I grew up in New York City, between Harlem and the Bronx. Growing up as a boy, we were taught that men had to be tough, had to be strong, had to be courageous, dominating -- no pain, no emotions, with the exception of anger -- and definitely no fear; that men are in charge, which means women are not; that men lead, and you should just follow and do what we say; that men are superior; women are inferior; that men are strong; women are weak; that women are of less value, property of men, and objects, particularly sexual objects. I've later come to know that to be the collective socialization of men, better known as the "man box." See this man box has in it all the ingredients of how we define what it means to be a man. Now I also want to say, without a doubt, there are some wonderful, wonderful, absolutely wonderful things about being a man. But at the same time, there's some stuff that's just straight up twisted, and we really need to begin to challenge, look at it and really get in the process of deconstructing, redefining, what we come to know as manhood.
Es uzaugu Ņujorkā starp Hārlemu un Bronksu. Mums kā zēniem augot, mūs mācīja, ka vīriešiem jābūt rūdītiem un stipriem jābūt drosmīgiem, valdonīgiem, bez sāpēm un emocijām, izņemot dusmas, pilnīgi noteikti — bezbailīgiem. Vīrieši visu kontrolē, kas nozīmē, ka sievietes — nē; ka vīrieši vada, un jums jāseko viņiem un jādara, ko mēs sakām; ka vīrieši ir pārāki un sievietes zemākas, ka vīrieši ir stipri, sievietes ir vājas; ka sievietes ir mazvērtīgas -- vīriešu īpašums -- un objekti, jo īpaši seksuāli objekti. Es ar laiku esmu sapratis, ka tā ir vīriešu kopējā socializācija, labāk zināma kā "vīrieša kaste". Redziet, šajā vīrieša kastē ir visas sastāvdaļas, lai nodefinētu, ko nozīmē būt par vīrieti. Es gan arī gribu teikt, ka neapšaubāmi, ir arī dažas brīnišķīgas, brīnišķīgas, ļoti brīnišķīgas lietas esot vīrietim. Bet tajā pašā laikā ir dažas lietas, kas ir vienkārši sagrozītas. Mums tiešām jāsāk izaicināt, aplūkot un pa īstam jāsāk pārveidot un pārdēvēt ko mēs tagad atpazīstam kā vīrietību.
This is my two at home, Kendall and Jay. They're 11 and 12. Kendall's 15 months older than Jay. There was a period of time when my wife -- her name is Tammie -- and I, we just got real busy and whip, bam, boom: Kendall and Jay. (Laughter) And when they were about five and six, four and five, Jay could come to me, come to me crying. It didn't matter what she was crying about, she could get on my knee, she could snot my sleeve up, just cry, cry it out. Daddy's got you. That's all that's important.
Šie mājās ir abi manējie — Kendels un Džeja. Viņiem ir 11 un 12 gadi. Kendels ir 15 mēnešus vecāks par Džeju. Bija laiks, kad mēs ar sievu, viņu sauc Tamija, mēs bijām ļoti aizņemti un čiki, briki, bum -- Kendels un Džeja. (Smiekli) Un kad viņiem bija ap pieciem un sešiem gadiem, četriem un pieciem, Džeja varēja nākt pie manis, nākt raudādama. Nebija svarīgi, par ko viņa raudāja, viņa varēja tikt man uz ceļa, piepuņķot manu piedurkni, raudāt un izraudāties. Tētis ir tepat. Nekam citam nav nozīmes.
Now Kendall on the other hand -- and like I said, he's only 15 months older than her -- he'd come to me crying, it's like as soon as I would hear him cry, a clock would go off. I would give the boy probably about 30 seconds, which means, by the time he got to me, I was already saying things like, "Why are you crying? Hold your head up. Look at me. Explain to me what's wrong. Tell me what's wrong. I can't understand you. Why are you crying?" And out of my own frustration of my role and responsibility of building him up as a man to fit into these guidelines and these structures that are defining this man box, I would find myself saying things like, "Just go in your room. Just go on, go on in your room. Sit down, get yourself together and come back and talk to me when you can talk to me like a --" what? (Audience: Man.) Like a man. And he's five years old. And as I grow in life, I would say to myself, "My God, what's wrong with me? What am I doing? Why would I do this?" And I think back. I think back to my father.
