Thanksgiving 2016

Yesterday was Thanksgiving.

I wasn’t sure if I should celebrate Thanksgiving this year, what with Thanksgiving being a holiday that celebrates how the Native Americans helped the European settlers not freeze/starve to death and in return, we murdered them, forced them away from their homelands, tried to destroy their culture and languages, turned them into offensive sports team mascots, and currently, are destroying their sacred sites and water after relocating an oil pipeline to their land because the mostly white, wealthier inhabitants of the nearby city complained about the adverse health risks. I started to tell this to a friend the other day, but he got annoyed and said, “omg, just celebrate Thanksgiving!”

We started the day at the Dallas Turkey Trot. The main demographic there is healthy, wealthy, white people. They have a lot of really well behaved dogs. It’s inspiring to be around these people because by association I feel more healthy and wealthy and definitely fit AF. But they are more lululemon and I’m more old-basketball-shorts-from-the-thrift-store. My shorts don’t have a fancy label on them, but they do have “Liza” written in the waistband.

The Cowboys and the Redskins played in Arlington. The Cowboys won, of course.

Somewhere in North Dakota Water Protectors were doused with water cannons in sub zero temperatures and shot with rubber bullets. I heard one woman has to have her arm amputated.

Somewhere in Richardson some girls walked to Alamo Drafthouse, drank $7.50 beers and talked about the Water Protectors. It was 70 degrees. Then they walked home and went to bed on their memory foam mattresses.

Now today is Black Friday. I wonder if the tryptophan in the turkey has amnesiac effects in addition to its drowsiness inducing ones, because we all wake up apparently forgetting all the stuff we said we were thankful for the day before, and have to go out and buy new stuff. Except that I didn’t eat turkey the day before; we made fish tacos because we’ve had tilapia in the freezer for months and needed to use it up, and it was either fish tacos or a tilapiurkey.

I keep refreshing my favorite shopping website even though I know I don’t want to buy anything. I guess we’ll just start watching the new Gilmore Girls on netflix and go to the Holocaust Museum instead.

a meditation on right loss

Many times after a big decision has been made (quitting a job, a breakup, cancelling a trip), I’m hit by this rush of euphoria. All the uncertainty I had been battling up to the point of decision crumbles away into a sense of ultimate relief. You made the right decision. Now you’re free. But then, the next day, the loss settles in, crowding out all the bliss that had felt so real the day before. The job is over, this person is gone, that trip will never happen. All of the familiarity of the past and possibilities of the future collapse onto themselves. Did I make the wrong decision?

But this sense of loss was inevitable, because it was a loss. Even if it was the right loss, even if it was right to resign from that job, or end that relationship or cancel that trip, it still is an ending. And endings are always difficult and sad, even when they are right.

an email to my beloved ymca

Hello!

I love your YMCA and was there yesterday during the “Surf n’ Turf” day event. I noticed a cultural issue in the decorations/costumes from the event that you may not be aware of and I wanted to bring it to your attention.

As someone who has recently been researching the history of Hawai’i, I was surprised and saddened to hear of the way the U.S. took advantage of the Kingdom of Hawai’i by illegally disposing the ruling monarch, Queen Lili’uokalani, in 1893 and annexing it in 1898 for economic and military gain. To this day, although we in the mainland U.S. primarily view Hawai’i as a vacation destination or a military base, there are many native Hawai’ians who believe their sovereignty over the land should be restored by the U.S., and remember this history with pain and sadness.

 

Due to this reality, I think that it is important for us to be aware of the history and culture of the Hawai’ian people if we plan to use symbols of their culture (for example, leis, hula skirts, Hawai’ian words like “aloha”) in our events. I’m still learning what is and what isn’t cultural appropriation, but I think a general rule of thumb is this phrase you may have heard: “my culture is not a costume.”

 

So for example, for an event like the “Surf n’ Turf” day, we could use things like tropical flowers, surfboard and ocean decorations, beachballs etc., instead of cultural symbols like leis, hula skirts, or the word “aloha.” That way we could still include the fun of a beach theme without reducing the history and cultural symbols of another people group into a party theme (particularly as our country has played a painful and controversial role in the history of the Hawai’ian people). Hopefully that makes sense! We certainly should appreciate and take interest in other cultures, but we can do that in a more honoring way by researching the history of other people groups and trying to gain a deeper understanding of their culture, rather than using them as party themes/decorations.

 

Again, just wanted to say that my family and I love the YMCA and appreciate what you do for our community- just wanted to bring this issue to your attention since I think it’s not something we often talk about!

