Why go there?

The below is an entry from Zach Bell, a founder of Real Men Share. In his early 20s, he published life essays under a pen name. Men read his stories, resonated with them, and connected with Zach, writing to him with their own personal stories, confessions, questions, and counsel. He found these connections to be pivotal in his own self-acceptance and growth. 

He wants other men to have the same opportunity to be heard, seen, and felt. It has value on its own. And it prepares us emotionally as men to listen, to humble ourselves, to reflect and introspect and change. My aspiration is that enough men share vulnerably, listen empathetically, and grow critically, that sharing starts to be associated with being a “real man.”

This story does not represent the perspective of all of the editors, and is just one testimonial behind the inception for this project. I hope it resonates with you.

A Letter from a Founder.

Against quiet rage. A call to listen.

by Zach Bell, August, 2018

In summer 2018, I went to a reunion of old guy friends. We grew up together and are life-long buds and bros. We are now in a peculiar moment. It’s the first time we’re all hanging out since the #metoo movement had become mainstream.

“You don’t remember that? When we all stood up in the cafeteria and in unison shouted, ‘Hey Sarah Jacobs, you’re ugly!’”

“Oh yeah…that was pretty fucked up, ha ha! That was harassment for sure.”

“OK, but to be fair, it wasn’t totally our fault, she had called Noah a bitch earlier that day.”

“Yeah, and our counselors definitely encouraged that kind of thing.”

“Oh, but do you guys remember when we held a draft of girls to get ‘dibs’”?

“Ha ha ha, oh fuck. OK. But c’mon, do we have to taint all of these memories? Can’t we still enjoy that those were special times for us? I mean, it was a different time.”

“Yeah, but it’s still true now. Like Tom still doesn’t like it when you touch the 'crevasse’ in his chest without asking…that’s consent stuff right there.”

“…Tommy, is that true?”

“DON’T ASK THAT! Do not ask that! That’s like my entire childhood right there. Please just don’t ask.” 

Many men know that an epoch is closing, and are grappling with how and if to re-narrate their fondest memories, buds they care about, and their own character. But today, there aren’t a lot of spaces for men to reflect honestly, sharing what they were thinking at the time (excuses included) and their feelings about the new narratives (defensiveness included). 

Even more rare is a space to get critical and empathetic feedback about potentially problematic behavior, with suggestions to improve that don’t condemn the man in his entirety. The fear of being labeled a rapist or one’s behavior as sexual harassment is causing a lot of men to stay quiet. They’re thinking about it. But that’s often where the learning stops. 

This is dangerous. We’ve seen the impact that silenced white male rage can have in our country, including neo-Nazism and a total inability to understand “the other.” 

Let’s be clear. #MeToo is a very good thing. Rape apologizing and victim-blaming are not. But we have a different aim than discussing what politics and ideology are right. That is a necessary and critical conversation. But our aim is learning, calling in, and making the tough conversations accessible to those who currently feel too shamed, angry, confused, or just uncertain to participate. 

We think that as men we should be held accountable to, but not rely upon, women to help us reform. It is our role to help one another grow, including giving and receiving consequences and tough feedback. We know that accountability requires ongoing support if it’s to lead to lasting change. While it is crucial to prioritize safety, to check violence and misogyny, fight patriarchy and paternalism, if calling out is our only approach, many men will be left behind. 

It is absolutely precarious, but we believe there must be a place to acknowledge that there is a grey area, and to have empathy for the forces that push men to act the way that we do. We are all affected by masculinity. It’s about time we took control of it, and intentionally shaped it.

We are for the guys who are thinking: I think I, or my friend, may have fucked up, but I’m not sure. I don’t want to be labeled or accused, but I do want to hear what other people think. Particularly before someone who doesn’t know me tells my story for me.

This is not just about consent. This is about everything about the experience of being a man right now. This is about Internet porn. This is about Bumble and Tinder. This is about fatherhood. This is about male friendships. This is about the NBA and streetball. This is about violence and patriotism and prison. This is about Shark Tank and living at your parent’s house. This is about oral sex and not being able to make her cum. This is about cardigans, scarves, and Timberlands. This is about frat life. This is about romantic comedies and Thor. This is about race, and class, and geography, and every other piece of us that makes us who we are.

This is a project in vulnerable media. We aim to be descriptive, and not prescriptive. We just want men to be able to share their stories honestly and vulnerably, and for us to facilitate collective reflection. This is not that original. There is a legacy of the “mythopoetic” men’s movement of the 1960s, and there are a number of groups today focusing on healthy masculinity, from the New Warrior Training Adventure weekends to the “Man Enough” online video series to feminist masculinity Facebook groups. While some of us on the editorial board may identify as feminists, we want to move beyond “feminist masculinity” as a target, or “toxic masculinity” as the culprit. We want to exalt what it means to be masculine, exploring the unique relationship of son to his grandfather, or between best childhood buds.

This is not about fault. This is about healing. Sharing our stories is hard. Accepting feedback and growing is harder. Which is why men really need each other right now.