2/14/01

On the beat

Night patrol: Loooong stretches of routine punctuated by moments of pure adrenaline

November 29, 2000

By Marcie Young
Logan Hearld Journal /Hard News Cafe

Saturday, 5:58 a.m.
An explosion of people dressed warmly in brightly colored fleece jackets, jogging pants and headbands swarm onto a narrow street above downtown Logan. Brilliant white snowflakes fall from the charcoal morning sky as yellow school buses invade the usually silent neighborhood.

The buzz of anxious chatter fills the air. The day is just beginning for the runners of the annual marathon; but for Louise Speth, a Logan police patrol officer, the day is just ending.

In Speth's patrol car, the radio cackles, "Expect about 30 buses," as the yellow monsters weave between the horde of people and cars.

Speth, a Maryland native, grabs her jacket, flips on the blue and red lights on top of her patrol car and joins the commotion outside. She directs traffic, telling the drivers of the banana-colored buses to go straight and pointing the sea of cars away from the clogged road.

A Saturday morning like this is nothing compared to the shift Speth is wrapping up. Speth's shift, the graveyard, begins at 10 p.m. Friday and ends the next day at 6 a.m. Sometimes things are mellow in Cache Valley's largest city, she says, and other times, like today, the excitement seems endless.

Friday, 10:03 p.m.
The asphalt shines as rain splatters on the road outside Wilson Motor Co. Speth scribbles on her metal clipboard, "improper lookout" and hands the driver of the white Celica a canary yellow ticket.

"A classic Main Street accident," Speth says as she pulls onto the busy Logan street. The driver of the white car just looked away for a second, Speth explains, as the radio announces an alarm at the Cache Valley Mall.

10:05 p.m.
There will be a lot of these, Speth says as she pulls into the empty parking lot outside Gottschalks department store.

The alarm at the store starting ringing while Speth was at the fender-bender accident on Main. A Gottschalks manager, referred to as the RP for "responding person" in a police report, pulls into the parking lot driving a tan station wagon, followed by another police car.

The woman, with a baby snuggled in pastel blankets, steps out of her car; Officer Chad Carpenter saunters from his patrol car over to Speth. The three enter the building, and while the woman with spiky blond hair and horn-rimmed glasses presses numbers into the alarm's keypad, the two officers walk around the deserted department store.

Finding nothing other than the strong winds, that could have set the alarm off, the duo heads for the store's employee-only exit. Carpenter notices picture frames are on sale for 60 percent off and vows he will come shopping Sunday.

The officers walk to their cars as Carpenter yells out, "Coffee?" Speth nods and says, "Yeah, see you there."

10:34 p.m.
But Speth doesn't make it to the gas station for her coffee. Just moments after pulling out of the empty mall parking lot, Speth notices a Hyde Park police officer talking to a young man in a green Jeep Wrangler. She pulls up behind the officer's Bronco, which is blocking the Jeep from view, and he makes his way over to Speth's window.

Before walking back to his Bronco, the Hyde Park officer tells Speth the 20 year-old kid in the Jeep is pretty shaken up. "You'll see why," she says, "when [the other officer] drives away."

With that the police Bronco pulls out into traffic, leaving the Jeep's headlights shining into Speth's car.

She gathers her notepad, ticket book and pen, opens her door and walks toward the Jeep. The driver nervously explains that he took the corner too fast, and with the wet roads from the rain that was enough to spin his jeep around.

He was headed right into oncoming traffic, Speth says, as she types the driver's information into her laptop computer.

"It was probably a little more dramatic than the kid profiled it."

The dispatch officer clears the driver's license number with "1010," a code for saying the driver doesn't have any warrants against him.

Speth hands the reckless driving ticket to the driver through the Jeep window and watches him pull out onto the slippery road.

She explains that the kid was pretty shaken up, so she allowed for a little more time-17 minutes-to let him calm down.

"If he had gone an inch further, he would have flipped," she says, strapping her seatbelt across her waist. "This could have been pretty bad."

11:02 p.m.
"I wouldn't trade [this job] for all the tea in China," Speth says of her two years as a patrol officer.

She talks and glances at her computer at the same time, noticing a vandalism report from 8 p.m. pop-up on the screen. The call, she explains, has been pushed back on the list because of other, more timely events. She turns her vehicle around and heads south on Main Street before turning onto a dark neighborhood road.

