- Abstract/Acknowledgements/Table of Contents -

- Introduction - Chapters 1 | 2 |  3 |  4 |  5  |  6  - Conclusion -

- Appendices - Bibliography -

Cesar

Omar Castañeda (1996:41)

On April 15, 2000, in an event sponsored by the Guatemalan Canada Solidarity Network, Claudia Agreda of the Archbishop’s Human Rights office in Guatemala (ODHAG) spoke about state-sponsored violence in Guatemala. Using photographs of recent exhumations of clandestine burials, Ms. Agreda talked about ODHAG’s strategies for the recovery of collective memory in Guatemala, especially among the rural Maya. There were photos of dead bodies being pulled from graves, of parents and relatives weeping at gravesites, and of young children looking on in amazement. In the view of ODHAG and other human rights organizations working in Guatemala, the exhumation of clandestine burials can help bring individuals to justice for war atrocities and is a critical step towards establishing a lasting peace in Guatemala.

As a way to contextualize the issue of political violence for the largely non-Guatemalan, Anglo-Canadian audience, Agreda pointed out that Guatemala is "a macho culture" (Es una cultura machista) in which violence¾ or at least the power to threaten¾ has become part of the fabric of Guatemalan society. To illustrate her point Agreda told a story about Alfonso Portillo, Guatemala’s new president. A reporter had asked him about his alleged role in killing a Mexican man prior to taking office in January 2000. In a boasting tone, Portillo responded "Actually, it was two," clearly proud of his violent deed. He felt no remorse for this brutal act and refused to discuss the details of the case with the reporter. Portillo was proud of his violent actions. Agreda pointed out that this pride has bolstered his image as Guatemala’s new leader for the 21^st century.

Portillo’s attitude towards violence, according to Agreda, is a result of his machista upbringing. In Agreda’s view, Portillo had been raised in a society that deems it acceptable for men to be violent, both towards women and other men. More broadly, Agreda seemed to be suggesting that violent behavior is part of a dominant discourse on what it means to be a Guatemalan man.

Machismo was a common topic of conversation during my interviews with Guatemalan immigrant men and women. Agreda’s story in particular prompted me to think about how I would analyze participants’ constructions of machismo in relation to culture, power and migration. While on one hand I wanted to pay close attention to the variety of ways that Guatemalan immigrant men talked about men’s identities, I was also interested to understand how these constructions shape social and power relations on a broader scale. What is machismo according to these men? Does it exist in Canada like it does Guatemala? What influence, if any, do migration and resettlement have on forms of machismo? And, most importantly for this study, does machismo have anything to do with men’s health and help-seeking?

The purpose of this chapter is to foreground the various ways in which Guatemalan immigrant men in Toronto construct and act on their identities as men. This chapter argues that displacement, movement and resettlement influence the ways that men view themselves and how they view relationships among men and between men and women. With respect to health, I would argue that researchers need to play closer attention to the nexus between gender, distress and well-being. As mentioned in Chapter 1, I aim to contribute to a small but growing area of research that addresses the gendered dimensions of health and illness for men (Courtenay 2000a, 2000b; Freire 1995; Gutmann 1999; Sabo 1998; Saltonstall 1993). Building specifically on the work of health researcher Will Courtenay, I want to demonstrate that health related beliefs and behaviors are a means for enacting femininities and masculinities (Courtenay 2000a:1385). In linking power, gender and health, I suggest that in the pursuit of power (by being "strong," by appearing in control, by not talking about health problems) men may exacerbate emotional distress and threaten their social relationships. I argue that particular constructions of masculinity can have serious effects on individual and social well-being, while other notions of "being a man" can contribute to overall good health. Processes of "re-learning" what it means to be a man and adapting new ways of expressing masculinity, for example, can have positive health outcomes. This chapter also sets out to highlight how Guatemalan immigrant men construct¾ and seek to bolster¾ social power in relation to immigrant women’s changing gender identities in Canada.

When I asked the men in my study what it meant to be a man, responses ranged from laughter to confusion to tears. "I’ve never thought about that," was a common reply, as were jokes about "scoring" women and being able to tell people what to do. But what I found most interesting about these comments was the ways in which masculinity or manliness were deeply intertwined with notions of health and well-being. To be "a normal guy," for example, was a concern for men not only because they wanted to "fit in" in Canadian society but also because they wanted to be healthy, strong men. Responsibility and irresponsibility were also seen as intrinsically linked to manhood as well as health. Men’s power and confidence seemed so closely tied to healthiness, virility, and strength that¾ from an analytical perspective¾ being a man and being healthy appeared to be one and the same. These entanglements became the starting point for studying how gender influences¾ and is influenced by¾ health and illness.

