Amid the ruins of a roadside restaurant, once used as a base by Russian paratroopers and now strewn with torn uniforms and empty combat ration packs, certain truths about the war are evident to the battle-hardened Ukrainian sergeant.

Stepping triumphantly through the rubble, Sgt. Yuri Yunko Cherkonov enthuses about the two American-supplied HIMARS rockets that killed an estimated 20 to 30 elite Russian soldiers here on the northeast outskirts of Kherson, on the eve of Russia’s humiliating retreat last November from the southern city.

But even as he voices optimism that Ukraine will ultimately prevail, Sgt. Cherkonov acknowledges that his troops have sustained substantial losses and been exhausted by a war now grinding into its second year. And, he readily admits, as both sides prepare spring offensives, Ukraine’s eventual victory depends on the continued flow of Western weapons.

In visits to multiple points along Ukraine’s 600-mile eastern and southern front with Russia – from snow-encrusted trenches to frigid artillery and tank positions that rely on captured Russian hardware and ordnance – the optimism, the exhaustion, and the urgent need for the West’s more advanced weaponry are spoken of over and over.

“If not for the U.S., we would not be here now,” says Sgt. Cherkonov, wearing a green hat and red beard to ward off the cold, and a blue and yellow Ukrainian trident tattooed on the left side of his neck to signify his loyalty.

“I am so tired, and everyone is so tired,” he says of his last eight months in the trenches. He has been concussed, and carries pieces of shrapnel in his body.

Scott Peterson/Getty Images/The Christian Science Monitor

Ukrainian soldiers wearing white camouflage for fighting in the snow complete a training mission, as tank crews and soldiers prepare in front-line areas for an expected Russian offensive, in the southern Donbas region, Ukraine, Feb. 18, 2023.

He echoes voices heard elsewhere along the front – Europe’s longest and most active since World War II – when he says Russian military weakness demonstrated in the past year has provided Ukrainians with battlefield confidence. Such weakness resulted, for example, in sweeping Ukrainian counteroffensives last fall that recaptured swaths of the northeast Kharkiv region and liberated Kherson.

The message here is consistent: There is gratitude for $105 billion in U.S. weaponry and aid, granted or pledged, along with some $40 billion more from European allies. But to advance, Ukraine needs more main battle tanks, artillery systems, and ammunition. And to advance faster – to end the war sooner and save lives, the view here holds – requires even faster deliveries.

“We are still enthusiastic. … Tell [President Joe] Biden that we are standing for every human being,” says Sgt. Cherkonov, framing the conflict, as Ukraine’s President Volodymyr Zelenskyy often does, as a fight for freedom and democracy against out-of-date imperial authoritarianism. “The only thing that worries us is receiving the tanks, artillery, and longer-range shells in the time we need it.”

The frozen tank line

That timing, and the issue of quality versus quantity, are on the mind of one Ukrainian tank commander on the southeastern Donbas line. Falling snow piles up on his two T-64BV tanks, which left trails of crushed branches as they backed into forested hiding places, safe from Russian drones.

One is under repair, and the commander, who gives the name Yegor, jokes that 80% of any tanker’s life is spent keeping his armored beast alive. While these tanks are updated versions of a 1960s Soviet design, they still lack many capabilities of the Western tanks that Ukraine is seeking.

“This is the same as comparing a [Soviet-era 1970s] Zhiguli car with a Mercedes S-class 2021,” says Yegor. “With the technology that Western tanks have, I am sure that the level of success eliminating the enemy would be up to 90%.”

SOURCE:

Institute for the Study of War and AEI's Critical Threats Project

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Jacob Turcotte/Staff

He recalls the lopsided tank battles of the 1991 Gulf War, during which American and British tanks easily destroyed hundreds of Iraqi tanks – most of them T-72s acquired from the former Soviet Union.

“This is all the math you have to think about,” he says. “These [Russian tanks] are not made for quality. The Soviet Union and Russia think more about quantity.”

