Masculinity is toxic.
I lost a few y-chromosomed readers with that opening line, but that’s OK. The genetic irony of the y chromosome (passed exclusively from father to son) is that it is one of the fastest-evolving parts of the human genome. Unfortunately, our social constructions of masculinity have never kept pace. The slap heard (and seen) around the world this week is an inimitable case in point. Masculinity is toxic.
I don’t mind if the men in my life suspend my group chat privileges for writing this. I can’t stomach the chatter, anyway. So many of us were triggered by Will Smith’s violent response to Chris Rock’s G.I. Jane joke, and too many of us will never come to grips with why or how we were triggered. I realize that many men don’t like the language of triggers or the idea that heteronormativity and patriarchy are hegemonic forces in our daily lives. They don’t believe that chauvinism is embedded in the discourse of protectionism that a lot of men (and some women) used to find solace in Will Smith’s slap.
In the end, all of the celebrities involved in this slapping episode will be fine. The question is—and I mean this especially for the Black men in my life: Will we?
Men remain eternally skeptical of the new language deployed to define our toxicity. For too many of us misogynoir—misogyny targeting Black women—is a myth; hypermasculinity is a media construct; and cisgender is a concept made up in a lab for literary theory. We have not yet come to terms with the fact that we need these terms largely because we’ve exhausted the discourse for what ails us.
We literally don’t even know how to talk about this anymore. Most of what we think constitutes manliness is a rigid set of directives and unchecked impulses only tactically relevant for Cro-Magnons—sorry, Anatomically Modern Humans. The rest of what we think constitutes manliness is basic. Men choose violence.
Please note that I am not writing this from the perspective of some kind of paradoxical observer. I write this as a cisgender, heteronormative man infected with the (white) patriarchal hegemony of the world in which I came of age. I am in recovery from toxic masculinity. And like any addict in recovery, I will have to struggle for the rest of my life to discover and construct a working definition of Black masculinity that is free from all the bullshit. No excuses here either. The first step in the 1,200-step program of recovery from toxic masculinity is accountability.
The triggers for Black men watching the Will Smith slap are bountiful.
We’ve been slapped before. Set aside the euphemistic use of the phrase “a slap in the face.” Black men have been literally slapped in the face—by parents, peers and people who believe that punishment is a panacea for pain.
What is secreted in this universe of slapping is the fact that when we slap back or if we are the original slapper, there is a fair amount of shame and humiliation that accrues to these acts of violence, as well. Slappers feel shame and they sometimes share in the humiliation. We never come to terms with and/or understand this in any meaningful way. Will Smith’s macho march back to his seat following the slap was followed up—minutes later—with a sense of shame and emotional confusion that he could not contain in his conflicted acceptance “speech” for the best actor Oscar.
Even though Will Smith left West Philly for Bel-Air decades ago, the City of Brotherly Love will continue to claim him. We will brace ourselves for the shame that will follow him well past the immediate aftermath of the slap. Will Smith can’t be the Will Smith he was before it. He won’t get the same kind of roles to play and he can’t play the same role that he carefully constructed for himself throughout his extraordinary career. And maybe that’s OK. A veil has been lifted and some of the toxicity has been exposed.
The central misconception amongst men when it comes to the toxicity of masculinity is that we generally think of it (if at all) as the slate of bad things that men do to women. And it is that; but that’s not all.
Chris Rock’s response in that moment—the only one we have to go on, despite the fake apology circulating on social media—was measured to some, even a little surprising. Many of my male friends claim they might have handled it differently—if not in that moment, these guys would have got at Will Smith at whatever Oscar afterparty they could’ve gotten into.
Others believe that the cops or some other carceral version of security should have gathered and/or captured Smith on the spot. They’re not mad that Chris Rock didn’t press charges. It’s not manly to go to the police for things that should be settled in these mean, masculine streets. They are mad because they believe that if Will Smith had smacked a White man, then he would’ve been cuffed and corralled during the television delay.
Chris Rock’s handling of the situation
With all that’s been written about the slap, not enough has been said about how Rock handled it in the moment. I don’t think Rock was physically hurt. He nearly laughed it off; “Will Smith just smacked the shit outta me,” he said in visible disbelief. He also immediately agreed to keep Jada Pinkett Smith’s name out of his mouth. To be sure, Chris Rock had a lot on the line in that moment. He’s about to launch a world tour—part of which will be sharing a marquee with another Philly legend, Kevin Hart. He also has a legitimate shot at being a future host of the very same program that will continue to be a vehicle of infamy for him because of Will Smith’s slap. This should not be surprising. The only thing more valuable than power for hegemonic masculinity is money.
If you ever need evidence of how pervasive toxic masculinity can be, please consider how many times and from how many angles you’ve been coerced into watching Will Smith’s slap. Think about how dominant this slap has been as a news story this week. Think about how many people sent images of the slap to you, or posted it on your TL, or shared pictures of it in your group chats. Think about all the ways that they expect you to laugh at it. Think about how many memes have been made—how many more will be. How many people—present company included—will feel verified in weighing in on it. Think about the fact that Chris Rock will live with this image for as long as he’s alive.
This is part of what Kareem Abdul Jabbar was getting at in his thoughtful piece on the slap: “Will Smith Did a Bad, Bad Thing.” Mr. Jabbar could have had the final say in my mind on this—until White people started circulating his piece as an evidentiary statement in support of their outrage.
Dear White people, when a Black man you love slaps another Black man that you love on national TV, while everybody is watching, please give us Black folks some space to work through our own feelings before you dominate the discourse with yours. This is a confusing and at times infuriating moment in some of our lives and honestly, the specter of whiteness can ruin almost anything for Black folks. White supremacy is just about as toxic as masculinity is, but we somehow have developed better tools for dealing with it.
If you ever need evidence of how pervasive toxic masculinity can be, please consider how many times and from how many angles you’ve been coerced into watching Will Smith’s slap.
The central misconception amongst men when it comes to the toxicity of masculinity is that we generally think of it (if at all) as the slate of bad things that men do to women. And it is that; but that’s not all. What is too often left out—in addition to the work that we have to do on ourselves—is that the impact of toxic masculinity on men (and boys) is deliberate and debilitating. It is everywhere in our lives. The Will Smith slap simply instigates a sort of toxic shock syndrome—an overdose of toxic ideas and behaviors that one single slap reflects and represents ad infinitum.
That’s why the slap is still eating up space on your timeline right now. It’s not that the Will Smith slap is more important than the war of aggression in Ukraine, economic inflation here at home, or Donald Trump’s latest antics. It’s that the slap is an emblem of the same toxic masculinity that animates all of the other major problems in the world right now.
Think about the drivers of our biggest challenges. The rise of fascism—toxic masculinity; police brutality—racism and toxic masculinity; our dying embrace of the fossil fuel industries—toxic masculinity; the various wars of aggression across the globe—toxic masculinity. This list goes on.
In the end, all of the celebrities involved in this slapping episode will be fine. The question is—and I mean this especially for the Black men in my life: Will we?
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