unfortunately, there's still a lot more to be said -- by men, to other men -- because we don't seem to be listening. Many are not listening because they don't see a need to; they know their place in the patriarchy, and they like it. To these men, I say: 'fine, be that way, but know that equality will be wrestled out of your hands whether you like it or not.' Others are not listening because they think equality's already been achieved and don't get why women are still fussing. To these men, I say: 'you're not even trying, so try again - try harder.' Then there are those who act like they get it and are supportive, but who also think that they should speak up when generalizations about men are made, because they who are different exist and are not like the rest, so they must be heard because their existence matters, because...

And that's where the reasoning ends, as it's never really clear why their existence matters to the task at hand. The fact that you who are different exists certainly hasn't dismantled the patriarchy or even remotely affected the day-to-day experiences of the vast majority of women. So why do you matter, Not All Man?

You say that you're an ally, so step aside. Let those who suffer speak. You say that you want to help, so shut up and listen. Learn something new.

I learned about learning in my first semester of university; I too was that kind of smart aleck in the Introduction to Human Rights class who wondered why we have "women's rights" when we have "human rights."

"Aren't women humans? Isn't that demeaning?" Zing. I was so clever.

The lecturer gave a good response, but I was barely 17 and stubborn, so didn't really listen. The lesson she tried to instill in me -- a lesson about differences that make a difference -- only sank in accidentally, when two young women in another class casually described their experiences walking through streets that I thought I knew, but could not recognize from their descriptions. I kept asking them to clarify, because I could not really believe that the same street I walked down every day could be so dark and ominous to them. One of them laughed when I said that I've never felt fear there, and smiled kindly, adding, "well, that's because you're a shab."

Like it was the most obvious thing in the world, which, of course, it was. But it had only become obvious to me then, after letting myself learn something new.

Being an ally is not about you or me or our purported cleverness. It's about being a friend, a rafeeq -- one who accompanies -- and it's a journey that has no foreseeable end. Even now, years after my initial 'breakthrough,' after I've picked up all the right feminist theory and have generally tried much harder, I still stumble. I have an embarrassing memory of a day last year when I grew angry at a friend who brushed aside her despondent mood as "PMS," going off on a tirade about "medicalization," the etymology of "hysteria," and -- from a perversely feminist-ish kind of god's eye view -- drifted further away from her embodied experience and into the theory-bro ether of mansplaination. I'm not proud to say that I was as slow to realize the obvious on that occasion as I had been on that day I relearned the streets of Beirut.

It's a sad fact of this unequal world we live in that we must constantly relearn to unlearn ourselves. The easiest way for us to do this is to get hurt and hurt back -- and only I know how much I've learned about myself and others by causing pain -- but there are better ways. So this is my own little open letter to all men:

Men who think proving that not literally every man is plotting death is the primary struggle at this juncture: cut it out. That's not what allies do.
Men who bristle at any systemic critique of their place—however small they think it is—in a world that is actively hostile to women: stop doing that. Your place is not small.
Hearing someone tell you about actual daily fears and experiences of harassment that you just can't see is not some yellow star on your chest. Just stop.

That's how we get to square one. That's how we can start having conversations about how we, as men who seek to be allies in the fight against patriarchy -- because it's right, because it frees us from tyranny as well -- can actually matter.

Listen. Own your part in the problem. Embrace criticism. That's a good place to start.