Sam: What does it mean to be a man?
Augusto: I didn’t even know that that had a name [laughter]. I don’t know, I’ve never thought about it.

Sam: Are there things that Guatemalan men do together here?
Augusto: They play soccer. But I don’t play soccer. I guess I’m not really a model for a Guatemalan person.

My interview with Augusto was especially challenging. Augusto was the youngest participant in my study and although we are peers, he didn’t seem particularly interested in what I was doing. Over cups of atol (a popular corn-based drink served throughout Latin America), Augusto responded to my questions about migration, health and gender with marked disinterest. During the early stages of the interview, he seemed uncomfortable talking with me and I began to worry that I had wasted both his time and mine. But this anxiety slowly faded as I began to realize that the structure of his responses¾ usually "yes" or "no" answers¾ captured some of the issues I was hoping to address. Augusto’s short, unelaborated responses¾ either because of disinterest or lack of personal relevance¾ spoke volumes about whether or not he sees himself as gendered. Like Augusto, many men in my study found it difficult, if not impossible, to respond to my question: "What does it mean to be man?" This question was often met with blank stares, wrinkled foreheads and shrugged shoulders.

Augusto’s response is important for several reasons. First, it illustrates the relatively unmarked quality of men’s identities in contemporary times. Men rarely see themselves as men and social scientists have rarely analyzed men as men. As a result, gender studies, despite its name, is still too often equated with women’s studies (Gutmann 1997b). Augusto’s response illustrates that men and manhood have a taken-for-granted nature (Gutmann 1997b:385). That many Guatemalan immigrant men told me that they have never been asked about their gender identity is not just coincidence. It illustrates the relatively unproblematized nature of men’s identities as fixed and powerful.

Second, although Augusto is not clear about the meanings of being a man, he seems to know what a "model" Guatemalan person is. This illustrates the ambivalence of identity-making. In what Homi Bhabha calls a "double narrative movement," Augusto slides from one position to another in trying to describe who he is (in Yon 2000:41). While in one breath Augusto states uncertainty about his identity ("I never thought about that"), in the next he seems clearly aware of what Guatemalan men are like: Guatemalan men are supposed to be soccer players. Soccer is part of a dominant discourse on manhood that constructs men as social, competitive, fit and active. Augusto views himself as outside this hegemonic construction of what it means to be a Guatemalan man.

Guatemalan immigrant men’s constructions of manhood were always produced in relation to how they viewed women, especially Guatemalan immigrant women in Canada. Ernesto arrived in Canada from Guatemala in 1993, after being threatened and forced to leave the country. My impression of Ernesto was that he was reluctant to talk about his personal experiences in detail. I still do not know if he came to Canada as an immigrant or refugee because he felt that authorities may be looking for him in Canada and therefore refused to talk about certain personal details. Near the end of a long interview that spanned a couple of visits to his home, however, I asked him what it meant to be a man. He told me about his identity by talking about the relative rights of men and women:

Sam: What does it mean to be a man?

Ernesto: To me it doesn’t mean much. It seems like in Canada we lose some of our rights. Socially, there is little respect for men in this society. In this society, there is not much difference between being a man and being a woman. So a Guatemalan man seems to lose some rights.

Ernesto: In relationships with women, we no longer have the direction of the household. We’ve lost the direction in society. It seems like it is now the woman who has the house, the family. It seems like women are going to be the leaders in society now. In Canada, I don’t think that being a man means much. What can it mean? I cannot change society; I cannot change the world.

I have always been respectful of the female sex. I did not need to come to Canada to learn to respect women. But here the social behavior of women is much stronger.

I believe that women are part of men, spiritually and emotionally. Women have to play a very important role in men’s lives. But women have no right to interfere in men’s business when it comes to particular decisions. When it comes to household decisions, they belong just to the man.

By talking about "respect," Ernesto compares the relative importance of men and women in Canadian society. He feels that Guatemalan men lose prestige and power upon migrating to Canada, and by assuming that men should have a dominant role not only in the household but also in society as a whole, he doesn’t see much difference between men and women in Canada. He attributes these changes to the different social climate in Canada and the effects of increased rights for women on men’s position. And since he cannot make a major impact on society, Ernesto hints at a sense of powerlessness vis-à-vis women.

In a similar vein, Jaime described the changes in his relationship with his wife since immigrating to Canada in 1986. Jaime, his wife, and I sat in a park in downtown Toronto and discussed whether women were more "free" in Canada than in Guatemala:

My wife has been to a women’s centre. The leader of that group told my wife, "If your husband forces you to have sex with him, it is harassment. You have to call the police." And my wife told the leader, "He doesn’t force me, I force him to make love." [Wife laughs.] If I go to the police and say my wife slapped me in the face, or my wife is trying to kill me, they won’t believe me.