Turpretī ar Kendelu -- un kā es teicu, viņš ir tikai 15 mēnešus vecāks kā viņa -- ja viņš nāca pie manis raudādams ja vien es izdzirdēju viņu raudam, ieskanējās zvani. Es dotu puikam 30 sekundes, kas nozīmēja, ka līdz viņš tika līdz manīm, es jau sāku teikt ko līdzīgu: "Kāpēc tu raudi? Pacel galvu! Skaties uz mani! Izskaidro, kas vainas. Pasaki, kas nav kārtībā. Es tevi nesaprotu. Kāpēc tu raudi?" Un no dusmām par savu lomu un atbildību uzaudzināt viņu par vīrieti, iespiest viņu noteikumos un rāmī, kas nosaka vīrieša kasti, es teiktu ko līdzīgu: "Ej tik uz savu istabu. Ej, ej tik, ej uz savu istabu. Apsēdies, savaldies un tad nāc atpakaļ un runā ar mani, kad vari ar mani runāt kā --" Kas? (Publika: Vīrietis.) "kā vīrietis." Un viņš ir tikai piecus gadus vecs. Dzīvē attīstoties, es sev jautāju: "Ak Dievs, kas ar mani nav kārtībā? Ko es daru? Kāpēc gan lai es tā darītu?" Un es atceros, es atceros savu tēvu.
There was a time in my life where we had a very troubled experience in our family. My brother, Henry, he died tragically when we were teenagers. We lived in New York City, as I said. We lived in the Bronx at the time, and the burial was in a place called Long Island, it was about two hours outside of the city. And as we were preparing to come back from the burial, the cars stopped at the bathroom to let folks take care of themselves before the long ride back to the city. And the limousine empties out. My mother, my sister, my auntie, they all get out, but my father and I stayed in the limousine, and no sooner than the women got out, he burst out crying. He didn't want cry in front of me, but he knew he wasn't going to make it back to the city, and it was better me than to allow himself to express these feelings and emotions in front of the women. And this is a man who, 10 minutes ago, had just put his teenage son in the ground -- something I just can't even imagine. The thing that sticks with me the most is that he was apologizing to me for crying in front of me, and at the same time, he was also giving me props, lifting me up, for not crying.
Kādu laiku manā dzīvē mūsu ģimenei bija ārkārtīgas nepatikšanas. Mans brālis Henrijs traģiski mira mums vēl esot pusaudžiem. Kā jau es teicu, mēs dzīvojām Ņujorkā. Tolaik mēs dzīvojām Bronksā. Un bēres bija vietā, ko sauc par Longailendu apmēram divu stundu braucienā ārpus pilsētas. Un kad mēs gatavojāmies braukt atpakaļ no bērēm, mašīna apstājās pie tualetes, lai visi varētu nokārtoties pirms garā brauciena atpakaļ uz pilsētu. Limuzīns palika tukšs, mana māte, māsa, tante izkāpa, bet tēvs un es palikām limuzīnā. Tiklīdz sievietes bija ārā, viņš sāka raudāt. Viņš negribēja raudāt manā priekšā. Bet viņš zināja, ka viņš netiks līdz pilsētai. Tad jau labāk manā klātbūtnē nekā atļauties izrādīt šīs izjūtas un emocijas sieviešu priekšā. Un šis bija vīrietis, kurš pirms 10 minūtēm bija tikko guldījis zem zemes savu pusaugu dēlu -- kaut kas man grūti aptverams. Visneaizmirstamākais bija tas, ka viņš man atvainojās par raudāšanu manā klātbūtnē. Tajā pašā laikā viņš mani slavēja, uzmundrināja par neraudāšanu.
I come to also look at this as this fear that we have as men, this fear that just has us paralyzed, holding us hostage to this man box. I can remember speaking to a 12-year-old boy, a football player, and I asked him, I said, "How would you feel if, in front of all the players, your coach told you you were playing like a girl?" Now I expected him to say something like, I'd be sad; I'd be mad; I'd be angry, or something like that. No, the boy said to me -- the boy said to me, "It would destroy me." And I said to myself, "God, if it would destroy him to be called a girl, what are we then teaching him about girls?"
