For this entry to make sense, you have to read this article on raising a genderless child first. It's about raising the child without external cues of his/her own gender, not about raising a child with a biologically ambiguous gender. It's posted on my FB so some of you have probably already read it.
I also suspect that some friends who read it from my page were so outraged or disturbed by the premise that they didn't even bother to comment with their disagreement. It seems like a polarizing idea. Kevin, my co-blogger here, voiced his vehement disagreement with what these parents are doing to their children. I am going to defend it here (at least, why I think it's a deeply loving intention, if not a practical or effective one).
So, these parents want to raise their youngest child without outward cues to his/her gender. They haven't told anyone that it's a girl or a boy. The child's name is Storm, and Storm's clothing, grooming, and toys are not gender-bound. I think the question that comes to mind is, "Why would you conduct this gender experiment on your own child, not knowing what sort of identity-related or social harm could come to him/her as a result, when you should just get over yourselves and allow the child to learn his/her gender in the conventional, usual way?" And I think there is an underlying assumption that the vast majority of children socialized typically are well-adjusted in their gender. Sure, there may be an occasional guy who has to defend his cheerleading or girl who has to prove her technological prowess, but overall these are healthy people.
But that's the flaw. I think this is an erroneous assumption. The usual way is NOT harmless. I will use myself as an example, because that's the only thing I'm an expert at. I'm female, and was raised as such, but I don't remember much pressure to conform to that role too terribly. I played soccer in 1st grade, refused to join Girl Scouts because I didn't want to "sell cookies" while boys were off starting fires, wore pants all the time, was forbidden to wear makeup until high school (and even then, it was restricted to really neutral colors), and hated New Kids on the Block (like, a LOT). I don't remember my parents ever saying things to me about my gender and what would be best according to it, in any area of my life. Neither my mom or my dad has ever wistfully daydreamed aloud or dropped hints to me about getting married or having kids.
And yet, as neutral and supportive as my upbringing was, as proud as I feel to have both masculine and feminine traits, I still bear some ugly marks of internalized sexism. I GOT THE MESSAGE, even though no one was saying it to me explicitly. I LIVE THE MESSAGE, even though I don't rationally consider it valid.
Example: I wear high heels. Not all the time, and not super-ridiculous ones (usually). But I do enjoy wearing pretty, interesting high heels. I probably wouldn't think of going to a wedding or a nightclub wearing flats. Why? Oh, high heels are sexy. To whom? I have a boyfriend; why am I trying to look sexy? Because for women, looking sexy is considered a virtue--something that can get you anything from better treatment by strangers to free tires (just ask Sam, my clasmate). Well, they're also fashionable. Who defined fashion and why do I give a shit? I'd probably hate those people if I knew them! Or maybe they give me confidence. Again, why would shoes that squeeze my feet and increase the difficulty of walking (I mean, I can do it but I wouldn't do a 5K in heels) lend me extra confidence?
The point I'm making is, we are not as well-adjusted about gender as we think we are. The damage is there, but it's invisible. We're used to it. Sometimes I think about rejecting all these gender norms: I'll quit wearing makeup, stop doing my hair (which I do hate to do), and let my eyebrows get scraggly. But in the end, I just don't want to give these things up--not because I like them so much, but because I know that they give me a social currency that I'm afraid to go without. Ironically, I am far from the super-feminine ideal, but even I struggle with relinquishing a strong feminine identity, even if it means I am presenting myself to the world more as an individual and less as a generic female.
And it's not just physical appearance. There are things I learned from the media or society about how to talk to a man, how to act on a date, what guys like, what you can do that will earn cool points with guys. I am still trying to undo that damage. In fact, I have some habits and routines that I picked up so long ago (i.e. in childhood) that I have no idea whether I actually prefer them or not, because I've basically brainwashed myself into thinking they are good. Those parts of my identity are permanently gone. Even when I try to re-evaluate them, I know that I'm biased from a lifetime of wanting the approval of society and strategizing to obtain it.
This hasn't been devastating in a dramatic way to my psyche. Obviously, I get along fine and I have been able to undo some of the gender programming that I picked up throughout my life. And indeed, some of that programming makes society flow more smoothly and gives people direction when they are confused. But I think it's faulty to assume that being raised with a prescribed gender role is essentially harmless, and being raised without one is dangerous. There is plenty of harm (and perhaps plenty of good) in receiving strong gender messages from birth onward. When we are socialized so early to our gender, we are sent down a path that becomes more and more treacherous; it becomes less about Barbies and Hot Wheels, and more about drowning out your own voice in favor of the voices of others, which sets the stage for self-rejection and self-doubt. I think these parents are hoping to avoid *some* of that harm. Whether their alternative is detrimental to Storm by some other fashion, I don't know. But I don't think their reasoning is as wacky as it might seem on the surface.
And now, Kevin will offer a rebuttal. (At least, that's what I'm hoping he'll do after reading this.)
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Sunday, May 15, 2011
On arguing with fence posts
In my last post, I explained why rational argumentation is often ineffective and may sometimes backfire. The gist of my argument against rational arguments is that people do not approach their religious and political beliefs from a position of rational neutrality. Rather, these belief systems are fundamentally rooted in our social identities, and they are buffered against contradictory evidence by numerous cognitive processes.
But does this mean that rational argumentation is never worthwhile? Should we tolerate ideas and policies that appear to us as absurd, irrational, or destructive simply because they are part of someone’s culture? Is the only alternative to cower in a state of impotent, politically correct accommodationism? No, no, and no. This post will outline a middle-of-the-road alternative to confrontation and passivity.
1. Be affirming – We too often assume that people disagree with us because they are ignorant, complacent, or just plain immoral. This is rarely the case. People have very good reasons for believing what they believe, since beliefs are nothing less than adaptations to experience. Since we are not experts on another person’s experience, we cannot be experts on their personal beliefs. Most pro-lifers are not against abortion because they thought, “The Bible says that an embryo is a fully living human being, so abortion is wrong.” Rather, you can bet their beliefs about abortion were framed around previous experience, e.g. feeling sadness for a relative who fell into a deep depression following her abortion or enduring humiliating criticism from a parent when doubting the future of her own pregnancy. There is a history behind beliefs, and that history rarely includes a systematic analysis of "empirical evidence." Finally, never, ever use the word “irrational.” It only communicates your sense of moral superiority and serves to alienate your opponent.
2. Be subtle – The New Atheist approach of “your belief is wrong, and here’s why” will almost certainly fail with most believers of any faith, political or religious. In order to tackle a morally offensive belief – say, bigoted policies against immigrants in Arizona – we need to be less direct in our criticism. For example, when confronting harsh laws against immigrants and minorities, rather than trying to convince people that all Americans descended from immigrants or that their views sound eerily similar to the Ku Klux Klan, we could appeal to their compassionate side by emphasizing the financial burden of immigrants, their need to provide for their families, or at the very least our obligation to protect minorities who are actually citizens of our country from discrimination or unfair treatment. And again, be ready to abandon your endless citations of “empirical evidence,” because more often than not, it’s a tactic that will convince only scientists, and even then it’s a crapshoot.
3. Be perceptive – Listen for the subtext of a person’s beliefs – people are often saying more than what they communicate verbally. I mentioned earlier that beliefs are adaptations to experience, i.e. they serve a purpose beyond logical coherence. These experiential reasons are far more persuasive than so-called rational arguments about concepts and abstractions because they are connected to a person’s strategies for maintaining his relatedness to others, negotiating conflict, understanding his place in the world, etc. We cannot sacrifice these functions so long as we are human, so we need to frame our arguments in a way that allows our opponents to discard their beliefs while also acknowledging the purpose that belief previously fulfilled. For example, someone who is compelled to believe in the literal truth of the Bible because his religious community ostracizes anyone who believes otherwise will never listen to your litany of Biblical contradictions. He will choose community over logic every time, guaranteed.
4. Be diplomatic – When you reach an impasse, accept that you are not the expert on the topic in question, communicate that acceptance, and defer any further discussion to someone who your opponent would be more likely to trust. There are plenty of Christians who believe in evolution and plenty of conservatives who are against imperialistic warfare, and these culturally similar individuals are far more likely to persuade people who are both skeptical of your beliefs and acutely aware of your different sociocultural background. It’s unfortunate that tribal identities and us-and-them thinking are such a central part of human psychology, but if we hope to navigate the obstacles to collaborative discussion, we’ll have to start with people at their most primitive.
5. Be vulnerable – We need to communicate the human side of our beliefs by including examples from our own experience. If you meet someone who believes that atheists are amoral baby-eaters, offer to share your approach to ethics. Be sure to include some of the errors you’ve made over the years, and explain how you’ve struggled through sticky ethical questions that may not have had a clear answer. People need to believe that an alternative to their current belief system is possible, and they can only do so if you do not present yourself as a hyper-rational, emotionally-detached robot who has never suffered, failed, or fallen short of his ideals. They need to know, in essence, that you are human, not simply an expert on humanity.
This is only a rough sketch of ways we can make our dialogue more effective. I hope they’re enough to convince you that we can persuade people without alienating them or sacrificing our own values, but I’d also love for you to challenge me to defend them. I never turn down a good argument.
Friday, May 13, 2011
A rational argument against rational arguments
Listen up, my fellow champions of science, reason, and secular values: we’re doing it all wrong. That’s right, put down your copy of Why I Am Not a Christian and stop channeling your inner Hitchens, because it’s time we take an honest look at our tactics.
