“What does it mean to be a man?”: codes of black masculinity in Toni Morrison’s paradise and love

“WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO BE A MAN?”:1 CODES OF BLACK MASCULINITY IN TONI MORRISON’S PARADISE AND LOVE MAR GALLEGO Universidad de Huelva “WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO BE A MAN?”: CODES OF BLACK MASCULINITY IN TONI MORRISON’S... ABSTRACT Within the debate over the representation of contemporary Black masculinity, Morrison has played a pioneering role, especially in two of her novels –Paradise (1998) and Love (2003)– where her intervention in this debate has become deeply infl uential due to not only her incisive portrayal of the fi gure of the patriarch and the devastating effects of the institution of patriarchy on the African American family and community, but also because she has shaped “alternative masculinities,” or diverse embodiments of what it actually means to be a Black man nowadays. Morrison is bent on changing their representation by providing plural models of masculinity, which necessarily take into account other identity markers such as sexuality, class, politics, etc, in an attempt at deconstructing a monolithic or essentialist view of African American masculinity. KEYWORDS: Black masculinity-Patriarchy-Alternative and plural masculinities- African American community RESUMEN Dentro del debate sobre la representación de la masculinidad negra contemporánea, Morrison ha jugado un papel pionero, especialmente en dos de sus novelas –Paraíso (1998) y Amor (2003)– en las que su intervención en este debate ha resultado muy infl uyente debido no sólo a su retrato incisivo de la fi gura del patriarca y de los devastadores efectos de la institución del patriarcado en la familia y comunidad 1 The title refers to a key question that is posed by Gloria Naylor in her seminal reflection on Black masculinity entitled The Men of Brewster Place (28). Indeed, Naylor’s novel initiated me into Black masculinity studies as I acknowledged in “Otro modo de ser hombre: The Men of Brewster Place de Gloria Naylor” (2009). Revista de Estudios Norteamericanos, n.º 14 (2009-2010) Seville, Spain, ISSN 1133-309-X, pp. 49-65 Mar Gallego 50 afro-americanas; sino también porque ha diseñado “masculinidades alternativas,” o diversas formas de lo que signifi ca ser un hombre negro en la actualidad. La intención de Morrison es cambiar esa representación ofreciendo modelos plurales de masculinidad, que tomen en cuenta otras señas de identidad como son la sexualidad, la clase, la política, etc, en un intento por deconstruir una visión monolítica o esencialista de la masculinidad afro-americana PALABRAS CLAVE: Masculinidad negra-Patriarcado-Masculinidades alternativas y plurales-Comunidad afro-americana The debate over the representation of contemporary Black masculinity is, without any doubt, one of the most interesting developments in critical theory in recent decades. Stemming from a profound critique of patriarchal codes, both male and female writers have engaged in an investigation into the impact of Western notions of masculinity on the confi guration of functional identities for African American men. In this line, Morrison has played a pioneering role from her fi rst novel The Bluest Eye to her latest to date, A Mercy. However, I would like to argue that in two of her novels –Paradise (1998) and Love (2003)– her intervention in this debate has become deeply infl uential due to not only her incisive portrayal of the fi gure of the patriarch and the devastating effects of the institution of patriarchy on the African American family and community, but also because she has shaped “alternative masculinities,” or diverse embodiments of what it actually means to be a Black man nowadays. Indeed, Morrison–alongside many other women writers such as Alice Walker, Gloria Naylor, etc.–has been repeatedly accused of “airing the dirty laundry” of the African American community by bringing to the forefront the sexist attitutes of Black men. Cholly in The Bluest Eye seems to set a precedent for the depiction of Black men as predatory and deeply contemptuous of Black women. His role of unforgiving and unforgiveable raping father of little Pecola is read by Sabine Sielke as “a form of self-mutilation” (38), which is actually damaging not only– and obviously–for his own daughter, but also for himself and ultimately for the entire community. But readers like myself continue to be haunted by another male character who appears in Morrison’s masterpiece Beloved: Paul D. The man with the “tobacco tin buried in his chest” (72) is a fragmented and lost human being who has been utterly shaken by the inhumanity of slavery. But he is also the only humane character in the novel who is willing to support Sethe as she tries to make sense of her life by offering her the possibility to reach back into her traumatic past. Although scared away by the ghost Beloved, he is also among those who believe in the regenerative power of love and dignity as the novel ends. Moreover, he is “What does it mean to be a man?”: Codes of Black Masculinity in Toni Morrison’s... 51 the one who shows Sethe her “best thing” (273) which lies within herself, in a way echoing Baby Suggs’ teachings in the Clearing.2 If Cholly is set beside Paul D., what clearly emerges from this contrast negates the hard censure to which Morrison’s work has been subjected for her depiction of male characters. Moreover, Morrison’s serious exploration of more recent male fi gures in her fi ction substantiates a