A social experiment celebrates young boys for refusing to slap “Martina,” but the young girl’s voicelessness is a problem yet to be addressed.
by Kinzy Janssen
Recently, I stumbled on a filmed social experiment that’s supposed to bring to life the adage that male violence is taught, not learned. Produced by Italian journalist Luca Lavarone as part of an anti-domestic violence campaign, the video shows what happens when several young boys are asked to slap a girl. They admirably refuse, but that’s only half the lesson they need to learn. While the project’s intentions are hard to criticize, the execution has left me unsettled.
At first, I allowed myself to get swept up in the twinkly lights of the busy Italian street as the camera shows the adorable faces of several boys, ages six to eleven. Lavarone urges each child to state their name, age, and what they want to be when they grow up. Their bashful, blinking demeanor is endearing as they explain why they want to fight fires or make pizzas. “Because I like to make messes,” says one. Again, adorable.
The trouble comes when the cameraman introduces Martina, a girl who appears slightly older than them, to a fluttering of harp strings as if an angel has just descended. Notice that, unlike the boys, she is not invited to introduce herself. Lavarone, a man, does all the talking from behind the camera. Notice that, unlike the boys, she is not asked to open up about what career she aspires to, or why. She is not asked her age. Though her role in the video is clearly different from that of the boys—they’re the ones we’re testing in this social experiment—it’s still frustrating that she stands there like a prop with painted lips. Not once do we hear her voice.
Then the cameraman encourages the boys to give her a good once-over, asking, “What do you like about her?” They look her up and down. One answers, “I like her eyes” and another, “Her shoes, her hands.” There is nothing wrong with the boys’ answers, per se, but it’s uncomfortable because she’s standing right in front of them, like a painting they’re commenting on. Only one boy speaks directly to Martina, saying “You’re a very pretty girl.”
The next misstep happens when the boys are asked to “caress” Martina. (This is translated from Italian, so I’m not sure what nuances this term may or may not contain). Though their innocence and youth have already been established, I hold my breath for her. An odd pause ensues during which the embarrassed boys try to decide where to touch her, quickly snake a hand up to her cheek or her arm, then giggle and retract it. But none of them refuse, and none of them ask for her permission. It’s unsettling because the boys don’t necessarily know that Martina agreed to this. Though it’s only a cheek, only an arm, I have a hard time seeing this as a purely innocent moment because of the glaring fact of Martina’s powerlessness. It’s clear that she isn’t supposed to speak up. Her job is to simply stand there while the young boys touch her, while a male authority figure tells them what to do.
Then, from behind the camera, Lavarone commands each boy to slap Martina, hard. They pause, blinking into the camera. Some of them look dazed with confusion. And then, one by one, they literally say “no” to violence. But does this outcome warrant headlines across the world? And, if it’s not so surprising, why did Lavarone have to go to such great lengths to prove it?
After breathing a sigh of relief for Martina, I start to wonder about the experimental nature of the video. Presumably, the journalist could offer no guarantee that the boys would decide one way or the other. Would she have had to endure a slap if they decided differently? In addition, their unwillingness to slap her only serves to contrast sharply with their willingness to caress her. The message? Boys can touch girls, because girls are pretty. Only physical violence “crosses the line.”
Next, the boys are asked to explain the reason they didn’t slap. Boston.com describes it like this:
“The heartwarming video show the boys’ refusal to go through with the last task, but their reasonings are a real tear-jerker.”
Except that their answers are conditional. Most of them say something referring to her femininity, like “because she’s a girl” or “because she’s pretty.” Would they slap another seven-year-old boy? Would they have no trouble hitting an overweight girl with buck teeth? To me, the best answer in the bunch is “because I’m against violence.” It’s unconditional, the implication being “violence against anyone.”
At the very end of the video, there’s another alarming exchange, one that many viewers probably miss because it comes after the concluding message (“In the kid’s world, women don’t get hit”) The journalist urges, “Kiss her!” from his post behind the camera. The boy asks him to clarify: “Can I kiss her on the mouth or her cheek?” The video ends, leaving us to wonder whether the boy was given permission to kiss Martina. Again, the problem is that his question is directed at the videographer, not Martina herself. Again, the assumption is that Martina is up for anything, and that Lavarone holds the authority on what can be done to her.
These commands, combined with the voicelessness of Martina, only continue to objectify girls and women, to idolize their bodies while simultaneously dampening their voices. Beyond the lesson of non-violence, what this video teaches boys is that pretty girls are to be admired and caressed, not spoken to as equals. In this sense, sadly, the video is a reflection of real life. And while it’s nice to be lulled into the fantasy that every boy’s mind and actions can stay uncorrupted, we know that’s not true. The innocence of boyhood is not an answer to the problem of domestic violence. Domestic violence does exist, so let’s acknowledge that—and investigate what happens between childhood and adulthood.
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Kinzy Janssen is The Riveter‘s associate editor. You can follow her @KinzyJ.
