Alfred Rush and The Tragedy of Pants: Titanic History & Masculinity
Surprise! Societal norms can actually have life threatening consequences!
On April 14th, 1912 at 11:40pm, the RMS Titanic, off the coast of Canada, struck an iceberg on the starboard side ripping gashes into the hull, flooding over all of the water-tight compartments. She was going to sink— no questions asked. One passenger aboard the Titanic happened to be celebrating his 17th birthday on April 14th, 1912. His name was Alfred Rush, a third class passenger traveling on the Titanic. He was a poor boy sent by his parents, going to live a better life with with his brother in Detroit. He was accompanied by some family friends— who gave him a pair of long trousers as a birthday gift. In the early 20th century, this meant you were a man.
If it is one thing history will not let us forget about the sinking of the Titanic, it’s that there were a not enough lifeboats for everyone onboard. What isn’t commonplace knowledge about this situation is that there was a great semantic error in the command and effort to load the lifeboats. Capitan Edward Smith had ordered his first and second officers, William Murdoch and Charles Lightoller, to '“load the women and children in and lower away”. Officers Murdoch loaded on Titanic’s starboard side, while Lightoller loaded on port. Depending on what side of the ship you were on, this made a huge impact on who got in and who was left out. Murdoch interpreted this as a “women and children first” and allowed the men to board if there was room and no other women or children where around to get in. Whereas Lightoller interpreted this as “women and children only” and refused to let men climb into lifeboats even if they were not full. Yes, a lot of lifeboats launched that night were half empty. As the ship sank there were a few lifeboats on the upper decks that got swept away, unused, or capsized. So aside from there not being enough lifeboats— the system of loading the lifeboats, as well as the technical capabilities to launch them, were absent in the crew’s preparedness to handle that night.
Frank Goldsmith, who was nine years old on the night the Titanic sank, was one of the family friend’s Rush was traveling with. The family headed towards the lifeboat Collapsable C. Goldsmith accounts that him and his mother were let through the loading gate, presumably on Murdoch’s orders to load women and children first, and Rush even with his long trousers on, was still pulled by an officer towards the lifeboat. But shockingly, Rush refused. He said “No! I'm staying here with the men”.
We do learn that Rush, along with the rest of the members traveling in the Goldsmith party, stayed on top the decks of the ship that night, and went down with the Titanic— Rush’s body was never recovered. Had it been any other day before his birthday, or if he hadn’t have received those long trousers, maybe, Rush would have got into a lifeboat, as a child, not a man. Goldsmith does say that Rush was a bit small for his age. That the officer may not have noticed the length of his trousers, and presumed him a boy. I wonder to what extent Rush’s defiance of the officers orders was triggered by being perceived as a child. In that moment, Rush chose being a perceived as a man over his own security and safety to make it off a sinking ship. Gender is deep I guess.
I’ve been thinking a lot recently about what our culture tells us to be and how we be it. You could say, young Alfred Rush died because of it. Granted, its unlikely most people would ever be put into this situation, and now that lifeboats are required for everyone onboard— probably not ever again. The consequences of gender are not an anomaly at any rate. I mean, talk about the second-wave feminist movement, the ban on trans-care across the country, the radicalization of lonely young men into an ethos of hatred and anti-compassion, how else would Andrew Tate come to be?
Masculinity is something I’ve come to terms with being a core part of my identity as a woman. The masculine expression once felt a bit fun and flirty, one that I sort of buried and couched in “classic style” with flannels and pocket t-shirts in my undergrad days, now has evolved and slowly became uncompromisable. And once I embraced that part of me more and explored it— it has brought up a slew of issues I never really anticipated. There’s the obvious first layer of “I am not feminine enough to be a woman” and the grieving of that former self begins to happen, as you started poking around in the mens t-shirt section, and stop buying women’s clothing— you lose the dress at formal gatherings. But then I realized, that isn’t the kind of woman I want to be anyways. And then, as it turns out, being more “masc” ushers in some insecurity about masculine expectations. Suddenly I was a woman upheaving a battle against some of the dominant masculinity— but internally— and not just its exterior affects on women in society. I started caring about my desirability as not just a woman, but a masculine woman. Did I have enough boyish charm? Could make the first move? Could I exude a masculine appeal in my feminine body?
There were some growing pains, to say the least— I was wrapped for a moment in a problematic logic that I see written into some masculine lesbians. In relationships I have been left for men, or the desire for me to exhibit more masculine traits and roles was actively expressed in relationships I had— thus there were times I felt incompetent in the wake of my partners expressing interest in men and masculinity. And thus, I had come to the conclusion that I was never going to give a woman what she could have with a man. I had this deep insecurity that I wasn’t ever going to offer the social capital or security that a heterosexual passing relationship could, and therefore— I would never be enough for bisexual women. Objectively, this is not true. But it was a fear I held for a bit— and now have come to recognize it as a byproduct of internalized misogyny and a grave extension into harmful narratives about bisexual women. To assume that cis-masculinity or cis-men was the default mode of attraction for any woman I was with. That their attraction to me was, inherently, secondary to men. To associate women’s preference to masculinity was similar to saying that women will always default to men. (Like girl, what a way to strip someone of agency omg.) It actually had very little to do with the women I was with, but my fear of being skipped in or taken out of their truest desires and belonging. All to say, the narrative around gender goes that deep, that I was a bit of an idiot like that.