reading of Black masculinity that overcomes both racist and sexist stereotypical formulations in order to denounce “the malign effects of patriarchy on African American society”, as Andrew Read puts it (535). I would argue then that Morrison’s main target is clearly not Black males, but their appropriation and internalization of Western patriarchal codes, which prevent healthy relationships between Black men and women, and sever familial and communal ties. In many a way, I think Morrison is trying to respond to the ongoing debate and refl ection on the nature of Black manhood. Philip Weinstein also points out Morrison’s engagement with the question: “How can a Black man achieve masculinity outside a White model of manhood?” (112-3). By showing extensively the negative effects of patriarchy for his Black characters, Morrison is bent on changing their representation by providing alternative and plural models of masculinity, which necessarily take into account other identity markers such as sexuality, class, politics, etc. In her attempt at deconstructing a monolithic or essentialist view of black masculinity, I contend that Morrison paves the way for a new understanding of the nature of Black masculinity that grounds and facilitates an innovative vision of more gratifying and harmonious gender relationships within the African American community. PARADISE ON EARTH?: THE DOOM OF BLACK PATRIARCHY AND INTIMATION OF NEW BEGINNINGS IN PARADISE The publication of Paradise in 1998 marked a signifi cant shift in Morrison’s production, precisely because the novel evolves around the advantages or disadvantages of a community exclusively headed by Black patriarchy. Ruby is presented as a paradise on earth for several reasons, but mainly because it is seemingly isolated from racial prejudice. Allegedly founded on “eight rock” families that fi rst moved to Haven, and then to Ruby, the community is a self-contained universe. However, as Justine Tally aptly describes in her insightful study of the novel Paradise Reconsidered (1999), the novel shows “a black utopia on the verge of becoming a dystopia” (16), and Katrine Dalsgard offers a very explicit picture: “Ruby ends up as a conservative, patriarchal, thoroughly racialized, and violent community” (233). The core of the problem lies then, as Read puts it, in the fact that Ruby’s patriarchy 2 Thus, it is even intimated that there is a chance at communal recreation propitiated by Paul D and Sethe’s reconciliation at the end of the novel. Mar Gallego 52 “reproduces ideologies and practices of racist white men” (538). I would add to this assertion that it also mirrors the sexist ideologies and practices that are responsible for the “gender war” that is enacted in Ruby. As many critics have already shown, the episode known as the Disallowing seems to be the main motivation for the racial strictures that conform Ruby as an all-black town.3 When the founding fathers (and mothers, although they are not mentioned in the episode as protagonists) were originally travelling West in order to settle, they were denied entrance in Fairly, thereby humiliating them to unbearable levels: It was the shame of seeing one’s pregnant wife or sister or daughter refused shelter that had rocked them and changed them for all time. The humiliation did more than rankle; it threatened to crack open their bones. (Paradise 95-6) Shame, humiliation and subsequent trauma were so intense that led them to build a settlement where no outside forces could interfere anymore. Its after-effects are transmitted from generation to generation till the present time of the story. In spite of all their pain and suffering, I agree with Read when he affi rms that the fundamental reason for humiliation has to do with their inability to exert “‘masculine’ control over their situation” (530), thus revealing their absolute adherence to a patriarchal notion of what makes a man, that is, control.4 I would highlight that this notion of control also implies self-control.5 3 Rob Davidson comments on the way in which the Disallowing has become “political dogma” in Ruby (360); while for Patricia Storage it becomes a “sacred experience” (65), and for Philip Page it “justified the exclusionary dogma of Ruby” (643). 4 Control and possession are key elements in the configuration of a male dominating subject, especially exerted through an absolute control over the “other,” this being nature or other allegedly “inferior” beings (women, children, Black men, etc.). Mastery over others is thus a determining trait in the hegemonic concept of masculinity and the loss of it leads to the loss of one’s dominant position and therefore the loss of one’s own identity. Athena Mutua insists on this when she claims that “domination over others is one of the central understandings and practices of masculinity . . . Normative masculinity is predicated on the domination of others . . . It not only requires domination over others but also is defined in relationship to and in opposition to others” (17). 