Maybe Try Growing Up?

This rant is aimed at men. White men. Computer programmers, primarily, or those who might have been. People like, well, myself.

That said, within that group, this rant is not aimed at the Gamergaters, the Redditors, the "libertarians", the Men's Right Activists (or their close cousins, the Me's Rights Activists, who angrily demand special recognition and sexual favors simply for denouncing the MRAs, or for describing themselves as "feminist.")

Nor is it aimed at, well, people like me. People who, yes, care about feminism, and intersectionality, and class struggle, but are not remotely prepared to sacrifice their own unearned privilege for the uncertain advancement of a cause whose success means their downfall. (I'm looking at you, Kim Stanley Robinson. And myself, obviously.) Somebody should probably rant at us, but I'm not the one to do it. (I'm still mustering up the courage to read Between The World And Me.)

No, this rant is aimed at those of us educated white men who have essentially a Black History Month interpretation of history and civil rights. Who believe that, yes, all men (and women) are created equal, that racism and sexism are wrong, and that women and minorities are every bit the equal of white men.... and leave it at that. Those who believe (sincerely!) that stating their belief in equality should rightfully end the discussion.

And it is aimed, ultimately, at Andy Weir, the author of the recently popular novel (and upcoming Matt Damon movie) The Martian, and self-described "fiscal conservative, social liberal." The rant goes like this:

Hey, Andy: have you considered, like, growing up?

(I mean, you could start by going by "Andrew," but you've already got a brand going, so I understand your problem there.)

In the meantime, Andy, here's the thing: I'm reasonably confident that you don't officially have any "wrong" beliefs. I mean, sure, I doubt that you would claim the word "feminist," because I assume you have an incoherent understanding of the concept which you've never bothered to interrogate. But I expect that, even if you wouldn't use that word, you would express allegiance to what you would describe as "real" feminism, a belief that women don't deserve to be treated differently than men, that there are many fine women in the world (how brave of you to say so!) that there are women out there that can do whatever men can do, and who probably shouldn't be raped, if it can be avoided.

But have you considered ever stopping for even like 30 seconds and imagining what the world is like for a woman, or for that matter anybody that isn't a rich, white, straight, American man? Because, just based on your novel The Martian, I'm fairly certain the answer is no.

I could point to a number of reasons why I believe that, and many of them are somewhat ineffable, a stench of white privilege wafting from every page of your book (note that the narrator of the novel, despite being stranded all alone on Mars, never really seems to feel that anything bad could or should ever happen to him). But your rational programmer mind would refuse to consider such vague, unsupportable accusations, so I'd like to take a minute to quote a particular passage which crystallized for me the essentially childish nature of your worldview. Mild spoilers to follow.

To set the scene: the main character (and primary first-person narrator) of The Martian is Mark Watney, one of a group of six astronauts that was part of a manned mission to Mars. While on Mars, a sudden dust storm arises which causes the mission to evacuate the planet, and through a series of mishaps, leave Mark behind, presumed dead. Of course, he is not dead, and the novel consists of his attempts to survive, as well as the attempts to rescue him once the fact of his survival is discovered back on Earth. Gripping stuff, and, considered as a straightforward, hard sci-fi, page turner, well deserving of the success it has achieved. (Seriously, I read the whole thing in a couple of days. It's a solidly written adventure.)

The crew of the mission comprised 6 people, and if you guessed that there were two women and four men, and that one of the two women was the mission commander, then congratulations, you are clearly familiar with the "subconsciously evading accusations of sexism" genre of narrative construction. So, yes, Andy, you made one of the women the commander, and yes, Andy, there were two women on the crew so neither of them can be called tokens. Well done. Have a cookie.

And now we get to the passage that really got to me. At one point, Mark has been asked by a NASA psychologist to write a letter to each of the other members of the mission (with whom he cannot communicate directly), for vaguely defined reasons. He does so, and it is the letter he writes to the non-commanding woman in the crew which I wish to quote here. It reads:

Johanssen:

Your poster outsold the rest of ours combined. You're a hot chick who went to Mars. You're on dorm-room walls all over the world.

Looking like that, why are you such a nerd? And you are, you know. A serious nerd. I had to do some computer shit to get Pathfinder talking to the rover and oh my god. And I had NASA telling me what to do every step of the way.

[...]

Did you know Commander Lewis had a chat with us men? If anyone hit on you, we'd be off the mission. I guess after a lifetime of commanding sailors, she's got an unfairly jaded view.

Anyway, the point is, you're a nerd. Remind me to give you a wedgie next time I see you.

Now, many of you may read that passage and be appropriately appalled. Great! Your lesson ends here, I have nothing more to teach you (you may have things to teach me). But many others may read this and see nothing objectionable at all! Just some good humored banter, between two equals on a space mission, a little light-hearted joshing among friends. And to you I say, first: you're completely wrong. I mean, obviously I think that, otherwise I wouldn't be on this rant. This passage is absolutely horrifying.

But second: I totally understand where you're coming from. I used to feel the same way! I mean, not about this specific passage, obviously, but if I had read it a few years ago, I know that I would have felt the same way that you do about it. And I'd like to take a moment to break down why I was wrong in that belief.

