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This week’s question comes from me, actually…

How can men help men do the work that men need to do?

On Tuesday, September 13, 1983, I stood outside my high school along with the majority of the student body. We were out there in protest. We made signs. We chanted. We yelled things out. As far as memory serves, this is the first protest I was ever a part of. My family did not protest things, at least not publicly. We kept our heads down. But on this particular Tuesday, I decided there was an issue important enough that I would join my fellow students on the lawn outside our school to protest a great injustice.

They were allowing girls into our school.

Some backstory: I went to high school at Central High in Philadelphia. Central is old. As of this writing it’s been going for 190 years. For 147 of those years it was an all-boys high school. When I enrolled it was the only all-boys public high school in the country. It was also a really, really good school—a fact that’s important to our story. And from what I hear, it remains a really, really good school—a fact that’s also important to our story. It’s a magnet school. You have to pass a test to get in. (A test I passed by the skin of my teeth.) (Personal aside: I was really driven to pass that test, because my parents wanted to send me to a Catholic all-boys high school, and after eight years of Catholic school I was beyond done with that shit. I pleaded with them to let me go to public school, and they relented, on the condition that I got into Central. Not that they knew shit about Central, but my mom’s boss had a kid who went there, and if it was good enough for the boss’ kid, it was good enough for me. I got in, and they quickly stopped caring about my education after that, which was great.) The fact that Central started as an all-boys public high school isn’t surprising, but the fact that it was allowed to remain one for so long is. And it comes down to two reasons: one, there was a “sister school” up the block called Girls High that was supposed to be the equal of Central, and two, Central was really really good at making judges. So anytime this came up before a judge, the odds were good that judge was a Central grad. Ultimately, after a couple of failed lawsuits, a lawsuit finally got in front of a judge who hadn’t gone to Central, who thankfully put an end to this nonsense and decided that Central had to go co-ed. (You can read even more about it here, but I warn you it is infuriating.)

This all led to my stupid sophomore ass standing on the lawn with a bunch of other idiots arguing that this was unfair (it wasn’t), would lead to a decline in educational standards at the school (it didn’t), and that we had to uphold tradition (we didn’t). Where were the teachers? Well, many of them were out there chanting with us. Also, this particular protest was far from the end of it. We treated those girls like shit all year. (There are examples in that article I linked to above if you want details.)

I am telling you this story because I am ashamed of how I behaved not just that day, but beyond that day. We were awful to those girls. It’s not an easy story to tell, but honestly I still think about it a lot. For all I know there is a photo of me standing on the lawn, my face contorted mid-yell, my fist in the air, with my feet firmly planted on the wrong side of history, trying to keep a young girl from going to class. And if another, different photo of people yelling at a young girl who was trying to go to class just popped into your head it is because they are the same thing.

To be stupid as a high school sophomore is one thing. Which is not to say that it’s ok, it’s not. Nothing I just wrote about—especially my own actions—were ok. I was young, and insecure, and dying to be a part of something, and this something was the choice I made at that time. I am not writing this in defense of my actions. I'm writing it as an accounting of my actions. Because I want all the men I am about to yell at to know who is yelling at them. Starting life as an idiot is one thing, remaining an idiot is a little hard to comprehend.

There is a sign over the sink at the San Francisco DSA office imploring comrades not to leave their mess for others to clean up. There is a sign over every sink in every office imploring people to clean up after themselves. And while we can’t blame all men for leaving their mess in the office sink, we should not be shocked to believe that these signs are often written because of men’s behavior. And the sign at the DSA office is a reminder that entitlement crosses ideological lines, as I’m sure that on the lawn that day, back in 1983, there were boys who went on to run the gamut of ideologies.

Yes, this is where we start talking about Graham Platner.

And because I told you a very bad, and shameful thing about myself to start us off, I feel like I get to tell you something I’m proud of here: I was done with that fuck as soon as the Nazi tattoo was revealed. I have been remarkably consistent on the Nazi shit. And yet, I’ve had many infuriating conversations where people looked to excuse the Nazi tattoo, even once there was more than enough supporting evidence that he knew he was getting a Nazi tattoo when he got the Nazi tattoo, and went through life describing it as his Nazi tattoo. All of these people were, of course, men. Those same men would then continue to excuse every Platner revelation that came after the tattoo. Because otherwise they would’ve had to admit that they missed the first sign.

