DANICA NOVGORODOFF/YH

The subjugation of the American male's man-beast

But it is more than poaching that has driven man to the edge of extinction. It is lack of nourishment, lack of environment, lack of necessity. I was born in 1980 and I have never in my life had a cause worth fighting for. Hell, my dad was born in '48, and I think I could probably say the same for him. The Greatest Generation is on its last legs. American freedom is a guarantee. "We don't need strong men," we are told. "We need poets, not fighters." No, wait. "We need computer programmers." We are like well-trained lapdogs, docile in our cubicles, placid within the natural rhythm and routine of the nine-to-five.

But a tame animal is still an animal. I promise you that in even the finest husky, in even the calmest Labrador, there is still the taste of blood, the thrill of the hunt. It is hidden, for certain, bred under by generations of placidity, afternoon strolls, shopping-mart dog food. Bred under, but by no means bred out. We remember, though we cannot explain why. We see the giant horse loom before us like an idol, feel Patroclus' dying voice urging us to revenge. We shake our heads and wonder where this impossible beast is from. We see the vaulted roof of Heorot and smell the monster's hot breath around us, a stale mix of feces, sweat, and rotting flesh. We turn over and close our eyes to try and get some sleep. We see the gray waste of Omaha Beach stretching out before us like the last circle of hell, a frozen swamp of salt, blood, and sand. Even if we do not know their names, these images pull at us. While waiting in line at the convenience store, while trekking up Science Hill, while jogging on the damn treadmill. These images are what we were. And in some small, obscure way, they are what we now are.

Such memories are what make us Men. We are contained in these memories, the emotions they invoke, the needs they represent, the fires they cannot help but fan. To recognize this is not a sexist statement. The civil rights movements of the 20th century is indeed the greatest legacy we could hope to leave for future generations. It is one of America's shining moments. I would never dream of suggesting any compromise to the gender equality we are still working so hard to build. I simply believe that in order to Empower The Woman, the world need not necessarily Destroy The Man.

Note also that I speak for a "we," not an "I." Just look around you for a moment. Every facet of our modern lives reveals the breakdown of the myth of sensitivity. Even the most staunchly mainstream entertainers and theorists have recognized the growing revolt of the American Half-Man. The establishment has caught on to the dissolution of the late 20th century's legacy of BS, in the form of Brad Pitts, Tom Cruises, and Kevin Spaceys swaggering across the big screen. A new epoch has fallen upon us, but a rebellion is forming against it.

But to what end? How do we greet this Tarzan, this Ice-Man, this primeval monster as he awakens from decades of unwilling hibernation? What on Earth can we do to allow the American Male the freedom he needs to live without dooming ourselves to a legacy of paternalistic anarchy?

I do not have the solution. I'm not sure that anyone does. I only know that the problem is there. We have attempted to pacify the need for rage and blood that has defined Man for almost half a century. To let it run rampant is insane. But ignoring it may prove more dangerous by far.

I am not the future leader of some Y-dominance movement. I am not even a "guy's guy." I'm a vegetarian. I'm an actor. I like Pokémon and Harry Potter. But I feel something. A pull I cannot describe. A desire to fight. To defend. If someone insults a girl I'm with, if some hotshot shoves me around at a party, if some jerk makes a nasty comment to my sister as we walk down the street, I want to know that I can take that guy down. I want the right to make that sonofabitch bleed. It's part of what makes me a Man. We can ignore it, we can pacify it, we can discuss it in a therapy group as much as you like. But it will not go away.

Scott Peterman is a sophomore in Jonathan Edwards.

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