My daughter, the forensic doctor, is deeply into feminism and is currently studying for still another master’s degree to add to her collection of exotic academic orchids. This time the topic is ‘post-machismo’ [latter-day male chauvinism].
Thanks to my daughter, I am now aware that all my life, I have been a captive of the ‘Patriarchy’, a social system in which men hold primary power and predominate in roles of political leadership, moral authority, and social privilege. And that may very well be true. Until fairly recently, Spain was undeniably patriarchal.
In the 1970s, for example, women in Spain could not own property or open a bank account unless they were 25 years old or over. Until that age, they were the wards of their father or their husband.
If women went to the university, it was a given that when they finished their studies, they would take their diploma home, hang it up on the wall, and become queen of their household. They had obtained a college degree so that they could cook and raise their children. Mrs. Neanderthal has never understood why I refused to do this when I finished my degree here.
At that time, many girls regarded the university not as a place of learning, but rather as an excellent hunting ground for a husband with good earning power. Rather than going to class to take notes and learn more, they would go there to survey the field for potential prey. The objective was to find a man and become engaged as rapidly as possible. The earlier this happened, the more successful they were.
Back then, women only worked out of sheer necessity or if they had a progressive husband who permitted them to work. It was a forgone conclusion that a woman would never be allowed to ‘steal’ a really good position away from a man, who required a higher salary to support a family.
If a woman had a job, it was because she had no talent for really important things in life like cooking, knitting, and crocheting bedspreads. Mr. Neanderthal has always told me that I should have taken up embroidery. I tell him that embroidery would only signify that I had sufficient determination to stab at something (or someone) 250 times in a row.
As job contexts go, there has always been less gender discrimination in Academia. Still, even at the university, a woman had to be three times more intelligent than the dumbest man to obtain tenure. A man was always assumed to be intelligent whereas a woman was always given the presumption of stupidity.
Professional development was regarded as strange even in one’s own family. When I was on the verge of taking the exam to be Full Professor, my mother-in-law dolefully asked me why I wanted to do something like that. If I passed, I would then outrank my husband on the academic ladder. Fortunately, this was not a problem for my husband. Even then, he possessed glimmers of what is now known as the New Masculinity, a trait that our daughter applauds.
This New Masculinity has also become a topic in Times of Coronavirus. The pandemic has made us rethink our values about many things, including about how we want our (male) leaders to interact with us.
Because of the virus, our lives are no longer under our control. People parade across the television screen to explain what we must do to limit contagion, when we can go outside to exercise, and why we should not leave our homes without a mask. These narrators of the pandemic vary in credibility. On a five-point Likert scale, they range from Totally Believable to Extremely Unbelievable.
In some cases, their credibility depends on the type of masculinity that they exude. In the early days of the pandemic, the public was informed each morning by the Inspector General of the National Police Force or a general from some branch of the Spanish Armed Forces. These men were the essence of authority and control.
Their seriousness, non-verbal language, and uniforms reflected the most traditional version of masculinity. They spoke in metaphors of combat and confrontation, which projected a war scenario. Much the same occurred with our president. Pedro Sánchez with his handsome profile and chiseled jaw was the civilian prototype of ancient manly values of power, control, domination, and insensitive inexpressiveness.
We, the public, were soldiers at his command. We would fight the enemy on our balconies, on our couches, and in our lounge chairs. To win the battle, all we had to do was remain at home and watch NetFlix.
This traditional masculinity contrasts with the New Masculinity portrayed by Dr. Fernando Simón, the Spanish version of Dr. Fauci, who has also been explaining the pandemic to us since it first began in March. Dr. Simón and Dr. Fauci work in similar contexts and resemble each other in many ways.
The main difference is that in Spain, the advice of Dr. Simón is followed, whereas in the USA, the advice of Dr. Fauci is not. Despite his narcissism, Pedro Sánchez is not a complete fool and fortunately does not presume to have the same privileged medical intuition that President Trump lays claim to.
Dr. Simón also happens to be believable not only because of his medical degrees and common sense advice, but also because of the way he acts, speaks, and dresses. Quite unexpectedly, he has become the acknowledged representative of the New Masculinity or at least he is proof that true masculinity can be expressed in a different way.
His unruly hair generally looks as though he forgot to comb it before rushing to the press conference. He dresses in the endearing sweaters typical of an absent-minded academic. He admits to the possibility of making mistakes. This sincerity underlines the fact that he is not a politician, which is always good. No one wants to seem like a politician now, not even politicians.
We are agreeably surprised at his lack of arrogance, which enhances rather than diminishes his expertise. His sandpapery voice explains rather than commands and gives the impression that he wants us to understand why sacrifice is necessary. He emphasizes the fact that the de-escalation process is not a competition. He tells us that the decision to hold certain regions back is not a question of politics but rather because they lack a suitable response capacity to deal with the inevitable second wave. He asks us to cooperate rather than obey.
We listen to him not because we particularly like what he is telling us, but because we believe that he is telling the truth. Not only is his unpalatable advice sensible, but it is divorced from any political ambition or opportunity. He narrates the pandemic as though he is listening to us. Even over the screen, he gives us the impression that he would also be interested in what we would have to say.