Men would rather vote for a rapist than admit they were wrong.

(Sidenote: As some of you may know, I am a designer. For some fucking reason, designers love making swastikas. An ironic swastika is still a swastika. A crossed-out swastika is still a swastika. A swastika made into the number 45, or the number 47, is still a swastika. Baby Trump wearing a swastika necklace is still a swastika. Trust me when I tell you that your most clever idea will not make up for the fact that you’ve made a swastika. And please don’t do the white man thing of trying to come up with something to prove me wrong, or out of spite. Just trust me on this one, and stop putting more swastikas into the world.)

As of this writing Platner has ended his campaign, so I’m not here to write more about him. And there has been much written already, by people who wrote it well, and whose viewpoints deserve more oxygen than mine. Notably, Marisa Kabas and Jamelle Bouie. And here I’ll quote something that Jamelle Bouie wrote on Bluesky, which Marisa Kabas also includes in her essay:

“There is a cohort of men who resent the responsibilities and obligations of adulthood—of the fact that you owe things to other people.”

The kid who raged on that lawn on September 13, 1983, was raised by a father who is perfectly described by that quote. My father resented being saddled by having a family he did not want, and the fact that it put demands on his time. My father also refused to admit when he was wrong. To the point where if he missed an off ramp on the highway, we’d all learn to sit in silence, and in fear, and no one pointed it out because the retribution was never worth it. This was often followed by “why didn’t anyone tell me that I missed the off-ramp.” Retribution for his mistakes was never an option, it was always just a matter of either getting it out of the way or delaying it until later.

My father was born a child, and died an older version of that child. Never once considering, or giving a fuck, how his actions affected those around him.

The kid who raged on that lawn on September 13, 1983, was very much my father’s son. At that point, my father was still the largest (aggressively) looming male role model in my life. And let me take a minute here to say that I don’t believe you need a male role model in your life, but if you have one, pray that he teaches you kindness, and caring for others, and standing up for the bullied, and knowing how to apologize for being a jackass. For me, those role models would come later. And I am forever thankful that they were willing to do the work that my own father didn’t do.

In another universe there is still a version of that kid who raged on the lawn out there that never grew up, never accepted responsibility for his actions, never admitted to a mistake, always felt put-upon by other people and their demands. He may even consider himself a progressive, because this shit knows no ideology. And that person is very drawn to someone like Graham Platner. I know this because I still fight to not be that person every day.

Last week, I had to pull a few friends aside and remind them that they were defending a man that didn’t deserve their defense, and that they were doing it in a room full of women. They were defending a rapist because they still “liked his politics.” (Once you rape someone, those are your politics. Once you’re open to coercion, Democracy is off the table.) Their reasons for continuing to defend him aren’t worth litigating, because they don’t matter. What matters is that they weren’t listening to the women in the room. For them, Platner was a sunk cost. They would continue to believe in him because to stop believing in him now was to admit that they’d been wrong. Hoodwinked! Conned! That they owed something to other people! And it was more important for them to believe in this version of themselves, a version of themselves that was a good judge of character, a version of themselves that was not wrong, than to believe in reality.

And the part that really killed me? Once I pulled them aside and took them to Jesus they settled down. Sadly, there is a type of man that will listen to another man before he takes a room full of women seriously. I do not like this. But we have to fight what is real, not what we wish was real. So as uncomfortable as it might make you, there are times when you have to pull your friends aside and do this work.

So if you are still harboring thoughts on Platner, and others like Platner (because they will come), please consider this me—who has done some very stupid things in my life—pulling you aside and, with great kindness, and with much love, telling you to shut the fuck up, take the L, walk around the block a couple of times, and come back in when you’re ready to listen.

No one is cancelling you. No one is censoring you. Your community is asking you to grow up.

🙋 Got a question for me? Ask it!

📣 The next Presenting w/Confidence workshop is happening on July 30 & 31. Lucy Bellwood wrote a real nice thing after she attended the last one.

📣 Erika is doing a Research workshop next week that’s well worth your time.

📓 Like these stories? There’s a whole book of ‘em!

🍉 Please help the children of Palestine.

🏳️‍⚧️ Please protect trans kids.