Malechallengemedia's Blog

Ending a Cycle of Violence – From Violent Past to Capital Hill

My personal Hiroshima occurred when I was a young boy! The first hard hit from my father’s hand exploded in my head as the tears ran down my face. Up until this turning point I’d only received love and care from my parents. Now everything had changed and like America after 911, I realized life would never be the same again. Perhaps that is when the rage began building within me until it became a volcano ready to erupt. It built steadily over the years each time I was hit, each time I saw my mother beaten by my dad.

Years later my own rage erupted as violence against my wife, the woman I loved. I realized with horror that what I hated in my father was emerging in me. It was a cancer inherited through the genes. I felt great shame and self hatred that I’d become like him and was really scared this cancer may be incurable since I was in my forties at the time. With great trepidation I began the long journey to defuse the time bomb inside me and learn new behavioral skills. I invested a fortune in therapy and workshops. For more than a decade I learned violence prevention and non-violent communication skills. I became a mediator and worked with gang kids in school programs and inside juvenile detention centers. Later I was a mediator in the Juvenile Justice systems in Australia and the US.

Jump forward until February, 2007 when a full circle was completed. The story that follows is part of a report I wrote last month.

Bitter arctic winds blasted the nation’s capitol – the coldest weather in decades. The wind chill may have been below zero but my heart was warm as we leaned into the wind and hastened to Capital Hill to promote the Department of Peace Bill. This truly was a day for us to remember and a personal achievement for me and my very supportive community.

Seven hundred (700) of us paid 220 visits to senators and congressmen’s offices in this well prepared national campaign to wage peace. We passionately shared our desires/reasons for the peace bill stating that the peoples of America have been saying no to war with increasingly loud voices; we said that we represented thousands more like us back in our communities.

We cited the Global Alliance for Departments of Peace in 20 countries, as evidence of a tsunami of a peace-minded global citizenry – that we believed that this movement will succeed just as the abolitionists and suffragettes succeeded, because this is an evolution occurring in the hearts and minds of millions worldwide.

We reminded our politicians that the bill would establish a cabinet level department of peace and non violence to give much-needed assistance to efforts by communities and state governments in coordinating existing violence prevention programs; as well as develop new programs based on best practices nationally. Including:
— Teach violence prevention and mediation to America’s school children
— Effectively treat and dismantle gang psychology
— Rehabilitate the prison population – the world’s largest.
— Build peace-making efforts among conflicting cultures both here and abroad
— Support our military with complementary approaches to peace-building
— Create a U.S. Peace Academy – a sister organization to the U.S. Military Academy.
I tell this story for a number of reasons. I’m not proud that I have been violent with women. I’m ashamed and horrified that I hurt a living soul let alone the ones I most loved. I am proud however, that I have done much to embrace a personal culture of peace and non-violence and I’m glad to have broken the cycle of violence passed down within my family.
I’m equally honored to be involved in bringing this America wide campaign of peace to the US government. Amazingly, while waiting in the lobby to meet with our senator, it emerged that most in our group (from Oregon) had come from violent families and some, like me, had been violent themselves. I assumed many of the 700 lobbyists on Capital Hill that day had similar backgrounds and it gave me hope that the wound of violence could drive such a powerful movement for peace.
Grace Gawler, in her book Women of Silence, says “The strength that harmed you could ultimately be turned into a different strength that could heal you.” My journey to Capital Hill was exactly that; a journey of self healing, while, at the same time, a powerful step to reduce violence in the US and the world.
Significantly the Department of Peace Bill would support the good work carried out by organizations such as the Men’s Resource Centre and Mediation Works in Medford, Oregon, where I am a volunteer. Essentially the Department of Peace (DoP) would be a funding and coordinating body expanding on existing expertise and best practices all across the country.
I’m also very excited that within the DoP campaign there is a fast growing body of students for peace. The Student Peace Alliance chapters are organizing at community colleges, liberal arts colleges, universities, and high schools across the nation. By integrating efforts with local communities, SPA groups build strong partnerships with those outside school walls. SPA chapters support the Department of Peace through grassroots organizing, lobbying, and working to support cultures of peace on their campuses and in local communities.