We thought we were doing our part to encourage rational thought and fight ignorance, superstition, and prejudice. The task was simple enough: present theists with scientific evidence against their supernatural claims, and their silly beliefs will evaporate like vampires in the sun. Show conservatives that their policies are unequivocally destroying our society, and they will collapse under the weight of reason. Beat them over the head with enough facts, figures, publications, graphs, statistics, and eye-opening documentaries, and eventually they’ll see the Truth.
It sounds reasonable enough, so why are they not convinced? Have they not received enough knowledge? Are they hopelessly ignorant? Gullible? Mentally impaired? Here’s a hint: replace “knowledge” with “grace” and exchange “ignorant” for “evil,” and you’ll begin to understand how backward our approach has been – we’ve become evangelists.
It turns out that all the debating and fact-checking and confrontation have done more damage than the anti-science/anti-secularism camp could have done in a generation. We’ve set up another religious dichotomy between the faithful and the fallen and appointed ourselves as the arbiters of all that is good, honest, and reasonable. The New Atheists are actually the New Priesthood, and we’re destroying our reputation as swiftly as crusaders in the Middle East.
But I can already hear the guttural cries of “Heresy!” I know what you’re thinking: Don’t you believe that science is the one true path to understanding the natural world? Of course I do. My criticism is not directed our message itself but rather at our style of communication and how we interact with people who disagree with us. It’s about process, not content.
If we ever hope to persuade other people that religion does not belong in the science classroom, that government is about protection rather than control, and that non-theists deserve their freedom from religious influence, we need to understand that we are having conversations with people and not with ideas. People will never react positively to ridicule, sanctimony, or public humiliation. They don’t like it when you ask them to discard their sense of identity or the culture that was handed down to them by people whom they love and respect. And they really hate the word “irrational.”
I know, I know. You are the kind of person who is invariably calm and respectful, and you even have a few friends who are conservative/religious/superstitious. But – here’s some more bad news – even if we restrict ourselves to a civil debate and refrain from alienating our opponents, we have at best made them a little less likely to believe that atheists eat babies, as commendable as that is. The real problem is not just that we are often abrasive and dogmatic but that we have been ignoring some very basic principles of human psychology.
People will never be as rational as we expect them to be because they do not structure their thoughts and behavior according to formal logic. Our beliefs and thought processes are largely unconscious, automatic, and determined by multiple, often conflicting motives. In other words, we often don’t know what’s going on in our heads, and consequently, our thoughts, feelings, and beliefs are usually beyond our control.
Take some of the findings from cognitive science, for instance. The principle of cognitive dissonance explains why people find evidence that contradicts their existing beliefs to be highly aversive. When we are confronted with two conflicting beliefs, we are more likely to rationalize the position we already hold or discredit the opposing one. Another principle, the backfire effect, takes this resistance a step further: people actually become more certain of their beliefs when they are directly confronted with disconfirmatory evidence. And an emerging field of study called Terror Management Theory describes our tendency to entrench ourselves in our respective systems of belief and our group identities during periods of stress.
You'll notice that I've used words like "identity" and "culture" to discuss public attitudes toward ostensibly objective facts. Am I, as many New Atheists would claim, "accommodating" their backward views by providing them with an excuse to be irrational? In other words, is it okay to believe patently stupid things simply because everyone else in your social group believes them? The answer is no on both counts, although there is a grain of truth to their concerns: I am asking my fellow atheists, agnostics, freethinkers, and secular humanists to consider the human factors behind the beliefs. These beliefs are inextricably linked to our needs for identity, community, and meaning. That is why rational argument is insufficient as a means of changing them.
This is just a sample of scientific justifications for a new approach to our disagreements. If we want our conversations to end with “Wow, you’ve really given me something to think about,” rather than “That’s just what I believe,” we need to make our tactics more consistent with the findings of psychological science. In a later post, I’ll talk about a few ways we can make our arguments more persuasive.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
So what does "queer" mean anyway?
I feel less ambiguity about the topics of gender and sexuality than I do about the topics of race and ethnicity. I think it's because I grew up hearing (or noticing) fewer messages about gender than I did about race. I felt less pull from others to be complicit in their homophobia than in their racism. Still, sexuality is a big interest of mine, and I do want to ponder sex and gender as they come up (haha).
Well, now is as good a time as any: my friend posted a blog entry about her queer identity a couple of weeks ago, and apparently it's getting some circulation. I just now read it and would love to add her voice to the (meager) discussion here. Check out her post and see what sort of reactions it inspires in you.
At some point I will get back to telling stories and sharing thoughts of my own, but for now I'm happy to share other people's thoughts and work while mulling mine over.
Well, now is as good a time as any: my friend posted a blog entry about her queer identity a couple of weeks ago, and apparently it's getting some circulation. I just now read it and would love to add her voice to the (meager) discussion here. Check out her post and see what sort of reactions it inspires in you.
At some point I will get back to telling stories and sharing thoughts of my own, but for now I'm happy to share other people's thoughts and work while mulling mine over.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Tim Wise on Donald Trump
Tim Wise is a race-relations "essayist, author, and educator," as described by his website. I saw him speak at Baylor and I have one of his books, White Like Me. I'm only about halfway through (school prevented me from reading more than a few pages at a time), but I really like his smarmy style and he gives me a lot to think about. Sometimes, he writes something so presumptuous, so "race-card" sounding, that it gives me pause, even with my aspirations to educate myself about race in America. Invariably, I stop and ask myself if my doubt is just another product of having grown up without the burden of systemic discrimination. Sometimes I remain skeptical, but it's a good thought exercise and I still love reading what he has to say on history and current events.
He wrote a piece on Donald Trump's racism that I wanted to invite you guys to read.
By the way, Tim Wise is white. Several times, I have found myself wondering why he has resonated with me more than minority individuals who speak or write on racism. Maybe I relate to his perspective more than to someone who has suffered from lack of white privilege. Maybe it was serendipity; Baylor didn't invite a speaker of color to give the keynote address at the Multicultural Summit. Hmm, I wonder why. Maybe, no matter how articulate and credible a minority speaker is, a white guy will still sound more credible--to a campus of Baylor students, to the Baylor administrator who wrote the check to pay Tim Wise, or to a half-white woman who has absorbed society's messages about race and is only now starting to question them.
(Note to self: find writers from other cultural perspectives who write about race in an engaging, educational way. Note to others: maybe the Baylor audience that day was representative of the diversity of our country; maybe the person who wrote the check is a minority; maybe Tim Wise's race played no part in making it "easier" for me to believe his message. But if I had to put money on it, I would guess not.)
He wrote a piece on Donald Trump's racism that I wanted to invite you guys to read.
By the way, Tim Wise is white. Several times, I have found myself wondering why he has resonated with me more than minority individuals who speak or write on racism. Maybe I relate to his perspective more than to someone who has suffered from lack of white privilege. Maybe it was serendipity; Baylor didn't invite a speaker of color to give the keynote address at the Multicultural Summit. Hmm, I wonder why. Maybe, no matter how articulate and credible a minority speaker is, a white guy will still sound more credible--to a campus of Baylor students, to the Baylor administrator who wrote the check to pay Tim Wise, or to a half-white woman who has absorbed society's messages about race and is only now starting to question them.
(Note to self: find writers from other cultural perspectives who write about race in an engaging, educational way. Note to others: maybe the Baylor audience that day was representative of the diversity of our country; maybe the person who wrote the check is a minority; maybe Tim Wise's race played no part in making it "easier" for me to believe his message. But if I had to put money on it, I would guess not.)
Monday, April 25, 2011
Spike vs. Tyler
Apparently there's been some beef brewing between Spike Lee and Tyler Perry. I hadn't really been following the story so I don't know when it began, but I found this recent post containing one person's summary of the situation. This is another good entry, with short clips of both directors' viewpoints. Both these links are short, interesting reads.
I love watching movies and I really enjoy analyzing them in my head or with another person. Spike Lee is one of my favorite directors, for movies such as 25th Hour, Summer of Sam, Inside Man, When the Levees Broke, and Bamboozled. I am trying to work my way through his catalog and I've also seen Do the Right Thing, Girl 6, She Hate Me, and Malcolm X. I have several more to get to and I look forward to seeing them.
I've only seen one Tyler Perry movie, and it was by accident: Daddy's Little Girls was playing on TBS one night and I got sucked in at the beginning. Before that, I had only known him as some playwright who had started making movies with his name at the beginning of every title, like Blake Edwards. In fact, I thought he was a woman for a while due to the title Tyler Perry's Diary of a Mad Black Woman. Anyway, I vaguely knew that his movies had a reputation of being silly and vapid, like all those Nutty Professor spin-offs. But Daddy's Little Girls surprised me with its relatively feasible storyline, occasional weighty moments, and general lack of the ridiculousness I had heard of in association with Tyler Perry. It was a cute romantic movie which also dealt with some class issues and defied some stereotypes. For example, the main character is a loving, devoted father who shares custody of his three daughters with a negligent, vindictive ex (a reversal of the usual male-female roles). However, it does reinforce other stereotypes, such as when the dad reaches his wit's end and deals with his ex's drug-dealing, abusive new boyfriend by giving him a public beatdown (to the tune of Sam Cooke's poignant "A Change is Gonna Come"). That beatdown scene, by the way, is heartbreaking and triumphant in the context of this movie, but it still doesn't do much for the male violence problem.
