Straight Man's Liberation

Whenever I walk into a room—whether for class, a club, a meeting, or anything, really—I can usually count on feeling a certain level of anxiety. I’m usually worried, consciously and unconsciously, about having to interact with straight men. Suddenly, my demeanor changes, my tone deepens, my mannerisms become more “masculine,” and I generally feel vulnerable. When I am dealing with a straight male authority figure—from an academic adviser to a rabbi—something about me feels more self-conscious, more careful, and less sure of myself. Where I might engage a woman or a gay person, I hold back and distance myself from a straight man. Out of all my friends from high school and college, I can count almost no straight men, and though this is certainly not the case for everyone, I know many people who express similar feelings.

Still in the closet, I spent years in high school feeling intimidated by straight guys. I can’t forget the not-so-uncommon use of the words “gay” and “fag” to refer to all things uncool and unmasculine. Hating sports and desperately wanting to be accepted like the rest of my peers, I remember forcing myself to read sports pages and pretending to care. In retrospect, I can see the self-inflicted damage that arose from continually trying to act like someone I wasn’t. I can see how faking it for so many years made me feel awkward, uncomfortable, fake, and hidden in straight male environments. For most of my life, being around straight men meant feeling susceptible, and that sentiment still resonates. Since having a meaningful relationship requires trust and respect, I have found it nearly impossible to establish such a rapport with men who represent some of my deepest insecurities, often through no conscious fault of their own.

We all grow up receiving messages about what it means to be a man. We learn that real men are supposed to be straight, tough, and not to show emotion. They don’t cry, love sports, are providers, and have sexual prowess with women. These are just a few of those communications we receive. None of us really have a choice in the matter, but everyday we operate in social systems which idealize images of men which are damaging to all men, gay and straight. Recognizing, understanding, and considering ways of changing the unfortunate outcomes of these systems can allow us to get beyond knee-jerk reactions and consider consequential change.

When we inadvertently or advertently enforce our socially constructed notions of masculinity, the outcome is often homophobic. We tell people to “act like men” if they get too emotional, or explain that if only they “had some balls” the situation would have been different. We write off weak or non-athletic men as queers and pussies, and we find ways, subtle or unintended as they may be, to reinforce a notion of manliness which requires strict adherence to a code which is nearly impossible for most men to maintain. So while a straight man might be telling someone to “toughen up” or stop “whining like a bitch,” I hear him calling me a “faggot.”

Greater visibility of gay people within certain spheres of society has had the paradoxically adverse effect of reinforcing many of the straight male norms which cause so much pain for gay and straight men in the first place. In an effort not to be perceived as gay, some men—often some of the most progressive and “gay-friendly” ones—will go to great lengths to establish their masculine credentials. This can be observed when you see a guy cross his legs and then revert to a less comfortable position for fear that his action might be seen as too unmasculine. Or when someone begins to use a word like “sweet” or “kind” when describing a close male friend or peer, only to replace it with another adjective. Or when close friends who are straight men would hug one another, but decide against it for all the questions—internal and external—that it may provoke.

These actions are understandable. Most of them aren’t meant to be anything more than an attempt to maintain one’s masculine position in a given situation, and they are often unconscious and knee-jerk reactions. But each time a man decides to uncross his legs, use a different adjective, or decides not to hug a friend, he helps strengthen—whether he wants to or not—norms which impact all men, and gay people especially. Most people have good intentions and don’t even recognize the impact of their actions. Unfortunately, the gender and sexual system within which we operate necessitates actions which hurt everyone. It is recognizing this fact, uncomfortable and unintended as it may be, that changes feelings of confusion and distrust into alliances and trust.

Things don’t have to be this way. During the ROOTEd Allies Series, I attended the male allies discussion. It was an eye-opening experience to hear a number of straight men talk about their own difficulties connecting with other men in meaningful, noncompetitive ways because of oppressive masculine norms. The talk highlighted both the progress we have made and the direction we need to take in the future.

The ROOTEd discussion illuminated a window into a different world: one in which queer and non-queer men come together with mutual trust and respect to explore the shared oppressiveness of masculine expectations. Ultimately, it is conversations like these which help us understand how the struggle for sexual and gender expression is intimately wrapped up in the struggle for straight men’s liberation as well.

Ira Stup is a student in the School of General Studies majoring in American Studies.
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