As snow gathers on his clothes and his fingers turn purple with cold, Yegor speaks about the sacrifices of Ukrainian tankers, and about fighting with “one spirit” against a foreign invader.

“I don’t speak to my family about the war. War is not something you can be proud of. We are doing the job that we have to do, because we are fighting for our survival,” he says.

“If we have all the Western weapons, at least in the numbers that [Ukraine] requested, then we will finish this quite soon,” Yegor says. “If we have more, this will be even faster.”

The “trophy” artillery

Feeding a campfire they built on frozen ground some 40 miles east of Yegor’s unit, members of the 1st Artillery Battery of Ukraine’s 59th Brigade wait for targets in the early morning sun, quaffing Red Bull and playing a popular combat video game on their phones.

The game draws players from around the world, and sometimes they are randomly paired on a virtual team with an actual Russian soldier, and keep striking at each other online, even when ostensible teammates. Other times there is laughter when a Ukrainian kills a Russian on a rival team.

The real war is only a few yards away, where this unit’s captured Russian 152mm cannon – acquired with 10 other Russian guns early in the invasion near Kherson and dubbed “Revenge” – waits to be dragged into position through icy ruts.

“It is a pleasure for us to kick the Russians with Russian weapons,” says Ivan Moroz, adding dried branches to the fire.

After a year of fighting, the trajectory is clear, says Nikita Bilinsky, the rat-a-tat of a video game gunbattle coming from his phone.

Scott Peterson/Getty Images/The Christian Science Monitor

After receiving a targeting order, a Ukrainian artillery team races to set up their 152mm cannon, which they call Revenge and captured from Russian troops early in the war, in the southern Donbas region, Ukraine, Feb. 19, 2023. The unit has put more than 3,000 shells through the gun, each round captured from Russian battlefield stockpiles.

“It was not Ukrainian strength that surprised us, but Russian weakness,” he says.

Suddenly, information for a target comes in, and the men mount up quickly for the ride to an open field, where the gun is set up for a target 14.8 kms (9.25 miles) away, toward Donetsk, which has been controlled by Russian-backed separatists since 2014.

The unit commander is Oleksandr, whose call sign is “Kirik.” A cigar-smoking joker with a few gold teeth and a growing TikTok following, he paints shells with messages for the “Sign My Rocket” crowdfunding website, to raise donations for everything from drones to medical supplies.

“The more weapons we receive from the West, the more lives we can save,” he says. “I don’t even need a new gun, but I need shells” to augment captured Russian stockpiles that are being quickly depleted.

Kirik calculates that his team members have fired 3,000 shells from this cannon in the eight months he has commanded it. The record was 98 in a single day against 30 targets, in the fight for Kherson.

“I love my trophy gun,” he says. “I can hit … a mosquito at 21 km. I have been offered better, but why take it?

“Why did the stupid Russians bring this gun here, so we can kill their own people – and they keep giving us ammo?” says Kirik, of the captured ordnance. “Do you know how many Russians we have killed with their own guns?”

Life in the trenches

The zig-zag trenches dug along Ukraine’s southern front area of Druzhba are immaculately cut, packed with freshly trodden snow, and marked by trees and branches smashed by daily exchanges of fire with Russian troops.

It’s a grim existence that smells of soil and late-winter cold. A soldier who gives the name Mykola dries his boots behind a blanket in a trench. His heater is fashioned from strips of cardboard rolled into a tin can and filled with wax.

“Last night there was shelling all night,” says Mykola, who has been here for 3½ months. He says a rotation of Russian troops, or a fresh ammunition delivery, triggers an increase in attacks from the Russian trenches, just 1,200 yards away.

For the Ukrainian infantrymen here, Russia’s invasion is reduced to a fundamental determination to persevere, no matter the cost along the 30 kms of front that their unit controls.

Scott Peterson/Getty Images/The Christian Science Monitor

The Ukrainian artillery team waits for targets for their captured 152mm cannon in the southern Donbas region, Ukraine, Feb. 19, 2023.

