According to figures released last month, Australia’s suicide rate is increasing, and death among men from intentional self-harm is three times greater than that for women.
In Man Up, a three-part ABC-TV series which aired its second episode on Tuesday, radio presenter Gus Worland is spurred by the 2006 suicide of a friend, Angus – and, more recently, conversations with his widow and daughter – to challenge stoic, self-reliant stereotypes of masculinity, and instead champion emotional vulnerability and communication as signs of strength.
It’s a well-meaning, heartfelt show, but flawed: Man Up spends too much time trying to entertain and not enough time challenging the normalised, constructed identities of Australian manhood – white, heterosexual, masculine – which continue to alienate anyone who falls outside them.
Worland jackhammers concrete on a worksite, talking to men in the construction industry about their particularly high risk of suicide. He goes yachting with returned military servicemen dealing with trauma. He takes part in male nude yoga – all in an attempt to get beneath the skin of men.
He poses for a GQ shoot, while we learn about commercial, fluffy categories of manhood: metrosexuality, retrosexuality and, I kid you not, lumber-sexuality (some sort of mix of lumberjack and hipsterism). He tries to craft a media campaign to appeal to men to talk, even consulting one advertising guru who was responsible for reinforcing the stereotype that the social world of men revolves around booze and barmaids with big boobs.
All of this is watchable, but it leaves less than a minute for discussion of the high rate of suicide among Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander men. That task falls to Wiradjuri man Joe Williams, a former National Rugby League Rabbitohs player who doesn’t appear on screen but whose voice is heard as a radio talkback caller.
There is no explicit mention of gay and bisexual men, or those whose identity falls outside normalised gender binaries. If, as the Man Up manifesto states, the “pressure to be an Aussie man is fuelling a suicide crisis”, then we must acknowledge the groups of men who are the most at risk of depression, anxiety and suicidal feelings.
This show cannot be all things to all people, of course – yet it doesn’t even seem interested in trying to speak to the spectrum beyond blokey blokes. Man Up’s reliance in Tuesday’s episode on UK-born Australian psychologist and author Steve Biddulph – whose opinion is unquestioningly sought in on-the-road interviews – makes me wonder if the series is coming from a very conservative view of male identity.
Biddulph’s 1997 book Raising Boys is described in Man Up as “the handbook on how we can better raise Australia’s sons” – but I remember it differently. Biddulph’s glib, blithe discussion of homosexuality in an early edition distressed my own mother, making her fear she was at fault for my orientation – even though I’ve been living happily as a gay-identifying man for some time. It was in Biddulph’s book, so it must be true, right?
Now in its fourth edition (2013), Biddulph has made a few palatable tweaks to his bestseller, but it still raises dubious “mounting evidence” that sexuality may be determined by “certain hormonal settings” in the womb – without citing an actual scientific reference. The book still makes the outdated, sloppy suggestion that having a teenage gay son “demolishes” parents’ “fond hopes” of a “rewarding career, marriage and grandchildren”. And it still says that “some dads fear that cuddling their son will turn him into a ‘sissy’. In fact, the reverse is probably true.” (To his credit, Biddulph has deleted the subsequent line of earlier editions: “Many gay or bisexual men I have spoken to say a lack of fatherly affection was part of what made male affection more important to them.”)
As Flinders University psychologist associate professor Damien Riggs wrote in 2008: “[Biddulph’s] inference is that if fathers gave more affection the sons wouldn’t grow up to be gay, which is thus constructed as the preferable option.”
The most affecting scenes in Man Up involve Worland’s own teenage son, Jack. In the second episode, facilitator Tom Harkin runs a special workshop on masculinity, in which Jack and fellow students apply nail polish. “Not a guy thing to do,” says Harkin, who then asks: “Who wrote that rule?”
The workshop encourages these teenagers to rethink what it means to be a man, to talk, to listen and to show emotion. To cry, which they do, openly and cathartically. This would have been the ideal point to say: it’s OK to be straight, bisexual, gay, queer; it’s OK to question your identity or gender. But the show is too timid to make that important leap, instead relying uncritically on Biddulph as a barometer of all men’s emotional lives.
There are other missed opportunities. Man Up vaguely links suicidal ideation among men to financial pressures. What these pressures are is not spelled out, but surely there is a great deal to say about the growing inequity between rich and poor. The rising costs of rent and mortgages under a government unwilling to change investment policies. The burden many men take on to be primary breadwinners, and where that burden comes from.
We are told in Man Up that women attempt to take their lives more often than men, but men are more likely to die. We are told this is because women reach out for help more often, but other factors – such as the preference among women for drugs as a means of suicide – would have been worth discussing.
My hopes for Man Up clearly overreached its narrowly focused aims. But in its sincere efforts to find a new vocabulary for men, the series is a step in the right direction.
• Man Up continues on 25 October on the ABC; for information and support in Australia call Lifeline on 13 11 14, Mensline on 1300 789 978 or Beyond Blue on 1300 22 4636
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