What We Lost When We Lost Chivalry

Another scene from everyday life in the People’s Republic of Brooklyn. While Faith Moore was playing with her son in a playground, a man tried to steal her diaper bag.

Here is what happened:

A couple weeks ago some guy tried to steal my diaper bag at the playground. I just happened to look up and there he was, nonchalantly walking out of the park with my bag on his shoulder. I was already running after him yelling, “Hey! That’s my bag!” before it occurred to me that perhaps I shouldn’t be threatening an unknown man who’s clearly a criminal. Especially while holding my son on my hip.

I didn’t think, though, and I confronted him and, actually, I got the bag back. But as I turned around and met the startled faces of the other moms and dads at the playground who’d watched the whole thing go down, it occurred to me that not a single man had come to my aid. There were plenty of dads at the playground that day. Some who even spoke to me afterward, wondering how I’d gotten the guy to give my bag back. But no one had seen a woman in peril and stepped in.

Because this is Brooklyn and because men have been trained not to defend women—this is a world occupied only be feminists—not one man stood up to defend a young mother, holding a toddler, running after a thug.

Moore reflects that, had she been thinking more clearly, she might not have been quite so brave. On the other hand, the scene took place in public, and the presence of multiple witnesses have always restrained those of a more criminal bent.

Upon reflection, she asks herself what we lost when we threw away chivalry. You recall—or perhaps you do not—that second wave feminism declared that courtship and chivalry had been invented to make women feel weak and to keep them off the battlefield. Thus, courtship was banned. Chivalrous gestures were interpreted as misogynist bigotry.

Moore reflects on the meaning of those gestures. She points to the simple fact that men are significantly stronger than women. It’s a fact. It’s reality.  In that context chivalrous gestures mean something. Her analysis is  on point:

But, the things is, those “little gestures” aren’t just to make us “feel special.” They’re to let us know we’re safe. They’re the things a man does to tell us that, even though he’s twice our size, and twice as strong (because biology made him that way), he won’t hurt us. He pulls out our chair, or pays for our meal, or opens the door for us, not because we don’t know how to pull out chairs, open doors, or pay for things, but because it shows us that he’ll be using his superior strength to care for us, not kill us. And that if someone comes along who seems like he does want to kill us (or steal our bag), he’ll use his superior strength to make sure that other guy takes a hike.

Because I know that, even though a woman and a man are equally capable of becoming, say, brain surgeons, they aren’t equally capable of punching some guy in the head. And I also know that, because men and women are different, the kind of interplay that comes from a man taking care of a woman by protecting her physically, and a woman taking care of a man by protecting him emotionally is desirable to both.

So, though it strikes fear into a mother’s heart to say it, when my son is grown, if he sees a man threatening a woman (no matter how frizzy her hair, and defiant her gaze) I hope he’ll come to her aid. And when he goes on those first, awkward dates he’ll know (because I taught him) to pull out that chair, open that door, and pick up the tab. And if any girl tells him he’s being offensive and insists on going dutch? Well, she’s just not the right girl for him.

Yes, indeed.