Illustration by Mariah Burton

Where do men belong in feminism? Hillary Di Menna tackles the thorny question of what it means to be a strong male ally—and whether women really need them

SOMETIMES I CAN’T DECIDE where men fit into feminism. On the surface, it seems like such a simple, yes-or-no question: they either belong or they don’t. But whenever I confront the question, I always end up surrounded by books with my feet propped up against the cat-scratched arm of my should-be-trash couch. This is what happens when my emotions get in the way of understanding feminism. Or, maybe understanding feminism is meant to be a journey. Something I know as fact one day is an enigma the next. On the subject of feminism, my brain is constantly turning, my thoughts are jumping all over, rushing ahead, sometimes so fast that I can’t keep up.

Recently, I wanted to post a quote by Michael Kimmel, author of Angry White Men, as a Facebook status. Kimmel is a sociologist and author who eloquently describes feminist concepts—even those unfamiliar with feminist jargon dig him. But I let my fingers pause, hovering over the keyboard. I just couldn’t shake the tiny, but persistent, voice inside me demanding to know why I was quoting a man. Was I trying to hush personal insecurities by proving men can be feminists too? Did I just want to prove we feminists aren’t man-haters? Or was I using a man’s words to appeal to other men? Why did I even want to appeal to men? And, if I did quote Kimmel, would I be furthering the awful belief that a man’s words have more validity?

In the end, my questions crushed me into inaction. I continue to read Kimmel’s work, but I’ve never shared his direct quotes. I can’t stand the knowledge that his words would be heard over a female feminist’s. But that’s not to say there isn’t a place for men in feminism. I mean. I think. Right?

It’s like this inside my head whenever I tackle this tough question: How do men and feminism fit together? Or do they? Can they? I was 24 when I went to school for journalism. At the time, I was in the court system fighting for custody of my daughter. I was also getting a restraining order against her father, as well as navigating the mental health system. I felt trapped in these institutions of a patriarchal system: I was victim blamed; I wasn’t taken seriously; people would suggest I was hysterical and incapable. I decided I’d use journalism to spread messages of social justice. I’d had enough. I figured if I was so shocked by how the system actually works, others would be too.

It was through my writing that I started to identify so strongly as a feminist. Financially, the year after graduation was hard. Single moms have a stigma attached to them that prevents them from finding something as important as an apartment to live in, and limited affordable child care resources can prevent finding steady employment—especially when those child care hours don’t mimic the same hours as the shift work women are prone to getting. In September 2014, I decided to go back to school and enrolled in the Gender and Women’s Studies program at York University. I wanted to better understand a system that seems to hate me, and all women, so much. I wanted the tools to change it—or at least something that would give me more information to share with others.

I quickly learned, though, that there is no clear answer—only more questions. I’m now thinking even more critically about what I’ve learned about gender in the first place. As a white cis-gendered woman in a certain place of privilege, there are things I knew about, but didn’t fully comprehend: the ways in which trans people can be doubly silenced, the complexities involved with socially-constructed races, the ways in which women of colour may not identify with the feminist movement I, as a white woman, have access to. As my list of questions grows, I find it even harder to pinpoint exactly where men fit into all of this.

I know there are, of course, feminist issues that people of all genders care about: national child care programs, legal protection for sex workers and their clients, addressing rape culture—I could go on. “Feminism doesn’t mean advocating only for women any more than the word ‘human’ only refers to men,” says Dr. Kristine Klement, one of my professors at York. “Feminism means recognizing that we live in a world where sexism and inequality exists and deciding to take responsibility for changing it.”

And, it’s not as if only women understand or experience oppression—this essential piece of humanity, I know, is what can make men good allies in the movement. It could even make them good leaders. “The different layers of who I am come into play,” says Jeff Perera, explaining how he strives to be a strong ally to women-identified people. Perera is the community engagement manager for the White Ribbon Campaign, a movement of men and boys that works to end violence against women and girls. “I am a man of colour, I grew up around domestic violence, I am someone who has always been more tuned into seeing what experiences are like that women have to deal with.”

Perera certainly possesses a quality that makes him empathize and listen. During one of our first conversations I mentioned how much harassment I face while taking public transportation (getting pushed around, cat-called, having my ass grabbed). He didn’t play the macho role, as so many men do when women relay these experiences (see: letting us know if they were there they would beat up our harassers). He didn’t try to avoid the potential awkwardness my revelations could lead to, nor did he make it obvious he was just waiting for his turn to speak. Instead, he asked me what I had to go through, and how it made me feel. He genuinely wanted to know. This can be such an uncommon experience, I was actually taken aback.

