With the Autumn Equinox just past, it seemed like an appropriate time to get back to you all. A part of the delay was an effort to get my fall semester worked out and subsequently find the room for "fun" things like this emotionally-taxing-at-times blog and the occasional night of sleep. Happy to say I've done absolutely none of that!
While Queer Spirituality is back in full swing on campus, I have yet to return - mostly because I'm at home completing assignments until the last possible second and frequently just miss it. I've heard there has been a significant increase in attendance which excites me more than I can say. I have been taking the opportunity at home to actively inform myself on more current issues in the Jewish community, the trans* community, and other groups I feel as though I owe the attention to. I do miss the simultaneous relaxation and stimulation QS provided me in the spring though.
If you recall the last post I did before my extended absence (here if you don't), I was extremely aggravated about the exclusion of trans* bodies and individuals from medical discourse - particularly reproductive justice and the rights surrounding that, such as sterilization as a requirement for the recognition of gender changes, the old joke "Oh, you're a lesbian, it must be so nice not to need birth control," etc. I am more fortunate than most in my complaining because I've been given the opportunity to see this conversation get taken to the next level. Not only am I working with Advocates for Youth and their push for comprehensive sex education (which includes transgender individuals and their needs!) but my amazing partner has also expanded their masters' thesis to include similar discourse. Watching that come together is an amazing (and quite frankly, motivational) experience for me, and being so close to it has helped to remind me of why I was so aggravated in the first place.
I've also had several amazing chances to develop long-lasting connections with several individuals within the trans* movement and academic arena, all three of which have been inspiring in their own ways. Joy Ladin has really helped me reestablish that connection to my Jewish roots and make a space for that (personally speaking, not research-wise) reconciliation between bearing a trans*/genderqueer identity and my religious/cultural roots; Susan Stryker has motivated me to take my academic work to the next level and is out there creating a top-notch first program of its kind at the University of Arizona that I want nothing more than to be a part of once my time comes, and Janet Mock simply made my life by being one of the most beautifully down-to-earth women I have ever met in my life. Every day, these three women remind me of what destinations are truly possible and what the fights to reach them are often worth.
Anyway - I suppose it's time we get down to business. I've spent the last few months sinking in what seems like hopelessly difficult revelations, and while I've taken time to reflect on them in real life, we all know that nothing makes it easier to understand than writing an "angsty" blog post.
As I've said numerous times before, intersectionality is the air I breathe (because I was properly educated by amazing professors to do so). But I've forgotten recently that while intersectionality is a reality, that reality is constantly shifting, growing and evolving. While I've talked about several of my most important aspects of identity excessively on here, I've had the chance to dig up a few more over the summer that I had never really thought about before.
The Accelerating Racial Justice retreat I attended this summer was a catalyst for a very deep period of self-reflection and, as my friend Z said, growth of confidence in myself and who I thought that might be.
What I had never considered seriously before (although I had obviously thought about it because I very much view my Judaism as more ethnic than religious) was the racial aspect of my identity. I spent the entire duration of ARJ fighting battles with myself about how to accept that I had white privilege unless I voluntarily outed myself as something not white. I had felt guilty for "passing" but had also experienced racial discrimination as both a Jew and a Latin@ at the hands of "true" white people. So I obviously had conflicts there, not only within myself but in how I had identified myself to the group I was with. It was also the first time I had ever encountered myself as the racially disadvantaged member in a relationship of any sort, which created a weird sort of tension not only during the week but after I returned home.
I had also never previously thought about myself in the context of (dis)ability. I had, but only in the sense that it was an aspect I consistently refused to acknowledge. While I've had an interest in disability studies and the scope of that conversation for some time, it was hardly academic. It was mostly a selfish interest to test my limits when it came to owning my identity. This is a conversation I've had more in depth with my partner, but it was so long ago that I hardly remember what was said. Essentially, I just remember having a really difficult time with the idea of labeling myself as disabled in some way, because a) I don't think I even know the proper language to do so, and b) when I see someone in a wheelchair, or someone who is blind, or deaf, or in some other way more visibly, permanently so, how can I claim the right to that identity without feeling guilty? And then it occurred to me that I am really only disabled in the context in which I surround myself with healthy, able-bodied individuals.
