"...the pressure to essentialize identity continually invites us to deny the hybridity around us and within us (Parker, p 282)."
Both of these were taken from Robert Dale Parker's text, How to Interpret Literature: Critical Theory for Literary and Cultural Studies.
Our discussion in Queer Spirituality today focused on exactly what the title sausage I was thrilled because it actually gave me a chance to hear other people talk about a subject I think about all the time, and it allowed an opportunity for discussing it with someone other than an invisible online community (yes, you, dear reader).
Now that I'm thinking about it, I'm realizing I should have led a different meditation, one that really focuses on feeling a presence in your identity, but I was happy some new people got to experience a meditation in their "gardens," and others got to return. I always find new experiences in the garden more elaborate and difficult. As I progress, my companions and experiences become harder to understand, digest, and interpret; I also learn more from them.
Anyway!
There are certain moments when I can feel that click, that remind me that I am exactly who and where I need to be. Today's QS was one of those moments. To be able to talk so freely, surrounded by friends, was an awe-inspiring experience in and of itself. I didn't have nearly as much to say as I had wanted to, but that's what brings me here.
It is very rare to find a space where you can let every aspect of your identity exist, whether quietly or loudly, but remain at peace. While we all have common subsets of identity, it's a rare experience to find someone who has the exact same identity group as you. Even if you do, the idea of being the same is still radical.
As we navigate through very steep hills, terrifying valleys, raging rivers, and everything else life throws at us, we learn to balance every part of our identity: this balance and realignment is a way of protecting ourselves.
Example: I identify as a trans* Jewish woman-loving student. I'm an employee, a dog-lover, a physically debilitated queer. While in typically any context, I feel more comfortable keeping my has-been lesbianism (now woman-loving - as who I am morphs so do the words I use to describe myself) to myself, and my Judaism is usually a very public part of who I am. However, today in class, we were discussing post-colonial and race theory in the context of HG Wells and The Time Machine. One of the students (who is very well-known for ill-planned responses and a lack of focus) asked who in the class was a Jew. I raised my hand, and at that moment (and still now), I was not sure why. I think it might have been less awkward for me to announce to the entire class right then and there that I identified as trans* than it was to awkwardly claim Judaism as my public identifier. For a very long time, I lived comfortably as a lesbian, but in my own house, I refused to acknowledge myself as a Jew (due to experiences previously and future-ly addressed).
When we are in public or private, who we are changes. Not necessarily as a whole, but certain aspects of identity come to the foreground and others sink back temporarily.
So as queers, and as people who value some type of spirituality (even atheists can value spiritually), how do we keep ourselves safe while still embracing our queer identity in a religious/spiritual space, or our religious identity in a queer space?
Henceforth the term aporia. Although, this isn't so much a question without an answer, rather one with multiple, fluid answers. Everyone has their own method of negotiating these situations, and they all have different results. I'm interested in hearing others' experiences with queer and religious identities- mix them, balance them, keep them separate?
Why do you think it's so important to keep your queerdom or your feminism, without losing your religion?
In my Women's Studies classes, we have a lot of discussion about where feminist spirituality truly exists. I'm lucky to have had the chance to take a class this semester entitled "Women in Religion," which discusses not only women's roles in major denominations, both Western and Eastern, but also the Women's Spirituslity movement, and how women have adapted their traditions to become more inclusive. This class created a sort of safe space in a Gender Studies program for those who value religion and want to be able to speak freely about it in an academic context. Religion, often seen as a patriarchal tool, is a common ground for heated debate, and those who do value it are often left feeling repercussions. How do we, as religious feminists, live both of these identities to the fullest? Can you maintain religious traditions, especially staunchly "patriarchal" ones, like Judeo-Christian denominations, but still assert our feminist beliefs and values?
We change the traditions. I can be a practicing Jew and still be a strong transfeminist activist. A common example is the revised seder plate, where women will now place an orange to accompany the rest of the symbolic items. The orange stands as a reminder of women's, and now LGBTQ individuals', exclusion from the stories and practices Judais, has taught us all our lives. Susannah Heschel addresses this idea as well.
I've seen a lot of conflict over these two identities surface recently. People have often expressed feeling at odds within one of these communities or the other (feminism vs. religion), and the difficulty of living on the boundaries of both. It is seemingly an issue that many feminists don't deal with, especially those who identify as atheist, agnostic, or are otherwise disengaged from a religious community.
It takes a lot of effort to combine these two worlds - one where we constantly critique religion as a patriarchal and devaluing institution, and one where our religions are huge factors in defining ourselves and our groups. We can't do it as individuals, alone; we have to rely not only on ourselves, but on both our feminist and religious communities. It becomes the role of each community to step up and welcome individuals who have previously forced themselves to shut parts off in certain realms of being; it's our responsibility as neighbors, friends and sisters to encourage each other to exist as wholes - and in doing so, reach our full potential in every area of living and being.
