Inside his head

What goes on in the man’s head?

As he sits on the tube, with his mates, harassing the woman opposite?  As he berates the woman on her way to collect her children from school?  As he raises his head, having heard the woman’s call for help, and returns to his chores?

What does he think?

Perhaps he thinks nothing.  No thoughts of any kind trouble his little skull.

Perhaps he thinks: fair enough.  She looks fine.  No biggie.

Perhaps he thinks: fucking slag, deserves everything she gets.  Women, eh?  Always moaning and cleaning, unless you pay them to fuck you.

What I can be sure of is: he is not thinking of the Golden Rule.  You know the one.  The universal moral yardstick: do as you would be done by.  Treat others as you yourself would like to be treated.  Turns out it’s not so universal.  Imagine explaining to the strange, angry, empty skull: don’t do that, don’t say that.  How would you feel if someone said/did that to you?

Ha ha ha!!  I can almost hear his guttural explosion, the blunt laugh as he discovers how funny it is to imagine a woman proposing an extreme sexual act on the street in the middle of a perfectly ordinary spring afternoon. Ha!  Yeah mate, that sounds great!

What about: don’t do that, don’t say that.  How would you feel if some bloke said/did that to your mother?  Your sister?

This is probably a bit more effective.  Grim ordinary man (it may not be all men but, let’s face, it’s most men) might be prompted actually to reflect for a moment by this one, before concluding firstly that the bloke in question should have his fucking head kicked in and secondly that neither his sister nor his mother was remotely like the miserable slag he’d just insulted – have you seen how she was dressed?

Which is of course the second problem.  They’re all Madonnas or whores, aren’t they?  Kindly and gentle, angelic, beyond reproach; or dirty filthy bitches, warranting everything you see happen to them on PornHub.

What has to happen inside a man’s head?  He has to see another human being, going about their business.  He has to see another perfectly ordinary, flawed, irritable person.  He has to think: fair enough; and nothing more.  He has, quite simply, to respect that person’s right to be getting on with whatever they’re getting on with.  He, formerly empty skull now resonating with a modicum of respect for the Other, has simply to do: nothing.

And how do we bring THAT about?  Ball’s in our court, guys.  This is not some genetic compulsion.  You may find her tits/legs/hair/eyes/skirt/ankles/arse attractive – but not you’re not on the savannah, or in a jungle, or scrapping it out with some other priapic animal for the right to spread your seed.  You are a member of something we call human civilisation.

There’s a clue in the name.  Civil.  There.  That’s it.  That’s all you need.  Be civil.

So when your brother or your mate or your pal or your colleague leers from a window or makes a comment or offends or in any way shape or form acts in the way you KNOW ain’t right, it’s simple: you call it.  You fucking call it.  “Not good mate,” you say.  “Not good.” This is men’s problem and it’s on us to fix it.

I've said it before - see here and here - but the message is the same: just be civil.  Do it.  Say it.  Do it now.