In spite of this new development in how I see myself, I am happy to say that I have become more at peace with everything that had taken place in the winter and spring, and yes, I do feel even more confident in that self. I have started on the long journey to becoming more involved with things I am passionate about truly as myself, rather than someone whose rights were affected by such issues. I am beginning to embrace the community around me, and hoping to continue to expand it into the world at large.
I know this wasn't exactly revelatory, but I think it was a necessary "It's been so long, I've missed you, how have you been" sort of post.
10.16.2013
Janet Mock and I at Urban Retreat 2013, Photo by "Lloyd"
Coalitions and the Drive for Political Action
The following is a blog I posted for Amplify Your Voice, a project of Advocates for Youth. Originally posted 16 Oct. 2013.
Since coming back from Urban Retreat 2013, I’ve had a bit of time to think about what mistakes I made and avoided over the weekend.
Going into Urban Retreat, I wasn’t entirely sure of what my role would be as a Campus Organizer, because I had previously resigned from GenderBloc and we had decided another member should take the CO role. This resignation was largely a product of a busier-than-imagined fall semester, and trying to do too many things at once seemed incredibly risky. I had felt comfortable with my decision until arriving at UR.
For such a long time, group activism and building a family around that motivation had been a huge part of my life. From working with Human Rights Campaign throughout high school, to my current (light) involvement with GetEQUAL and other local activist and support groups, my identity had been constructed through its reliance on commonalities with others. As a consequence, it took me a very long time to decide who I was and what that meant outside of my political work.
Perhaps this lack of personal identity is what has contributed to my unwillingness to step back into an area where my only involvement was on the political front, with driving support for LGBT individuals and the issues that face our communities. I remained a staunch supporter of “working alone” for the last two years, with rare exceptions here and there. I let this cloud my mind heading to UR, and mostly saw my role there as “well, I’m here, I’ll get the info for the person taking over, and I won’t get attached.” As much as I hate to admit it, I was pretty successful.
It was not until I got back to Cincinnati, after wasting a weekend of amazing opportunities, that I realized I had blown everything I cared about in the interests of my own insecurities. After having very personal battles with myself last winter, a series of fallouts with my mother as a result, and ultimately revising my entire identity to all who had known me prior to “Micha,” I was anything but ready to work with 150 new strangers. What I didn’t understand was that every single one of those strangers had something they could have offered to me. If I had taken the time, I would have learned 150 new lessons…but I was too busy being scared.
Most of the time, I give a disgusted grimace when I hear the word “ally.” In my world, an ally is always a negative thing – it’s a privileged individual who wants a gold ribbon because they were human enough to be decent. Not because they took it to another level and dedicated themselves to working to confront oppression on every possible level, not because they were someone who routinely reflected on their privilege and found ways to use that to help the oppressed individuals they were allying with…just because they wanted to be our saviors. On the opposite end, though – I have always valued the idea of coalitions above all other forms of political communities. The idea of similarly-oppressed groups – and that is not to say that I am oppressed in one way, you are oppressed in another, so I understand your oppression, because that is simply not the case, oppressions are not equivalencies – that these similarly-oppressed groups could band together to find effective political avenues to change their situations and confront their oppressors and maybe work together to combat multiple forms of oppression – that has always felt like love to me. What Maria Lugones calls “loving perception” is how I imagine coalitions. While we recognize that we are all different, we are able to perceive each other with love and recognize that even with that difference, we are able to help each other climb our mountains. They may not be the same mountains, or even in the same range, but you cannot battle oppression and privilege on only one level. Eradicating one form of oppression is not eradication, it is reduction. A reduction which simply allows other forms of oppression to grow, or new ones to take over – and that helps no one.