I haven't seen any other Tyler Perry movies, but it is generally accepted that the man is business-savvy and Not An Obvious Douchebag. Some might argue that Perry just cranks out mediocre entertainment to make money off a complacent black audience, and that he exploits black stereotypes for cheap laughs. That is in fact Spike Lee's argument (he calls it "coonery buffoonery"). But Lee has just as much a niche as Perry does; Lee makes jarring, complex, uncomfortable movies that examine (among other things) what it's like for dozens of different racial and ethnic communities to live in the packed sardine can called New York City. But not everyone lives in NYC, and not everyone shares his experience of cultural and racial reality. When Lee criticizes Perry's work, it seems a little bit too much like he's saying, "THIS is the black experience you should be portraying. The one you've chosen to portray isn't valid."
Even on Perry's sitcoms, I find some interesting storyline twists that make me think. There was an episode of House of Payne where the suburban married mother of three ended up relapsing into drug addiction and leaving her family behind. Is that a tired African American media cliche, or is it a realistic portrayal of the kinds of situations that Americans struggle with today? For every person who cringes at what they see as negative portrayals of minorities, there's gotta be someone (like me) who finds it surprising and refreshing that a sitcom is willing to even go there. Actually, here's a quote from Wikipedia about the show, confirming my impression of its tone: "While primarily a comedy sitcom, House of Payne is known for featuring dark themes and subject matter, such as substance abuse and addiction..." This has got to be a good thing.
But I also love Lee's cerebral approach to the issues that face Americans today, and I would never want him to start making goofy, crowd-pleasing movies (although I think he has been trying to increase his mass appeal with later movies). And I haven't seen any Madea movies but maybe they are insufferably trite and stereotypical (research to follow). And while Lee's criticism of Perry may or may not be warranted, he is definitely correct about some aspects of Hollywood such as the Magical Negro and tokenism.
It's an interesting debate. I think they both have important, valid points. What do you guys think about Spike Lee? What do you think about Tyler Perry? Is Lee too inaccessible, judgmental, and unsupportive? Is Perry a sellout who is sabotaging black cinema? Any movie recommendations?
(I need to watch some more Tyler Perry. As for Spike Lee, my favorite movie of his is Bamboozled, which I have watched several times, most recently last night. My boyfriend and I had a thoughtful discussion afterward on the Spike vs. Tyler topic, African American portrayals in the media, and how hard (impossible?) it is to truly comprehend and appreciate the issue without living inside it on a daily basis.)
I love watching movies and I really enjoy analyzing them in my head or with another person. Spike Lee is one of my favorite directors, for movies such as 25th Hour, Summer of Sam, Inside Man, When the Levees Broke, and Bamboozled. I am trying to work my way through his catalog and I've also seen Do the Right Thing, Girl 6, She Hate Me, and Malcolm X. I have several more to get to and I look forward to seeing them.
I've only seen one Tyler Perry movie, and it was by accident: Daddy's Little Girls was playing on TBS one night and I got sucked in at the beginning. Before that, I had only known him as some playwright who had started making movies with his name at the beginning of every title, like Blake Edwards. In fact, I thought he was a woman for a while due to the title Tyler Perry's Diary of a Mad Black Woman. Anyway, I vaguely knew that his movies had a reputation of being silly and vapid, like all those Nutty Professor spin-offs. But Daddy's Little Girls surprised me with its relatively feasible storyline, occasional weighty moments, and general lack of the ridiculousness I had heard of in association with Tyler Perry. It was a cute romantic movie which also dealt with some class issues and defied some stereotypes. For example, the main character is a loving, devoted father who shares custody of his three daughters with a negligent, vindictive ex (a reversal of the usual male-female roles). However, it does reinforce other stereotypes, such as when the dad reaches his wit's end and deals with his ex's drug-dealing, abusive new boyfriend by giving him a public beatdown (to the tune of Sam Cooke's poignant "A Change is Gonna Come"). That beatdown scene, by the way, is heartbreaking and triumphant in the context of this movie, but it still doesn't do much for the male violence problem.
I haven't seen any other Tyler Perry movies, but it is generally accepted that the man is business-savvy and Not An Obvious Douchebag. Some might argue that Perry just cranks out mediocre entertainment to make money off a complacent black audience, and that he exploits black stereotypes for cheap laughs. That is in fact Spike Lee's argument (he calls it "coonery buffoonery"). But Lee has just as much a niche as Perry does; Lee makes jarring, complex, uncomfortable movies that examine (among other things) what it's like for dozens of different racial and ethnic communities to live in the packed sardine can called New York City. But not everyone lives in NYC, and not everyone shares his experience of cultural and racial reality. When Lee criticizes Perry's work, it seems a little bit too much like he's saying, "THIS is the black experience you should be portraying. The one you've chosen to portray isn't valid."
Even on Perry's sitcoms, I find some interesting storyline twists that make me think. There was an episode of House of Payne where the suburban married mother of three ended up relapsing into drug addiction and leaving her family behind. Is that a tired African American media cliche, or is it a realistic portrayal of the kinds of situations that Americans struggle with today? For every person who cringes at what they see as negative portrayals of minorities, there's gotta be someone (like me) who finds it surprising and refreshing that a sitcom is willing to even go there. Actually, here's a quote from Wikipedia about the show, confirming my impression of its tone: "While primarily a comedy sitcom, House of Payne is known for featuring dark themes and subject matter, such as substance abuse and addiction..." This has got to be a good thing.
But I also love Lee's cerebral approach to the issues that face Americans today, and I would never want him to start making goofy, crowd-pleasing movies (although I think he has been trying to increase his mass appeal with later movies). And I haven't seen any Madea movies but maybe they are insufferably trite and stereotypical (research to follow). And while Lee's criticism of Perry may or may not be warranted, he is definitely correct about some aspects of Hollywood such as the Magical Negro and tokenism.
It's an interesting debate. I think they both have important, valid points. What do you guys think about Spike Lee? What do you think about Tyler Perry? Is Lee too inaccessible, judgmental, and unsupportive? Is Perry a sellout who is sabotaging black cinema? Any movie recommendations?
(I need to watch some more Tyler Perry. As for Spike Lee, my favorite movie of his is Bamboozled, which I have watched several times, most recently last night. My boyfriend and I had a thoughtful discussion afterward on the Spike vs. Tyler topic, African American portrayals in the media, and how hard (impossible?) it is to truly comprehend and appreciate the issue without living inside it on a daily basis.)
Monday, April 18, 2011
My Black Neighbor
I have an embarrassing history of being a poseur. I'm one of those people who pretends to hear the joke and laughs, or pretends to understand it and laughs. I have acted like I knew what drug paraphernalia was to avoid looking lame (backfire: I was wrong!), and I used to fib about having met Lenny Kravitz once at a concert (my friends did, but I had lost them in the crowd earlier).
Sometimes I think my tendency to be a "poseur" relates to Atkinson, Morten, and Sue's 1989 model of racial and cultural identity development (R/CID). There are five stages: conformity, dissonance, resistance and immersion, introspection, and integrative awareness. Likewise, I think that we of the majority go through similar stages when developing our own awareness of diversity, as well as our own racial identity.
(I am half-minority, but so often I find myself relating to the experiences of Caucasians more than the experiences of Asian-Americans. I have experienced racism and insensitivity for being Asian, but overall I feel like I've somehow slipped through the cracks into Caucasian acculturation.)
Anyway, so I conformed to the majority identity for most of my life, and then dissonance started slipping in. I remember that my dad spoke with hostility about rap and hip hop, glaring or ranting if a rap video happened to be on MTV when he walked through the living room. Would you believe that I didn't feel okay about liking a hip hop song until well into college? It's true. I felt weird about it, like I wasn't supposed to be listening, like it wasn't made for my ears, like it would make me seem...lesser.
Somewhere along the line, I lightened up and started attributing value to music and other art forms that are sometimes diminished by Caucasians. Here's an example: I love most of Spike Lee's movies. If I understand correctly, his reputation among many Caucasians is that he's a race-card blowhard, kind of like the film director equivalent of Al Sharpton. I am fascinated by his treatment of race, enjoy his style of cinematography, and count Bamboozled among my Top Five.
But sometimes I feel like maybe I am kind of stuck in the resistance and immersion stage of cultural awareness. I took African-American history in college...to learn more, or to earn credibility? I have seen The Roots and Outkast and Lauryn Hill live...have I played up my attendance at those shows more than my attendance at Grandaddy and Twilight Singers shows? Am I a poseur?
Which brings me to the story about my black neighbor, and my previous post about white privilege. I have a neighbor who lives in the next building over. He's African-American. (I use the two terms interchangeably, but choose "black" when succinctness adds impact. I probably need to blog about this, too.) He has a car and a motorcycle, and he likes to clean them while blaring his music loud from the stereo. Invoking my new knowledge of white privilege, and realizing that my neighbor probably catches race-related flak on a daily basis for any number of traits that may or may not be tied to his race/culture, I almost always let him blare away. Most of the time it stops after a few songs anyway, and occasionally I like the music. But, honestly, it's usually distracting or disruptive to me and once it was late enough at night that I felt justified in asking him to please turn it down. He did.
So here's the question that haunts me every time this happens: Am I being less racist or actually more racist for these micro-decisions? In my attempt to counter my own white privilege, am I actually defining this guy by his race instead of recognizing his full personhood, including the possibility that he blares loud music from his car because he's inconsiderate, and not because he's African-American and that's something that African-Americans stereotypically like to do and the oppression of such is racially vindictive?