“Women are leaders in articulating their struggle, lived experiences, and empowering themselves,” Perera says. His campaign focuses on men, and the harmful ideas out there in regards to masculinity and how it can result in violence against women. This is how Perera is a good ally. “I feel for men and young men,” he adds. “It’s more about embracing the roles they can play to take on harmful masculinity in spaces we, as men, work, love, play, hang out, and worship in.”

In summer 2014, Perera spoke at SlutWalk Toronto. My best friend and I were holding the walk’s official banner behind the speakers as a backdrop. Already feeling emotional and empowered, I was elated to hear a man who “gets it.” I frequently cried “Yes!” and cheered as he spoke. After getting to know Perera, I know my feelings and enthusiasm for his words were genuine, because I know he is genuine with his intentions of being a strong male ally. Still, after the event, I asked myself: “Why did it matter so much to me that a man said those words, when so many woman have been screaming them for decades?”

SlutWalk co-founder Heather Jarvis says the event usually has one male speaker to acknowledge male victims of sexual abuse. In fact, the walk has always been gender inclusive and Jarvis believes there is room for male-identified people within the feminist movement. “With any form of oppression,” she says, “one side can’t do all the work.”

Certainly, I have male friends, family acquaintances, and colleagues who identify as feminists. One of those men is Matt, who lives in Toronto (and asked I not use his last name). As a gay man, Matt faced traumatic homophobic bullying throughout high school. “I was called a ‘faggot’ daily,” he says, “and this was especially true during PE class where I failed miserably.” Matt believes a fundamental component to feminism is recognizing that life is regulated by oppressive gender norms, but that oppression is not identical in all groups. At the same time, he says he still benefits from male privilege—in more ways than one. “So, when I call myself a feminist I am striving to understand gender oppression and challenge it,” he adds. “This is also why I am an ally.”

Wanting to learn more about feminism, Matt decided to sit on a committee focusing on feminist issues. In 2011 he joined the Feminist Action Committee of the Greater Toronto Worker’s Assembly, an anti-capitalist, worker-based organization. The committee primarily sought to apply a feminist analysis to the assembly’s organizing, but was open to all genders. Matt was the only man. “I had a vague identity as a feminist but was completely naïve to what that actually meant in practice,” he says. “The committee helped me to understand.” He—rightly—stood back from the spotlight, during meetings opting for tasks such as minute-taking, allowing the women in the committee to focus completely on what they wanted to accomplish. At a similar meeting I attended, a man provided child care for my six-year-old daughter. Both of these tasks, child care and minute-taking, have been traditionally assigned to women. When men alleviate the pressure to do this work, they are allowing us to have a distraction-free space to discuss issues and prepare solutions.

Tracy Ashenden, front woman of feminist punk band Cross Dog, agrees men can be productive allies, and uses the example of stepping in when seeing street harassment. “If you witness this, as a male, say something,” she says. “Put a stop to it. Do work by putting yourself in the position women are likely unsafe to put ourselves in.” Feminism is about equality, Ashenden adds, but it’s also important to remember social justice is about empowering the marginalized group—in this case women. When men speak for women or take the lead of feminist groups, they are enforcing their power and their dominant position; they are not providing any productive support. It is more important for a man to behave like a feminist than to identify as one. As Ashenden quips: “Hero cookies will not be given out here.”

If anything, we need men as allies, if only to promote feminism to other men. It is frustrating and emotionally draining for a member of any oppressed group to explain the oppression they feel to the dominant group. My own experiences never seem to be enough. It isn’t enough, for instance, when I share that I have been emotionally, physically, and sexually abused by men since childhood. I have to eloquently explain how these things affect my life (things I haven’t even fully figured out). I have to prove how, statistically, my experiences are actually common. And I often have to explain these experiences to people who often cannot fathom them as part of their own lives. A man may dismiss a cat-call—but he doesn’t know how many of us women have learned they can be signs of violence to come. Some men may not understand how the system fails, shames and blames us for our own sexual trauma. Feminist activism is already hard work, and I simply don’t have the stamina needed to prove injustice exists in the first place. When a man takes on the role to educate other men, it helps women conserve their energy to focus and progress on their own terms.