5 If control over the others is crucial, self-control is an element sine qua non in the patriarchal ideal, as the sociologist Jonathan Rutherford explains: “Flesh, sexuality, emotionality, these become seen as uncontrollable forces and a source of anxiety . . . We learn to repress them because they are the antithesis of what it means to be masculine . . . Our struggle for self control is acted out as mastery over others.” (26) Josep Armengol also refers to this notion of self-control tying it up to the idea of adulthood, by detailing the way in which manhood became quickly associated to being an adult male: “Being a man also meant not being a boy, since an adult male was responsible, independent, and self-controlled” (64). Control over others runs parallel to control over oneself as the first requirement to qualify as a “real” man. “What does it mean to be a man?”: Codes of Black Masculinity in Toni Morrison’s... 53 But going further, I would like to suggest that the Disallowing undeniably shares many similarities with what Black men may have experienced in slavery when they were not allowed to control anything at all, not even themselves, or their own bodies regarded as “property” by some White man. Much has been written about the dehumanizing and traumatic effects of slavery in Black men’s confi guration of their identity and social role.6 But I deem it necessary to acknowledge the enormous infl uence in the building of new identities that was generated by the gender tension that erupted after the Civil War was over. As hooks reminds us, “after slavery ended, enormous tension and confl ict emerged between Black women and men as folks struggled to be self-determining” (92). In We Are Your Sisters, Dorothy Sterling chronicles the way in which Black men prized their masculinity as soon as they acquired freedom.7 What Morrison refl ects in Paradise bears a certain resemblance to the historical situation that occurred when a new concept of Black community had to be forged out of the ashes of slavery’s traumatic legacy. And the same mistakes are made in both cases, because the foundations for the Black community rely heavily on a White model markedly fl awed by racist and sexist prejudice. Many critical voices have argued that the need for integration called for a thorough adaptation to the White standards of the time, being the only script available back then. However, other critics emphasize the diversity of gender roles that was a reality for Black men and women in slavery and afterwards.8 And also the existence of other traditions like that of the folk hero John, summarized by Byrd as follows: Motherwit, the power of laughter and song, self-assertion, self-examination, selfknowledge, a belief that life is process grounded in the fertile fi eld of improvisation, hope, and most importantly, love. (cited in hooks, We Real Cool 5) The list of attributes assigned to this mythopoetic hero are painfully missing in the description of both the founding fathers of Ruby’s community and their 6 In his classic study Slavery and Social Death, Orlando Patterson places the origin for the historical justification of the crisis of Black masculinity in slavery which literally meant “social death” for Black men. Due to racist discrimination, Black men were treated literally like boys, not adults, and systematically denied their manhood, thus feminized or even castrated –physically but also psychologically. Clyde W. Franklin II has written that until the 1960s Black men were regarded as boys in American society (cited in Mutua 13), perpetuating the racist image of children in need of paternal guidance on the part of the “White father” held in pro-slavery ideology. 7 In the words of Laura Towne: “it is too funny to see how much more jealous the men are of one kind of liberty they have achieved than of the other! Political freedom they are rather shy of, and ignorant of, but domestic freedomthe right, just found, to have their own way with their families and rule their wivesthat is an inestimable privilege!” (318). 8 hooks acknowledges this fact and even declares that praise is due to Black men and women for having created a great variety of gender roles (We Real Cool 9). Mar Gallego 54 more contemporary heirs who suscribe to a defi nition of manhood which is both psychologically and emotionally crippling and self-denying, and therefore harmful for themselves and for the other members of the community. In order to overcome their trauma, the founding fathers resort to utter alienation. As a parody of the American founding fathers,9 they recreate an all-male myth of origins, even invoking a male divinity, “walking man,” that would lead the way to the new settlement, and who fi nally signals the place by setting a trap where a male guinea fowl is captured (98; my emphasis). Once there, they make every conceivable effort in order to found a self-suffi cient community in every sense of the word. The men are so intent on their town-building as their glorifi ed purpose, that they forget both themselves and the families they are supposed to protect in the fi rst place. But it is interesting to notice the way in which they measure their success: “They were proud that none of their women had ever worked in a white man’s kitchen or nursed a white child” (99). Clearly, here Morrison criticizes an erroneous way of constructing masculinity that responds to the patriarchal role of the protector, but also in control of the situation, especially when women’s sexuality is concerned.10 The lingering effects of the traumatic experience of the Disallowing are keenly felt by the heirs of the founding fathers like Steward, as late as 1973: “the thought of that level of helplessness made him want to shoot somebody” (96). But more than the episode itself, the result is an entrenched patriarchy which chokes both men and women within Ruby’s barriers. As Read aptly expresses it, “the men are so focused on preserving their forefathers’ achievements that they have no personal accomplishments through which to defi ne their masculinity” (532). Poignantly, the issue of the legacy is crucial for patriarchy, as Read himself has well contended (528).11 But what is also at stake here is the fact that these contemporary men are unable to overcome the shame and humiliation of the Disallowing many generations afterwards, and this feeling of impotence poisons their current lives. Patterson’s sense of “social death” permeates their lives too, despite the fact that they have been playing the role of supposedly “benign” patriarchs, even identifi ed to a certain extent with the image of the Genteel Patriarch.12 9 Peter Widowson’s contribution illustrates the way in which Paradise offers a “specifically black history,” while simultaneously detailing “a history of the whole American experience” (325). 