Men Don’t Cry: The Case for Not Conflating Sexism, Hetero-Patriarchy, Misogyny and Violence Against Women Under the Machismo Term
Language matters. It’s important to review the meaning and etymology of machismo, which, in my opinion, should not be approached through the English language, i.e., the foreigner’s language. In this case, I am not interested in how an English dictionary defines machismo. I emphasize this because linguistic racism occurs when language is used to empower the white dominant culture over another racial group. Linguist Tove Skutnabb-Kangas captured this idea of discrimination based on language and defined it as the “ideologies and structures which are used to legitimate, effectuate, and reproduce unequal division of power and resources (both material and non-material) between groups which are defined on the basis of language.”
Some examples of linguistic racism are the connotations of certain words, such as “white” with good and “black” with evil. The linguistic category the machismo term falls under is the ethnocentrism category, or white racial framing, as defined by Robert B. Moore as “some words and phrases that are commonly used to represent particular perspectives and frames of reference, and these often distort the understanding of the reader or listener.” For example, “there is a huge difference between saying ‘The family owned thirty slaves’ and ‘The family enslaved thirty Africans.’”
Generally, when people talk about machismo, they fail to consider that most Latin Americans are children of a synchronized multiracial culture — mostly indigenous, black, and white. Despite the various efforts to erase our Indigenous and black backgrounds, I would argue that our cultures somewhat resist racial amnesia. In Mexican literature, for example, we refer to the Spanish Conquista as the “encuentro” or the meeting of cultures. We are not trying to discount the grave ills of colonialism. In a sense, we recognize the traces of certain cultures that survived and stayed with us.
Most people agree that the term machismo is derived from the word macho; however, there are disagreements about whether macho originated from Nahuatl or Latin. In Nahuatl culture, the term macho has a meaning separate from the Spanish term and can be translated as “one who is worthy of imitation” or “enlightened one. Personally, I like Valerie D. Aguilar’s analysis the most:
Macho…has noble roots in the Nahuatl language of the Indians of Latin America. In Nahuatl, macho refers to a wise, exemplary leader with no reference to gender. In Iberia, macho has a long history referring to a brave, wise and strong leader. The Spanish “macho” is derived from the Latin “masculus” which means male….
Ironically, the indigenous people of Mesoamerica who spoke Nahuatl, a language in use as far back as 500 A.D., used the term “macho” to refer to one whom they honored as a wise and great leader. There was no gender differentiation in use of the Nahuatl term macho as it had no relation to the Latin “masculus.” In both the Iberian and the Nahuatl cultures, the term macho was a very positive term. After the Spanish invasion of the New World, macho became a new concept. The word macho evolved to refer to a masculine leader who was brave, strong and virile.
The macho ideal is one who lives the qualities of chivalry, honesty, responsibility and morality. The macho man provides for his family, adores his mother and displays all the traits of a good citizen of his community. The macho man protects and serves his wife…The macho man is a caballero, or gentleman….
Over time, the two separate definitions of macho developed into the concept recognized today as typical of Latin American society. The concept is that a macho man is one who lives a life of chivalry, honesty, responsibility, enlightenment and morality.
I grew up with these definitions of macho. The definitions came from my culture, not from Americans. My father has lived up to that definition of macho or, as I like to say, él es un hombre responsable, digno y trabajador (In English: he is a man who is responsible, worthy, and a hard worker). A man of his word. He never failed as a provider despite the economic difficulties he encountered. His dedication allowed our mother to stay at home and nurture my siblings and me, which I believe helped me cope with the trauma of poverty and being an undocumented immigrant in a foreign country. But being a macho did not prevent my father from becoming the number one advocate for the rights of his three daughters. He always pushed us to obtain a higher education so we could have agency and not feel trapped in a relationship. My associations with the word macho are positive, and I refuse to be told to accept the stereotyped version of machismo.
I believe we get to white racial framing when we talk about the stereotypes associated with machismo. We don’t have to go further than consult the plain meaning of an English dictionary to see that a macho is often stereotyped as hyper-masculine, oversexed, domineering, chauvinistic, and even a violent male. I ask, but why is the focus on Latino men and not on other groups, particularly white-American males? The stereotype claims machismo is an amalgamation of all those negative qualities. But it fails to distinguish that these ills exist in all societies and cultures, not just in Latino cultures. Thus, it showcases Latino men as inferior while arguing that Latino men believe themselves superior to women. What a contradiction lies within that!
I do not deny that the ills of sexism, misogyny, abuse, rape, violence, and patriarchy exist within Latino cultures. They do, but they also exist in other cultures. It’s an oversimplification to imply the spectrum of oppression toward women is present in all Mexican men. Sure, there are cases where that will be the case, but it is wrong to pigeonhole all Latino men into these stereotypes.
