The Gender Knot (Part 2 of 2)
Exploring Allen G. Johnson's vision of responsibility and social change
Note to the reader: If you missed Part 1 of my exploration of Allen G. Johnson’s book The Gender Knot, read that post first. You’ll get a lot more out of what follows.
Back in December, I wrote about sociologist Allen G. Johnson’s critique of patriarchy in his book The Gender Knot. Today, I return to The Gender Knot, with particular attention to Johnson’s discussion of the nature of responsibility and opportunities for resisting patriarchy in everyday life.
Recall that, for Johnson, patriarchy is a system of unequal power relationships that persists because we—you and me—generally take paths of least resistance that don’t upset the system. We do this largely out of fear at the prospect of being unsupported by other people and, as a result, losing control over what those others make of our identities. And because we tend collectively to take these paths of least resistance, we create an appearance of consensus that patriarchy is inevitable. As Johnson writes:
In something as simple as a man following the path of least resistance toward controlling conversations (and a woman letting him), or being silent in the face of men’s violence, the reality of patriarchy in that moment comes into being. This is how we do patriarchy, bit by bit, moment by moment.1
Taking responsibility for our own participation in patriarchy means learning to notice those moments when we are tempted to follow such a path of least resistance. It means becoming explicitly mindful of the patriarchal aspects of our situation and, in full view of other people, taking action that offers an alternative and throws the supposed inevitability of patriarchy into question. As Johnson puts it,
the simplest way to help others make different choices is to make them myself, and to do it openly so they can see what I am doing. As I shift the patterns of my own participation in patriarchy, I make it easier for others to do so as well—and harder for them not to.2
This is Johnson’s vital point: when we push back publicly on the patriarchal aspects of a situation or a policy, it means the other people around us will have to contend in the future with the internal dissonance of knowing a different path is possible. We cannot control the outcome of our actions, but as Johnson puts it, “It takes only one person to tear the fabric of collusion and apparent consensus,”3 and all who bear witness will have to reconcile their future behavior with the truths disclosed by our intervention. As Johnson writes,
rather than trying to persuade individual people, the most important thing we can do is contribute to shifting entire cultures so that patriarchal forms and values begin to lose their ‘obvious’ legitimacy and normalcy and new forms emerge to challenge their privileged place in social life.4
We must also be willing to support others when they take the risk to stem patriarchy’s too-easy flow. “Support is most needed when the risk is being taken, not later on, so do not wait,” Johnson writes. “Make your support as visible and public as the courageous behavior that you’re supporting.”5
So, what does responsible action look like in practice? Let’s start with individual acts.
Taking responsibility for our place in the flow of interaction might mean, for example, asserting values of respect, equity, and inclusion when someone makes a misogynistic, homophobic, or transphobic comment. Whatever form our response takes, when we act in alignment with our values and against patriarchal norms, we break the illusion that such abuse is inevitable and all agree with it. Doing this comes with risk, and we may feel vulnerable. But the fear that we’ll be all alone in intervening is a product of the same illusion of consensus that we must break—and we’ll often be surprised to discover how many other people nod along with us, or tell us later, “Thank you for saying that—I wanted to say something, too, but I was scared.”
Or consider bystanders to bullying. As I wrote earlier this month, reflecting on my own experience of being bullied during my adolescence:
As an adult, more than 30 years later, I’m wise enough to understand that sometimes people disagree with harmful behavior but stay silent out of fear. Looking back, it’s possible that most of the bystanders to my bullying struggled internally with what was happening but held back, fearful of what abuse might be directed toward them—fearful, perhaps, of the other silent bystanders.
But I could not perceive any such nuance as a bullied middle schooler. The internal resistance of the bystanders, if it existed, was not made public, and this withholding taught its own lesson: this is no safe harbor here.6
When bystanders do nothing, even when they disagree with the abuse and control that they’re witnessing, they perpetuate and reinforce the fiction that the abuse is inevitable and all agree with it.
