I'm Afraid of Men.

by Vivek Shraya

My fear of men is a fuel that both protects my body, as a survival instinct, and erodes it, from overuse. Since coming out as trans, I have been stricken with numerous freak pains and repetitive strain injuries that practitioners are unable to explain or cure. When they suspiciously ask me, “Are you sure nothing happened? You didn’t fall somewhere?” I want to respond, “I live in fear.”

How many sexual desires and fantasies are formed out of potential or actual male violence? Or rather, to what extent is sexuality shaped and constrained by childhood experiences of male violence? What might desire feel like if the construction of sexuality didn’t take place in tandem with childhood experiences of violence from men? Would I have been as allured by your soft curls and passion for reading had I not already experienced the violence of other boys?

I’M AFRAID OF MEN not because of any singular encounter with a man. I’m afraid of men because of the cumulative damage caused by the everyday experiences I’ve recounted here, and by those untold, and by those I continue to face.

If we want masculinity to be different, we must confront and tackle the baseline instead of longing for exceptions. Loving your mother, holding a door open for a woman, being a good listener, or even being a feminist doesn’t make a man an exception. Experiencing oppression—including racism, homophobia, and transphobia—doesn’t make a man an exception. If we are invested in perpetuating and glorifying the myth of the “good man,” we are also complicit in overlooking, if not permitting, the reprehensible behaviour of the “typical man.”

feeling deeply is not only my job, it’s a blessing. Feelings are the fresh water I pull from when I create. I also hope that being attuned to the emotions of others makes me a better friend and lover. By relearning the power of emotions, beyond fear—the feeling I have been forced to bear the most—and recognizing how any display of feelings is often synonymous with femininity, I have come to realize that the ugly common thread linking my experiences with men is misogyny.

The disdain for women and femininity is insidious, infecting even those who profess to love women, and it takes many forms

The theme of entitlement to space that emerges in many of my recollections of men, and in my own masculine development, is colonial code for claiming someone else’s space. Whether it’s through an emphasis on being large and muscular, or asserting power by an extended or intimidating stride on sidewalks, being loud in bars, manspreading on public transit, or enacting harm or violence on others, taking up space is a form of misogyny because so often the space that men try to seize and dominate belongs to women and gender-nonconforming people.

I’m especially afraid of women because my history has taught me that I can’t fully rely upon other women for sisterhood, or allyship, or protection from men.

What if I didn’t have to give up any characteristics, especially ones I like, to outwardly prove I am a girl? What if living my truth now didn’t immediately render everything that came before, namely my manhood, a lie?