Don't Tell

A poem about about biting your tongue and a bit of truth for people who want to hear it

Whew! I have written and rewritten this introduction. I’ve scheduled it to post, then cancelled it, deleted the whole thing and then started over. Which has all made me realize how afraid I am of sticking my neck out here and turning what feels like a safe space into something else.

But the truth is, it’s not really a safe space. Feels like every time I check in on Notes these days there’s a post from a woman who had to block somebody for saying awful things or behaving in a creepy way. I don’t have any illusions that Substack is immune to the ugliness of other social media platforms. But mostly my little corner of Notes has a lot less of that stuff.

There’s a lot more of it lately.

Maybe it’s the general angst and anger over the upcoming US elections, but I see so many women reporting really ugly, misogynistic comments. There are always lots of responses offering sympathy and support. But at some point there comes a shift and a flurry of “Not All Men” responses which take different forms but all begin to sound like “Yeah, but I didn’t do that. Don’t I get credit for not being like them? Shouldn’t I get points for not doing what they’ve done?”

The answer to that is no, you don’t get extra points for not being a monster. You don’t earn ally status for not hitting on women who are just here to share their poetry with a community of writers. There is no award for behaving like a decent human being. That’s the baseline.

And I know that some of these people are doing more, are trying to live lives that exemplify equality, are attempting to examine their own biases and make change. I love that and am grateful for it.

But here’s the thing: We can’t recognize you at a distance. We don’t know who you are, and until we do, you are a threat to us. And telling women who have been subjected to violent language and threats that they should be more sensitive to the feelings of the good men out there, and doing so with smug condescension, does not make you part of the solution.

The kindest, best man in the world may be crossing my path in a dark parking lot, but I’ve got my keys threaded through my fingers and my legs are primed to run. A champion of human rights and racial and gender equality might be walking toward me on a sidewalk after dark and I’m thinking, “Do I cross the street, or will that just draw his attention?” We live like prey.

A question I keep seeing posed here, worded differently each time, but still the same is “Why do women think all men are like this?” And the answer is because we have no choice. We have to, if we want to stay safe.

We teach our daughters about threading their keys through their fingers; we tell them to forget squeamishness and aim for the eyes because it might save their lives. We tell them, yes, you should be able to wear whatever you want, whenever you want. But you’ll have a hard time running in those heels. This is the world women live in. Everyday. Everywhere. For us, the enemy is always a man. I am not exaggerating.

There are many men out there suffering with the burdens of patriarchy, cut off from their own emotions, struggling with isolation and depression. It breaks my heart. I am the mother of a young man who lives in this world and I see the effects. I will be an advocate for the kind of change that would improve their lives for as long as I live. I will offer compassion to the men in my life and create safe spaces for them to be whole humans.  But that will not change the fact that I must live with a deep-seated, elemental fear of men and their capacity for violence. I’m stuck with that, as is my daughter. Women are carrying a huge burden of fear. It’s heavy and it limits what else we can shoulder.

I wrote the following poem thinking about my daughter who is a lot like I was at her age. She is smart and not afraid to engage in a dialogue about something she believes in. This can make a young woman a target. I learned this the hard way in college. Women who speak the truth have to pick their battles as a way to protect their peace. I may regret posting this here today. I hope I don’t. If I’m successful, maybe this truth will lend some additional support to the women here being subjected to mistreatment, and being told they are too broad in their condemnations.

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Don’t Tell

We see things clearly,
you and I,
a bird’s eye view, 
a nose for a lie,
a long focus point
But we aren’t always
so good at knowing
when to keep mum 
about what we’ve seen
There are things 
they really ought to know
but you will grow
accustomed to
the taste of iron
as you learn
to bite your tongue
Who was it said
Keep your counsel,
Keep your head?
Maybe no one,
but they should have
Like Athena’s owl
with Cassandra’s mouth,
they may praise you for
your wisdom but they will
rarely thank you 
for the truth

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Thanks for reading, everyone.