Intersectionality: Religion, Oppression, and Navigating Identities in Tight Spaces

Aporia- Derrida's term for "an undecidable impasse, a question that, no matter how urgent, cannot be answered (Parker, p 289)."

"...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.

This week:

I spent yesterday evening downtown with a few other very cold GetEqual members, supporting marriage equality outside of the courthouse.
While I am thrilled to see all of the support on my Facebook, there are a few things I didn't necessarily agree with. This was the product.

Diversity Conference 2013

The University of Cincinnati hosted a Diversity Conference today, and the entire event was amazing. My only regrets are that it only lasted one day, and my inability to clone myself (and being able to attend more than one discussion in each block).
The ones that I did go to included "Practicing Feminist Leadership," which essentially (to me, at least) discussed to common disconnect we see between feminism and leadership. I have often seen feminists as leaders, but realized today that this was primarily relegated to their own community. How often do we see leaders integrating a feminist lens with other leadership strategies or programs in a non-feminist-centric situation? This discussion was led by two facilitators of the previously mentioned WILL program, and they did a wonderful job introducing the concept of activist leadership in an academy atmosphere.
The second one was led by the Racial Awareness Program (RAPP) facilitator, and "Somewhere To Go: A Journey Toward Inclusive Bathrooms" addressed something that has been a very personal matter for me. As a transgender individual on a college campus in a fairly conservative city, it can be difficult explaining the complexity of bathroom politics to cisgender friends. Rebecca did an excellent job of approaching this topic, and breaking it down to understandable terms and situations. Few people understand the true hardship of navigating gendered restrooms when they haven't been challenged by a question as "basic" as gender. This isn't a fault of such individuals, but rather a fault of society at large, and a calculated risk when we decide that everything in human nature is a binary opposition of one form or another.
Both of these discussions posed questions about the harm of such binary oppositions: one about the oppositional nature of leader and follower - how these do not necessarily have to portray the power distribution we typically identify them with, and how being an active follower, rather than a passive one, can allocate just as much power as a leadership position. By deciding what we follow, we become leaders, even if just of the self. "Somewhere to Go" addressed the harmful and exclusive - sometimes even inappropriate- nature of gendered restrooms that remain within the gender binary. The speaker gave examples of how the RAPP program works around such issues, creating gender-neutral restrooms for its programs, as well as "intermittently-gendered" restrooms, with adjustable signs.
They both gave the audience a lot to think about in terms of "who" we are, and what that identity gives, and takes away, from each individual.
I also made it to "Body Love and Positivity: Revolutionary Ways of Critiquing and Re-learning Ourselves" and "Queering the Queer: A Critical Analysis of Homonormativity through Performance/Performativity." These two held their own importance. Body Love reminded me that we don't have to be "women" to appreciate the idea of self-love. As a transgender individual, I often feel uncomfortable with most aspects of my sexed body. This talk, however, reminded me that it is crucial to be gentle and loving towards ourselves, as much as we would be towards our partner or friends. It is hard to remember that we deserve this love, especially when our bodies feel like a cage, a trap set for us, a way of confining our identities to a universe and realm the majority will understand. I grew up learning (very effectively) to hate my body, and did everything I could to change it. I would starve and mutilate myself, exercised excessively (say that three times fast...), and constantly worried about how I looked. The worst part of this was that it wasn't because I didn't think I was pretty enough. In fact, all of this was a direct result of feeling "too pretty." This is a radical and absurd concept to a lot of people, especially because I look typical. But the abuse I put myself through stemmed directly from me not seeing myself as "handsome" enough. I lost weight in an effort not only to maintain some control and to balance myself for eventing - in equestrian disciplines, smaller is often better - but because I hoped maybe it would make my ass smaller, or make my breasts disappear. It took me a long time to become comfortable with a body that, when rendered defenseless (read, naked), was unambiguously female. I tried to combat the lack of effect by wearing looser clothes and adopting more masculine behavior, which I still portray today. My gender dysphoria led to an entire host of other problems, psychological and physical. These problems, in turn, created their own negative consequences. Because of all of the complications I faced, I slacked off in my schooling and am still picking up the pieces, three years later. I had to leave my dream job because I was no longer physically strong enough to do it properly. I was no longer able to ride horses or show competitively, because not only was I not strong enough or fully physically developed, but because I wasn't able to hold on to a job long enough to support my endeavors - the result of catastrophic emotional damage I had done to myself. It has taken me years to understand how all of this has been intertwined, and when I finally acknowledge it, in rare moments such as this, it takes a lot of effort for me to not hate myself. I fell into a trap that society set for me. If I'm not good enough at being a woman, maybe I have to be a man. And if I'm not good at that, either, there's really something very wrong with me. I saw myself as broken, damaged goods, irreparable - for a very long time. I let this affect my relationships and every other area of my life, and I also let that damage teach me a lot about myself and the world I live in.
I have learned that sometimes what you need is a bridge. An in-between. A gray space. For a few people out there, this gray space is the only "safe" space to exist. For these individuals, like myself, trying to divide in black and white can be deadly.
Even in the feminist and LGBTQ communities, these "borderland" identities can be risky. I acknowledge my initial fear about identifying as trans* was centered around whether or not my feminist friends would think I was betraying them. I didn't know how they would react, or how I could explain that I wasn't a transgender man, but rather someone who didn't fit into either of the binary genders so commonly given to us. I wasn't so easily simplified by a check in a box, by an M or an F. I am very fortunate to be involved in such a great campus community, that sees me beyond this, and that allows me to exist in that gray space while embracing both extremes when I feel it is appropriate to do so.
Long story short, I'm glad I was able to participate in today's events. They were not only eye-opening, but they served as a valid reminder of important lessons I have learned, and that I am still learning.