“Mortars, tanks. Everything that Russians have in war, they use here,” says Andrii “Wolf” Vovk, whose sharp middle-aged eyes peer unblinking from his trench. He tenses instinctively at the sound of a launched Russian mortar and his eyes dart up, until it is clear that it will land elsewhere.

“Of course, I am confident because I am on my own land, and protecting my motherland,” says the railway repair worker. “We know that when an enemy comes to our land, we need to eliminate them.”

The Ukrainians only return fire if Russian forces advance and expose themselves, says the local commander, called Vladyslav. This line has not moved in more than five months, but firefights are frequent.

“They have more people. They have more guns, bullets, and shells, so we can’t go forward,” says Mr. Vladyslav. “We need to wait. We need to exhaust them, then we can walk across.”

Responses to Grad rockets

Some 45 miles northeast of those trenches, carefully hidden beneath white camouflage netting strung up in trees between snow-covered sunflower fields, the Ukrainian BM-21 multiple-rocket launcher is fully loaded with 40 rockets.

The firing team stands beside a deep pit bunker, where a fireplace has been dug into the dirt wall. There is a constant risk of Russian drones, and concern that ammunition stores might not be replenished in time for heavy spring fighting. The U.S. alone has sent 50,000 of the 122mm rockets for this type of Grad launcher.

“There is never too much ammunition,” says the unit leader who gives the name Andrii. “We always need more.”

Scott Peterson/Getty Images/The Christian Science Monitor

A Ukrainian squad leader who gave the name Andrii stands in front of his team's BM-21 Grad 122mm multiple rocket launcher, camouflaged amid trees, after firing four rockets in the southern Donbas region, Ukraine, Feb. 20, 2023.

A firing order comes to hit a moving Russian infantry target and the netting is pulled back, the truck driven quickly into an open position. It fires four rockets at the target, this time about seven miles away, in the direction of Donetsk.

Even before the truck reverses back into hiding, an incoming shell strikes the next field. In the next 20 minutes, Russian artillery rounds fly toward targets in a nearby village. The whistle of shells causes a reaction among the soldiers, who anxiously gather closer to the entrance of their bunker.

Commander Yuri, who wears a skull patch on his uniform, jokes: “That’s the Russians inviting us to send more rockets.”

A forest of hidden tanks

Tucked away in a cold pine forest, on the northern fringes of the Donbas front toward Kreminna, is a company of Ukrainian tanks waiting for orders to redeploy – their numbers swollen by 16 captured Russian tanks.

The “trophies” are T-72 and T-80 tanks, among the best in Russia’s arsenal. Indeed, of the Ukrainian company’s nine fully operational tanks, seven are Russian.

“We don’t have the capacity to absorb all of these, and they aren’t all usable,” says Volodymyr, who commands three tanks. “We would like more to push [Russian troops] all out. … We need weapons, weapons, and more weapons.”

Scott Peterson/Getty Images/The Christian Science Monitor

Snow covers a Ukrainian T-64BV tank as it undergoes repairs while hidden in a forest, as Ukrainian tanks and soldiers prepare in front-line areas for an expected Russian offensive in the southern Donbas region, Ukraine, Feb. 18, 2023. The tank's commander jokes that 80% of any tanker’s life is spent keeping his armored beast alive.

“Of course, we are pleased and surprised to have all these,” muses Maksym, the company’s chief mechanic, snow crunching underfoot as he moves from one tank to another. “It has its good side, but the bad side is it puts a lot of pressure to get trophy tanks working.”

For Denys, a bearded tank driver with black padded headgear, an abiding memory of the battlefield – and of the poor state of the Russian invasion force – came in December, near Kreminna.

Denys says it would be a “big mistake” to “underestimate the enemy.” But he also describes how his tank lost its way and rolled directly into a Russian position.

As the Ukrainian tank backed away, the crew was surprised to hear the sound of rifle rounds bouncing off their armored turret. They saw one soldier – who appeared to them to be a mercenary from the Kremlin-backed Wagner group – emptying one magazine of bullets after another, pointlessly, at the tank.

