brushfire"This, yes, this, it was always like this." -Stanley Koehler
REFLECTIONS OF AN EMPTY NESTER
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Cultural appropriation. Yes, it’s a thing.
At my daughter’s college last year, a first-year student showed up at the dining hall wearing a sombrero. Maybe she thought it was funny, it matched her outfit or she wanted attention. A Latino student questioned her fashion choice. When she gave a flippant response, he explained why it was offensive to him. Instead of apologizing and saying it was not her intent to offend anyone, she chose a defensive tact. The exchange escalated to an argument and soon social media took over. The end result was a series of town hall-style meetings and the young woman apologizing in tears. Had the national media latched onto this incident, there likely would have been a backlash about political correctness and minority fragility and an outpouring of support for the innocent “victim,” known on campus as “sombrero girl.” In the absence of such public scrutiny, the administration handled the incident with cultural sensitivity and hopefully everyone learned something in the process. I, too, might not have known wearing a sombrero would cause offense, but if someone from that culture told me it did, I would respect their point of view. My niece is getting married next year to a young man whose parents emigrated to the U.S. from India. My sisters and I are looking forward to wearing saris and experiencing a Hindu wedding. If Indian family members told us this was in any way offensive, we would arrive in Western attire. However, we are abiding by the wishes of the bride and groom. We are sharing in and celebrating another culture, not appropriating it as our own in a mocking or careless fashion. There is a difference, but drawing the distinction requires careful attention to subtlety and nuance. More often than not, a suggestion of cultural appropriation is met with an attitude of callous dismissiveness. Here's a more mainstream example. I’m not Catholic, but I’ve attended many Catholic weddings and funerals. While I’ve stood in line during the Eucharist to accept the priest’s blessing, I would never dream of receiving Communion, not because I fear being struck by lightning, but because it would be disrespectful. On the other hand, if I did receive Communion as a non-Catholic and a Catholic called me out on it, how do you think that person would I feel if I belittled their discomfort? We can all agree wearing black face is wrong. You don’t see a lot of hijabs or yarmulkes at Halloween. Is wearing an Indian headdress or war paint offensive? The Washington football team and fans supporting their racially charged name in spite of protests from the Native American community don’t appear to think so. For many, the sombrero incident may have seemed innocent enough, the whole brouhaha blown out of proportion. But I am old enough to remember a Frito corn chips television commercial depicting a sombrero-wearing Mexican singing, “Ay, ay, ay, oh, I am the Frito Bandito.” As a child, I sang this catchy tune with my brother, mimicking the cute little bandit’s heavy accent. My husband and I recently performed the song at the dinner table with perfect recall — “I like Frito’s corn chips I love them I do, I like Frito’s corn chips, I’ll take them from you” — much to our children’s horror. Until our daughter relayed the sombrero incident to us, we hadn’t given this commercial much thought. Now we agree it was offensive and understand why it was taken off the air. We’ve come so far… or have we? A presidential nominee beginning his campaign stereotyping Mexicans as rapists and drug dealers — if not bandits, exactly — is a huge step backwards, but sometimes we have to go back before we can move forward with new understanding and awareness. Just ask sombrero girl.
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With all the noise surrounding Donald Trump and his latest gaffe, sometimes it’s easy to lose a sense of scale. For example, there was the kerfuffle about him kicking a baby out of a rally. It was pretty funny; one reporter joked: “What next? Punt a puppy from the stage?” I watched the video clip, though, and concluded the exchange was innocuous. Trump was good-natured about it, if mildly annoyed, and yes, maybe the mother should have had the sense to remove her crying baby.
So with matters of such little consequence getting so much press, when something really, really offensive happens, we don’t pause to say: Wait, what? I’m talking about Trump accepting a Purple Heart from a veteran. Sure, journalists ragged on him about it, but it didn’t attract much more attention than Babygate. The thing is: no one mentioned how he could have used the vet’s sacrifice to his advantage. He could have gained a bit of positive press, a sound byte. He might have even earned a few votes! Here’s what a decent, compassionate, thoughtful, presidential person would have said: “Sir, I am honored and humbled by your gift and show of support. I thank you for your service to this country and for your sacrifice. But of course, I can’t possibly accept it, except in spirit. The gesture means more to me than words can express.” But what did Trump do? He took it! Like a grabby four-year-old snatching a shiny trinket: “Gimme gimme gimme!” To make matters worse, he showed complete and utter ignorance and disregard, saying how he had always wanted to get the Purple Heart, but this was much easier than serving in combat. Easier? Was this meant to be a joke, as if dying or sustaining a wound in the act of duty is a laughing matter? Is there anything easy about receiving the Purple Heart, ever? The man is not only unfit for the office of president, he’s unfit for a toddler playgroup. First Lady Michelle Obama, in her speech opening night at the Democratic National Convention, said she “wakes up every morning in a house built by slaves.” According to an article in the New York Times, her “assertion was met with derision and disbelief by some, who questioned whether it was true and said her choice to mention it amounted to an attempt to divide the country on racial lines.”
Had I looked, I'm sure I would have found a ton of responses to the First Lady's comment on Twitter. I didn't look. I did wonder, however, why stating both a fact — it was verified by historians — and a personal truth would be challenged. Anyone who watched her speech would know she went on to say she watched her daughters — “two beautiful, intelligent, black young women, playing with their dogs on the White House lawn.” The underlying message is: Look how far we've come. This is a statement of unity, not division. No doubt the imagery evoked by her reference to “generations of people who felt the lash of bondage” made some people uncomfortable. And well it should. But this is part of our country's history we white Americans can't deny. We criticize college students for needing trigger warnings and safe zones to protect them from things that may make them uncomfortable and yet when our own past is raised, we put our hands over our ears and drown out the noise. We close our eyes. We say: But slavery ended more than 150 years ago. Why do we have to talk about it now? Whether I myself have ancestors who were slave owners or whether ancestors of my black fellow Americans were, in the First Lady's words, victims of “the shame of servitude, the sting of segregation” is irrelevant. Oppression isn't something I need to inflict or experience personally to have it impact my life or sense of what is right or just or fair. It is part of the fabric of our shared past. When I was 15, I spent my sophomore year at a German high school. In history class, we covered World War II. My classmates and I studied the role of their country in the war. We learned about the Holocaust. My German peers were uncharacteristically quiet during this unit. The discussion among the teacher and students was uncomfortable. When I mentioned this to one of my classmates, she called it “ein schwarzer Punkt” — a black point — in their history. It made an impression on me. I returned to my American high school my junior year and studied U.S. history. This was a long time ago and I may have forgotten, but I have no memory of a similar sense of respect and air of solemnity among students when we learned about some of our own shameful chapters in history. We have a lot to be proud of in this country. But we also need to learn from our past and become better as a result of it. My limited experience as a 15-year-old in Germany, including a visit to the memorial site of a concentration camp, revealed people who acknowledged their ancestral role in history, made no excuses and expressed shame and remorse. My experience as an adult in this country is a tendency at times for people to defend rather than acknowledge and cast blame rather than show compassion. Defensiveness and blame are divisive. Acknowledgement and compassion are unifying. As Americans, black or white, our discomfort with our shared past is something that should unify, not divide us. It is only in accepting it, owning it and seeking a better future for everyone that we can move forward. A version of this appeared in the Grosse Pointe News Aug. 4, 2016. |
Mary Anne BrushJournalist, fiction writer, wife and mother |