It's funny, because there are so many reasons for people to be offended by these questions right now. But they are the questions that go through my head about once a week, when he plays his music. What would you do? One cannot deny that I am trying to pay the utmost sensitivity to his experience as a black man, by trying to choose the most racially considerate reaction. After all, a white woman telling a black man to step in line has all sorts of ugly implications. But one could also argue that my obliviousness to his skin color might be the ideal expression of acceptance in a situation as mundane as parking lot turf wars. I don't want to define anyone by their race! But I don't want to be clueless about how their race impacts their everyday experiences, either. How many other people "correct" him on a daily basis? How many other times are his actions rejected by others, and how many times is his race, and not his own character, faulted for it? How likely is it that he blares his music in the first place because he feels the need to do something marginally subversive without immediately being put in his place? Does he even think about these factors? (Probably not, since most people are less neurotic than me.)
Why am I blogging about my neighbor's racial identity when I've never exchanged a word with him other than, "Could you please turn it down a little?" We do exchange waves sometimes, at least. Maybe I should strike up a conversation with him about what his side of these incidents is like. Again, would that be thoughtful or horribly offensive?
In the end, I'm okay with this confusion and ambiguity. In fact, I think it's the point of the whole exercise. Race and culture are tough topics to tackle, and this is an example of how hard it can be. It would be nice to have the luxury of simple, clear answers, but that is (yet again) a privilege that everyone doesn't have, and one that I am willing to give up. I will continue to feel like a poseur, to be uncertain whether I'm getting it all right or all wrong, to inadvertently say offensive things and have to eat crow about it afterward. I think that confronting my own ignorance is probably supposed to be a painful, awkward process. Hopefully all the awkwardness of this entry means that I'm doing something right.
Sometimes I think my tendency to be a "poseur" relates to Atkinson, Morten, and Sue's 1989 model of racial and cultural identity development (R/CID). There are five stages: conformity, dissonance, resistance and immersion, introspection, and integrative awareness. Likewise, I think that we of the majority go through similar stages when developing our own awareness of diversity, as well as our own racial identity.
(I am half-minority, but so often I find myself relating to the experiences of Caucasians more than the experiences of Asian-Americans. I have experienced racism and insensitivity for being Asian, but overall I feel like I've somehow slipped through the cracks into Caucasian acculturation.)
Anyway, so I conformed to the majority identity for most of my life, and then dissonance started slipping in. I remember that my dad spoke with hostility about rap and hip hop, glaring or ranting if a rap video happened to be on MTV when he walked through the living room. Would you believe that I didn't feel okay about liking a hip hop song until well into college? It's true. I felt weird about it, like I wasn't supposed to be listening, like it wasn't made for my ears, like it would make me seem...lesser.
Somewhere along the line, I lightened up and started attributing value to music and other art forms that are sometimes diminished by Caucasians. Here's an example: I love most of Spike Lee's movies. If I understand correctly, his reputation among many Caucasians is that he's a race-card blowhard, kind of like the film director equivalent of Al Sharpton. I am fascinated by his treatment of race, enjoy his style of cinematography, and count Bamboozled among my Top Five.
But sometimes I feel like maybe I am kind of stuck in the resistance and immersion stage of cultural awareness. I took African-American history in college...to learn more, or to earn credibility? I have seen The Roots and Outkast and Lauryn Hill live...have I played up my attendance at those shows more than my attendance at Grandaddy and Twilight Singers shows? Am I a poseur?
Which brings me to the story about my black neighbor, and my previous post about white privilege. I have a neighbor who lives in the next building over. He's African-American. (I use the two terms interchangeably, but choose "black" when succinctness adds impact. I probably need to blog about this, too.) He has a car and a motorcycle, and he likes to clean them while blaring his music loud from the stereo. Invoking my new knowledge of white privilege, and realizing that my neighbor probably catches race-related flak on a daily basis for any number of traits that may or may not be tied to his race/culture, I almost always let him blare away. Most of the time it stops after a few songs anyway, and occasionally I like the music. But, honestly, it's usually distracting or disruptive to me and once it was late enough at night that I felt justified in asking him to please turn it down. He did.
So here's the question that haunts me every time this happens: Am I being less racist or actually more racist for these micro-decisions? In my attempt to counter my own white privilege, am I actually defining this guy by his race instead of recognizing his full personhood, including the possibility that he blares loud music from his car because he's inconsiderate, and not because he's African-American and that's something that African-Americans stereotypically like to do and the oppression of such is racially vindictive?
It's funny, because there are so many reasons for people to be offended by these questions right now. But they are the questions that go through my head about once a week, when he plays his music. What would you do? One cannot deny that I am trying to pay the utmost sensitivity to his experience as a black man, by trying to choose the most racially considerate reaction. After all, a white woman telling a black man to step in line has all sorts of ugly implications. But one could also argue that my obliviousness to his skin color might be the ideal expression of acceptance in a situation as mundane as parking lot turf wars. I don't want to define anyone by their race! But I don't want to be clueless about how their race impacts their everyday experiences, either. How many other people "correct" him on a daily basis? How many other times are his actions rejected by others, and how many times is his race, and not his own character, faulted for it? How likely is it that he blares his music in the first place because he feels the need to do something marginally subversive without immediately being put in his place? Does he even think about these factors? (Probably not, since most people are less neurotic than me.)
Why am I blogging about my neighbor's racial identity when I've never exchanged a word with him other than, "Could you please turn it down a little?" We do exchange waves sometimes, at least. Maybe I should strike up a conversation with him about what his side of these incidents is like. Again, would that be thoughtful or horribly offensive?
In the end, I'm okay with this confusion and ambiguity. In fact, I think it's the point of the whole exercise. Race and culture are tough topics to tackle, and this is an example of how hard it can be. It would be nice to have the luxury of simple, clear answers, but that is (yet again) a privilege that everyone doesn't have, and one that I am willing to give up. I will continue to feel like a poseur, to be uncertain whether I'm getting it all right or all wrong, to inadvertently say offensive things and have to eat crow about it afterward. I think that confronting my own ignorance is probably supposed to be a painful, awkward process. Hopefully all the awkwardness of this entry means that I'm doing something right.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
How to avoid sanctimony
I've gotten really ranty lately. I've started taking stands and making call-outs that I never would have taken or made before. Especially on Facebook, I've instigated debates (i.e. picked fights) about meat-eating, feminism, racism, mental health, the beauty myth, and more. With this change comes a certain measure of embarrassment. You see, I have led my life until recently with a heavy mix of obliviousness, indifference, and moral relativism. I wore my apathy with pride and didn't give a second thought to most social constructs. Even now, I have only figured out a handful of things among thousands, and I'm still messing up a lot of the remaining stuff. In fact, I'm sure that I'm still contributing to many of society's problem despite the modest shift in values that I'm currently undergoing.
Here is a short list of things I've done before that I am now embarrassed about:
-I applied for a job as a cocktail waitress at a strip club, and a server at Bone Daddy's (a Hooters-like restaurant). I turned down the cocktail waitress gig but probably would have taken the Bone Daddy's gig if it were offered.
-I've held many, many stereotypes.
-I've asked to pet a blind person's seeing-eye dog, and what's worse, I actually thought it was friendly and affirming for me to do so.
-I've nurtured and flaunted stereotypically masculine skills and interests in order to look cool to guys.
-Although I wanted to play saxophone in 6th grade, I switched to clarinet because I guy I liked said he was going to play clarinet. As it turned out, he played saxophone.
-Related to above, I disdained clarinet as too girly and idolized saxophone as more guyish and cool.
-I had a vague fear of/disdain for rap and hip hop music.
And here is a short list of things I still do, although I'm not sure if I should:
-I defend Eminem's entire catalog of music, including his most misogynistic songs (although I'm still not sure what to make of his gay-bashing).
-I use the word "wifebeater" in reference to a tank top.
-I feel anxious about wearing sweatpants in front of my boyfriend, as if I will only be attractive when dolled up for the male gaze (and as if attractiveness is the most important virtue to have anyway).
-I buy most products without researching exactly what horrors I'm supporting with my money.
-I hold many, many stereotypes and am still not able to overcome them fully.
-I blog about what people should do, despite not knowing what I should do in many contexts.
But I don't want to remain silent just because I wasn't born with the ability to recognize and embody social justice 100% of the time. As I wrote in my first entry, I want to share my explorations in the hope that other readers and I will find a mutually educational forum. Still, I am painfully aware of how easy it is for me to sound sanctimonious. After all, I still don't know whether to forgive the Beastie Boys for their blatant and glorified misogyny, which they renounced decades ago! (And it complicates matters that "Girls" is such a catchy song.) So, returning to the title of this entry, how do I avoid sanctimony? Should I just shut up and let people make their own decisions without my unsolicited opinion? Am I right for being an instigator on Facebook among the very friends who have supported me and enabled me to think more critically about my own choices? Or can I find a better way to instigate, and to minimize the tone of self-righteousness that I'm afraid lingers on everything I say and write? Is it an inescapable personality flaw of mine? Is it forgivable; does the content hold despite the delivery? I fear this role and don't know how to play it gracefully.
