Yes, All Men
Only a small percentage of men attack women, but the majority let it happen
There’s a TikTok going around right now of a female student who recorded her mostly-male tech class. The boys around her, laughing and seemingly oblivious to her presence, are joking about raping women. One classmate says “you could just find one that doesn’t talk so when you ask them for consent it’s ‘yes’ any time.” Another suggests finding a blind woman “so they don’t know where you’re at.”
The woman’s eyes widen and dart around as the boys continue. “So you’re saying silence is consent? That if they’re knocked out, it’s consent?”
What’s striking beyond how self-aware these men are—they’re using the language of students who have been taught rape prevention—is the laughing. (“Indelible in the hippocampus is the laughter.”) It’s only three or four students participating in the conversation, but the rest of the men in class are either laughing or silent.
And that’s what we mean when we say, “yes, all men.” Because while it’s only a small percentage of men who actually attack women, it’s the majority that let it happen.
The men who laugh along when classmates ‘joke’ about rape. The men who call women liars or when they come forward about assault, or ask what they were wearing. The men who ignore the harassers and abusers in their social circles because they’re otherwise fun guys. Just as bad: The men who watch it all happen and say nothing.
As Thomas Millar wrote over a decade ago, “It takes one rapist to commit a rape, but it takes a village to create an environment where it happens over and over.”
So long as men enable misogyny—be it actively or passively—progress for women is doomed. And not just around sexual violence issues.
The majority of ‘good’ men prop up sexism in all sorts of ways: Those who complain about #MeToo and not being able to ask out coworkers anymore make life easier for virulent workplace harassers. Men who joke about locking up their daughters pave the cultural way for paternalistic policies that limit women’s rights. Men who only want to marry housewives prop up systemic hurdles in working women’s career paths.
We’ve spent so long interrogating women’s decisions as a way to curb sexism—how we speak, what we wear, our work-life balance—when the truth is that it’s men’s choices that impact our lives the most. It’s time to focus on those. (After all, they’re the ones who got us into this mess in the first place.)
Most men are not rapists or harassers. Most men aren’t misogynists. But that’s little comfort if the non-abusive majority consistently enables sexism.
Until they don’t—until they shut down the misogyny in their midst—stop telling us that it’s “not all men.” We can see what’s in front of our faces, and who is sitting next to us in our classrooms.
If you liked this column & value this newsletter, please consider becoming a paid subscriber! You’ll have access to all of my pieces and be able to comment on columns and in open threads. (“One Good Thing,” where folks share something positive that happened to them that week—from getting a promotion or seeing a friend to growing a tomato for the first time—is a real highlight. It’s an incredible serotonin boost & really lovely!)
I have spent my career working in settings with all men (oilfield services and construction).
When I was 22 years old I was in a van with a crew of operators headed out to a well site. There were 8 or 9 grown men (ranging from early 20s to early 60s) and me in the van. We were on night shift (working 6pm to 6am) and it was two days before Christmas – meaning it was dark and getting darker. I was in the front passenger seat of the van. One of the older men was “joking” around about how it would be fun to be a serial killer and then said “or a serial rapist”. I turned around and said “you can’t say things like that” and he responded “why not?” with this weird fake innocent voice I can still hear in my head. I stared at him for a couple seconds, did not reply and turned back forward, the joking stopped. Not a single other man in the van said a word.
Not more than two minutes later the van was waiting to turn left and a woman was out running and was hit by another vehicle making a right turn down the same street we were waiting to turn down. Several people in my van saw the accident – however I was the only one who jumped out of the van and ran across the street.
This December it will have been ten years since that night – but my body still tenses and I feel physically scared for my safety when I think about it.
I have commented to a small subset of people (other women and my husband) about the underlying low level, but continuous stress that comes from working as a woman in a heavily male dominated field. I don’t know that I’ve ever captured it as well as this article – so thank you.
Very long post again; sorry. Feel very free not to read.
I was one of those men in my twenties and early thirties. Not the ones who joked and laughed but I was too timid to act, so I told myself (not even convincing myself) I was doing something by pointedly not laughing - and the few times I did speak up it was among people I knew would not beat me up for my trouble.
So yes, I was a coward. I was afraid* and didn't consider nearly enough that if I was afraid of these men, then how would women feel?
I'm not suggesting I - or any one guy - should always speak out; there is so much feral male aggression, especially when they are in a group, having 'fun', that it would not be responsible to tell everyone to say something in every situation.
Still, I could, and should, have done more in my younger years (I'm nearly 60 now) and I knew that; I was also raised much, much better, as they say.
Having written the bit about the potential physical danger of speaking out: there is never any excuse not to do so in ANY other circumstances.
I was very lucky that my only regular work was for an organisation where the workforce was about 50-50% men/women, and two of the three managers I had were women - so my courage and conscience were never tested there. By then I was ten years older, and much less afraid in general, so I think I would have acted, if I would have had to - but I never had to, so that's easy** to say.
*Not to totally beat myself up here, I was always uncomfortable in groups, especially male ones, and I avoided them where I could; I felt unsafe even when the group was having harmless fun, because I never trusted 'men + drink + fun'.
**Still, I kind of run on guilt, and I still feel guilty about each time I didn't do enough. So, I think I would indeed have done better age 40-57. Guilt, and the fear of more guilt, can be a great motivator, sometimes.