Es sāku skatīties uz to kā bailēm, kas mums ir kā vīriešiem. Bailēm, kas mūs paralizē, tur par ķīlniekiem vīrieša kastei. Es atceros, kā es reiz runāju ar 12 gadīgu puiku, futbolistu, Un prasīju viņam: "Kā Tu justos, ja citu spēlētāju priekšā tavs treneris pateiktu, ka tu spēlē kā meitene?" Es sagaidīju, ka viņš teiks kaut ko līdzīgu "Es būtu noskumis. Es būtu dusmīgs." Vai kaut ko tamlīdzīgu. Nē, puika man teica -- puika man teica: "Tas mani sagrautu." Un es sev vaicāju: "Dievs, ja viņu sagrautu nosaukšana par meiteni, ko mēs viņam mācām par meitenēm?"
(Applause)
(Aplausi)
It took me back to a time when I was about 12 years old. I grew up in tenement buildings in the inner city. At this time we're living in the Bronx, and in the building next to where I lived there was a guy named Johnny. He was about 16 years old, and we were all about 12 years old -- younger guys. And he was hanging out with all us younger guys. And this guy, he was up to a lot of no good. He was the kind of kid who parents would have to wonder, "What is this 16-year-old boy doing with these 12-year-old boys?" And he did spend a lot of time up to no good. He was a troubled kid. His mother had died from a heroin overdose. He was being raised by his grandmother. His father wasn't on the set. His grandmother had two jobs. He was home alone a lot. But I've got to tell you, we young guys, we looked up to this dude, man. He was cool. He was fine. That's what the sisters said, "He was fine." He was having sex. We all looked up to him.
Tas lika man atcerēties laiku, kad man bija ap 12 gadu. Es uzaugu iekšpilsētas īres namu rajonā. Mēs toreiz dzīvojām Bronksā. Un mājā, kurai es dzīvoju blakus, dzīvoja puisis vārdā Džonijs. Viņam bija ap 16, un mums visiem bija ap 12 gadu -- bijām jaunāki. Un viņš pavadīja laiku kopā ar mums jaunajiem. Un šis puisis nebija ne uz ko labu. Viņš bija no tiem, par ko vecākiem būtu jādomā, ko sešpadsmitgadnieks dara kopā ar šiem divpadsmitgadīgajiem puikām. Un viņš tiešām pavadīja daudz laika ne uz to labāko. Viņš bija jauneklis ar problēmām. Viņa māte bija mirusi no heroīna pārdozēšanas. Viņu audzināja vecāmāte. Viņa tēvs nebija tuvumā. Viņa vecaimātei bija divi darbi. Viņš bieži bija mājās viens. Bet man jums jāsaka, ka mēs jauniņie, mēs viņu cienījām. Viņš bija stilīgs. Viņš bija "pa smalko". Tā teica skuķi: "Viņš ir smalks". Viņš nodarbojās ar seksu. Mēs visi viņu cienījām.
So one day, I'm out in front of the house doing something -- just playing around, doing something -- I don't know what. He looks out his window; he calls me upstairs; he said, "Hey Anthony." They called me Anthony growing up as a kid. "Hey Anthony, come on upstairs." Johnny call, you go. So I run right upstairs. As he opens the door, he says to me, "Do you want some?" Now I immediately knew what he meant. Because for me growing up at that time, and our relationship with this man box, "Do you want some?" meant one of two things: sex or drugs -- and we weren't doing drugs. Now my box, my card, my man box card, was immediately in jeopardy. Two things: One, I never had sex. We don't talk about that as men. You only tell your dearest, closest friend, sworn to secrecy for life, the first time you had sex. For everybody else, we go around like we've been having sex since we were two. There ain't no first time. (Laughter) The other thing I couldn't tell him is that I didn't want any. That's even worse. We're supposed to always be on the prowl. Women are objects, especially sexual objects.