They also saw Russian troops running away and then falling, one by one.

“They were being shot by their own guys for retreating,” recalls Denys, still shocked. And the Wagner fighter?

“We killed him.”

Oleksandr Naselenko supported reporting for this story.

Simon Montlake/The Christian Science Monitor

Nelson Rubio, a radio talk show host in Miami sits at his desk in a studio at Americano Media, a conservative media network, on Jan 5, 2023. Mr. Rubio, a Cuban-born radio and TV personality, hosts a morning talk show on a Miami AM station and is a director of radio programming at Americano Media, which launched in 2022.

“Buenos Dias Americanos!” Nelson Rubio leans into the microphone. It’s 6 a.m. and the sun has yet to rise on this metro area of 6 million, but Mr. Rubio – wearing a blue shirt under a gray checked jacket with a red pocket square – is already raring to go. Over the next three hours, as Miami’s highways start to congeal with commuters, the right-wing radio host will sound off on everything from the fitful election in Washington of new House Speaker Kevin McCarthy – “There is no Congress! It’s not getting done” – to the Biden administration’s regional diplomacy – “These are people who negotiate with dictators.” 

Mr. Rubio’s show used to be one of the signature programs on Miami’s Radio Mambí, a popular station and enduring symbol of identity among Cuban exiles. Mambí has been broadcasting here since the days of the Reagan administration and was for years a fixture for Republican candidates seeking Cuban-American votes in South Florida.

But last summer, Mambí was sold to an unlikely buyer: Latino Media Network (LMN), a startup run by two Democratic operatives with financing from mega-donor George Soros. The sale set off a political firestorm in Florida, where Republicans warned of left-wing censorship and propaganda. 

And it wasn’t just Mambí that changed hands. In all, LMN bought 18 Spanish-language stations in Florida, New York, Illinois, Arizona, California, Texas, and Nevada. 

The $60 million takeover – and the reactions it has sparked – is another flashpoint in the national battle to win over Latino voters, a fast-growing demographic that has long leaned Democratic but has lately grown more receptive to Republicans. So far, most Spanish-language radio in the U.S. has been focused on music and entertainment, not news or commentary. Which in the eyes of many makes it an untapped and lucrative means of political persuasion.

“Both sides are trying to capitalize on an audience that’s growing in numbers and being decisive on candidates’ future,” says Christian Ulvert, a strategic adviser to the Biden campaign in Florida in 2020.

Buying these radio stations is both capitalism and politics, says Mr. Ulvert. “It’s the new electorate. But it’s also a business enterprise,” he says. 

“It’s the epicenter”

In November’s midterms, Gov. Ron DeSantis led Florida’s GOP to victory with majority statewide support from Latinos, and flipped Miami-Dade County, where more than half the population is foreign born. Some Florida Democrats, though certainly not all, blame these defeats in part on “misinformation” aired on Mambí and other Spanish-language stations. They have welcomed LMN’s takeover as a way to fight back.

“Miami is to Hispanic media what New York is to English media. It’s the epicenter,” says Joe Garcia, a former Democratic U.S. representative for Miami-Dade. “What you want to do is have balanced coverage... [and] not be called a Marxist.” 

LMN’s co-founders, Stephanie Valencia and Jess Morales Rocketto, say they want radio stations to reflect the diverse culture of Latinos. In a statement, they said they would uphold the longstanding “spirit of liberty” at Mambí, but noted that they believed in “a free press which values verifiable facts and balance. All points of view will be welcomed and encouraged to debate in the free marketplace of ideas.” 

Mr. Rubio wasn’t convinced. 

Last July, he and two colleagues walked out at Mambí after a tense first meeting with its new owners. He says that Ms. Valencia, who worked in the Obama White House, had previously accused the station of spreading misinformation, which he denies that he personally did. 

“There was no room for people who think like us in that new company,” he says. 

But Mr. Rubio was soon back on the airwaves. In politics, as in physics, every action has an equal and opposite reaction. 

