A comment by a family friend during a group Zoom meeting a few days ago set me thinking. She was speaking directly to my wife, commenting in a knowing, half-jovial way meant to include me as well as her own husband, who were there as well. She reminded my wife of the number of times they had to say to a male colleague who was staring at their chest, “Hey Buddy! I’m up here”, of course alluding to their face. Feminism 101.

But this got me thinking about the personal and social dynamics at play in such situations. For any guy who has been paying attention over the past, oh, lets say century or so, it is understood that overtly sexualizing a woman without permission is a rude imposition, akin to peeing in someone’s face. You might have the urge, but so what. One takes care to be aware of the sensibilities and sensitivities of others, and to keep it metaphorically or otherwise in your pants. Humanity 101.

Some of what grabs my attention here is the personal “inner gesture” of id-suppressing, it’s reasons and it’s effects. As a seventy something year old, whose sexual escapades are long past, I can still react to the women I see with a sexual longing. It is an ineluctable reaction that never quite disappears. And I instinctively keep this covert. Plus, I am in a thoroughly committed relationship that I am happy to be in. And though this may seem weird to younger folk, I am also happy that my sex drive has dropped way back at this age, because I remember the insane, commanding energy I felt when I was younger, my body making demands I had to work hard at squelching for a variety of reasons. I understand the biological origins of this, of course, and Mother Nature did not arrange my basic equipment and drives for me, but the species survival in general, and I am just along for the ride. But the overall effect now is one of wistful, ofttimes sad yearning.

Unfortunately, there are plenty of men who blame women for any thwarting of their desires. Some of them circle in groups to complain that feminists are responsible for their sexlessly sad states. Others, a bit more gentle, opine the loss of their ability to publicly declare their attraction. Oh the travesty, being enjoined to avoid reckless eyeballing or being told not to “celebrate” a woman’s looks publicly with whistling cat calls! As if centuries of patriarchy did not exist. As if women haven’t been the butt of astounding abuse over centuries, condemned to be appendages to males, chained to domestic work slavery, raped at whim or as a “normal” act of war. As social scientist, Carole Pateman wrote, “The reason we’re not at the table is because we are on the menu.” I don’t know how many women around me in my relatively kinder local world are aware of the history, but they can certainly be aware, if only dimly, of being prey. And, not that I’ve made a habit of directly asking, but I know of too few men who seem to be aware of the long train of abusive treatment of women.

When I was new to this information, I chafed under the notion that it should be the context for my behavior. Why was it my responsibility to mediate whatever I thought, felt or did because of the stupid mendacious actions of my forbearers? I did not set up or ask for this situation. What right had anyone to plunk me into a category of potential or actual jerkiness when I had done nothing. Well, Sparky, that’s just the situation you are in. It is the actual context. And you have benefitted from male privilege all your life. Just as with affirmative action to redress the inequalities aimed at Black citizens in this country, you have a moral duty to help redress the injustices aimed at women; or at the very least, stop making it uncomfortable for them. Get a clue.