Tobias Gavran's Blog
March 14, 2018
A word about feminism
I don’t usually blog, but while on the internet, I saw a comment that made me react. I was about to reply to that comment on some anonymous account, but I realized I really wanted to express myself about this, and that if there’s ever an opinion I’d like to share as a writer, it’s probably this one.
Feminism is good for everyone.
The comment I mentioned earlier generalized the idea that men mostly care about sex when it comes to women. Now, I don’t think I need to quote that comment verbatim. It’s a concept that’s part of many conversation, including some people’s upbringing.
I've had 40-something upper middle-class men ask me, "Why? Are you gay?" when I told them I wasn't interested in looking at the ass of one of our clients, back when I was a 20 year-old intern. There were some uncomfortable laughs when I pointed out the homophobia underlying their comment, and let’s just say that they didn’t talk to me very much after that.
The President of the United States told a guy in a bus that he couldn't help himself when it came to kissing women, and that being a celebrity meant that he could sexually assault them. And while there's a lot of people talking about that from a woman's perspective (which is normal), nobody seems to take the time to think about it from a male perspective.
Trump said that because he thought that made him sound good, and some men would agree. His lack of control when it came to sexual impulses was seen as a testament to his masculinity. The fact that women would let him touch them without even knowing him made him sound powerful and important. Like most things he says, his intention was to make himself look good.
The same things can be said about violence.
I was attacked while I was a student, and I remember one of my classmates saying, "I wonder what the other guy looks like," when he saw the bruises on my face and arms. And I actually felt good about that. That communicated the idea that I was strong and that I could fight.
But that also meant that I couldn't tell him I was scared to walk in the park where I got jumped. I couldn't tell him that I'd rather not sit at a table with them, because my side were hurting when I took a seat. I couldn’t ask if going to the police was a good idea or not (I wasn’t severely injured, so I didn’t).
I actually cut my hair after the attack, both because I was afraid my attackers would recognize me and because the long hair had been detrimental when trying to defend myself. I’m lucky in that it hasn’t influenced me past that. I’m not scared to walk alone in a city, or anything like that. But if I had, it’s unlikely I would have sought out council or comfort from the people I knew at the university (I probably would have done so among family members, not everyone has that luxury). I think the only person I mentioned the attack to was my mother, and only in passing, about my change of haircut. A fact I even considered not disclosing in this blog post, because it would be a source of ridicule. "He told his mommy."
I was barely nineteen, it was my first year living on my own. It wasn’t a big city, but I didn’t know it. Two people out of a group of four decided to beat me up in a park, and they only stop because one of the other two was reasonable, and it was daylight. People saw them do it and ignored it. I walked back to my room with blood on my face and dirt on my clothes, bruises on my face and body. Again, no serious injury, not even a broken nose or a black eye.
I’m now twenty-eight years old, and I hesitated to write down that I told my mother about it, because some people would call me a "cry baby" for it. How is that normal? How is that a fact of our lives?
Because of sexism. Because as a man, I shouldn’t complain. In fact, I should boast about it. I should tell you about how I faced four guys and they couldn’t bring me down (when in fact only two of them came at me and it was their friends who held them back in the end). Because I’m a real man, right?
Right. I’m a real man. A real person. I was scared. I was scared of running away from them, because I can’t run, and I couldn’t protect myself if they attacked me from the back. I was scared that I would fall and open my head. I was scared that I’d actually start fighting them instead of defending myself, and that their two friends would come and help them. I was even scared because they were smaller than me, and if I injured one of them, the other three might tell the police that I attacked him.
I was scared, and the only person I felt safe telling was my mother.
Feminism is good for everyone.
The comment I mentioned earlier generalized the idea that men mostly care about sex when it comes to women. Now, I don’t think I need to quote that comment verbatim. It’s a concept that’s part of many conversation, including some people’s upbringing.
I've had 40-something upper middle-class men ask me, "Why? Are you gay?" when I told them I wasn't interested in looking at the ass of one of our clients, back when I was a 20 year-old intern. There were some uncomfortable laughs when I pointed out the homophobia underlying their comment, and let’s just say that they didn’t talk to me very much after that.
The President of the United States told a guy in a bus that he couldn't help himself when it came to kissing women, and that being a celebrity meant that he could sexually assault them. And while there's a lot of people talking about that from a woman's perspective (which is normal), nobody seems to take the time to think about it from a male perspective.
Trump said that because he thought that made him sound good, and some men would agree. His lack of control when it came to sexual impulses was seen as a testament to his masculinity. The fact that women would let him touch them without even knowing him made him sound powerful and important. Like most things he says, his intention was to make himself look good.
The same things can be said about violence.
I was attacked while I was a student, and I remember one of my classmates saying, "I wonder what the other guy looks like," when he saw the bruises on my face and arms. And I actually felt good about that. That communicated the idea that I was strong and that I could fight.