His new employer, Americano Media, is another media startup in Miami that has already raised $18 million to create Spanish-language news content for radio and TV, this time from a conservative standpoint with a laser focus on a national audience. 

“Hispanics are conservative. We just don’t admit this,” says Ivan Garcia-Hidalgo, founder and CEO of Americano Media, whose desk has a plastic model of a semi-automatic rifle in red, white, and blue among other objects. 

A former Trump surrogate, Mr. Garcia-Hidalgo says he first pitched the concept of a Spanish-language version of Fox News to national GOP officials and party donors. He pointed out that former President Donald Trump increased his share of Latino votes nationally in 2020 despite four years of mostly negative coverage of his presidency in Spanish-language media. 

“Imagine if we actually had an outlet, a media network, that he [Mr. Trump] could come on and we could get the message out. And everyone said, wow, you know what? It’s never been done. It’s never going to happen. Forget about it,” he says. 

Wilfredo Lee/AP/File

Florida Lt. Gov. Jeanette Nuñez, left, speaks at a news conference along with Cuban exiles, of their concern about the sale of two local Spanish-language radio stations, on June 8, 2022, at the Bay of Pigs Museum and Brigade 2506 headquarters in Miami's Little Havana neighborhood.

Eventually Mr. Garcia-Hidalgo found “individual patriots” who shared his politics and wanted to invest in a Hispanic network. Last March, Americano began broadcasting on satellite radio before adding a Miami AM station that now airs Mr. Rubio’s morning show, going head-to-head with his former station, Mambí.

But winning in Miami isn’t Americano’s mission. It’s in talks with radio stations across the country to carry its right-leaning daily news and opinion so it can become a force multiplier for Republicans in the next presidential election. “In 2024, we’re going to be everywhere. We’re going to be making sure that the message gets to everyone in the Spanish language,” he says. 

iHeart radio has agreed to carry Americano’s content on AM stations in Tampa, Orlando, and Jacksonville, and stream it digitally on its app. The iHeart announcement, expected later this week, comes as Americano celebrates its first year in business.

It also continues to build out its TV operation. From a refitted commercial TV studio in Miami, the company’s plan is to move from a test phase to streaming live news digitally, eventually adding bureaus in Washington and Las Vegas. 

The enduring power of radio

While TV is the top source of news for most Americans, radio continues to hold its own, and is even bigger for Latinos than for the general population, according to industry surveys and ratings. 

On the AM dial, English-language talk radio dominates. And of the top 10 national talkers, eight are steadfast conservatives, led by Fox’s Sean Hannity with a weekly audience of over 16 million. For years, Democrats have tried and failed to counter this right-wing radio tilt, most notably with the ill-fated Air America Radio in the early 2000s, leading some to conclude that liberal talkers simply can’t compete.

Most Spanish-language radio stations in the U.S. carry music, religious, or sports programming, not news and opinion. A 2019 study found only 31 news stations in Spanish, of which a third were in Florida. The news stations had seen declining revenues. 

Media executives say the ethnic and political diversity of the Latino population makes it harder to build a national audience for a talk show, which is why there is no Rush Limbaugh in Spanish. Station owners also prefer music to talk that might upset some listeners, says Fernando Espuelas, who hosted a popular left-leaning national talk show that was canceled by Univision in 2015. 

“For talk radio to be successful it has to have some zip to it. It has to have a point of view,” he says. 

All of which makes Miami’s vibrant radio culture unusual. “People still like to hear radio jocks,” says Alejandro Alvarado, a Mexican-born professor who directs the Spanish-language journalism program at Florida International University. “They want to have conversations with these hosts. It’s something that’s rooted in Miami.” 

Most of those conversations are among diehard conservatives, including Cubans and Venezuelans who despise the left in their native countries and apply the same lens to U.S. politics. 

Giancarlo Sopo, a GOP media consultant, grew up in Miami hearing Radio Mambí’s jingle. As a child, he recalls his father, a Cuban-born politician, taking him to the station when he was appearing on air. Cuba “had a very strong radio culture and the exiles brought it with them to South Florida,” he says.