Random stray links.

WHO.

Gender Spectrum.

This article from The Huffington Post addresses the issue of being trans* within the Jewish community. It focuses on Joy Ladin's story.

Gender policing.

Briefing

This is absolutely perfect. And also preparing me for getting in way over my head.

I know it's been a bit since my last update - to my credit, though, there's been an open draft sitting here for a week and a half. Spring break is this week, and without campus time, I'm sans internet for most of it. So...here are some updates.

A verdict was reached in the Steubenville case. This article is particularly interesting. At some point this week, I also saw another interesting analysis of the comparison between Americans' reactions to the gang rape in India, and to this. If I can track that down again, I'll link it in.

Senators Portman and Clinton both came out for marriage equality. The question a lot of people are asking is, what took Hillary so long?

A couple of weeks ago, we had a screening for The Invisible War. Kori Cioca, Jeremiah Arbogast, and Gary Noling were all panelists, and Terri Spahr Nelson acted as moderator. It was an amazing discussion and I know we all appreciated them being present and coming to talk with us. In honor of them, this fantastic clip where Senator Gillibrand rips the military a new one.

Personal updates:
I have recently been accepted to the Women In Leadership and Learning (WILL) Program at the University of Cincinnati beginning in Fall 2013. This is an undergraduate program, with both curricular and extra-curricular components, focusing on feminism and activism in a university environment, the culmination of which is a team action-research project.

I sent in my proposal for the Undergraduate Summer Research Fellowship, as well. I'm a bit nervous, because I'm still in the process of pulling my GPA back up after a couple of slumpy quarters in the beginning, but I think after so many revisions and help with edits from amazing people, my proposal might be strong enough to help.

I have also applied to the Racial Awareness Program at UC, and am currently trying to decide between a week-long intensive program or a year-long one.

I am also looking for a part-time position in something more relatable to my studies. This would preferably be a paid position, but I understand that's difficult, especially with non-profits currently. Ideally, it would be with a women's center, a crisis shelter, or an LGBTQ-affiliated organization, working three to four days a week. If you know of anything locally, or even semi-local, please let me know via email ( medina1erica@gmail.com ).

I am also looking for guest posters for Shiksa Chic, or topic suggestions. If you are interested in doing a post, or have something you'd like to see up here, you can also send those to my email. I'll respond as quickly as I can.

Coming Out.

I was raised to become a heterosexual woman, by a Messianic Jewish mother.

If you told me ten years ago that I would eventually be someone who opposed, resisted, and staged a life in absolute conflict to every one of those three aspects of identity - heterosexual, woman, and "Christian,"- I might have believed you. Because even then, I knew I was different. I knew there wasn't something quite "normal" about me, not compared to other children in my synagogue, or those I went to school with. I never felt wrong, just different. That is something I've been trying to explain for a very long time.

I struggle a lot with my identity; that is to say, sometimes it's hard to be seen as inherently "wrong," because of who I love or how I dress. I don't struggle with it in the sense that I doubt it, because I don't; I know every aspect of myself to be absolutely, divinely true.

I've been an "out" lesbian for a long time; as long as I can remember. I never was actively closeted, but if it didn't come up in conversation, I didn't force the issue. People found out sooner or later, and once I left high school, it wasn't a big deal. I've had my share of homophobic attitudes and harassment, but I've never felt the need to conceal that part of myself.

Recently, I've started identifying as "genderqueer." Gender-fluid, however you call it - something not quite male or female, but rather neither or in between the two. While this has presented its own set of difficulties to me, and I'm still learning how to navigate a gendered world while trying to remain ungendered - at least in my own head - this coming out has been relatively easy as well.

