the consequences of something simple

Last night my partner and I had dinner with a couple friends who have been heavily involved with grassroots organizing around same-sex marriage. We talked about an uptick in being called faggots on the street (often by teens and kids, and only once by someone who had an obvious mental illness), which we've noticed since the election. Our friends verified that not only is there anecdotal evidence of this (and also in the news from a brutal rape of a Latina lesbian in Richmond), but studies have shown that when issues like same-sex marriage and other nondiscrimination laws are in the news, LGBT people have increased stress levels and more interpersonal conflict. Both friends described how some straight men have responded to their visible lesbianism by forcefully making out with their girlfriends (at a traffic light and at the ice cream store, for example)
During our trip to Florida, we were often in places (city streets in the daytime, the grocery store, the mall) where we didn't know who was around, and what their opinion or potential violent reaction might be. It isn't new to be intensely aware of our surroundings like this, but in this new place, we were more cautious about holding hands (which we usually do) or other signs of affection. We noticed an increase in a feeling of distance between us as a couple, and more minor irritability with each other. That was just for 10 days. It got me thinking about the subtle consequences of this. When a couple is told their relationship is unconstitutional, or they are afraid to show affection in public, their relationship has consequences. It may be more unstable, and it may feel less real, even to the individuals who are a part of it. [Which is not to say that same-sex couples, or anyone else, must be monogamously paired for life, but we all deserve to have it as an option] Also, when a vote comes down like Prop 8 against same-sex marriage, a (hopefully unintended) side effect is an increase in harassment and violence. I believe there are studies on this, but I haven't looked into it. It reminds me of some parallels in my work against sexual violence. Women are often more vigilant about their surroundings, to avoid harassment and assault from men, for example. And there are solidly researched correlations between attitudes & social constructions that demean women and the acceptance of violence against women. As I stressed with many of the fraternity men I worked with, even if you would never condone a violent act against women, when you participate in something that sends the message that women are less human in some way (telling sexist jokes, for example), the implicit message for those who are prone to violence is that you (laughing at a sexist joke) condone violent behavior.
Back to the issue of same-sex marriage: I don't necessarily have a problem with those who disagree with it (even though I do think they're wrong). I do have a problem, however, with anything nonviolent (ie relationships) that requires reinforcement through violence (ie anti-gay violence to reinforce heterosexual pairing). Isn't that what fascism was about? I challenge all same-sex marriage opponents to construct an argument that doesn't lead to or condone violence.

you can be the president - I'd rather be the pope

I'm listening to Prince's song "Pope" in honor of a new story I read on BBC. I actually don't know what the song has to do with the pope, but I like the sentiment. I have to say, it doesn't really bug me that much that he says we need to "save humanity" from "destructive" homosexual behavior and gender blurring. This is, after all, the Pope - who wouldn't allow women to enter the priesthood, for example. This is, after all, a church that has officially been built on a philosophy of separation, distinction, and duality - in which soul is better than body, man is better than woman, procreation is better than recreation. Don't get me wrong: I appreciate the philosophical and intellectual rigor that the church brings to its faith. I also appreciate a church that makes such grand pronouncements and displays concern for the well-being of humanity. I also appreciate a church so huge that the range of diversity in human practice belies the official dogma it tries to maintain.
What I find disturbing about the whole thing is the manipulation of language about creation. You only have too look around you to see the diversity of creation. It simply can't be divided into categories of 2s, in which one is better than the other. Despite what the Pope says, people who transition gender and people who create same-sex relationships (or other "non-normative" relationships) are participating in the diversity of creation. While it's true that humanity sometimes needs to be saved from itself (greed, for example, or tendencies toward violence instead of love), the Pope gets it wrong when he says that this is "auto-emancipation" from creation. Embracing love, embracing justice, embracing ethics that provide for the basic needs of all humanity - this is embracing creation. It's embracing and celebrating the joy of survival, the gift of life in a diverse and beautiful existence. It celebrates the power of joy and love in the face of an existence that is also frightening and violence - embracing the vulnerability that we share. As a Christian, I am glad to see the Pope speaking in favor of the environment, and trying to place humanity within that framework - but also as a Christian, I'm compelled to disagree with his assessment. We have inherited rich traditions that draw on the influences of other rich traditions, and it is a lie to claim that creation can be boiled down neatly into a strict and exclusive distinction between man and woman. I'm reading a book by my theology professor, Mayra Rivera, and one of her points is that our bodies are an integral part of creation, and we cannot set them apart. Our genders, our creativity, our love, our care - are all part of that creation. Some fit into categories of men and women - and many blur distinctions - across culture and across bodies. That doesn't seem destructive to me - but it does seem destructive to try to force everyone to fit into a single framework of being.

