“I hate men” is a phrase frequently heard. What people usually mean by it: “I hate patriarchal patterns.” That is a fundamental difference. And whilst reflecting on my own prior usage of the sentence, I automatically had to think about the men in my life who’ve been the sweetest counterexamples.
One of my closest friends is a man. A wonderful one. We’ve been in each other’s lives since we were ten and have since become inseparable. After I moved away, we established the routine of calling the other every week, usually on Sundays. More often than not, these calls turn into hours-long conversations, and we only break that habit when something urgent comes up. I trust him unconditionally.
Besides him, one of the few other people who can read me like a book is my grandpa. He is a great listener and he never fails to sense when something is up. And he has ever since cultivated a particularly impressive understanding of unconscious patriarchal patterns, due to a natural feeling for power imbalances. On the days when my grandma makes potato salad for lunch, he leaves some of it just in case I stop by. He knows how much I love potato salad and that it’s one of the few things I never cook for myself because it just doesn’t make a lot of sense when you’re living alone. This tiny anecdote captures the essence of his character.
When a woman says that she hates men, she refers to the type a good man would agree with her on.
The personified embodiment of every structural power problem that we have. And still: the statement itself serves one bitter aftertaste.
It’s incredibly difficult to address topics like these because it can quickly be dismissed as “pick-me”, especially when you’re a woman writing about men in a “favourable” way. But first, differentiation isn’t a one-way street, and second, this isn’t a question of whose side to take. It’s a sincere attempt to leave this whole angle behind.
Whenever we state something so drastic and generalised, we automatically neglect important parts of the reality. And this can become potentially problematic when it ignores the effort of those who are already part of the solution (or actively trying to be). It’s quite typical for the way we publicly tend to transport information, because polarisation draws more attention than differentiation. But the question is whether that’s actually productive in our aim to build genuine eye level in our society.
We can address important structural issues and point out problematic dynamics while maintaining a fair and differentiated perspective. One thing doesn’t have to cancel out the other.
In collective change processes, it’s important to name the underlying root cause of the problem.
Otherwise, we’ll just repeat the cycle. Generalisation erases parts of reality, and personally speaking, I refuse to forget. The one who walks you home at night simply because he wants you to be safe. The guy friend who immediately steps in when some other man doesn’t seem to understand what “I’m not interested” means.
The men who get why the three words centred in this text would slip out of a woman’s mouth, and not take it personally – because they see where she comes from. They don’t try to discuss patriarchal patterns away, they acknowledge them – well aware that while they weren’t the ones who established them, they’re now in the position to make a change.
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