Jaime articulates a sense of his own identity as a man by talking about the changes experienced by Guatemalan women in Canada. He argues that authorities here are prone to mistrust men in matters of sexual and social relationships. He, too, feels a sense of declining status since moving to Canada and lays blame on the institutions of Canadian society who, in his view, favor women’s word over men’s.

Cesar, on the other hand, did not feel threatened by improved rights for women. He believes that men and women have the ability to do the same kinds of work and to be decision makers:

I think you are a man because of your sex. I can’t find other differences from women. We all know now that the only different is the sex . They can perform all kinds of duties and jobs even though their physical structure is different, but psychologically there is no difference . Women have gained a lot of power in this modern society and I think they deserve it. They are prepared to work and compete with the men to solve the problems that affect our human life. However, in some countries women still have second class citizenship. I think women are the most important part in the construction of a society. Men can be defined only by their sex and not for other reasons.

According to Cesar, men and women are different only on the basis of their physical bodies. He argues that men and women, despite minor differences in body type, are equally capable of making important decisions and playing key roles in society. Cesar contributes to what several men called a "modern" (hombre moderno) or "pro-feminist" view that emphasizes equality between men and women.

Alfonso shared this view:

I am very pro-feminist. I don’t see any difference between men and women; just physically. But in terms of relationships, respect, love, I don’t see any difference. As I said I am very pro-feminist. I educate my kids in that way: men and women are equal. I cannot say that I feel proud to be a man or that I feel great because I am a man.

Alfonso foregrounds his role as a father in educating his children about gender relations. In stressing his "pro-feminist" views, Alfonso also alludes to another¾ perhaps hegemonic¾ notion of what it means to be a Guatemalan man. Feelings of pride and greatness, Alfonso suggests, are attached to manhood. Alfonso downplays any sense of being special or dominant because he is a man. In so doing he resists being a "macho" man who, as I will discuss in the next section, represents an ideal or dominant notion of masculinity. Alternatively, Alfonso enacts a counter-hegemonic sense of manhood by reflecting on the relative dominant position of men and aligning himself with the struggles of women.

One of the challenges in analyzing these narratives on being a man is to understand the multiple ways in which men’s identities are constructed¾ and how they are influenced by migration¾ and yet not to lose sight of the larger power structures that shape relationships between men and women. As such, in order to understand the transformations and struggles experienced by Guatemalan immigrant men, I paid close attention to how men talked about women. Some of the men feel a sense of decreasing worth or prestige vis-à-vis women since migrating to Canada, while others have cultivated new identities in an effort to contribute to a pro-feminist politics. Roles as decision makers in the home and in society may be transformed as Guatemalan men attempt to come to terms with life in a new setting. While in some cases men adjust positively to these changes¾ by recognizing and fostering the improved opportunities for immigrant women in Canada¾ others have difficulty "moving on" (salir adelante) and in turn develop (or maintain) unhealthy behaviors such as violence towards women, drinking and "keeping the pain."

Latino men have popularly been viewed as tough, virile progenitors primarily concerned with having offspring, drinking in bars, and abusing their wives. Recent ethnography on the relations among Latino men and between Latino men and women, however, suggests other ways of understanding machismo and its meanings in local settings. This work asserts that stereotypes of the macho Latino male are insufficient to understand the multiple ways in which Latino men construct and act on notions of manhood in their everyday lives (Baca Zinn 1982; Castañeda 1996; Gonzalez 1996; Gutmann 1996, 1997a; Lancaster 1992; Melhuus and Stølen 1996). By paying attention to mundane activities and self-conscious acts of self-fashioning, for example, Gutmann points out that working class men and women in Mexico City have become aware that identities are impermanent and changeable, and that machismo takes on different meanings in different contexts (1996). These men may be irresponsible drinkers and violent partners, or caring fathers and hard workers (Gutmann 1996). In the only study known to me that addresses gender identity among Guatemalan men, Omar Castañeda suggests that "Machismo is complex and multifaceted and, too often in Anglo-American interpretations, reduced to self-aggrandizing male bravado that flirts with physical harm to be sexual" (1996:37). Instead, Castañeda proposes that "being macho" could be "certainty of expression," "confidence in speaking," or "loudness in voice" and is not necessarily womanizing, boasting and abusive behavior (1996:37). In sum, even though Latino men may learn to manipulate the cultural rituals and social laws of machismo, a unitary description of the macho Latino male does not hold (Gutmann 1996:3).

