Are non-violent men just wusses? Or are they happy with theirmasculinity, wonders Kevin Courtney
Guys, it's official - we're nothing but a bunch of thugs who beat up our wives, girlfriends and partners, exert uncommon control over their lives, and use the threat of violence to retain power in our relationships. And you thought we were such nice guys when you met us. OK, we're not all thugs, but it seems that a high percentage of us are nasty pieces of work, because, according to a recent report on violent behaviour in the Republic, four out of 10 Irish women who have had a sexual relationship have experienced domestic violence. The report, carried out by researchers at the department of general practice and community health at Trinity College, found that Irish women regularly run a gamut of male violence, from punching walls and furniture, to slapping, kicking and choking, right up to rape and attempted murder. The Celtic Tiger, it seems, is just a big, cowardly bully.
Women are also violent - but I doubt that 40 per cent of Irish men live in fear of violence from their female partners, although I know plenty of guys down the pub who say things like, "Is that the time, the missus will kill me!" or "Go to a lap-dancing club? Are you mad? The wife would cut it off!"
The Trinity College report doesn't look at violence in the wider community, but if it did, I'm sure a different view would emerge. Instead of 40 per cent of women experiencing violent behaviour, it would find that both men and women experience unacceptable levels of violence. Every night of the week, and most often at weekends, men are getting their heads kicked in by other men, outside pubs, clubs, chip shops and even outside their own houses. From a member of Westlife getting a puck in his local chipper in Sligo, to an Italian student getting beaten so badly in Dublin, that he is permanently disabled, newspapers provide enough of reports of beatings, kickings, diggings and stabbings to wrap your chips up in.
In my entire adult life, I've only been in one fight. Actually, it wasn't so much a fight as a scuffle, and only one punch was thrown (at me - ouch). At a party I was giving last year, I had to forcibly eject a nuisance from the premises. He got one punch in before I slammed the front door in his face, but what really left me reeling was the adrenalin rush of anger and testosterone; I was shaking for an hour afterwards. Compared with the hits my fellow men are getting on a daily basis, this is soft drugs; instead of asking why men are such thugs, I should perhaps be wondering if I'm a wuss.
But before I start beating myself up for not being a fighter, I have to remind myself that violent men are in the minority. Most of us just want to get on with our lives without the threat of violence. Sadly, it's not always possible. I've got two friends who were set upon by a gang of thugs as they returned home from their local pub in Wicklow and as a result, spent Christmas in hospital. I've also got friends who have had their noses broken in fist-fights, so I guess I got off lightly with just a sore jaw. Ireland's most vicious gurriers are getting off lightly too - usually with six months suspended.
Some believe that men are simply feeding their egos by being violent, but I think this is the last resort of the emasculated male. It's the only way he has left of wielding power; it's the response of the cornered rat who feels his life going down the drain, and who rages against the dying of the light by picking on someone smaller and more helpless than himself.
In Being A Man in the Lousy Modern World (Weidenfeld & Nicolson), Robert Twigger writes: "the safer our world becomes, the more masculine and attractive crime will become". In a life "devoid of dangerous and difficult challenges", criminal - and violent - behaviour assumes the mantle of macho cool. In other words, the only way to prove you're a real man these days is to nut the other guy and steal his car. In prehistoric times, violence was necessary for the survival of the species.
Those club-wielding cave-dwellers had to go out and bash the other tribe to a pulp, or their wives would kill them. The Tuatha De Dannan had to dodge 100 arrows, swim naked through lakes of fire and jump across a field of upturned spears just to get into secondary school. In more recent history, Hitler had to invade Poland before the lads down the bierkeller found out that he only had one testicle and made fun of him. Back then, violence was just another attractive, virile trait, like wearing a big moustache or smelling of B.O. It was, indeed, the mark of a man.
Nowadays, however, violence is a mere muscular reflex, the final twitches of a dying masculinity. There's nothing big, clever or manly in beating up another guy outside the pub, especially when you have six mates to help you do the job. Twigger divides male macho behaviour into two distinct categories: male-being and male-proving. Male-being is when you indulge in all those harmless, blokey pastimes such as playing football, building shelves, collecting pen-knives, carving meat, sawing wood and shooting (game, that is, not other people). Male-proving, on the other hand, is when you feel threatened by another's male-being and compensate with a childish, bizarre need to prove yourself tougher and more evolved than the other guy. Among the more common male-proving activities, Twigger lists bullying, road rage, battling with your neighbours, and racial attacks.
"If life lacks enough male-being opportunities," he writes, "then male-proving becomes more common, more woven into the fabric of life. Men who feel 'unmanned' make a point of showing they won't be pushed around by pushing others around."
Thankfully, there are enough real men out there who don't feel the need to male-prove themselves at a weaker person's expense. And I feel glad - and not the least bit ashamed - that I'm one of them.