I’m sure that I would have joined a movement like that when I was young and perhaps the violence that emerged in me many years later would have been healed and nobody would have been hurt.
I have not met the good men and women at the Men’s Resource Center but I am happy to make my small contribution through this article; I feel good about supporting a group dedicated to healing the rage and potential violence in men. In alerting readers to the possibility of a Department of Peace we make real a source of funding and coordination for many organizations like the MRC.
It is wonderful to be partnered with thousands of similar groups worldwide who are working to prevent violence through a holistic approach. This excites me because a holistic method is more effective than the reductionist approach we have been using. Preventing one war is great but to treat the causes of all wars is more powerful.
Similarly we need to treat the root causes of domestic violence, gang violence and international terrorism – we need a whole systems approach, and that includes seriously working to improve ourselves. Just as we can prevent disease in ourselves by addressing the deep causes, so we can treat the disease of violence in ourselves and in the world.
The fascinating thing is that the model that works in the larger world, the macro model, also works on a smaller scale within self (the micro). In order to create an inner culture of peace I needed to apply a holistic approach of healing to myself. In following my goal of ‘peace by peaceful means,’ I had to create an inner world where all voices can be heard – and I had to be kind, very kind.
The same kindness needs to be shown to those in power; those whose violent government policies we abhor. I find it useful to remember that the men who implement such policies are probably deeply wounded as I was. My inner work is to create a psychological bridge to them, to hold them as brothers who can heal the pain behind their beliefs and policies. I truly imagine sitting in a heart circle with such men, the Cheneys, Bushs and Bin Ladens of our world and hearing the buried pain that lead to their violent actions.
Until that day is achieved I am continuing to leverage my violent past and have chosen, amongst other peace work that I do, to throw my efforts behind the global groundswell of people campaigning to create Departments and Ministries of Peace worldwide.
If you are a man/woman with a background like mine or simply want to support a national and international people’s movement with a very concrete plan to establish a lasting culture of peace, then please check the websites listed at the bottom of the article.
US Department of Peace site is http://www.thepeacealliance.org/
The global site is http://www.peoplesinitiativefordepartmentsofpeace.org/

Proposed Voice Male Article

Published in Voice Male–Winter 2006

Men and Homophobia

My Pink Helmet

By Pip Cornall

I purchased a pink rafting helmet from a sporting goods store in Oregon when I first arrived in the United States. It was the only one left in my size. The salesperson seemed surprised that I would take it, and I remember saying nonchalantly that it was as good as any other color.

Many years later, my pink helmet has stories to tell. It has received more uninvited comments from strangers than I could ever have imagined. Hardly a day has gone by on the river without someone letting me know his opinion. Not surprisingly, all of these comments were from men.

We were on a two-raft overnight camping trip on the Upper Klamath River, along the California border. A man who was a client in another raft guided by my friend Bill called out to me in a mocking tone. In a faux feminine voice, he said he liked my attire of purple shorts, purple life vest, and pink helmet, and then he held up his arms letting the wrists go limp in a gay simulation. Jokingly, but with a little sting behind my words, I called back that if he was homophobic I could have a chat with him at camp, since I taught classes in area schools for overcoming homophobia and could clue him in. He replied angrily that he was an ex-sheriff and that he shot gays! Shocked by his harsh response, I pulled my raft away downriver to breathe and regroup my thoughts.

In the calmer sections of the river, I watched my mind running through numerous scenarios and possible responses. I wondered about the feelings of the 12 people in our two rafts. What if some of them were gay or had gay family members, as I did? I wanted to ask the man: If I were gay, would he have run the rapids with me? Would he want to shoot my gay family member? Was he really dangerous, or literally just shooting his mouth off? However, I did not at the time reflect on his fear and pain or how he had become so hardened. All too soon the size and intensity of the rapids demanded my full focus, so I gladly put the incident aside.