Tā vienu dienu es kaut ko daru mājas priekšā, vienkārši spēlējos, ar kaut ko nodarbojos -- nezinu, ar ko. Viņš paskatījās ārā pa logu un sauca mani augšā. Viņš teica: "Ei, Entonij!" Toreiz, mazam esot, mani sauca par Entoniju. "Ei, Entonij, uznāc augšā." Džonijs sauc — tu ej. Tā nu es uzreiz uzskrēju augšā. Viņš, atverot durvis, man saka: "Tu gribi?" Nu, es uzreiz zināju, ko viņš ar to domāja, jo man toreiz augot un attiecībā uz vīrieša kasti, "Vai tu gribi?" nozīmēju vienu no diviem: Seksu vai narkotikas -- un mēs nelietojām narkotikas. Nu, mana kaste, dalības karte, vīrieša kastes dalības karte uzreiz bija briesmās. Divas lietas: vispirms, man nebija seksa. Mēs kā vīrieši par to nerunājam. Tu saki tikai saviem dārgākajiem, tuvākajiem draugiem, kas zvēr noslēpuma turēšanu uz dzīvi, kad tu pirmo reizi nodarbojies ar seksu. Visiem citiem mēs visapkārt izliekamies, ka mēs nodarbojamies ar seksu kopš 2 gadu vecuma. Pirmās reizes nav. (Smejas) Otra lieta, ko es nevarēju teikt, bija, ka man negribējās. Tas ir vēl sliktāk. Mums nepārtraukti jābūt medībās. Sievietes ir objekti, jo īpaši seksuāli objekti.
Anyway, so I couldn't tell him any of that. So, like my mother would say, make a long story short, I just simply said to Johnny, "Yes." He told me to go in his room. I go in his room. On his bed is a girl from the neighborhood named Sheila. She's 16 years old. She's nude. She's what I know today to be mentally ill, higher-functioning at times than others. We had a whole choice of inappropriate names for her. Anyway, Johnny had just gotten through having sex with her. Well actually, he raped her, but he would say he had sex with her. Because, while Sheila never said no, she also never said yes.
Jebkurā gadījumā, es nevarēju viņam neko tādu teikt. Tā nu, kā saka mana māte, pārstāstīšu garu stāstu pa īso. Es vienkārši Džonijam teicu: "Jā." Viņš man lika ieiet viņa istabā. Es iegāju viņa istabā. Uz viņa gultas bija meitene vārdā Šīla no mūsu apkārtnes. Viņai bija 16 gadu. Viņa bija kaila. Viņa bija, kā es to tagad zinu, garīgi slima, dažkārt spējīgāka kā citās reizēs. Mums viņai bija vesela kaudze nepiedienīgu palamu. Jebkurā gadījumā, Džonijs bija tikko beidzis dzimumaktu ar viņu. Īstenībā viņš bija viņu izvarojis, bet pats to sauktu par nodarbošanos ar seksu. Jo, lai arī Šīla nekad neteica "nē", viņa nekad arī neteica "jā".
So he was offering me the opportunity to do the same. So when I go in the room, I close the door. Folks, I'm petrified. I stand with my back to the door so Johnny can't bust in the room and see that I'm not doing anything, and I stand there long enough that I could have actually done something. So now I'm no longer trying to figure out what I'm going to do; I'm trying to figure out how I'm going to get out of this room. So in my 12 years of wisdom, I zip my pants down, I walk out into the room, and lo and behold to me, while I was in the room with Sheila, Johnny was back at the window calling guys up. So now there's a living room full of guys. It was like the waiting room in the doctor's office. And they asked me how was it, and I say to them, "It was good," and I zip my pants up in front of them, and I head for the door.
Tā nu viņš man piedāvāja iespēju darīt to pašu. Kad es iegāju istabā, es aizvēru durvis. Ziniet, esmu nobijies. Es stāvu ar muguru pret durvīm, lai Džonijs nevarētu ielauzties istabā. Es neko tā arī nedaru. Es tā stāvu pietiekami ilgi, lai es būtu varējis kaut ko arī izdarīt, un tagad es vairs nedomāju, ko darīšu. Es cenšos izdomāt, kā es tikšu ārā no šīs istabas. Savā divpadsmitgadnieka gudrībā es attaisīju savu bikšpriekšu. Es izgāju no istabas. Un, protams, man esot istabā ar Šīlu, Džonijs bijis pie loga un saucis augšā puišus. Dzīvojamā istaba ir pilna ar puišiem. Tas bija kā uzgaidāmajā telpā pie ārsta kabineta. Un viņi man prasīja, kā bija. Es viņiem atbildu: "Labi." Un es viņu priekšā aiztaisu bikses un dodos uz durvju pusi.