"270 South," she says, searching for the house. She pulls in front of a small brick home with toys thrown about the front yard and steps out of the car. A man in his early 40s with a button down white shirt and thinning light brown hair opens the front door. His wife and three children sit on the tan sofa.

"Sorry it took so long to get here," Speth says, as the man pulls out a chair for her to sit on. "What happened?"

The boys, the oldest probably no more than 8, were watching a movie when they heard glass break downstairs, the man says.

"And I went down to see what happened," interrupts the older son, "and I saw this glass all over my bed, and the window was broken."

Outside the basement bedroom window, the father found a baseball decorated with a Power Ranger cartoon.

"This isn't the first thing that's happened," he says.

Neighborhood kids have been harassing the boys and things have been missing from their home, he explains. Speth scribbles notes in her small notebook, nodding as the man speaks. She suggests the boys ignore the neighborhood kids and tells the father she or another officer will talk to the other children and their parents.

"Sometimes kids will admit to things when a police officer is asking the questions," she says as she walks out to her car to get her camera.

The father escorts Speth down the stairs to the bedroom where the window was broken. She snaps a few photos for evidence and hands the man a card with her name and the station's number, and says she'll be in touch.

She pockets the baseball for evidence and says, "Have a better night." Speth smiles as the man closes the door behind her.

Saturday, 12:06 a.m.
Speth turns the key in the ignition, and her patrol car comes to life. She pulls out of the dark neighborhood, and starts explaining what it takes to become a patrol officer in Logan.

The 32 year-old officer runs her hand through her short, dark brown hair, detailing the fitness test she took a week earlier. A mile run, push-ups and sit-ups, a flexibility stretch and a 300-yard dash tested the patrol officers' physical abilities. Speth, the only woman patrol officer, says although her job requires her to be in good shape, she works out mostly to relieve stress.

"It's a really high stress position, and you have to take care of yourself to do your job well," Speth says, randomly weaving her way through the dark streets.

She pulls into the parking lot of a Main Street gas station and walks into the empty store. She fills up a coffee mug and sips delicately from it, the steam rising into the air.

"We see life at its worst, and sometimes it's hard to take home with you," she says between sips. All of the officers have their own ways of dealing with stress, and learning to be objective is something that all officers have to do, Speth explains as three Logan patrolmen file into the store, taking advantage of talking about the calls they've responded to.

The dispatcher's voice, however, breaks their chatter as the four officers reach simultaneously for their Walkie-Talkies.

"I'll take this one," Speth says, picking up her coffee and waving to her colleagues.

1:41 a.m.
Responding to a call made by a 15-year-old girl, Speth veers her car toward the Island in the heart of Logan. The girl, sitting on a wooden bench outside the market, is disoriented and confused as Speth helps her into the patrol car. The high school freshman had not been drinking or doing drugs when she passed out a few blocks from a small neighborhood store.

"Hi, this is Officer Speth with the Logan Police Department," Speth tells the girl's mother. "I'm bringing her home now, and she's OK, so you don't need to worry."

The girl had hit her head when she was horsing around with a friend after the school dance, Speth says after walking the teen-ager into her Nibley home. At first the girl had no idea where she was, but as she started talking about the night's events, she began to remember more Speth explains, heading back into Logan.

2:21 a.m.
Speth continues to roam the mostly empty streets and lets her mind wander to past conversations with Logan residents. People think that because Logan feels like a small town, they don't have to lock their doors, she says.

As an officer, however, Speth says, "We're almost hyper-aware of all the stuff that goes on."

2:35 a.m.
She is about to start another sentence when the static on the radio breaks with a nervous voice of an officer yelling instructions. His voice is broken between the static as Speth suddenly begins to speed through the quiet streets at 65 mph.

"This is scary because we don't know where they are right now," she says anxiously.

The voice over the radio crackles, "The flower shop," and Speth takes a quick turn onto 600 East. Just a few seconds later, she pulls into the parking lot just in time to see Carpenter and Officer Chad Vernon tackle a slender man with long and wild brown hair.

Speth jumps quickly out of her car and reaches for her gun. The man's face is pressed against the cold pavement as the two male officers clasp the cold, metal handcuffs around his wrists.
Carpenter and Vernon help the man to his feet, the man yelling angrily, "I'm not doin' nuthin'. I don't want a confrontation."

