One of the first people I met when I moved to Ottawa over two years ago was a man named Sean (*named changed). On a warm Sunday afternoon in September, we were sitting next to each other at a trendy cafe, each on our laptops. He was composing the manuscript for his next book about an inner-city school in New York. I found the topic appealing, so I probed politely and we shared a bit of our backgrounds.
He appeared to be in his early 50s. He seemed single as he spoke only of his career and of being luxuriously nomadic. He's lived in 'intellectual cities' (his words) like Boston, New York and Chicago. He exuded 'successful' journalist: stylish, outspoken, oozing social etiquette. I kept most of my personal details to myself, passing cursorily over Vancouver, graduate school and moving to Ottawa.
I ran into him several times per week after that. At some point we exchanged email addresses (he gave me his business card) and he would send me pieces of journalism from time to time. One day this spring as I was writing my masters thesis, I ran into Sean downtown after not seeing him for about a year. It turned out he had been spending more time in New York. He obligatorily asked about my thesis and when I told him (I can't recall what I said...perhaps I only told him the title), he expressed his opposition to my stance with an odour of intolerance. He argued something to the tune of, 'progressive or reformative education, with the goal of social inclusion, completely undermines the rigour of the traditional education system to the detriment of all of society'.
Rigour. There's that word again.
His position alone did not offend me, nor would I entirely discount a more nuanced version of this perspective. His supportive points were ignorant, though, and I noticed for the first time that he was talking down to me. I imagine he always had (his condescension was pronounced after my two years of study in social work). Thankfully I met eyes with an acquaintance of mine a few tables over who kindly bailed me out of the onslaught with the offer to join him for a cigarette.
About a month ago, I brushed over Sean’s published manuscript by happenstance while I was looking for material on textbook censorship at the public library. The book: candid black-and-white photograph, some regal Book Antiqua-looking font, white letters on appealing shades of amber and ecru, his name proudly displayed under the image, praise for the author decorated the back. I cringed.
All of this comes to mind because today he caught me off guard while I was reading at yet a different downtown coffee shop. He towered over me as he listed his most recent accomplishments (they made his book into a critically acclaimed documentary directed by someone cool) and I admitted to seeing his book at the Ottawa Public Library without picking it up. He joked that he isn't interested in whether or not I've read it if I've only borrowed it from the library (and not purchased it). I laughed sociably. Ugh. When I began to tell him what I was reading at the exact moment (a great article from New Zealand about the myth of boys needing male role models in schools), he interrupted me with sexist and obscene comments about boys needing 'real men' role models: "Now that schools are built for the emotional brains of girls, boys are turning into wimps and, well, you know, faggots, even if they are not actually gay. And then everyone's screwed. Men, women, children, everybody." Yikes.
I didn't have the wherewithal to engage in any meaningful debate in the middle of the coffeehouse. It wouldn't have made much difference anyway, judging by his previous articulations around issues of sex and gender in education. I'm an “emotional brain” after all. What do I know?
This man, who I've scarcely thought about directly outside of our brief public encounters, had a remarkable influence on my path into Women's Studies. After our latest interaction, I reflected that every time I run into him, he leaves me feeling surprised and more or less disturbed; surprised because he is the type of man (demographically) I am accustomed to being around, and have been my whole life; and yet, correspondingly, disturbed because I've been socialized to trust the wisdom of this version of man, though he consistently offends me with his opinions, tone, choice of words and general demeanor.
Anyway, as I prepare to lecture my Women's Studies students tomorrow morning under the theme, "Falling Out of the Ivory Tower," I can't help but feel like writing him a back handed thank you card: Thank you, Sean, for reminding me that however abstract or futile the items on my daily research agenda may seem, my battle is certainly real.
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