Living in Western Massachusetts—gender is such a blender— we have anybody doing anything around here. I definitely attribute this space to the ease and comfortability in stepping into my masculinity, and am immensely grateful for it, but here, queer performance is everything. “In” groups are everything. Semantics, might mean even more. People care a lot about words, especially, words as representation. Which culturally, we know doesn’t go over all that well materially. A lot of people here do care about what you label yourself as— are you queer, are you sapphic, are you a dyke, are you a lesbian? And to most of the dominant culture— those things are interchangeable, because in the same way they mean the same thing, it’s also the same way some of those groups are non-existent. But around here, there’s some camps— and what you chose to label yourself as has thrusted some signaling about who you are and what you think of others as. Everyone has their own version of what it means to be a lesbian, (which at its greatest, I’ve seen it be a very inclusive space, at its worst I’ve seen it be bi/transphobic ) I’m not saying reclaiming terms and empowering/illuminating these non-dominant labels are a bad thing. I think much of lesbian and trans history has been cast aside in the wake of gay (man) history— but that’s mostly because of inherent misogyny threaded through history’s narratives, obviously not because it didn’t happen. I do feel there is a difference, but a fine line between re-instating a label and getting nationalistic in your group’s identity. Which, is sort of a joke— but then… is it? If people want to call themselves lesbians, so be it, if dyke is more your thing, or sapphic, sure, have at it— if one term is more meaningful and encompassing of your expression and sexuality than who is to stop you. Controversially, I just believe that if someone labels themselves one thing, you should stay out of commenting on it. We live in a world where unfortunately rhetoric alone does not side step any normative boundaries on their own, our language and materiality is ingratiated in this perhaps “Reagan Era” space already (I don’t mean this uncritically, but I feel as though the neo-liberalism of Reagan has permanently stained how American thought has been contoured and shaped)— as much as we want to wrestle with that, we don’t see the-powers-that-be getting deconstructed unless there’s a conscious and mobile action behind that rhetoric— like if poor Alfred Rush, decided to get in a lifeboat that night. It’s action that, perhaps, redefines or re-negotiates what is acceptable inside the turn of a phrase.
Aside from the labels thing, trans identities feel more deeply explored out here than where I grew up. Some anxiety I never anticipated feeling as I’ve grown into the culture in the valley actually comes from a notion of not feeling trans-masculine enough. Perhaps, unintentionally, I felt this being levied against me— in my romantic and social life. Suddenly I went from not just comparing myself to cis-men, but to trans-men as well. All while knowing I don’t feel quite like either. Spatially, it almost feels as though I’ve been put into an arena and in competition to some weird boyish olympics. What’s the old saying, apples to oranges? I began to self loath a little bit, how was I feeling like such an anomaly and misunderstood, even though I was occupying a relatively privileged space as a white, relatively cis-woman? Was I preserving my womanhood in the wrong way, was I coming into masculinity in the wrong ways? It still does drive me a bit crazy sometimes. Somehow in this externalized pressure to define my masculinity as trans-masculine became such a big part of how I prepare my identity as someone who isn’t trans. A space where you’d think flexibility and fluidity would be welcomed became a bit stifling and pressuring. Though it begs the question, is any gender deviation outside of the textbook binary considered trans in some way? To some, maybe. To me, it somewhat feels like stollen valor— but again that is just how my masculinity manifests for me. If I had the option to do it all again, would I have been born a man? Likely, my answer would be no— and I am sure there are some trans-masculine people that would also answer similarly. To be born into cis-manhood actually sounds rather unappealing to me. I would rather have the space to define my own masculinity on different non-dominant and queerer terms than endure cis-masculinity inherently. The on-going project continues obviously. And you know, at the time of writing this, this is how I’m seeing things, but I’m sure my opinions will continue to develop and change as time moves on, as they have been doing for the past seven years or so.
The tragedy of what happened to poor young Alfred Rush on one hand, comes down to irony. Of course, the sinking happened on his birthday (bummer bday am I right?), right when he became “of age” to be “a man.” We can look at it and be like “a young poor boy who didn’t know any better, how silly to die from choosing to consider yourself a man from a pair of pants.” But the tea is, masculinity simply shifts into the norms we provide it, and more importantly, what we reproduce onto each other— and in 1912, that was it. We can learn from studying the history of gender and gender theory, sure, but I think it’s important as to what we can recognize from every day acts in history. That is exactly how gender functions, it’s always that on the surface and simultaneously, also incredibly that deep. If the Titanic sank today with all the strange gendered norms of evacuation, this exact same thing would happen. (Well actually, I’m sure what to do with non-binary folks would be a head scratcher to those old officers) but I believe that wholeheartedly. Which is why I reflect on my own relationship with masculinity when I hear this story and all the ways I feel it twist into my perception of myself and my role in performing it. (I would so make my way into a lifeboat, are you kidding me?)