But he’s perplexed that Democrats think that purchasing this or any other Spanish-language radio station can reverse an electoral slide. For one thing, the largest swing to Republicans among Latinos in Florida has come not from voters who currently get their news from Hispanic radio but from those who speak mostly English and skew younger. 

Democrats buying Mambí “has symbolic importance,” he says. “I don’t know that it’s going to move the needle for them in South Florida.” 

Yet despite skepticism about radio’s influence, Democratic pollster Fernand Amandi argues that the amount of misinformation spread by Hispanic stations is problematic and should be better regulated. 

A 2021 report by local nonprofits found that Mr. Rubio and other Mambí hosts had repeatedly spread false or misleading claims about voter fraud in the 2020 election and about the Jan. 6 riot by Trump supporters at the U.S. Capitol. 

A radio monitoring project by the Miami Herald ahead of the 2022 midterms, which Professor Alvarado helped run, found examples of misinformation on Mambí and other stations. But it also found balanced Spanish-language news coverage, including correction of false claims by partisan actors.

Free-speech principles – and a business model

So far, Mambí hasn’t changed its stripes. Under a leasing agreement with the former owners, the station has kept on the same management and its conservative hosts are speaking their minds, even criticizing Mr. Soros and the new owners on air.

Still, Ninoska Perez Castellon, a 26-year host on Mambí who declined to join Mr. Rubio’s walkout last year, recently resigned. “They’re trying to determine what is right and what is wrong,” she says, denying that her show spreads falsehoods.

Mr. Garcia-Hidalgo says that his new conservative-leaning network wants to air a range of views, including from Democrats, and let the audience decide. “We’re not in the convincing business. Political parties do that. That’s their job. We’re going to present both sides. I think that’s fair to Hispanics.” 

This also makes business sense, says Jose Aristimuño, a former spokesperson for the Democratic National Committee who co-hosts a nightly talk show on Americano. He’s happy to go to bat for Democrats on conservative media, whether in English or Spanish. “We need to be in the places where there is debate,” he says.

He says that Mr. Garcia-Hidalgo, whom he knows personally, also recognizes that hard-right opinion may hold limited appeal for America’s diverse Latino population outside Miami. 

Mr. Garcia-Hidalgo says his network first has to succeed commercially if it’s to move the needle on Hispanic votes at election time. “It’s about ratings,” he says. “You have to get the message across.” 

The “sweet science” of boxing speaks to a fighter’s finesse and fortitude. Succinctly, it is the art of hitting and not getting hit. As I watched the third “Creed” movie last weekend, which stars Michael B. Jordan and Jonathan Majors, I was also reminded of the “sweet science” of Black masculinity.

“Rolling with the punches” describes the experience of Black men in America well. We have shadowboxed with stereotypes, whether they were caricatures of brutality or notions that we’re unworthy and unwilling fathers. Those shadows end up being the stuff of nightmares, whether it’s the specter of gun violence or glimpses from a police camera.

Some believe that beauty is in the struggle, but perseverance is what compels me. “Creed III” masterfully toes the line between softness and savagery, trauma and triumph.

This dance began before the movie’s premiere. Mr. Jordan and Mr. Majors pulled off a compelling press run, capped with an introspective New York Times interview. What resonated more than the dialogue, which covered ambition and chemistry, was the lead photo. A stoic Mr. Majors has his arms wrapped around Mr. Jordan in a way that wasn’t intimidating nor intimating. It was the picture of masculinity, even as some people might have bristled at the notion of Black men sharing such an intimate moment. 

It reminded me of a photo of Mr. Jordan and late “Black Panther” lead, Chadwick Boseman. Mr. Jordan, who played Erik Killmonger, has his arm wrapped tightly around Mr. Boseman, the once and forever King T’Challa, who has both of his hands gripped around Mr. Jordan’s arm. After Mr. Boseman’s death, the image became even more poignant. 