What did I learn from UR? I learned that as social justice advocates, it’s our responsibility to give others a chance. Whether they are members of other oppressed groups, allies, or the oppressors, no one is capable of stepping up if we automatically condemn them as something “different” or “wrong.” If we truly want to drive political and social change, we have to actively accept as many willing individuals as we can, even if their methods of helping are not exactly what we want or expect. I know I could’ve done much better at living this on a personal level not only at UR, but at other points in my life. I can only hope that taking this time to reflect reminds me of the importance that friendships, partnerships, communities and coalitions play in our work, and that I learn how to use it to achieve my own goals and assist others in achieving theirs.
Since coming back from Urban Retreat 2013, I’ve had a bit of time to think about what mistakes I made and avoided over the weekend.
Going into Urban Retreat, I wasn’t entirely sure of what my role would be as a Campus Organizer, because I had previously resigned from GenderBloc and we had decided another member should take the CO role. This resignation was largely a product of a busier-than-imagined fall semester, and trying to do too many things at once seemed incredibly risky. I had felt comfortable with my decision until arriving at UR.
For such a long time, group activism and building a family around that motivation had been a huge part of my life. From working with Human Rights Campaign throughout high school, to my current (light) involvement with GetEQUAL and other local activist and support groups, my identity had been constructed through its reliance on commonalities with others. As a consequence, it took me a very long time to decide who I was and what that meant outside of my political work.
Perhaps this lack of personal identity is what has contributed to my unwillingness to step back into an area where my only involvement was on the political front, with driving support for LGBT individuals and the issues that face our communities. I remained a staunch supporter of “working alone” for the last two years, with rare exceptions here and there. I let this cloud my mind heading to UR, and mostly saw my role there as “well, I’m here, I’ll get the info for the person taking over, and I won’t get attached.” As much as I hate to admit it, I was pretty successful.
It was not until I got back to Cincinnati, after wasting a weekend of amazing opportunities, that I realized I had blown everything I cared about in the interests of my own insecurities. After having very personal battles with myself last winter, a series of fallouts with my mother as a result, and ultimately revising my entire identity to all who had known me prior to “Micha,” I was anything but ready to work with 150 new strangers. What I didn’t understand was that every single one of those strangers had something they could have offered to me. If I had taken the time, I would have learned 150 new lessons…but I was too busy being scared.
Most of the time, I give a disgusted grimace when I hear the word “ally.” In my world, an ally is always a negative thing – it’s a privileged individual who wants a gold ribbon because they were human enough to be decent. Not because they took it to another level and dedicated themselves to working to confront oppression on every possible level, not because they were someone who routinely reflected on their privilege and found ways to use that to help the oppressed individuals they were allying with…just because they wanted to be our saviors. On the opposite end, though – I have always valued the idea of coalitions above all other forms of political communities. The idea of similarly-oppressed groups – and that is not to say that I am oppressed in one way, you are oppressed in another, so I understand your oppression, because that is simply not the case, oppressions are not equivalencies – that these similarly-oppressed groups could band together to find effective political avenues to change their situations and confront their oppressors and maybe work together to combat multiple forms of oppression – that has always felt like love to me. What Maria Lugones calls “loving perception” is how I imagine coalitions. While we recognize that we are all different, we are able to perceive each other with love and recognize that even with that difference, we are able to help each other climb our mountains. They may not be the same mountains, or even in the same range, but you cannot battle oppression and privilege on only one level. Eradicating one form of oppression is not eradication, it is reduction. A reduction which simply allows other forms of oppression to grow, or new ones to take over – and that helps no one.
What did I learn from UR? I learned that as social justice advocates, it’s our responsibility to give others a chance. Whether they are members of other oppressed groups, allies, or the oppressors, no one is capable of stepping up if we automatically condemn them as something “different” or “wrong.” If we truly want to drive political and social change, we have to actively accept as many willing individuals as we can, even if their methods of helping are not exactly what we want or expect. I know I could’ve done much better at living this on a personal level not only at UR, but at other points in my life. I can only hope that taking this time to reflect reminds me of the importance that friendships, partnerships, communities and coalitions play in our work, and that I learn how to use it to achieve my own goals and assist others in achieving theirs.
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