Suzanne Harrington: Dear Will Smith - violence in the name of love is NEVER love

Will Smith: needs a dose of cop-on, says Suzanne Harrington

“Love will make you do crazy things.” Discuss.

Ah yes, the love-made-me-do-it defence, most recently wheeled out by a super-rich entertainer after he thumped another super-rich entertainer in a public arena - the Oscars - because of words he deemed unfunny. These words were directed at the thumper’s wife. Love made him do it.

But is it though? Love, I mean. I ask my partner, a man, and therefore a valid spokesman for all men everywhere, what he thinks. If someone made a mean joke at my expense in a public arena – the bus stop, say – would he thump them on my behalf? He looks horrified.

Not as horrified as I’d be. Can you imagine the stress of being with someone who goes around thumping other men because they ‘love’ you? And yet this is considered justifiable. Manly, romantic even. Dear God.

Obviously, there is a clear divide between intervening to physically protect someone from physical attack – of course you’d want your man, or anyone at all, to leap to your defence if someone (anyone) was physically threatening you – but hitting someone because they threw some words at you?

The thing is, women have words too. We can throw them back as we choose to. Or not. Having a man who goes around ‘defending’ you against non-physical slights is like having an unpredictable dog that goes around randomly biting people to ‘protect’ you. At least the dog is acting on dog instinct, because it’s a dog – what’s a man’s excuse?

When it comes to non-physical situations, there is none. Violence is for losers – quite literally, for those who have lost the power of words. But away from the swinging fists and blind testosterone, what does love-made-me-do-it do to a woman? 

It dehumanises us in a different way – it removes our agency, reduces us to frail objects without voice, renders us helpless when we are clearly not. It infantilises us. It is not love. It’s ownership, making the woman a passive extension of the man’s ego. A possession.

There are loads of crazy things you can do for love – like moving countries to be with someone you met on Tinder, or changing your surname when you marry someone. Building an extension on your house to accommodate your love’s marauding teenage children. Converting to their religion. Taking up golf. The list is endless.

But violence in the name of love is never love.

This is not about having someone’s back. Anyone who loves anyone will have their back, will look out for them, will look after them, and will be there for them. Love is about making someone a cup of tea, listening to them drone on about their bunions, and putting up with their hideous family. The daily stuff, the kindnesses, the empathic eye-rolls across a busy room.

But a man hitting another man to defend a woman from words is not empathic. It’s pathetic. Performative masculinity, toxic and self-important. Sit down, you donkey. Do some breathing.