What if He is a she?

I asked a volunteer at a Dallas megachurch if maybe God could also be considered a she, and the volunteer said “no.”

“But how do you know?”

And the volunteer said that we know God is a he because the Bible calls Him a he.

“But the Bible says in Genesis that we were both created in God’s image: ‘in the image of God He created them; male and female He created them’ (1:27). So if both genders are created in His image, then wouldn’t they both be representative of Him?”

“Well you have to look at the Hebrew, in the original language ‘God’s image’ isn’t referring to physical characteristics, but to God’s character.”

But if God isn’t creating humans “in His image” with physical characteristics, and if God doesn’t even have physical characteristics (except for Jesus- but I guess they had to pick one of the genders in order for Jesus to have a physical form unless he would have been some androgynous sexless character, but what would humanity have done with that?…) then why would we assume that God even has a gender at all in the why that we understand human gender?

There is a distinction between sex and gender: sex refers to a person’s biological makeup, while gender refers to the social constructs we associate with a person of a particular sex. So God, not having a physical form (excluding Jesus, but see above ^), wouldn’t have a sex, but the church widely (Biblical authors and mainstream Christian culture) has assigned Him a gender- but again, can you have a gender without a sex?

Even though the male sex was created first, it was incomplete without the female sex present too. So why would we think God is just “male” if maleness is incomplete- we wouldn’t say God is incomplete, would we?

You may be thinking, well, why does the Bible refer to God as a “He” throughout all of scripture? The Old Testament (and all or almost all of the New Testament) was written by men, and if men were in charge of the narrative (and society in general), it makes sense for them to imagine and to reference God in terms of their own gender- the gender that they were most familiar with (being men) and that seemed the most powerful and thus God-like. Yet although the Biblical writers mostly refer to God with masculine descriptors there are also many examples of God being described with feminine descriptors as well. I think to say that we just know that God is a “he” is to oversimplify the issue, and to prioritize explaining God in terms that we can most easily understand rather than in terms that are most accurate (and most un-understandable ;)).

So, what do you see, is He also a She?

The Violence of Wypipo in Spanglish, Part 2: John Clasky and the “Noble Savage”

*Also, some tips*

While painted as less problematic than his wife, Deb, Mr. Clasky still has his share of issues. Unlike Deb, he sees Flor as a person capable of thoughts and words and opinions, and he experiences moments of open communication with her through the translation aid of Flor’s daughter, Cristina. But during one such conversation when Flor concedes an argument to him, he’s shocked, or “stunned,” in his own words. Who is this beautiful “stranger” who will listen to him and, unlike his wife, even agree with him?

While this could look like the beginning of a beautiful rom-com forbidden-love romance, there is of course significant power dynamics at play (in rom-coms why is it so often an older, English speaking/white man and a younger, beautiful foreign/non-English speaking woman? See Colin Firth and his 16-years-younger Portuguese lover in Love Actually (which should actually be titled “Love… is Actually None of These Things)). John isn’t just the “good guy who could never work out,” he is also yelly and controlling too, even if he does have a soft and inspired soul.

He’s willing to curse and scream about his personal life around her, even though they are not friends, but an employer and employee, because (for the most part) she is not able to talk back. She is simply the beautiful woman, sitting and listening in the passenger seat. His controlling behavior is painted by the film makers as benevolent (wheras with Deb it was clear that her benevolence was meant to be shown as patronizing and misguided)- he wants to drive her all the way to the bus stop because she’s afraid for her safety. He insists on this… even if the bus stop is only a few yards away. And while it may appear that his concern for her well-being is chivalrous, true chivalry would be giving her options for help and then respecting her own damn decision.

The construct of the “noble savage” is centuries old, but is essentially an idealized and pure “native person” who was untouched, or unspoiled by modern society. This person, while viewed favorably, was also infantilized-and stripped of their own agency, since they were in “need” of protection. Because Flor is unable to speak English (for most of the movie), is beautiful, and also WORKS FOR HIM and thus can’t be as independent or contrary as say, HIS OWN WIFE, she is an easy target for him to project this “noble savage” idealism onto. To him, she is the perfect woman. But his “perfect woman” is only a caricaturized reduction of the real one, who, for both economic/employment and language-barrier reasons, cannot hold equal power or voice to him.

Whether it is through a perspective that demonzes, infantalizes, or idealizes, or whether it is through the dismissive wave of a hand, or the gaze of over-protective, “loving” eyes, both John and Deb Clasky routinely disregard Flor’s personhood.  Hopefully we can learn from their example in Spanglish some tips for how not to interact with people who, because of economic or cultural or language issues, may have less power than us in the situation, and how to actually be helpful when we’re trying to do good in this world.