appropriation

This evening in my white anti-racist covenant group, we watched a documentary called "White Shamans and Plastic Medicine Men." I was a film by Native Voices Public Television, a Montana-based project. It was an examination of white people who practice versions of Native American spiritual practices - like vision quests, drum circles, medicine wheels, etc. It was a mix of interviews of these white people and of Native Americans. The Native Americans basically said that their religions are historical/cultural/lifestyles and cannot be borrowed or broken and sold into pieces (at least not if they will maintain their spiritual integrity and power). One must life in it, inherit ancestral memory, be raised in it, if one can practice it truly. One must be chosen by the religion to be a shaman.
It brought up a few interesting questions: who "owns" a religion or spiritual practice? what is cultural appropriation as compared to shifting culture? what can be said of the real, felt spiritual experiences these white people have when they take Native American practices out of context? Why do these people feel "hurt" when confronted with questions about cultural appropriation - as opposed to be grateful for a new perspective on a spiritual tradition they claim to respect? Where is the "line" about what's acceptable use of cultural stuff that isn't my own, and what's cultural appropriation? Why do some people feed their spiritual need by taking from other traditions instead of exploring their own?
I don't know...


Actually, that's not what I want to write about at all. What I want to write about is why someone insists on yelling "faggots" in downtown Berkeley while we walk down the street and hold hands. This person yelled it twice when we passed him, again when we went back to the car because my partner forgot something. And a third time when we passed him again, yelled "what the fuck?" and yelled "faggots" again at us. From his seat on a bench on the sidewalk - this was not a crazy person. It was a strange experience. We didn't feel threatened, and we didn't feel like it was worth responding. But there was still that twinge, that urge to duck and hide, as if it's shameful. We are lucky we live in a place where we didn't feel a particular threat, and we mostly felt sorry for this high schooler who obviously had some anger or some kind of issue that needed to be worked out.
It's funny to accumulate experiences of hateful words being thrown at us. Strange to be reminded that we're "supposed" to be ashamed. Lucky that we feel mostly safe together.
Hm...what was it my mom used to say when I got teased in school? "They're just jealous."
Maybe that's what I should think - he's jealous he doesn't get to love and be loved like we do.

humility - a quick note

Since I signed up for Facebook to stay connected with friends who've moved away, I've had a trickle of contacts from former friends and classmates from my high school. This raises a certain fear of me, because my experience going back has often been that I don't fit in or make sense where I grew up. But so many of the people who've contacted me have responded with joy at hearing what I've been up to - and quite a few have congratulated my partner and I on our engagement. Reconnecting with old friends, I realize that even though we're in different parts of the country (and maybe with different worldviews, I don't know), we all want a lot of the same thing: to love and be loved, to have a happy family, to do something worthwhile. It's humbling to see and read them expressing joy and exasperation about their kids and their relationships, just like I feel (or would feel, if/when I have kids). It's humbling to be reminded that a lot of the distance between me and them is imposed by me. I get so caught up in the differences (and pain caused by rejection based on those differences) that I forget to look for similarities.