Although responses to my question about "being a man" were mixed, many men in my study associated machismo with being assertive, being in control, or dominating one’s wife and family. Machismo had both positive and negative connotations, but most men recognized that activities associated with machismo could have detrimental effects on individual health, family life and social and work relations. When I asked Manuel what it meant to be a man, for example, he talked about the meanings of being macho and described how his sense of personhood had changed since migrating to Canada as a refugee in 1992:

Sam: What does it mean to be a man?

Manuel: Wow! What a question, man! It’s really difficult. We came here with different backgrounds, and I still have the macho idea. I have the responsibility of my family, I am the one who makes decisions here at home. But even when I was in my country I felt that the participation of women was very important. The participation of women in different struggles in Guatemalan society. I had many women friends who were incredible. I think that the macho idea is a key issue. Who is playing which role? Who is the most important person in the house? Who is going to represent the community? The participation of Guatemalan women in the political arena is very limited. Sometimes we try to support them. We say, "You should participate with us in the meetings." They say, "No, we don’t like politics." But when they start talking about politics, man, they are powerful. They are better able to understand the politics better than us men sometimes. They are willing to listen. But us as men always have the struggle with power. "I am more intelligent than you, I have more solutions than you." These things affect everything in the Guatemalan community: the politics, the sports.

For Manuel, who has remained politically active in Canada, being macho is not only linked to responsibility and decision making in the home but also has consequences in the political arena. Manuel aligns himself with notions of being macho, but he also critiques the macho behavior of men who compete against each other in the community. Power struggles may cause detriment to Guatemalan community solidarity, and this concerns Manuel. Thus, Manuel self-fashions himself in relation to the multiple meanings of macho in both domestic and political spheres.

In the course of doing interviews for this thesis, I became fascinated with the wide range of opinions on whether being machista is considered a positive or negative form of male identity, and whether machismo had any influence on individual well-being or social relations:

Sam: What does it mean to be machista?

Enrique: It means that the man always has the power, the right to say anything he wants, and the privilege to do whatever he wants. He can take a women in any way he wants. Sometimes he might take the woman as a slave.

Sam: Is machismo all negative in your view?

Enrique: Yes, because it means that women don’t have a chance to develop intellectually and physically. To expand her skills. So I think that machismo is a very negative thing.

While this was a common construction of being machista and its effects on social life, some men commented on the possibility for women to be macha. Some men and women laughed when I asked if it was possible for women to be macha. Others agreed that machismo is not necessarily attached to males or females but is rather a gendered practice among both men and women:

Augusto: There are many stereotypes about Latin American people. I don’t know how much the stereotypes apply but some of them are true and some of them are not. Sometimes women here call us macho. But for us someone who is macho is not someone who is hitting their wife all day, and saying "Do this, do that!" If you do something that requires a lot of courage, even a woman can be called macha, because it is someone who has a lot of courage. It doesn’t really matter if the person is a man or a woman. We have macho and macha.

Augusto not only contests the very meanings of machismo¾ for him it is courage and assertiveness, not violence and household control¾ but also suggests that behaviors and practices associated with machismo are not exclusively male. Augusto opposes a dichotomous construction of men’s and women’s identities (men as dominant, women as subordinate) by highlighting the capacity for Guatemalan men and women to be forthright, outspoken and active.

Jaime¾ also one of the younger participants in my study¾ emphasized that both men and women can exhibit macho(a) behaviors and suggested that these attitudes influence the ways people deal with health problems:

Machismo for me means to be in command of the house, and to never say thanks for a favor. Machismo means to force your wife, to force your kids: "Do this! Go over there!" Over here we don’t have machismo. About 1% or 2% only. Because they are scared. If the wife calls the police, the man will run away.

For men there is a lot of machismo. But there is machismo for women, too. If a woman has a stomach ache or needs some money, they don’t like to ask for help because their machismo is too much.

Jaime provides several clues to the multiple ways in which machismo is constructed and how it influences the everyday lives of Guatemalan immigrant men and women. First, he suggests that machismo may take different forms and levels of severity in Canada than in Guatemala. Gender identity is shaped by place; a relationship that I examine in greater detail in the next section. Second, he notes that gender identities are produced and transformed in relation to institutions and structures of power. Canadian law and policing, in his view, act as checks on domestic violence and therefore may change the machista behaviors of men. Third, he suggests that although women may not exhibit the kinds of physical force that men do, women can be machista in different ways. Machismo may be enacted by ignoring health problems, for example. Seeking help is seen as a sign of weakness for both Guatemalan immigrant men and women. However, my findings indicate that these beliefs and behaviors are far more common among men than women.