10 Tally also alerts us about the long history of patriarchal assumption of “woman as a disruptive agent” (22, 73-83). 11 As Alsina et allii affirm, the “crisis of no identity” results in “incapacity for affective relationships” and “for transmitting a positive model for the next generations” (14). This crisis is felt by the contemporary men in Ruby who tend to appropriate the paradigm of Western masculinity without revising or altering it. 12 In his groundbreaking book Manhood in America: A Cultural History, Michael Kimmel delineates three models of masculinity in American history: The “Genteel Patriarch” or the “Heroic Artisan” from late eighteenth to the nineteenth century; and the “Self-Made Man” “What does it mean to be a man?”: Codes of Black Masculinity in Toni Morrison’s... 55 The question still remains unanswered as it were: why do not these men feel safe within the limits of the microcosm they have created? Or rather why do they always need to be in control? And the answer targets the very notion of patriarchy: men never feel safe in a patriarchal context because their need for control is largely supported by the concept of domination over the “weak” others, namely women. This is Deek’s depiction of a satisfactory view of the community: Quiet white and yellow houses full of industry; and in them were elegant black women at useful tasks; orderly cupboards minus surfeit or miserliness; linen laundered and ironed to perfection; good meat seasoned and ready for roasting. (111) This image refl ects Deacon Morgan’s, and by extension, all Ruby’s men’s adherence to the traditional gender division, which keeps “good” women at home, depriving them of any agency or voice in the community. But even more than that, the men hold on to a concept of conventional masculinity and resort to violence in order to reestablish their control. The massacre of the women at the Convent is thus justifi ed as cleaning “female malice,” or “detritus” (4). However, other explanations are offered in the fi rst chapter: hatred as in “shooting the fi rst woman [. . .] has clarifi ed it like butter: the pure oil of hatred on top, its hardness stabilized below” (4); but once more the Disallowing comes up when it is said: “That is why they are here in this Convent. To make sure it never happens again. That nothing inside or out rots the one all-black town worth the pain” (5). It is highly signifi cant that at this precise moment these men who have become killers affi rm their manhood and fatherhood: “As new fathers, who had fought the world, they could not (would not) be less than the Old Fathers who had outfoxed it” (6). The killing of the Convent women invests them with a newly acquired power, indeed a phallic power derived from the guns they carry, but also from the ultimate form of male domination encapsulated in violence. As Carme Manuel rightly suggests, “African American masculinity is upholded at the cost of black women” (133), which is to say, that Black masculinity considers violence against Black (but also white) women as a necessary or “benign” form of oppression. In a way, the “new fathers” of Ruby enact the script of patriarchal masculinity to perfection, by using racism (in this case intracaste racism too) as the typical justifi cation for Black male violence against women. The thesis of racial victimism is once more revived by these men,13 together with sexism to explain from the beginning of the nineteenth century, probably the best-known one. While the Genteel Patriarch or the Heroic Artisan value virtues such as honesty, morality, kindness or compassion, the Self-Made Man would incarnate economic success in the public sphere and these self-made men “came to dominate much sooner than in Europe” (17). 13 Many critics have questioned racial victimism as justification for Black masculinity (Manuel 141), and have denounced sexism within the African American community. A pioneering voice was Michelle Wallace in Black Macho and the Myth of the Superwoman, who Mar Gallego 56 away the causes for the murder of women who would not fi t their model of “elegant women at their tasks,” as commented previously. But Morrison’s indictment on Black patriarchy is even more evident in the cathartic effects it has on the men who participated in it, who [. . .] four months later [. . .] were still chewing the problem, asking God for guidance if they were wrong: if white law should, contrary to everything they knew and believed, be permitted to deal with matters heretofore handled among and by them. (298) The fact that the men are not able to forget their horrifi c killing, nor to actually dismiss it as a rightful act opens up some possibility of redemption. As Susan Mayberry says, “Morrison always acknowledges reality as she affi rms possibility” (574). This