I originally wrote this as a post for a class I am taking about Native American religious and spiritual practices. A component of this class includes an expectation that students experientially engage in individual rituals to deepen their understanding.
I’ll start by saying that I’m probably the person that gets pegged as “PC-er than thou” more often than not; I believe strongly in the power of words and that their usage, no matter the intent, can reify a negative paradigm or dominant structure when utilized by people who have no ownership of the term as a way of organizing their identity (e.g. people using pejoratives like gay or retarded to describe something as sub par.) And it’s that ownership thing that I’m struggling with in process to this class. I don’t have any ownership of Native American spirituality or identity.
Therefore, taking this class to enrich my intellectual, spiritual, emotional/empathic understanding of people of Native American identity or experience is important and relevant – both from a personal standpoint and, ultimately, professionally. However, the piece that I’m working on is the co-opting piece: experientially engaging in Native American spiritual practices, as they do not have the cultural, historical and personal significance to me that they would someone raised in that identity. I am especially cautious around co-opting or appropriating practices from traditionally oppressed cultures.
My privilege of being a Catholic-raised white man is that I do not get assumptions thrown at me on the basis of my skin color or gender or religious/spiritual upbringing, unless they are generally positive. Appropriating the practices of an oppressed culture is not understanding; it is often tokenizing, an eroticization of the “exotic” and discarding of a larger understanding of the complex issues, judgements and consequences of being perceived or identifying with an oppressed identity.
While this most certainly does not mean that I feel that I (or any other person) should remain in identity-exclusive spaces (much to the contrary!) it does make me cautious about approaching matters of such deep personal significance as spirituality and religion. This past Saturday, I went to a Seder for the first time in my life, and enjoyed it immensely. Through six hours, four cups of wine and more tasty vegan and gluten free food options any Portlander could shake a stick at, I was blessed to witness and participate in a ritual which was equal parts community building, laughter, religion, and testament to the importance of social activism.
On the way home, a friend and I briefly touched on the subject of appropriation. They mentioned that they, as Jewish person, had a rosary, and wondered, half-seriously, if that meant they had to get rid of it. I responded that would mean that I would have to get rid of my Buddha statues. And I think that’s the correct answer – for me, in this case. However, the issue becomes more complex when dealing with a people whose identities and ways of life have been fundamentally oppressed. I don’t know that I would be comfortable owning, for example, a dream catcher without putting some very intentional thought into why I felt I needed it and what significance, if any, it held in my spiritual practice.
There’s certainly more to say about the issue, but I’m curious on your take – how do you feel about entering into and engaging in the spiritual practices of traditions other than your own? How do you best do it in a mindful and intentional way? What are your thoughts on appropriation?
I’m packing to move – again – (this is a life ever on the move, it seems, nomadic in so many ways) and as I put my books in milkcrates borrowed from a friend, I keep a small stack aside. I’m assembling the list of books that I own that have shaped my understanding of open relationships. Essays, chapbooks, sex books from the sixties, stuff by Carol Queen and Pat Califia and Tristan Taormino; a bibliography of polyamory. It’s a nice little stack, although the titles, I think are not ones which generally grace the bibliography of an academic paper.
But then, it’s not often that I write about the deeply personal parts of my identity in an academic paper. I’m used to being the representative queer trans guy, and that’s fine, and I attempt to approach my papers from a queer perspective whenever possible. But the poly stuff: that’s deeper into my identity, personal in a way that talking about gender isn’t. And it concerns other people; the people I relate to or have some kind of intimate relationship with, however casual it may be.
So I get cagey around talking about this in an academic setting. I’m already the queer queer; that nerdy, slightly awkward guy that people sometimes slip pronouns on. I’m weird, but in the bounds of normal. Unless I start talking my love life and all that attaches to that… so I don’t. And that’s okay – in fact, that’s great, because I don’t want to have to explain that the way I do open relationships is not representative of the ways everyone else does open relationships, and that yes, I’m single, but that doesn’t mean I don’t see people and that they don’t mean something to me.