I made a point to look him up that evening when the meal was over and tried to build some rapport with him. We chatted for a while, but after a few probing questions from me it was clear that he would not say any more about the topic. Perhaps he was embarrassed by the anger of his response, or at the idea of exposing his attitudes in mixed company. For my part I wondered whether, if I had not been such a smart guy when he first taunted me, we might have had a better dialogue. My initial response had simply polarized us more. I had training in non-adversarial communication skills and could have gently learned more about his stance rather than making him wrong for his beliefs. I wondered about my smug political correctness, and regretted a missed opportunity for healing between two men whose emotional development had most likely been trashed during the long years in “male boot camp.” That could have been our common bond.

Even some of my friends who were river guides working for other companies could not restrain themselves from commenting on my pink helmet. Their comments were made in good humor, and simply reminded me that different cultures have different attitudes and traditions. One day I heard the words “G’day, Ponce” ring out across the river. The “G’day” greeting referred to my Australian identity, and “Ponce” was a reference to a gay man. I looked up and saw Lou, a guide I liked very much but one who took pains to promote a strong masculine image. There is no doubt that pink clothing or equipment worn by men pushed some of my friends’ homophobe buttons. I had been an outdoor skills instructor in Australia for years without hearing comments about the colors I wore. I wondered if homophobia was bigger in the United States than in Australia, or whether it merely had a different emphasis. Whatever the case, these incidents illustrate men’s conformity to norms learned through male socialization.

While I understand the reasons for the comments about my attire, I’ve always thought the whole male-conformity thing was rather silly. I mean, using the same logic, men would be prohibited from looking at sunsets or pink flowers because that would mean they were gay. And since nature contains every color known to man, could that mean God is gay? It’s sad that a belief system would prevent a man from wearing a color he likes! I came to love my pink helmet and the opportunities it gave me to have some juicy discussions with complete strangers–and a chance to tease my American friends. Perhaps in the process, my pink helmet may even have helped a few men take some tentative steps toward gay equity and acceptance.

Sadly, however, I must report that my pink helmet is no more. When I recently returned to the United States after three years in Australia, I found the helmet had been stored too close to the heat of the garage roof and had split down the middle. I called all the rafting shops trying to get another, but could not find any in pink. So I have been borrowing helmets until I find another pink one. I know it’s out there, somewhere.

Pip Cornall gives workshops in Australia and the United States on male gender issues. He also teaches yoga and is a river rafting guide in northern California and southern Oregon. You can visit his website, www.pipcornall.com. And www.malechallenge.com

Printed in Voice Male – Summer 2005

Sexism on the River: Taking a Stand Against the Male Tribal Code

By Pip Cornall

I was guiding a group of men on a two-day whitewater rafting trip on the Upper Klamath River near the Oregon border. This wild, isolated section of the Klamath slices through the rugged Cascade Mountains of southern Oregon and northern California. With its unparalleled wilderness beauty and over 30 major rapids including Hell’s Corner Gorge, it is one of the West’s finest class IV-V river trips.

My group consisted of 12 men aged 30 to 50. My helper was a competent young guide, E., who had not guided a commercial trip on this river before. I’d kept him close to me as we negotiated the tricky class IV+ rapids in the gorge. We had a very successful run through the gorge and even played a significant part in a rescue involving two other rafts. One of the other boats had flipped and several participants were injured. After the rescue I took several of the injured in my boat and placed two of my strongest paddlers in each of the weaker boats with instructions to “follow my lines” in the gorge.

Although I’d had a lot of experience in the gorge and ran it regularly throughout the summer, I was quite tense about the situation. I’d lost four good paddlers and replaced them with two injured passengers. The men I placed in the other rafts had extensive rafting experience, so I told them to steer the boats from the front since the guides were struggling in the bigger water. Consequently we had all experienced the level of bonding that occurs in such dangerous sport activities. I could not have been happier with the performance of the men I’d put in the other boats. They had done well and followed my lines perfectly!

As we drifted on the calm waters leading to our pullout we were happy, tired and content. This was rafting and companionship at its best. At the pullout we transferred the injured paddlers and said goodbye to the other rafts. For them it was mostly easy water for the remainder of their trip. Meanwhile, our group would be meeting our driver to be transported back to the head of Hell’s Corner Gorge, where we would camp for the night. In the morning we would run it again, this time as paddle boats without oar assist. I would be using a guide paddle and would not have as much control in big water, but would have to rely more upon the paddling ability of the crew. This was both a reward and an acknowledgment of their excellent assistance in the gorge.