Eli Ade/Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Pictures

Michael B. Jordan (left) and Jonathan Majors star in "Creed III."

Mr. Majors is no stranger to cover photo controversy. A series of February 2023 covers from Ebony magazine show him lounging amid a symphony of pink, at times surrounded by rose petals. After a social media storm, the publication’s editorial staff felt compelled to write an op-ed rebuking the idea that the shoot was an effort to “emasculate” Black men. The conversation captured the essence of toxic masculinity, which is often discussed from the perception of patriarchy, not from how it pigeonholes men.

It is fitting that this conversation occurred during the run of the third “Creed” movie, because there’s another famous boxing trilogy which became a war of words and stereotypes – Muhammad Ali versus Joe Frazier. The three fights became the stuff of legend. Now, we think of Mr. Ali as an activist, with good reason, and yet he degraded Mr. Frazier with ugly taunts. Their long standing angst is a reminder of how trauma can transcend from the physical to the metaphysical.

In that way, “Creed III” is more than a movie about two Black men tirelessly fighting each other. It is a movie about love lost, about idols becoming rivals. It is a movie about abuse and therapy, how nature and nurture can be the thinnest lines between victory and defeat.

During one of the climactic points of the movie, one of the lead characters refuted the need to heal, which reminded me of the beginning of “Father Time” by Kendrick Lamar: “Real [Negro] need no therapy.” That song is a commentary about harsh patriarchy. All through the track, Mr. Lamar laments “daddy issues” that taught him “being sensitive never helped.”

Of course, there’s always room to grow and heal. It’s why boxers take a break in between rounds, to assess damage and adjust strategy. Therapy is a part of the sweet science, and the proverbial fighter refuses it at his or her peril.

Eli Ade/Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Pictures

The relationships Adonis Creed (Michael B. Jordan) has with the women in his life, including his wife (Tessa Thompson), give him depth.

This attention to detail is what makes the third “Creed” film arguably the best of the “Rocky” series. While Mr. Majors’ role as an antagonist to Mr. Jordan’s Adonis Creed fuels our hero, it is the latter’s relationships with the women in his life that give him depth. There are “couples therapy” sessions with co-star Tessa Thompson, the motherly endurance of Phylicia Rashad, and Mila Davis-Kent as the scene-stealing daughter.

It’s a reminder that masculinity can choose partnership over patriarchy. Strength can be found in precision and in timing – specifically, taking the time to love. Some of the deepest cuts aren’t made with fists. They are made in the resolution to be better.

I am flashing back to a commonplace practice of mine – preparing fruit for my oldest son. He loves strawberries, and my sweet science is taking the red orbs out of the plastic pack, washing off a knife, and slicing off the floral tops. I will pick him up from school, and his question will always be the same: “What do you have for me?” It’s not an inquiry of greed, but one of expectation – of provision. 

His smile affirms the masculinity of a caring father. It is a gentle reminder that there are few things with the tensile strength of love, and that neither stereotype nor systemic racism can deter Black manhood.

Yesterday the temperature bottomed out at 19 below zero here in my corner of Maine. As I stood at the kitchen window, peering out at the frozen landscape, I watched as myriad birds flitted about the feeder. There was only about an inch of black oil sunflower seed remaining in the long plastic tube, and it was this scarcity that seemed to incite them to a frenzy of competition for the last grains.

Chickadees, nuthatches, juncos, house finches, goldfinches, and cardinals: As hardy as these species are, I still shivered for them as I watched their desperate bids for food in the biting cold.

My dilemma: Do I go out there to replenish the feeder or not? In addition to the cold, the snow was knee-deep. But I was snug inside with a cup of steaming tea in my hands. I was mindful of guidance from those in the know that once one starts to feed birds one must keep it up, especially during the winter when wild food is hard to come by. In essence, a feeder is a kind of compact: Yes, I’ll feed you if you simply continue to put your beauty and your antics on display.