At the root of all this concern for how to be a proper activist, there is shame for things I have said and done in the past. I began this entry as an attempt to own up to these past transgressions, to apologize for my sanctimony. But as I wrap it up, I realize that my bigger aim is to encourage readers to agitate and share their own opinions despite their own past mistakes. After all, if I'm not "allowed" to speak up because I've been wrong before, then logically others aren't "allowed" either...and that is definitely a faulty conclusion--the only way I've changed is by being educated by others. So I'll keep blogging about these things like the loudmouthed amateur that I am, as long as you all do the same in your own ways. Because god knows if I get to have a soapbox, so does everyone else.
Here is a short list of things I've done before that I am now embarrassed about:
-I applied for a job as a cocktail waitress at a strip club, and a server at Bone Daddy's (a Hooters-like restaurant). I turned down the cocktail waitress gig but probably would have taken the Bone Daddy's gig if it were offered.
-I've held many, many stereotypes.
-I've asked to pet a blind person's seeing-eye dog, and what's worse, I actually thought it was friendly and affirming for me to do so.
-I've nurtured and flaunted stereotypically masculine skills and interests in order to look cool to guys.
-Although I wanted to play saxophone in 6th grade, I switched to clarinet because I guy I liked said he was going to play clarinet. As it turned out, he played saxophone.
-Related to above, I disdained clarinet as too girly and idolized saxophone as more guyish and cool.
-I had a vague fear of/disdain for rap and hip hop music.
And here is a short list of things I still do, although I'm not sure if I should:
-I defend Eminem's entire catalog of music, including his most misogynistic songs (although I'm still not sure what to make of his gay-bashing).
-I use the word "wifebeater" in reference to a tank top.
-I feel anxious about wearing sweatpants in front of my boyfriend, as if I will only be attractive when dolled up for the male gaze (and as if attractiveness is the most important virtue to have anyway).
-I buy most products without researching exactly what horrors I'm supporting with my money.
-I hold many, many stereotypes and am still not able to overcome them fully.
-I blog about what people should do, despite not knowing what I should do in many contexts.
But I don't want to remain silent just because I wasn't born with the ability to recognize and embody social justice 100% of the time. As I wrote in my first entry, I want to share my explorations in the hope that other readers and I will find a mutually educational forum. Still, I am painfully aware of how easy it is for me to sound sanctimonious. After all, I still don't know whether to forgive the Beastie Boys for their blatant and glorified misogyny, which they renounced decades ago! (And it complicates matters that "Girls" is such a catchy song.) So, returning to the title of this entry, how do I avoid sanctimony? Should I just shut up and let people make their own decisions without my unsolicited opinion? Am I right for being an instigator on Facebook among the very friends who have supported me and enabled me to think more critically about my own choices? Or can I find a better way to instigate, and to minimize the tone of self-righteousness that I'm afraid lingers on everything I say and write? Is it an inescapable personality flaw of mine? Is it forgivable; does the content hold despite the delivery? I fear this role and don't know how to play it gracefully.
At the root of all this concern for how to be a proper activist, there is shame for things I have said and done in the past. I began this entry as an attempt to own up to these past transgressions, to apologize for my sanctimony. But as I wrap it up, I realize that my bigger aim is to encourage readers to agitate and share their own opinions despite their own past mistakes. After all, if I'm not "allowed" to speak up because I've been wrong before, then logically others aren't "allowed" either...and that is definitely a faulty conclusion--the only way I've changed is by being educated by others. So I'll keep blogging about these things like the loudmouthed amateur that I am, as long as you all do the same in your own ways. Because god knows if I get to have a soapbox, so does everyone else.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Overwhelmed
This is a post I have been wanting to write for a couple of years. It's a daunting task because the topic is tangled up in everything and I sincerely get overwhelmed just thinking about it, but I am going to try to chip away at it a little at a time. Here is the first strike of the chisel.
The topic is privilege. It is something I didn't devote any thought to for most of my life. Now I see it everywhere and think about it almost every day. I was first introduced to the concept of privilege when one of my grad school professors in 2008 assigned the article, White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack by Peggy McIntosh. I had never thought about most of these things. It had never occurred to me that it might be a strange (invalidating) experience to grow up never seeing representatives of one's own race on prime-time television, or only seeing them in highly stereotyped roles. It never occurred to me that I can "misbehave" in public (bad manners, rowdy behavior, underdressed for an event, or whatever) without worrying that I am not representing my race favorably--or even worse, that people are attributing these traits to my race and not just myself and my own choices.
McIntosh explains it much more eloquently than I can here. But in essence, I have become a true believer in the reality of white privilege, f which I am a frequent beneficiary (despite being only half-white). If I wasn't sure after reading that article, I was certain after attending a talk by Tim Wise at a Baylor event in 2009. He gave a great talk on white privilege, and it doesn't hurt that he reflected on his years in New Orleans at Tulane (I once lived in New Orleans and it remains close to my heart).
Here is the debate as I see it. I call it equality versus reparations. There are those of us who believe that the scoreboard has been wiped clean, or will be any day now, and that all races are now starting from about the same point (no head starts), and so social policy and such should aim for equality. Then, there are those of us who believe that even today, decades after slavery and the state-based implementation of equal rights, even the poorest, most disadvantaged Caucasian still has a leg up over equally-qualified minorities in almost every situation. In other words, the playing board is STILL far from even, and any semblance of "equality" will have to come through reparations or advantages given to minorities.
I am now in the latter group.
This may well be the most liberal, "radical" belief I've ever held. And yes, I know that it may say some incriminating things about my upbringing if I consider this a radical concept. But it totally changed the way I look at the world. I now see all kinds of privilege everywhere:
* Male privilege: You can walk out of your house feeling fairly confident that you won't be bombarded with sexualized, objectifying images of your fellow men, being used to sell everything from cell phones to ad space to hair pomade (you know all those commercials implying that some hot stranger will rub against you like a cat in heat if you use the right hair stuff). I don't have this privilege.
* Female privilege: I can play and roughhouse with small children, even children I hardly know, without people thinking I'm strange or wondering if I'm gay or a pedophile. Men don't have this privilege.
* American privilege: I can enjoy knowing that I live in a country where everyone else in the world wants to be. (I know this isn't accurate but I'm trying to capture the feeling, not the exact stats.) I live within the pop culture (music, movies, clothes, etc.) that much of the world tries to emulate. If this is hard to grasp, I think it might be parallel to how the rest of the country looks upon New Yorkers. Sure, there are always naysayers and people who are content elsewhere, but I think it's agreed that New Yorkers are generally seen as glamorous and in the middle of "where it all happens."
I'm rambling now, but I'll wrap it up with this example of how much I have changed without realizing it. I was hanging out with a friend two months ago, and without thinking I remarked that she posted some racially insensitive things online. Although I didn't say anything like, "You're such a racist!" that is basically how she heard it, and I won't argue that point. She was offended and defensive, and I remember being surprised. I didn't realize that my interpretation of her postings would be considered quite an overreaction, and an inaccurate read on her racial beliefs to boot. She then sarcastically said something like, "I didn't realize that I was over here in a white robe, burning crosses."
I got two things out of that exchange, a reality check for myself and one for people I may encounter in the future. I realized that I have gotten more sensitive, more accusatory, and more self-righteous about the topic of race. There are some jokes I can't laugh at anymore, and other jokes that I laugh at but then feel horribly guilty about. I am learning more, and trying to stand up for what I believe in more, than I ever have. I hope that one day I can state my beliefs more eloquently, respectfully, and approachably. But for now I am going to have to get used to being considered a drag, stick in the mud, hypocrite, Judgy McJudgerson, or just plain deluded and mean and rude.
But the other reality check came in the form of a response to my friend's remark, albeit later and in my head: "Just because you're not in the KKK, that doesn't mean you're not racist." And that thought isn't even directed toward her, because we didn't even get that far in the conversation so I don't intimately know her feelings about race. But there ARE a lot of people who think that's enough--that if you are nice to people of other races, and don't use explicit slurs, and don't pitch a fit when your child dates interracially (and yes, don't burn crosses), that you are doing your part to eradicate racism. BUT THAT IS NOT ENOUGH. Understanding white privilege, and recognizing it when it happens, and perhaps even relinquishing it when you can, might be a good start. This is one of my big goals, and I will be writing about white privilege and other forms of privilege in future entries.
(The word "racist": I would say that I hold some racist views and exhibit some racist behaviors--I think we all do. Nonetheless, I know that it was hurtful to my friend when I implied that she is racist, and it just a testament to her forgiveness that she allowed the incident to pass fairly peacefully, and didn't freak out when I told her I'd be writing this entry. Thank you, friend.)
The topic is privilege. It is something I didn't devote any thought to for most of my life. Now I see it everywhere and think about it almost every day. I was first introduced to the concept of privilege when one of my grad school professors in 2008 assigned the article, White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack by Peggy McIntosh. I had never thought about most of these things. It had never occurred to me that it might be a strange (invalidating) experience to grow up never seeing representatives of one's own race on prime-time television, or only seeing them in highly stereotyped roles. It never occurred to me that I can "misbehave" in public (bad manners, rowdy behavior, underdressed for an event, or whatever) without worrying that I am not representing my race favorably--or even worse, that people are attributing these traits to my race and not just myself and my own choices.
McIntosh explains it much more eloquently than I can here. But in essence, I have become a true believer in the reality of white privilege, f which I am a frequent beneficiary (despite being only half-white). If I wasn't sure after reading that article, I was certain after attending a talk by Tim Wise at a Baylor event in 2009. He gave a great talk on white privilege, and it doesn't hurt that he reflected on his years in New Orleans at Tulane (I once lived in New Orleans and it remains close to my heart).