buying the philosophical roots

Today in my "Christ, Krishna, Buddha" class, we talked about how Christianity - the theological project of interpreting, understanding, and experiencing God through (the canonical writings about) Jesus's life and ministry, in the context of the Hebrew Scriptures - about how all of that is founded on Western, Greek philosophical understanding of the world. In other words, roughly speaking, there are abstract ideals, and there is one true answer to a question, which can be arrived at be reasoning. Without that, you can't really understand where the patristic (early founders of the Christian church) are coming from. It wasn't only Constantine's political interest in arriving at a manageable empire and religous unification that created Christianity - it was more fundamental notion that there is a right answer that must be found. The early Christians were a bold bunch, fighting out what the reality of God was about. The professor raised the question: can you call yourself a Christian unless you buy this philosophical foundation? Can I discard everything in Christianity that came before (or selectively discard what I don't like) and just go on? Do you have to engage what came before? The Pope calls this a theology of continuity, as opposed to a theology of rupture. It raises another question about experience: Can I just use my experience to filter through what makes sense, and discard the rest? Because experience also has philosophical foundations - we experience everything through a framework, whether it acknowledges only one truth or multiple ones. The issue for me is that the foundation of "one truth" just doesn't work for me. I tried that (I grew up with it), and it required stretching my reality to the breaking point just to fit. At the point of tension, I went to college and learned rudimentary postmodern theory. It worked for me, because it questioned the singularity of truth. And now I can't go back. I think this is why I have a difficult time swallowing some aspects of Christianity. But then I'm not comfortable just trashing them, because they're there for a reason. Someone found truth in them. I realize that my professor's perspective isn't the only one out there. It also reminds me that, unlike my friend EJoye, I don't often love or feel moved by my tradition. It more often feels like it's something reaching out for me, but I'm not there - while I'm reaching out for something, but it's not there, either. Two trajectories crossed without touching.

EJoye also says embracing Christianity is like embracing one's dysfunctional family. I'll buy that, with a side of her quote from Maya Angelou: "becoming a Christian is a life-long endeavor."

It also brings up the Buddhist-Christian engagement of Ultimate Emptiness and Ultimate Fullness - which seem like kind of the same thing, built on very different philosophical foundations. That's for another post, I guess - because I've got four papers nipping at my heels. Actually they're biting my calves. And drawing blood.

rights & religion (yes, again)

I just finished reading an article about African-American civil rights movement in the 1950s and 60s as a religious movement. It describes the religious overtones at many of the rallies, as well as the role of churches, preachers, and prayer meetings. Most vividly, it suggests that a person could not face police dogs, clubs, firehoses, spit, and hatred from fellow human beings without a sense of spiritual purpose or millenial vision. Something about this tugs on my brain as I think about movements for gay rights and economic justice. The context is very different today: the establishment, the religious & heterosexual mass that makes up the anti-gay rights movement, has learned a lot from civil rights struggles and Vietnam War protests, just as much as those who struggle for justice have learned. But I wonder if there's something to that: have gay people lost touch (or never had touch) with a millenial vision or a spiritual purpose? I'm also reading about ways of remembering sexual experimentation and gay rights in the 1970s in relation to shame and the AIDS crisis in the 1980s. A number of older gay writers who lived through those decades sound surprisingly bitter and disillusioned. I wonder how much AIDS came to be seen, by gay people ourselves, as some sort of spiritual punishment. I wonder if religious conservatives succeeded in triggering shame about ourselves to the point that we do not have spiritual purpose or millenial vision when we seek justice. What enables us to face hatred? Or, in the context of the Bay Area, what enables us to gather as a community here against "those out there" who see us as second-class citizens?
I think the same can be said of economic justice movements - the framework of "pull yourself up by your bootstraps" and "if you don't make it, then somehow you didn't deserve to" (both significant threads behind the dismantling of welfare and social service programs - couple with the visual elements of runaway addiction and mental illness (with little social support for addressing it systemically) to create a sense of shame among homeless and poor people. I'm not sure about this - it's only speculation.
And in the same way, I wonder how a sense of racial justice, especially in the context of gay rights, economics, and shame, plays out in a similar way. Have we as a society numbed ourselves out of millenial hope for a better world here and now with an eschatological hope for heaven as the reward for those who are good?
Again, this is only speculation, but I wonder what role spirituality and moral, visionary hope really plays in the work I'm trying to be a part of.