When it comes to beauty, there are some stunning specimens, even at this latitude. I’ve already mentioned the cardinal, strikingly red against the snow. Another bird sporting a bright primary color is the blue jay. Then there is the rose-breasted grosbeak with its scarlet bib, the black-and-white checkerboard of the downy woodpecker, the buff and yellow of the cedar waxwing, and the subtler hues of the bluebird, said to be migrating farther north as global warming proceeds.

As for antics, they are abundant as well. Other birds seem to be aware of the cardinal’s majesty and unfussingly defer to it when it alights. The blue jay, on the other hand, blows into town like a Wild West gunslinger entering a saloon – everybody scatters. The chickadee – Maine’s state bird – is both acrobatic and tame: With patience it can be trained to eat from one’s hand. What could be more enchanting than that?

Which brings me back to my dilemma: to venture out or not? My hand was forced when a bluebird, flying from the feeder, banged into the window. I pressed my nose to the glass and saw it there, in the snow, the frigid wind fluffing its feathers as it sat motionless. 

That was it, then. I commenced the Maine cold-weather ritual of donning parka, scarf, knit hat, boots, and gloves. I opened the door and the air – sharp as flint – took my breath away. Pushing my way through the snow, I tripped over the drifts, all the while asking myself, how do they do it? How do birds and other animals survive this cold?

The bluebird was still on the ground. I carefully picked it up and cupped it in my hands, blowing warm air on it while the wind howled about us. Finally, the creature gave a vigorous flutter. I opened my hands and off it flew. 

Grabbing the feeder, I retraced my steps to the mother lode of seed kept under wraps on the back porch. I filled it to brimming, drew in a breath, and set out again, through the drifts, through the wind, tripping only once this time as I held the feeder aloft like a beacon of hope and promise.

And then – a small wonder. Just as I was reaching up to hook the feeder in place, a chickadee landed on my shoulder and emitted a chitter of anticipation. I was so taken by this that I froze in mid-reach, willing to endure the cold wind for the sake of protracting the moment. I hung the feeder and the chickadee hopped onto it to stake its claim. Stepping back, I watched as other birds arrived. Cold or no cold, they had a job to do.

As did I.

AP

Women walk up the stairs of the Commerzbank in Frankfurt, Germany, March 7. The stairs are decorated with reminders of equal pay for women and International Women's Day on March 8.

In a few weeks, Japanese companies will start disclosing their wage and salary levels under a new law designed to reduce a gender pay gap of 22%. The law is one of several taking effect this year around the globe in response to a stall in achieving pay equality. Yet despite the slow progress, a mental and cultural shift may be happening anyway, hastening equality in the workplace more than shaming or cajoling might.

In much of the corporate world, leadership has become less about biological sex and more about a blending of qualities associated with masculine or feminine. This shift presumes all individuals have a capacity to express such qualities.

“It is vital to balance masculine and feminine leadership styles within organizations,” notes Christophe Martinot, a Barcelona-based leadership consultant with Seeding Energy. “The idea of Feminine Leadership is not intended to create a binary opposition between men and women,” but to recognize that masculine and feminine qualities are not a matter of biology.

That idea is embedded in an observation in The Economist’s latest glass-ceiling index, an annual survey of women in the workplace published Monday. It found that “where fathers take parental leave, mothers tend to return to the labour market, female empowerment is higher and the earnings gap between men and women is lower.”

Such role reversals were hard to imagine in even the most progressive societies a generation ago. Now they yield quantifiable benefits. According to a survey of 163 multinational companies over a 13-year period, Harvard Business Review found that “firms with more women in senior positions are more profitable, more socially responsible, and provide safer, higher-quality customer experiences.”

A study by the business schools at Columbia, Stanford, and Duke universities found that “when women are in power, there is no longer a semantic tradeoff between likeability and strong leadership – shattering the myth that women can’t be both capable and kind.” “Breaking down gender norms,” the study observed, “increased women’s confidence and advancement into positions of power.”

It is unclear if laws compelling wage transparency will result in more equitable work employment between men and women. That uplift already rests on an active recognition that talent and worth are neither defined nor limited by physical identity.