The tricky part is, oddly, coming out as a Reform Jew. On one hand, the Reform movement of Judaism is large enough that I have never felt homeless within it. With congregations like Sha'ar Zahav, organizations like Keshet, there's virtually no room for exclusion of LGBTQ Jews. On the other hand, coming into such an inclusive, progressive movement, from such an exclusive, traditionalist one - my past comes with a kind of stigma attached. Most secular or cultural Jews, or any Jew, really - they tend to view Messianic Jews as something a little less than. They're viewed as Christian traitors by most Jews, and most Christians see them as something not quite Christian, because oh my, they're Jews. It's a weird border world to be trapped in. So when I attend a Reform synagogue for the first time, or begin interacting with Reform Jews more than ever before, the first question I usually get, and the most daunting one to answer, is "what kind of Jew are you?" (Or something to that effect.) Reform Jews don't have a problem with my sexuality, or my gender identity; and once they adapt to my previous Jewish home, they don't have a problem with that, either. They're extremely warm and welcoming. But coming out as a Reform Jew to my Messianic ex-home is an entirely different story. While they take huge issue with my sexuality and gender identity, they're very good at keeping quiet about it. Maybe they don't want to "encourage" me by acknowledging it - I don't know. But the second I bring up attending a Reform service and how cool it was to hear the matriarchs' names mentioned in the blessings, I am met with snorts of derision and contention. The moment I mention how excited I am about an inclusive prayerbook and a worldwide conference of LGBTQ Jews, those Jews around me who embrace Jesus as the Messiah shut down. They embrace all forms of Judaism but refuse to acknowledge any other as the correct one. They beg for the salvation of their Jewish brothers and sisters, praying they find the "truth" of Jesus as the Messiah, cry for my return to the fold.

So that's my issue with Messianic Judaism. The implication that I am, and should be, a sheep. This is the same source of conflict I find myself having with most religious practices, actually. The idea that I am in need of guidance and am inherently some sort of hoofed prey animal. Everything I have been through demands that I become the exact opposite - that I find a way to become a leader to not only myself, but those around me. As someone marginalized by this society we live in, it is my responsibility, and yours, to create a space for change and variation and diversity. It's my way to fulfill tikkun olam (a Hebrew phrase that essentially means "the repairing of the world"). If I find my power and strength in being something and someone that is so different, then so be it. At least there is still a safe space for that difference to exist and to grow, without having to give up my heritage or my traditions.

As a Reform Jew, I can still embrace Jewish traditions and simultaneously maintain feminist politics and ideology. I can still exist in a thoroughly patriarchal institution as a queer-identified member, and it only gives me an opportunity to create change from the inside - something not many get the chance to do. It means I don't have to give up the rituals that give my life meaning - not my Hebrew blessings over my food, the study of the Torah, or my meditations and Goddess worship. I can create a safe space between the two and each side is contented with that negotiation.

I am safe to present as either male or female, queer or not, Jewish or Gentile, or whatever else I feel at that moment because I am learning to successfully navigate multiple and conflicting worlds.

So while coming out as a Reform Jew is definitely one of the harder things I have had to do, coming out as a queer Reform Jew has made it infinitely easier.

This was extremely tangential and all over the board, but I've been working on collecting thoughts for a more important, even lengthier one later on this week. Thanks for hanging out.

Feminism and Liberation for Everyone

To the extent that women are enslaved, so too men are enslaved. The oppression of one individual or one group is the oppression of all individuals and all groups. Solidarity marks the sexes. In sexism we all die, both victim and victor. In liberation we all live equally as human beings.

-Phyllis Trible, "Depatriarchalizing in Biblical Interpretation," p. 35

Feminism is, more often than not, seen as a "women's movement." Comprised of oppressed women, looking for a way out of a patriarchal society, sexist traditions, misogynistic norms, it is often assumed that only women carry the feminist flag.

Although this article has more to do with feminism and the eradication of patriarchy in a specifically religious context, that quote struck me. Hard.

A community, no matter what divisions, or the members of it, is still a community. While feminists may exist within their own sub-community, it's important to acknowledge that we aren't detached from the greater, still patriarchal, community. In fact, if we were, it wouldn't still be an issue; there wouldn't still be a need for feminism. Those who strive for liberation from patriarchy could simply move into a "safe space," of their own volition. There would be no difficulty in doing so, because separate societies would maintain separate worlds (in an ideal setting). However, people sometimes forget that we are still surrounded by others.

What this quote does, is to give context to the idea that if one member of a society is oppressed, victimized, stigmatized, or in any way discriminated against, so is every other member of that society. It puts an emphasis on the importance of groupwork and collaboration; something that the women's movement and its lack of solidarity with those "outsiders" is often found in want of. In an oppressive society, members are relegated to one of two roles: the oppressed, or the oppressor. In a patriarchal society, men are seen as dominant, superior, oppressive; women are seen as submissive, inferior, and oppressed. There isn't a whole lot of grey space for those who fall in between. So what happens to men who refuse to play the role of oppressor? While they can't avoid male privilege, even if they may want to, they make a conscious effort to minimize the damage they do towards their female colleagues. What about women who treat even other women as their inferiors? I.e., cisgender, heteronormative women who treat transgender women or otherwise queer women as something inherently less because they don't represent the picturesque ideal of femininity. Is it possible to be both the oppressor and the oppressed? White women are often seen in this role; oppressed by white men, but oppressive to women of color.

That was tangential. My point is, as long as there are still roles of oppressed and oppressor, victim and victor, Trible is correct. The society, at large, remains within confines and is limited by such roles. Without the eradication of these concepts, no individual, let alone community, will be free from such division and imprisonment. Sometimes we forget that "working together" extends to those beyond simply the "women's movement," but we have to remember to eliminate patriarchy as a social institution, we have to get all of society involved.

Let this serve as a reminder to myself and hopefully to any of you who might have forgotten the real definitions of inclusivity and collaboration.