Now I say this all with remorse, and I was feeling a tremendous amount of remorse at that time, but I was conflicted, because, while I was feeling remorse, I was excited, because I didn't get caught. But I knew I felt bad about what was happening. This fear, getting outside the man box, totally enveloped me. It was way more important to me, about me and my man box card than about Sheila and what was happening to her.
Es to tagad stāstu ar nožēlu un arī tolaik es jutu milzīgu nožēlu. Bet es biju pretrunās, jo vienlaicīgi ar nožēlu, es biju priecīgs, jo mani nepieķēra. Bet es zināju, ka jūtos slikti par to, kas bija noticis. Šīs bailes par būšanu ārpus vīrieša kastes pilnīgi apņēma mani. Man bija daudz svarīgāk, kā bija ar mani un vīrieša kasti, nekā, kā bija Šīlai un kas notika ar viņu.
See collectively, we as men are taught to have less value in women, to view them as property and the objects of men. We see that as an equation that equals violence against women. We as men, good men, the large majority of men, we operate on the foundation of this whole collective socialization. We kind of see ourselves separate, but we're very much a part of it. You see, we have to come to understand that less value, property and objectification is the foundation and the violence can't happen without it. So we're very much a part of the solution as well as the problem. The center for disease control says that men's violence against women is at epidemic proportions, is the number one health concern for women in this country and abroad.
Jo redzi, kopā mēs vīrieši tiekam mācīti sievietes vērtēt zemāk, redzēt viņas kā vīriešu īpašumu un objektus. Tas ir kā vienādojums, kas vienlīdzīgs ar vardarbību pret sievietēm. Mēs, kā vīrieši, labi vīrieši, lielais vairākums vīriešu, mēs darbojamies, pamatojoties uz šādas kopējas socializācijas. Mēs sevi redzam atstatus, bet mēs patiešām esam daļa no tā visa. Redziet, mēs esam nonākuši pie izpratnes, ka pamatā ir mazvērtīgums, īpašums un objektivizācija, un ka bez tā nav vardarbības. Tāpēc mēs esam risinājuma daļa tāpat kā daļa no problēmas. ASV Federālais slimību kontroles un profilakses dienests ziņo, ka vīriešu vardarbībai pret sievietēm ir epidēmiskas proporcijas. Ka tā ir visnozīmīgākā sieviešu veselības problēma šajā valstī un ārzemēs.
So quickly, I'd like to just say, this is the love of my life, my daughter Jay. The world I envision for her -- how do I want men to be acting and behaving? I need you on board. I need you with me. I need you working with me and me working with you on how we raise our sons and teach them to be men -- that it's okay to not be dominating, that it's okay to have feelings and emotions, that it's okay to promote equality, that it's okay to have women who are just friends and that's it, that it's okay to be whole, that my liberation as a man is tied to your liberation as a woman. (Applause)
Tāpēc, es gribu ātri teikt, ka šī ir manas dzīves mīlestība, mana meita Džeja. Pasaule, ko es priekš viņas iedomājos, kā es gribētu, lai vīrieši izturētos un uzvestos? Man vajag, lai jūs piebiedrojaties. Man vajag jūs kopā ar mani. Man vajag, lai jūs sadarbotos ar mani un es ar jums, lai audzinātu mūsu dēlus un iemācītu viņiem būt par vīriešiem -- ka var nebūt dominējošs, ka ir labi būt ar sajūtām un emocijām, ka ir labi veicināt vienlīdzību, ka ir labi būt vienkārši draugos ar sievietēm un ka ir labi būt pilnīgam. Ka mana brīvība kā vīrietim ir saistīta ar sieviešu atbrīvošanu.
I remember asking a nine-year-old boy, I asked a nine-year-old boy, "What would life be like for you, if you didn't have to adhere to this man box?" He said to me, "I would be free."
Es atceros, kā es reiz vaicāju deviņgadīgam puikam, es prasīju deviņgadīgam puikam: "Kāda būtu tava dzīve, ja tev nebūtu jāturas pie šīs vīrieša kastes?" Viņš man teica: "Es būtu brīvs."
Thank you folks.
Paldies jums!
(Applause)
(Aplausi)