How social media perpetuates hypermasculinity in black men, d’yundastan’?
Attention black men: it is possible to voice an opinion “as a man,” and it’s also possible to respect and appreciate black women in the process.
It is fair to say that I am often left baffled after scrolling through my Twitter feed. Whether it’s coming across the story of a gripping love triangle between flightless birds or finding myself as the headline of a Daily Mail article, the leading social media platform always leaves me somewhat perplexed.
Somewhere between masses of memes and endless Buzzfeed listicles, deep into the realms of the internet, is the treasure that is Black Twitter. For the unaware, this is where all of your relevant popular culture is derived from (and subsequently turned into mainstream news, where you can view the very same content a few days later on Complex, the Fader et al, minus the credit for the content creator). Black Twitter is a source of entertainment for many and I’d be lying if I said that my Likes weren’t stacked with spilt tea, thrown shade and black excellence. However, one of the most detrimental aspects of this section of Twitter are the people behind the posts; those who often blur the lines between fact and fiction, tradition and sexism, humour and outright misogynoir — welcome to the land of the Lucases.
Alas, the wild Lucas is merely an archetype of an array of black men that we have regrettably allowed access to the internet; men who believe that their opinion is precedent simply due to the fact that they have a penis. The Lucas is a creature that repeats themselves, shouts over and criticises other Lucases in a barbaric competition of egos, all in a primal attempt to appease the very same black women they patronise and objectify. The Lucas is unable to process that the battle of male dominance and sheer desire to have the last word is undeniably chauvinistic and demeaning, whilst simultaneously adopting a preacher-like delivery in order to convince themselves and those around them that what they are saying is gospel. The Lucas struggles to realise that men should be able to listen as well as talk, but instead continues to place themselves in every conversation, exacerbating phallocentric ideologies in the process and using their privilege “as a man” to paint the picture of conventional masculinity being synonymous with idiocy.
Attention: being a man is not about aggressively belittling others. Being a man is not about conforming to archaic patriarchal structures as and when it benefits us. Being a man is not about regaining perceived power through verbal, physical or emotional violence against less “manly” men or women — yet so often our peers on social media encourage this interpretation of masculinity.
In other words, the Lucas has replicated The Trump Effect: social media and video sharing platforms have allowed unpopular ideologies and microaggressions to surface, creating scope for opinions without base to be an unchallenged mainstream school of thought. The (necessary) on-screen representation of a black man stating these opinions on BKChat has created enough validation for other black men to regurgitate misogynistic rhetoric, spreading views of “females,” “hoes” and “bitches” needing to “chill” because “I’ve heard you talk today.” Ultimately, whether it’s due to culture, upbringing or our environment, subconsciously many black men fail to see black women as equal to them; as proven, through syntax alone we dehumanise and devalue the worth of our sisters on a daily basis.
Black men are the icing on the layered cake of misogynoir. We are the unnecessary ingredient that glosses over an erroneous recipe made up of stereotypes and over-simplified portrayals of black women. We reinforce inaccurate, male-centred presumptions — such as all black women being either: a) “angry” (because they don’t have a man) or b) “strong” (because black women are so used to enduring the physical and emotional torment that we have put them through) — and we still do this as there are no implications for us. If anything, black men make dismissing the experiences of black women look appetising; BKChat takes a slice of this cake and dishes it up on a plate that we consume mindlessly week by week.
I’d like to take this moment to clarify that I did not write this with the intention to criticise BKChat, any of its cast or the team behind the show — on the contrary in fact. The half hour episodes delve into some issues that are undoubtedly relevant to its target audience and I can see its appeal; young people as a whole find it difficult to escape conversations about gender roles, sex and relationships, and how these pressures intersect with our personal beliefs and values. It’s important that there is an approachable platform for these conversations to take place to create an open dialogue between young men and women who are all growing up together with similar struggles. Not only has the show sparked healthy debates after racking up hundreds of thousands of views each episode, but it has also inspired other emerging content creators of colour to utilise social media and generate work that allows them to tell their own stories with a newfound confidence.
Despite its success, we need to be reminded that the views raised in the show and the way that they are presented are not facts: to grow as a generation we constantly need to be challenging, testing and educating each other with respect, as opposed to shutting each other down to get our points across. Black men from all walks of life should be able to participate in conversations with all black women without passing derogatory comments that sexualise, oppress or marginalise them. In the same way that black women are consistent in listening, loving and supporting black men despite what we put our sisters through, we should unite as black men and actively provide the same support network, rather than inciting divisive ideologies. Being a man does not give us the automatic authority to dictate to a woman what she should or should not do with her own body, and being a black man doesn’t mean that we are entitled to have black women in our possession.
As individuals in what is considered a liberated cosmopolitan society we are entitled to interact with whomever we want. Serena Williams marrying a white man does not give us a reason to claim that she is betraying black men. We were the same ones scrutinising her appearance in the first place as she didn’t comply to the unrealistic expectations of our lustful gaze. Yet at the same time, when a black man dates a person who is of another racial demographic we are still supported, loved and cherished by black women, yet so many black men are under the impression that black women are out to target us. So we combat our own insecurities by being defensive — the go-to emotion of hyper-masculinity — sustaining spirals of hatred that we spew at black women who are expected to continue being our backbone, even though daily in our social circles we perpetuate tropes of black women that social and corporate media has fed us.
The issue though is not people are expressing what they feel. The problem lies within the attitudes of the men who feel that they are entitled to make un-evidenced sweeping statements about women. Many of us preach confidently about what a woman can and cannot do, or we attempt to create correlations between a woman’s sex life and her ability to be maternal or be good at her job. More often than not, we have no idea what we’re talking about, but our status as a man allows us to get away with spouting statistical nonsense. Some of us black men go to the extent of hypothesising situations which result in degrading black women whilst simultaneously celebrating a woman of another ethnic background, one that is known to fetishise black men, yet we overlook it due to our apparent blindness whenever we’re having our *coughs* “egos” stroked.
More often than not, when I do see such conversations come up on social media they’re centred around men, and even then we still find it near impossible to even begin to understand the complexities of womanhood. Generally, we are unable to empathise with our sisters unless the situation directly concerns us. But to what extent can we blame performative masculinity on preventing us from appreciating the hardships of being a black woman, and why does that limit us from loving them in the same way black women love us? Why do we struggle to love black women just for being black women?
Maybe we are all Lucases, searching for nods of reassurance from our age mates whenever we say something illogical and receive blank stares from across the room. Or maybe we actually need to seize the opportunity to teach one another the dangers of hypermasculinity and the importance of mutual solidarity between black men and black women — d’yundastan’?
You can follow BKChat here: BKChat, new show every Wednesday.