1. Be aware of power dynamics- the other person may not be able to argue or disagree with you in the same way that a peer could. If the power skews towards you, then you need to go out of your way to make sure you’re not taking advantage of the other person or disregarding their opinion.
2. Good intentions are not enough. I think Deb genuinely wanted to help Cristina, but even if YOU think your ideas are great, if the child’s own parent does not- then it is probably not actually a great idea! And you need to defer to the parent (see point #1).
3. Work to understand systems. The individualistic/meritocracy approach may help one person, but it will not address and fix the historical, systemic factors that led to that person needing help in the first place! A.A.W.- Always ask why. Why did Flor need to immigrate to a country where she would not know the language and would have to work and live in a place where people did not understand or respect her? Why are (almost) all the kids at the elite private school white? Why can certain types of families afford vacation homes (and vacation TIME) in Malibu, but other types of families work multiple jobs year-round and can barely get by? The answers to these questions are primarily systemic, historical reasons, not individual ones. And I say “work to understand systems,” cause yeah, the research to understand these things is going to take work.
4. Work to change systems. How can you get involved in bringing systemic change in the realms of education, immigration, and prison/criminal justice system reform, etc.? Does this change how you vote? The types of organizations you donate your money to? The way you talk about and see people who are different from you? The way you engage with and challenge your friends and family when they talk about people who are different from you? Does it change the type of career or education you are going to pursue, or the type of career or education that you’ll encourage your (current or future) children to pursue? Or maybe you can figure out how to inject your values into your current job.

The Violence of Wypipo in Spanglish, Part 1: Deb and the Destructive Charity of Individualism

“Do you want to become someone very different from me?”

Spanglish is a movie about a Mexican immigrant mother, Flor, her daughter, Cristina, and their interactions with a wealthy white Californian family whom Flor works for as a housekeeper/general help. When the family decides to spend the summer months at their vacation home in Malibu, Flor ends up needing to bring her daughter Cristina to live with them. The white mother, Deb, immediately falls in love with Flor’s “beautiful,” “smart” and “so well-spoken” daughter who, unlike her mother at the time, is bilingual and fluent in English. Without Flor’s permission or consultation, Deb quickly inserts herself in Cristina’s life- taking her shopping, getting her temporary hair highlights, gaining her admittance and a scholarship to an elite private school, and having her sleepover at her house even after summer vacation is over. But even when Deb does have convenient, easy access to Flor’s mind (through written notes or speech translated into English through Cristina), Deb stills runs from Flor’s mind, saying that when Flor is upset that she is “not like herself” and should take the night to calm down. But who does Deb believe Flor to be in order to “be herself?” According to Deb, Flor is “herself” when she is quiet, pleasant, and helpful- when she is picking up around the house or existing gorgeously in the background. When she is upset or is questioning Deb’s actions, she is not “being herself” and just needs to calm down, but in reality, within that household Flor is perhaps most herself in those moments when she steps out of her role of silent, beautiful, housekeeper to assert herself and protect the person she cares about most.

It scares me to think about how Deb likely views herself in this story- probably as the Good Samaritan, a big-hearted woman providing a better life for a poor immigrant girl by taking her shopping and getting her a scholarship to an elite private school. She could show Cristina off to her other mom-friends and be seen as a philanthropist, “but really, it’s not charity! The girl is just so talented and lovely I couldn’t help myself- of course she should go to a school like this!” She can feel good about helping a poor brown girl “rise above” and succeed while never considering the systemic factors that led her to end up being in “need” of help. She can view herself as a helpful savior angel, while seeing Cristina’s mother as unreasonable or “not herself” when she resists her helpful plans, and while making patronizing statements like “I love you for trying!” when Flor tries to keep up. She can make herself out to be the hero even while she consistently undermines Flor’s parenting and her personhood.

This is what happens when necessary systemic change is replaced by individualistic charity/do-gooding.

Deb viewed Cristina as worthy of help because Cristina was pretty and pleasant and eager to please. Would Deb have viewed another immigrant child who was overweight or stubborn or recalcitrant as also worthy of her time, also worthy of attending the same elite school as her own overweight daughter or stubborn son? This is meritocracy, where people only deserve good things if they as individuals have “earned” it or are “worthy” of it. Deb saw Cristina as worthy of educational opportunity, but would she fight for systemic educational, economic, and immigration change so that other Mexican immigrant kids like Cristina could also have those opportunities? Would she fight for a country where Flor would be able to provide those sorts of opportunities to Cristina herself, instead of only being able to access them by being trapped in a dysfunctional employment situation? Could she even imagine an elite school where Christina could advance academically without having to undergo such an intense level of assimilation that would separate Christina from her mother and from her own self?