Before moving on to address the relationship between displacement and gender identity more specifically, I want to draw attention to one more narrative on the meanings of machismo for Guatemalan immigrant men. I am including my conversation with Ruben, who left Guatemala in 1972 to live in several Central American countries and the United States before moving to Canada in the early 1980s, because it is illustrative of the diverse constructions of men’s identities among Guatemalan immigrant men. As I began to collect more and more stories from men on their experiences with health and social relationships, I became fascinated with the ways in which these men situated themselves in relation to stereotypes about the "macho man." Unlike the majority of the men in my study, Ruben openly considered himself a machista and believed that the lack of macho men in contemporary times signified a serious threat to family life:

Ruben asserts that being macho is a positive form of individual identity because it can contribute to the happiness of friends and family. But he also recognized the potential harm of being machista. Ruben pointed out that a common attitude associated with being macho is keeping problems to oneself:

Ruben: Sometimes you’re so inside…because of that machista that we have. Even though I consider that [machista] a good thing to have to a certain level, when it is a level that can be abused I say that it is no good for a person.

Ruben: Yes, a lot. The attitude [machista] that it is supposed to be your own problem, not somebody else’s, believe me, that I respect….It’s good to have machismo.

Ruben negotiates an awkward relationship between being a man and individual well-being. He acknowledges that being machista may have its costs. Indeed, a critical component of his identity as a man seems to include practices¾ such as "keeping it so inside"¾ that threaten emotional and physical well-being. For Ruben, being a man means responding to the needs of the family, showing respect, and keeping problems to oneself in order to ensure the happiness of others.

Like the other men whose stories were shared at the beginning of this chapter, Ruben hints at the confusion and ambiguity that surrounds identity-making for Guatemalan immigrant men. In Ruben’s view, men have two options: to be outright macho and sacrifice individual well-being for the happiness of others, or show emotions (through crying) and risk losing your status as a responsible, respectful man. The last section in this chapter will pick up on Ruben’s comments about men and crying and provide analysis of the broader relationship between gender, sexuality and emotions. First, though, I want to focus on the ways displacement may cause shifts in what it means to be a man.

There is surprisingly little research on the relationship between migration and gender identity. One exception is a valuable collection edited by Aihwa Ong and Michael G. Peletz (1995) on gender, politics and the body in Southeast Asia. In this collection, Jane Margold explores the lived masculinities of migrant men from Ilocos region of the Philippines. By documenting the dynamic experiences and subjectivities of Filipino male migrants in the Arab Gulf countries, Margold argues that a "crisis of masculinity" exists for these workers as they seek meaningful identities in a capitalist system that constructs them as "dogs," "tools" and "slaves" through uprooting and hard labor (1995:275). A sense of manhood, suggests Margold, may be partially disassembled when migrants become part of the lowest ranks of the global labor force (1995:276).

While Margold’s study provides a refreshing glimpse at the important nexus between gender, labor, transnationalism and state discourse, I am critical of her dismissal of (what she calls) the theory of machismo (1995:278). She suggests that "machismo characterizes Ilokano men to some extent but they cannot sustain that stance abroad" (1995:278). What is in problematic is her treatment of machismo, first of all, as a theory that researchers may use to explain male behavior and, secondly, as a stable form of "hypermasculine" male identity. While I agree with her observation that current studies of masculinity do a poor job of understanding how movement influences identity-making, I would argue that machismo itself is a fluid, contingent set of gendered practices that are shaped by¾ and give shape to¾ the lived experiences of migration. Machismo is not always something that men or women either have or do not have. The diverse ways in which Guatemalan immigrant men in this study construct and enact machismo offers a critique of social science theories (such as Margold’s) that rigidly define machismo and its effects on social relations.

Like the migrant men of Margold’s study, Guatemalan immigrant men in Toronto are also forced to change their stances towards particular gender constructions as a result of displacement, movement and resettlement. Geopolitics have transformed the masculine identities of Guatemalan men by forcing them to live in a new society. Work, family, school and sport are only a few of the settings in which Guatemalan immigrant men enact¾ or resist¾ certain ways of being a man. I addressed these issues by asking participants if there was any difference between being a man in Guatemala and Canada. Alfonso described this difference in terms of women’s rights and institutional change:

Sam: Is being a man in Canada different than being a man in Guatemala?

Alfonso: Yes it is; there is a big difference. Because our culture is a sexist culture. We abuse women a lot. We don’t respect women in general in Guatemala. When we see a woman walking down the street we start harassing her: whistle, making comments in a very disrespectful way. There is also domestic violence in Guatemala. We try to deny it but it’s big, you know. Women wear sunglasses in the afternoon when there is no sun. They do that because they feel ashamed. Women with missing teeth because they’ve been in fights with their man. It’s a terrible thing, you know.

