Growing Pains of a Male Feminist
One young black man explains how he believes in feminist ideals but often catches himself falling short.
My introduction to any kind of feminist thought can be traced back to my freshman English class at Hampton University. The first day, I showed up late and sported a Malcolm X T-shirt. My professor was not impressed with my simultaneous embrace of black nationalist politics and CP time, and he took a special interest in me, requiring that I stay after class for the first two weeks of the semester.
We would discuss writing, music, the politics of the day and my being a knucklehead. One day he took me to his office and handed me a book that he wanted me to read. I don't recall the title now, and my lack of interest led me only to skim it briefly, but it was largely about concepts of power and privilege relative to social status.
Upon my returning the book, the professor asked me what I thought, and I halfheartedly replied that it gave me something to think about regarding power when it comes to being rich or white. He poked a finger into my chest, stared intently at me and asked, "And what about for you, black man?" He emphasized "man" so hard, he must have known that I had skipped over that part of the book.
It was the first time I'd ever had to think about the idea of having any sort of privilege. Growing up as a black man in America, I was taught that I was born with a target on my back and that the shooter's aim would become more precise as I grew older. With so much focus given to the idea of black men as an "endangered species," the specifics of the oppression experienced by women at the hands of men never registered.
The following summer, I delved into the work of Angela Davis, Assata Shakur, Toni Morrison and bell hooks. Up to that point, I hadn't seriously considered the intellectual and artistic contributions of women, especially black women. The closest I had come to embracing a feminist icon was Pam Grier's title character in the film Foxy Brown, but I knew that had to change. It was becoming more and more clear to me that all freedom movements were interconnected and necessary.
I took a feminist-political-theory class my junior year and was introduced to feminist writers and activists of all different stripes. For an uninitiated 20-year-old, it was rather uncomfortable sitting through readings of The Vagina Monologues, but in hindsight I'm grateful. It was challenging and enlightening, but also frustrating and disheartening, to come to the realization that I had been complicit in the oppression of women simply because I was unaware.
Years later, I still have a lot of changing to do. See, it's one thing for me to admonish someone like Chris Brown for violence against women, but it's completely different to analyze my own shortcomings. It's hard to look in the mirror, given what I know now, and admit that I am still prone to think and speak of women with whom I've been intimate as sexual conquests rather than as full and equal partners. They are no longer women; they become sources of bragging rights, tales I can share to prove my sexual prowess. So many of my ideas surrounding manhood are still linked to sexuality and a sense of "ownership" of women's bodies.