After a short wait we met our driver and began the slow climbing trip back to our campsite. As we prepared the evening meal there was a lot of boisterous boasting and storytelling as the men recaptured the excitement of the gorge. I remember thinking what a great day it was and how much I loved my job as raft guide.

After a while I noticed that the men had launched into some serious drinking. As I listened to their joking, it dawned on me that this was a stag trip! They were here to celebrate the impending wedding of one of their members.

Soon the evening’s activities became debased and crude. The men passed around pictures of women engaged in degrading sex acts and other sorts of porn. The jokes had a demeaning sexist tone to them. I felt uncomfortable and wanted to remove myself from the group, but was obliged to stay until I had fed them all.

Like any group of men, they wanted to include me in their activities. They kept pouring me drinks and laughingly implied that my “Aussie image” would be compromised if I refused to join them. This was very hard for me. I had got a lot of mileage from my Aussie image; it had opened many doors for me in America. Also I liked the men; we had shared danger together and had been generous in the rescue of the other rafters. Any refusal on my behalf to join would also brand me an outcast, a “wuss.” My heart pounded as I realized I was up against that old male tribal thinking which said, “We’ll accept you, and protect you, but now you must do as we do, you will not go against the traditions, you must follow the rules of the tribe.”

I checked in with myself and decided to talk to them. Summoning all my courage, I told them that since I did gender awareness work in the schools and with men in the wider community, I could not condone this behavior. I knew that demeaning sexist behavior ultimately supports sexual assault and other forms of violence against women. I explained how this tore at me, since I liked them as a group and wanted them to enjoy their rafting trip. I suggested they have fun and celebrate the impending marriage without having to demean women. By this time they had downed a number of hard drinks, so my speech appeared futile. Some of them said I was being a spoilsport!

Unfortunately E., the young guide, joined in with them, but I could hardly blame him. He had neither the maturity nor the education and understanding to do otherwise; he was just being “one of the boys.”

As soon as dinner was over I moved my bedding upriver, out of earshot of the group. I’d rather be among the bears than be involved with the debauchery, but I had the usual sick feeling in my gut when I heard women being degraded. It reminded me of my youth in rural Australia, when I’d had to choose between supporting women and any aspects associated with the feminine and being included in the dominant male group. When I tried to resist the group I was teased, but if I went along with them I felt dirty and in betrayal of the women I loved.

As I sat on my bedroll I felt alone and somber in contrast to the laughter floating up the valley from the “party.” I took a deep breath and tried to let the bad taste leave my body. I rolled back and lay there looking up at the stars, trying to connect with nature and to calm the confusion I felt. Eventually I began to feel grounded again, and fell asleep to the sounds of river and the animals of the night.

I was in camp early the next morning to get a strong brew of coffee going. We had some very serious rapids to run and I did not want any of the group to be hung over. They needed to be fit and alert. The men filtered down to breakfast one by one but surprisingly appeared bright and energetic. These guys were obviously conditioned to solid drinking sessions.

After hash browns and pancakes I went down to prepare the rafts. I was stunned when I saw that each raft had a life-size ‘blow-up doll’ lashed to its bow. Oars and paddles had been crudely shoved into available orifices and the effect was grotesque.

I was in shock. I had hoped the evening’s activities would be forgotten. I normally loved the mornings on the river. It was my quiet time, a time to connect with nature and prepare for the day.

I really had no choice: another showdown was imminent. I gathered the men, who were giggling like school kids. E. was carried along by their antics and was not much help to me as I made my stand. I asked that they remove the blow-ups and stated again that I was not happy at the disrespect to women. I suggested that these attitudes might be carried over into their marriages. One man argued vehemently against me. He was the Vietnamese son of an American GI. He had in the past led some of the group on trips to Vietnam, where they visited prostitution houses. Last night I’d heard them laughing and boasting about what they’d done to women on their last trip.

We faced off. I was alone and some of them were large, strong men. I wondered where this might end. I told them that once again I was compromised. I had to walk my talk on sexist issues and yet that was hard because I felt bonded to them. There was some nasty arguing, mostly led by the brothel trip leader. Eventually I insisted that if the blow-ups were not removed the trip would end there and we would all have to walk out. I did not like making a stand like this at all, and wondered how it might affect our rafting ability if we got on the river.

