Author: RedKnowsBall

The Strike and the Silent Pressure on Men
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The Strike and the Silent Pressure on Men

“The Strike” the documentary about the 2013 California Hunger Strikes, I found to be a very captivating and intriguing watch in class. I personally didn’t know about the strikes until we watched the documentary, but I was personally baffled that this was even able to happen to these men in solitary confinement. Watching the documentary, though, I realized a startling truth… most men in society, in many ways, experience a quieter, emotional version of solitary confinement. The men in “The Strike” were put under horrendous conditions by the California prisons; eventually, when word got around that a planned hunger strike was going to take place, it was easy for many to get behind, really, because when you take away someone’s social interaction and time outside and force them to live the same day over and over again, you’re forced to take action on the only thing you have left, the body. For the men, their bodies were the only thing they had control over, so they found a way to rebel by starving themselves for the betterment of their conditions.

While the conditions aren’t the same by any means, men walking free face a similar imprisonment placed on them by the greater society at large. Even though it’s no longer the 1900s anymore, the stigma of men having to be stronger, masculine figures who do not express emotion and provide for the women and children is very much still alive and well. It’s a quieter, more invisible form of imprisonment; boys can’t cry, can’t ask for help, and don’t talk about what hurts because at the end of the day, even if they do talk about what hurts and cry, they show weakness and failure to be a pillar of strength in society’s eyes. And like the men in “The Strike” the only agency they do have is that of their own bodies, throwing that pent-up emotion in the gym, building muscle, cleaving away the pain of their psyche by tearing the muscle fibers keeping them whole. Becoming what society wants, a strong man who doesn’t show weakness, is what true strength is to society.

The reason I’m able to describe how it is, how these invisible bars keep men inside, is because I am one of those men; a subconscious reason of why I started going to the gym is because I was skinny as a twig in middle school, and I was made fun of for my poor posture and the fact that you could see my rib cage with my shirt off. I couldn’t really vent any of these feelings to anyone; my dad is a stoic person who himself doesn’t really express a lot, unless he’s drunk off his rocker. And my mom, who is the complete opposite of my dad, can’t really understand me, even when I try to convey my anger. I just had to shut up and forget. That was in my early development years, and so into middle and high school, I never really talked much. I had friends, but I was known as a quiet kid. It wasn’t until high school that I started taking serious issue with how I looked and how others viewed me. I wanted them to see me as a strong, dependable person, so I started working out. Not choosing to, but was suffering in silence; this was also the time I realized that I hated myself. I distinctly remember telling my friends that I hated myself, after years of never really talking about how I felt. This was how one friend responded to me, “No, you don’t hate yourself.” After this point, I lost faith in trusting others with how I felt when I started putting all that pain and feeling into running and lifting weights. This is how I’ve been living for years now, not really thinking that anyone could or would want to hear what I truly felt. It’s been put into my head, “Men can’t cry,” and I think a lot of other men would resonate with this feeling or story of myself.

Roughly 75% of deaths by suicide in America, Canada, and the UK are by men, and after years of pent-up emotion, the final state a man has to go to rebel is by taking his own life. I myself have faced thoughts of suicide, but never planned for it; it’s only been up until a few months ago that I was able to confide in really close friends about these past feelings. Nothing really gets me to talk much about a certain topic or subject, but I champion and proudly stand for the mental health of men everywhere, to please go and find help, and to realize that it is ok to cry in this painfully messed-up world. While I’ll probably never go through the trials and tribulations of the men in the California hunger strikes, I can connect to the feeling of rebelling against your own body to make a statement to others and having agency over the one thing you can never lose: your body.

Fighting internal battles inside a cage
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Fighting internal battles inside a cage