In many ways, it seems natural to be open to male allies and men who identify as feminists, whether they are marching side-by-side with us during the SlutWalk or respectfully staying to the side in solidarity at a Take Back the Night march. But I also have some worries. Some men have mansplained feminism to me. Others—men close to me who claimed to be feminists—have assaulted women. And, what about Hugo Schwyzer, a male feminist-identified writer who turned out to be abusive and racist toward women of colour? Ally is a wily word. It sounds friendly enough. It communicates the message efficiently enough: someone who is supporting an oppressed group. But like the title feminist, it can be abused. A male friend of mine won’t use the word. “I don’t like the term ‘ally’ because I think it implies an ability of those who are allies to wash their hands of their position of privilege,” he says. So he identifies as a feminist, “I see it as one way to hold men accountable,” he adds, “so they can’t just wash their hands of it once they get uncomfortable.” And as Perera says of privilege, we need to get comfortable with the discomfort: “We need to do that initial gut check, address the ugly things we find, and continue to own up to mistakes.”

That includes my privilege. As I examine how men fit into feminism, I feel compelled to confront my own cis-privilege and the dangers of binary thinking. There is a broad spectrum of gender —making it near impossible to look at the question of allyship in the simple terms of men versus women. And, to that point, if we’re talking about what makes a good ally, shouldn’t we also ask: What about women feminists? The white women who ignore women of colour? Or women-only groups that are not trans inclusive? Many female feminists don’t know how to be good allies either—and they aren’t feminists I want to align myself with.

In my feminist advocacy work, I’ve often heard that the word feminism should be pluralized. There are so many branches: social feminism, radical feminism, ecofeminism, and on. As Jarvis told me, no individual can own language, just as no singular group can claim feminism. Language can serve as a bridge and a barrier. If more people—men, women, and trans—identified openly as feminist, perhaps it wouldn’t be seen as such a dirty word. And, the pressing issues women face today won’t be solved with me running around making sure everyone identifies properly as a “feminist” or “ally.”

After all this is done—when a system that favours one gender over others is abolished—we won’t need to focus on whether men should be in the feminist movement. But until then, we all need to sit on our own versions of our should-be-trash couches, get out there, and constantly ask questions, continually evaluate our goals, and act toward progress in gender equality. What’s truly important is that women obtain not just a voice, but an influential one. I want us to be seen as people the way men are. And if men can help play a role in this, I want them on the women’s rights team—knowing it is a women’s team.

It isn’t only men who shy away from the term; some women do too. And some men, like Kimmel, do say they are feminists. Yet Perera can’t help but notice the sour faces he sees some other men make when feminism comes up. Language is intricate enough that words can serve as bridges, but if a word serves as a type of barrier, Perera asks why, “If the word feminism is a barrier for a guy, meet them where they’re at. Talk about sports, talk about being a dad, talk about dating.” Which is what he does with his writing in Higher Unlearning. He doesn’t do this to be sneaky or water feminism down, but to be approachable and start that dialogue, “I’m serving lasagna stuffed with feminism,” he says. “People are saying it’s delicious, and I say, “You like it? It’s actually stuffed with feminism.”

Kimmel shares a similar sentiment, “When people say ‘I’m not a feminist but,’ we tend to focus on ‘I’m not a feminist’ when we should be listening to the ‘but.’” If someone embraces that women are human and deserve human rights, Kimmel suggests self-identifying as feminist isn’t important. Even Perera doesn’t identify as a feminist based on his own principles regarding respect. He identifies as a person striving to be an ally toward woman identified people.

Though society is shifting and more people are “getting it” Perera understands feminist is a loaded term.  With such a spectrum of types of feminism, and the way mainstream media portrays the politic, he says, “Some guys see all the chaos and avoid it.” And in the end, “Feminism isn’t a sexy sell.”

“You don’t want to be the party pooper,” says Perera. “To be the guy to call out the cool guy [who is making sexist remarks]” With this social scenario, however, he says a male doesn’t have to go into a big feminist lecture, instead he can roll his eyes and walk away commenting, “That’s not cool man.” He says it is all about getting comfortable with the discomfort, to realize that feminism is not about who has it worse or shaming men, but is very much about men.

“The beauty of patriarchy is it divides us so much,” he says. Men are supposed to have expensive cars and acquire women, they aren’t supposed to go home alone ever, they are supposed to be strong and tough—never vulnerable.  And when guys are trying to figure all of this out, it is at the expense of women and girls, he says, like they’re dolls. “The world we live in codes [men and boys] that way,” says Perera. “But we have the responsibility to reject it.” With his work Perera talks to men and boys about this binary idea of the roles of men and women, “Let’s talk about us.” He doesn’t make it aggressive and he isn’t trying to convert men’s rights activists, or preach to the choir: He is talking to the guys in the middle.

“It sucks, men won’t listen to women,” he says. “So it’s my responsibility to direct the right conversation.” Taking a cue from the business world, Perera is trying to find innovative ways to explain how feminism is about all people: it isn’t about men losing any of their privilege, but for humans to grow. It is about creating a dynamic environment where everyone can be who they are. “It’s not easy being a guy,” Perera says. So when being a guy means being having it all together without any emotion, “Stop trying to be a guy.” Feminism means freedom, he says. “A respect for women and girls means guys can be themselves.”