Here is the debate as I see it. I call it equality versus reparations. There are those of us who believe that the scoreboard has been wiped clean, or will be any day now, and that all races are now starting from about the same point (no head starts), and so social policy and such should aim for equality. Then, there are those of us who believe that even today, decades after slavery and the state-based implementation of equal rights, even the poorest, most disadvantaged Caucasian still has a leg up over equally-qualified minorities in almost every situation. In other words, the playing board is STILL far from even, and any semblance of "equality" will have to come through reparations or advantages given to minorities.
I am now in the latter group.
This may well be the most liberal, "radical" belief I've ever held. And yes, I know that it may say some incriminating things about my upbringing if I consider this a radical concept. But it totally changed the way I look at the world. I now see all kinds of privilege everywhere:
* Male privilege: You can walk out of your house feeling fairly confident that you won't be bombarded with sexualized, objectifying images of your fellow men, being used to sell everything from cell phones to ad space to hair pomade (you know all those commercials implying that some hot stranger will rub against you like a cat in heat if you use the right hair stuff). I don't have this privilege.
* Female privilege: I can play and roughhouse with small children, even children I hardly know, without people thinking I'm strange or wondering if I'm gay or a pedophile. Men don't have this privilege.
* American privilege: I can enjoy knowing that I live in a country where everyone else in the world wants to be. (I know this isn't accurate but I'm trying to capture the feeling, not the exact stats.) I live within the pop culture (music, movies, clothes, etc.) that much of the world tries to emulate. If this is hard to grasp, I think it might be parallel to how the rest of the country looks upon New Yorkers. Sure, there are always naysayers and people who are content elsewhere, but I think it's agreed that New Yorkers are generally seen as glamorous and in the middle of "where it all happens."
I'm rambling now, but I'll wrap it up with this example of how much I have changed without realizing it. I was hanging out with a friend two months ago, and without thinking I remarked that she posted some racially insensitive things online. Although I didn't say anything like, "You're such a racist!" that is basically how she heard it, and I won't argue that point. She was offended and defensive, and I remember being surprised. I didn't realize that my interpretation of her postings would be considered quite an overreaction, and an inaccurate read on her racial beliefs to boot. She then sarcastically said something like, "I didn't realize that I was over here in a white robe, burning crosses."
I got two things out of that exchange, a reality check for myself and one for people I may encounter in the future. I realized that I have gotten more sensitive, more accusatory, and more self-righteous about the topic of race. There are some jokes I can't laugh at anymore, and other jokes that I laugh at but then feel horribly guilty about. I am learning more, and trying to stand up for what I believe in more, than I ever have. I hope that one day I can state my beliefs more eloquently, respectfully, and approachably. But for now I am going to have to get used to being considered a drag, stick in the mud, hypocrite, Judgy McJudgerson, or just plain deluded and mean and rude.
But the other reality check came in the form of a response to my friend's remark, albeit later and in my head: "Just because you're not in the KKK, that doesn't mean you're not racist." And that thought isn't even directed toward her, because we didn't even get that far in the conversation so I don't intimately know her feelings about race. But there ARE a lot of people who think that's enough--that if you are nice to people of other races, and don't use explicit slurs, and don't pitch a fit when your child dates interracially (and yes, don't burn crosses), that you are doing your part to eradicate racism. BUT THAT IS NOT ENOUGH. Understanding white privilege, and recognizing it when it happens, and perhaps even relinquishing it when you can, might be a good start. This is one of my big goals, and I will be writing about white privilege and other forms of privilege in future entries.
(The word "racist": I would say that I hold some racist views and exhibit some racist behaviors--I think we all do. Nonetheless, I know that it was hurtful to my friend when I implied that she is racist, and it just a testament to her forgiveness that she allowed the incident to pass fairly peacefully, and didn't freak out when I told her I'd be writing this entry. Thank you, friend.)
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Let's be friends (but first, you need a lobotomy)
I’m a liberal. So, naturally, I find all forms of conservatism to be deeply offensive, including but not limited to discrimination, homophobia, warmongering, anti-scientific attitudes, and free market circle-jerks.
If you were to prime my consciousness with the word ‘conservatism’ and hardwire my brain to a dot matrix printer (it seems only obsolete hardware is compatible with my operating system) my stream-of-consciousness would read something like this: cruel, aggressive, vindictive, myopic, paternalistic, authoritarian, xenophobic, medieval, anal-retentive, and, yes, I think the most destructive things in the history of education were, in no particular order, Bush, Bush, and people who barely graduated from high school but thought they should run for national office and manage education policy and were named George W. Bush.
But you’d be surprised to know that I don’t think we should throw every conservative into the deepest hole we can find (unless, of course, the conservative in question is guilty of illegally wiretapping American citizens, torturing prisoners of war, and lying their way into a multi-billion-dollar quagmire, in which case I’ll settle for an eight-by-six cell with bimonthly visitations and a television tuned invariably to Hardball with Chris Matthews). Why so generous?, you ask. Well – and this may be an uninspiring excuse, but it’s true nonetheless – it’s because I, too, was once a conservative.
I know, I know. It’d be so much easier to claim that Republicans, Tea Partiers, and Ayn Rand devotees are inherently evil, label myself a born-again liberal who was saved by the grace of his gradually maturing frontal lobes, and devote myself to proselytizing my revealed and unimpeachable Truth. But come on, what rational and open-minded person does that kind of stuff, anyway? Hell, it’s not like I’d be rewarded with an unlimited supply of sky cake for my efforts.
Not only am I trying to avoid the legacy of Biggest Asshole Who Ever Lived, but I also know that many conservatives are incredibly decent people. In fact, I’ve met some very intelligent, fair, and compassionate people who voted for Bush, claim that No Child Left Behind provides the accountability that our floundering school districts need, and believe that Glenn Beck is the second coming of Christ (okay, the last one’s an exaggeration on my part, but I’m sure even those folks aren’t so bad).
So, knowing that good people can believe some incredibly stupid, cruel, and Troglodytic things, I’ve always been curious about what sets people like me (circa 2011) apart from people like me (circa 2000). There are likely some fundamental and intrinsic differences between liberals and conservatives, differences that would predispose people to one orientation or the other. Some research has proposed conservatives are more cognitively rigid, have a lower tolerance for ambiguity, and are relatively more preoccupied by thoughts of their (inevitable/unpreventable/irreversible) death.
I fit at least two of the three of qualities listed above (I’ll leave you guessing as to which ones), so I may be able to explain at least part of my wayward youth (which complements the tried-but-sometimes-did-inhale part). But whether or not this research stands the test of time, there will be more of it, and eventually we’ll have better ideas about the origins of our (often idiotic) beliefs. So, whenever I celebrate a study that reveals how conservatives are reflexively moralistic, it’s not because I think conservatives are inferior or undeserving of respectful conversation – it’s because we’ll be one step closer to explaining why fat, bloviating bigots and divisive, hate-spewing lawn gnomes dominate the heart of an otherwise friendly America.
Monday, March 21, 2011
More on the Beckwith story: an email exchange
Well, this entry is a funny story. Kevin posted his own acerbic take on the Francis Beckwith/Baylor/sexuality forum incident below. I was all ready to post my own experience, wherein I emailed Dr. Beckwith with one big grievance and he responded in quite a timely fashion with a noxious cloud of self-serving rhetoric (avoiding my question in the process). I was going to post my email and his response here, directly against his explicit wishes. However, before I hit "Publish," I gave it some thought.
In his email, he added a disclaimer that recipients "may not" publish any part of his private email without his consent. I was 99% at that moment that this disclaimer was flimsy and groundless. However, he had also added some point in his email about how "adults" conduct their disagreements, i.e. not through public dissection of private correspondence. Now, please understand that I think Dr. Beckwith is absolutely delighted to have any sort of audience for his incendiary (and logically questionable) ideas, regardless of what he puts in his disclaimers. However, I do concede that if I were to engage him through email, then turn around and post his response without even telling him, "Hey, I'm going to post your response publicly," it would look somewhat cowardly. So I emailed him and asked him for permission to post his email, adding, "I'm not convinced that your permission is actually required." He refused, with quite a saccharine tone. He also reiterated that permission is required. Heh. Suuuuuure.
Meanwhile, I spoke with a labmate who is familiar with Dr. Beckwith and confirmed my suspicion that Beckwith is just a big ol' attention whore who loves to start shit with people. This was my hunch after his first reply, wherein he responded carefully to the accusatory email of a peon like me, while wagging his finger in my face about not publicizing his words. Someone who truly wanted to maintain privacy would have ignored my email altogether or (much more improbable but still a solution) sought me out by phone or in person to share his rebuttal. I mean, he has no idea who I am but probably knows enough to realize that my opinion is inconsequential to his position, and that he has no reason to take me seriously. He also never acknowledges that he is knowingly making himself vulnerable to breach of privacy by emailing me in the first place! The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
In the end, it's probably better that I just keep him muzzled (on this blog, anyway), by posting my own thoughts but refraining from spreading his words to a wider audience. However, I have the intention of seeking some legal input on the matter, just to educate myself. I've also sent him another email asking on what legal or university regulatory grounds am I not permitted to use his email without permission. Something tells me he hates not getting the last word, but who knows? Maybe he'll surprise me by ignoring me, a response much more befitting of someone who genuinely cares about keeping his private words private.