Speth notices the other officers have the situation under control, so she moves her hands away from her holster. Once Vernon and Carpenter get the man into the back of Carpenter's car, Vernon approaches Speth's car and says, "I arrested him about 18 months ago on domestic violence charges."

This time the man head-butted his wife and hung up the phone after she tried to call the police, Vernon explains as Speth fiddles with her computer, trying to find the couple's address.

3:39 a.m.
While Carpenter and Vernon book the man into jail, the other officers continue with their patrol. Speth responds to a fire alarm at the Comfort Inn. She finds a spot in the crowded parking lot and walks up to Room 128.

A man, probably in his early 50s, looks through his window, a worried expression on his face. He opens the door and tells Speth the smoke detector started screaming about 15 minutes ago. Speth checks the room over, smells the air and is examing the air conditioning and heating unit when two yellow-uniform clad firefighters walk into the hotel room.

The man, his pajama shirt sloppily tucked into his jeans, sits down on the couch and says in an exhausted voice, "I'd have to be getting up in about an hour, anyhow."

His number for the marathon lies on the dresser, and his running clothes are tossed over the back of a chair.

Members of fire crew check the room, deciding the alarm was false. Speth scribbles the incident number on her palm and climbs back into the car.

"My hand's a real convenient place to write stuff," she says as she backs out of the parking lot.

4:02 a.m.
Speth turns on her headlights and heads back to the station to write her reports, check her mail and turn in evidence, such as the photos and baseball she had taken earlier in the night. She refers to a few case numbers on her hand and notebook as she sits down at the computer.

Although filling out these reports isn't the most exciting part of the job, Speth says, it's just something that has to be done.

4:57 a.m.
"This was a busy night," Speth says as she climbs the stairs of the police station and heads back out to her car, her paperwork completed.

As hundreds of runners begin waking up and preparing for the 26.2-mile run, Speth rolls her head from side to side, trying to work the knots in her neck loose. Speth starts her car again, as she has done dozens of times during the shift. This time, however, she knows she is on the last leg of her marathon.

2/6/01

Children awash in images that make them think violence is cool and the world is scary

This installment: Violence and children, with some thoughts by George Gerbner, Jackson Katz and two cartoon animals of the desert

February 5, 2001

Part 1: Violence and men
Part 2: Violence and women

By Marcie Young
Hard News Cafe

EDITOR'S NOTE: Children witness between 25 and 30 acts of violence when they watch one hour of cartoons, according to George Gerbner of the Annenberg School of Communication at the University of Pennsylvania. Ninety-nine percent of homes in the United States have a television. Although children watch about 25 hours of television a week, Gerbner said television sets are on for nearly twice that -- seven hours a day. It is from constant exposure to television and movies that make children think the world is a violent and unsafe place, he said.

• • •

Three, two, one -- action.

The coyote tried using bombs to catch the roadrunner. He tried grenades. When those failed him, he turned to guns, dynamite, knives and 10,000-pound weights. Still nothing could help him catch the bird. The bombs exploded while the coyote held them in his hands, the weights smashed his body into the hard desert sand, and the guns fired at point-blank range into his face. The coyote was never injured for more than a few seconds.


In this 33-minute Wiley Coyote and the Roadrunner video there were 59 acts of violence. In Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, a popular movie and cartoon in the late 1980s and early 1990s, more than 150 acts of violence filled the screen in an hour. Today video games such as Street Fighter tell children that fighting is a part of life, said Jackson Katz, an anti-violence educator and media analyst.

In his educational film, Tough Guise, Katz said violence is something that television networks and motion picture companies validate through the programs shown and the movies released. He also said the problem isn't something the media alone has created.

"The root of the problem lie àeverywhere, deeply embedded in what passes for normal culture -- part of the normal training, conditioning and socializing of boys and men," according to Katz's co-written web page at http://www.jacksonkatz.com.com.

Shows that teach children positive ideas, such as Sesame Street, are a rarity in children's programming, Gerbner said. Programs like these, most of which are broadcast by PBS, make up about 6 percent of children's television shows. Although Gerbner said the educational programs are great, he also said there aren't enough to balance other kids' shows.