Manuel also articulated the changes in his identity as a man since moving to Canada in relation to women and household responsibility:

We are trying to adapt to a different society. The roles are different, you know. Now here I am taking care of my children. In Guatemala I would never do that. Even my family wouldn’t allow me to do it. "Hey, you are the man. Why are you taking care of the children?" If your wife is not at home, you don’t have to do it, it’s not your worry. But here it is different. This is something I am learning here. And I like it. It’s difficult but I like it.

A couple of years ago we invited my mother-in-law to come to our place. She stayed with us for two months. When she left Canada, my wife changed many things. She tried to change back to the values we had in Guatemala. [Chuckling] For me it was good, man. I could sleep more, I didn’t do dishes. And I was still really macho [laughing loudly]. I was comfortable with that. But we are living in a different society [speaking more seriously] and we should adapt to these changes. It’s not easy.

Orlando provided a place specific explanation for his changing identity as a man. Emphasizing his origins in an area of rural Guatemala renowned for the (stereotypic) macho male, Orlando described how his move to Canada in 1972 re-shaped his views toward women and society:

Orlando: I think we all have that in our minds. But I’ve changed a lot since I came to Canada. I'm more open minded. I know that women have the same rights that I do. Yeah, I'm more open now than when I came. I come from [a place] where there is a lot of machismo. They say that people in [this place] are more machista, they think I'm macho man, you know, because of where I come from. But I'm not the kind of guy who is famous for being tough. In my family, all men are kind of tranquilo (mellow, laid-back). But I know other people in the village who are more tough, who always have a gun, who always want to impress. But we are a low key family.

Augusto blames certain discourses¾ such as feminism¾ that in his view manipulate the meanings of machismo for political ends. Restating his view of machismo as courage, Augusto believes that machismo has lost its original meaning in the new, transnational context of migration and international media:

Macho here is the type of person who thinks that women should be cooking not working, and bearing children. But it is not the same over there. At least in Guatemala where I come from. So courage is a kind of machoness.

In a decidedly different mode, Cesar critiques the notion that gender is an important part of his own identity and instead self-fashions himself as a refugee first and foremost:

I feel like a refugee, very different from the people in this society, and I think my rights as a person are restricted. I feel very isolated and envy the men that still live in Guatemala . The only difference I have from them is that I can enjoy the peace of this country while they are still fighting to obtain it.

Drawing broad similarities between men in Guatemala and Canada, Cesar transcends a discourse (partly imposed by social science research, including my own) that prioritizes ethnicity and gender as sources of identity-making for refugee and immigrant groups. Alternatively, Cesar provides a passionate description of his quest for peace in an individual world marked by violence, kidnappings, displacement and lack of belonging. In Canada men enjoy peace whereas in Guatemala men struggle for peace in their everyday lives. With his background in politics and labor protest, Cesar narrates his own identity in the context of a wider struggle for political justice, and does not limit his identity-making to the sites of gender and ethnicity.

Donuts never smelled as good as the day I met Carlos. It was an extremely cold November morning, and I had arranged to do an interview with Carlos at a Tim Horton’s donut shop on a busy corner in downtown Toronto. Our phone conversation had been illuminating; he was eager to talk about health issues and prepared to help me with my project as much as he could. Compared with my other interviews our meeting was short, about fifty minutes, but very intensive. Carlos had come prepared to talk.

Our conversation centred primarily around Carlos’ family life since coming to Canada as a refugee in 1989. In English, Carlos explained to me that he had left Guatemala because he feared for his life. Carlos struggled to learn English and find a job during his first few years in Canada, and described this period of his life as "sad," "scary" and "stressful." He then began to tell a story of his family problems in Canada during this period. Carlos had abused his wife in Guatemala and increased his abusive behavior towards her after coming to Canada. We pick up on our conversation as Carlos begins to describe his efforts to deal with his emotional problems in a constructive, non-violent manner:

As a man from Guatemala I was the one who decided what to do at home and how many friends my wife’s supposed to have and what she’s supposed to do; so I had a role. I was the one who was in charge, but here I learned that it’s different. And that made me feel like I was losing my identity or something. I was losing my position as the one who brings the money home. "So what is Carlos," I said. "Carlos is gone, he doesn't exist any more." So these kinds of feelings made me feel lost in this country. It was really hard.

I was raised in an environment where my dad and all men around me were the providers, financially, and they were the ones who are allowed to go out for a drink or coffee, to play soccer, and the woman is supposed to be at home. So when I say that I lost my identity, I was losing this kind of power, this kind of control. It was very difficult.