When we all talk about feminism more and more, more people will have our back. And if a guy does call out those sexist jokes, people will respect them—even if it isn’t said aloud.

Another part of Perera’s work is about getting men to understand. I met Perera at SlutWalk Toronto 2014.  The event created a safe place for women. But, as he points out, when the event was over, he and other male allies simply went home. Whereas women returned to a world where they continue to be slut-shamed and harassed.

An activity Perera does with White Ribbon is having guys tape $100 to their chest and go through their day. These men and boys reported feeling anxiety wherever they went. People were staring and it was hard to focus at work and/or school. Solace could not be found in being with friends because they didn’t know if their friends would take the money from them. He knows this doesn’t give the full experience of what a woman goes through in her day to day, but it does help when everyday sexism is invisible to so many men as they do not experience it.

Some are uncomfortable with the word feminist—with the female part of the word it sounds like a female only movement. “What, like mankind?” laughs Kimmel. “The word humanist isn’t identifying anything,” says Perera. “It’s the ideal, but we aren’t there yet.” The term feminist exists because “We can’t simply erase people’s experiences and pretend we live in a world where everything is resolved.”

Over 1,000 people walked from Nathan Phillips Square to Queen’s park this past Saturday. Some identified as feminists, some identified as sluts and others called themselves allies. SlutWalk Toronto 2014 was the third for the city since it began in 2011. Now, SlutWalk has become an annual event in 200 cities world over.

The first SlutWalk Toronto was held at Queen’s Park April 3, 2011, with a few thousand participants. It began as a protest in response to what a Toronto police officer told a group of students while speaking at York Univeristy’s Osgoode Hall Law School.”I’ve been told I’m not supposed to say this,” said Constable Michael Sanguinetti at the time. “However, women should avoid dressing like sluts in order not to be victimized.”

Not only did he say it, he was trained not to, and did it anyway, raising questions about how Toronto police are trained to help victims of sexual violence; perhaps explaining why only six percent of sexual assaults are reported.

Today, the walk is about ending sexual violence, slut shaming and victim blaming, as well as anti-oppression, urging us to think critically about how power dynamics and privileges impact individuals, communities and larger systems.

On June 12, after participants walked chanting things like, “Yes means fuck me, no means fuck you,” they settled at Queen’s Park to listen to speakers like NDP MPP Cheri DiNovo who spoke about trans rights bill Toby’s Act (Bill 33) and White Ribbon Campaign facilitator Jeff Perera, “Male-identified people, young men and boys, need to hear these everyday stories and experiences,” he said. “Saying ‘not all men’ is not helpful. We need to listen and we need to reflect.”

Other speakers included Maggie’s Toronto coordinator Monica Forrester, “As a trans woman I’ve always experienced slut shaming. My body is beautiful and I’m proud,” she told the crowd. Kira Andry spoke about the injustices for trans survivors in the legal system, despite the rainbow coloured triangle sticker in courtrooms shallowly proclaiming a safe space.

The Canadian Mental Health Association reports, “An Ontario-based study of trans people found that 20 pe cent had experienced physical or sexual assault due to their identity, and that 34 percent were subjected to verbal threats or harassment.”

Among those who also spoke were: Blu Waters, an elder on the York University campus; GRIND Toronto founder Akio Maroon; Flo Jo, a sex worker speaking out against Bill C-36 ;and SlutWalk cofounder Heather Jarvis. Queer writer and comedian Catherine McCormick acted as MC.

The afternoon was educational in intersectional feminism and feminist issues, some that have been unresolved for decades: “Forty-four years ago I was marching here as a feminist with a sign that said ‘Our bodies Our choice,'” DiNovo told those gathered. She doesn’t want to be doing the same thing another 20 years from now.

Aside from the educational aspect, it was an empowering gathering of empathy and solidarity, a time when one can point at a fellow walker’s sign, telling their own story of assault, and say, “Me too.”

As for the name, re-appropriation of “slut” has never been necessary to support the walk. It is about throwing a word—in a world where so many hateful words against women exist in many different languages—back at those who use it like venom.

“We’ve started a lot of conversations surrounding sexual violence, victim-blaming and rape culture,” says SlutWalk Toronto organizer Natalee Brouse. “It’s now up to us to use this platform for more nuanced conversations about who is affected by sexual violence, how we as a culture and society harm rape survivors, and what we can do to change that.”