Regardless of educational value, children aren't just watching television programs and movies that were created for them. According to Gerbner's educational movie, The Killing Screens, children are watching more prime-time television, which is geared toward an adult audience and contains about five acts of violence and hour.

Carlos Chapa, a 12-year-old seventh grader from Salt Lake City, said he watches about eight hours of television a week. Among his favorite programs is Comedy Central's South Park, a cartoon where the main characters swear almost every line and at least one person dies each episode.

"It's just cool," Chapa said, "and funny."

This, however, is what Gerbner calls "happy violence." It teaches children (and adults) that violence is silly, fun and entertaining. And when kids see funny, crime-fighting, giant turtles, as in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, they think violence is exciting.

"Ninja Turtles is the single most violent program ever produced," Gerbner said.

Both the movie and the television cartoon, however, show the turtles cracking jokes and fighting crime with their nunchucks, swords and other weapons.

And when programs show violence in a funny way, children are blinded by the harm it can do, said John P. Murray, a professor at Kansas State University. Children who watch programs with lots fighting tend to be more violent than those who don't, Murray said in Teach the Children, an educational film about children and the media.

Gerbner, however, said shows such as He-man, Roadrunner and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles survive because of global marketing. Since violence is cheap to sell around the world -- it looks the same in every language, Gerbner said -- movies and television shows have to have fights and murder to make money.

"Violence is a common ingredient injected into programs because it travels well," Gerbner said.

He called it the "global marketing imperative" because violence is easy to produce and can be used to spice up any program that is becoming a little boring. And when shows become popular, the program isn't enough -- action figures, plastic swords and ninja gear begin to sell out around the country.

From these cartoons, children are learning violence is necessary to be tough, Katz said. Cartoons, however, aren't the only types of media that are telling kids that violence is fun, silly, cool and manly.

• • •

Three, two, one -- action.

The hot iron came crashing through the ceiling onto the robber's unprotected head. He was stunned and burned by the weight and scalding heat. Although the iron left a bubbling imprint on his head and knocked him to the ground, the pain quickly went away. But the robber got up, and continued to prowl around the house. A little boy holding a BB gun at the robber's head giggles at the intruder's shocked face.


Kids get the idea that violence is fun from all different types of media. They see it in television programs, in video games and in movies such as Home Alone, which was released in 1990 and was followed by two sequels. In this show, children are learning that violence is a hilarious way to solve a problem. When Kevin, an 8-year-old, is left alone in his house while his family goes on vacation, two robbers break into his home. Rather than calling the police, Kevin depends on an old gangster movie and the images he has of what a "real man" should be.

Katz, however, said the images the media is sending about what a "real man" should be are wrong. Boys learn from television shows such as G.I. Joe and He-man that men are supposed to have big muscles to fight with, Katz said. As a result, he said boys learn to put up a front that is based on extreme ideas of masculinity. This idea, which Katz called the "tough guise," emphasizes toughness and physical strength.

The media's influence is constantly around -- from infancy to adulthood, Katz said. With this constant exposure, children begin to learn what their roles in society are, he said. Boys learn from muscleman cartoons that "real men" are defined by the strength and size of their bodies. Girls, however, learn that women are expected to be thin and small. When women are smaller in fictional television shows and movies, children begin to see that men are physically stronger, which relates to power, Katz said.

This is a problem, however, that Katz said can be fixed through education. By teaching children that "real men" can also be sensitive, they learn that masculinity isn't just about being physically strong.

"We have to show [young males] that vulnerability, compassion and caring are also part of what it means to be a real man," Katz reported on his web page.

But without this education, children are learning that violence gets people what they want, Katz said. Every day 15 kids are killed by other children in the United States. Although Gerbner said children's programs are more violent than regular television, he also said real world killings probably aren't a result of too much violence in the media.

"If media violence were to lead to violence, we would all be dead," he said.

Instead Gerbner thinks the more serious problem is what he calls the "Mean World Syndrome." From the violence kids see on television and in the movies, they begin to think that the world is a scarier place than it is, according to Gerbner's research.

Gerbner and Katz, however, agreed that parents and schools are capable of educating children about the realities and the myths in the fictional media. Katz said violence on television is expected, and because of this parents don't think about what their children are watching.