But that also meant that I couldn't tell him I was scared to walk in the park where I got jumped. I couldn't tell him that I'd rather not sit at a table with them, because my side were hurting when I took a seat. I couldn’t ask if going to the police was a good idea or not (I wasn’t severely injured, so I didn’t).
I actually cut my hair after the attack, both because I was afraid my attackers would recognize me and because the long hair had been detrimental when trying to defend myself. I’m lucky in that it hasn’t influenced me past that. I’m not scared to walk alone in a city, or anything like that. But if I had, it’s unlikely I would have sought out council or comfort from the people I knew at the university (I probably would have done so among family members, not everyone has that luxury). I think the only person I mentioned the attack to was my mother, and only in passing, about my change of haircut. A fact I even considered not disclosing in this blog post, because it would be a source of ridicule. "He told his mommy."
I was barely nineteen, it was my first year living on my own. It wasn’t a big city, but I didn’t know it. Two people out of a group of four decided to beat me up in a park, and they only stop because one of the other two was reasonable, and it was daylight. People saw them do it and ignored it. I walked back to my room with blood on my face and dirt on my clothes, bruises on my face and body. Again, no serious injury, not even a broken nose or a black eye.
I’m now twenty-eight years old, and I hesitated to write down that I told my mother about it, because some people would call me a "cry baby" for it. How is that normal? How is that a fact of our lives?
Because of sexism. Because as a man, I shouldn’t complain. In fact, I should boast about it. I should tell you about how I faced four guys and they couldn’t bring me down (when in fact only two of them came at me and it was their friends who held them back in the end). Because I’m a real man, right?
Right. I’m a real man. A real person. I was scared. I was scared of running away from them, because I can’t run, and I couldn’t protect myself if they attacked me from the back. I was scared that I would fall and open my head. I was scared that I’d actually start fighting them instead of defending myself, and that their two friends would come and help them. I was even scared because they were smaller than me, and if I injured one of them, the other three might tell the police that I attacked him.
I was scared, and the only person I felt safe telling was my mother.
January 24, 2015
GR Friends with benefits
Hi, everyone!
I’ve noticed that most of my public interactions on GR lately have been inspired by some kind of controversy. Some recent events have made me quite angry, like most reviewers, and this culminated in Authors for Goodreads.
The thing is, while I’m glad I can be funny, this book is an unedited first draft which I wrote in a night while being absolutely tired. It has some value, but I didn’t really work for it. I can’t really be proud of it. The thing is, while writing doesn’t pay for the food I eat, it’s definitely the most important thing in my life – according to me. I joined Goodreads a lot less to promote my works than I did to improve myself.
This is why I’m writing this first blog post to try and initialize what I’d call a “GR friends with benefit” program, which could be better described as: “you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours.” The principle is utterly simple, you give me a genre, possibly the title of a book you love, and any kind of detail you want, and I’ll try to write a short story. My attempt will be genuine and my goal will simply be to write something that deserves at least 2 stars (trust me, if you ask me to write Romance, that’s as high an expectation as you can entertain). In exchange, you agree to beta-read and review the short story.
This will help me “flex my author muscles” by experimenting, editing, and putting out a steady stream of short stories (hopefully). This will help you by giving you something to read that’s what you’re looking for right now (hopefully) without spending a dime… Okay, this is obviously more beneficial to me than it is to you, but come on, be a good sport! You can totally bludgeon me with a stick in your review. Now, wouldn’t that be fun?
So, here it is, thanks for reading!
Have a good day, evening, or night depending on when you read this.
I’ve noticed that most of my public interactions on GR lately have been inspired by some kind of controversy. Some recent events have made me quite angry, like most reviewers, and this culminated in Authors for Goodreads.
The thing is, while I’m glad I can be funny, this book is an unedited first draft which I wrote in a night while being absolutely tired. It has some value, but I didn’t really work for it. I can’t really be proud of it. The thing is, while writing doesn’t pay for the food I eat, it’s definitely the most important thing in my life – according to me. I joined Goodreads a lot less to promote my works than I did to improve myself.
This is why I’m writing this first blog post to try and initialize what I’d call a “GR friends with benefit” program, which could be better described as: “you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours.” The principle is utterly simple, you give me a genre, possibly the title of a book you love, and any kind of detail you want, and I’ll try to write a short story. My attempt will be genuine and my goal will simply be to write something that deserves at least 2 stars (trust me, if you ask me to write Romance, that’s as high an expectation as you can entertain). In exchange, you agree to beta-read and review the short story.
This will help me “flex my author muscles” by experimenting, editing, and putting out a steady stream of short stories (hopefully). This will help you by giving you something to read that’s what you’re looking for right now (hopefully) without spending a dime… Okay, this is obviously more beneficial to me than it is to you, but come on, be a good sport! You can totally bludgeon me with a stick in your review. Now, wouldn’t that be fun?
So, here it is, thanks for reading!
Have a good day, evening, or night depending on when you read this.