sense of possibility is embodied by the way the Morgan brothers distance one from the other: while Steward “took K.D. under his wing, concentrating on making the newphew and the sixteen-month-old grandnephew rich” (299-300), thus buying once more the doctrine of material possession propagated by White American society, Deacon starts a quite promising voyage of self-investigation when he feels “an incompleteness, a muffl ed solitude, which took away appetite, sleep and sound” (300-1). Not enough critical attention has been devoted to this sense of fragmentation and loneliness keenly felt by Deacon. Meaningfully, Deacon’s acute lack of wholeness and his subsequent transformation effectively expose the damaging effects of the internalization of White patriarcal codes without deconstructing its sexist and racist bias, which leads to outrageous gender violence. Thus, he feels prompted to try to talk fi rstly to his wife about the deep love he actually feels for her, but is prevented by his brother Steward, who “stopped them dead lest they know another realm” (301). Here Morrison signals a very timid attempt on Deacon’s part to bridge the enormous gap with his wife, but Steward effectively prevents this from materializing as it would reveal the inner workings of patriarchy severely questioned by that “other realm” evoked in the last quote. Afterwards, Deacon turns to Misner, a long-time enemy, for consultation and, again tellingly, he goes to see him barefoot (showing the way in which he throws away his obsession with money and status): Deacon Morgan had never consulted with or taken into confi dence any man. All of his intimate conversations had been wordless ones with his brother or brandishing examined the way in which manhood was “the carrot the white man had held just beyond the black man’s nose for many generations” (33). She even dared to critique the way in which the Black movement of the sixties upheld a notion of Black masculinity that was “a pose,” which could not work “without the full involvement of women” (81), thus discarding the construction of Black masculinity as a monolithic “cool pose.” “What does it mean to be a man?”: Codes of Black Masculinity in Toni Morrison’s... 57 ones with male companions. He spoke to his wife in the opaque manner he thought appropriate. (301) Here Morrison purposefully unveils the way in which conventional notions of patriarchy strangle Black men, as they are utterly unable to express themselves either to other males or to the important women of their lives. Morrison hints at dialogue and male bonding as one of the crucial instruments to overcome the dearth to which Black men are condemned when they follow harmful codes of masculinity. But what is really at the core of Deacon’s transformation is the fact that he manages to confess he has mistreated a woman (Consolata), and the remorse he feels “at having become what the Old Fathers cursed: the kind of man who set himself up to judge, rout and even destroy the needy, the defenseless, the different” (302). This is precisely what has eroded Ruby’s Black men, according to Deacon, they have not lived up to their fathers’ expectations of having fathered just men. On the opposite, Deacon’s fi nal confession actually reveals these men as emotionally crippled fi gures who are completely lost as to how to construct a healthy version of their manhood away from constraining defi nitions favored by White patriarchy. Despite Deacon’s testimony, I do not fully agree with his recreation of the Old Fathers within the framework of the so-called “protector” ideology (that could also be interpreted as paternalistic, by the way). Indeed, what Deacon’s confession makes clear is the way in which patriarchal masculinity falls short of its own promises, which Misner aptly summarizes in “lack of words [. . .] Lack of forgiveness. Lack of love” (303). This tripartite lack is then the ultimate cause for the failure of Black patriarchy to effectively challenge the racist and sexist bias a Western code of masculinity fosters. Therefore, Morrison seems to be suggesting that dialogue, forgiveness, and love are the keys for a satisfying nurturing of men, and by extension, of the entire community. Going back to the origins, that is, to more positive and self-fulfi lling male identities will ease the way for a sorely needed reconstruction of gender relations too. “ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE”?: BLACK PATRIARCHY AND ALTERNATIVE MANHOOD IN LOVE As I have argued elsewhere,14 the fi gure of the patriarch is unfl inchingly examined in Morrison’s novel Love (2003). The similarities with Paradise are striking from the onset: both are set in the context of an exclusively Black community, in the latter case a segregated resort that only caters for upper class blacks. Again Morrison’s intentional rewriting of a key historical moment previous to the Civil Rights era tests the limits of that era and the presumed benefi ts of segregated enclaves like the one portrayed in the novel. Thus, racial politics are the backbone on which the 14 I first tackled this issue in “Love and the Survival of the Black Community” (2007). Mar Gallego 64 ---. Black Looks. Race and Representation. Boston: South End Press, 1992. KIMMEL, Michael. Manhood in America: A Cultural History. New York: The Free Press, 1996. MANUEL, Carme. “Push: La Marcha de una Afroamericana contra un Millón de Hombres Negros.” Alsina, Cristina, Rodrigo Andrés y Ángels Carabí, eds. 131-67. 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