Carlos: Well, I think I’m learning how to be a man; a different one than I was in Guatemala. Now I learn how to cry. When I was a little kid my dad used to say boys don’t cry, girls cry, so I’ve learned now how to express my feelings. They were suppressed. If we express our feelings we don’t have to use violence. So now I think I’ve learned not to do it in the way I learned when I was little kid. I think that I'm not the same person. I try not to be the same person any more.

I then asked him to elaborate on why men from Guatemala are raised in this way. He replied:

I think it has to do with values and beliefs. We don’t express our feelings in a good way. We express it in an unhealthy way by blaming our parents, blaming people for our problems. We don’t ask for help. This is a very good point. We are told that we can handle any situation. So if we ask for help, it’s a sign of weakness. So that’s why we don’t ask for help, we don’t share our pain, we don’t say I feel sad, upset, or even angry because if we say it, it’s a sign of weakness.

We then discussed his efforts to curb his violent behavior, and I asked him about the parenting support group he had attended. This support group (in which initially he was the only man) enabled him to learn that he needed to change his actions toward women. I asked him what he learned from being a part of this group:

The main focus is how to learn not to be a macho man. How to be what I think is a real man. How to express feelings, how to share responsibilities. But the first thing is to learn that we are responsible for our own behavior, this is the main focus. You are responsible for any behavior. Women don’t deserve to be beaten. It is not their fault if we are violent. It is not their fault if we feel sad, upset, angry; it’s not their fault, it’s our responsibility to express our feelings.

Carlos’ story is important to highlight for three reasons. First, it echoes cultural psychiatrist Marlinda Freire’s observation that the experience of exile is a gendered process (1995). According to Freire, there are "gender-differentiated patterns of responses and outcomes of Latin Americans living in exile" (1995:20). "Latin American refugee women, in general," Freire argues, "tend to respond better than their male counterparts to the prolonged identity crisis and other crises inherent in the process of exile" (1995:20). According to Freire, women are generally better able to develop a new bicultural/bilingual self and thereby adapt to new cultural and social settings. Coping mechanisms for Latin American include the continuity of meaningful tasks (based on motherhood and roles as wives) and securing new meaningful tasks (such as working at a range of new jobs) (Freire 1995). Life in a new country for Latin American men (like Carlos), on the other hand, tends to be devastating to their sense of self. Struggling to find meaningful employment and new social networks, it may be several years before men are able to salir adelante. As a result, sources of their sense of masculinity and power are put at risk, and men resort to or increase violence against themselves and others (Freire 1995:24). Carlos’ story, in my view, is indicative of how Guatemalan immigrant men tend to cling to familiar aspects of being a man that are familiar. By developing a rigid sense of personhood around notions of work, control, and responsibility for others, these men jeopardize their own emotional health and the well-being of the people in their lives.

Second, Carlos’ narrative on identity-making demonstrates how Guatemalan immigrant men may draw on representations (and stereotypes) of Latino men and "culture" to explain (or explain away) their behavior. As mentioned earlier, Latino men and women are aware of and actively manipulate popular representations of Latin Americans in an effort to construct their own sense of self (Gutmann 1996). Carlos, for example, describes the influence of his father and male friends on his own expectations of proper ways to be a man. Carlos was taught that men are supposed to be authoritarian figures in the home and in the community, and he uses this construction as both a source of justification for his violent behavior during his early years in Canada and as a site for resistance against hegemonic constructions of Latino men. As if to say, "My culture made me do it," Carlos points to the influence of dominant historical and contemporary narratives on masculinity and manhood to place his own personal experiences in a broader perspective. This move demonstrates the power of popular discourses (and the theories of social scientists) to become sources for identity-making in people’s everyday lives.

Third, and more central to the primary concerns of this thesis, Carlos alludes to the intersection between gender and emotions. His shifting sense of manhood is closely intertwined with learning new ways to express and deal with emotional distress. He cites blaming and not taking responsibility for his actions as "unhealthy" behaviors. In Carlos’ view, sharing feelings and responsibilities is unacceptable for men because they are supposed to be strong by taking care of their problems by themselves. Seeking help is a sign of weakness, and Carlos has been forced to learn new, non-violent ways of confronting personal challenges.