Over the weekend, I watched the film “Magazine Dreams” starring Jonathan Majors. I found it to be a very potent and powerful film, navigating the troubled topics of mental health and toxic masculinity seen in a bodybuilder. I personally think its one of the best films in the past 5 years, masterfully crafted, and the acting of Jonathan Majors was nothing but masterful, 9.5/10 in my opinion. But watching it, I couldn’t help but find parallels in a recent essay we read in class, Roxanne Gay, “My body is a cage of my own making.” Roxanne writes with raw honesty about how her body has become both a site of protection and imprisonment, shaped by trauma, shame, and the desire for safety. Her essay tussles with the views of society on fatness seen as failure and how internalized expectations of beauty and worth can distort the relationship one has with the body. The body seen as a “cage,” is not just physical, it’s psychological and societal, shaped through years of punishment, judgement and self-loathing. Just like Roxanne Gay, Jonathan Majors character, Killian Maddox goes through a similar struggle, like Gay, Killian’s obsession with control over his body will grant him love, recognition, and dignity, it becomes his own form of imprisonment. It’s this desire that turns self-destructive; these hypermasculine ideals reflect societal views on strength, dominance, and visibility, and can warp one’s self-image. It’s this toxic masculinity image that Killian aspires to. It’s the muscle-bound body that Killian builds that becomes his own “cage”; he builds his own prison. I can relate to Killian’s view of wanting to look better and that there is something even above perfection; my family calls me a perfectionist and that nothing is ever really good enough for me, I’ve been working out for 4 years now, and even now I can’t find the satisfactory approval of others; I can’t even find it within myself. I feel as if I have to keep pushing myself with no end in sight; there is no prize to perfection, only the endless pursuit. Ultimately, both works reveal the violence of living in a body that society misreads or refuses to acknowledge fully. Gay’s body is seen as “too much,” and Killian’s body as “not enough.” Both ideas are detrimental and harmful to both, and both end up internalizing this worldview until it ultimately consumes them. Both of these works reveal the battle between the body you create for yourself and the socially defined aspects of it.

Football is for everyone, right?
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Football is for everyone, right?

Within the past year or so, I’ve been slowly getting more and more into football. Most of my friends were already huge fans, but in high school I was into other things. That all changed when I got to college and found myself with nothing to do on Sundays, so I started following the NFL. Now, I’m even starting to get into the college football scene. While reading Brian Jay Eley’s “You See Me” in Nonbinary: Memoirs of Gender and Identity, I came across a quote that really stood out to me, “I believed the rhetoric I was told as a child. I believed that America was great. I believed God was good. I believed that all people were equal. I believed that it was wrong to be mean to people based on who they are. I believed that anyone could grow up to be anything. No one told me explicitly that I couldn’t play with toys for girls. I grew up with the implicit bigotry that surrounds us all.” (page 157) I found this quote incredibly powerful. Eley lists all the things he was told to believe as a child, only to realize later that society often contradicts those ideals. His realization that even something as small as being discouraged from playing with “girls’ toys” reflects larger social standards and restrictions really struck me. It made me think about football. At my high school, they recently created a girls’ flag football team. Now, this might be a hot take, but I’ve never really understood the point of flag football. To me, tackling is part of what makes football, football y’know? Pulling off a flag just feels… different. But what stands out more is that, for a long time, girls didn’t even have the opportunity to experience the sport in any form, at least not where I’m from. Only recently have those opportunities started to appear even if it’s not the same version the boys get to play. I think everyone should be able to experience the game in its full form if they want to. Regardless of gender, anyone should be able to put on the pads, line up on 4th and 1, and feel the same rush that comes with playing the sport.

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The Thing They Don’t Tell You About College

Docile bodies are individuals who have been trained to be obedient an useful to common society. For most people, the act of attending school and reciting the pledge of allegiance puts us in this category; most of my life before college was consistent to a comfy routine of school, hanging out with friends, and enjoying the company of family. This is my second year of college, my freshman year was good! I was adjusting to college life pretty well, but I started noticing things, it had been a while since I had contact with any of my friends from before I left, I relied less and less on my family. I had been trained into the routine of seeing these people everyday for my first 18 years of life, and now I was forced out of that routine of what had became normality for me. It was weird and honestly uncomfortable for me. I know they say that its apart of growing up, but what if it doesn’t have to be? At least, I thought that way; for most of my life I felt like people would come into my life, and then some I had known for years just disappear. It didn’t feel like I had control over who I wanted to have in it; I think over the summer I had came to the realization that life is just like a revolving door, in order for some to enter a few have to leave… I think eventually most if not all of my closest friends from high school will all leave that revolving door, before I might’ve tried to stop it from revolving, but now I might be ready to let go of that. I mean I’ve met some really amazing people already in this new chapter of my life, and I can’t wait to meet more; I feel like most can relate to this, you have this routine for most of your early life and to see the people you remember fade away as you get older is a tough. Eventually we get out of the routine docile bodies puts us in, I mean I haven’t said the pledge of allegiance since high school!