When you're like me you tend to walk around this country somewhat oblivious to the ever-present danger. Very often there is some veiled protection in one's social class that makes one feel untouchable. They will see you, probably sense that you are not one of them by your carriage, accent, or some other superficial attribute with social significance, and largely leave you alone.
I much prefer being ignored than being the pink elephant in the room.
By "they" I am referring to "di man dem". This is a concept not unique to Jamaica. It occurs whenever a group of heterosexual men comes together and feels compelled to, figuratively speaking, compare cock sizes in a number of ways, usually relating to misogyny and reinforcing the tenets of hegemonic masculinity. It is apparently some primal retention that was useful when men were hunter-gatherers and women were womb-carriers and kept the cave free of skin parasites.
The elimination of any masculine quality not in keeping with this narrow concept of manhood was therefore a justifiable economic decision in order to protect the future of the tribe. Girly men simply had no place in this primitive society in the wilderness.
In our modern dispensation where intellect and other "feminine qualities" are of more relevance than brute strength an excess testosterone I find, despite my feigned air of superiority, that I am not immune to this kind of harassment.
It brings me back to my childhood where "di man dem" would huddle together and throw insults at me as I walked by. Being called a "battyman" was one of the most stinging insults I could imagine at that age as in Jamaica that is the most humiliating moniker one can be assigned, especially in public.
Usually as "di man dem" get older they become a little less vulgar in their cocky comparisons.
As a business owner in Jamaica very often one must interact with "di man dem" whether it is to pay extortion money, negotiate protection from looting, or simply to engage then in some banal conversation about sexy women passing by, or sexual prowess, politics, the lottery, or some other bullshit, so as to re-confirm one's place among "di man dem".
I make it a point of duty not to speak to the people that loiter in the vicinity of my business establishment. I feel this only encourages them to continue, and furthermore, we simply have nothing in common to speak about. I do not feel obligated to fit in, nor am I in the least bit interested in making friends with persons whose sole occupation is hanging around a shopping plaza when they have no interest in purchasing anything.
Usually when I pass them if I have to do an errand on the plaza for example, I notice a deathly silence upon my approach, as if the sentries have given them a heads up that the battyman is closing in . That usually indicates that they have a lot to say about me, but do me the courtesy of discussing me after I have gone. I can deal with that. As long as they keep their distance and do not in their curiosity, or quest for validation of a suspicion, cross the line into disrespect: You don't have to like me but you MUST respect me.
I simply do my thing, and leave and we never have any reason to share a glance much less exchange words.
That all changed last week when they initiated a strange series of exchanges with me for their own cock-grabbing amusement.
As we locked up the business and prepared to leave, one of them, an older loud-mouthed gambler, made it his duty to reprimand one of my staff as for some trivial issue that had taken place outside the business establishment but still related to my business. Naturally I was not going to allow that to happen and I intervened and he in turn apologized while explaining his position, which was reasonable. As I hopped into my car and prepared to leave for the night I noticed one of his cronies, that had frozen over and did his best to avoid eye contact with me as the older man and I spoke, was asking him who I was. The older man explained that I was the owner of the establishment at which point he expressed surprise and looked in my direction. In his mind I was no longer your run of the mill battyman. I was a faggot with authority and a place in society. I sensed then and there that the ice had been broken and that this would not be our last interaction.
The following day the older man was once more holding court with his band of idlers on the shopping plaza. I had another errand to run which as usual forced me to have to walk past them as they shit talked. I'm not quite sure why I did it but I made eye contact with the older man and nodded my head to greet him as I returned to my business. He in turn greeted me and began to once more apologize for accosting my staff in my presence. I accepted his apology, once more, and reiterated that I understood his position but also made it clear that I did not appreciate it and that on a more basic human level what he did was embarrassing for the young man as the old man's booming voice and towering stature created a scene whether this was deliberate or not. He explained (quite tongue in cheek) that his voice is as commanding as it is because of his professional and educational background and it was not his intention to cause shame for the young man, and he smirked coyly. Immediately I sensed that this entire conversation was but a ploy to have me perform as court jester before his band of fools in order for them to create an impression of me as they had been unable to do so in the years prior because we simply did not have any reason to interact.
After quickly closing the conversation and hurrying off as if I had something to do, I deliberately stayed within earshot but hidden behind a wall so that I could hear the reaction to their successful trap to to ensnare a battyman for their amusement. As expected, once I was outside of their range they, as if on cue, burst out into vulgar guffaws; teasing me for requesting that the old man be more gentle in his approach.
I was the antithesis of what is expected of a man, and they had just confirmed their suspicions that I was as soft as I seemed.
Now, I am not a weakling and resent being considered as such. Whereas I understand that my bigger strength is my brain and not my brawn, I also have lived my life trying to prove my father and other men wrong when it came to their expectations of my physical ability. I can climb a mango tree like the best of them, I can change a tyre in 2 minutes, I can pump gas, change oil, mow grass, and till soil like Adonis himself! Yet, I can cook, clean, wash, sow, sing, dance, act, write and generally am capable of excelling at any stigmatized task that would cause my father great shame in my childhood.
I am educated, accomplished, brilliant (yes, and humble as well LOL) so the question is: Why do I care what these idlers think of me?
I think it is part of my unresolved issues of identity and resentment from my formative years with the rejection from my peers for not fitting their concept of what was acceptably masculine in a hegemonic world. It reminded me of the ridicule I endured and brought up my own sensitivity about how obviously discernible my social background is and what comes with that discernment within particular contexts and also how my intellect has a diminished value in this patriarchal society built on the backs of powerfully built black men, not the intelligentsia.
This incident has forced me to not only be more sensitive to my surroundings and how I am perceived by others, but also to look at advocacy in the Jamaican context.. Lately it has taken on an HIV/AIDS slant as a way to circumvent the hot-button social issues that come from humanizing sexual minorities. People feel entitled to ridicule, stigmatize, and abuse sexual minorities because in their minds, gay men especially have spat in God's face and rejected the privilege that is masculinity, and just as Mosaic law prescribes, their blood shall surely be upon them.
How does one combat this attitude? Even in developed countries this is a battle that is perpetual.
The hyper-masculine always seek out those outside of their determined norm and try to reform them, or kill them if they are beyond help.
This incident, as minor as it is, awakened in me the real crux of the matter when it comes to advocacy.
Advocacy is as much psychological as it is political. It is about changing the mind-set of a people and a culture of entitlement. It is not easy, and it requires tremendous sensitivity and dedication.
I hope I am up for the challenge.
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