Sexism

Since I'm kind of on a roll regarding incendiary issues after yesterday's foray into drunk driving, I thought we could all handle another dip into the pool of social issues by exploring a double-standard centering around negative, suspicious and hostile attitudes towards men.

It's called sexism.

Few people acknowledge its existence, and most who do are fond of calling it "reverse-sexism," but there's really no need to throw it in reverse, it's just sexism.

When a young man wants to become a pre-school teacher, what do we automatically think?

Well, he's either gay, or he's a pervert. Why else would he want to hang around children all day, right? A man, after all, isn't capable of being invested in the education and betterment of young children-- that's impossible.

Um... well, first of all, since when does wanting to be a teacher qualify you as gay and/or a pervert? Second of all, why are women automatically exempt from any type of suspicion when they want to be pre-school teachers? Or any kind of teachers for that matter? I suppose women aren't capable of molesting children.

The same way that women aren't capable of physically assaulting children.

Even if a man is allowed to become a pre-school teacher, we certainly have to have him co-teach-- you know, so a woman can... watch him, right? And, heaven forbid a child needs help in the bathroom-- well, a man certainly can't go help a female child out. Maybe he can help a boy out-- maybe... but he'll be watched very closely by that saintly female co-teacher.

Why is that? What is it about us men that makes us constantly suspected of doing the wrong thing? Must we all walk through this world with the letter A on our chest? Why? Why are we pre-judged simply for entering professions where there's a dearth of the male perspective and presence?

Male librarians? Gay.

Male speech therapists? Gay.

Male nurses? Gay-- this one is slowly changing, but there's still that perception.

Male department store clerks? Very, very gay.

Here's a curious question: why can a woman sell men's underwear in a department store and nobody bats an eyelash, but, if a man tried to sell women's underwear, he'd be burned at the stake?

Suspicion of men and their motives is deeply rooted in Western culture. With our sexual repression and our fucked up ideas about gender roles, stereotypes and paranoid delusions about protectionism and purity, we've created a world where men are pre-judged before they open their mouths and the hostility and ignorance projected against them has virtually barred them from entry into many occupations where many men would be perfectly suitable.

Back when I was on the street as an emergency medical technician, I had the misfortune of having a patient of mine fall. My partner and I had taken this woman by ambulance to a doctor's appointment, another example of a collossal waste of time and resources, but that's another blog topic. The patient was mildly obese and in her early fifties and was in rehab for a closed head injury. Because the doctor kept her (and us) waiting and waiting and waiting, she kept complaining that she had to go to the bathroom. I kept asking her if she could wait and she said that she could but, finally, she could wait no longer. Rather than bring her back outside to the ambulance, load her in, and have her use the bedpan, we decided to give her a little humanity and bring her to the bathroom at the doctor's office. It was a very small, cramped area and it was very difficult to move the stretcher around. Once we got her to the bathroom and undid the stretcher straps, we were faced with a dilemma.

See, as men, neither of us wanted to go into the bathroom alone with her. Not that either of us would have done anything, but we were afraid of being suspected of doing something. You know, because we have vile, filthy penises that whisper naughty things to our psyches.

"I'm not going in there with her," my partner said.

I expressed concern about her stability. But I wasn't going in there alone with her either. I asked her if she went to the bathroom by herself in rehab.

"Yes," she answered.

"Okay, well, we'll help you in, but do not get up from the toilet by yourself. Just call to us-- we'll be standing right outside the door, okay?"

"Okay," she said.

We left the door opened a crack and we stood outside and waited. Five minutes later, we were picking her up off the floor. Blood was everywhere. She tried to get off the toilet by herself and fell off, smacking her face against the cold, tile wall, slicing open her lip and bashing her nose. What was a simple trip to the doctor's office was now a lights-and-sirens adventure to the emergency room.

Why?

Because we were men.