"The parents themselves are a product of the media culture," he said. "They think 'I watched Three Stooges as a kid and I didn't go hit people with a hammer.'"

Gerbner, however, said parents can put a hold on the influence television has over their children by encouraging selective viewing. This means changing the roles television and the media play in daily life. Gerbner encourages parents not use television as a reward or take it away for punishment. By doing this, he said parents only teach their children that it isn't important what they watch, but how much they watch.

He also said that parents need to take the battle outside their homes. By demanding schools to teach media literacy, parents are challenging television's role and the power it has over society, Gerbner said in The Killing Screens.

"If it seems impossible, it means it's worth doing," Gerbner said.

Movie violence against females is like wallpaper, but if a woman runs amok . . . it means bad things, man

This installment: Violence and women, with some thoughts by George Gerbner, Jackson Katz and two cross-country drivers named Thelma and Louise

February 6, 2001

Part 1: Violence and men
Part 3: Violence and children


By Marcie Young
Hard News Cafe

EDITOR'S NOTE: Women are considered a minority group in the United States, even though they make up more than half of the nation's population. As of October 2000, there were nearly 140 million females living in the United States; the number of males was 135 million, according to the U.S. Census Bureau. Even though women are the majority, they are twice as likely to be victims of violent and sexualized crimes, said George Gerbner of the Annenberg School of Communication at the University of Pennsylvania. Not only are women abused 50 percent more often than men in the media, they are also outnumbered by men three to one on the big screen and on television, according to Gerbner's educational film, The Killing Screens.

• • •

Three, two, one -- action.

The truck driver flashed a few obscene, sexualized gestures toward the women. That was the first time. The second time the ladies saw the man on the road, he did the same thing. They pulled their baby blue convertible car over, and the trucker followed. He hopped out of the 18-wheeler gas-carrying rig and pursued the women. The women demanded an apology for his crude comments, but the man refused. The women (who had already killed a man, robbed a store and assaulted a cop) didn't like the man's attitude, so they shot holes into the truck's tires. But the man wasn't ready to apologize, and the women weren't ready to give in. Instead of walking away, they shot into the truck's silver center. The truck exploded into mountain-high, red yellow and orange flames.


Thelma and Louise, the 1991 drama that sparked controversy because of its violent nature, contained seven acts of violence in two hours. On the other hand, 2000's Gladiator, which contained nearly 200 acts of violence, received hardly any attention over its bloody deaths and fight scenes.

But Jackson Katz, an anti-violence educator and media analyst, said the lack of attention had nothing to do with either film's content. Instead he said the controversy was based on gender and the roles society thinks men and women should play.

"Male violence is the norm. People don't even question it," Katz said. "But when women act violently, it's talked about."

Katz, co-writer of the educational film Tough Guise, said television programs and movies have created an imbalance between the power males and females have. He said men are supposed to be strong. They are supposed to fight other men and not let women get in the way. Women, however, are not allowed to be violent, Katz said. And it was this idea that helped create the controversy about Thelma and Lousie.

"When men are violent toward women, it is a single act," Katz said. "[But] when women are violent, it reflects the entire group."

Katz said people got worried when they saw Susan Sarandon's character blow up a gas truck and a kill a rapist. Some, mostly men, thought the film would make women think it is OK to be violent, he said. Unlike other violent movies and television shows, the women in Thelma and Louise had reasons for acting violently, Katz said.

"In each case [the women] were fighting back against male abuse," he said.

The fact that Thelma and Louise had to be justified shows that today's movies and television programs send the message that men should be the powerful gender, Katz said. And violence is seen as power, he said. This is a contradiction that encourages men to be violent and women to be submissive.

Although Thelma and Louise sparked controversy about women and violence, Gerbner and Katz said the movie actually empowered women. Gerbner said the movie was negative because of the violence, but he also praised the film for giving women equality in the media.

"[It showed] women can be as bad as anybody," Gerbner said.

Sarandon (Louise) and Geena Davis (Thelma) showed women toughness isn't reserved for men, Gerbner said. He also said, however, that for every violent woman in the movies and on television, 20 other women are the victims of male violence.

• • •

Three, two, one-- action.

The woman dresses in her bedroom. The window, which faces the road, is open and the lights in her private home are on while she changes out of one shirt into another. A man with binoculars sits in his car across the street. He spies on the woman as she throws her shirt on the floor and begins to take off her bra. But the dark-haired man in a polyester button-down shirt is not the only one obsessed with the woman. There are other men who follow her everywhere she goes and watch her every move.