But however a person seeks to cover parts of their identity, it will come up in funny ways. This term, it’s through this class where I write about my life experience and tie it to academic theory for college credit. I could write my papers divulging this about myself, but it would be leaving a big chunk of my identity in the cold and a large bit of my personal experience.
And it would be a lie. I would be silencing myself out of shame for what other people might think about me. So I’m writing about practicing open relationships because this is my truth, and as I manifest myself into the person I want to be, it is a person that is not ashamed of who they are.
Which got me to thinking, as I pulled these books from my shelf to prove I’d done some reading (as that is how we prove we know things in academia) about polyamory – it got me to thinking about the ways in which us non-normative folk see ourselves reflected. Because this part of my identity certainly isn’t in the mainstream consciousness as anything but perverse… but my first exposure to non-monogamous relationships wasn’t through this stack of academic books and essays. It was in fantasy and science fiction. Mercedes Lackey, Marion Zimmer Bradley, and Guy Gavriel Kay were my teachers, hinting at ways to live and love outside of a monogamous pairing, and how to do it with honor, consideration and compassion. It was in fantasy that I first saw my role models for my reality.
I’m excited to say that I just finished hanging photos at In Other Words Feminist Community Center! Here’s more on the show itself:
Mobile Life
Art is where you find it.
The best camera is the one you have with you.
Life is beauty.
With these three ideas in mind, I chose to document the 2011 almost exclusively with my iPhone. It was a conscious choice to leave the house in the morning with just the iPhone, and one that I’ve enjoyed. It gives me freedom to take pictures whenever I want, without having to pull out my big DSLR, I could surreptitiously pull out my phone and snap a few photos without it becoming a huge event.
This was also great because it made me stay connected with some kind of creative outlet. It is so easy to be swept up into the business of life, of meetings and projects and deadlines, and to put that aside, even for a moment, creates a sense of connection for me. The understanding that we are all here for some great mysterious reason and that reason might be something more profound than the mundane activities I am currently scrabbling to finish.
All of the photos in this show are shot and edited via iPhone apps. Some of my favorites over the year (and I’ve tried many!) included Instagram, Iris, Photo Wizard, Hipstamatic, QBro, PicFX, Snapseed, Camera+, and 100 Cameras.
I am thankful for the opportunity to showcase some fruits of this project here, and happy to note that all purchases from this project will go directly to my top surgery fund.
If you can make it in to IOW, I would encourage you to do so — but if you can’t, and are interested in prints, let me know! Suggested donation for prints is $10 for 6″x6″ and $20 for an 8″x8″ or 8″x10″. Click here to see the full set of images from 2011 Mobile Life.
There's an interesting new book out called Seeking the Straight and Narrow:Weight Loss and Sexual Reorientation in Evangelical America. In it, author Lynne Gerber discusses the fascinating correlations between attitudes towards fatness and homosexuality.
In a Salon interview about the new book, she notes "If you think about what fatness and gayness represent, they are similar. One is a sort of excess; the idea that fat people have this excessive desire for food, and gay people are depicted as having this excessive sexual tendency. Excess is directly linked to social efforts to control those excesses, to get fat people down to size and gay people into the 'correct' sexual orientation." (Read full article here.)
Social efforts to control excesses, especially within a religious framework, are generally predicated on the notion that conformity is better than non-conformity. Visible deviance from the norm is often met with disdain; at the least, those who do not conform are treated as less than desirable and at the most they may be openly excluded from a group.
But what I wonder is this: why is conformity so desirable? Do we really want to just see others like ourselves? If I want to see myself reflected back, I'll go look in a mirror. The universe delights in variety; why should it be any different with people? It is our individual experiences which make us unique and beautiful creatures.
Why, then, is conformity so important?
Belonging to a group confers a sense of security. It provides us with the knowledge that there are people who know us and like us just as we are. In community, we have a validated identity and a bulwark against troubled times. However, that security can sometimes come at the sacrifice of individual identity, as individuals compromise their self-image to the will of the group.
But it doesn't have to be like that. We can create conscientious, inclusive community which delights in both the similarities and differences that we, as individuals, embody.
What do you think are some ways we can work to create truly inclusive community?
Saving it up a bit at a time! Many thanks to those folks who contribute to making this possible.