My email (I left in a spacing error that I made):
On 3/13/11 7:28 PM, Angela wrote:
Dr. Beckwith,
The most demoralizing part of the email you sent (which has been circulated on the Internet) is your fervent entreaty for others to recognize that your (and other Christians') theology is not chosen, but is rather inherited in"Scripture and Tradition." Did it not, for a single moment, occur to you that you are in the very same position as GLBT individuals who are subjected to the spurious, disenfranchising accusation that they "choose" the gender of those to whom they are romantically and sexually attracted?
I am very curious about where you stand on the question of whether or not sexual orientation is inherited or otherwise biologically determined. I would hope that you are at least knowledgeable about the empirical research on this question. However, regardless of whether or not you are informed on the scientific findings on the issue, it looks short-sighted and tone-deaf for you to use the "inherited, not chosen" argument for your theology when that same argument is widely ignored by Christians when applied to gays, lesbians, and bisexuals. If you feel so invalidated by this misconception about theology, why would you contribute to spreading the same misconception about sexuality?
In his email, he added a disclaimer that recipients "may not" publish any part of his private email without his consent. I was 99% at that moment that this disclaimer was flimsy and groundless. However, he had also added some point in his email about how "adults" conduct their disagreements, i.e. not through public dissection of private correspondence. Now, please understand that I think Dr. Beckwith is absolutely delighted to have any sort of audience for his incendiary (and logically questionable) ideas, regardless of what he puts in his disclaimers. However, I do concede that if I were to engage him through email, then turn around and post his response without even telling him, "Hey, I'm going to post your response publicly," it would look somewhat cowardly. So I emailed him and asked him for permission to post his email, adding, "I'm not convinced that your permission is actually required." He refused, with quite a saccharine tone. He also reiterated that permission is required. Heh. Suuuuuure.
Meanwhile, I spoke with a labmate who is familiar with Dr. Beckwith and confirmed my suspicion that Beckwith is just a big ol' attention whore who loves to start shit with people. This was my hunch after his first reply, wherein he responded carefully to the accusatory email of a peon like me, while wagging his finger in my face about not publicizing his words. Someone who truly wanted to maintain privacy would have ignored my email altogether or (much more improbable but still a solution) sought me out by phone or in person to share his rebuttal. I mean, he has no idea who I am but probably knows enough to realize that my opinion is inconsequential to his position, and that he has no reason to take me seriously. He also never acknowledges that he is knowingly making himself vulnerable to breach of privacy by emailing me in the first place! The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
In the end, it's probably better that I just keep him muzzled (on this blog, anyway), by posting my own thoughts but refraining from spreading his words to a wider audience. However, I have the intention of seeking some legal input on the matter, just to educate myself. I've also sent him another email asking on what legal or university regulatory grounds am I not permitted to use his email without permission. Something tells me he hates not getting the last word, but who knows? Maybe he'll surprise me by ignoring me, a response much more befitting of someone who genuinely cares about keeping his private words private.
My email (I left in a spacing error that I made):
On 3/13/11 7:28 PM, Angela wrote:
Dr. Beckwith,
The most demoralizing part of the email you sent (which has been circulated on the Internet) is your fervent entreaty for others to recognize that your (and other Christians') theology is not chosen, but is rather inherited in"Scripture and Tradition." Did it not, for a single moment, occur to you that you are in the very same position as GLBT individuals who are subjected to the spurious, disenfranchising accusation that they "choose" the gender of those to whom they are romantically and sexually attracted?
I am very curious about where you stand on the question of whether or not sexual orientation is inherited or otherwise biologically determined. I would hope that you are at least knowledgeable about the empirical research on this question. However, regardless of whether or not you are informed on the scientific findings on the issue, it looks short-sighted and tone-deaf for you to use the "inherited, not chosen" argument for your theology when that same argument is widely ignored by Christians when applied to gays, lesbians, and bisexuals. If you feel so invalidated by this misconception about theology, why would you contribute to spreading the same misconception about sexuality?
Hell is overrated
A blogger defends Hell as "perfect justice." I disagree.
Here's my comment:
I don't believe in Hell, but I also know that people who do believe in Hell have their own reasons for doing so. All I can do is share why people like me find the idea of Hell to be unnecessary for an ethical and rewarding life.
I don't have much use for Hell, not just because I feel it's "mean, cruel, and vindictive" - and eternal suffering most definitely is each of those things - but because it conflates revenge or punishment with justice. Justice is fundamentally about creating conditions in which everyone can thrive, regardless of their initial predispositions or life circumstances. Justice is the compassion to see beyond mistakes, imperfections, and "evil" and to help people who are acting against the wellbeing of others to develop a more compassionate lifestyle themselves. In a word, it's about growth, not destruction. I should say that I may be biased in this regard: I'm a therapist, and most of us believe that no suffering is good suffering, and that punishment is always ineffective for promoting ethical behavior in the long-run (and, believe it or not, there's science to back me up on this).
But I'm sure you and most other people who read this site are more interested in the theological repercussions of Hell, so it's essential that we address your claim that fundamentalist Christians are different from fundamentalist Muslims. The belief that evil (and those who practice it) will be punished with unimaginable suffering and eventual destruction is not very much different from the "justice" practiced by Islamic jihadists. You could argue that God, as creator of the universe, has every right to inflict such a penalty, while mere humans have no such right. But violence and destruction are violence and destruction, even if Revelation makes them sound poetic when distributed by the hand of God. While I definitely prefer violence in an afterlife that I don't believe will happen to suicide bombings in this life, the state of mind that underlies both orientations is essentially the same.
So, for those of us who are unsatisfied with Hell, I propose the opposite: eternal forgiveness. Forgiveness can transform people and mend relationships in a way that threats of eternal punishment cannot.
Here's my comment:
I don't believe in Hell, but I also know that people who do believe in Hell have their own reasons for doing so. All I can do is share why people like me find the idea of Hell to be unnecessary for an ethical and rewarding life.
I don't have much use for Hell, not just because I feel it's "mean, cruel, and vindictive" - and eternal suffering most definitely is each of those things - but because it conflates revenge or punishment with justice. Justice is fundamentally about creating conditions in which everyone can thrive, regardless of their initial predispositions or life circumstances. Justice is the compassion to see beyond mistakes, imperfections, and "evil" and to help people who are acting against the wellbeing of others to develop a more compassionate lifestyle themselves. In a word, it's about growth, not destruction. I should say that I may be biased in this regard: I'm a therapist, and most of us believe that no suffering is good suffering, and that punishment is always ineffective for promoting ethical behavior in the long-run (and, believe it or not, there's science to back me up on this).
But I'm sure you and most other people who read this site are more interested in the theological repercussions of Hell, so it's essential that we address your claim that fundamentalist Christians are different from fundamentalist Muslims. The belief that evil (and those who practice it) will be punished with unimaginable suffering and eventual destruction is not very much different from the "justice" practiced by Islamic jihadists. You could argue that God, as creator of the universe, has every right to inflict such a penalty, while mere humans have no such right. But violence and destruction are violence and destruction, even if Revelation makes them sound poetic when distributed by the hand of God. While I definitely prefer violence in an afterlife that I don't believe will happen to suicide bombings in this life, the state of mind that underlies both orientations is essentially the same.
So, for those of us who are unsatisfied with Hell, I propose the opposite: eternal forgiveness. Forgiveness can transform people and mend relationships in a way that threats of eternal punishment cannot.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Breaking news: being anti-gay does NOT mean you're "anti-gay"
When some Baylor students wanted to create an on-campus forum for sexuality, I'm sure their first thought was What better place to educate students on issues relevant to their lives than a twenty-first century institution of higher education? But here's where they went wrong: while it is true that Baylor meets many of the criteria for a "twenty-first century institution of higher education" - classrooms, overpriced textbooks, omnipresent displays of testosterone and wealth - it fails to meet the most important one. No, it's not lots and lots of dormitory sex, which, though openly denied by the administration, is as balls-to-the-wall as any dense community of unsupervised adolescents. Actually, Baylor fails the the twenty-first century part.
Baylor's medieval code of conduct forbids talking about anything that would make a nun squirm, including minority sexual practices. You might say this is unnecessarily rigid and dogmatic of them, but you should know they at least tried using a "nothing that would make a priest squirm" standard, which left some wide-open, shall we say, loopholes. Anyway, despite the odds against them, proponents of the Sexual Identity Forum attempted to obtain support from several faculty members, including the one who wrote this not-so welcoming e-mail in response: http://www.sifembears.com/?p=370. Apparently, such a group wrongfully discriminates against the Christians and their God-given right to discriminate against people who disagree with them. I've listed some of the email's highlights below, along with my own responses.
First, the nature of human sexuality and the normativity of conjugal love is a settled question in the Christian tradition.
Anytime you use words like “nature” and “normativity,” you’re asking for someone to whip out a textbook or a mountain of research publications and embarrass you with facts. Why? Because words like these are only useful in the context of science, which concerns itself with the study of - any guesses? - facts of nature.
[The terms you employ] reveal a deep hostility to those who believe that homosexual conduct is disordered: “hate crimes,” “homophobia,” and “LGBT suicide.”
