Male spaces need to be male spaces, without “female allies” cuntsplaining to us what is “constructive” or “useful” dialogue.OK, to set everyone’s mind at ease, I only mentioned Nacho because it was necessary to context. I am not going there again.
That just hijacks our independence and women end up dictating “our” agenda, like they already have for the last million years.
What I do want to talk about for a moment is the concept of “male space,” which is a subject of some importance, as you might imagine, on a website bearing the name A Voice for Men.
Let me state that I emphatically endorse and support whatever any group of men want to call “male space.” I may not agree with everything they say, or even any of it. But the right to congregate free of any female participation? Of course, and without caveat.
At the same time I want to call your attention to the second paragraph of the quote from the newbie and tell you that I just had to laugh.
And I have to ask, what sort of “independence” is so frail that it can be hijacked, and what sort of man going “his own way” is so weak that he allows women to dictate anything to him?
Courts and laws are one thing, but on a personal level, nobody takes shit you don’t give them.
Seriously, as someone who has done a fair amount of spelunking into the depths of male space; who has spent hours and hours meeting and talking with other men outside of the nearest woman’s voice or earshot, it leaves me with an observation that I think is inescapable.
If you are afraid of speaking your mind, it is your own fault. If your spine is made of such absurdly pliant material that you fear being coopted by the hint of perfume or the gentle nape of a woman’s neck, then perhaps you really are best to stay only in the company of men given to such weakness and fear.
Like I said, I think men deserve whatever space they want to take. If they prefer the company of men, you will not hear me bitch about it. Go for it, and don’t look back, it is no one’s business but yours.
But to me, “the space you take,” is really the operative term.
Please allow me for a moment to channel, as ludicrous as it is, one of my all-time favorite actors, Samuel L. Jackson, who in my opinion was never in better form than he was as the character Jules Winnfield in the movie Pulp Fiction.
I imagine what Winnfield would have to say about our newbies’ idea of male space, and I imagine it would be something like this.
“Motherfucker, what the fuck do you mean, “space?” Do I motherfucking look like anyone is going to take my motherfucking space, motherfucker? Just step on up here and see if you can take any of my motherfucking space!”
And that, in the end, is the point. At least according to me and Jules. Space is in your head. It is in your own mind and your own heart. It is in your own way of life and hinges entirely on your own spine.
Discussions among men are great. I love them. But I also live in a real world full of all kinds of people, men and women alike, who would love nothing more than to commandeer my thoughts and actions; who would like me to be of use to them and their agenda in one way or another. And I don’t have an internet cocoon where I can, or even want to, escape it. I am perfectly capable of standing my ground.
You have the space you take.
Take it, motherfucker.
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