In contrast, when a bystander takes action—whether by caring for a bullied person directly, expressing public disagreement with how the bullied person is being treated, or reporting the bullying to school authorities—that bystander opens the way for others to do the same more easily and teaches the bullied person that safe harbor still exists.
What about collective action?
Johnson himself, for example, served on the board of the Connecticut Coalition Against Domestic Violence and testified before that state’s Judiciary Committee about “laws to protect the rights of sexual assault victims.”7 So, how should we think about the relationship between (1.) resisting paths of least resistance in our individual lives and (2.) the formation of social solidarity, social movements, and better policies that dignify the formative conditions of people’s lives?
Johnson does not explore this relationship deeply in The Gender Knot, but he does counsel that men who want to counter patriarchy must “organize, organize, organize.”8 We might do this in any context of our lives, whether in our locality or within an organization or religious denomination. Regardless of the context, however, Johnson says that forming relationships of solidarity with others makes each of us more resilient in resisting patriarchy in our own lives. We learn with clarity that we are not alone, and we become examples for each other of what’s possible.
How does such solidarity translate into crafting better policies that benefit all and preventing policies that harm? I suspect that a “Johnson-ian” answer to this question would begin with the observation that a policy proposal in a given domain, however good its intentions, will not go anywhere unless and until the relevant paths of least resistance that sustain patriarchal life in that domain have been revealed to many people as damaging to human flourishing. So, part of the job of movement-building against patriarchy—whether to prevent domestic violence, ensure reproductive freedom, ensure the rights and dignity of LGBTQ+ people, provide for paid family leave, or otherwise—is to bring the pathologies of patriarchy into clear view as they relate to people’s everyday lives and explain their source. And as we learn to see the connections among our many respective wounds, and as we build new relationships and friendships atop those revelations, we can learn to advocate wisely for different ways of living and increase our power to do so.
As regards family leave, I’m reminded of a 2014 report by the Boston College Center for Work and Family, Take Your Leave, which focused on workplace paternity leave policies.9 The United States has long stood out—negatively—among industrialized nations for its refusal (so far) to offer any federal guarantee of paid parental leave.10 For most people in the United States, the availability of paid parental leave upon the birth of a baby is entirely contingent on the generosity of a person's employer.
Take Your Leave was an effort to cast light on this problem, illuminate fathers’ attitudes about parental leave, and consider the state of company paternity leave policies. It’s a rich report, but I want to focus on its core recommendation for new fathers: namely, take your leave. The authors counseled:
Become familiar with the policies at your organization and . . . [t]ake as much time as is feasible for your circumstances . . . . Even if other fathers in your department or team have not taken leave, by taking full advantage of this benefit, you can lead the way for other fathers to feel more comfortable in spending the important first days with their own children.11 [emphasis added]
Moreover, the report argued,
Although men may face a stigma for being vocal about their caregiving role, it is important that they make their voices heard both as parents and as leaders . . . . The more we discuss these issues in the workplace and our lives, the more we “normalize” the important caregiving roles that fathers play.12
In essence, the authors of Take Your Leave are making a Johnson-ian argument: by taking your paternity leave (if you have the ability to do so), despite the patriarchal norms that discourage you, you set a precedent in the lives of the other men around you. Your act contributes to the establishment of more-liberating norms, which other men can also act upon. Moreover, these precedents can form the basis for new networks within organizations, whereby fathers can explicitly support each other in taking parental leave. And these networks, in turn, strengthen both the constituency and the arguments for more-equitable company cultures around parental leave for people of all genders.
Finally, let’s talk about fear.
Johnson argues that fear is the engine of patriarchy and fundamental to our experience of it. He writes, “Men’s fear of other men is crucial because patriarchy is driven by how men both cause and respond to that fear.”13 This is why paths of least resistance are so powerful in channeling our behavior in ways that shield patriarchal norms from scrutiny.
