The “Good Fight”? : A Man’s Relationship to Violent Imagery

by Guest Contributor CVT, originally published at Choptensils

A while back, I wrote a post (here and at Racialicious) that covered my tendency to channel emotions like anger and frustration into my art and teaching, using those so-called “negative” feelings as fuel for anti-oppressive works. I made references to being “violently peaceful” and how I often thought of my words as verbal punches against oppression.

My readers had a lot of different thoughts on that piece, positive and otherwise, but one Racialicious commenter’s words, in particular, really stuck with me. In short, this commenter basically touched on – what should have been – an obvious point: that my piece, although I intended it to be applicable to women as well as men, came from a very “standard” masculine point of view; a male culture that is taught to embrace violence in many ways. With that in mind, my intentions meant little in regard to the fact that I was really playing up to a “masculine” ideal and quite possibly dismissing half of the world’s population. (*1)

Let’s just say I’ve been digesting and working over these thoughts for months now (doing other things, too, of course), and I think I’m finally ready to write about it.

This post is going to examine the culture of violence in one man’s life (mine), with a focus on this question: “How does a man of color struggle against oppression without using violent imagery?”

There are probably a ton of readers out there that have an immediate, obvious answer to this question, but it’s one I’ve had a very hard time answering for myself. Why? Because I grew up in the States. As a male. And the media and people around me very much encouraged me to make violence a part of my identity.

From the very beginning, a concept of manhood was pressed on me (by my environment, not my parents) that made fighting and imitation-violence a major focus. Toys “for boys” were GI Joes and other fighting-type “action figures.” The movies aimed at me (and that I enjoyed) generally involved shooting and fighting. The “manly” heroes were generally the ones who could beat up the most people.

When I was a little kid, I thought ninjas were the sh– (I actually kind of still do). I’d run around all day, trying to walk like a ninja, throwing imaginary weapons at faux enemies, and then jump-kick and punch them to an early demise. I would then make some sort of Bruce Lee-esque “whaaaa!” and move on. (*2)

As I got a bit older, “Big Trouble in Little China” became my all-time favorite movie. (*3) I moved from ninjas to a different form of martial arts bad-ass-ness – imaginary swordplay and pretending to be able to shoot lightning at attacking hordes.

I also started reading a lot of fantasy novels involving magic and knights and battles and wars – and, in my daydreams, I would put myself front and center as the most-skilled warrior of all. I would spend hours outside with my favorite stick, attacking weeds and battling to victory.

I watched a lot of action movies. I played “Sniper” with my b-b gun. My friends and I created a game we called “Hostage Situation,” in which one or two of us would play cops trying to deal with “terrorists” who were holding a couple civilians hostage. (*4) It involved a lot of shooting and killing of each other. And we loved it.

In elementary school, I got into a few fights.

In middle school, I got into a few fights.

In high school, I got into a few fights.

I never really felt like I “started” any of those fights (even though, in hind-sight, some of my actions led to them), but I found myself in them, nonetheless. Because I was encouraged to “stand up for myself” and not let other people “push me around.” No matter how much bigger than me somebody was, if I felt like I needed to stand up, I stood up, and I wasn’t going to back down. And “not backing down,” in my mind, usually meant getting ready to throw blows.

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