Regular readers know that I recently returned from a trip to
Colombia, where I met with a lot of kickass activists who gave me a lifetime’s worth of stuff to think about. I thought I’d share some of the highlights.

From an activist who faces death daily, and whose son had a gun held to his head because of her activities:

“Words entangle. Bodies are clear.”

“I’m not afraid because I have a sense of history.”

“Some people never say anything because they think that will keep them safe, and they get killed anyway. I won’t let them make me stop myself.”

“My hope comes from the people who have hope, even when they don’t have a reason to. And it’s not naive hope that inspires me. It’s hope with eyes open.”

From a Colombian feminist:

“The counter-memory of the oppressed is the evidence of resistance.”

“…This counter-memory is the principle quality of la cotidiana (daily life).”

From a feminist man doing work with masculinity and gender:

“If we ask ourselves why we are men in this way, we will ask ourselves what other kinds of men we could be.”

From a liberation theologian:

“We must dialogue the present with the past. When the present is dark and unclear, we must find light somewhere. That light is in the past. It is not in the future, because the future is not here yet.”

A new study has come out of the University of New Hampshire showing that about 70% of New Hampshire men have been physically assaulted, and about 1 in 20 have been sexually assaulted. The results are probably approximately representative of the general U.S. population.

As an anti-violence educator, I’ve spent a lot of time trying to find ways to explain patriarchy, male privilege, and violent masculinity to guys who haven’t been exposed to a critique of those things… ever. Of course there are a host of challenges that come with trying to take on such a Quixotic task, and this study underscores one of them.

Patriarchy, as it is actually lived by men, sucks.

Patriarchy, as lived, doesn’t feel like privilege. It feels mostly like getting beat up, and always fighting for status—always trying to live up to some insane, ever-shifting masculine ideal. Men don’t feel like they are in a better position than women. In truth, no one in a hierarchical society, not even at the top, feels like they’ve “won,” or like they’re the in-crowd. Pretty much everyone feels like they’re struggling.

And, as this study shows, everyone in a culture of violent masculinity suffers, because violent men and boys are violent toward both women and men. The violence takes different forms for different groups, and women/gender non-conforming people face specific and often more deeply emotionally destructive violence, but no one really escapes it.

So how can we honestly articulate the realities of “privilege” that isn’t privilege? Sure, in some ways men do a bit better than women and others within the closed system of patriarchy, but overall they are being harmed, and overall they (rightly) don’t feel like life is a bowl of cherries. If we tell men (especially men oppressed on the basis of other aspects of their identity) that they have “privilege,” their usual response will be to look at their legitimately difficult lives and tell us we’re full of it.

I’ve been trying to find a more specific word for privilege–one that will address the fact that within the context of a kyriarchical system, people gain measurable benefits like resources, personal safety, etc. simply by being part of a group favored by kyriarchy, but that will also recognize the fact that if we consider the possibility of a world without oppression, kyriarchy actually offers no real benefit. To anyone. It is a system of oppression, and it oppresses everyone.

I think that clearer words regarding privilege will be helpful in discussions of oppression, but I don’t think that’s all we need. In order to really reach those benefiting from various “privileges” of oppression and enlist them to help in movements against oppression, we need a way of speaking about privilege that addresses the real lived (and shitty) experience of those in positions of power, without falling into the obvious traps of minimizing the reality of privilege or centering discussion of oppression on the experience of dominant groups.

So I’ll get right on that. Should be done by Tuesday.

As you probably know, Chris Brown beat the crap out of Rihanna the other night. He also strangled her until she lost consciousness. Predictably, much of the media has already fallen into the passive voice to describe the event (as in, “Rihanna was beaten by Brown,” a phrasing that subtly places responsibility for the beating on her), and there are a whole lot of vague references to “the incident” appearing.

An “incident” doesn’t sound like anyone’s fault, does it?

There are also plenty of people popping up to minimize, deny, and justify Brown’s actions. He was abused. He was provoked. He’s really a nice guy. T.I. said of Brown’s actions, “We’re entertainers, but we’re still human—all of us. Don’t expect us not to make mistakes.”

Uh huh. Mistakes. I feel just terrible when I forget a friend’s birthday. Or, you know, try to kill them. Oops!

In addition to the usual reasons people let abusers off the hook, there is still money to be made off of Brown. You had better believe that there are a lot of people who want to downplay this incident so they can get paid. So at what is probably the biggest teachable moment regarding men’s violence against women that we’ve had in at least a decade, they’ll be spending their time and tremendous media connections trying to make partner violence seem like it’s not really that big a deal.

Regular readers of this blog know that I’m a huge believer in the potential of positive bystander behavior in response to violence, both to create more positive environments for survivors and to create a culture where such violence is not tolerated. Anti-violence educator Don McPherson always asks his audiences what would happen if every time a man beat his partner, all of his neighbors showed up at his door the next day and collectively said something to the effect of, “We don’t do that here.” He thinks that the world would be different. I agree. Personally, I get pretty psyched just imagining that scenario.

Brown’s beating of Rihanna is essentially a situation where the whole country heard that neighbor, and we have to decide how to respond. Will we ignore it, minimize it, forget it, and teach all the men in the “neighborhood” that this is behavior they can get away with? Will we use Brown’s race to marginalize him, so we can pretend that nice white people don’t do that sort of thing? Will we tell black women that they should protect black men, no matter what those men have done to them?

Millions of young people are watching to see what we, as a culture, believe about men’s violence against women. What will we tell them?

On my recent trip to Colombia, a student activist we met pulled out a cigarette. One of my fellow travelers half-jokingly told him that he shouldn’t smoke because it’s bad for your health. He laughed, and responded, “I’m an activist. I’m going to die young anyway.”

I have to admit, my visit with Colombian student activists left me very frustrated with U.S. college students, and with myself. The students in Colombia have literally seen their friends shot for organizing. They have few resources, and certainly not the kind of fancy student centers, activities budgets, and leisure time that even fairly poor U.S. students can expect. These students have almost nothing, and they risk everything, to live their ideals. And somehow, in spite of all the obstacles, they really had their shit together. They were organized. They were cohesive. They were effective.

Students I’ve worked with in the U.S., on the other hand, have flaked out on campus organizing efforts for reasons such as “I forgot,” “This is too hard,” and “I’m busy.” They have pretty much everything they could possibly need, and they usually can’t be bothered to organize. For my own part, I’ve often given less than my all to activism, out of what I can only call selfishness and laziness.

It is increasingly difficult for me to excuse this behavior as I think of being led around the campus in Colombia to the various pictures of dead student organizers, and the spots on campus where they were shot. On the other hand, I don’t want to be too hard on Americans. It doesn’t seem fair or healthy to expect anyone to give more than they feel they can. Maybe the students in Colombia are organized because they have to be—because things are just that bad.

Like everything involving my trip to Colombia, I’m left with more questions than answers.