This means that, in order to resist patriarchy in any kind of sustainable way, we must come to terms with our fear, so we might learn to co-exist with it and act beyond it. But how, exactly, do we do that?
Johnson offers some helpful guidance here. He advises taking “little risks” when opportunities to do so present themselves, as they will.14 Even little risks bring discomfort and fear, so Johnson encourages us to see our fear in a productive light. “If you take that resistance to action as a measure of power,” he writes, “then your potential to make a difference is plain to see.”15 And as I noted above, Johnson calls on men to “organize, organize, organize” and build relationships, so that each can feed the other’s resolve, creativity, and resilience in resisting patriarchy.16
This is wise counsel, but I wonder whether it’s enough where fear is concerned.
Starting out by taking “little” risks is a great idea for building one’s capacity to accept discomfort and act with courage. But for whom is a given risk “little?” Making oneself a counter-example to patriarchy’s easy flow can come with real costs, depending on the circumstance and especially for those who occupy already-vulnerable social positions. Men do have privilege to trade on, and Johnson wants men to learn to use it for justice-making ends, and we should. But that resource of privilege can vary substantially with the situation and the other social distinctions at play, like socio-economic and professional status, race, ethnicity, sexuality, gender identity, disability, age, and so on. Which risks are sufficiently safe to take can’t be defined at the outset for everyone, and only through relationships built over time do we learn which risks are graver for whom and who must take the lead.
I also worry that “knowing better” when it comes to patriarchy need not translate into doing better, if we do not also have access to concrete practices for working with fear in the productive way that Johnson advises. Working with fear and seeing clearly the meaning behind it, so that it doesn’t overwhelm our capacity to discern what’s really happening in the moment and respond in a liberating way, is a skill. Cultivating that skill is essential, because the fear that drives patriarchy isn’t grounded only in our positional vulnerabilities from moment to moment. It's also grounded in our biographies: in our stories about who we are and what's possible for us, and in the traumas that hold us back from taking risks that might nourish us.
For example, consider the series of essays on healing from adolescent bullying that I published last year. I wrote those essays as a 45-year-old man, more than three decades after the bullying I experienced in middle school. Only in the past year, feeling I had no other choice, did I finally acknowledge the trauma of those experiences and its impact on my current life, especially when it comes to connecting with other men.
So, my closing thought on The Gender Knot is that bringing greater sociological acumen to bear on our experience of patriarchy is necessary but insufficient for making change. Often, our wounds run deep, and some form of regular reflective or mindfulness practice is essential for cultivating our capacities to navigate fear with intellectual clarity, kindness, and courage in the moment—whether individually or, better, in solidarity with others. For many, including me, therapy is part of that healing, too.17
And we shouldn’t feel ashamed about that: we share this vulnerability in common.
Allan G. Johnson, The Gender Knot: Unraveling Our Patriarchal Legacy, 3rd edition, Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press, 2014, pg. 228.
Ibid., pg. 233.
Ibid., pg. 232.
Ibid., pg. 234.
Ibid., pg. 243.
Matthew S. Rosin, “The power of bystanders: A further reflection on bullying,” February 18, 2023.
Johnson, pg. 240.
Brad Harrington, et al., The New Dad: Take Your Leave—Perspectives on paternity leave from fathers, leading organizations, and global policies, Chestnut Hill, MA: Boston College Center for Work & Family, 2014.
See the 2022 data on this point from the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development, available here:
https://www.oecd.org/els/soc/PF2_1_Parental_leave_systems.pdf
Check out those tables: you’ll see nothing but zeros in the rows for the United States.
Harrington, et al., pg. 26.
Ibid.
Johnson, pg. 51.
Ibid., pg. 239.
Ibid., pg. 241.
Ibid., pg. 240.
For example, see: Terrence Real, I Don’t Want To Talk About It: Overcoming the Secret Legacy of Male Depression, New York, NY: Scribner, 1997.