Enrico Artuso

ENRICO ARTUSO

I did not know gender. Back home, in Italy, ‘gender’ is what you use in grammar to decidewhich one of our ten articles (the translations of‘the’ and ‘a’) goes with a certain noun: ‘flower’ ismasculine and ‘moon’ is feminine. That was all Iknew about gender growing up. Of course, I knewI had to tick the ‘M’ box on forms, and go in thetoilet with the symbol of the little person withouta skirt, but that was pretty much it. I never questionedmy gender before coming to university andstarting to explore my sexuality.

Danielle Goodland

When I came to university, I had the opportunityto introduce myself as a new person, withoutthe baggage of who I was back home. I started beingless afraid of pinpointing my sexuality to myfriends here. But, while externally I was expressingmyself more freely, internally I was struggling.I was battling with my traditional upbringing andmy internalised homophobia. I was having troublereconciling my orientation with my identity; mybrain was saying that, if I liked men, I couldn’t beone. I had been called names in school because ofmy mannerisms, which are less macho than mosttypical Italian teenagers, and because I had goodgrades (which also are, according to my peers, atell-tale sign of homosexuality). There, on thoseschool playgrounds, I associated my sexuality withmy gender identity.

As a man, I am privileged.

Just before moving to the UK, there was a big issue in Italy about teachers teaching children about the ‘theory of gender’ (it sounds weird in Italian too, because ‘gender’ doesn’t get translated, despite a translation existing and being currently used in normal speech). The infamous theory from liberal America that was accused of disrupting traditional family values. You say ‘traditional family’ and Italy screams with a raised revolutionary fist. To me, it sounded mysterious, dangerous and interesting. Little did I know, my next three years would be spent studying and writing about it. Gender theory helped me understand myself, it disassociated what happened on those school playgrounds; issues with gender identity and sexuality. With that realisation came the awareness that I belong to both a liberation group and to the group that oppressed me the most throughout history; I was both victim and perpetrator. I came to realise the dichotomy present within my gender identity. As a man, I am privileged. I’m not afraid of walking alone at night. As a man, I also pay a price for that fearlessness, it’s the fear of being afraid, for I know nobody would help me if I felt that way. It’s the fear of not being able to be the leader, for I know I would be known as the one who gets ‘whipped around’. It’s the fear of not being strong enough, for I would be called ‘a girl’. It’s the fear of being vulnerable, for I know I would be called soft. It’s the fear of crying, for they would call me a pussy, a faggot. I’m not hurt physically, but all of this still hurts nonetheless.

Danielle Goodland

It’s no one’s fault in particular; it’s all of us. It’s me when I assume a woman might be less technically skilled than a male counterpart. It’s me when I see defined muscles and I think ‘manly’. Of course, that doesn’t reflect how I feel, but it’s in that split second it takes me to realise how wrong I am, that I see how internalised my toxic masculinity is within me. Despite being able to think rationally, and to make decisions based on that, I am guilty of holding some irrational beliefs I do not agree with. It’s the fear of shame, for what do I call the person looking back at me in the mirror?

I am a victim of myself too. I’m guilty, and that’s the price I feel I’m paying for my privilege. My redemption can’t be personal, I can’t change those associations in my mind that I know are wrong, it has to be a social one. I can only use my privilege, my power, to speak up, to say mea culpa, to change the way we all think. It’s my duty to use the platforms I am given in society to give others a platform. Seeing is believing, and I want to see men crying, being vulnerable, unafraid. I hope we can redefine masculinity, re-write strength as the ability to be emotive, revise power as the will to be kind and compassionate, re-read rationality as also including emotional freedom. Let us men be human first.