Eventually the men agreed to remove the dolls, and we spent the next hour working hard to break camp and tie everything into the rafts. They were muttering among themselves and I felt I was the butt of their joking. I was confused and felt leaden. I had little energy. It was all I could do to focus on the task ahead. My fingers fumbled and it was clear that the events had affected me deeply. I asked E to double-check everything I did so that our safety was not jeopardized.

I breathed a sigh of relief as we pushed off into the current. I could focus on being a river guide again. We all had a chance for a new start–in fact it was absolutely necessary to put our problems aside and be present to the rapids ahead.

The next moment took me by surprise. Four of the six men in my boat turned to me, looked me in the eye, and thanked me for having the courage to make a stand as I had. They explained that they had wives, sisters, and women they loved at home, that they also felt compromised by the group behavior. Individually they had struggled with breaking male traditions, upsetting their friends or “spoiling the fun.”

I was astounded! I wondered if the majority of men in the other raft felt the same way. I guess I’ll never know.

Pip Cornall, now lives in Queensland, Australia and is a director of the Grace Gawler Institute – a cancer charity. Pip has built the Cancer Survivor Ship to promote the charity’s work.

Formerly a peace skills educator, giving workshops in Australia and the United States on male gender issues including violence and sexual assault prevention, positive communication, gender reconciliation and dispute conferencing.

When any of the 60 trillion cells in the body fail to communicate honestly health issues soon follow. Auto immune disease occurs when the body attacks itself – cancer is similar.

Since patterns replicate, from micro to macro, throughout the universe—and since the larger units depend on reliability (honesty) of the smaller units, I draw a parallel between the cells in the body and the ‘units’ or ‘cells’ on the global body.

I admit battling with my own dishonesty however there may be no battle more important. It’s a path with unlimited rewards—it may even be the ultimate spiritual journey! With deepening self honesty we find ourselves, we find the ‘authentic’ self; we can become more ‘integrated.’

Our ability to have harmonious relationships depends on our level of integration – honesty with self is a significant part of this integration. In other words we have to grow up.

In order for humanity to survive, let alone thrive; we need a critical mass of humans with deepening levels of INTEGRITY.

That is why Arndt’s following quote troubles me! A recent article in the Sydney Morning Herald quotes her as saying (with regard to sex in marriage or co-habitation)

“If the sex supply breaks down, then fidelity seems a totally unreasonable demand or expectation…. Adultery always spells disaster for a marriage, or so everybody seems to believe.”

Arndt does not believe this. Nor is she a believer in confession. If you do have an affair, she says, shut up about it: “So many people end up confessing to an affair, which strikes me as the ultimate stupidity . . . Telling doesn’t right the wrong: it adds to it.”

Here is what I know. When I lie I feel bad and my self esteem suffers—when this doesn’t happen it points to pathology. When spiritual leaders lie their communities fall apart.

When friends lie trust is eroded. With politicians, corporate leaders or lawyers—lying is usually disastrous.

When the 60 trillion cells in our bodies lie to each other we call it cancer. Actually every lie we tell may be recorded in our tissues, muscles, organs and bones. Perhaps that is a causal factor of cancer.

I would not seek Bettina out as my sexual counselor because if she promotes lying how could I trust her to be honest? Would you?

Like many of my age I slept around in the seventies and eighties.  I was cool—I talked it up. But, as most do in the end, I learned it was impossible to sleep around without lying—people found out—people got hurt.

But perhaps the biggest casualty was me.  My lying trashed my self esteem – and I suffered as all those with low self esteem do.

The Male Challenge empowers boys to grow into men with integrity. Visit www.malechallenge.com

 “Integrating ourselves is an essential step in bringing about the harmonious integration of humankind. The larger the gap in a person’s relationship with himself, the shakier the foundation on which he can build solid bridges to other people.  (Andrew Schmookler)

Arndt’s article can be found at http://www.smh.com.au/opinion/winning-war-with-bedroom-battles-20090301-8lh1.html