I’d love to hear your theory on the “nature” of suicide, but last I checked when an LGBT individual kills him or herself, it qualifies as an LGBT suicide. These suicides almost invariably follow years of abuse, bullying, and ostracism. But maybe you’ve thought of a better way to explain it, like, I don’t know, “God’s will” or “the wages of sin is death.” Of course, “the enduring love of Christ for humanity” sounds much better than “homophobic aggression,” so, for the sake of your offering plate, keep preaching it from your end.
Thus, what you are suggesting is that Baylor treat its moral theology as if it were something its leadership can simply will not to believe. But that’s not the way moral theology works. It is not a commodity that is subject to our will. It is something normative to which our wills should be subject.
Well, the words “willful ignorance” come to mind. But, really, is free will not a core tenet of Christian theology? How else could you fit in the part about sentencing people to an eternity of suffering for their choices, say if they choose to focus on the natural instead of the supernatural or choose to misspell his name as Allah or choose to be born in a remote village in the Amazon where people have never heard of him. I suppose God is currently willing me to not believe in him or your silly doctrines. Yep, little atheist me, doing the will of my not-really-Lord-and-Savior without even breaking a sweat. And here you are, wasting all that time with crackers and grape Kool-aid.
In a world of pluralism and diversity, institutions like Baylor should be allowed to flourish and advance their self-understanding without being mocked, ridiculed, and accused of bad faith by those who do not share that understanding.
I absolutely love when the persecuting majority feels persecuted. It’s like an episode of that great eighties sit-com starring Tony Danza: Who’s the Fuhrer?
The university would no more approve of a group that denies the Christian understanding of the proper employment of our sexual powers than it would approve of a group that denied the periodical table or advanced racial segregation.
Not so long ago, if I’m not mistaken, seemingly crazy things like racial segregation and anti-science attitudes were widely accepted by many Christians. Yep, I just checked – it still holds as of twenty-three seconds ago, more or less.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Earthquake
I am half-Japanese. My mother is Japanese, and I have lived in Japan twice, as a child and as an adult. I'm relieved to know that my family and friends have all been accounted for, and they are all safe. The city where my family lives is actually far from the epicenter, so they were insulated from the direct effects.
This morning, I was woken by a 7am call from my mom, who lives in the U.S. just a few hours away from me. "Since you study psychology, I just thought I would call you and tell you that I am SO MAD. I AM SO MAD." My mother is emotionally reserved, with a tendency to get defensive if you ask her "What's wrong?" when she's acting weird. So I could already tell that this phone call was important and unusual.
My mother converted to Southern Baptism ten years ago. I wasn't too keen on the change, and it was a particularly WTF development for a little old Japanese lady who had never expressed any desire to be spiritual, but I took it in stride because I knew that she had been struggling with a divorce. Since then, she's gotten more and more vocal about her faith, and our interactions on the topic have ranged from intelligent, loving mother-daughter discussion to her rambling on about God's gifts while I roll my eyes.
But today, when she called me, she slowly, laboriously worked herself around to the admission that she is experiencing doubt, that her faith has been shaken. She has studied Bible teachings that state that calamities occur to punish non-believers. I think that thought has been haunting her as she watches the news coverage of horrific tragedy in Japan. She is struggling to accept a God that would punish thousands of "non-believers" who have never been exposed to Christianity and would have no reason to convert from their typical Shinto/Buddhist/animistic ways. (Let us also point out that Japan is hardly Gomorrah.) She is angry at this God, who would be so arrogant and cruel. And that anger disappoints, scares, and confuses her. She described being compelled to reject this version of faith, while simultaneously being ashamed that her faith is so easily shaken.
In my opinion, it seems like tragedies, especially large-scale ones like this, bring out the worst in religious. Victims either hear that they are being punished for being bad, or being challenged to grow for being good ("God never gives you more than you can handle"), or that somehow or another there is a valuable benefit or lesson ("God has a plan;" "That which doesn't kill you makes you stronger"). Even in the most benign sense of spiritual companionship and comfort, I think I would have a psychic conflict with seeking solace from the same God who took my loved ones or otherwise exerted massive suffering. And the hackneyed stories about "butterfly effects" from bad events, such as "If this hadn't happened, I wouldn't have met/done/seen/learned such-and-such..." are worthless to me. Because if it hadn't happened, you would have met/done/seen/learned something else, which might have been just as good or even better, minus the awful tragedy.
All this to say, trying to make sense of events like this just seems dangerous and misguided. In 2004, I was living in Japan, and I planned a Christmas vacation to the Philippines after rejecting Thailand because it was more expensive. When the Indian tsunami happened, my mother said, "I'm so glad you're safe, I guess all my praying for you has worked!" I challenged her, asking if thousands of others had perished because their loved ones hadn't prayed for them enough. She acknowledged my point. Today, with the events in Japan, I'm reminded of that 2004 conversation and all its flawed logic. I know that my mom has benefited greatly from her faith in terms of friendship, community, serenity, and intellectual stimulation. I just hope she finds a new faith or a new God, because as of today, she has outgrown this one.
[Here is an article a friend posted that I really like. It is about doubt's valuable role in Christianity. Also, I'm still a staunch Atheist, but location and circumstance require that I think about faith a lot more than I typically would.]
This morning, I was woken by a 7am call from my mom, who lives in the U.S. just a few hours away from me. "Since you study psychology, I just thought I would call you and tell you that I am SO MAD. I AM SO MAD." My mother is emotionally reserved, with a tendency to get defensive if you ask her "What's wrong?" when she's acting weird. So I could already tell that this phone call was important and unusual.
My mother converted to Southern Baptism ten years ago. I wasn't too keen on the change, and it was a particularly WTF development for a little old Japanese lady who had never expressed any desire to be spiritual, but I took it in stride because I knew that she had been struggling with a divorce. Since then, she's gotten more and more vocal about her faith, and our interactions on the topic have ranged from intelligent, loving mother-daughter discussion to her rambling on about God's gifts while I roll my eyes.
But today, when she called me, she slowly, laboriously worked herself around to the admission that she is experiencing doubt, that her faith has been shaken. She has studied Bible teachings that state that calamities occur to punish non-believers. I think that thought has been haunting her as she watches the news coverage of horrific tragedy in Japan. She is struggling to accept a God that would punish thousands of "non-believers" who have never been exposed to Christianity and would have no reason to convert from their typical Shinto/Buddhist/animistic ways. (Let us also point out that Japan is hardly Gomorrah.) She is angry at this God, who would be so arrogant and cruel. And that anger disappoints, scares, and confuses her. She described being compelled to reject this version of faith, while simultaneously being ashamed that her faith is so easily shaken.
In my opinion, it seems like tragedies, especially large-scale ones like this, bring out the worst in religious. Victims either hear that they are being punished for being bad, or being challenged to grow for being good ("God never gives you more than you can handle"), or that somehow or another there is a valuable benefit or lesson ("God has a plan;" "That which doesn't kill you makes you stronger"). Even in the most benign sense of spiritual companionship and comfort, I think I would have a psychic conflict with seeking solace from the same God who took my loved ones or otherwise exerted massive suffering. And the hackneyed stories about "butterfly effects" from bad events, such as "If this hadn't happened, I wouldn't have met/done/seen/learned such-and-such..." are worthless to me. Because if it hadn't happened, you would have met/done/seen/learned something else, which might have been just as good or even better, minus the awful tragedy.
All this to say, trying to make sense of events like this just seems dangerous and misguided. In 2004, I was living in Japan, and I planned a Christmas vacation to the Philippines after rejecting Thailand because it was more expensive. When the Indian tsunami happened, my mother said, "I'm so glad you're safe, I guess all my praying for you has worked!" I challenged her, asking if thousands of others had perished because their loved ones hadn't prayed for them enough. She acknowledged my point. Today, with the events in Japan, I'm reminded of that 2004 conversation and all its flawed logic. I know that my mom has benefited greatly from her faith in terms of friendship, community, serenity, and intellectual stimulation. I just hope she finds a new faith or a new God, because as of today, she has outgrown this one.
[Here is an article a friend posted that I really like. It is about doubt's valuable role in Christianity. Also, I'm still a staunch Atheist, but location and circumstance require that I think about faith a lot more than I typically would.]
Here we go.
You see, we are two liberal atheists living in a small, stringently religious, and painfully conservative city, in the landlocked middle of God Bless Texas. Plus we're grad students, which for me means I am 1)exhausted all the time, 2)desperate to talk about something other than my field (psychology), and yet 3)seemingly incapable of not talking about my field much of the time. Add to this a relative dearth of opportunities to interact with like-minded or even middle-of-the-road folks, because of the aforementioned demographic profile and the aforementioned exhaustion, and a socio-political blog seemed like something exciting and feasible.
My personal values are changing right now, and I'd like a place where I can discuss, explore, debate, and refine them with other people. I'd also like, in an uncharacteristically optimistic way, to share some of the ideas that have helped me to sharpen my worldview and might help sharpen others' worldview too. I'm not much of an activist or protester or preacher, but I do believe in asking, "Have you ever thought about it this way? Why not? What if you did?" I believe that is how I can contribute, and what I'd like to do here. I hope that you readers will ask me those questions, too, because I am far from resolution on many issues, and I NEED to hear your opinions, soapboxes, gripes, suggestions, logic, and educational offerings.
I also hope that my background or opinions don't scare off the readers who see or live things differently. Respectful disagreement is going to give me a lot more to think about than affirmation and praise, as much as I love the latter. Please share your dissenting thoughts or ideas. Well, I think I've covered most of my goals for this blog, so without further ado...
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