Man vs bear - Cristina Praz

 It was early September when I woke up in Sinaia, in an isolated cabin in the mountains with 15 young men. Outside, bears were prowling around us.

Everything I could want as a woman.

I was there to listen and talk about feminism and masculinity.

There were many reasons why I decided we needed to have that important conversation. But most of them came after the super-election year.

The elections came and destroyed what little social balance there was, leaving behind all the remnants of a system that failed to listen to its citizens. The parties' insatiable thirst to take and take, their hatred of the poor and vulnerable, the laws and policies made only for their peers - all came to the surface and became the tools of extremist parties.

Like an octopus, fascism latched onto people's pain and did what it does best - it divided and sowed hatred that took over every public space.

Us versus them. Smart versus dumb. Women versus men.

I got hundreds of comments that showed me this.

"The lion rapes whatever he catches." "Shut up, you slut." "When a woman talks like a man, she should be beaten like a man." "I always knew women were whores, I didn't need Simion to tell me that."

Arguments against women never come alone. They always go hand in hand with sexual violence, with the need to show that our safety and our bodies are not, in fact, our own.

It's something we women learn from an early age. I was 6 years old and playing with my dolls on a blanket at the corner of the block when a man started masturbating while watching me. [insert photo of me at age 6]. I didn't really understand what was happening, but luckily my friend, who was a little older - not much, just two years - and the neighbors were around. Then this violence turned into a shadow that continued to follow me. On every bus ride, with every man who whistled at me and made comments about my body, with every teacher who made lewd comments about my classmates, with every man who touched me without my consent.

So when I read the comments, I didn't even feel fear. They seemed distant compared to all my experiences, and anyway, I was already used to the hatred with which my work was met. But anger and disappointment took their place. Disappointment with a system that has divided us to the extreme.

This thought consumed me and made me wonder what I could do.

I started reading figures and studies: they all showed that while girls are moving towards progressive role models, boys are moving towards extremism.

I had known about masculinity camps for some time and laughed at the idea that someone would pay €5,000 to go into the woods and jump into an ice bath just to prove they were a real man. I also knew about all kinds of guys on the internet who taught you how to talk to girls and how to pick them up. Advice that was more likely to get you a restraining order than any real chance of talking to a girl.

But this laughter turned into questions. What was missing and what did these fake gurus, focused only on profit, have to offer?

I thought about "you're not allowed to because you're a girl" and then "don't cry because you're a boy." Rules that dictate our lives from an early age and tell us, wrongly, how we should be, how we should behave, that we are only desirable if we follow a certain model.

I decided that we needed feminist camps for young men.

My ambition and that of my colleagues, the support of our community, and a sincere desire to change something for the better made the camp happen.

I named it "Baldur." In our team of feminist activists, we had no idea what name would be appropriate for this kind of camp. "A god's name would work," our colleague's teenage son told us. So we searched, and when we saw that it was also related to gaming, we said, "That's it."

The camp began with outdoor activities. However, ours were not about yelling or rituals to measure testosterone levels. Instead, we blindfolded them and had them carry a tray with a full glass without spilling a single drop. Then, we squeezed 15 men onto a mat, hugging each other as tightly as possible, and asked them to turn it over without anyone leaving the perimeter. Not to torment them, but to teach them about teamwork. And about how power imbalances lead to abuse.

On the other days, I brought in several male allies to talk. About democracy and the danger of losing it. How the state came into being, what freedom of expression means, how anti-Semitism arose and what horrors it produced.

We discussed what masculinity means today. How "man" is not a negative label or a limitation and how a healthy model gives you freedom and vulnerability.

About sex, relationships, and the body. How pleasure is not a sin and is not only for men. About how the responsibility to use contraception is not only women's. About how penis size is not an indicator of masculinity.

About how feminism does not hate men. About mental health: addiction to slot machines, loneliness, isolation, inability to form real connections and friendships.

I would say that the myth that evil feminists want to make men cry has come true. Except that, if I'm honest, we cried with them too.

The late-night, personal conversations gave them the freedom to be honest, vulnerable, real. To tell us about their deep-rooted anxieties and worries, for many of them spoken aloud for the first time.

I felt how difficult it was for them to talk about their feelings, the pressures they feel, their burdens, and their dark thoughts.

A feeling familiar to me. Suicide rates are higher among men.

That's how I lost my father.

It was easy for me to listen to and understand all these men. To create a space full of empathy and respond gently to their concerns. And to come to the conclusion that, between a man and a bear, I would choose the man.

One of them said to us after the camp: "I think we need initiatives like this like we need air."

In the days that followed, questions and contradictions began to arise within me. In a world where our stories, as women, are still not heard and believed, in a world where we have to fight for our place - I, as an activist, still I am the one who must create spaces for men. To offer them comfort and understanding while allowing myself to feel injustice, pain, and unfairness. Not to push them away while I tell them how, even as a child, men sexualized and objectified me.

I would like the state to understand that education sensitive to these issues is not a fad. That it is not something feminists invented out of boredom. That both boys and girls need safe spaces where they can talk about what is bothering them. That in order to prevent violence and femicide, you don't need harsher punishments, but healthy models of masculinity.

I wish I didn't feel alone in the face of such a big system and didn't feel the responsibility for the evils of the world on my shoulders. Let's criticize the system together, let's use our voices. With anger and kindness, as best we can. Let's speak up. Let's listen. Let's learn. Let's pass it on.