Masculinity and the War in Ukraine
One of Browning’s aims is to show its students, through programming and relationships and curriculum, that there are many ways to be a boy, and by extension many ways to be a man. Part of this involves helping community members explore masculinities that are not predicated on hegemony, or dehumanization, or domination. Do we want our students to become people who can be strong, decisive, and independent? Without question. But we also believe wholeheartedly that these traits are entirely compatible with—and indeed enhanced by—the qualities captured by our core values and made explicit in our mission: Honesty, curiosity, respect, courage, and compassion. The point is never to convince boys that capabilities inherent in traditional understandings of masculinity are somehow bad or shameful; rather, we simply mean to give students a chance to assess whether these capabilities alone are enough to lead a life that is healthy, connected, fulfilling, and meaningful.
This has been on my mind as I have looked upon the horror of Russia’s deadly attacks on Ukraine over the past two weeks. It is heartbreaking to see so many lives taken and displaced, so much needless devastation and violation, so much wanton disregard for shared humanity and profound suffering. Geopolitics are a complicated, multivariate thing, and we should not reduce international atrocity to a facile morality play between two people; still, in considering the attack on a free nation and its people, I wonder about the competing visions of masculinity that the leaders of Russia and Ukraine are exhibiting.
In coming to and consolidating his power at the head of the Russian state, Vladimir Putin has consistently trafficked in images and behaviors designed to signal a distinct brand of manhood. Putin ascended to the presidency in 2000 decrying the diminution of both Russian nationalism and masculinity, and he has made his office synonymous with a specifically macho sensibility through an inordinate number of photos of Putin shirtless, toting long guns, and almost cartoonishly excelling in action sports. He has also created law that prohibits same-sex couples from adopting, decriminalized forms of domestic violence, and stated that “weakness is not the worst quality for a woman.” Putin’s is not a subtle worldview; clearly, it is one where “real” men are dominant actors who express themselves through their aggression and through compulsory disdain for those who are not like them.
Volodymyr Zelensky, Ukraine’s president, has been understandably less familiar to American political observers, as he has held office for fewer than three years; indeed, prior to the invasion of his nation, he was perhaps most readily seen as an erstwhile comedian and Ukrainian television star who found himself at the head of his nation’s government. Over the past two weeks, however, Zelensky has been thrust center stage by the attack on Ukraine, and has used the occasion to model a different kind of leadership—informed by a different set of values—than his Russian counterpart. Like Putin, Zelensky aims to project strength, but does so on decidedly different terms. He roots his strength not in aggression or domination, but in resolve and cooperation, as he records videos standing shoulder-to-shoulder with government ministers in the streets of the assaulted Kyiv. Zelensky is also a model of vulnerability, not only with his increasingly disheveled and careworn appearance, but also through his admission of his own fears and his open, impassioned pleas for assistance to the European Union and sympathetic nations worldwide. He readily expresses empathy for the suffering of his fellow citizens, and his charisma comes not through shows of force, but from courage and compassion in the face of personal danger and global injustice.
Again, we should not overdraw the lessons. First and foremost, the war in Ukraine is a shocking human tragedy, and all attendant philosophical meditations are decidedly secondary. And within those meditations, the point is assuredly not to beatify Zelensky (making idols out of fallible leaders is a dangerous thing), to assert that leadership is somehow definitionally “masculine,” or to suggest that anyone who reads masculinity as Putin does will ultimately become an international belligerent. But at a school that hopes to show its boys that manhood is not a monolithic thing, it is perhaps worth noticing that qualities like honesty, curiosity, respect, courage, and compassion do not seem to have a home in Vladimir Putin’s vision of masculinity. It is also perhaps worth noticing that Putin’s approach has increased the world’s store of danger, alienation, and hurt. At the same time, right now Volodymyr Zelensky’s capacity for honesty, curiosity, respect, courage, and compassion seems to fortify his own expressions of strength, decisiveness, and independence. This marriage projects a vision of manhood that calls people together, privileges community well-being, and sees something larger than naked exercises of power. Whatever his future challenges, Ukraine’s leader is demonstrating the difference between two approaches to male identity, and showing plainly which one more effectively creates connection, inspiration, and admiration.