Who is Da Man?

Warning: Highly offensive to breathas

Man. Many of us identify with this particular notion, for better or for worse. But throughout history, some great people have identified particularly strongly with “man”, it being part of their actual name. James Man (the Man in the Man-Booker prize); Barry Manilow; Katherine Mansfield; Spongebob Squarepants super villain Man Ray. But the most notorious Man of all? Da Man. One doesn’t have to travel far into the woke community or soul music to know that Da Man is keeping a lot of people down. I thought it was about time someone confronted him man to Man. So one fine Tuesday in Pōneke, I embarked on an investigation to find out: Who is Da Man?

First stop: Newly elected VUWSA President Michael Turnbull. President Turnbull has made a point of standing up to Da Man in his previous capacities as Wellbeing and Sustainability Officer, Welfare Vice President, School Strike for Climate agitator, and prominent kitchen anarchist in our flat. Surprisingly, he told me that Da Man wasn’t real. Apparently, he was a personification of traditional authority structures. Calling these “Da Man” emphasised their patriarchal nature and helped focus the anger of groups who felt neglected by society. I wasn’t convinced by this high brow academic take. Had President Turnbull climbed too far up the greasy pole of student politics? Had he gotten too close to Da Man, and been muzzled? Probably not, the bro will make a great President.

But deep down I still felt that I could find Da Man somewhere out there. Could it be Aloe Blacc? I remembered his 2013 single where he seemed to admit that he was “Da Man.” But a quick Google taught me that the song was in fact about “the man” and his real name was, in fact, Egbert Nathaniel Dawkins III. That was a very brief line of inquiry. I let the breeze carry me down Vivian Street, past the basketball courts well worn by the pounding of Air Jordan teens and their Air Jordan dreams. Out of the corner of my ear, I heard one such youth exclaim:

“Lay up! Da Man!”

I was intrigued, and asked who he was talking about.

“Well the bro Josh, he just did mad hops on the bro James over there.”

“So is Josh’s true identity Da Man?”

“Nah bro, he was just like Da Man when he went to the board. We call all the bros Da Man when they produce a particularly impressive athletic feat. Because Da Man is someone who is strong, fast, and possesses all of those traits that would have been so important to males in the evolutionary rat-race.”

What a delightful, insightful hooper.

Although I had not found Da Man on that court, I now had a good description to work with. I was able to pull some strings and get in touch with Salient’s undercover Otago Correspondent, whose name has been omitted for safety reasons. Apparently, they knew Da Man I was looking for. I was on the first flight to Dunners.

Mitch was a true blue southern man. He had been ever since he was spewed by the Auckland private school circuit onto Te Waipounamu two years ago. He landed only with a couple of brain cells, a handful of serotonin, and a steady supply of Daddy’s money. Word had been going round that he was in fact Da Man ever since he “played a mean set at The Castle.”

“Shoulda seen it man the beezies were all over him but all he wanted to do was punch darts, haha brleskssghooo”.

However, I knew this couldn’t be true as soon as I saw him emerge from a cloud of mango Haiz™. With a beer gut and feeble legs, he possessed none of the physical prowess described to me by the basketballers. He failed to hold down his coffin of Billy Mavs that night, and I realised this couldn’t be the man responsible for holding down so many oppressed minorities for centuries.

Mitch was not Da Man. Rather, he was the product of a cult of young men who had been given everything on a silver spoon. Everything, that is, except a meaningful connection with their fathers. Thrown together still wet behind the ears, these lonely boys learnt their manhood in hallways of highschools named for anachronistic Saints, in double garages hazy with smoke, and in the backseats of Range Rovers.

Like the ghost of St Patrick’s days past, I roamed Castle Street. All the young dudes were throwing up their goons in the gutters, but Da Man was nowhere to be seen. I realised that if I couldn’t find him in this southern bastion of human excellence, I wouldn’t find him anywhere.

I thought back to what President Turnbull told me. Perhaps Da Man was a concept all along. But there was so much more to him than traditional authority and the patriarchy. To be Da Man is to be powerful in any domain. Whether on the VUWSA exec, a basketball court, or the decks, anyone can become Da Man when they exert control or mastery. Sure, this notion derives some pretty old fashioned thinking, whether it is seeing only men as powerful, or talking about all of humanity as man.

But truly anyone can become Da Man. In those situations where we find ourselves being looked up to as Da Man, what will we do with our fleeting authority/admiration? As someone who has been Da Man on/off for nearly two decades, Kanye West, asks:

You got the power to let power go?

We must also take responsibility for who we elevate to Da Man status. The next time you call someone Da Man, are they really tho? Remember the wise words of warrior poet Halsey:

No, you're not half the man you think that you are

And you can't fill the hole inside of you with money, drugs and cars

I'm so glad I never ever had a baby with you