Building on recent anthropological investigations of the nexus between culture, gender, discourse and emotions (Abu-Lughod and Lutz 1990; Becker 1997; Jenkins 1991; Lock 1989; O’Nell 1996; Thompson 1997), I suggest that Carlos’ narrative on trying to find new ways to deal with his emotional problems tells us a lot about his shifting gender identity since coming to Canada. By not expressing his sadness, pain, and anger, Carlos’ enacts a particular form of masculinity organized around the notion of personal and familial responsibility. Prior to resettling in Canada, Carlos was responsible for providing for his family, at least financially. He saw himself as responsible for the overall well-being of the family. Now this notion of responsibility has taken a different form: he has learned to be responsible for his own actions. While initially this shift undermined the power of his masculine identity, by learning not to blame others for his actions Carlos has self-fashioned a new identity where he is comfortable asking for help and sharing responsibilities with others.

In the course of interviewing participants for this thesis I was struck by the number of men who talked about their efforts to retain a sense of normalcy in their lives. Many seemed (overly) concerned with being a "regular guy," and this prompted me to pay close attention to what normalcy meant to Guatemalan immigrant men. When I asked Gabriel about why he left Guatemala, for example, he insisted that:

I wasn’t involved with the guerillas, I was a regular guy who was participating in the unions.

Similarly, when Orlando talked about his health since moving to Canada, he assured me that:

I’m good; basically I’m a good person. I don't drink, I don't smoke, I work and I think I'm a good person, you know. No big problems.

Later on in the interview Orlando talked about racism towards Latinos in the Toronto media. He denied that he had ever been discriminated against and continued to emphasize his "goodness":

I don't think there's a very serious problem. I feel comfortable in this society. Even though they talk about discrimination, I never felt that people discriminate against me. They discriminate against Latinos in the States, that bothers me a little bit. Because I know I'm a good person. But because of a few bad apples, the Latinos have a little bit of bad reputation, you know what I mean?

Rolando, too, emphasized his normal status when I asked his about his health:

Emotionally sometimes I have my downs. As any human being I get angry, I get desperate, anxious. I get everything that any normal person may have.

Cesar also described what normal meant to him. He emphasized the importance of developing strong friendships, meaningful work and communication skills¾ all of which were disrupted upon migrating to Canada¾ as key elements to being normal:

What I consider a normal life is to have a lot of friends to help, and a good job with a lot of expectations for the future. I would also like to have the freedom to go to the government authorities to ask for help, but the language is my biggest barrier. Sometimes you are prepared to express yourself in an office or in any other place, but you realize that people don’t want to listen to you and they don’t make the effort to try to understand your accent. I consider these circumstances an act of racism that will leave a big scar and affect people psychologically. Then you feel rejected because you belong to a different culture.

At first glance these brief comments on being normal, healthy or good may seem mundane and not deserving of analysis. They may also appear to say more about health and well-being than gender identity or disruption. On the contrary, I would suggest that displacement and resettlement have caused massive disruptions not only to the emotional well-being of Guatemalan immigrant men¾ the focus of Chapter 6¾ but also to a sense of normalcy. These men were eager to reassure me that their lives were regular, normal, and nothing special. In my view, these statements symbolize a concerted effort to belong to Canadian society and to feel that they can contribute to their families and communities as men. In exile, Guatemalan men attempt to deal with disruption by expressing their masculinity through work, physical strength, political activism, friendships; thereby reasserting a familiar sense of self. Struggling to alleviate a sense of disruption and establishing a sense of normalcy is one way that immigrant men strive to belong in a new society. And this process of belonging¾ which is the focus of Chapter 5¾ is a gendered one.

This brief analysis of the lived experiences of disruption is intended to initiate discussion on the complex ways in which Guatemalan immigrant men may attempt to belong (pertenecer) in Canada. As we will see, "(not) belonging" (no pertenecer) for these men is a particularly salient cultural construction of the lived experience of exile. (Not) Belonging holds particular meanings in certain contexts, and can have implications for emotional well-being in the host country. In order to complement¾ and sometimes challenge¾ arguments about the increasing de-territorialization and diasporization of people and relations (Malkki 1992; Soysal 2000), my analysis of belonging, gender and well-being aims to provide a fresh perspective on the issue of adaptation and health among immigrants and refugees. I argue that closer attention to the meanings attached to migration and resettlement can illuminate current academic- and policy-oriented debates on immigrant health. Belonging was a key theme of many of my conversations with Guatemalans in Toronto, and I attempt to place these discussions in the broader context of how people on the move strive to live healthy and meaningful lives after living through experiences of political persecution and displacement.

But first, in order to gain a broader perspective on the identities of Guatemalan immigrant men, I turn to Guatemalan immigrant women and their constructions and narratives of machismo and its implications for health.

________________________________________________________________

- Abstract/Acknowledgements/Table of Contents -

- Introduction - Chapters 1 | 2 |  3 |  4 |  5  |  6  - Conclusion -

- Appendices - Bibliography -