It isn't just in dramas and action movies that make men think they are more powerful than women, Katz said.

Even comedies such as There's Something About Mary send messages encouraging male dominance. The plot for the 1998 box office hit revolved around one woman who was being stalked by half a dozen men. Although Katz said even he enjoyed the film's humor, the story was sending the wrong message to men and to women. If the jokes were taken out of the film, it simply would have been a thriller -- a scary movie about stalkers.

According to the U.S. Department of Justice, 1 million women are stalked every year, and one in 12 women will be stalked in their lifetimes. Even though Hollywood can make an issue like this funny, Katz said people walk away from the film desensitized to violence toward women.

"Men are killing women all over the place in the movies," Katz said. "Is there an outcry about that? No."

In There's Something About Mary, the lead character, played by Cameron Diaz, is a sexy blonde with a killer body. When female victims are seen as sex objects, men are less likely to think about the violence actions, Katz said. Although this movie covers up the violence through sexualized humor, many films make violence seem less severe through sex alone, Katz said.

Sometimes women are tied to a bed in their underwear before they are murdered or raped; other times the women wear clothing that reveals just enough cleavage to make men think about the woman as an object and not a victim.

"Sex blinds many people to the violence," Katz said. "It's another way of normalizing male violence toward women."

Katz said being sexually turned on is a positive feeling, and when violence occurs at the same time, the violence doesn't seem as bad. Because of this connection between physical pleasure and violence toward women, Katz said men who have been exposed to a lot of sexualized violence are less likely to believe a rape victim.

Gerbner, however, said there is a bigger problem when violence is geared toward women. Most people who watch lots of television think the world is a scary place, he said. According to Gerbner's research, this should be a major concern. He said the theory, called the "Mean World Syndrome," increases insecurity about the world.

"The situation is that people feel more insecure, not the need to be violent," Gerbner said.
Both men and women, especially those who watch television for many hours each day, are likely to think the world is a more dangerous place than it actually is. Women, who are twice as likely to be victims of violence than men in the media, think the world is more dangerous than most men, Gerbner said. And since minority women are twice as likely to be victims than white women, the average minority television viewer thinks the world is that much more dangerous, Gerbner said.

Melissa Maranda, a 20-year-old student at the University of Maryland, watches between two and five hours of television a week. Although Maranda isn't considered a heavy television viewer (the national average is more than four hours a day), she said she thinks the world is a dangerous place. It is from television programs, the nightly news and movies that Maranda said she based her ideas about violence in the world.

"I, myself, feel safe," she said, "but the world is not safe."

Although women have been fighting back against the media's images through their roles in politics, business and education, Katz said women are still fighting for equality. With every new television season, women begin to lose power to men.

As men's bodies begin to get bigger, women's bodies continue to shrink, Katz said. Women are expected by society to be thin, whereas men are expected to be muscular, big and more violent.

"The images of women's bodies that have flooded the culture depict women as less threatening," according to Katz's web page at www.jacksonkatz.com. "They're literally taking up less symbolic space."

Women, usually thin and beautiful, are battered and killed on a regular basis by men in movies and television shows. Generally where there is a thin and beautiful woman, there is a 6-foot man with thick muscles standing above her. But Katz said women can help stop these images by rejecting men who think "real men" fit the description of Rambo, Rocky or any other man who depends on physical strength and violence.

"The 'tough guise' is attractive to men in part because they see many girls and women validating it," Katz wrote on his web page. "Girls and women have to show that they're looking for more in men than bad boy posturing."

2/5/01

Movies' seductive lie tells men that to be real, they must be tough

This installment: Violence and men, with some thoughts by George Gerbner, Jackson Katz and a Roman general named Maximus

Part 2: Violence and women
Part 3: Violence and children

February 5, 2001

By Marcie Young

EDITOR'S NOTE: Men commit more than 90 percent of violence toward women, children and other men. Leading media analysts, including George Gerbner of the Annenberg School of Communication at the University of Pennsylvania, say it is television programs, movies and the media that are sending men the wrong images about masculinity and violence in the world.

• • •

Three, two, one -- action.