To start: look at the values that are expressed in the first two paragraphs. Consider that Johanssen, to be part of a manned mission to Mars, must have legitimately been one of the smartest, most ambitious, most accomplished computer scientists in the entire goddamned world, and consider that Mark must certainly be aware of this fact. But what Mark has unilaterally decided is that Johanssen's abilities, awesome as he freely admits that they are, are clearly secondary in importance to her impact on the male gaze. Realize that what Mark is telling Johanssen is this: there is nothing, literally nothing that she could ever possibly accomplish or achieve, which would outweigh in his mind the fact that her body sometimes gives him an erection. That's it. She is, first and foremost, a physical form that Mark (and, therefore, the rest of the world's men) likes to think about while masturbating. Not only does her physical attractiveness outweigh her personal accomplishments, but it renders those accomplishments inexplicable. Mark explicitly states that he cannot understand how a woman could be both a.) attractive to him, Mark Watney, and b.) have any other value. At all. How could she have found the motivation to study computers, when she had already attained the summit of female existence: being attractive to men? What other motivation could she have? It's a mystery to Mark.

And to be clear: Mark is not even a computer programmer! (He is a botanist by trade, though all the crew members were reasonably well-rounded scientists.) And yet it's clear from this text that he feels that any task that Johannsen can do is something that, obviously, he ought to be able to do at least as well. After all, she is an attractive woman, and as Mark knows, attractive women just sit around basking in how much they love male approval. So where did she learn all this computer stuff, anyway? Mark is offended by the fact that she has apparently found value in something besides her own attractiveness to him, Mark Watney. What's the idea, anyway? Who gave her the right to decide that Mark's approval of her body wasn't enough to go on? He should give her a wedgie.

And finally, consider the chat that Commander Lewis had with "us men." (Who all think as one, and who all, it goes without saying, agree with Mark's assessment of Johanssen's body and value.) Commander Lewis, uptight bitch that she is, decided, for some inexplicable reason, that she had to warn the men about "hitting on" Johanssen. Weird, right? After all, if the men "hit on" Johanssen, wouldn't that just make her feel good, knowing that she had achieved her highest purpose by giving men erections? How could she possibly want any other form of approval? WHY CAN'T SHE TAKE A COMPLIMENT? But don't worry, Johanssen: now that Commander Lewis is out of the way, Mark is free to hit on Johanssen just like he always wanted to (and like he knows she has always wanted him to). Safe on Mars, he can finally "hit on" Johanssen free from consequence.

And if you haven't read the novel, rest assured: there is no consequence for Mark whatsoever. Not from Lewis, not from Johanssen, not from NASA, nobody. Far from it! The people of Earth freely agree to spend as much money as is necessary to rescue Mark. Congress passes emergency appropriations. The Chinese government agrees to divert a previously planned mission to send him aid (there is admittedly at least a bit of quid pro quo on that one). And the other members of the mission, Johanssen and particularly Lewis very much included, gladly and eagerly agree to sacrifice a year of their life (and run the risk of sacrificing their lives entirely) to go back and rescue Mark. Despite blatantly hitting on Johanssen in this letter, as he had expressly been forbidden from doing, he is far from being "off the mission," and in fact the mission is entirely redefined in terms of rescuing Mark. So, after the end of the novel, when Mark sees Johanssen again, and reaches down into her pants without asking permission, and grabs her panties, and yanks them up, forcing them into her vagina and anus, all the men will stand around and laugh at her, and she had damn well better force a smile herself (and Lewis better smile as well), to show her appreciation for the compliment Mark has paid her by desiring control of her body.

So, I've gotten really angry, but I want to come back to my point from before, which is that I too once would have found nothing objectionable in the passage I quoted above. And I just want to say that my position (and yours, gentle reader) does not really come from a place of hate, even though hatred is its inevitable expression. But rather, it comes from a place of CHILDISHNESS. When you are a child, any thwarting of your desires is indeed inexplicable and outrageous. Anybody who has ever tried to say "No" to a three-year-old understands this phenomenon, and anybody who has ever been a three-year-old understands that point of view. A child has no understanding that other people have different desires than their own. A child cannot believe that their desires can be rightly contradicted. And those of us who are rich, straight, white men can go most of our lives without ever being told otherwise.

The fact is, that when I see an attractive woman, there is a part of me that wants to see her naked, that wants to touch her, that wants to use that attractive woman's body to gratify my own wants and desires. And the fact that I cannot (in virtually all cases) do so, is a real hardship and frustration to me, in the same way that being told, as a three-year-old, I could not have all the candy I wanted, or stay in the swimming pool as long as I wanted, or stay up and watch TV as long as I wanted, was a real hardship and frustration to me. But what I eventually learned (when I was, like, 23) was that the fact that I wanted something did not mean that I had a right to it. And more importantly, what I learned, even later in my life, was that everybody that wasn't a rich straight white man had already learned that fact long ago. They had been taught that fact forcibly, backed by the threat of rape, or violence, or imprisonment, or death. It had been made clear to them that attempting to impose their desires on others was an act of aggression, and would be punished by whatever means were necessary to prevent them from doing so again.

It is only within the bubble where I grew up that it was possible to hold to my childish belief that my own desires were more important than the desires of (racial/sexual/economic) minorities; or, more simply, anybody that wasn't me. And what I eventually had to realize was that adulthood, and maturity, means treating the desires of all those around me as equally worthy of respect, even when their desires conflict with my own. If Johanssen was real, then yes, I, too might imagine her while I was masturbating. And I, too, might wish with all my heart (and with real respect!) that she would let me see her naked, or fuck her, or touch her boobs, or even just stroke her hair and look into her eyes and tell her, in all sincerity, how much I loved her body and desperately wanted her approval of my own physical self. But what I've eventually learned, and what I hope Andy Weir eventually learns too, is that the Johanssens of the world do not owe me anything. And, more importantly, that it is this knowledge, and no other, that separates the child from the man. So: grow up, Andy Weir, because I have done the same, and I promise that you will find that you lose nothing in the process.