Deb’s individualistic view of charity and poverty allows her to remain the hero while also violently injecting herself into another mother’s life with her complicated, patronizing (or should I say matronizing), destructive benevolence.

Gravity is at work in my neighborhood (Prestonwood)

Gravity is at work in my neighborhood

The balcony sags

The front stairs creak disconcertingly

My toes have found a dozen tiny holes pocketing the floor

Underneath our carpet

.

A sour, suspicious, smoky smell

Greets you each time your open the hall closet

.

One day they turned the water off

There was no paper notice

Tacked on the door the day before

But the maintenance man braved

The language barrier to warn me on my way in

.

Our parking lot is a mixture of everyman sedans, roofing trucks and electricity vans

And one scratched up audi and an old lexus

.

I can hear the occasional whish of the train and the constant hum of 75

From my bedroom in the living room

My bedroom is the living room

Give me $30 and 30 minutes at Home Depot and I will give you

The most room-like faux room you’ve never dreamed of

.

Baby see-through gecko always appears at night

Where do you live during the day

.

Two falls and months later

A guardrail appears

Beneath my stairs

Unpainted

Unmatching

It delivers old mrs.-talks-a-lot

Safely to her door

.

Upstairs, inside, 3 girls:

Viva victoria, Mega (Middle-earth!) Meg,

And Yemily

The sleeper

The sleuth

And the glasses.

.

“Welcome to the real world [jackass!]

It’s going to suck [happy-birthday-to-the-ground!]”

walk the gangplank

you’ve been seasick for years,

scared to walk around the ship.

but you’ve pulled into harbor now;

the gangplank’s drawn up.

and yet the boat still shakes:

you’ll never feel

solidity beneath your feet

until you get up and

move

My 3 Boars, Pt. 2

And there I was, running back down the mountain, back into the trees (dark, and green on this side), not intending to be where I was, how it was. But there I was. As I ran, I was startled to see how different it looked that night. Maybe it was the position of the sun, maybe it was some heightened state that the reality of my fear had awakened me to , maybe it was the reverse direction I was running. Maybe it was the conversation I was having with God, but it was like I had never seen it before. Lush, green, woodland-desert plains, alive with grass and trees, snaked by stone beds where the creek used to run, glowing in the light of the fading sun. I ran till the storage shed and sat on a low-hanging tree arm. It felt safe. I had escaped the dry insect-covered mountainside, and passed through its gentle meadows. It was the only time i had been alone in weeks. The silence was perfect: soothing water being poured over a wilted flower. But I was never alone. No body really wants to be alone. We may not want to be with people, but we don;t actually want to be alone, with just ourselves. So we are alone with our distractions. Bu I was alone with God; only with Him is there peace and release.

As I left the tree-chaise, I told God, “it would be really cool to see a deer. I d just really like to see a deer.” There were several more patches of wood I had to cross before I got to the final clearing before the dried up creek bridge. After I passed the first patch of woods and turned around, I could see through the trees, three creatures moving in the distance. They seemed bigger than coyotes, but not the right shape to be deer. They were big, but squat. Two were brown but one was light colored. Why was it light-colored?! Could they be bears? All the stories of unsuspecting humans standing between a mother and its cubs came rushing at me, and I fled.

I’ve only heard the word “fled” used in battle stories: “their enemies fled,” “fly you fools!” But I fled, through woods, through clearings, past the ropes course. I paused before the final woods pass before the final clearing, and there I saw it– the deer! Blocking the path before me, white tail flicking to and fro, staring at me. I stared too, and then there were two of them and they ran away towards the hill. I cleared the trees and saw them standing there, halfway up the hill. Like they were waiting, I wish they were waiting for me. Deer, do you know who made you? And they ran up the hill, calling to one another- a cackling, cracking, hacking call. And I was alone, in front of the fire pit, five minutes from camp, a place I had been so many times before.

Before I saw my deer, and the broad, squat creatures, I had seen their tracks in the mud, I had seen their poop on the trails. I had proof of their existence, yet it would be so easy to go a lifetime without seeing them. But that wouldn’t make them any less real, they were always there, and tonight, I saw.

Tha boars