Obviously masculinity is an artificial societal construct that has been strengthened over the ages as man has asserted his dominance over everything he can lay his eyes on. Regardless of its artificiality its consequences are real, thus masculinity is real. It is a product of its social actors although as it exists today within the context of South Africa I find it hard to claim it as a product of my creation as an early millennial.
Nobody cuts the black man some slack, NOBODY!
As far back as I can remember a suit has represented the triumph of western hegemonic domination in my mind. I have always viewed its wearer as a sell-out of the highest order, who deserves nothing less than a tyre around their neck and a good dose of paraffin to get the fireworks going. This militant idealistic notion has been tempered down over the years by the politics of the stomach, although my disdain for a suit has remained. A finely tailored suit made from the most exquisite fabrics known to man exudes power and success in the minds of the masses and I would be lying if I said the same sentiment does not resonant in my mind when I see a tall, young, black, athletically slim man, coming out of the latest German machine as he means business in Sandton. This image is consistently peddled by mass media, defining what aspirations I should have as a young black man and I say fuck that!
Unfortunately I cannot sleep my way into a warm bed and a regular meal.
When I turn to my tribal teachings as a *Xhosa man, I find no comfort. At the age of 29 I am supposed to have a third bun baking in the oven, preferably a boy who will be able to carry on the family name. Although a girl will be welcomed considering how valuable such property is when it reaches an age of maturation and it is able to breed. With the addition of religious fanaticism on top of that, I’m stuck with the same woman for the rest of my life and I am not allowed to love anybody else as long as my wife lives. Regardless of the fact that most off my male relatives, going back three generations, had children outside of wedlock.
On top of all these unmet societal expectations of masculinity, I have to deal with the traumatization of the black psyche as a result of colonialism as it manifests itself externally and internally in the lives of my people in the dirty South of Africa. Nobody cuts the black man some slack, NOBODY!
Shit is real out here and the coloniser needs my undivided attention…
Unfortunately I cannot sleep my way into a warm bed and a regular meal. I have to kill, lie and fight for everything I want in this world and that presents the very real possibility of perverting an already troubled mind towards unspeakable offences of homicide, femicide and infanticide as is the case in this troubled land of ours. I am both the victimiser and the victim.
So while I sympathise with the feminist agenda I simply do not have time to give it my full support and dedication. Shit is real out here and the coloniser needs my undivided attention if I am to win the battle that was lost by my forefathers.
*I am actually IBhaca but Mzansi bureaucracy does not recognize the nuances of Nguni politics.