With a nod from the mighty general, thousands of Roman soldiers light arrows on fire and launch flaming balls into a crowd of barbarians. Both groups of men charge forward with silver swords shining. The yells of pain and anger fill the burning forest. Men on horseback fatally stab and slice their enemies, while other men wrestle with fists, arrows and swords on foot. The brown soil turns red as the battle continues. The scene fades into slow motion, and the heroic Roman army wins the war.

In the opening 10 minutes of Gladiator, the 2000 blockbuster hit by DreamWorks, there were more than 40 acts of violence. Throughout the film, there were nearly 200 acts of violence. The film grossed millions of dollars and was at the top of the nation's movie list for weeks.

Although men and women flocked to the movie about Rome's killing matches for entertainment and a good story, Jackson Katz, an anti-violence educator and co-writer of the educational film Tough Guise, said movies such as Gladiator reinforce the idea that men need to be perpetrators. He also said men and boys leave such movies with ideas of how "real men" should look and act.

"Violent masculinity has become a cultural norm," Katz said.

Katz's ideas about violence and the media, however, are just part of the analysis.

George Gerbner, who is also the Bell Atlantic professor of telecommunications at Temple University, said he does not think people violently imitate movies and television. His theory suggests that the more television and movies people watch, the more violent they think the real world is.

"The problem is not violence; the problem is that it is so frequent that it becomes an overkill," Gerbner said.

But when men watch violent television shows and movies, they are more likely to associate male power with hardened bodies and big guns, Katz said.

Men will often walk away from a bomb-dropping war movie or a fictional cop show thinking that's the way that "real men" are supposed to look and act, he said. In today's television shows and movies, violence isn't seen as something that has a long-term influence, Katz said. These things, rather, are mediums that show people that it's good to have power and strength over others.

"To control violence is failure," Katz said.

Katz said it is movies like Gladiator, The Patriot and other top-rated movies that make today's men feel like they have to be strong, violent and emotionally tough to be considered "real men." Media violence is geared toward men, Katz said, and it is through the images men and boys see on television and at the movies that they begin to form ideas of what men should look like and how they should act.

Violent images are seen over and over again by men in Rambo, Rocky, martial arts movies and Westerns. When men and boys are exposed to these violent images repeatedly, they begin to think that violence is normal and should be part of a man's life, Katz said. Movies with bloody scenes, death and physical confrontation reinforce the idea that violence is part of the way humans interact with each other.

Movies and television are also telling men that violence isn't about good guys winning as much as it is about success, Katz said.

"Whether violence is used for a virtuous cause or by a bad guy . . . violence gets you what you want," Katz said.

Although violent movies and television shows have become expected in society, Gerbner said most people dislike watching violence for entertainment. The reason violence in films and programs continue to grow is because people don't think about what they are watching, he said.

"Television is like a religion," Gerbner said. "It's not selectively viewed -- it's just there."

Even though most people don't enjoy watching death on the screen, Gerbner said violence on television and in the movies is getting worse. In his educational film, The Killing Screens, Gerbner said movies get more violent with every sequel. He used Robocop and Robocop II as examples. In the first film, 32 people were killed. In the second movie, however, the death toll more than doubled to 81.

Katz agreed, but said the increase in violence has to do with how men look at themselves and other men. Violence is encouraged by the physical characteristics of powerful men in the media.

• • •

Three, two, one --- action.

The booming voice overhead makes the scarecrow, the lion, the tin man and Dorothy stand still in terror. The wizard is speaking. He is a man of power, a man of strength, a man to be reckoned with. But when Toto, the little dog, pulls away the curtain to the wizard's control room, a scared man with a small voice stands behind the microphone.

It is this scene from The Wizard of Oz that Katz uses as an example to show the desire many men have for power. Although most movies geared toward men are full of violence and muscle, Katz said those images are not how most men really are. Men put up a front that is based on extreme ideas of masculinity, he said. This is the "tough guise," which emphasizes toughness and physical strength, according to Katz's web page at www.jacksonkatz.com.

Men categorize themselves by setting stereotypes for men. When men think about what a "real man" should be, many visualize someone over 6 feet tall. They see bulging muscles, which represent power and emotional strength. A man who is physically strong would never be emotionally weak, Katz said of the ideas men have about masculinity. But these ideas are based upon images men see on television and in the movies, he said, and because they are based on fictional characters, they are not "real men."