A more important question is how the word machismo got to that stereotype, so much so that Latinas themselves adopt the word to put down Latino men. As you can see, I will not choose the feminist issues of this struggle over the racial issues. I do this because I believe we can address the sexism within our own culture, not outside of it, so that I can embrace my intersectional feminism. After all, I am not a big fan of white feminism dictating my feminism (but that is a different story).
It’s important to me to understand the racist use of the machismo term through my background. My family came to the U.S. from a small village in central México. Our families subsisted under an ejidal system, a small-scale farming system where community members individually farm designated parcels and collectively maintain communal holdings, originating in La reforma agraria (agriculture reform), an outcome of the Mexican Revolution. Behind this economic system are the values of collectivism, community, and family over those of capitalist individualism. This system had already been weakened by capitalist reforms and, ultimately, failed under NAFTA. Thus, my family was forced to migrate due to worsening rural poverty and worked as farm workers in the U.S.
Not surprisingly, the use of the term machismo began to pick up after the 1950s/60s. The Bracero program was initiated in 1942 and ended in 1962. This program provided a supply of farmworkers from Mexico to the U.S. in the early phases of World War II. Aside from the various human rights violations braceros were subjected to, their families were not allowed to accompany them. They were hombres solos, which are still seen among H2A farmworkers. It is easy to see how stereotypes began to develop for hombres solos, but the same (or probably worse) could be said about U.S. soldiers during times of war in which U.S. soldiers were deployed to foreign countries. War crimes done by American men, such as rape, are well documented for World War II and the Vietnam War. Although I still have to do more research on this, I am inclined to state the word machismo began to take a white frame of reference around this time.
When non-Latinos and Latinos use the word machismo, they fail to see Latino men with compassion and end up othering them. I include generational Latinos (i.e., Latinos who are not first-generation immigrants) in this critique due to their increased assimilation into American culture. They have grown up with a frame of reference imposed on them. Mexican women growing up in the U.S. at some point come across cultural frictions that pressure us into believing we have to prioritize our feminism, although from a white-racial frame of reference, and individualism over our culture and community. I simply do not believe this is true.
The connotation Latin American women employ when using the machismo term is different from the racist connotation used in the U.S. The Royal Spanish Academy (Real Academia Española), the official institution responsible for overseeing the Spanish language, defines machismo as (1) the attitude of arrogance of men with respect to women and (2) a form of sexism characterized by male prevalence. Arrogance does not equate to all the ills of sexism, hetero-patriarchy, misogyny, and violence against women, and surely, a form of sexism doesn’t either. Likewise, think of the term LatinX as another term where this same group has adopted a frame of reference that does not resonate with those living in Latin American countries (i.e., using English phonetics instead of Spanish phonetics, which makes the term unpronounceable in Spanish).
When Latin Americans use the term machismo, they will likely use it to describe any man from any race who is sexist. However, when English speakers sprinkle it as the sole Spanish word in their sentence, they exclusively use it towards Latino men. For example, Trump’s “pussy grabbing” attitude was not called out as machista. Also, domestic violence advocates don’t use that term to call out a male white abuser — it’s an exclusive term reserved for Latino abusers. This practice of employing a single word in Spanish to create a subtle derogatory connotation associated only with Latinos is commonplace. Think of how siesta, fiesta, and mañana are terms that associate Latinos with laziness stereotypes.
Finally, as a Mexican feminist, I am cautious about using the word machismo because it fails to capture the sensitivity and pressure our culture casts on Latino men. One of my favorite feminists is Alfonsina Storni, an Argentinian poet. I relate to her because she understands the pressure our men endure in our culture while, at the same time, she pushes feminist views. Our men were taught not to cry, and this, in turn, has led to an ancestral burden from which we are all trying to heal as a culture:
Tú me dijiste: no lloró mi padre;
tú me dijiste: no lloró mi abuelo;
no han llorado los hombres de mi raza,
eran de acero.
Así diciendo te brotó una lágrima
y me cayó en la boca… más veneno.
Yo no he bebido nunca en otro vaso
así pequeño.
Débil mujer, pobre mujer que entiende
dolor de siglos conocí al beberlo:
¡Oh, el alma mía soportar no puede todo su peso!
- Alfonsina Storni (1892–1938), Peso ancestral
Ancestral burden
You told me: My father never cried;
You told me: My grandfather never cried;
The men of my family never cried;
they were steel.
While you spoke, a tear welled up
and fell to my mouth . . . the most venom
I’ve ever drunk from a cup
so small.
Frail woman, poor woman, who understands
the pain of centuries I tasted in that drink:
Oh, this soul of mine can’t bear
all your burden!
-Alfonsina Storni