Nathan Scott, a 21-year-old midshipman at the United States Naval Academy, agreed with the physical characteristics of what a "real man" should be. Scott, who is about 5 feet, 7 inches tall, said society thinks a "real man" needs to be at least 6 feet tall, muscular and physically strong.
Greg Phillips, also a 21-year-old at the Naval Academy, said a "real man" cannot be overweight and must not have a high-pitched voice.

"The deeper the voice, the better," Phillips said.

Scott also said "real men" don't cry over physical pain. He did say, however, that a "real man" is comfortable with who he is, and as a result can cry over emotional pain.

"He can't cry over physical pain. He has to hold it in -- that's a real man," Scott said.

Although Katz said many men want to be like the fictional strong and powerful men they see in the media, he also said it is unlikely that people act violently based only on these images.

Gerbner, however, said violence on television and in the movies is not the biggest problem.

Most people who watch lots of television think the world is a scary place. And according to Gerbner's research, this insecurity is should be a major concern. The theory, called the "Mean World Syndrome," increases insecurity, Gerbner said.

"The situation is that people feel more insecure, not the need to be violent," Gerbner said.

Michael Walker, a 22-year-old student at Utah State University, said he watches about five or six hours of television a week. Although he said he doesn't think the movies and television programs he watches influence the way he acts, he did say he feels safe from violence in most situations. He also said, however, that the world is not as safe as most people think it is.

"My personal world has never been [imposed] upon," Walker said. "But I do think you need to be more cautious these days."

Relating his ideas to Gerbner's, Katz suggests that people who watch lots of television feel like they need to be perpetrators to prevent becoming a victim.

"In a given situation, you might act violently because if you don't act first, you might be the victim," Katz said.

But according to Katz, this is a problem that can be solved if men begin thinking about what they can do to change the way other men think about violence and masculinity.

• • •

Three, two, one -- action.

Sitting in a small office, a twenty-something man talks with his court appointed therapist. As in their other meetings the young man sits back in a chair of golden thread. The therapist opens a cream-colored folder full of photographs and information about the young man's life. The young man had been beaten by his drunken father as a child and raised in poverty.

Ever since he has been lashing out violently against the world. The therapist tells the young man, "It's not your fault." Over and over again, the therapist says this. The young man gets angry and pushes his therapist friend. Still the older man continues, "It's not your fault. It's not your fault."

The young man, someone who has depended on his strength and ability to fight his entire life, begins to cry. His sobs become uncontrollable as he falls into the arms of his therapist.

In the Academy Award-winning movie Good Will Hunting, co-writer Matt Damon plays the part of Will, the angry young man who depends on his physical strength. This movie, however, shows that even the toughest of men have emotional sides, Katz said in Tough Guise.

Will, the main character, keeps everyone in his life away from his emotions, Katz said, because that is what a "real man" is supposed to do. In the end of the film, however, Will cries. He cries and he cries, yet his tears are not seen as a weakness, Katz said.

It is through movies such as Good Will Hunting, The Full Monty and Boyz n' the Hood that men are seeing "authentic versions of the male experience, achieving emotional, thematic and aesthetic power," Katz said. Movies like these also show how hiding behind the false images of masculinity end in tragedy, both physically and emotionally, Katz said. In addition, Katz said men need to find the courage to speak out against violence.

"Men need to confront each other and say, 'This isn't OK,'" he said.

Men can do this by breaking the silence, even if they are "good men" already, Katz said. (Most men don't think the problem is theirs because they don't rape, kill or physically fight others.)
"The roots of violence are closely connected to manhood," Katz said. "Those of us who are not abusive -- if we don't play our part, we're part of the structural problem."

Even some of the most "manly" men are beginning to show their emotional sides.

Mark McGwire, professional baseball player and world record holder for home runs, is helping put the masculinity myth to rest, Katz said. McGwire cried on national television when he announced he would be giving money away to abused children.

McGwire, Katz said, is someone who many men see as a "real man." His biceps are huge, his neck is wide, his stomach is like a washboard and his legs mimic superman -- steel. Seeing such a tough-looking man cry tells men that having emotions and showing them doesn't mean being a wimp.

"It's just about being honest," Katz said.